Cooper By The Gross (All 144 Cooper Stories In One Volume)

by Bill Bernico

  “You pull out anything besides a wallet and you’ll eat it,” I said.

  Little Matt came out from behind me and looked at Carmine. “Yeah,” he said bravely, “you’ll eat it.” He quickly stepped behind me again.

  Carmine pulled his wallet out with his index finger and thumb and handed it to me. I turned to Pompadour. “Now yours, Tangle Foot.”

  He eased himself to his feet, rubbed his elbow and the back of his head. Then he plucked his wallet from his back pocket and carefully handed it to me. I motioned them both to step back while I examined the contents of their wallets.

  I opened Carmine’s first and read from the driver’s license. “Carmine Solotto. Age nineteen, a hundred fifty pounds, five foot nine, hair brown, eyes brown.” In the money compartment he had several large bills. Must have been a hundred dollars in there. I dropped the wallet into my jacket pocket and flipped the other one open and read, “Marion Lewis. Eighteen, a hundred thirty-eight, five-eight, brown, blue. Marion had just fifteen dollars in his wallet. I dropped it into my pocket next to Carmine’s.

  Carmine looked over at Marion. “Marion?”

  Marion looked embarrassed. “It’s Mario. That’s a typo.”

  I shook my head. “Uh uh, Marion. They don’t make typos down at the driver’s license bureau. You’re not even Italian, you little punk.”

  “You robbin’ us?” Carmine said.

  I patted my pocket. “You gentlemen can pick these up at the ninth precinct up the block. All you have to do is identify them and you’ll get them back. Just ask for Philip Cooper.”

  The two toughs looked at each other and then back at me.

  “And if I ever see you two again,” I added, “You’ll wish you’d never been born. Now get outta here.”

  Carmine worked up a little courage. “What about our money?”

  “It’ll be in the wallet when you drop by the precinct to claim it. Now get outta here.” The two hesitated and I pointed the .45 in Carmine’s face. “NOW.”

  Carmine and Marion turned and ran up the alley and disappeared between two houses. I grabbed Little Matt’s hand and turned around and headed back towards his house. He said nothing all the way home but occasionally looked up at me and smiled in disbelief.

  We arrived back at the house just as Phil was pulling up to the curb. Little Matt let go my hand and ran towards his dad.

  “You shouldda seen Uncle Matt, dad,” he said excitedly. “Wham! He socked ‘em with the marbles and took their knife away from ‘em. Boy, those guys ran like scared rabbits.”

  “Whoa there, sport,” Phil said. “Slow down. What guys and what knife are we talking about?”

  I shrugged. “Just a couple of punks,” I said, trying to minimize the situation. “They tried to take my wallet but one thing led to another and I ended up taking theirs.” I handed the two wallets to Phil. “I told ‘em they could pick these up at the precinct if they asked for you.”

  Phil glanced inside the wallets. “You took Carmine Solotto’s wallet away from him? And his minion, Mario?”

  “That’s Marion,” I said, snickering.

  Phil tucked the two wallets into his back pocket. “Chances are they’ll never claim these,” Phil said. “If that’s the case, we’ll just put the money in the police fund after thirty days.” He looked at little Matt. “You okay?”

  Little Matt beamed. “Sure. I wasn’t scared, was I, Uncle Matt?”

  “Not a bit,” I said. “I’ll bet you grow up to be a policeman just like your dad.”

  Little Matt smiled and looked up at Phil. Phil walked back toward the house with Little Matt in tow. “So,” he said, “you ready for a good time tonight at the lakefront?”

  “You bet,” I said. “I’m already starting to forget why I moved to L.A. in the first place.”

  “Why don’t you move back here, Matt?” Phil said. “I’m sure you could get back on the force here and pick up where you left off.”

  “I don’t know, Phil,” I said. “It’s been so long and in a strange, masochistic sort of way I guess I’ve grown attached to L.A. Can’t explain it really. There’s just something about the city that gets my blood pumping.”

  “That’s not all that’ll get your blood pumping out there,” Phil said. “There’s too many crazies out there willing to take you down. They’ll call you ‘baby’ in one breath and shoot you in the back the next. At least here you know where you stand.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, trying just to divert the conversation away from the subject. “Meanwhile how about you and me take a ride around the old neighborhood?”

  “Sure,” Phil said. “Just let me take Matt in the house and tell Betty.”

  “I didn’t mean right this minute,” I said. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry. Five minutes won’t kill me one way or another.”

  Betty was sweeping the kitchen floor when we came in. She stopped sweeping and held her arms open wide. Little Matt rushed into them and Phil followed close behind.

  “What are you two juvenile delinquents up to this afternoon?” She said.

  “I thought I’d take my little brother around the old haunts,” Phil said. “Maybe take him around the precinct to meet the guys and end up at O’Shaunessey’s for a beer and a game of pool.”

  “Don’t be gone too long,” Betty said. “The fireworks start around nine-fifteen and we need to get there early before all the good spots are taken.”

  “Don’t worry, Betty,” I said. “I’ll have him back in plenty of time.”

  Phil retreated to his bedroom and closed the door. A few minutes later he emerged in a pair of blue jeans and a tee shirt. A thin jacket covered his shoulder holster. He looked like anything but a cop. He gave Betty a quick kiss on the forehead before escorting me out the door and back into his car.

  Phil pulled away from the curb and headed north on Kedzie. “Where do you wanna go first, Matt?” He said. “How about the old schoolyard? Or maybe over to Western and Belmont?”

  “Western and Belmont?” I said.

  “Riverview Park,” Phil said. “Remember the roller coaster where you got sick all over the ride attendant?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I’m a little too old for that stuff. Besides Riverview is the other way.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. “How about cruising the boulevard one more time?”

  Phil laughed out loud. “Remember Alice McKinney? Her dad never liked you. Said you were a bad influence and demanded you stay away from his daughter.”

  “Remember?” I said. “I almost got in a fight with him one night. Alice had to sneak away from the house and meet me at the Bijou. I can still remember what was playing—Min and Bill with Wallace Beery and Marie Dressler. Funny how certain things stay with you after all these years. We sat in the balcony and made out. Afterwards her dad grounded her and threatened to kick my ass if I ever came back.”

  Phil snickered. “Well, you were a bad influence on her, you have to admit.”

  “Whatever became of her?” I said.

  Phil’s snicker erupted into a full-blown laugh. “You ready for this?”

  “Come on,” I said. “Give.”

  “Well, last I heard she was a dancer at that topless joint on Pulaski Road.”

  I howled. “And her dad thought I was a bad influence?” I said. “Looks like he should have left us alone.”

  Phil drove a little further and pointed to a gas station on the corner. “Remember that place? Hank Burton used to own it. That’s where we went for our Saturday afternoon sodas.”

  “Hank still there?” I said.

  Phil shook his head. “‘Fraid not. I was on patrol a few years ago and found him shot in the head behind the counter. The cash drawer was empty and they never caught the guy who shot him.”

  “And you say L.A. is full of crazies,” I said.

  Phil turned right onto Eighteenth Street and after a few blocks, turned right again onto the boulevard. It hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. The trees are a littl
e fuller and the buildings look a little less for wear, but it’s just as I remember it.

  I rolled my window down and hung my elbow over the edge. The cool breeze felt good on my neck. I spotted a place I knew all too well and turned to Phil. “Pull over here, would you?”

  Phil parked the car at the curb and the two of us walked toward a mom-and-pop variety store on the corner. The sign overhead still said “Ma’s” and it hadn’t changed at all since my boyhood.

  We entered the store and looked around at the displays of candy, stationery, gloves, cigarettes, cigars and dozens of other assorted items that made Ma’s store attractive to many people over the years. I was sure Ma had to be dead after all these years. Hell, twenty years ago she had to be in her sixties. Phil poked me in the ribs with his elbow and I turned to see an old lady, perhaps in her eighties, stooped over somewhat, but still mobile, walking toward us.

  “What are you boys looking for?” She said. “I know. Cigars.” She studied our faces. “No, not cigars. Maybe chewing gum or perhaps a mechanical pencil.”

  “Ma?” I said, trying to see some resemblance between this woman and the woman I’d known all those years ago.

  “Yeah,” she said. “And who might you be, young man?”

  “I’m sure you don’t remember us,” I said. “My name is Matt Cooper and this is my brother, Philip. We used to…”

  “You used to come in here every Friday night for a whole bunch of stuff. Let’s see,” she said, scraping her memory. “You used to ask for a comb, a candy bar, two beef jerkies, some gum and three Trojans.”

  I flushed. “What a memory you have there. How did you remember me out of all the kids who came in here?”

  She pointed at Phil. “Between you and your brother here, you bought more Trojans than I could keep in stock. I used to wonder what you were doing with all of them.”

  Phil laughed. “Those were some wild times, eh?”

  As we stood there talking I caught some motion out of the corner of my eye. I reached out and grabbed the collar of a kid who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. He was heading for the front door and his pockets seemed a little bulky.

  “Going somewhere?” I said.

  The kid struggled to free himself from my grip, but with no luck. “Lemme go,” he said indignantly.

  With my free hand, I discretely reached into my own pocket and palmed a dollar bill. As I reached into the kid’s pocket and withdrew my hand, he fully expected to be exposed as a shoplifter. Instead I pulled my hand and my dollar out and handed it to Ma. I looked back at the kid and winked. “You almost forgot to pay the lady, didn’t you? This ought to about cover it.”

  The kid’s eyes got wide as saucers when the bill emerged from his pocket. He stopped struggling and stood up straight and nodded.

  Ma dropped the bill into the cash drawer and handed the kid thirty cents in change. He quickly dropped it into his pocket and straightened out his coat. “Thank you,” he said politely to no one in particular and left.

  I looked back at Phil and Ma. She shook her head and Phil laughed.

  “What’d you do that for?” Phil said. “You had him cold.”

  “Well,” I said, looking sheepishly at Ma, “maybe it was for all the times I didn’t get caught doing the same thing.” I shrugged and handed Ma a ten spot. “That ought to square it with me. Sorry, Ma.”

  To my surprise, Ma dropped the bill into the cash drawer and handed me fifteen cents. “And here’s your change, Matt.

  I looked down at the nickel and dime in my palm and then back at Ma. “You knew?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I might be old but I’m not blind. Mr. And Mrs. Murdock attend the same church I do and we started comparing notes about you boys. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, you two.”

  Phil laughed and slapped me on the back.

  “And what are you laughing at, Mr. Fancy Pants?” Ma said to Phil. “You were no better. Between the two of you I had to grow eyes in the back of my head.” She shook her head and looked us both up and down. “And you’re a policeman,” she said, scowling at Phil. The scowl broke and was replaced by a wide smile.

  “It was good seeing you again, Ma,” I said. “But we have to get going. Take care.”

  When we got back in the car Phil turned to me. “Trojans? You?”

  I shrugged and nodded toward him. “Look who I had for a role model.”

  Phil silently agreed and pulled away from the curb. A few blocks further down the boulevard, he pointed at a large brick building with white trim. “Recognize that place, Matt?”

  I looked, trying to see some resemblance to a place from my past. “Nope. Gimme a hint.”

  “Well,” Phil said, “picture it with an overhanging marquee with blinking lights.”

  It came back to me in a flood of memories. “That’s the Strand?” What happened to it? It looks so plain.”

  “When the silent pictures fell by the wayside in ‘28 they hung on for a while longer but couldn’t compete with the big chain of studio theaters. They finally folded in ‘36 and an insurance company took over the building and removed the marquee. The old neighborhood just isn’t the same.”

  “Well,” I said, “that’s one thing that there’s no shortage of in L.A. There’s a theater for every six people out there.”

  Phil looked crossways at me.

  “Okay,” I said, “so it’s one for every twelve people. Regardless, there’s a whole mess of ‘em back home.”

  Phil said, “Back home? I thought you were back home.”

  “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” I said.

  We drove on silently for the next few minutes. I busied myself by taking in all the sights and sounds and smells of my former home. The memories flooded back into my head again and I sighed.

  Phil coasted to a stop in front of the Ninth Precinct and killed the engine. This was one building that hadn’t changed at all since I’d moved out west. It was a brick building with three cement steps in front and two glass light ornaments, one on either side of the entrance. Phil had parked in a space marked “Police Vehicles Only.”

  We both got out of the car and stopped in front of the precinct. I looked back at the spot Phil had parked in. “You gonna leave it there?”

  “I think I could get out of a parking ticket,” Phil said. “Come on. I’ll take you around to meet some of the guys.”

  As soon as I walked in the front door I got an eerie feeling like someone was watching me. Suddenly it was 1934 again and I was a rookie fresh out of the academy. I’d spent nearly eighteen months as a patrolman out of this precinct while still in my early twenties. I was idealistic and more than a little naïve. It took just five months for reality to set in and cloud the dream I had of cleaning up the city. My attitude toward the job and the city had soured when a murder suspect I’d nabbed walked on a technicality. He left a good man dead in his wake and hadn’t been able to shake the injustice of it all. It showed in my attitude and by the end of ‘36 I’d packed my bags for Los Angeles.

  Phil guided me down the hall and into room 106 where he introduced me to a couple of patrolmen and a plain-clothes detective. I shook their hands and made small talk but I was still a bit distracted by these surroundings.

  Then he came into the room. I’d know that face anywhere, even after eleven years away. It was Nick Burns, my former sergeant, only now he was in plain clothes. He stopped when he saw me and then looked at Phil as if for an explanation.

  Phil laid his open palm up toward me and said, “Nick, you remember my kid brother, Matt, don’t you?”

  Burns held his hand out toward me. “Of course I remember Matt. How have you been?”

  I didn’t offer my hand at first but just stood staring at him. Then I figured, what the hell, it had been so many years and I’d moved on. I extended my hand but couldn’t resist. “Third Degree Burns,” I said.

  “What?” Phil said, looking strangely at me.

  Nick shook my hand briefly befo
re releasing it and looking at me with disdain. Phil looked to me.

  I shrugged. “When I was a rookie I had several occasions to watch Sergeant Burns here at work in the interrogation room. He was good and he got results when he was giving a suspect the third degree.”

  “Third Degree Burns,” Phil said. “Clever.”

  “But it doesn’t leave this room,” Nick said. “That’s all I need around here again. It took years for me to shake that moniker the first time around. I don’t need any more smart-ass rookies calling me that behind my back.”

  I laughed. “They all know?” I said. “They may not tell you to your face, but they know.”

  “Cooper,” Burns said. “I’d almost forgotten why you left here all those years ago, but it’s coming back to me. You’re a smart-ass. An insubordinate smart-ass.”

  “Come on, Sarge,” I said. “That was then and this is now. Forget it.”

  “It’s not Sarge,” Burns said indignantly. “It’s Lieutenant Burns. Detective Lieutenant.”

  “Good for you,” I said. “I guess it’s true what they say. Management is like a cesspool. The biggest shits all rise to the top.”

  “Matt, come on,” Phil almost yelled. “I have to work here.”

  Burns turned to leave and stopped just outside the door. “Cooper,” he said.

  “Yes?” Phil and I said in unison.

  “You,” Burns said, pointing to Phil. “You wanna take your baby brother out of here? We have work to do. This place isn’t open for public tours.”

  “Yes, sir,” Phil said. “We were just leaving.”

  Burns closed the door behind him and the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hall.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Phil said. “He’s my boss.”

  “But he’s not mine,” I said. “He was an asshole then and nothing’s changed except his rank. Come on, let’s get outta here.”

  Phil sighed heavily and followed me out the office door and back down the hall toward the exit. We got back in the car and turned around at the first intersection and headed back home. There was little left to say.