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

by Bill Bernico

  “There is that,” Dan agreed. “So, are you enjoying your solitude at home?”

  “This really stinks,” I said. “I’m so bored now I’m cleaning my guns.”

  “That is boring,” Dan said. “What’s next, vacuuming the floor and dusting the blinds?”

  “Was there anything else you wanted?” I said. “Otherwise I have dishes in the sink that need cleaning and I could stand to do a load of wash. So if there’s nothing else...”

  “Nope,” Dan said. “That’s all I have. You have fun now, Suzy Homemaker. Don’t forget to...”

  I hung up the phone and sighed. I’d never been this bored in all my life. I got back to the kitchen table and finished cleaning my revolvers. I slipped my main piece back into my shoulder holster, slipped out of that and hung it on the coat rack. My backup piece went back on the closet shelf. By the time all that was done, it was just past four o’clock. I hurried into my bedroom and slipped out of my brown suit and into a pair of jeans, a plain white tee shirt and a pair of sneakers. I slipped my shoulder holster back on and covered it with a lightweight jacket, zipping up far enough to conceal my holster. I had a blue baseball cap from my days on the force. I often wore this same outfit when I had worked under cover.

  Then I remembered something else from my plain-clothes days. I opened a small brown wooden box on my dresser and withdrew a bushy brown mustache and a small bottle of adhesive. I brushed some of the adhesive onto the mustache and applied it to my upper lip, adjusting it until it looked just right. Lying in that same box was a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with black frames and plain glass for lenses. Along with the phony mustache it usually did the trick of transforming me from private eye to ordinary guy. I checked out my image in the mirror and when I was satisfied that my own mother wouldn’t recognize me, I stepped out my back door and opened the garage. I backed my Olds out and closed the garage door again. It took me only six minutes to pull into the parking lot behind the Pantages Theater on Hollywood Boulevard.

  I gave the gal at the ticket window my dollar and she gave me my ticket and my change and I walked into the air conditioned theater. The cool air felt refreshing compared to my stale living room environment. I found my usual seat at the rear of the theater on the aisle. They were showing a Pathe’ newsreel as I entered and sat. After that a Warner Brothers cartoon started and I got settled into my seat as Bugs Bunny irritated Elmer Fudd and then kissed him full on the lips, finally pulling away like a toilet plunger that had been stuck. When that cartoon ended they started showing coming attractions and I realized that I probably still had time to make it to the concession counter for some candy before the movie started.

  I hurried back down the aisle and made it to the candy counter in under a minute. I spied my favorite candy in the glass case and started digging in my pocket for the change the ticket girl had given me earlier. The man ahead of me got his candy and change and turned around, not realizing I was standing there and bumped into me.

  “Excuse me,” the man said, trying to step around me.

  I sidestepped, trying to get out of his way, but stepped in the same direction as the man and we bumped into each other again. He stopped stepping and waited for me to go around. I looked up at his face and took one step to my left. He stepped around me and went back into the theater. I turned to find my favorite candy in the case again when I stopped, starred off into space and then my memory kicked in. That same low, throaty voice, that physique, that same blue pinstriped suit. It was the same guy I’d bumped into on the boulevard just before I’d found Kevin McDonald bleeding on my hat.

  “What would you like sir?” The lady behind the candy counter said.

  I walked away without answering her. I followed the big man into the theater and watched where he sat. He was sitting eight rows in front of me toward the center of the theater. I sat in my back row seat and couldn’t take my eyes off the man, even though the opening credits for Key Largo had begun to run down the screen. I had to get to a phone and call Hollister. But what if the man got up and left while I was out phoning? I couldn’t take that chance. I had to come up with another ploy.

  Bogart was delivering his lines to Bacall when an idea formulated in my mind. I quietly moved down to the row directly behind the man and sat where he couldn’t see me. I figured I could always stick my .38 in his ribs and walk him out of there. But then it dawned on me that although I’d run into this guy before on the street in front of my building, I still didn’t know if he’d come out of my building or if he had anything at all to do with McDonald’s killing. I abandoned that plan and crept back up to the back row. I’d have to call Dan and let him question this guy.

  I took a chance that this guy was as big a Bogart fan as I was and that he’d stay put while I made the call. I crept out to the lobby, found the pay phone and dialed Dan’s office. His secretary, Hannah answered.

  “Sergeant Hollister’s office,” she said in a voice that could melt butter.

  “Hannah,” I said in a low volume. “It’s Matt Cooper. Can I speak to Dan?”

  There was a long silence and then Hannah said, “If this is supposed to be some sort of joke, it’s in extremely poor taste.” She hung up the phone and I stood there, listening to the dial tone.

  I dropped another nickel and dialed the front desk at the precinct. A man answered.

  “Twelfth precinct,” he said in his official sounding voice.

  “Would you connect me with Sergeant Dan Hollister?” I said.

  “Hold on,” he said.

  I stood there impatiently waiting and hoping, my feet unable to stand in one place. I heard the phone click and then the familiar voice. “Hollister,” the voice said.

  “Dan,” I said again in my low voice. “It’s Matt.”

  “Why are you talking so low?” Dan said.

  “I can’t make too much noise,” I explained.

  “You can make all the noise you want in your own home, can’t you?” Dan said.

  “Well,” I said, “that’s the thing, see? I’m not home. I’m at the Pantages Theater.”

  “You’re where?” Dan said in a voice thirty decibels louder than before.

  I pulled the phone away from my ear, stuck my finger in the ear and wiggled it around before returning the phone to it. “I know,” I said. “I told you I’d stay put, but it was so boring I just had to get out.”

  “But what’d I say about anyone recognizing you out in public?” Dan said.

  “I got that covered,” I explained. “I’m wearing a disguise.” And I briefly described my ensemble.

  “So that explains Hannah’s strange behavior,” Dan said.

  “Huh?”

  “She just told me that someone using your name just called here asking for me,” Dan explained. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Didn’t you tell Hannah that it wasn’t me that was killed earlier?” I said.

  “Like I said in your office,” Dan said. “Your status was not to leave that room. The fewer people who know about it, the better. Now I’m going to have to tell Hannah and make sure she doesn’t tell anyone else. Matt, this is your life we’re talking about here.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  “Then stop taking stupid chances with it,” Dan said. “Why did you call me anyway?”

  “Remember the guy I told you about that I bumped into in front of my building this morning?” I said.

  “What about him?” Dan said.

  “He’s here in the theater,” I explained. “Can you get down here and at least question him before he gets away?”

  “Hey,” Dan said. “You can’t even be sure that he came out of your building or that he had anything to do with the killing, remember?”

  “I know,” I said. “But what else have we got to go on? Nothing. This is at least something. Now, are you gonna let your only possible lead just walk right out of here?”

  Dan knew I was right and sighed. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Keep an eye on him and ma
ke sure he stays put. Where are you sitting?”

  “Back row, right side,” I said. “Hurry.”

  I hung up the phone and hurried back to my seat. The man was still sitting in the center seat eight rows in front of me. But just to make sure he hadn’t left and some other guy had taken that same seat, I decided to casually walk down the left aisle and back up the right side, hoping to sneak a glance at the man. I was back in my seat in under a minute, secure that the man in front of me was the same man from the lobby. I settled in and waited for the cavalry to arrive.

  I had trouble following the plot of the move, since I’d missed so much of it already. I told myself that when this case was done that I’d have to come back and see the movie again from the start. The next fifteen minutes seemed to drag, waiting for Dan to show up. I’d become engrossed in the movie plot and didn’t see Dan come in. He took the seat next to me and leaned into me.

  “Which one is he?” Dan said, startling me.

  “Gees,” I said, holding my hand over my heart. “Why don’t you warn a guy before you sneak up on him?”

  “What are you, an old lady?” Dan said. “Which one is the guy you wanted me to question. Point him out to me.”

  I pointed in front and to my left. “Big guy,” I said. “Eight rows down, center seat, blue pinstripe suit.”

  Dan got up and took one step to his right before I tapped him on the leg. He stopped and turned back to me, bending down.

  “What?” Dan said.

  “If it is the guy,” I said, “he’ll be armed so watch yourself.”

  Dan nodded and walked down the aisle. He stepped into the row of seat directly behind the big man and sat down. I watched as he pulled his badge out of his pocket and held it in his left hand, while his right hand rested on the .38 nesting under his arm. He tapped the big man on the shoulder with his badge and held it where it could easily be seen.

  “Would you mind stepping out into the lobby,” Dan said.

  The big man turned in his seat, obviously annoyed. “Shhhh,” he told Dan. “I’m trying to watch the show. Do you mind?” He turned back toward the screen.

  Dan tapped him again, harder this time. “Come on, buddy, out in the lobby,” Dan said again, standing now.

  The man stood, turned toward Dan as if he was intending to walk to the aisle. Instead he extended a meaty arm and pushed Dan backwards over the seat. The man made a dash for the exit. I saw him coming and when he got within range I stuck my foot out and he went down hard in the aisle next to my seat. I was out of my seat on straddling his back before he knew what hit him. I had my .38 out and had it against the spot behind his ear. He struggled, trying to get up. I pulled the hammer back. When he heard the cylinder rotate into place and heard the hammer click twice he stopped struggling and slumped down.

  Dan picked himself up and hurried over to where I had tripped the suspect. He pulled his cuffs out and slapped them onto the man’s wrists. From several places all over the theater came the sounds of “Shhhh” accompanied by the angry faces trying to hear what Lauren Bacall had to say to Humphrey Bogart. Dan and I picked the man up by his elbows and walked him out into the lobby. I held onto one elbow while Dan frisked him. He stopped when he came to a bulge in the man’s waist. Dan pulled a .22 revolver out of the suspect’s belt and dropped it into his own pocket. Then he reached into the man’s inside suit pocket and withdrew a calfskin wallet, flipping it open to a driver’s license.

  “Richard Lawrence,” Dan said, reading from the license.

  Lawrence tried to feign indignance. “What’s this all about?” He said.

  Dan withdrew the .22 from his pocket and held it in front of Lawrence. “No doubt you have a permit for this.”

  Lawrence said nothing.

  “I thought so,” Dan said, dropping the revolver back into his pocket. “I wonder what we’ll find when we run you through the system.”

  Lawrence visibly flinched and turned to look at Dan.

  “Could that be the sound of another cell door closing on you?” I said.

  “If it turns out you’re on parole,” Dan said to Lawrence, “and you’re found with a gun on you, you’ll be back inside before you can whistle Dixie.

  Lawrence scowled at Dan. “You’re lucky there’s two of you and I’m in cuffs,” he said to Dan.

  “Or what?” Dan said.

  Lawrence said nothing and then turned to me just as I peeled off the phony mustache, removed the horn-rimmed glasses and pulled the baseball cap off my head. I tussled my hair and stood back for effect.

  “Look familiar?” I said. “The name’s Cooper, Matt Cooper, and as you can plainly see, there is no hole between these eyes. You shot the wrong guy, you fool. And while we’re on the subject, why’d you wanna shoot me in the first place?”

  He stood silent again.

  “That’s all right,” Dan said. “You don’t have to say anything here and now. We’ll get it out of you down at the station. Let’s go.” He pulled Lawrence by the elbow out the front door to his car. Dan slid in behind the wheel and I took up a spot next to Dan’s door.

  “I’ll get my car and meet you down at the station,” I said.

  Dan nodded and pulled away from the curb. I walked around the back of the theater and got into my own car. I made it back to the precinct in fifteen minutes. Dan was already walking the suspect into the building. I caught up to them at the booking desk.

  “If you wanna book him,” I said, “I can run his .22 down to ballistics, if you like.”

  Dan plucked the small revolver from his pocket and handed it to me. “Thanks, Matt,” Dan said. “Tell them to put a rush on it for me.”

  I took the gun and walked it down the hall to the ballistics department. Lou Powers, who handled ballistic comparisons for the precinct, met me at the door. I handed Lou the gun and relayed Dan’s request. He agreed to do it right away and said they’d bring the results to Dan’s office as soon as they finished. I thanked Lou and walked back to the booking desk.

  “Richard Lawrence,” I heard the booking sergeant say as he wrote the name on a form. I watched as he filled out the rest of the form and walked Lawrence to a holding cell where he removed Dan’s cuffs. He instructed Lawrence to sit at the table and that a detective would be along soon to talk to him. He closed the door behind him and returned to the booking desk.

  The desk sergeant gave Dan his cuffs back and took his seat behind the desk again. “That has to be a record for apprehending a suspect so soon after the crime,” the desk sergeant said.

  Dan gestured toward me. “It was Cooper,” Dan said. “I just brought the suspect in, but he might have gotten away if Matt hadn’t disobeyed my orders.”

  “Aw shucks,” I said, dragging my right toe in front of me in a semi-circle. “It was nothing.”

  “Aw shucks, nothing,” Dan said. “What say you and I take a trip to my office and talk about it?”

  “I’d like to,” I said, “but I...”

  “Let’s go, Cooper,” Dan said.

  When he called me Cooper it usually meant that I was in some sort of trouble. He saved Matt for the friendlier conversations. I took a seat in front of his desk and he shut the door behind him. He hadn’t even started to talk when his door opened and Hannah poked her head inside. When she saw me, she started crying, her shoulders drooping. I stood up and pulled her into the office, wrapping her in my arms.

  “I’m sorry, Hannah,” I said. “We couldn’t let you know at first for security reasons.” I pushed her away and took a good look at her. “Hey,” I said. “Since when did you start caring so much about what happens to me?”

  Hannah wiped the tears away and tried to look composed. “I don’t, you big lug.” Then she looked at me with those big brown eyes and hugged me again. She held me for a moment and then released me. “The next time this happens, you better let me in on it from the start or I’ll, I’ll...” She didn’t have a finish for her threat and turned and left the office.

  I looked at Da
n. He shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” Dan said. “I had no idea how she felt about you.” He sat behind his desk again and gestured for me to sit. “Now, getting back to you.”

  Once again he hadn’t had time to start on his rant with me when his door opened again. It was Lou Powers from ballistics. He handed Dan two small boxes the size of matchboxes. “They match,” Powers said, handing Dan his report. “Same gun, no doubt about it.”

  “Thanks, Lou,” Dan said.

  Lou left the way he’d come and for the third time Dan and I sat silent at his desk. Dan looked at me and then at the two ballistics boxes and the report and then back at me. Dan just sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  “Nothing to say?” I said.

  “What would be the point?” Dan said. “Everybody got what they wanted, except for McDonald.”

  I started to laugh, but realized how wrong that was on so many levels. “And me,” I said. “I didn’t get to see the end of Key Largo.”

  Dan pulled the newspaper from a shelf behind his desk, opened it to the entertainment section and ran his finger down the page, stopping on Pantages ad for Key Largo. He scanned further down to the times and announced,” There’s another showing starting at six-fifteen.”

  I stood and turned toward the door, glancing at my watch. “If I leave now I can just make the six-fifteen show.”

  Dan stood and laid the paper on his desk. “You want some company?” Dan said.

  I stopped in my tracks and turned. “I didn’t know you were a Bogey fan,” I said.

  “Bogey?” Dan said. “Let’s not forget Bacall. She’s the reason I’m going.”

  “Did you see The Big Sleep with those two in it?” I said.

  “Did I see it?” Dan said. “Only three times. That Bogart film is my all-time favorite.”

  “Then no doubt you’ve seen Treasure Of The Sierra Madre,” I said.

  “I don’t have to show you any stinking badges,” Dan said, scrunching up his face and trying to imitate Alfonso Bedoya’s bandito voice.

  “You call that a Mexican accent?” I said.