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

by Bill Bernico

  “Good,” I said. “I feel better already.”

  “I’m glad you feel better,” she said. “I’ll feel better once I’ve sat down and had some popcorn.” Her smile widened and I knew I’d been forgiven.

  I stepped up to the ticket window and handed the girl a dollar. “Two adults,” I said, taking the tickets from her. I gestured with my hand toward the door, where an usher stood ready to take our tickets and tear them in half. I’m sure he must have trained for weeks on end to learn that particular skill. I led the woman inside and we stepped over toward the candy and soda counter. I suddenly realized that I didn’t even know this woman’s name. I turned to her and pursed my lips, wondering if there was a graceful way to ask her name.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know where I left my manners. My name’s Matt Cooper.” I extended my hand and she took it.

  “Amy Callahan,” she said, pumping my hand three times and releasing it.

  “Pleased me to meet you, Amy Callahan,” I said and turned back to the candy counter.

  Amy stood patiently behind me while I ordered. “Two candy bars and a large tub of buttered popcorn,” I said to the candy clerk. I reached for my wallet.

  Amy tapped me on the shoulder. “I can’t eat a large popcorn,” she said. “A small one is plenty.”

  “It’s for both of us, if you don’t mind sharing with me,” I said.

  “Sure, why not?” Amy said.

  I paid for our snacks and turned around, handing one of the candy bars to Amy and slipping the other one into my pocket. I crooked my elbow and held it out toward Amy. She hooked an arm in it and accompanied me to the theater door. Amy stepped in front of me and said, “Please, I have a favorite place I like to sit when I come to the theater. Follow me.”

  She walked immediately to the back row and took the two aisle seats, letting me sit on the aisle. I sat next to her and handed her the popcorn tub.

  “This is too much,” I said.

  “What, you don’t like the back row?” Amy said.

  “No,” I said. “It’s not that. This is where I sit when I come to the movies.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Amy said.

  I crossed my heart with two fingers and then held them up like a good Boy Scout. “Scout’s honor,” I said. “This is my favorite place to sit, too.”

  Just then the theater went dark and the Popeye cartoon started. I turned to face the screen but kept turning toward Amy just to look at her face.

  “What?” Amy said.

  I shook my head. “Oh nothing,” I whispered. I smiled and Amy poked my shoulder.

  “Come one,” she insisted. “What is it?”

  I leaned toward her, not wanting to annoy the other patrons in the theater and whispered, “I just can’t believe how fate works sometimes. You know, like when you least expect it to step in, there it is.”

  Amy pointed toward the screen with three fingers full of popcorn. “Watch the cartoon,” she said, stuffing the popcorn into her mouth.

  The cartoon ended and a Fox Newsreel feature began. Joe DiMaggio’s face appeared on the screen and the announcer said something about Joe being the first major league player to make a hundred thousand dollars a year. I wasn’t really paying attention and reached for some popcorn. I felt Amy’s hand in the tub and pulled mine out.

  “Sorry,” I said, and waited until she withdrew her hand before I tried again.

  The newsreel continued with a story about how Victor Fleming had died several weeks earlier. I already knew this, having read it in the paper. The newsreel coverage was always far behind the newspapers. Fleming had won his only Oscar for directing sixty per cent of Gone With The Wind ten years earlier.

  The newsreel ended and a few seconds later the Paramount logo appeared and the opening credits for the feature film started to roll down the screen. The theater fell quiet as Amy and I enjoyed the movie in relative silence. When the ending credits began to roll I half expected to see Amy get up and head for the door, but she surprised me again and sat there, her eyes glued to the screen. I chuckled and she turned toward me.

  “What’s so funny?” She asked.

  “You won’t believe this,” I said. “But I like to stay for the credits, too.”

  “Now you’re putting me on,” Amy said.

  “No, really,” I said. “That’s how I gather all my useless movie trivia.”

  Amy smiled, her beautiful teeth showing. “Finally,” she said.

  “Finally what?” I said.

  “Finally I meet someone I can use my trivia on,” Amy said.

  “Oh,” I said. “Think you can stump me? Give it your best shot.”

  The theater was already half empty but we just kept sitting there talking movie trivia.

  Amy thought for a moment and then said, “Okay, smart guy,” she said. “Who is Shirley Temple’s husband?”

  “That the best you can do?” I said. “John Agar, of course. You ready for one?”

  “Go for it,” Amy said.

  “All right,” I said. “Give me Cecil B. DeMille’s middle name.”

  “Are you kidding?” Amy said. “Anyone would know that one.”

  “But do you?” I said, challenging her.

  “Blount,” Amy said proudly.

  “I am impressed,” I said. “Your turn.”

  Amy scraped the far reaches of her mind and announced, “The Big Sleep.”

  “What about it?” I said.

  “What year did they do that one?” Amy said.

  “That just came out three years ago,” I said. “So the answer is 1946.”

  “Close,” Amy said. “The correct answer is actually 1945. Sorry, no extra points.”

  “Hate to be the one to burst your bubble,” I said. “But it was released in 1946.”

  “That may be,” Amy said. “But they filmed it in 1945. They just held off releasing it until they could release a bunch of war-related films that wouldn’t keep once the war ended. And then they re-shot some of the scenes a year later after Bogey and Bacall began lighting up the screen in a few other pictures. They wanted to cash in on their hot status so they changed the ending and held off release for a year.” Amy smiled. “Next.”

  I held both palms up. “I concede,” I said. “Looks like I’ve met my match.” I stood and extended my hand to Amy. “Shall we go?”

  Amy took my hand and walked with me out to the lobby where we both stood looking at the posters for upcoming movies. When we’d finished looking at the posters we walked out of the theater and stood awkwardly on the sidewalk, not sure what to say or do.

  Amy broke the silence. “So Matt,” she said. “What do you do for a living?”

  I made the mistake of trying to answer in my Bogart voice, but failed miserably. “I’m a private eye,” I said with a bit of a lisp.

  Amy chuckled. “No really, what do you do?”

  I dropped the Bogart impression. “Really,” I said. “I own Cooper Investigations. I really am a private investigator.”

  Amy’s mouth dropped open. “Really,” she said. “Is it anything like Philip Marlowe or Humphrey Bogart? Do you spy on people? Do you wear a trench coat? Do you carry a gun?”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Slow down. Yes, no, yes, no and yes.”

  “Huh?” Amy said, puzzled by my answer.

  “Yes, it’s like Marlowe and no it’s not like Bogart,” I said. “Yes, I sometimes spy on people and no, I don’t wear a trench coat.”

  “And what about the gun?” Amy said.

  I unbuttoned my coat and opened it enough to expose the handle of my .38 sticking out of my shoulder holster. “Yes.”

  Amy reached to touch the revolver but I buttoned the coat up again and crooked an elbow at her. She took it and we walked down the sidewalk back toward my car. I stopped at the corner and looked south.

  “My car is that way,” I said. “Did you drive here or walk?”

  “I walked,” Amy said. “I only live a few blocks from here so why bothe
r with the car?”

  “Can I give you a lift home?” I said.

  Amy frowned. “You out past your bed time?” She said.

  “No,” I said. “Why, did you want to go somewhere for a cup of coffee?”

  Amy stuck her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out the candy bar I’d bought her earlier. “Coffee sounds good,” she said, holding up her candy bar. “Does coffee go with chocolate?”

  “Everything goes with chocolate,” I said. “Come on.”

  I walked her to my car and opened her door. I hurried around to my side and slid behind the wheel. “You have a favorite place for coffee?”

  “You pick it,” Amy said, sliding closer toward my side of the seat.

  I pulled away from the curb, not caring where we went or what we did, as long as we were together. I chose a small coffee shop on the boulevard and found us a booth in the corner. She slid in and I slid in across from her. By the way she was looking at me, I sensed that she was wondering why I wasn’t sitting next to her.

  “I like sitting across from you,” I explained. “I can see your eyes easier this way. And might I say, they are beautiful eyes at that.”

  Amy showed me her perfect teeth again in another wide smile. I felt like a giddy schoolboy on his first date to the freshman ball. Feelings that I’d thought were gone began resurfacing. I could feel my pulse quicken. My palms were starting to sweat and I felt like I might burst out in laughter for no reason at all. I tried my best to hide all this for now.

  “Well,” I said, “You know what I do for a living. What about you? What do you do?”

  “Me?” Amy said. “Nothing as exciting as what you do. I work in the library just down the street. It pays the rent.”

  “Now see,” I said. “If I wasn’t doing what I’m doing, I’d think a library would be a fascinating place to work. You probably have a lot of time to peruse through the books and… Hey, wait a minute. Is that where you got some of your movie trivia from?”

  Amy smiled. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But most of it I got from going to a lot of movies and reading the trade journals.”

  “You actually get the trade journals?” I asked.

  “The library does,” she said.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “How long have you been doing that?”

  “What, reading the trade journals, or working at the library?” Amy said.

  “Working at the library,” I said.

  Almost four years now,” Amy said. “Since the end of the war. Before that I made airplane parts at one of the defense plants. I know, quite a contrast, huh?”

  “I’ll say,” I told her. I flagged down a waitress and ordered two cups of coffee. The waitress brought them over a few seconds later. I sipped from my cup and then looked up at Amy. “You from here originally?”

  Amy’s face fell. “What are you, a census taker?”

  When my smile dropped off my face she jabbed me and laughed. “Got you.”

  I laughed. I liked a good sense of humor and so far, I couldn’t find anything I didn’t like about this woman.

  She sipped her coffee and then said. “Actually, I’m from Chicago. Moved out here right after high school back in the summer of ‘38. I sure don’t miss those Chicago winters, let me tell you.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “I have a brother who lives in Chicago. I was there two years ago to see him and my nephew, Little Matt.”

  “No kidding,” Amy said. “Whereabouts does he live?”

  “He’s on Kedzie near twenty-seventh,” I said.

  “I know the place well,” Amy said. “We lived on Pulaski Road on the south side.”

  “Well, isn’t this a small world?” I said. “Next I suppose you’re going to tell me that you play the saxophone, too?”

  Amy shook her head. “No. Why, do you play the sax?”

  “No,” I said. “Just wanted to know if you did.”

  We both giggled and sipped some more coffee. Amy looked out the window and tried to ask her next question as casually as she knew how. “So, why hasn’t some lucky woman snapped you up already?”

  I paused and that made Amy’s face go long.

  “Or have they?” Amy said warily.

  “Have they what?” I said.

  “Are you married?” Amy said bluntly.

  I looked down at my coffee cup and sighed.

  “I knew it,” Amy said, sliding toward the edge of her seat. “And you weren’t going to say anything, were you?”

  “Amy wait,” I said.

  She just kept sliding and finally stood next to the booth. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She said. “What the heck are you doing here?”

  “Amy,” I said, grabbing hold of her arm. “Please, sit.”

  Amy pulled her arm away and headed for the door. I threw a dollar on the table and followed her out into the street. I stepped in front of her and grabbed both shoulders.

  “Now wait just a minute,” I said. “You have to let me explain.”

  Amy let out a deep breath, tapped her toe on the street and said, “Okay, buster, explain. And make it a good one, ‘cause you’re only gonna get one shot at it.”

  “I was married,” I explained.

  “See?” Amy said. “Just like I thought.”

  “No, you don’t see,” I said. “I was married, but I’m not any more.”

  Amy looked away, down the street. I pulled her chin toward me but she wiggled free and looked away again. “She died,” I said and released her shoulders.

  Amy immediately softened and a sorrowful look played on her face. “What?”

  “My wife’s name was Stella,” I said. “We were married for a little more than two years when she was killed. A sixteen-year-old who decided to hold up the corner grocery store where Stella shopped put an abrupt end to an otherwise perfect marriage. Stella was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.”

  Amy’s eyes filled with tears that soon ran down both of her cheeks. “Oh Matt,” she said between sobs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “That was almost five years ago,” I explained. “Right after I opened my practice.”

  Amy threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in my chest and cried. I wrapped my arms around her and held on tighter than I ever thought I could again. We stood like that for a full minute. I looked over Amy’s shoulder and saw a car coming toward us. I pulled her to the curb as the car passed us, honking his horn at the strange couple who’d chosen the middle of the street to hold their conversation.

  “Come on,” I said, walking Amy back toward the coffee shop. “I never got to finish my coffee.”

  We found the same booth and this time I sat on the same side with her next to me. We held hands on the tabletop and talked about anything and everything. Soon the conversation came back around to my past occupations and me.

  “Did you tell me earlier what you did before you were a shamus?” Amy said.

  “Shamus?” I said. “You’ve been watching too many Bogart movies, haven’t you?”

  “Do you prefer gumshoe?” Amy said, smiling. “Or maybe you like dick, peeper, sleuth, P.I.”

  I joined in. “Private star, tailgater, cop for hire, snooper, operative.”

  She liked that. “See,” she said. “You’ve seen just as many Bogart movies as I have. Admit it.”

  “It’s like we were separated at birth,” I said. “We have so much in common it’s almost scary.”

  “I know,” Amy said. “What are the odds we’d both be going to see that Connecticut Yankee movie, let alone at the same time?”

  “That was odd,” I admitted. “I’m not a huge Bing Crosby fan to begin with, but the idea of time travel has always fascinated me.”

  “Me, too,” Amy said.

  There was another pause when we’d both exhausted our conversation sources. It was Amy who broke the silence. “So you never did tell me what you did before you became a gumshoe.”

  “I got sidetracked by
your extensive knowledge of noir vernacular,” I said. “Anyway, I was a cop. Now there’s a big surprise.”

  “A cop?” Amy said. “I can see that. Why’d you leave that to do P.I. work?”

  “I had some problems with authority,” I said. “My boss was…” Suddenly I remembered Dan Hollister and our movie date at the Pantages Theater. I looked down at my watch and scrunched up my face.

  “What is it?” Amy said.

  “Look at that,” I said, pointing to the face of my wristwatch. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”

  “That your curfew?” Amy said. “Your mom expecting you home early?”

  I shook my head. “No. Actually I had another date for a movie tonight.”

  “Oh?” Amy said.

  I didn’t let this one get out of hand and quickly added, “With Dan Hollister. He was that former boss I started telling you about. This just made me remember that I’d told him I’d meet him in front of the Pantages Theater at seven o’clock.”

  Amy looked at my watch again and then looked at me. “I don’t think you’re going to make it,” she said.

  “Oh man,” I said. “He’s never gonna let me live this one down.”

  “So you’re friends now with your former boss?” Amy said. “The guy you had trouble with authority with? That guy?”

  “Strange, ain’t it?” I said. “Couldn’t stand the guy when I worked under him, but during the past few years we worked together on several cases and wouldn’t you know, I found that there was actually something likeable about the guy. Hard to figure, eh?”

  “Not really,” Amy said. “I had a boss like that.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “No,” Amy said, laughing. “That would be too weird. So what are you going to tell him next time you see him?”

  “Actually,” I said. “I was hoping that the next time I saw him that you’d be with me to help me cushion the chewing out I’m sure he’s waiting to give me.”

  “Me?” Amy said. “What could I do?”

  “Just smile at him,” I said, “and he’ll forget all about being mad at me. I guarantee it.” I pinched her chin with my thumb and forefinger. “Who could resist that smile?”

  Amy smiled, proving my point. “Okay,” she said, “If you think it’ll do any good.”