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

by Bill Bernico

  “That’s right,” Gloria said. “And if you need a reference in the future, you just let us know.”

  “I will,” Terry said. “And if any of you ever need any computer help, you let me know and it’ll be on the house.”

  “We will,” Gloria and I both said at the same time.

  Dad and Dean entered the house in the Hollywood Hills and went through each room with some of the other officers. Inside they found six desktop computer setups and as many laptops, all connected to a main server, which was connected to the Internet. Dean had called in one the department’s own computer experts to decipher what we saw on the screens. There were stacks and stacks of printouts lying on the tables. One table had a stack of maybe a hundred blank money orders, eight to a sheet. The backside was blank, probably waiting for the second pass through the printer.

  There were five other rooms in this house, each one stacked floor to ceiling with merchandise ranging from computer parts to televisions to major appliances to boxes of DVDs. One room even held a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Hanging from the handlebars was a tag with the name and address of someone in Tijuana, Mexico who was probably buying this bike from the guy who’d been running his scams out of this house.

  It took three days to get everything catalogued with descriptions and serial numbers and photos. Dean had everything hauled to the impound lot behind the precinct. It would be quite some time before the rightful owners would be reunited with their merchandise.

  The red Corvette was also hauled into the impound lot where I took several pictures of it on my digital camera. I called Audrey Wilson and arranged to meet her at her home. When I got there, she was sitting on her front porch, a pitcher of lemonade sitting on the table in front of her. She was sipping from her glass. She invited me to sit in the chair next to her.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Cooper,” Audrey said. “Would you like some lemonade?”

  “Sounds good, Audrey,” I said.

  She got up and went into the house for a moment and returned with another glass, pouring some of the lemonade into it and handing the glass to me. “Are you bringing me good news?” she said.

  “Well, yes and no,” I said.

  Audrey set her drink down and turned toward me. “Did you find my husband’s ‘87 Corvette?” she said.

  “Yes we did,” I said, nodding.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Audrey said. “Where is it?”

  “That’s the bad news part of my visit,” I said. “It’s in the police impound yard.”

  “When can I get it back?” she said eagerly.

  I set my glass down and pulled the digital camera from my pocket and turned it on. I found the five pictures I’d taken of it in the impound yard and turned the tiny screen toward Audrey. “This is it,” I said.

  Audrey looked at the five pictures of the wrecked car and then up at me. “Are you sure it’s the same car?” she said.

  “The serial number checks out,” I said. “It’s yours, all right. What do you want to do with it?”

  “What can I do with it?” she said. “Look at it, it’s totaled.”

  “You had it insured, didn’t you?” I said.

  “You think the insurance company will still honor the policy despite everything that’s happened?” she said.

  I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the title for the Corvette that Dean had found in the house. I held it out to Audrey. “It’s still in your husband’s name,” I said. “The scammer didn’t get around to destroying the title. He might have even sent it with the car to some place in Mexico if Terry hadn’t found him first.”

  Audrey smiled again, genuinely pleased at the outcome of her misfortune. “I’ll have a check to you in tomorrow morning’s mail, Mr. Cooper. And thanks again for all your help.” She picked up her drink again and sipped from it. I picked up my glass of lemonade and held it up toward her. She clinked her glass on mine. “To technology,” she said, sipping from her glass.

  “To Terry, I said, and took a drink myself.

  Gloria and Dad were in the office the next morning before I arrived. I wasn’t late. They were both early. Dad was sitting behind his desk and Gloria was sitting in his client’s chair. They stopped talking as soon as I walked in.

  “What’s going on here?” I said. “Did someone call a meeting and forget to tell me?”

  I looked at Gloria. She was not smiling. Neither was Dad.

  “Come on,” I said. “What is it? What’s going on here?”

  Gloria reluctantly spoke up. “Elliott,” she said quietly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to say, so please let me finish before you comment.”

  I exchanged a quick look with Dad. He shrugged but leaned back in his chair and said nothing.

  “I’ve been here for almost two years now,” Gloria said. “And in that time, I’ve had occasion to see the numbers generated by this company; before I came on board, during the time Clay was off and now during this period, with all three of us working. I know that at times there was hardly enough work to keep the two of you busy, let alone a third employee. I don’t want to see this company fold, so I’ve decided that I have to move on and let you and Clay take over the business by yourselves again. After all, this started out as a family business and I’m not family, so the choice is obvious.”

  My eyebrows furrowed as I stared at a spot on the floor. “Are you sure this is what you want?” I said, looking up at her.

  Gloria nodded, a single tear running down her cheek. “It has to be,” she said. “Otherwise Cooper Investigations will have to close its doors, and I don’t want to be the one to have caused that. I’m sure you understand. You’re a businessman. You know about balance sheets and profit and loss.”

  “But what will you do?” I said. “This is the job you were born to do.”

  “We talked about that before you came in this morning,” Dad said. “Gloria has agreed to be available to us on an as-needed basis if we want her to.”

  “What about your income when we don’t need you?” I said. “How will you get by?”

  “Dad left me a little money from his insurance,” Gloria said. “It wasn’t enough to keep his P.I. business open, but I’ll be all right for a couple of years before it runs out. By then I should have something else lined up.”

  I walked up to Gloria and gave her a hug that lasted longer than it probably should have. I released her and said, “It won’t be the same around here without you.”

  Gloria wiped her cheek and turned toward Dad, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing. She kissed him on the cheek and turned away, walking toward the door. She turned back before she left and said, “You boys behave yourself now, you hear?” The office door closed and she was gone.

  I turned back to Dad just as he was wiping his eye with the back of his index finger. “She’s right, you know,” Dad said. “As much as I loved having her around, we wouldn’t have made it another six months at this rate. Looks like it you and me again, kid.”

  “I guess so, Dad,” I said. “I guess so.”

  63 - Heart Condition

  It was a quarter to nine and Elliott Cooper was heading for the office. I always got there several minutes after Elliott did and Gloria was no longer with the company, so Elliott didn’t have to worry about getting the fish eye from her if he happened to be a few minutes late himself.

  Gloria had been a great asset to the company when I had been laid up, recuperating from my heart attack. Elliott had originally hired her to take up the slack during my recovery and she just stayed on afterwards. She’d been with the investigations firm for almost two years before she realized that her being there was bringing Cooper Investigations closer to closing its doors because of having to support three employees. She had told Elliott and me that she thought it was best if she left, since she didn’t want to be the cause of our collapse and neither Elliott nor I could think of an argument to make her stay. That was two
months ago.

  Elliott had parked behind the building in the lot but rather than come in through the back door, he decided to walk around to the front of the building. He wanted to be able to pass the pretzel wagon that had recently found a home on our corner. He had to admit, they had the best pretzels anywhere in Hollywood.

  As he approached the pretzel stand, Elliott spotted a black and white cruiser idling at the corner. Standing in front of the pretzel stand was one of L.A.’s finest, Lieutenant Dean Hollister. Dean and I had been friends for most of our lives. Dean’s father, Dan Hollister had also been a cop and had been my father, Matt Cooper’s best friend during his days on the force as well as after he’d left to form Cooper Investigations.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be patronizing a donut shop?” Elliott asked, patting Dean on the shoulder.

  Dean spun around, a pretzel in one hand and a mustard bottle in the other. “I know,” Dean said. “I’m not doing my part as far as promoting the stereotype, am I? But damn, these are some good pretzels.”

  “Tell me about it,” Elliott said. “That’s why I walk all the way around my building to get to work. Gotta get my pretzel fix. So what’s going on down at the twelfth?”

  Dean took a bite from his pretzel, chewed a few times and said, “Haven’t you been reading the newspaper lately?”

  “I haven’t been into the office yet,” Elliott said. “I can check it when I get there, but can you tell me what I’m supposed to be looking for?”

  Dean took another bite from his pretzel and washed it down with a swallow of Diet Pepsi. “Number three,” he said. “Found him this morning over on LaBrea in the alley.”

  “Same as the other two?” Elliott said.

  Dean nodded as he took another bite. “Um hum,” he said, obviously trying to finish the pretzel before his partner in the cruiser laid on the horn. “The back of his head was blown out and they don’t give him much of a chance for recovery.”

  “Well, no kidding,” Elliott said and then realized that Dean was jerking his bobber to get a reaction. “Clever. Any leads?”

  Dean shook his head, popped the last of the fat, hot pretzel into his mouth, finished his Diet Pepsi and threw the paper cup into the trash bin. “We’re still sifting through the evidence from the first two cases. It’s slow going, but I don’t have enough to go on just yet. Anderson’s on vacation and I got this new kid driving me around today.

  Just then the rookie behind the wheel of the cruiser tapped the horn and leaned over the seat, his head near the open passenger side window. “Lieutenant,” the rookie yelled, “You’re getting a call from headquarters on the radio.”

  Dean turned to Elliott. “Gotta run, Elliott. Give me a call later this morning at my office. I may have something for you and Clay, if you’re looking for some work.”

  “Sure,” Elliott said. “We can always use the work. I’d better get moving myself. I still have to beat Dad to the office.”

  Dean and his driver pulled away from the curb and Elliott quickly put in his order for one of those irresistible pretzels. He squeezed a little mustard on it, grabbed a napkin and walked to the front door of our building. He was still taking bites from the pretzel during his elevator ride to the third floor. The last bit went into his mouth just as he reached the office door. He reached for his keys but the door was already open and I was sitting at my desk, eating a fat, warm pretzel. I stopped eating long enough to check my watch.

  “I know, I know,” Elliott said. “I would have been here a few minutes ago, but I ran into Dean Hollister downstairs. He might have some work for us. I have to call him later this morning.”

  “And that’s the only reason you’re late?” I said.

  “Sure,” Elliott said. “Why?”

  “Because you have mustard on your tie,” I said. “Pretty hard to go past the wagon without stopping for a pretzel, isn’t it?”

  “Damn,” Elliott said, looking down at the stain on his tie. He untied the tie and brought it over to the sink that we had near the closet. He ran water over the stain and rubbed it. It didn’t seem to want to come out. He looked at me. “I really should switch to donuts. At least powered sugar comes out.”

  I finished my pretzel and washed it down with coffee that I’d made when I had come in this morning. “So what’s this work Dean might have for us?” I said.

  “He didn’t say,” Elliott said. “I guess I’ll find out later when I call him. Hey, do you have the paper over there? Dean said there was something in it about another shooting victim that they found over on LaBrea last night.”

  I pointed with my coffee cup toward the leather sofa against the wall. “Yeah,” I said. “I just read that article. Pretty gruesome scene, sounds like. Did Dean say if they were any closer to connecting the three victims?”

  Elliott shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s pretty slow going so far, but Dean says they’re still sifting evidence and that’s when he told me to call him later this morning, so maybe he wants us to help him with those cases.”

  “Well,” I said, “We’re wide open. I just finished filing the last of those papers on the Jackson Case and our bank account is finally starting to get back to a respectable level now that Gloria’s gone.”

  Elliott sighed. “It was too bad we couldn’t have kept her on,” he said. “She was good at this business.”

  “Yes, she was,” I agreed. “But I guess she thought of this company like a lifeboat with too many passengers and she didn’t want to sink us. That reminds me of that old Tyrone Power movie, Abandon Ship from 1957. That was a good one. Their ship sinks and more than twenty people are in or clinging to a lifeboat meant for nine. Power has to decide which ones get to stay and which ones he must cut loose before the approaching storm reaches them, capsizing the boat and possibly killing them all.”

  “Sounds like a good parallel for the overpopulation argument that’s going around these days,” Elliott said.

  “I guess so,” I said. “I never thought of it that way, but, hell yes, it fits. Anyway, that was a hard choice for Tyrone to make and at the end, he threw himself overboard after he was wounded by another passenger.”

  “But it sounds like he was the star of that movie,” Elliott said. “How can he die?”

  “He didn’t,” I explained. “Right after he threw himself overboard, they pulled him back into the boat and shortly after that another ship showed up and rescued the remaining survivors. Not such a happy ending for Tyrone, though. He went to jail for manslaughter or something.”

  “Boy, that’s gratitude for you,” Elliott said, grabbing the morning paper and settling in behind his desk.

  He found the article Dean had mentioned and read all the way through it before commenting to me. “They didn’t give this last victim’s name,” Elliott said. “I’ll have to ask Dean when I call him.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Elliott said. “But the more information we have, the easier it might be to make a connection.”

  My phone picked that exact moment to ring. “Cooper Investigations,” I said. “Clay Cooper speaking. Oh, hi, dear. How have you been? Yes, I miss you, too. No, wait, I’ll have to call you back. No, I can’t talk now. Okay, give me ten minutes.” I hung up the phone and immediately stood and grabbed my jacket from the coat rack and headed for the door.

  Elliott cleared his throat and I looked back at him and caught him smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Was there something you wanted to tell me?” Elliott said, resting his elbows on his desk and cradling his chin on both his palms. He reminded me of one of the Our Gang kids from the thirties, sitting on the curb, waiting for their dog, Petie to show up.

  “Not a thing,” I said, and hurried out of the office. I could hear his laughter on my way down the hall toward the elevator.

  I rode the elevator to the lobby and headed out the back door to the parking lot. I slid behind the wheel of my Oldsmobile and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and press
ed a couple of buttons until my contacts page came up. I hit the speed dial button and pressed the phone to my ear. The phone rang on the other end and was answered almost immediately.

  “Can you talk now?” the voice said.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot. Elliott would surely give me a batch of shit if he knew about us. And that’s just what I don’t need right now. I’ll tell him eventually, but for now, how about if we just keep this between us?”

  “All right,” Gloria Campbell said. “When can I see you?”

  “Are you free tonight?” I said.

  “I believe I am,” Gloria said. “Can you come over here; let’s say around seven-thirty?”

  “That’ll be me you’ll hear ringing your bell?” I said. “See you then.”

  I closed my phone and slipped it back into my pocket. I had to smile as I sat there. Who would have thought that a beautiful and talented girl like Gloria would be interested in someone like me, who was twice her age? Certainly not me. I hadn’t set out to be with her. It was just something that happened one night during a stakeout. The two of us had spent eight hours shadowing a man for our client and during those eight hours, we talked about ourselves and had really gotten to know each other.

  It became more difficult to keep our relationship to ourselves, especially in the office when the three of us were all there together. Gloria and I had discussed her leaving days before she officially announced it in front of Elliott, so I wasn’t surprised, but Elliott certainly was.

  The thing about this whole relationship that surprised me, besides our age difference, was that I always thought that Elliott would be the one to have connected with Gloria. They were almost the same age with similar backgrounds. I guess it’s true what they say about opposites attracting because Elliott and Gloria had too much in common to be a good match. Now I, on the other hand, had a lot less in common with Gloria and maybe that’s what drew us together that night on the stakeout.