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

by Bill Bernico

  “Cooper,” Gloria said. “Mrs. Cooper. You have my card, Mr. Fischler. If you see him or if anything else occurs to you, please give us a call at that number.”

  “Certainly,” Fuller said, turning and walking back in the direction he’d come. He never even said good bye.

  Dad drove east to Glendale to a house near Silver Lake. It was a two-story bungalow with a full front porch and detached garage. Dad parked at the curb, climbed the six steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. A blond woman in her mid-twenties answered the door and said, “Right, on your way, guv’nor. We’re not buying anything today.” She was obviously English, from the thick Cockney accent he had detected.

  From over her shoulder Dad heard a more American-sounding voice yell, “Who is it, Doreen?”

  “It’s one of them door-to-door solicitors,” Doreen said.

  Dad shook his head and produced my business card. “I’m not selling anything, I promise,” Dad said. “I’m looking for Jay Fuller. We’re trying to find him for his father. He’s worried about Jay.”

  Doreen took the card and looked it over, handing it back to me. “Well, ‘e’s not ‘ere,” she said.

  Just then the other woman came to the door and opened it wider. She was a brunette, perhaps a few years younger than the blond English lady. “Hello,” she said, in a much friendlier voice. I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Doreen were talking about. Won’t you come in?”

  Dad stepped past a scowling Doreen, who obviously still didn’t trust him. “You must be Shelly,” Dad said, handing the business card to her now. She looked it over and didn’t hand it back to him.

  “That’s right,” she said, extending her hand. “Shelly Lorenz and I guess you’ve already met Doreen Shacklock. So, you’re looking for Jay, are you?”

  Dad nodded. “I understand that he stayed here with you two for a while a few months ago,” he said.

  Shelly nodded at the fond memory of their former house guest. “Yes,” she said. “Jay was a real delight. He was always playing that guitar of his and he always had a smile for you. I always wondered whatever became of him.”

  “When was that he stayed here with you?” Dad said, pulling his notepad from his pocket and producing a pen.

  “Let’s see now,” Shelly said. “When was that, Doreen?” She turned to me and added, “Doreen would probably remember better than I would. After all, they were an item for a while there.”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Doreen said, avoiding the ‘item’ comment. “A few months back, I’d say.”

  “I remember now,” Shelly said. “I met him on the Sunset Strip with another girlfriend of mine and brought him home with me. He said he had no place to stay, so we let him stay with us for a couple of weeks. He didn’t have a job and Doreen and I always paid for his meals. I guess he got tired of that arrangement and finally left one day. Neither of us has seen him since that day. I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help to you.”

  “Do you know of any other people he might have contacted out here?” Dad said. “Or maybe you heard if he was working someplace?”

  “Like I said, Mr. Cooper,” Shelly explained. “We never saw or heard from him after he left here, but he did tell us of one guy he’d met while he was working as an extra in some movie.” She turned to Doreen. “What was that fella’s name where Jay stayed before I met him? Oh, you remember. It was that curly-headed guy from Michigan. Dan or Don, no it was Ron. Ron Schuster. That was it.”

  “Schussler,” Doreen said, correcting Shelly. “And I only remember because I thought at the time how it rhymed with hustler.

  Dad made a note of Ron’s name and asked if they knew where Mr. Schussler lived. They both shook their heads.

  “I never heard the address,” Shelly said, “but Jay mentioned some apartment building on Yucca Avenue.”

  Dad checked his notes. “That wouldn’t be sixty-seven fifty-five Yucca Avenue, would it?” he said, reading the address off my yellow slip.

  Shelly shrugged. “Could be,” she said. “But like I said, I never did know the actual address. Just that it was near Highland Avenue in Hollywood.”

  “Well,” Dad said, heading for their front door, “thank you both for your time and information. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “No bother at all,” Shelly said.

  Doreen seemed to have softened a bit since I first met her. “Tell ‘im to come by, if you see ‘im.”

  “Thanks,” Dad said. “I’ll do that. Good bye, ladies.”

  Dad headed back into Hollywood and drove west on the boulevard to Highland and turned right. Yucca was just a block north and the sixty-seven hundred block was right off Highland. Ron Schussler’s apartment was in the middle of the building up a flight of stairs and to the right. Dad rang the bell and waited. A man came to the door a few seconds later but didn’t open it. Instead he said from behind the closed door, “Who is it?”

  Dad pulled out his I.D. and shield and held it up to the peep hole. A moment later the door opened and Dad was looking at a curly-haired young man, perhaps twenty or twenty-two. He was dressed in cut-off jeans, a Mickey Mouse tee shirt and sandals. He invited Dad in. Dad introduced himself and the kid confirmed that he was, indeed Ronald Schussler.

  “I’d ask you to sit,” the kid said, but as you can see, everything’s packed up. I’m moving out tomorrow.”

  “Had enough of the movie business?” Dad said.

  He gave me that how’d-you-know look and said, “How’d you know?”

  “I’ve been to a few places today,” Dad said. “My two partners have also been asking around. We’re working for Simon Fuller. He’s hired us to find his son, Jay. He tells us that Jay had sent home a letter with this return address. Had he been staying here with you, Mr. Schussler?”

  Ron nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Jay was here for a couple of days, but he was starting to cramp my style, if you know what I mean. I asked him to leave and I didn’t hear from him again for about a week. He called to let me know he was staying with two girls he’d met on The Strip. He wanted to thank me for kicking him out. He said if I hadn’t he’d never have met the two girls. Funny how it all works out, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so,” Dad said. “I understand that you and Jay worked as extras in the same movie for a few days. Is that right?”

  “Sure,” Ron said. “There were lots of kids in that movie. No one made a dime but we all had a lot of fun.”

  Ron’s face gave away something, but I wasn’t sure what it was. He excused himself and walked over to the refrigerator and withdrew a small bottle and laid it on the kitchen counter. From a black zipper bag he produced a hypodermic needle and a one inch square pad of gauze. He must have seen something in Dad’s face because he quickly smiled and explained that he was diabetic and that he needed to give himself a shot of insulin. Dad’s face eased and Ron tipped an alcohol bottle onto the gauze pad and rubbed a small patch of skin on his stomach. He pinched that patch of skin with his thumb and forefinger and quickly jabbed the needle into himself, pressing the plunger down and withdrawing the syringe. He breathed easier now, returned the small bottle to the refrigerator and zipped up the black bag with the syringe inside.

  “I’m sorry,” Ron said. “Now what was that you were saying about Jay?”

  “I was asking if you knew where he might be now,” Dad said.

  “Like I told you,” Ron said, “I talked with him on the phone, but I never saw him again after he left here that night. You don’t suppose anything’s happened to him, do you?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Dad said. “Thank you for your help. Good luck with whatever you decide to do next.”

  “What I’m going to do next is go back to Southfield and forget about Hollywood,” Ron said. “Michigan is a much more normal place to live, believe me.”

  Dad left the apartment and got back into his car. The office was only six block away on Hollywood Boulevard so Dad decided to wait there until he heard from
Gloria and me.

  I pulled up to the gate at the movie studio and rolled my window down. The guard recognized me from this morning and smiled. I asked for directions to the main office and told him I wanted to see the head of personnel.

  “Thinking of trying your hand at acting?” the guard said.

  I laughed. “No,” I said, “I need to find out about one of the extras that worked on a recent film. Who should I ask for?”

  The guard ducked his head back into the guard shack, grabbed a clipboard and turned to me. “That would be Barbara Albright,” he said. “Straight ahead and turn right at the second intersection. Building J on your right.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and drove ahead past several sound stages to the second intersection. Several movie extras walked past me in period garb, obviously from some sort of Western movie that was being shot on this lot. I found building J on my right and parked next to the bungalow-type building. The door was open and I let myself in. I found a middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk as I walked in. The name plate on the desk identified her as one Harriet Brewer.

  “I’m here to see Barbara Albright,” I said.

  The woman looked me over, head to toe. “It won’t do any good,” Harriet said.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “You’re not the type at all,” Harriet said. “She’s looking for an older man, someone with character lines in his face. I’m afraid you’re just too young.”

  “Are we talking about the same thing?” I said.

  “You’re here to see about a part in Mr. McCormick’s next picture, aren’t you?” Harriet said.

  I shook my head and handed her a business card. She looked it over and then looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “I just naturally thought, well, you understand. I’ll see if Miss Albright is available. Wait here, please.”

  Harriet disappeared behind a large oak door marked ‘Private’ and returned a moment later, crooking her finger at me. “Come in, Mr. Cooper,” she told me.

  The inner office wasn’t so big. I’d seen gymnasiums bigger than this. Harriet walked me over to the woman behind the desk and introduced me.

  “Miss Albright, this is Elliott Cooper,” Harriet said. “He’s a private investigator.”

  Harriet excused herself and left the room. Barbara Albright invited me to sit on an overstuffed leather sofa about as long as my car. She took a seat next to me, looked me over for a moment and then smiled.

  “I hope you’ll excuse the once over,” Barbara said. “But in my business, everyone is a potential new face for the screen. Have you ever considered acting, Mr. Cooper?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I’ve found something that I like much better—not acting.”

  “Ah, a cynic,” Barbara said. “I don’t see too many of those in my business. What is it I can do for you today, Mr. Cooper?”

  I pulled out the scanned photo of Jay Fuller and showed it to Barbara. “His name is Jay Fuller,” I said. “He’s missing and his father has hired me to find him. I was hoping you could help.”

  Barbara looked briefly at the picture and handed it back to me. “How is it that you think I can help?” she said.

  “I’ve spoken to a few people regarding Jay,” I said. “I understand that he was among several actors who worked on one of your recent movies. I wonder if you could check your records for any mention of Jay Fuller.”

  “I can at least do that much for you, Mr. Cooper,” Barbara said, flipping up the lid on her laptop computer and switching it on. “We keep records of everyone who works on any of our films. Just give me a few seconds to bring up his name. That was Fuller, you said.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Jay Fuller. I don’t know the name of the movie, but it was being shot within that past couple of months in the valley.”

  Barbara scrolled through a list of alphabetically arranged names and slowed the scroll when she got to the F section. She shook her head. “There’s no Fuller here,” she said, “Jay or otherwise. Are you sure the movie was being made at our studio?”

  “Positive,” I said. “I spoke to another kid who worked with him as an extra and he said…”

  “Did you say he was an extra?” Barbara said.

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper,” Barbara said. “If an extra has no lines or is an unpaid participant, we simply don’t keep records of the time they spent with our movie crew. If you like you can ask around the lot, as long as you don’t disrupt any production in progress. You said you didn’t know the name of the movie in question. Do you have any idea what it was supposed to be about?”

  I spread my hands. “Sorry,” I said. “All I know is that Jay and the other kid I spoke with were supposed to be portraying migrant workers picking oranges.”

  That sounds familiar,” Barbara said, pressing the button on her intercom box. “Harriet,” she said into the box, “do you know if any of our productions involve migrant workers picking oranges?”

  “I’ll check on it and get right back to you,” Harriet said. A few moments later the intercom buzzed. “There’s was one shot in the valley several months ago called Sway the Vote, but they wrapped production three weeks ago.”

  “Can you tell me who the producer was, Harriet?” Barbara said.

  I could hear papers rattling through the intercom before Harriet answered, “Maurice Smith.”

  “Do you know where I can find him today?” Barbara said.

  More paper rattling and then Harriet said, “He’s in the building doing post production work in building D until four o’clock.”

  “Thank you Harriet,” Barbara said and then turned to me. “Do you know where to find building D, Mr. Cooper?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” I said.

  “Just ask Harriet on your way out,” Barbara said. “She’ll direct you. Sorry I could have been more helpful, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Oh, but you have been,” I said. “Thank you for your time.”

  Before I left Barbara called after me, “You might want to give some serious thought to acting, Mr. Cooper.”

  I nodded politely and walked over to Harriet’s desk. I learned the location of building D and drove to it in less than a minute. As I approached building D, a man was coming out, walking toward a Mercedes sedan parked ahead of mine. I held up one finger.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Can you tell me where I could find Maurice Smith?”

  “Why?” the man said, a twinge of suspicion in his voice.

  “I’d just like to ask him a couple of questions about a movie called Sway the Vote,” I said. “Is he inside?” I gestured toward building D.

  “Well,” the man said, “I’m Smith, but I don’t have time right now to talk to you, Mr….”

  “Cooper,” I said. “Elliott Cooper. It’s about a missing boy who had a small part in your movie.”

  Smith thought for a moment and then said, “I’m on my way to a processing lab on LaBrea. You’re welcome to ride along. Perhaps I can answer your questions on the way.”

  “Are you coming back here when you’re finished?” I said.

  Smith nodded and I slid into his Mercedes, letting my body settle into the plush leather seat. Smith pulled out of the lot and drove toward downtown Hollywood.

  “So,” Smith began, “what is it you’d like to know?”

  I passed one of my business cards over to him. He looked at it briefly and dropped it in his shirt pocket. “A private eye, eh?” he said. “You look like you could play one on the screen. Ever considered acting?”

  “You’re the second person to suggest that in the past ten minutes,” I said. “Actually I’m quite happy doing what I do without turning to acting, but thanks for the suggestion.”

  I pulled out the picture of Jay Fuller, unfolded the sheet and handed it to Smith. He glanced at it briefly and handed it back. “Good looking kid,” he said. “And you say he had a part in my film?”

  “An extra, yes,” I said.

  Smith
shook his head. “That could make it a little harder to find him. We really don’t keep track of extras, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s pretty much what Barbara Albright told me, but she suggested I talk to you. Is there any chance he could still be doing extra work on any other productions at the studio?”

  “There is only one other production going on at the studio right now,” Smith said. “Everything else is being shot on location.”

  “Which production is that, Mr. Smith?” I said.

  “That would be Roger’s film, Stand-In For Murder,” Smith said.

  “Roger Thurman?” I said.

  “Oh, do you know Roger?” Smith asked.

  I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “I’ve met him on occasion. You think there’s a chance this Jay Fuller could be acting in his film?”

  “I couldn’t really tell you, Mr. Cooper,” Smith said. “But if the kid is working at all in town, it would have to be on Roger’s production. You can always ask him about the Fuller kid.”

  “I plan to,” I said, “just as soon as we get back to the studio.”

  We drove for the next five minutes in silence, when Smith pulled his Mercedes to the curb and got out in front of a film processing business on LaBrea. He came back to the car a few minutes later with several round film cans under his arm. We drove back to the studio and he let me out in front of building D. I thanked him and got back in my car, maneuvering it through the maze of building back over to the back lot where Roger Thurman’s movie was still being shot.

  I could see a rotating red light atop a tall pole just before I saw where they were filming a scene for Thurman’s movie. Supposedly the red light was to warn people to remain still and silent during filming. The red light eventually stopped rotating and I stepped over to where Thurman was still sitting in his canvas-back chair. I tapped him on the back of his shoulder and he flinched noticeably.

  “What’s the matter, Thurman,” I said. “You’re awfully jumpy. You spooked by something?”