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

by Bill Bernico

  “Henry, please call me Henry,” Mandell said. “May I call you Clay?”

  Clay agreed that that would be fine.

  “Well, Clay,” Henry said, “What I had in mind was something along the lines of a multi-generational saga. Have you ever seen How the West Was Won or Captains and Kings?”

  “I’ve seen them both, Henry,” Clay said. “I am admittedly a bit of a movie buff.”

  “That’s great,” Henry said. “Then you know how the storylines in those movies progressed from the first character to the last. That’s how I see this project. Now, I know you can tell me all there is about yourself and your dad, but had your dad ever talked about his dad with you? That’s where I want to start just to briefly lay a little foundation for the Cooper Family story.”

  “Well,” Clay said, “my grandfather’s name was Nicholas Cooper. He was born in 1881 right here in Los Angeles. He married Delores...”

  “Let me stop you there for a second, Clay,” Henry said. “You’re reciting facts like I was a census taker. Feel free to take your time and expand on your facts. Otherwise, that part of the book wouldn’t even fill one page and readers like to get to know the characters. They like to feel like they’re part of the story and the more details you give, the more the readers can feel like they know that person.”

  “I see what you’re looking for,” Clay said. “Okay, let me back up a bit. Grandpa Nick was an outgoing kind of guy, at least by Dad’s accounts. He told me that Grandpa could make friends with just about anyone and they all liked him, too.” Clay paused and his face turned somber. “Well, almost everybody.”

  “Let’s go with that for a little bit,” Henry said. “What did you mean?”

  “Grandpa Nick,” Clay said, “was murdered before he was fifty.”

  “Really?” Henry said. “How did that come about?”

  “From what Dad told me about it,” Clay said, “Grandpa Nick was looking into a land swindle over oil rights when someone shot him in the back.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Clay. “Did your dad give you any more information on that incident?”

  “I know they never caught the guy who killed Grandpa,” Clay said. “Dad thinks that someone in the oil business had enough clout to cover it up. That really bothered Dad for the rest of his life. He spent every spare minute he had looking into that crime. I wish he could have gotten some answers before he died.”

  “How old was Matt when Nick died?” Henry said.

  “He had just turned eighteen,” Clay said, recalling the conversation they’d had years ago. “That’s right, I remember he told me that it was the summer before the stock market crash of 1929.”

  “What more can you tell me about Matt’s childhood?” Henry said.

  “Dad never talked too much about his life as a little kid,” Clay said. But after Grandpa died, Dad left home and set out on his own. His older brother Philip had moved to Chicago a few years earlier and Dad decided to find out what Chicago had to offer him and followed Uncle Phil east.”

  “What about your grandmother?” Henry said. “What became of her after your grandfather died?”

  Clay thought for a moment. “Dad said that Grandma moved in with her sister after Grandpa died. Her sister was a widow and I guess they kind of needed each other. It worked out pretty well for both of them, otherwise Dad would never have gone to Chicago.”

  “I think we can piece together some sort of childhood for Matt later on,” Henry said. “Tell me what you know about your father’s time in Chicago.”

  “From what I can recall,” Clay said, “dad wasn’t even twenty-three yet when he joined the Chicago Police Department. That much I remember, because shortly after Dad turned twenty-three, Dillinger was gunned down in that alley next to the Biograph Theater.”

  “That would make a good tie-in for the book,” Henry said. “People can relate to famous gangsters. What else did he tell you about that period in his life?”

  “You know,” Clay said, “Uncle Phil is gone, but his two boys, Troy and Matt are still alive and living in Chicago. They’d be seventy-four and seventy-two by now. I’ll bet they could tell you a lot about that period.”

  “Perhaps we can interview them at a later date,” Henry told Clay. “But for now, let’s stick with what you remember.”

  “Henry,” Clay said. “Did Elliott tell you that I once wrote a book?”

  “No,” Henry said,” but Mr. Sinclair mentioned it to me before he sent me on this assignment. I believe he said it was a cookbook? Is that right?”

  “Yes,” Clay said, “but that’s not why I brought it up. I wanted to be a writer for many many years and I had even started a project about Dad’s private eye exploits.”

  “Did you ever finish it?” Henry said.

  “No,” Clay said. “I got several death threats from some people who were portrayed in that book and I set it aside. I only did the cook book to fulfill my contractual obligations. Then I thought I’d try my hand at humor and started writing a western humor novel about a singing cowboy who had to have one of those little inflatable donuts on his saddle because it hurt to sit down. I called that one ‘Roid Rodgers. I scrapped that idea when the Roy Rogers estate caught wind of my proposal and had their lawyers send me a letter of cease and desist. However, I still have my drafts from the Cooper exploits book. Would that be helpful to you?”

  “I should say so, Clay,” Henry said. “I don’t suppose you brought it with you, did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Clay said. “Would you like me to read a couple of passages for you?”

  “That might be helpful,” Henry said. “Where does your book start?”

  “Actually,” Clay said, “I started it with Grandpa Nick’s death. I didn’t spend as much time on that era as I wanted to before I moved on to Dad’s start with the Chicago Police Department.”

  “Did you have a title for your book?” Henry said.

  “Just a working title,” Clay told him. Blasts From The Past, referring to gun blasts. Kind of corny, now that I think back.”

  “You know, Clay,” Henry said. “We might be able to use your book as a basis for this novel. What about those people who threatened you? Are they still going to be a threat?”

  “Not unless he can come back from the grave,” Clay said. “Police shot him as he was trying to kill me and Elliott.”

  “Well at least you won’t have to be looking over your shoulder anymore,” Henry said. “And having your notes should shorten this whole process by quite a bit. Suppose you read me some of the passages you have in your book. Once I have what I need on the recorder and in my notes, I can sort it all out in the right order later. Tell me more about your father and his early police career in Chicago.”

  Clay thought for a moment and smiled. “Dad told me one story that I always liked,” he said. “And he came up with a phrase that sticks with you even after the you’ve forgotten the story itself.”

  “Go with that,” Henry said. “I like memorable phrases. They’re the kinds of things people will talk about and word-of-mouth always helps sell any book.”

  “Well,” Clay began,” when Dad was a rookie in Chicago he had this superior officer named Burns. I’d have to look up his first name, but it’s really not important to this story. Anyway, as Dad told the story, this Burns character used to interrogate suspects with not-so-subtle methods, you know, giving them the third degree. So anyway, Dad sat in on a few of these interrogations and afterwards gave this officer the nickname Third Degree Burns and it stuck with him for years after the fact. Burns hated it and never knew who had started that nickname until many years later when Dad came back to Chicago from L.A. to visit his brother, Phil, who was also a Chicago cop.”

  “Third Degree Burns,” Henry said, almost laughing. “I love it. That’ll play a big part in the book, I can guarantee you that.”

  “Yeah,” Clay said, “Dad had a lot of sayings like that and he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. Anyone
who knew him knew that what they saw was what they got. Dad didn’t pull any punches.”

  “How long was you father with the Chicago P.D.?” Henry said, scratching away at his yellow legal pad.

  “Let’s see,” Clay said. “I think it was something like two and a half years. He started with them in mid-1934 and left at the end of 1936, if memory serves me correctly. Yes, I recall that he left before Christmas that year and arrived in Hollywood a week later.”

  “And then he went to work for the L.A.P.D.?” Henry said.

  “Oh, no,” Clay said. “It would be another six years before Dad became a cop out here. He had a few other odd jobs in between. The day after Pearl Harbor Dad tried to enlist but they turned him down for flat feet. Now there’s a bit of irony, don’t you think? The U.S. government classifies Dad as 4-F because of flat feet and less than a year later he becomes a cop. I find that kind of funny, don’t you?”

  “An interesting twist of fate, to say the least,” Henry said. “Imagine if the Army had taken him.”

  “Yes,” Clay said. “Just imagine. We wouldn’t be having this conversation because four months after he joined the L.A.P.D. he met his first wife, Stella. You know, it is funny how just one event can impact so many others.”

  “How’s that?” Henry said.

  “For instance,” Clay said. “If the Army had taken Dad in ‘42 he’d never have met Stella and gotten married. She wouldn’t have gone to that grocery story for the milk and as such, she wouldn’t have been killed by that holdup man. Life’s cogs would have been thrown off kilter and maybe Dad would have come back from the war and maybe not. Either way, he might not have met Amy Callahan.”

  “And she was?” Henry said, ready with his pencil.

  “My mother,” Clay said. “Dad might not have met her and then where would I be? Nowhere. See how all these little events are connected?”

  Henry nodded and made a few notes on his yellow pad.

  “It’s kind of like if Elliott and Gloria had not agreed to meet with Mr. Sinclair that day in the restaurant and agreed to this book deal. Then you wouldn’t be right here where you are now. Maybe you’d be out walking somewhere and a runaway car would jump the cub and run you down. But that won’t happen because life’s cogs all meshed, putting you here instead.”

  “That’s pretty deep, Clay,” Henry said.

  “I got that from Dad,” Clay said. “We used to spend a lot of time just talking, almost like you and I are doing. When I was a kid, we used to play the ‘what if’ game all the time. It made me think about life in a different way. I tried to make every minute count for something. I always hated wasting time, since we all have a finite amount of it.”

  “So how long were your father and Stella married before she was killed?” Henry said.

  “Just a few days over two years,” Clay said. “Dad was devastated, naturally. They never caught the kid who did it, either, and that really ate away at Dad, being a cop and all. A month after he lost his wife, he quit the L.A.P.D. and started the private investigations business that my son and I run today.”

  Henry flipped the yellow page over and started a new page. “Tell me about your Dad’s first case as a private eye,” Henry said.

  “Well,” Clay said. “Let’s see. It was about two weeks after he’d opened his office for business. A woman from Wisconsin came to him asking to help find her runaway daughter, who had come to Hollywood with hopes of becoming a movie star. Dad found her after a big ordeal with the movie studios and some unscrupulous director who had her stashed away some place for his private amusement. Dad always said that it was that case that made him as cautious about the way he conducted himself.”

  “And why was that?” Henry said.

  “Because Dad had a friend who was also a P.I.,” Clay said. “Dad originally didn’t want the runaway case and referred the woman to his friend, Phil Hart. Someone who didn’t want that runaway girl found got wind that a private eye had been hired and Phil got himself killed for his troubles. You see, Henry, there’s another perfect example of what I was talking about. If Dad had taken the case right away, he might have been the one killed. And that’s why he said this particular case was the one that made him a lot more cautious.”

  “I see your point, Clay,” Henry said. “Although I don’t need to know about each and every case your Dad was involved with, I would like to touch on the highlights of his career, if you don’t mind.”

  Clay shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “What else do you want to know?”

  “What about your mother?” Henry said. “Tell me a little about how Matt met her and about that time period in general.”

  “Dad met mom in March of ‘49 and married her seven months later,” Clay explained. “I came along nine months later and here I am.”

  “That’s a little too condensed,” Henry said. “Let’s go back and flesh that period out a little, all right?”

  “Sure,” Clay said. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Let’s start with how and where Matt met your mother,” Henry said. “After all, the main thread running through this book is going to be the family tree. The P.I. cases will be a secondary storyline. So tell me more about your mother.”

  “All right,” Clay said. “Dad was supposed to meet Dan at the Pantages Theater at seven o’clock that night. They were going to see A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Dad was running late and ran toward the theater. When he came around the corner he ran into a woman and knocked her down to the sidewalk and knocked the purse out of her hands.”

  “Your mother?” Henry said.

  “Exactly,” Clay said. “Well, Dad excused himself and helped the woman pick up her purse and then offered to pay her way into the movies to make up for his clumsiness. He even offered to throw in some popcorn. So for less than a dollar, Dad was able to pretty much buy himself a date that night. And there’s yet another example of fate intervening. Dad might never have met mom if he had not been running late.”

  “You know, Clay,” Henry said. “I have a feeling this book could end up taking a whole different path before I’m finished with it.”

  “Yeah?” Clay said. “How’s that?”

  “The main theme of the book could be about fate,” Henry explained. “And how many different directions it could take if just one event is disturbed.”

  “I like that angle,” Clay said. “If I think of any more examples, I’ll let you know.”

  *****

  The morning Henry Mandell walked into the office, Gloria was on the phone with a potential client. I got up from my desk and greeted Henry.

  “Hello,” I said. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Henry Mandell,” Henry explained. “I’m…”

  “You’re the writer Dad was telling us about, aren’t you?” I said. “Dad said you got pretty far with his interview the other day. How’s that part coming along?”

  “The preliminary interview is almost finished,” Henry said. “I’ll want to talk to him again at the end, when I get all three of you together to compare notes and polish the details. Meanwhile, I came here to talk with you and Gloria about your parts in the book.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess that would be all right. Oh, by the way, I’m Elliott Cooper and that’s Gloria.” I gestured toward Gloria, who was still on the phone. She turned briefly and nodded to Henry and then continued with her phone conversation.

  “She should be finished shortly,” I explained.

  “That’s all right,” Henry said. “Actually I could start with you and get to Gloria when we’re finished. After all, you are the next Cooper in line as far as the story goes. As I understand it, Gloria came along a little later.”

  “She did,” I said. “Dad and I were running the business by ourselves when he had his first heart attack. Did he mention that part to you?”

  Henry looked interested and pulled a notepad from his pocket. “No, I’m afraid he skipped that part.”

  �
�That’s Dad,” I said. “So, won’t you have a seat? The couch is really more comfortable than it looks.”

  Henry glanced over at Gloria, who was just hanging up the phone. She stepped over to where I was talking with Henry and introduced herself.

  “Hello,” Gloria said, in her friendliest voice. “I’m Gloria Cooper.” She extended her hand.

  Henry took her hand and shook it. “Henry Mandell,” he said.

  “The writer from Sinclair, Newman and Maxwell,” Gloria said. “We’ve been expecting you. Clay mentioned that he’d already spoken with you. How’s that coming?”

  “Like I was telling Elliott,” Henry said, “I’ll have to talk to him again at the end, but meanwhile I came here to talk to you two about your recollections.”

  “Well,” Gloria said enthusiastically, “have a seat. I’ll pour you some coffee if you like.”

  Henry held one palm up. “Actually,” he said, “I’d like to talk to you individually at first and then as a group when I’m finished, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Gloria said.

  “And since Elliott comes next in the story, he’s the one I need to speak to next,” Henry said. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “Sure,” Gloria said.

  “And when Elliott and I finish, I’d like a chance to sit down one-on-one with you as well,” Henry said.

  “Okay,” Gloria said. “I can always go find something to do for now.” She started for the door.

  “Actually,” Henry said, “I have a hotel suite reserved for the interview. I’d like to take Elliott there for the interview. I find it a lot easier to concentrate on the task at hand when there are no interruptions or distractions during the interview. I promise I won’t keep him too long, Mrs. Cooper.”

  “If you would just keep an eye on things here for a while,” I said, “dad should be here shortly.”

  “I hope it won’t be too long before Clay gets here,” Gloria said. “I have to follow up on that call I just took and I don’t want to leave the office unattended for too long.”

  Clay Cooper walked in just at that moment, as if on cue. Everyone in the room turned to look at him. Clay stopped in his tracks. “What?” he said. “Do I have spinach in my teeth?”