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

by Bill Bernico

  “Typical of today’s society,” Gloria said. “I’m going to be sure to tell Sylvia about this. Do you remember which magazine you saw it in?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t look at the cover,” I said. “But if she just goes on the web and searches for bee venom therapy she should find all she needs to know on the subject. They claim that honeybee stings can alleviate the pain of tendonitis, arthritis, multiple sclerosis and a few other ailments as well. I would think that the hard part of all this would be the decision to actually let the bee sting you.”

  “What do you mean?” Gloria said.

  “Well, think about it,” I said. “You’re sitting there holding a bee by its wings trying to decide whether or not to let it puncture your skin with its stinger.”

  “And?” Gloria said.

  “And,” I said, “I imagine that as you’re hesitating, the thought running through your mind at that instant is ‘to bee or not to bee, that is the question’.”

  Gloria punched me in the arm. “How long have you been waiting to use that one?” she said.

  “It just now came to me,” I said, smiling.

  I pulled into the parking lot behind our building and we rode the elevator to the third floor. Our office is located at the end of a long hallway on the right. It’s in the same location that my grandfather, Matt Cooper had first leased back in 1946. He passed the business on to his son, my father, Clay Cooper, who eventually passed it on to me. Right about the time I was born, the building went condo and all the offices and apartments went up for sale. Dad had the foresight to purchase our office outright, otherwise the rent these days would be through the roof.

  Gloria and I hung our coats on the coat rack. She immediately headed for the small bathroom on the other end of the room and I stepped over to my desk to check the answering machine for phone messages. There was just one and it had a date and time stamp from twenty minutes ago. I pressed the Play button and listened.

  “Hello,” the voice on the other end said. “My name is Benjamin Foster and I would like someone to call me as soon as possible about a case I’d like to hire you for.” He left his phone number and cut the connection just as Gloria emerged from the bathroom.

  “Who was that?” Gloria said.

  “Some guy named Foster,” I said, writing the information on my notepad.

  “What did he want?” Gloria said.

  “I won’t know until I call him back,” I said. “We might have a case today.”

  “Well, let me know if it’s something that requires both of us,” Gloria said. “Otherwise I’m going to try to get caught up with that damned client database. We can never seem to stay current with it.”

  “Sounds like that’s a good thing,” I said. “It means we have enough business to keep us from entering them as they happen. Besides, I thought you liked do that.”

  “I do, up to a point,” Gloria said. “But like any other monotonous, repetitious chore it gets old really fast.”

  I ignored that last comment and sat behind my desk. I looked at my notepad and dialed Benjamin Foster’s number. A man answered on the first ring. I identified myself and our investigations business name.

  “Mr. Cooper,” Foster said. “I’d like to hire you to find out who is vandalizing my swimming pool.”

  “Your swimming pool?” I said.

  “Yes,” Foster explained. “Three times now I’ve come out to my pool to find the water a dark red. I’m sure it’s kids pulling some kind of prank, but it gets expensive to have to drain it and clean the pool walls and I want it stopped. I’ve reported this to the police, but they say there’s not much they can do unless I catch the vandals in the act. Is this something you can handle?”

  I looked over at Gloria and rolled my eyes. “We could, Mr. Foster,” I explained. “But for what you’d have to pay in our daily fees, you could buy yourself several small video cameras and set up your own surveillance system. Then you could take that to the police and they’d take care of your vandal problem.”

  “Really?” Foster said. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’m afraid I don’t know much about electronics. Could you set it up for me?”

  “I could,” I said, “but again, my daily fee is a lot more than it would cost you to have the electronics store come out and set them up for you. I’d suggest you go shopping for surveillance cameras first and then ask the clerk about getting them set up.”

  “Thank you so much for your honesty,” Foster said. “But it looks like you just talked yourself out of a day’s work.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “You’ll save money in the long run and if I can ever help you in an investigatorial capacity, please keep me in mind.”

  “I will, for sure,” Foster said. “Thanks again.”

  He hung up and I sat staring at my phone. “And that’s that,” I said.

  “I heard your end of it, Elliott,” Gloria said. “Did you just not want the case?”

  “It wouldn’t be worth it to me for word-of-mouth advertising,” I explained. “I’m sure once he shopped around he’d have found out that my fees were three times higher than some electronics clerk and I don’t need that kind of bad publicity. Now he’ll tell all his friends about us in case they need a P.I.”

  “Great,” Gloria said. “Now you can help me enter these case files.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll get right on it.”

  I turned my desktop computer on and waited while it booted. Before that happened, our office door opened and Lieutenant Eric Anderson stepped in. “Morning, all,” he said. “How are the Coopers this fine morning?”

  “You get laid last night?” I said. “Why else would you be so cheerful this early in the morning?”

  “Because,” Eric said, “after today’s shift ends, I have two weeks vacation and I’ll be out of town with no cell phone and no one to pester me with police problems.”

  “Really?” I said. “Where are you going?”

  “Up to...” Eric started to say. “Oh no, you’re not going to get it out of me. I’ll be incommunicado for two weeks and that’s the way I like it. Let’s just say that I’ll be out of shouting distance, relaxing in my hammock and maybe doing a little fishing.”

  “What about emergencies?” Gloria said.

  “Oh, I’ll have my cell phone,” Eric said. “But it’ll be turned off and I’ll only turn it on when I need to call out. Hopefully that won’t be the case for two weeks.” He turned to me. “Too bad you’re stuck here in this job.” He quickly looked at Gloria. “Not to say that working next to you is considered being stuck.”

  “Good save,” Gloria said. “But that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Shouldn’t you be home packing?”

  Eric chuckled. “I’ve been packed for days,” he said. “When five o-clock rolls around I’m gone. As for why I stopped in, I just wanted to check in and see if you might be up for a quick job.”

  “Doing what?” I said, leaving my desk and stepping closer to Eric.

  “You’re familiar with MacArthur Park, aren’t you?” Eric said.

  “Sure,” I said. “Been there many a time. It’s just south by southeast of here. What’s happening there?”

  “Not much,” Eric said. “I just need someone to hang around there for a few hours and watch for a drug buy that may or may not be going down.”

  “May or may not?” I said.

  “I’m going on second-hand information,” Eric said. “It’s not solid enough to warrant a departmental stakeout, but if our information is even vaguely valid, I need someone to hang out there and see if anyone shows up pedaling drugs. Do you have a few hours to spare, Elliott?”

  I looked at Gloria, still pecking away at her keyboard. I turned back to Eric. “I guess Gloria could spare me for a few hours. How soon do you need me there?”

  Eric glanced at his watch. “Oh, around…now,” he said. “I need answers before I check out for two weeks. Can you get right over there and call me if anything breaks
?”

  “It’s a big park,” I said. “Can you narrow it down a little? Where am I supposed to be watching for this drug buy?”

  “All I know is that our informant said it would be on the north half of the park,” Eric said. “Not the lake side.”

  “I’m on my way,” I said, grabbing my coat and heading for the door. I turned to Gloria. “I promise I’ll help with that database when this is finished.” I left the office, Eric hot on my heels.

  We rode the elevator to the lobby and then out the back door to the parking lot. Eric got in his cruiser and drove back to the twelfth precinct and I headed toward MacArthur Park. I took Western Avenue down to Wilshire Boulevard and turned east. Wilshire ran right through the middle of the park. I caught Alvarado and turned left, parking in the first vacant spot I found. I’d walk the park, making several rounds and keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.

  I started at the corner, walking diagonally toward the center of the park on the paved paths. There were benches and picnic table further in and beyond there was a green area that looked like it was setup for a soccer game. I took my time and by the time I’d reached South Park View Street my feet were beginning to ache. I found a picnic table and sat for a few minutes.

  I leaned against the table and felt the hard butt of my .38 digging into my side. I shifted and let the gun rest on top of the table surface. I leaned back, resting my elbows on the table and watching the people pass by in an endless parade. Everyone looked normal, whatever normal is, and I didn’t see anyone who looked like they were here for more than just a day in the sun. A minute later I was back on my feet, walking along the part of MacArthur Park that bordered Sixth Street.

  Halfway down the block I turned to look toward the interior of the park and saw a guy who didn’t seem to fit the typical park visitor. He was alone, a tall man walking with his hands in his jacket pockets, his head down and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Occasionally he’d look up and around before lowering his head again. I followed, walking parallel to him without letting him know I was watching. When his head came up again, I turned to look across the street at the shops. When I turned back toward him, he’d turned toward the interior and started walking toward the soccer area. I followed, leaving enough space between us. When the man stopped, I turned right and kept walking, circling the soccer area.

  I watched as the man walked toward one of the picnic tables where another man with a red hat seemed to be waiting for someone. Tall Man sat across from Red Cap and leaned toward him. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I saw Tall Man slide something across the table toward Red Cap, who quickly tucked it out of sight in his jacket. A few seconds later, Red Cap slid something across the table and Tall Man scooped it up and was on his feet immediately. He walked away and a few seconds later, Red Cap got up from the table and walked in the opposite direction. I decided that Red Cap had to be the dealer and that Tall Man was just a buyer.

  I followed Red Cap. He walked back toward Alvarado Street. I expected him to jump into a car and be gone before I could get to my own van, but there was no car. He walked until he spotted an unattended bicycle, looked around and quickly threw a leg over it and pedaled away. Behind him I heard someone yelling something about that being his bicycle but Red Cap was too quick and disappeared down the street. I hurried back to my van just as Red Cap pedaled by me on Alvarado. I slid beneath the wheel of my van and followed at a safe distance.

  Red Cap turned right on Sixth Street and I managed to stay with him for several blocks. He turned left on Burlington and pedaled a few more blocks, dumping the bike near Fourth and Burlington and walking half a block to a white house with a white iron fence around it. He continued past the house, hurrying up an alley that ran alongside the house.

  I parked at the curb and followed on foot. By the time I got to the alley, he was gone. I started up the alley and before I’d gone twenty yards, a voice startled be from behind. I turned to see Red Cap standing there with two other tough-looking guys about the same age as he—maybe twenty-two or three. Red Cap held a closed switchblade casually in his right hand, as though he was used to holding it. The guys on either side of him stood there with empty hands.

  Red Cap sneered at me. “You been following me,” he said. “I wanna know why.”

  I looked at the switchblade and then at Red Cap. “I was following you?” I said, trying to sound innocent.

  “Yeah,” Red Cap said. “I saw you in the park and then I saw you in that van of yours. You’re following me, all right. Now suppose you tell me why.” He pressed a button on the knife and a blade swung out of the handle and snapped into place. Red Cap proceeded to scrape under his fingernail with the tip of the blade. He probably saw that move in an old gang movie and decided it was the cool thing to do.

  I gestured toward the other two guys with him. “You need help just to talk to me?” I said. “You scared to face me alone?”

  The two guys started to step forward toward me but Red Cap held his arms out, holding them back. “Sit this one out,” he told his minions, and advanced toward me with his knife held out in front of him.

  I took a defensive stance and we circled each other. Red Cap creeped closer, jabbing and swinging the knife blade at me. I circled some more, looking for an opening. The next time he jabbed at me with the knife, I grabbed his wrist and twisted. Red Cap’s body twisted with my movement and I grabbed his elbow with my other hand. I brought his forearm down hard on my bent knee and Red Cap dropped the knife just as the bones in his forearm snapped. I released him and he fell to his knees, clutching his broken arm.

  Red Cap’s two thugs stood and started toward me. I scooped up the switchblade by the blade and threw it at one of the thug’s feet. It landed point side down on top of the kid’s sneaker and embedded itself in the top of his foot. He howled and fell over. I made a quick movement toward the third kid and he flinched before turning and running away down the alley. I walked over and pulled the switchblade out of the second kid’s foot and wiped the blade on his pants leg.

  “Looks like you’re gonna need a new pair of sneakers,” I said, pointing to the blood stain on the kid’s shoe. “Not to mention a few stitches. Go on, get out of here before I…”

  I didn’t even finish the sentence before he got to his feet and hobbled away. I turned back to Red Cap, who was still lying there in womb position, holding his arm. He moaned and squirmed on the pavement. I reached over and pulled a wallet from his back pocket and opened it to his driver’s license. I read from the license. “Justin Coulter,” I said, pulling the license from beneath the celluloid window and tossing the wallet back at him. “Well, Justin, you’re coming with me.” I grabbed his good arm and pulled him to his feet, half dragging him back toward my van.

  I hadn’t gotten as far as the street when the third thug returned with three more of his friends. He was holding a nun chucks, a pair of batons connected by a chain. This was one of the favorite tools of any martial artist. He swung them around, trying a few fancy twirls before ending the little demonstration by folding them under his arm pit.

  The other three would-be assassins carried switchblades, brass knuckles and a length of tow chain. Each was dressed in ragged blue jean vests with wife beater tee shirts beneath them. All four advanced toward me at the same time, the first guy now swinging his nun chucks overhead.

  I laughed out loud and made an exaggerated effort of looking at my watch. “Is it Halloween already?” I said.

  “Let him go,” Nun Chucks said, gesturing toward Coulter. “Then it’s you and me, tough guy.”

  I pushed Coulter to the pavement, landing on his bad arm. He howled again and I turned to face Nun Chucks, a wide grin filling my face.

  “What’s so funny?” Nun Chucks said.

  “You are,” I said, gesturing with my chin as his small army. “Is this all you could come up with, three little girls?”

  The other three flexed their muscles and advanced alongside Nun Chucks. When t
hey got close enough I pulled the .38 from under my arm, took casual aim and fired. The chain connecting the nun chucks broke in two and one baton fell to the pavement with a clank. Nun Chucks stood there with the other baton in his hand, his mouth hanging open. I fired twice more, my bullets ripping out cement chunks near the other thugs’ feet. The third guy dropped his chain and ran. Brass Knuckles followed close behind while Switchblade took backward steps, unwilling to turn his back on me.

  “I pointed to Nun Chucks with my .38. “On your knees,” I said. I pointed the .38 at Switchblade. “You, beat it.” I didn’t have to tell him twice. He disappeared out to the street and was gone.

  With my left hand, I pulled my cell phone out and dialed Lieutenant Anderson’s number. “Eric,” I said, when he answered, “How’d you like to send a patrol car to the alley off Fourth Street, just north of Burlington? I have a couple of customers for you.”

  “You got results already?” Eric said.

  “And then some,” I said. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d make it snappy. No telling how many more friends these two have and I don’t want to be here when they get back.”

  “That’s me you hear coming right now,” Eric said. “Hold on, Elliott. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  I folded my phone and returned it to my pocket. I turned to Nun Chucks and said, “Throw me your wallet.”

  “What for?” Nun Chucks said.

  “So I can look at pictures of your girlfriend,” I said. “Never mind the questions, just toss me the wallet.” I emphasized my point with the barrel of my gun in his face. He tossed me his wallet. I fished through the windows and pulled out his driver’s license. I looked back up at him. “What’s your name?”

  He gestured at me with his chin. “You got it right there in front of you,” he said defiantly.

  “I want to hear it from you,” I said. “Now what’s your name?”

  “Butch Collins,” he said. “So what?”