by Bill Bernico
“And you think this is what you’d like to do with your life?” I said.
“Well, not forever,” Matt said. “But it could be a stepping stone for promotion to other things.”
“Like what?” Gloria almost barked.
“Matt wants to be a policemen,” Olivia offered. “He told me so yesterday.”
I turned to Matt. “Is that right, son? You think you’d like to be a cop?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Matt said. “Great-Grandpa Matt was a cop.”
I let out a deep breath. “I always figured that someday you’d join me in the P.I. business and sooner or later you take that business over and maybe pass it on to your son.”
“That’s your dream, Dad,” Matt said. “I have to follow my own dreams, don’t I?”
Gloria opened her mouth to say something but I held my hand up. The table was silent for the next few seconds. I turned to my son. “Matt, I’m the third generation of private eyes and I was hoping you’d be the fourth. I can’t very well pass the business on to Olivia, now can I? I mean how would that look, a female private…” I caught my faux pas and sheepishly looked at Gloria.
“What was that you were going to say, Elliott?” Gloria said.
“Nothing,” I said. “My bad.”
“Can I be a gumshoe?” Olivia said.
Gloria laid her hand on top of Olivia’s. “We can talk about this some other time, dear.”
I tried to change the subject. “So where is this apartment you want to move to?”
Matt smiled. “It’s over on Franklin, near Highland. It’s close enough that I could walk to the twelfth precinct. I could save money by not having a car right away.”
I knew Gloria and I were fighting a losing battle. Matt would be of legal age in less than a week and if we disapproved, he’d move out anyway and we’d lose him. “I’d like to see this apartment, if you don’t mind.”
“I can take you there tomorrow,” Matt said, smiling now.
“It’ll have to be after lunch,” I said. “I have a case tomorrow morning that’ll take a few hours. I’ll see you after lunch and the four of us can take a ride over there, all right?”
“Sure, Dad,” Matt said. “Thanks.”
That night after the kids had gone to bed, Gloria and I sat up watching television from the couch. She turned to me. “Don’t you think you gave in a little too easily with Matt?”
I explained my reasons for not wanting to alienate him and possible lose him with our disapproval. “Just promise me something,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“If and when he finds out that he can’t make it on his own and wants to come back home, that you won’t tease him about it and say you told him so. I went through something similar with my dad and it still stings when I think about it. I was humiliated and Dad didn’t make it any easier on me when I wanted to come back home again.”
Gloria wrapped one arm around me and pulled me close. “You’re a good father, Elliott,” she said, laying her head on my shoulder.
“Matt has to find out by himself what the consequences are of setting out on his own,” I said. “It was a hard lesson, but I learned it on my own. Let’s give him a chance to do the same.”
“All right,” Gloria said, and then laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I said.
“Thinking back on it now,” she said, “I did the same thing when I turned eighteen and when I came back home my dad told me the strangest story. I think he thought I’d see some connection but I have to tell you, to this day, I don’t know how that story related to what I did.”
“What story was that?” I said.
Gloria scratched her head and said, “When I came home, feeling bad about not being able to make it on my own, Dad sat me down and told me about some guy named Bobby Leach. Funny how you remember details like that after all these years.”
“What about Bobby Leach?” I said.
“Leach was some guy who was born in England in the middle of the nineteenth century,” Gloria explained. “He came to America trying to make a name for himself and decided to gain his notoriety by being the first man to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel, which he did in the summer of 1911. He survived the plunge but spent six months in the hospital afterwards.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I don’t see any connection either. So whatever became of Bobby Leach?”
“Fifteen years later he slipped on an orange peel and broke his leg. It got infected and had to have the leg amputated. He died two months later.”
I couldn’t help myself and broke out laughing. Gloria gave me a strange look. “You find that humorous?”
“I find the irony funny as hell,” I explained. “I feel sorry for poor Bobby, but when you think about it, you have to admit it’s pretty damned funny.”
“Yeah,” Gloria agreed, “But what’s the connection between that and my coming back home again?”
“I think what your father was trying to tell you was that even if you start out trying…I mean if you accomplish something that…Um, no matter what you…Oh hell, I don’t know. Didn’t you ever ask him about it?”
“I did,” Gloria said, “but all he’d ever say was that I had to figure it out for myself. He took its meaning with him to his grave and it’s been bugging me ever since.”
“Looks like it’ll have to bug you all the way to your grave, whenever that might be,” I said and settled in to watch the rest of the movie that was playing on TV.
Gloria and I rode to the office together the next morning. Blandings had told me that he’d be there first thing this morning so I decided to come in a little early today. I checked the morning paper, looking first in the weather section. If it rained, the parade would be called off and I wouldn’t have a case. No such luck. The forecast called for clear, sunny skies. I set the paper back down again and looked over at Gloria, who had her binoculars trained on the street below.
“Anything interesting going on down there on the boulevard?” I said.
“Not much,” Gloria said. “The parade doesn’t even start for another hour and a quarter but the sidewalks are already pretty full of people. Some of them brought their folding chairs and they’re already sitting curbside. I wonder what they do if they have to go to the bathroom. Do they take their chairs with them?”
“You come up with the strangest scenarios,” I told her.
Gloria twisted the focus wheel on the binoculars and scanned up and down the street. “Gees,” she said, “that’s a pickpocket’s paradise down there. And the cops will probably have their hands full keeping an eye on the congressman.
“What about the apartment across the street?” I said. “Anything new going on over there?”
Gloria swung the binoculars up and straight across from our office window. “Nothing,” she said. “And now the drapes are closed, too. That’s strange.”
Several minutes later I heard my outer office door open. Blandings let himself into the office, looked at his watch and then at me. “Ready to earn your money, Mr. Cooper?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I told him. “What time did you say the congressman was coming by this block?”
“I didn’t,” Blandings said. “But since you ask, his convertible will be passing by in front of this building in approximately thirty-five minutes, so we’d better get down there and start patrolling the block. Keep your eyes peeled for anyone who looks out of place.”
I gestured toward the office door. “I’m right behind you.” I turned to Gloria. “Don’t wait up for me. If I’m not back by Thursday…”
“Go on,” Gloria said. “Go earn us some serious money.”
Blandings and I rode the elevator to the lobby and exited to the street. We stopped just outside the door to my building and split up. Blandings walked east toward Cahuenga and I walked west toward Wilcox. I figured I could cross the street at the corner and head back east on the south side of the street. Local police had barricades at the int
ersections, preventing traffic from crossing over Hollywood Boulevard. Throngs of people had already laid claim to their spots behind those barricades, their elbows resting on the wooden cross member while their hands hung down over it.
I started to cross the street at Wilcox when a uniformed officer stretched an arm out in front of me. “Can’t cross until the parade’s over, bud,” he said, trying to sound like an authority figure.
I fished my I.D. and shield out of my pocket and held it up. “I’m on the job here,” I said. “Parade detail. Check with Lieutenant Anderson.” I didn’t wait for a response. I just continued across the intersection to the south side of the street and headed east. I continued east for half a block and stopped to scan the crowd. There didn’t seem to be anyone who looked out of place. I looked up at the second and third floor windows of the buildings on this block. Several of the windows were open with people hanging out of them for a better look at the street.
I started walking again toward Cahuenga when I saw Blandings coming toward me. He stopped directly in my path. “Anything?” he said.
I shook my head. “Not so far. How about you?”
“Pretty calm,” Blandings said and was about to continue west on the boulevard when I laid my hand on his shoulder. “What do you have?” he said.
I gestured with my chin. “There’s a guy coming this way in a blue suit. No, don’t turn around yet. He’s almost up to us. Hold on.” I pulled my .38 from the holster under my arm and stuck it in the man’s ribs. “Hold it right there,” I said to the man in the blue suit. Before I could explain my reason for detaining him, two other men appeared at my side, each pointing a gun at my head.
Blandings turned around and smiled. He looked at the two armed men. “It’s all right,” he told them. “He’s with me.”
The two gunmen holstered their weapons and waited for Blandings to respond further.
“What about this guy?” I said, gesturing toward to the man I’d stopped. “He’s packing a gun in his coat. I saw it as he was walking this way.” Blandings just shook his head. I looked at him. “Don’t tell me. He’s one of yours.”
The man I’d stopped withdrew his I.D. and held it up to me, eye level. There was his photo on the FBI card. He looked me in the eye. “Now holster your weapon before I forget my manners,” he told me.
“All right,” Blandings told his three agents. “Back on patrol. The congressman’s car will be here shortly. Keep a sharp eye out.”
The other three agents disbursed and went their separate ways. Blandings patted my shoulder. “Good eye, Cooper,” he said, as if that was supposed to take away some of my embarrassment.
We split up and I walked to the corner of Cahuenga and crossed back over to the north side of the street. Fifteen seconds later I was back where I’d started out, in front of my office building. I repeated my rounds one more time before the undertone in the crowd alerted me to the fact that the parade was starting. I looked down the street and spotted a marching band leading things off. They were followed by at least a dozen baton twirlers of all ages, the youngest looking to be no more than six years old. Two of the girls carried a banner that identified this group as being students of the Princess Baton Twirling School from Pasadena.
Behind the baton twirlers rode four cowboys on horseback. They rode four abreast, each horse keeping in step with the other. One rider in the middle whirled a lasso over his head, the loop getting larger with each rotation. The crowd cheered when he stood on his saddle, his lasso completely circling him and his horse. Coming up behind the cowboys were three miniature cars with clowns in them. As they drove zigzag patterns down the street, they threw candy out to the eager children at the curbs.
Finally, behind the clowns I could see the congressman’s open convertible with the congressman sitting up on the seat back with a woman whom I assumed to be his wife. Two more convertibles followed this one. Banners on the doors identified the passengers as the prisoners that the congressman had helped to free. They waved to the crowd, turning their attentions to one side of the street and then the other.
Bringing up the rear of this procession was a truck pulling a flatbed trailer. Perched up on the flatbed was a four-piece rock band playing guitars, drums and a keyboard, while they sang some awful rendition of “God Bless America.” Irving Berlin and Kate Smith would both be turning over in their graves if they ever heard this version.
The parade crossed the intersection at Hollywood and Cahuenga and proceeded west. I let the marching band, baton twirlers, cowboys and clowns pass me by without a second look. When the three convertibles came close to the section of block I was patrolling, I trained my eyes on the crowd, looking for suspicious movement.
At the precise moment the congressman’s car passed by me I heard the shot and immediately made a grab for my revolver but I couldn’t get a grip on it. My shoulder stung and something with a lot of force spun me around. I lost my balance and stumbled into another man behind me. I tried to right myself as I apologized to the man. I forgot all about my manners when I saw the woman who had been standing between me and the street. Her back sported a hole large enough for me to put my fist into and she fell at my feet, bleeding out onto the sidewalk.
I heard another shot less than a second after the first shot. It had a different sound than the first one and seemed to be coming from a different area. I hit the pavement and yelled for everyone else to do the same. Most didn’t take my advice and scurried away from the curb and into doorways and alleys. I couldn’t blame them. The ones who remained on the sidewalks started a stampede as they ran every which way. The three convertibles sped away from the area, their paths cleared by several patrolmen at the intersection.
*****
Gloria kept her revolver pointed at the building directly across from ours. Her first shot had hit the man just inside the window across the street, causing him to drop the rifle he’d been holding. It fell out the window to the sidewalk below, landing on several people on the sidewalk. One gentleman was knocked out by the force of the rifle butt connecting with the top of his head. The other two people held their arms, obviously in great pain where the rifle barrel had hit their forearms. Within five seconds, three FBI agents were on the spot and had taken possession of the rifle that also sported a scope.
A few seconds after that two more agents burst into the office and trained their weapons on Gloria. She dropped her revolver on the leather sofa and held her hands up over her head. She gestured with her head to the window across the street. “Your shooter was in that window,” she said. “I think I hit him.”
The agents glanced across the street in time to see two more of their own breaking down the door to that apartment. Two agents hurried over to the man lying on the floor. One of them squatted down out of sight and then stood again. He waved his arm overhead to the agents standing next to Gloria. He drew a finger across his throat to let his colleagues know that the man was dead.
Thirty seconds later Blandings came into our office to assess the situation. When he saw Gloria with her hands up, he looked at the two agents and shook his head. “She’s okay,” he told his men and then looked across the street at the other two agents in the shooter’s apartment. He plucked the walkie-talkie from his belt and pressed the button. “Everything secure over there?”
“One shooter,” the agent across the street said. “He’s dead.”
Gloria dropped her hands and looked past Blandings. “Where’s Elliott?” she said, frantically. “Where is he?” She made a dash for the office door but Blandings stopped her.
“He’ll be fine,” he told her. “He took one to the shoulder and the paramedics are treating him now, but I assure you, he’s going to be fine.”
Gloria squirmed out of Blandings’ grasp. “I have to go to him,” she said, and hurried out of the office and down to the street just as the gurney was being loaded into the ambulance. The gurney’s occupant was covered head to toe with a sheet and there was a lot of blood staining the sh
eet. Gloria screamed. “Elliott.”
I laid my hand on Gloria’s shoulder from behind. “No need to yell,” I said. “I can hear you.”
Gloria turned to face me, her eyes scanning my body up and down and stopping on my shoulder wound. “Elliott,” she said, still frantic. “Are you all right? What happened here?”
“Someone in one of the upper windows took a shot at the congressman and missed. He hit that woman instead.” I pointed to the body on the gurney that was being slid into the ambulance. “The bullet passed through her and then hit me in the shoulder. It went clean through me, too. It didn’t hit anything vital. I’ll be sore for a few weeks after they stitch me up, but it looks like I’ll live.”
Gloria threw her arms around my neck and squeezed.
“Ouch,” I screamed as she pressed herself onto my wounded shoulder. “Watch the shoulder.”
Gloria released me and quickly backed up. “Ooh, sorry,” she said, holding both hands out in front of her.
“What was that other shot I heard right after the first one?” I said to Gloria.
“Remember the other day when I said I thought I saw movement in the apartment across from our office?” Gloria didn’t wait for a response. “There was a guy over there with a rifle and he took a shot at the congressman. My holster was hanging on the coat rack and I was able to get my .38 out and squeeze off one round at him. I hit him and I guess I killed him. At least that’s what the agent who broke in on him told Blandings.”
“And you’re all right?” I said.
“Sure,” Gloria said. “Blandings’ men were on him a few seconds after I shot the guy. Two of Blandings’ men broke into our office right away. I guess they must have thought I had something to do with the shooting down on the street. Stuart arrived a few seconds later and set them straight.”
“Stuart?” I said.
“Stuart Blandings,” Gloria explained. “Remember, that’s his name.”