by Bill Bernico
“My name is Matt Cooper and I’m looking into an incident that involved an unusual type of boot that I understand your chain sells,” Matt said, handing Brockman his card. “What I’d like to know is if your shipment of new boots has been opened already and if all of the shipment is accounted for.”
Brockman stared at Matt’s card before looking back up at him. “Why would you want to know about a shipment of shoes?”
“Mr. Brockman,” Matt said, “I’m working on a case that involves boots like the ones your chain of stores recently received. Could you quickly check to see if any of your shipment is missing? If they’re all there, I’ll be on my way.”
Brockman led Matt to his stock room, where an open pallet of shoe boxes stood. Matt looked at the pallet and then at Brockman. Brockman pulled a slip from his pocket and handed it to Matt. “My assistant manager bought the first pair yesterday when the shipment first arrived,” Brockman said.
“Wasn’t he aware that they weren’t supposed to be offered for sale until tomorrow?”
Brockman nodded. “We still aren’t going to put them out on the floor until then, but he just wanted to make sure he got a pair before they were sold out.”
“Could I have the name of your assistant manager?” Matt said.
“You working for the company?” Brockman said. “I can’t afford any trouble if the home office finds out I let a pair out before tomorrow.”
“Now,” I’m not working for the company,” Matt assured him. “I’m looking into a different matter entirely.” He paused, waiting for an answer. “The name, please.”
“His name is Tim Price.”
“I don’t suppose Tim’s here now, is he?”
“Tim doesn’t come in today until four-thirty,” Brockman explained. “He takes over for me when I leave at five.”
“Could you tell me where I could find Mr. Price?” Matt said.
“Tim’s not going to get in trouble for the early boot sale, is he?”
“Mr. Brockman, I can say without a doubt that Tim is in absolutely no trouble for buying the boots early,” Matt said, meaning every word of it. “So if I could get his address, please?”
Brockman wrote Price’s address on a slip of paper and handed it to Matt. Matt folded the slip twice and dropped it into his shirt pocket. “Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Brockman. And mum’s the word on that pair of boots. I hope you sell out tomorrow.”
Back in his car, Matt referenced his street map book and found Price’s address. It was in West Hollywood and Matt knew it could take him half an hour or more to get there. If for whatever reason Brockman would call Price to tip him off, he could be gone when Matt got there. Instead, Matt called Lieutenant Cole at the twelfth precinct. He’d have to think fast to come up with a believable story for the lieutenant without tipping Anne’s hand. He’d like to see her stay out of trouble, if possible.
“Cole,” Kevin said when he picked up his phone.
“Kevin, it’s Matt. Did I catch you busy?”
“Not at the moment,” Cole said. What’s on your mind?”
“I need a small favor, Kevin,” Matt said timidly. “If you have a cruiser in the vicinity of Gardner and Norton in West Hollywood, could you have them swing by and just keep an eye on the place until I get there? There’s a guy I need to talk to and I suspect his employer may just tip him off and I could lose him.”
“And what’s a job like that pay?” Kevin said. “Whenever I find work for you, you get paid. How much do we get for working for you?”
“So, is that a no?” Matt said.
Kevin said nothing and just waited.
“I could owe you one,” Matt added.
“I’d like nothing better than to rack up points with you in my debit column. Unfortunately, I have no one in that area at the moment. I may have a unit available in forty-five minutes, if you can wait that long.”
“Never mind,” Matt said. “I can be there in thirty minutes.”
“Well, there you have it. Good luck with whatever you’re doing. Is it something I should know about?”
“Not at this point,” Matt said. “But you know that if it turns into something you should know about, you’ll be the first guy I call. Later, buddy.”
It was a little out of his way to get onto the freeway, but Matt caught the onramp to the Ventura Freeway and took it west to the Glendale Freeway. From there he took Santa Monica Boulevard west and made the trip in just under twenty-five minutes without getting a speeding ticket. He took Gardner north one block to Norton and found Tim Price’s apartment building on the west side of the street.
Matt parked out in front and walked up to the doorway. The door opened on his second knock, as if Price was about to leave at that very moment. Price had a jacket and hat on and looked surprised to see a man standing on his stoop.
“What do you want?” Price said, trying to see over Matt’s shoulder.
“I’m looking for Tim Price,” Matt told the man.
“I’m Tim Price. Do I know you?”
“I’d be surprised if you did,” Matt said. “No, I was just talking to Mr. Brockman over at the store in Pasadena and he…”
Price’s face fell apart. “Gees,” he said. “Is this about the boots?”
“You know why I’m here?” Matt said, taken by surprise at Price’s answer. “Can we talk?” Matt said, gesturing toward the inside of Price’s apartment.
“I guess,” Price said. “Come on in.” He let Matt step by him and then took a quick look up and down Gardner to see if Matt was alone or if he’d brought company. He closed the door and turned to Matt. “Okay, so it wasn’t the most above-the-board move, but what’s the harm? I mean, really.”
“The harm?” Matt said. “How is taking something that doesn’t belong to you harmless?”
“No wait a minute,” Price said. “I knew that those boots weren’t supposed to be available for sale until tomorrow, but I didn’t steal them. I paid for them before I took them out of the store. I can show you my receipt if you like.”
Matt’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think we’re on the same page here, Tim. I’m not talking about buying the boots. It’s what you did with them afterwards that I want to talk about.”
Tim looked down at the floor. “Okay, but it was just a couple of bucks, that’s all. No big deal. I mean, it’s not like I was a ticket scalper or anything.”
“You want to tell me what you’re talking about?” Matt said, thoroughly puzzled now. “You want to show me the boots?”
Tim shook his head. “I don’t have them anymore. I sold them to a friend of mine the same day I bought them. What were you talking about?”
It was beginning to make sense to Matt now. “Can you give me the name of the guy you sold them to?”
“Is he going to get in trouble over this?”
Matt said nothing.
“Am I going to get in trouble?” Tim said. “I told Mick not to wear them until…” Tim stopped in mid-sentence, aware that he’d given his friend’s identity away.
“Does Mick have a last name?”
Now Tim clammed up.
“Look, Tim, you’re not in any trouble for selling Mick the boots. That’s not why I’m here.”
“And Mick?”
Matt held up one palm. “And I promise that Mick’s not going to get in any trouble for buying them, either. I just need to find him and talk to him, that’s all. Now can I have Mick’s last name, please? And don’t say Jagger.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Matt said, waving his hand in front of him. “Bad joke. So, the name?”
“On the level?”
Matt nodded. “Promise.”
Tim took a deep breath and let it out again. “Mick Gallo,” Tim said.
“And do you know where I can find this Mick Gallo?”
Tim ran the side of his finger under his nose and then said. “Mick lives two doors down in the light blue building, second floor in the back, apartment 206.”
>
Matt got to his feet and a second later, so did Tim. Tim followed his guest to the front door and watched him walk out and down the street. He kept watching until Matt walked back up the sidewalk leading to the light blue apartment building before he stepped back in and closed his door.
Matt let himself into the apartment building and took the stairs to the second floor. Apartment 206 was the last door on the left. Matt knocked and then stood to one side, mostly out of habit. The door opened and Matt saw a tall, lanky man standing there in blue jeans and a Beatles tee shirt. Matt looked down at the man’s feet. He was wearing a newer pair of work boots.
“Mick Gallo?” Matt said.
“Who wants to know?”
Matt pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open, selecting the camera option. He displayed the photo of the partial footprint and showed it to the man in the doorway. “I think if I check the bottoms of your boots, I may find a match. What do you think?”
The man tried to close the door, but Matt was quicker. He forced the door open all the way and let himself in, closing the door behind him. “Now, I’ll ask you once more. Are you Mick Gallo?”
The man softly nodded and exhaled.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Matt said.
Gallo stuck a finger in his ear and swirled it before nodding. “I can guess.”
Matt held out one hand. “Let’s have it.”
“Have it? Have what?”
“You sure that’s the way you want to play this?” Matt said. “The police aren’t involved so far. Would you like to keep it like that, or do you want to do this the hard way?”
“All right,” Gallo said. “What are you looking for?”
Matt had to laugh. Anne’s place must not have been the only one he hit that day. “I want the antique wooden box you took from my friend’s closet shelf.”
Gallo’s face flushed. He licked his lips and looked around the room, probably wondering if there was a way to get out of his apartment without going past Matt. There wasn’t. “Okay,” he said. “It’s in there.” He pointed to a door at the other end of the room. “I’ll get it.”
As soon as Gallo turned away, Matt drew his .38 and held it casually up at hip level, following Gallo to the door. Gallo turned around and saw the gun. His face went white. “No, wait, I can explain.”
Matt wasn’t sure who Gallo thought had come for the box. Maybe word got out to the network of lowlifes on the street about Gallo’s score. “Relax,” Matt said. “Just get the box and don’t make any sudden moves. Got it?”
Gallo nodded. “I don’t want any trouble.” He plucked an antique wooden box off his dresser and handed it to Matt.
Matt took the box and gestured with his .38 back toward the living room. “Sit down, Mick.”
Gallo sat on a sagging sofa, nervously wringing his hands. Matt sat opposite him and set the box on the coffee table, opening with one hand while keeping the .38 trained on Gallo. The bottom compartment was half full of a white powder and from the residue line around the perimeter of the inside of the box Matt could see that it had been fuller at one point. He looked up at Gallo.
Gallo held up two palms toward Matt. “Hey, that’s not mine.”
“I know it’s not,” Matt said. “But here’s what I’m going to do for you, so listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once. Do you have another container around here about this same size?”
Gallo nodded.
“Go get it and bring it here,” Matt said.
Gallo got up off the sofa and stepped over to his kitchen area, which was nothing more than a stove, refrigerator, sink and small counter with two stools. He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a rectangular cake pan and brought it back to the coffee table. Matt turned the wooden box over, dumping the powder into the cake pan. When the box was empty, Matt tipped it sideways and blew the residue out onto the coffee table. He looked back toward the kitchen and saw a roll of paper towels hanging under one of the cabinets. He looked at Gallo again. “Go get a couple of paper towels. Wet one and leave the other one dry and bring them both here.”
Gallo did as he was told and handed the towels to Matt. Matt used the wet towel to wipe out the interior of the wooden box and then dry wiped it with the second towel. When he was satisfied that the interior was clean, he gestured at the cake pan with his .38 and said, “You can keep that stuff. I just want the box.”
Gallo’s face lit up with wonder.
“Knock yourself out, I don’t care,” Matt said and then gestured toward the kitchen stools. “One more thing before I leave, Mick. I want you to go over there and sit on that stool and face the wall. I don’t want to catch you looking back until I say so. Got it?”
Gallo looked down at Matt’s .38 and then back up at Matt.
“Don’t worry,” Matt said. “If I was going to kill you I’d have done it by now. Now go sit down and do what I told you to do.”
Gallo complied, turning away from Matt.
Matt holstered his revolver and grasped the edge of the secret compartment in the top half of the antique wooden box. It took some prying, but it came open only because Matt knew it was there. He lifted the lid and looked down at more than eighty one-hundred dollar bills and a few fifties. He sat at the coffee table and quickly counted the bills. There was exactly eight thousand two hundred fifty dollars. He closed the lid tightly again and then closed the box, tucking it under his arm and retrieving his .38 again. He looked up at Gallo again. “All right, you can come back in here and sit down.”
Gallo swiveled around on the stool and returned to the sofa, looking to Matt for further instruction.
Matt chose his words carefully. “Couple of things we need to get straight before I leave. One, I was never here. Two, I don’t know anything about that cake you’re baking. Three, if you give me any trouble at all, I’ll make an anonymous call to the police and they’ll be here with drug-sniffing dogs and I think you know what that’ll mean for you. All I came here for was this box. It has great sentimental value to my friend and she just wants it back. Four, in case you’re thinking about pointing the finger at my friend for your cake pan contents, keep in mind that you can still be charged with burglary, not only of my friend’s house, but the other places you hit that day as well. Granted, it doesn’t get you as long a stretch in San Quentin as drug dealing, but you’ll go away nonetheless. And five, if I ever hear you’ve burglarized any more places around town, we’ll be back. Are we clear on all these points, Mick?”
“We?” Gallo said, obviously puzzled.
Matt twisted the .38 in his hand. “Me and Mr. Colt here. Now, did you understand everything I explained to you?”
“But…”
“Are we clear?” Matt repeated.
“And you’ll just leave and not say anything about my cake?” Gallo said.
“Are we clear?”
“You got a deal, whoever you are,” Gallo said. “Strangest deal I was ever involved with, I gotta tell ya.”
Matt took the wooden box and headed for the door. Before he left, Matt held one finger up to his lips, looked at Gallo, exited the apartment and closed the door again. He was down the stairs and back out on the street before Mick Gallo could digest what had just happened.
Matt drove back to Hollywood and parked in the lot behind his building. Once he was back in his office, Matt tucked the wooden box in his bottom desk drawer and made a call to Anne Hoffsted where she worked. “Could I speak to Anne Hoffsted,” he said to the woman who answered the phone.
A moment later Anne came on the phone. “Matt,” she said. “Any luck?”
“None,” Matt said. “However, I did use a lot of skill to get results for you. When can you stop by my office?”
“Did you get it?” Ann said.
“Probably best if we don’t discuss any of this on the phone. I’m sure you understand. So, what time can you be here?”
“How long are you open?” Anne said.
“I’ll be her
e until five-thirty,” Matt said.
“Perfect. I’m done at four-thirty. I can be there fifteen minutes after that.”
“Great, I’ll see you then.” Matt hung up and settled back into his chair, swinging his feet up onto his desk. He locked his fingers behind his head and smiled.
Matt gave some thought to the situation he’d found himself in at the moment, trying to decide if there was a down side to keeping what he knew about Anne to himself. Mick Gallo certainly wasn’t going to admit to anyone that he’d burglarized Anne’s house to get the box. He got to keep the contents of the box, at least the contents that he knew about. The police weren’t going to get involved so Gallo had no reason to implicate Anne for anything. But what about Matt himself? What if any of this came out later and it was learned that Matt knew about all of it all along?
Lost deep in thought, Matt didn’t hear his office door open until his guest was all the way in. He looked up to see Lieutenant Cole standing there.
“You got it made, Cooper,” Kevin said, gesturing with his chin at Matt’s outstretched feet and locked fingers. “Is that all you do all day is sit on your ass?”
“Yup, that’s about it,” Matt said. “Did you just stop in to see if I’m contributing my fair share to the betterment of society?”
Kevin sat in Matt’s client chair without waiting for an invitation. He plucked something from his shirt pocket and threw it across the desk to Matt.
Matt put his feet back on the floor and unlocked his fingers, grabbing the piece of paper Kevin had tossed his way. It was one of Matt’s business cards. He picked it up, looked at the front and back and then laid it down again, looking at Kevin. “Yes, that’s one of mine all right.”
“That’s the one I told you about,” Kevin said. “The one my guy found on the floor at Frank’s bar where those murdered twins hung out.”
“Oh yeah,” Matt said. “I almost forgot about that one. How’s that going?”
“Not too well,” Kevin said. “It’s beginning to look like it was a burglary gone bad. We think maybe these sisters came home and interrupted a burglar in the act of taking some of their things and he probably panicked and killed them both.”