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

by Bill Bernico

  “Like what?” Matt said.

  “Well, suppose they’re auctioning off stuff from some of those old private eye movies. We could pick up some nifty items for the office. You know, give it that Sam Spade look. Come on, what else have you got going today?”

  Matt thought about the DVD he’d rented the day before that wasn’t due back until four-thirty today. He was looking forward to settling in to his recliner with his feet up, a bowl of popcorn and a can of root beer. Then he remembered that Elliott was in his mid-sixties already and how much time could Matt spend with him yet before Elliott wouldn’t be able to get around too well anymore?

  “All right, Dad. When are you coming by here?”

  “Well,” Elliott said. “I said I could pick you up in five minutes. That was four minutes ago. I’m just a few blocks away. I don’t want to come in, so how about if you just meet me at the curb?”

  “Oh, all right,” Matt agreed. “See you then.” He hung up and dashed back to his bedroom to get dressed. He made it with ten seconds to spare before he saw Elliott pull up in front of the house. Matt grabbed his jacket and hurried out the front door to Elliott’s car and slid in beside his dad.

  “You tell Chris where you’re going?” Elliott said.

  “She’s out shopping with the kids.”

  “All the better. See, I rescued you from a morning of boredom. You can thank me later when you find that perfect prop for the office.”

  Elliott drove down to Melrose Avenue and parked on one of the side streets. The two of them walked across the street to the world famous arch, which served as the front entrance to paramount Studios. As they walked, Elliott handed Matt one of the two passes he had in his pocket.

  “What’s this?” Matt said.

  “It’s your gate pass.”

  “You were pretty sure I’d go, weren’t you?”

  “Actually, I got the two passes for me and Eric, but at the last minute he leaked out on me.”

  Matt stopped on the sidewalk. “So I wasn’t even your first choice?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Elliott said. “Let’s just go in and have a good time, okay?”

  They both showed their passes to the guard at the gate and walked in. The auction was being held in one of the sound stage buildings halfway down the center street. Matt and Elliott walked through the huge overhead door to find rows and rows of movie memorabilia on tables, hanging from racks, stacked in boxes and sitting on the floor. They were just two of maybe a hundred people who had showed up for this auction. Apparently there were a few other people who wanted a piece of movie history, too.

  Matt and Elliott walked up and down the aisles, getting a first-hand look at the items that were about to be auctioned off. Matt stopped at one table in particular. On the table was a cardboard box with hundreds of vintage photographs inside. The one that jumped out at him was a photograph of the Paramount Pictures front gate—the gate they’d just come through a few minutes earlier. It was date 1932 and showed a Rolls Royce limo dropping off a star. The front gate is open and the guard is calling someone on the intercom.

  Matt picked up the photo and showed it to Elliott. “How cool is that?”

  Elliott nodded but said nothing. Instead he spotted an interesting item that had caught his attention. It was a movie theater lobby card for the 1957 Elvis Presley movie, Jailhouse Rock. He picked it up and examined it closer. Most items had stickers on them with the lot number and the minimum bid requirement. This one said $270.00 and Elliott set it back down again.

  They moved on toward the back of the sound stage and found racks and racks of old clothes and costumes. Elliott recognized some of the costumes as having been in movies he’d seen, but most of the clothing items had not been connected with any famous stars, rather they were various outfits for the movie extras. One rack held nothing but outfits that might be worn by service people. That is, meter readers, delivery men, mailmen, plumbers, policemen, firemen and so on. This one rack of maybe two dozen outfits was being auctioned off as a lot and the sticker on the rack told Elliott that this lot had no minimum bid attached to it.

  He turned to Matt. “This looks like something we could use.” He gestured toward the rack of clothes.

  “Why?” Matt said, his eyebrows furrowing. “We don’t go to many costume parties and the clothes there aren’t even something we’d wear on the job. What would you want with them?”

  “Think about it for a minute,” Elliott said, fingering one of the costumes—a coverall with the name ‘Mac’ stitched into the pocket. It came with a visored cap. “You’re on the trail of someone your client wants you to follow. You need to get close to his house without arousing suspicion. You show up looking like you do now and the guy comes out of his house and kicks your ass. OR, you show up wearing this, looking like a delivery man or meter reader or what have you. No one comes out to kick your ass. They leave you alone and you can get on with the business of stalking your quarry. See?”

  Matt had to admit that the costumes had some value in that capacity. He nodded. “But what would they all cost you? There must be a lot of people who’d want these same outfits. After all, they were all probably in some movie.”

  Elliott shook his head. “Only the stars’ costumes bring the big bucks. Who really cares what Allen Jenkins was wearing?”

  “Who?”

  “Allen…never mind,” Elliott said. “He was even way before my time. So what do you say? Wanna try to buy this lot?”

  Matt spread his hands. “Sure, why not?”

  The two of them finished browsing through the aisles of memorabilia and returned to the front of the building just as the auction was beginning. The first item being offered was a small cardboard box filled with phony motion picture money. The auctioneer described it as two hundred thousand dollars in twenty dollar bills. The bills were just seventy-five percent of the size of real bills but looked authentic, with the exception of a seal on the front of each bill, identifying them as phony. He started the bid at five dollars and within thirty seconds, the auction had ended with a winning bid of twenty-two dollars. It seemed like a bargain, consider what you got for your money. But then again, there were probably hundreds of thousands of these fake bills already in circulation, so they couldn’t exactly be considered rare or valuable.

  The auctioneer kept things moving at a rapid pace and the second item up for bid was carried up onto the stage and described as a replica of the barbershop haircut poster seen on the wall of Floyd’s Barber Shop in The Andy Griffith Show. The bid bounced back and forth between three bidders and ended up at thirty dollars. Matt remembered that the original poster from that show recently sold for seven hundred dollars, so this reproduction posted seemed like a real bargain.

  The rack of clothes outfits Matt and Elliott were interested in didn’t make it to the auction platform for another hour and a quarter. The rack was wheeled up a ramp and stood next to the auctioneer who promptly said. “What am I bid for this rack of movie wardrobe clothes? Who’ll start the bid at a hundred dollars?” No one bid and the auctioneer tried again. “Who’ll give me fifty dollars to start things off?” Again no one said a word.

  Elliott raised one hand and said, “Ten dollars.”

  “I have ten dollars,” the auctioneer barked. “Do I hear twenty? Ten, do I hear twenty? Who’ll give me fifteen?” No one showed any interest in the nondescript set of clothes and a few seconds later the auctioneer said, “Ten, going once, going twice, sold for ten dollars.” He banged his gavel and the rack of clothes was wheeled back off the stage and replaced with the next item up for auction.

  The man wheeling the clothes rack off the stage pushed it over to where Elliott stood. Elliott showed the man his pass and got a slip of paper that he could show to the guard as he left the sound stage with his purchase. Elliott turned to Matt. “You want to stay for any other items?”

  Matt shook his head. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.” They pushed their rack of clothes toward the door and st
opped to show the guard their ticket.

  “You bring a box with you?” the guard said.

  “Excuse me,” Elliott replied.

  “A box—something to carry these clothes in,” the guard explained.

  “I don’t need a box,” Elliott explained. “I can just push this out to my car. I’m parked just across the street.”

  “I don’t think so,” the guard said. “The auction was just for the clothes, not the rack. That stays here.”

  Elliott turned to Matt and gestured at the approximate middle of the rack. “Can you take that half?”

  Matt wrapped his arms around half the clothes, lifted until the hangers cleared and pulled the clothes off the rack. Elliott did the same with the remaining clothes and the two of them walked out the front gate and paused at the curb. They both looked up and down the street and finally made a dash for the opposite side when traffic cleared. Elliott tried to balance his bundle on his head while he dug around in his pocket for his car keys. He found them, opened the door and popped the locks for the back door. Matt managed to pull the back door open and throw his bundle down on the seat before stepping aside. Elliott threw his bundle on top of Matt’s and let out a deep breath.

  “There,” he said. “That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

  “And to think I could have stayed home and watched my movie,” Matt said.

  “Come on, admit it. That was fun,” Elliott said. “Let’s go get a sandwich somewhere.” They drove off with their treasure piled high in the back seat. Elliott pulled into the parking lot behind the diner and walked with Matt inside, where they took a booth in the back. The waitress brought them each a glass of water and took their orders and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “You really think you’re going to get your money’s worth out of those clothes?” Matt said.

  “Shouldn’t be too hard to recoup ten bucks,” Elliott said. “And even if we don’t, so what. There’s gotta be ten buck worth of fun in that stack come Halloween. Hell, a new store-bought costume would set you back twice what we paid for the whole lot, so chill out. Our lunch will probably cost more than that whole purchase.”

  Walking south on the street that passed by the parking lot behind the diner, Hal Roden saw the car parked in the first space and something caught his eye and made him stop and take a closer look. He stepped up to the back door of the sedan and glanced in at a pile of clothing on the back seat. The top outfit with the accompanying visored cap caught Hal’s attention as he cupped his hands around his eyes and leaned in for a closer look. He was fascinated by the uniform as he stood erect again; looking both ways up the street before trying the back door handle. To his surprise, it wasn’t even locked. Hall opened the door and plucked the brownish-green uniform and cap from the top of the pile. Just then he heard a car approaching and closed the back door again, walking away with his prize. Hal hurried off up the street, the same way he’d come and disappeared around the corner.

  Elliott and Matt finished their sandwiches, left their tip, paid the bill and returned to Elliott’s car. “Where are you going to store all this cra…, I mean all these fine vintage articles of clothing?” Matt said.

  “They can hang in the office closet for now,” Elliott said. “Then when we need a disguise, they’ll be handy. All the hats can sit up on the shelf. Now, anything else bothering you about my goodies?”

  “I guess not,” Matt said and settled into the passenger seat.

  The two of them returned to the office of Cooper Investigations and each took an armful of clothes with them up the elevator and down the hall. When Matt got inside he dumped his bundle on the leather sofa that sat against the south wall and plopped down next to them.

  “Gees, I’m glad you didn’t buy an old floor safe,” Matt said.

  Elliott threw his bundle on top of Matt’s, pulled the first uniform off the top and carried it, hanger and all, to the closet, hanging it on the rod and sliding it all the way back. He returned for the next one and then looked down at Matt, who was still breathing heavily. “I can take it from here,” Elliott said. “If you wanna go home now, go ahead.”

  “Very funny, Dad,” Matt said. “I rode here with you, remember?”

  “Oh yeah. Well then, the faster we get this stuff hung up, the faster we can get going again. How’d you like to hand a couple of outfits to me as I hang them up?”

  “All right,” Matt said. “If it’ll get me home any quicker.” The two of them had the entire pile hung up and put away in five minutes. “Now can we go?” Matt headed for the door.

  Elliott dropped Matt off at his house and leaned toward the passenger window as Matt got out. “You just relax and enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll see you Monday at the office.” He drove off as Matt opened his front door, only to be attacked by two five-year-old kids.

  “Daddy,” Nicky and Veronica said, each grabbing Matt by one of his legs. They reached up and Matt lifted them both into his arms. He carried them into the kitchen where Chris was unpacking some groceries.

  “Where did you go?” Chris said, sliding a cereal box onto the shelf.

  “I was all set to relax with a movie and Dad called,” Matt explained. “He dragged me to some movie studio auction on the Paramount lot and all we got for our two wasted hours was a pile of old clothes.”

  “Old clothes?” Chris said. “What did he want with old clothes?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Matt said, exasperated. “He has this crazy idea that we can use them for disguises next time we need to tail someone for a client. If you ask me, we should have driven that stuff straight to the second hand store. Probably could have doubled our money.”

  “No kidding?” Chris said. “What did he pay for them?”

  “Ten bucks,” Matt said. “It’s not even the money, but I’ll never get those two hours of my life back again.”

  “Well, just look at it this way. You got up and out of the house and maybe even got a little exercise, instead of vegging in front of the television.”

  “What’s for dinner?”

  Chris glanced up at the wall clock in the kitchen. “Dinner? That’s still seven hours away. What happened to lunch?”

  Matt shrugged. “Just asking. See ya later.”

  “Where are you going now?” Chris said.

  Matt hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Just in there to watch my movie before I have to take it back to the video rental store.”

  “It’s not something you wouldn’t want the kids to see, is it?”

  Matt shook his head. “Nope, it’s an oldie from 1957 with Henry Fonda called Twelve Angry Men. The whole movie takes place in one room—the jury deliberation room. You see, Fonda…”

  Chris held up both palms. “Could you tell me about it later? I have all these groceries to put away and then I have to make the kids lunch and…”

  “Okay, I get it,” Matt said, retreating to the living room.

  Later that afternoon as Chris stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing a few plates off before stuffing them into the dishwasher, she looked out the kitchen window to see a man in their back yard. He wore some sort of dark coverall and a cap and was carrying a clipboard. She couldn’t see his face.

  “Matt,” Chris called from the kitchen. “Would you come in here right away?”

  Matt let out a deep breath, paused his second movie, Old Yeller and walked into the kitchen. “What is it?”

  Chris pointed toward the kitchen window. “There’s a man in the back yard, just walking around with a clipboard.”

  Matt looked out the window and saw the man crouching below the level of the window. He could see the top of the man’s cap. Matt stepped over to the back door and pulled it open quickly, surprising the crouching man. “What are you doing here?” Matt said.

  “Meter reader,” the man said in a low, gruff voice.

  Matt reached up on top of the kitchen cabinet and pulled down his backup .38 and stepped out into the back yard. “Our meter’s on the other side of the house
and you should know that. Now get up.”

  The man slowly stood and turned toward Matt. Matt let out the breath he’d been holding and dropped the revolver to his side. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Didn’t know it was me, did you?” Elliott said, gesturing toward the outfit he was wearing. “See, these do make good disguises. Fooled you.”

  “You could have gotten yourself shot, you know,” Matt said.

  “Why, are you one of those shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later kind of guys?”

  “You know what I mean, Dad,” Matt said, his face softening. “Come on inside.”

  The two of them entered the kitchen as Elliott pulled the visored cap off his head and smiled at Chris.

  “Elliott,” Chris said. “What were you doing out there? You scared me nearly half to death.”

  Elliott stepped up to Chris and wrapped one arm around her shoulder. “Sorry, Sweetie, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to prove to your close-minded husband that my ten bucks was well-spent.”

  Chris gestured toward the coverall Elliott was wearing. “Is that one of the costumes you bought at the Paramount auction?”

  “Pretty neat, eh?” Elliott said. “Did you know that this was worn in an Abbott and Costello movie?”

  “It’s that old?” Chris said. “Which one wore it, Abbott or Costello?”

  “Neither one,” Elliott said. “Lou Costello would never have been able to fit into it and it’s too long for Bud Abbott. Some extra walking in the background during one scene was probably wearing it.”

  “I’d think it would be about ready to fall apart by now,” Chris said. “What’s it been, seventy years of so since those two made a movie?”

  “Those two made almost forty movies in twenty years, ending in the late fifties,” Elliott explained. “Nope, Paramount did it up right and used some pretty good material when the wardrobe department made this outfit. Who knows how many other movies it might have been in?”

  Chris pursed her lips. “You want a cup of coffee, Elliott?”

  Elliott looked at her out of the corners of his eyes.