The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  Burns motioned to a door that was ajar. We eased it open and carefully stepped inside. There was a stairway to my right that went to the second floor. We took the stairs two at a time and stopped at the second floor landing and listened. It was silent. We ascended to the third floor and waited outside the door that led into the main storage area.

  Burns pulled on the heavy door and it creaked. He stopped, listened and pulled again. It creaked again. A section of the doorframe splintered with the impact of the first slug. Burns let the door go and it closed on its own. We stepped to either side of the door, our guns up at our sides. I motioned to another door on the other side of the landing and Burns took up a position alongside of it.

  I nodded and pulled at the first door again. When the slug hit it, Burns opened the second door and stepped inside, easing the door shut behind him. There was a few seconds of silence before the gunfire erupted again. I pulled the first door open and rolled in on the floor, taking cover behind a large wooden crate just inside.

  I could see Burns from my hiding place. He waved to me and pointed toward the back of the room with his revolver. I nodded and crept around the other side of the crate. Burns squeezed off a round and I took the opportunity to crawl close against the wall. Burns fired again and I moved even closer.

  A shot rang out and a chunk of plaster on the wall next to my head exploded. It was from a second gun in another direction. I returned fire and advanced a few more feet toward the source of the first shots. I slowly peered above the crate that sat in front of me. I could see a man crouched in the corner. He held a gun close to his face. I couldn’t tell if it was Carmine or not.

  Burns crawled closer from his vantage point and started to stand. A slug ricocheted off the wall next to him. He hit the floor again. I raised my gun over the top of the crate and squeezed off a few rounds. Burns got up and ran toward the source of the first shots. Several clicking sounds told me that the first guy’s gun was empty. Burns stopped and fired again. His gun clicked on an empty chamber and he froze as a thick forearm closed around his throat. Burns dropped his revolver where he stood.

  The man who held him said, “Come on out.”

  I slowly stood up, holding my .45 up at my side. I could see the first guy holding on to Little Matt’s shoulder. It was Carmine Solotto and he stood sneering at me. He said to his partner, “watch him, Tony.”

  Tony pointed his piece at me and yelled, “drop it right there.”

  I eased my arm down slowly, keeping an eye on Tony. He was watching my eyes as I lowered the gun. At that moment Little Matt screamed, “Uncle Matt.”

  Tony’s eyes momentarily shifted to Little Matt and I leveled my gun at Tony and fired. The slug entered Tony’s right ear and exited just above his left eye. He dropped at Burns’ feet. Burns scooped up Tony’s gun and pointed it at Carmine.

  Carmine placed his two hands on Little Matt’s head and yelled, “Get back or I’ll break the little bastard’s neck. I mean it. Get back.”

  Burns eased closer to Carmine. He casually pointed with his gun at Tony’s body. “You think Matt here can’t take your head off if he wants to. Tony thought so. Now let the kid go.”

  Carmine’s gaze shifted back and forth from Burns to me and back again. “I’ll break his neck, I swear, now drop the guns, both of you.” He tightened his grip on Little Matt’s head.

  I widened my stance and leveled my .45 at Carmine’s head. “How’s your face?”

  Carmine’s face was a rainbow of colors where I’d hit him with the sock full of marbles. He looked at me with contempt.

  “Anything happens to him and you’re dead,” I said. “You understand me, punk? No matter what happens next I’ll drop you like a bag of laundry. Your own momma won’t recognize you.”

  Carmine nervously repositioned himself behind Little Matt.

  Little Matt picked up his right foot and brought it down hard on Carmine’s instep. Carmine released his grip on Little Matt’s head and grabbed his ankle. Little Matt ran toward me and hugged me around my legs.

  “Good going, buddy,” I told Little Matt. Burns pulled out his cuffs while I kept my gun trained on Carmine. Burns secured Carmine’s wrists behind him and led him toward the door. I followed close behind with Little Matt.

  Burns shoved Carmine into the back seat of his car alongside Marion. I reached in and pulled my handkerchief from around Marion’s head. He spit when it released and tried to clean the residue off his lips with his tongue. I put Little Matt in the front seat next to Burns and climbed in next to Carmine.

  Burns dropped Little Matt back and me at the hospital. I took Little Matt by the hand and closed Burns’ car door. He looked at me with something akin to gratitude.

  “Matt,” he said.

  “Yes?” Little Matt answered.

  “Not you,” Burns said, “Your uncle.” He turned to me. “Thanks. I mean, I er…”

  “Forget it, Third Degree,” I said, walking Little Matt back toward the hospital.

  Burns chuckled and drove away. We took the elevator to the third floor and made it back to Phil’s room. I opened the door and stepped in. Phil and Betty looked at me and I broke into a smile. Troy was fast asleep in a chair in the corner. I pulled Little Matt through the doorway. Betty’s eyes welled up as Little Matt ran to her and threw his arms around her.

  Little pulled away from Betty’s grip and stood by his father’s bedside. Phil reached out and pulled Little Matt to him.

  “You all right, Matt?”

  “Sure,” Little Matt said. “I wasn’t scared.” He turned to me. “Was I, Uncle Matt?”

  “Not a bit,” I said proudly. “You’ll be a great cop someday.”

  Little Matt smiled broadly.

  Before I packed my bags I took Little Matt aside and told him to close his eyes hold out his hands. When he did, I laid a fresh bag of marbles in them. He opened his eyes and saw the marbles and said, “Thanks, Uncle Matt. Thanks a lot.”

  “Try not to lose these,” I said.

  Phil was still in the hospital when I flew back to L.A. He’d be spending the next few weeks recuperating at home with full pay. I took a cab back to my office and threw open the windows to let the air in again. I called my service to get my messages. There’s weren’t any. Guess it was a slow summer for crime.

  11 - Find Her

  The big man fell to his knees, both hands clutching his stomach where the bullets had entered. His wide-eyed expression was one of disbelief as he stared up at Maxine, and reached for her with one of his bloody hands. She leveled the gun again and put one more slug between his eyes for good measure. He fell backwards, hitting the wooden floor hard. His head made a loud thump and he kicked up a little dust as he fell. Maxine returned the small automatic to her purse and ran for the door.

  “So long, Johnny,” she said, stepping over her former lover. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway and she was gone.

  I slid my bookmark between the pages and laid the book on the shelf behind my desk. Maxine and her troubles would have to wait until tomorrow. Today I had troubles of my own and they were coming in the form of Andrew Donovan. He had called earlier to ask about my rates and if I could take his case right away. I told him to come to my office and we’d talk.

  Donovan opened the door to my inner office and stood across from me, my desk between us. I’d been expecting him but he didn’t fit the mental picture I’d conjured up of him. I had pictured a large man with broad shoulders and a head full of red hair. This man stood maybe five-foot-nine and weighed no more than a hundred forty, clothes and all. His hair—what there was of it—was artfully arranged in a sweeping comb-over that tried its best to cover the top of his head. It failed miserably.

  “Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Donovan?” I said, shaking his hand from across the desk.

  The man reluctantly sat in my client’s chair and nervously crossed his legs, trying to find a comfortable position. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands.

  I sat back
in my swivel chair and tried out my concerned look on him. I had eight standard looks that I used on potential clients and this one was number four. “What can I do for you, Mr. Donovan?”

  “I, uh,” he started but couldn’t find the right words. He tried again. “I need you to find someone. You do handle that sort of work, don’t you, Mr. Cooper?”

  “Please,” I said, “call me Matt. And may I call you Andy, or do you prefer Andrew?”

  “Andrew will be fine,” he said fidgeting with his tie and trying his best not to look me in the eye.

  “Well, Andrew,” I said, “finding people is part of what I do, depending on the circumstances. Who is it you’d like found?”

  He hesitated. “Lila,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “Excuse me,” I said, leaning forward in my chair and cupping my hand to my ear.

  “Lila,” he repeated, louder this time. “Lila Stewart.” He hadn’t looked at me the whole time and now he was trying his best to hold eye contact with me. He was failing miserably.

  “Lila Stewart,” I said. “Okay, and who might this Lila Stewart be?”

  Donovan thought about it for a moment, bit his lower lip and took a deep breath. “She’s my neighbor,” he said almost apologetically. “She lives just one door south of my house on Fountain Avenue. I haven’t seen her for a few days now and I got worried.”

  I sat back again, trying to get comfortable. I took a deep breath. “Let me see if I got this,” I said. “You haven’t seen your neighbor for a few days and right away you come running to a private investigator? What are you, head of the neighborhood watch patrol or something?”

  I rolled my swivel chair toward the end of my desk, trying to maneuver into position to get a better look at his face. He turned his chair away from me and stood. He started to pace.

  “Well, you see,” he said, gesturing with one hand while the other remained in his pocket, “She’s a good friend of mine and sometimes her husband gets a little rough with her and I, uh…” He didn’t exactly have a finish for his sentence.

  “Have you seen him lately?” I said, rising from my chair to follow Donovan as he paced.

  “Huh?”

  “Mr. Stewart,” I said. “Have you seen Mr. Stewart since Mrs. Stewart dropped out of sight?”

  “Grant?” he said. “Yeah. A couple of times in the yard across the fence and once on his front porch.”

  “And?” I waited for the obvious.

  “And what?” Donovan looked truly puzzled.

  “What did he say?” I asked impatiently. “When you asked him where Lila was, what did he have to say? Or did he feel he didn’t owe you any explanations?”

  Donovan began to pace again but I stepped in front of him and grabbed his shoulders. He looked me in the eye for a moment before offering, “Well, we don’t exactly talk.”

  I guided Donovan back to the client chair and sat him down. I remained standing in front of him is case he had any other ideas about avoiding me.

  “I see,” I said. “His wife is one of your best friends but you don’t talk to him. Mighty picky with your selection of friends, I’d say. Either that or you and Lila are having…” I stopped and a broad smile came over my face. I suppressed the laughter that wanted desperately to come out. I sat on the edge of my desk.

  “Is that it?” I said. “Is that the reason you came to me and not to the missing persons bureau at the precinct downtown? You two are more than just neighbors, is that what you’re trying to tell me, Andrew?”

  Donovan’s eyebrows danced this way and that and his mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but all that came out was, “Yeah.” He almost sounded relieved to have it out in the open now. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’ve been seeing her on the side. She needed someone to talk to when her husband was at work and I guess I was handy.”

  “Handy?” I said. “Is that what you call it?”

  “Look,” Donovan said, “I never said I was proud of it or anything. It just happened. These things do happen and this one happened to me, all right? Now do you want to help me or are you gonna sit there and judge me?”

  I slid off the edge of my desk and stepped over to the coffeepot on the stand in the corner. I poured a cup and extended to Donovan. “Want a cup?”

  He shook his head and went back to wringing his hands. I carried the cup back to my desk and sat in my chair again, taking a few small sips from the cup.

  “Okay,” I said, “we’ve established that you’re friendly with the neighbor’s wife and that you’re worried about her. What do you expect me to do about it, go over and ask Mr. Stewart where his wife is because the neighbor hasn’t seen her in a few days and got worried? Then what do I tell him when he wants to know which neighbor it was?”

  “I see your point,” Donovan said. “But I still think something’s happened to her or I’d have heard from her by now.”

  I sipped again from my cup and then set it down. “How long has it been since you last saw Mrs. Stewart?”

  Donovan thought for a moment. “Six days,” he said. “Yeah, it was last Wednesday evening around nine. We talked about the weekend coming up and even made some plans to slip away for a few hours on Saturday. That was three days ago and no word from her. I just know she wouldn’t leave without saying anything. And now her husband is carrying on just as before, like nothing’s changed.”

  “Just so we understand each other, Andrew,” I said, “what do you intend to do if I do find her?”

  Donovan’s eyes began to mist. “You ever been in love, Mr. Cooper?”

  I remembered the year and a half I’d spent with my wife before she died. “Yeah, I think I can relate,” I said.

  “Then you know what it’s like when it consumes your every waking moment. Sometimes Lila’s all I can think about. I find myself peering though my curtains, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. A few times I called her just to hear her voice. When she’d answer, I’d hang up so that Grant wouldn’t get wise to us. I need to know that she’s all right, even if she doesn’t want to run off with me. That husband of hers doesn’t appreciate her. He certainly doesn’t deserve her.”

  “And you do?”

  I regretted my words as soon as they’d left my mouth. Donovan looked at me as if I’d slapped his mother in the face. He gave me a look I could have lived without.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” he said, rising from his chair again. He headed toward the door.

  “Andrew,” I said. “Wait.” I laid my hand on his shoulder. “Let me see what I can do for you. Why don’t you give me a day or two to check a few things out and I’ll call you? If I don’t think I can help you, I’ll tell you so and there’ll be no charge for today’s meeting. If it looks like there might be some hope, we can talk again and I’ll fill you in on my charges and procedures. Fair enough?”

  Donovan laid his hand on top of mine and nodded. “All right Mr. Cooper. Two days. See what you can do—please. I really need to see her again.”

  I got more information about the Stewarts and about Andrew and Lila’s actions during the past few weeks before he left my office. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle this one, or if I even could handle it, but I sure as hell intended to give it my best shot.

  Digging through the public records downtown, I found that Grant and Lila Stewart had been married for less than eight months, so I guess you could still consider them newlyweds. Grant worked for the city installing electrical wires underground while Lila worked behind the counter at a local clothing store. I learned that Lila was twenty-eight years old and had originally moved to California from Vermont while still in her teens. Her father owned a lumber mill and the family never wanted for anything. My guess would be that Lila Stewart was a high maintenance woman.

  Grant, on the other hand, was a native Californian, having been born and raised near Santa Barbara. His family tree had so much sap dripping from it if you shook his hand you’d stick to him. Grant Stewart had tried his hand in several busin
ess ventures, none of which proved successful enough to support him or his first wife, Dorothy.

  The first Mrs. Stewart had disappeared mysteriously less than six months after saying, “I do” to Grant. She had no immediate family and probably had had no one looking for her or concerned about her. The authorities did a cursory investigation but dropped the matter within weeks, saying something about no grounds for an extended investigation.

  That was as much as I’d learned by digging around on my own. I decided that there were enough coincidences to warrant my looking into it further. I called Andrew Donovan and arranged to meet with him in my office later that day. He agreed and thanked me again for taking the case. I told him to hold off on the thank-yous until I finished my investigation. I hung up the phone, pulled my lunch bag from my bottom desk drawer and withdrew a sandwich. I swiveled around and pulled my book from the shelf and opened it to the page with my bookmark.

  Maxine had made it down the hall and had almost made it to the stairwell when the elevator door opened and Jack stepped out. He smiled at her and smoothed his hair back on his head.

  “Hiya, babe,” he said, walking toward her.

  She smiled briefly before pulling the small automatic from her purse and leveling it at Jack. The smile quickly dropped from his face and his eyebrows turned up. He held his hands in front of him in a futile effort to shield himself. Maxine pulled the trigger three times and each bullet found its mark in Jack’s chest. He fell over backwards, dead before he even came to rest on the floor. Maxine gave his head one last kick before stepping into the elevator. She pressed the button for the lobby and descended to street level, apparently not bothered by the presence of the dead body lying at her feet.