“I know more than you think I do,” Clay said. “The Travis’s are dead, aren’t they?”
Amy looked alarmed. “Clay,” she said. “How about if we talk about something else?”
“Mom,” Clay said. “I can’t stay a little boy forever. Sooner or later you two are going to have to talk in front of me and let me contribute.”
“Someday,” Amy said. “For now, how about you just stay a kid for a little while longer, okay?”
“Okay,” Clay said reluctantly.
I finished my root beer, set the bottle on the porch railing and sat next to Amy. I held her hand and squeezed it.
Three days later I was in my office when Dan called with the results of the autopsy on Mr. and Mrs. Travis.
“What did Jack find?” I said.
“You were right,” Dan said. “That is, one of your two hunches was right.”
“Which one?” I said. “The third party murderer or the murder/suicide?”
“The murder/suicide,” Dan said. “Louise Travis had traces of gunshot residue on her right hand. She fired both shots all right.”
“Makes you wonder why,” I said.
“I think I know the reason why,” Dan said and then paused.
“You gonna let me guess or are you gonna tell me?” I said.
“As Jack was doing the autopsy on Louise Travis, he found a malignant growth in her brain,” Dan said. “If she hadn’t shot herself the tumor would have killed her inside of a month, two on the outside.”
“Well,” I said. “That would explain her killing herself, but why would she kill her husband at the same time?”
“I’ve been checking into that,” Dan said. “I interviewed some of their friends and neighbors and found out that Art Travis also knew of his wife’s terminal condition. A friend of theirs told me that Art had been talking about when the day came that Louise died, that he didn’t know what he was going to do…first. He mentioned some other woman’s name. It was a woman he’d been seeing for some time. Somehow it got back to Louise and she decided that she was not going to check out of this world alone. Her friend thought she was joking when Louise told her that she’d see to it that Art never saw that other woman again. And she was true to her promise.”
“Kind of taking it to the extreme, if you ask me,” I said.
“Well,” Dan said. “You know the old saying about a woman scorned and all that. She wasn’t about to give her husband the satisfaction of moving on without her.”
“Women,” I said and quickly looked over my shoulder, even though Amy was nowhere near my office.
“That pretty much wraps up this one, Matt,” Dan said. “You have any special plans this week?”
“You askin’ me out?” I said.
“Just curious to see if you and Amy might want to take in a movie with Laverne and me,” Dan said.
“Depends what’s playing,” I said. “You see anything in the paper worth seeing?”
“I was thinking maybe we could go and see Ben-Hur,” Dan said. “Hell if Charleton Heston is as good in this one as he was in The Ten Commandments, it should be nothing less than spectacular. What do you say?”
“But it’s supposed to be more than three and a half hours long,” I said. “You wanna sit thought something for that long?”
“You got any better ideas?” Dan said.
“Hold on a second,” I said, grabbing today’s newspaper from my desk and opening to the movie section. “There’s an Alfred Hitchcock movie with Cary Grant called, North By Northwest. The ad shows Grant and Eva Marie Saint running across the top of Mount Rushmore. Could be exciting.”
“Or?” Dan said.
“Or a Marilyn Monroe movie with Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon,” I said.
“And the name of that one?” Dan said.
“Some Like It Hot,” I said. “Looks like Curtis and Lemmon are playing this one in drag. The ad shows them in a couple of flapper outfits and makeup.”
“A couple of cross-dressers?” Dan said. “Probably won’t be very good. Let’s go with the Hitchcock film. How about we pick you two up around six-thirty? We can all ride together.”
“It’s a date,” I said. “But just so you know, I’ll be carrying, if you try anything funny when you walk me to my door afterwards.”
“Funny, Cooper,” Dan said. “Very funny. We’ll see you both Wednesday.”
“Wednesday it is,” I said and hung up.
I sat there at my desk, strange thoughts racing through my mind. Here my two neighbors were lying on slabs in the morgue and the only thing I could think of was, who’s going to clean up that mess at the Travis house and how are they ever going to sell that place after they get it clean?
I know, sometimes even I don’t know how my mind works.
35 - Not On Your Life
One of the reasons I’d sold my house and moved into Amy’s house when we’d gotten married was because of its proximity to the neighborhood movie theater. Well, that and it had more room than my old house. The library was also close to where Amy lived when I met her and that was where she worked. She often left her car in the garage and walked to work or to the theater, which, by the way was where we’d met sixteen years earlier.
Tonight Amy and I agreed on which movie we wanted to see and made plans to walk to the theater after dinner. We no longer needed to hire a sitter. Clay was fifteen now and pretty much had a life of his own to keep him busy. He hadn’t inherited the movie buff gene from either of his parents and didn’t care who played what part in a particular movie. Ironically, though, Clay and some of his friends were also going to the movie theater tonight to see The Beatles in their second film, Help! Clay had eagerly stood in line the previous summer to see their first film, A Hard Day’s Night and from that day on all he wanted for his birthday was a guitar.
Personally, I couldn’t care less about those long-haired English boys and their band with the misspelled name. Surely Beetles was the correct spelling. Amy’s and my taste ran more toward the traditional movie stars and their proven track records. Tonight we both agreed that for our money, John Wayne’s The Sons of Katie Elder would prove a lot more entertaining to moviegoers from our generation. And as far as music went, I personally preferred Glenn Miller and Gene Krupa. Now that was music.
After dinner Clay helped his mother clear the table and then retreated to his room to change into his tight blue jeans and flowered shirt with the white collar and cuffs. His friend, Randy, who was a year older and already had his driver’s license, was picking Clay up for the movie. Randy, Clay and two other teenage boys were planning on seeing The Beatles’ movie together and if they happened to run into four available girls their age, so much the better.
The John Wayne movie started at six-thirty and the theater was a mere fifteen-minute walk away, ten minutes if you cut through the park. It was a few minutes before six and we were both ready to leave but waited a little while longer until Randy pulled up at the curb to pick up Clay.
“Have fun, Clay,” Amy told him.
“I will,” Clay said.
“And be home by eleven,” I added.
“Dad,” Clay protested.
“Eleven,” I reminded him. “The movie’s over at eight and that gives you plenty of time to hang out with Randy and the others. Eleven is plenty late enough for you, young man.”
“Oh, all right,” Clay said and ran toward Randy’s beat up 1955 Oldsmobile. Randy was sitting behind the wheel and another boy was sitting on the front passenger side. A third boy sat in the back and opened the car door for Clay as he approached. Clay slid in and waved to us before Randy pulled away from the curb and headed downtown.
“Shall we?” I said, gesturing toward the street with my upturned palm.
Amy locked her arm around mine and we started walking toward the theater. It was still light out and the afternoon heat was beginning to dissipate. It made for an enjoyable walk on a summer’s night. At fifteen minutes after six we walked into the air-conditioned
theater and took our favorite seats in the last row on the aisle. The movie previews started and Amy and I settled back with our large tub of popcorn.
“Wayne’s been off for the past year,” I told Amy. “Cancer, you know. But from the way he looks on the poster out front, it looks like he might have it under control.”
“I sure hope so,” Amy said. “I can’t imagine the theaters around here without a John Wayne movie playing.”
“You know who else is in this one with The Duke?” I said.
“Quite a few other actors,” Amy said. “Which one in particular are you thinking about?”
“John Doucette,” I said and then waited for a response.
“John Doucette,” Amy echoed. “I give up. Who is John Doucette?”
“You may not recognize the name, but you’ll know his face the second it comes on the screen. I remember him from an episode of Superman that Clay and I watched a few years ago. And he was in several episodes of The Lone Ranger. Can’t miss him. And from now on when you see him in a movie or television show, you’ll know exactly who I’m talking about. I’ll point him out to you when he comes on.”
Amy started to say something, but I stepped in. “I know,” I said. “You don’t like me to talk during the movie, but I’ll just elbow you and point when he comes on the screen. I promise I won’t say a word.”
“All right,” Amy said. “I concede. You are the movie trivia champion. Is that what you were waiting to hear?”
I said nothing but just smiled, jabbed her with my elbow and pointed toward the screen as the movie started.
After the movie ended, Amy and I stayed in our seats, watching the closing credits scroll up the screen. Toward the middle of the list of actors I spotted John Doucette’s name and pointed to it.
“There he is,” I said.
“I believed you the first time,” Amy said. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“You about ready to be escorted home, Mrs. Cooper?” I said.
Amy looked at her watch. “It’s creeping up on nine o’clock,” she said. “Where are you going to find an escort service open at this hour?”
I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head. “Touché,” I said and walked her out of the theater. The temperature at noon today had been hovering around eighty degrees. It had dropped to seventy-one when we went into the theater and now it was a less than comfortable fifty-six degrees, as evidenced by the thermometer that hung on the side of the drug store next to the theater.
“Wish I’d brought a sweater now,” Amy said. “But I didn’t think of it when we left ‘cause it was still so warm out.”
“Could be another hot one tomorrow,” I said, and wrapped one arm around her shoulder.
“Probably,” Amy said. “Did you make sure the fan in your office is working? I’d hate to think of you in that sweatbox without a fan, at least.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said.
We got to the corner and would normally have followed the sidewalk around the block and down another block to our house, but Amy was beginning to shiver and I suggested we cut through the park.
“You sure?” Amy said. “I’m not that cold. I can hold out another five minutes longer if you can.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “This way’ll get us home quicker and you won’t have to shiver as long. Besides, what can happen when I’m with you?”
“I guess so,” Amy said.
We kept walking straight, cutting through the park. It was only two blocks long but came out almost across the street from our house. Families brought their children here during the day and it was in a clean and relatively safe neighborhood. I hadn’t thought I’d need my .38 to see a movie and it was still tucked safely away on the closet shelf.
We were half way through the park when I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye and heard a faint rustling. I subtly turned my head to the left and caught the movement again ducking behind a tree. Then I heard more sounds on my right side and turned to see a dark figure walking parallel to Amy and me. Amy clung to my arm tighter than before.
As we walked on, a third figure stopped on the path directly ahead of us. He just stood there staring at us. We stopped in our tracks and the figures on either side of us approached. The figure ahead of us started walking toward us and stopped just ten feet away.
“Got a match, pal?” The one in front of us said.
I shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t,” and began walking again.
The guy ahead of us didn’t move out of our way but just widened his stance. He looked to be in his early twenties and was dressed in dirty jeans and a white tee shirt. His boots looked like the kind motorcycle riders wore and his greasy hair was slicked back flat against his head.
His two minions closed the gap between them and us and now they were all uncomfortably close. The guy in front reached into his pocket and pulled something out. With the press of a button a shiny steel blade clicked into place. He moved it around purposely letting me see the light glint off the blade. I quickly looked to my right. The second guy pulled a small revolver out of his pocket and the third thug held onto an eighteen-inch length of galvanized pipe. This third guy was wearing a sleeveless vest with no shirt. He had tattoos running up and down the entire length of both arms. He had a foot-long ponytail of greasy black hair hanging down the back of his neck.
“How about you just give me your wallet?” the guy with the knife said smugly.
I had to think fast and the only thought that came to me was that my best defense was an unexpected offense. I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and threw it and then lunged at the guy with the blade but he sidestepped me and stabbed me in my side. It wasn’t a deep stab, but enough to let me know that he was quick with that knife and that he meant us bodily harm.
I spun around and saw the guy with the pipe grabbing at Amy’s purse. She struggled with him, trying to hold onto the purse’s strap. He hit her hand with the pipe and she howled, letting go of the purse. I turned toward Pipe Boy and kicked the length of pipe from his hand and gave him a backhand slap with my right arm. He dropped the pipe just before I heard the shot and went down. Blackness closed in around me and I was out.
I don’t know how long I laid there until I stirred again. My surroundings were still dark and now they were silent as well. I tried to push myself up off the ground but my arms both gave out and I flopped back down again. I was able to turn myself over onto my back and sit up. The three assailants were gone. I looked around me and saw Amy lying thirty feet away, face up on the grass. I kneeled and was eventually able to stand on wobbly legs and then made my way over to where Amy lay bleeding.
I dropped to my knees and brushed away the hair that had fallen over her face. Her eyes were fixed wide and her pupils were dilated. She wasn’t breathing and I couldn’t find a pulse. My eyes were filling with tears and I couldn’t see clearly. I wanted to scream but my throat wouldn’t cooperate with my brain. I fell forward over Amy’s body and clung to it with all I had. I cried until it hurt and then cried some more. My head was spinning and I was feeling nauseas just before I passed out again.
“Matt,” a voice above me was saying. “Matt, can you hear me?”
I felt a hand gently slapping my cheek.
“Matt, answer me,” the voice said, louder this time.
My eyes fluttered open and tried to focus. When they finally did, I could make out Dan Hollister’s face staring down at me. I moved my head back and forth and licked my lips and finally said, “Amy.”
Dan yelled to someone I couldn’t see. “Get that stretcher over here now.”
Two ambulance attendants gently lifted me up onto the gurney and pulled it up until the wheels snapped into place and then wheeled me away. I tried to sit up, but was restrained by one of the attendants.
“Stay down,” the man said. “We’ll get you to the hospital.”
“Where’s Amy?” I said. “Amy.”
Dan walked along side of the gurney. “We’ve got
her, Matt. You just lay still until we get you into the emergency room.”
I laid my head back and closed my eyes and then remembered seeing Amy just before I’d passed out. She was dead. I knew it. Why even bother stitching me up again? Just let me die, I thought.
The ambulance pulled under the canopy at the emergency room and the back doors flew open. They pulled my gurney out and extended the wheels again, rolling me inside. Doctors and nurses rushed along with my gurney, barking orders to the staff as they ran. The bright light overhead hurt my eyes and soon a pair of hands was prying my eyelids open, shining a small flashlight directly into them. I moved my head away from the light.
“Lay still, Mr. Cooper,” the doctor said. “You don’t want to bleed to death before we get you stitched up.”
My ears were ringing but I could still make out Dan Hollister’s voice in the background.
“What are his chances, doctor?” I heard Dan say. I couldn’t hear the doctor’s response and then suddenly several nurses were lifting me off the gurney and sliding me onto the operating table. Another man in white slipped a mask over my face and I could hear the hiss of gas coming through the nose part of the mask. Before I could count to ten I was out again.
Consciousness came in small increments. I could feel my tongue playing with my lips and my eyes felt like they’d been glued shut as I tried to open them. They eventually opened slowly and I looked up to see a doctor looking at his watch while holding my wrist. He let my wrist go and looked into my pupils again with his tiny flashlight. He made some notes on my chart before turning me over to a nurse.
“Make sure those bandages are changed regularly and call me it there’s any change,” the doctor said.
“Yes, doctor,” the nurse replied and pulled my blanket up to my chin. She looked down at me and smiled. “You’re a lucky man,” the nurse said. “They got you here in time.”
I didn’t feel lucky, I thought. I was laid up in this hospital bed with tubes running up my nose and into my arms. If this was her idea of lucky, I’d hate to see the unlucky ones.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 115