The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

The nurse stepped aside as Dan took his place beside my bed.

  “How are you doing, buddy?” Dan said.

  “Where’s Amy?” I said. “Is she…?”

  Dan hung his head and said nothing.

  I turned my head to the side and a tear ran over my nose and down onto the pillow.

  “Matt,” Dan said. “We’re going to get these guys, I promise you.”

  Suddenly I remembered my son. “Clay,” I said.

  “I have an officer picking him up at your house,” Dan said. “He’ll be here shortly. You just rest.” Dan paused momentarily and then added, “Matt, did you get a good look at these guys? Could you identify them? I know it seems like an inappropriate time to ask, but you know yourself, the first twenty-four hours are critical to catching them. Can you tell me anything about them to help identify them?”

  I sighed. “The guy in front of us was maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. He had black hair slicked back like a greaser. I’d say five-ten or eleven, a hundred seventy or so. Couldn’t see his eyes but he had a switchblade with some pearl inlay on the handle. The second guy, the one with the pipe was a year or two older and a couple inches shorter. Blue jeans, tee shirt and a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve.”

  “So there were two of them?” Dan said.

  “Three,” I said. “The third one had a gun, some kind of small caliber revolver. I didn’t get much of a look at him. He shot me from behind.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive, Matt,” Dan said. “You’ve got one bullet wound in your shoulder and a knife wound in your side. Luckily they both missed any vital organs.”

  “Amy?” I said.

  “Matt,” Dan said. “Amy’s gone, but if it’s any consolation, she didn’t suffer from what the new M.E. told me.”

  That’s right, I thought. The county had a new medical examiner. Jack Walsh had retired three years ago at age sixty-five and had died three months later. His replacement was a kid fresh out of medical school who apparently was up on the latest methods and procedures. If a killer left any clues on a body, Andy Reynolds was the one who could find them.

  We both remained silent for a moment before the door to my hospital room opened and Clay walked in with a uniformed officer. Clay came over to my bedside and held my hand.

  “Dad,” Clay said. “What happened? Where’s mom. They won’t tell me anything. Are you all right?”

  “They tell me I’ll make it,” I said.

  “What about mom?” Clay repeated.

  When I didn’t answer right away, clay looked at Dan. Dan looked at the floor. Clay looked back at me.

  “Clay,” I said. “You mom is…”

  “She’s dead?” Clay said.

  I nodded slightly. “I’m afraid so, son.”

  Clay’s eyes filled with tears and he quickly wiped them away. “Why?” Clay said. “What happened?”

  Dan laid a hand on Clay’s shoulder. “Your mom and dad were attacked earlier tonight,” Dan said. “We have a pickup order out for all three of their assailants.”

  “Three?” Clay said. “Dad, there were three of them?”

  The doctor poked his head into the room and caught some of the exchange between Clay and me. “Mr. Cooper is going to need a lot of rest. I’m afraid you’ll all have to leave now,” the doctor said. “You can come back tomorrow.”

  Dan guided Clay toward the door. Clay turned around and looked at me. “I’ll be back in the morning, dad” Clay said.

  Dan turned back and said, “Clay will be spending the night with Laverne and me. Don’t you worry, Matt. He’s in good hands.”

  “Thanks, Dan,” I said and closed my eyes.

  The next morning as soon as visitors were allowed, Clay was right there at my bedside looking in on me. He touched my hand and I opened my eyes. Seeing him made me smile but it also reminded me of last night’s tragedy. My emotions were being pulled in two different directions.

  “Morning, dad,” Clay said. “How do you feel today?”

  “A little better,” I said, and fell silent again. Amy was the white elephant in the room and neither of us wanted to be the one to bring her up, but we both knew sooner or later that we’d have to talk about her. I tried sitting up but the pain in my shoulder held me back.

  “Don’t try to sit up,” Clay said. “You just lay there and get better. I want you up and out of here as soon as possible. We have three guys to deal with.”

  My eyes shot up to Clay’s and my jaw tightened. “No,” I almost screamed. “You’re going to stay out of this, you understand? It’s bad enough they took your mother from me. I don’t want to lose you, too. Do you hear me? You stay out of this.”

  Clay reluctantly agreed and then sat in the chair next to my bed. He sighed heavily and lowered his head. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see his shoulders convulsing. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed like I’d never heard before. I laid my hand on top of his head and stroked his hair. He turned his head toward my bed and buried it in the bedding.

  The door opened and Dan peeked in. “All right if I come in?” he said.

  Clay quickly wiped his eyes on the bedding and stood up, turning away from Dan’s gaze.

  “How you feeling today, Matt?” Dan said. “Looks like you got some of your color back.”

  “A little better,” I said. “Shoulder’s still sore as hell.”

  “What about your side?” Dan said. “How’d that come out?”

  I felt my side where I’d been stabbed. “These stitches itch like crazy,” I said. “But it feels a little better than yesterday.”

  “That’s good,” Dan said. “Say, I thought I’d stop by your place and help Clay pickup some more clothes. You won’t be out of here for a week, at least and he’s gonna be staying with us until you’re better.”

  “Dan,” I said. “Clay and I really appreciate this. I can’t tell you.”

  “You just did,” Dan said. “And don’t you worry about a thing. Clay and Dean are getting along just fine. Just bring your claim ticket with you when they let you out of here and you can pick him up again.”

  I laughed a single laugh and then stopped. “Ooh, that hurts,” I said. “Don’t make me laugh, really.”

  “Sorry,” Dan said, and then looked over at Clay. Dan turned back to me and then gestured with his head toward Clay.

  I turned toward Clay, who still had his back to us. “Clay,” I said, “would you come here for a moment, please?”

  Clay turned and stood by my side. “Would you go down to the end of the hall, look out the window and see if you can see our house from there?”

  “Dad,” Clay said. “You don’t have to make up stuff to get me to leave the room so you and Mr. Hollister can talk,” Clay said. “I can take a hint. I’ll be in the waiting room.”

  “Thanks, Clay,” I said.

  Clay closed the door behind him on his way out and Dan took the seat next to my bed.

  “What do you know so far?” I said.

  “Still nothing,” Dan said. “These guys must be laying low. One of them has your wallet and sooner or later it’s going to surface and give us a place to start looking for these animals.”

  “He got my wallet?” I said. “I didn’t know. He must have taken it after the other one shot me. I never even missed it.”

  “I have every available man working on this case, Matt,” Dan said. “Hopefully by the time you’re released from here, we’ll have them in custody. Don’t you worry.”

  Dan fell silent and I knew what the next words out of his mouth were going to be.

  “Matt,” Dan started, “we have to make arrangements for Amy’s funeral and I could use some input from you.”

  The mention of Amy’s name opened the floodgates again and my eyes welled up. Tears ran down the sides of my face, pooling in my ears. I wiped them with my sheet. “Dan,” I said. “I thought losing Stella was bad enough. What did I ever do to deserve this twice in one lifetime?”

  “You didn’t do a
nything, Matt,” Dan said. “You can’t blame yourself. There was nothing more you could have done.”

  “I could have stayed on the sidewalk and gone around the park,” I said. “All this grief just to save a few minutes by cutting through the park. And for what?” I grabbed the sheet at my side and bunched it up in my clenched fist.

  “Matt,” Dan said. “I don’t know how many ways I can say this. It’s not your fault so get that out of your head.” Dan hesitated for a moment. “Now about the arrangements for Amy’s funeral. Where do you want the services?”

  I shook my head. “Amy wouldn’t want any service,” I said. “She was a private person. We were both very private. We talked about this a while back and neither of us wants any kind of fuss made over us. Clay and I will say our goodbyes in private and Amy’s ashes will be scattered in the Hollywood Hills, like she wanted.”

  “The Hollywood Hills?” Dan said.

  “We were both movie buffs,” I said. “And she told me that if she died before I did that she wanted her ashes scattered around the Hollywood sign. I plan to honor that wish.”

  “Did you want to see Amy once more before she’s cremated?” Dan said. “I could have Andy Reynolds keep her until you get out of here.”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “That’s not the last image of her I’d want in my head. I want to remember her the way I knew her. You can tell Andy to go ahead and release Amy to the funeral home. I’ll take care of everything else when they let me out of here.”

  “I’ll tell them all what you want,” Dan said.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Dan turned for the door and paused. “I have to get back, Matt. I’m going to do everything I can to catch these guys.” He left without another word.

  Eleven days later the doctor took one last look at my wounds before agreeing that I could finish my convalescence at home. Clay brought me a fresh suit of clothes and Dan arranged for an officer to drive us both back to the house that Amy and I had called home for more than fifteen years.

  Even as I walked into the house I could feel Amy’s presence in every room. I half expected her to walk out of the kitchen with a sandwich for me, or sit next to me on the couch and watch our favorite television shows. Clay was a big comfort but he still couldn’t fill the huge hole in my heart where Amy had resided. I stayed home for another two weeks before I felt strong enough to resume my regular duties at the investigation company I’d started nineteen years ago, right after the war.

  It was the third week of September when I unlocked my office door again. Clay was back in high school now and had hung a sign on my door letting potential customers know that the office was closed due to a death in the family and would remain closed until further notice. I hung my coat on the rack but left my .38 hanging under my arm. As far as I was concerned, I would never be without it again…ever. It seemed a bit strange not to be wearing my favorite fedora anymore. Those hats had just gone out of style shortly after John Kennedy had taken office. He didn’t wear a hat and the rest of the nation followed suit.

  Clay had visited my office several times during my absence to collect my mail. I’d opened most of it at home and dealt with it there. Today there was only yesterday’s mail lying on the floor beneath the mail slot in my door. I sat behind my desk and tried to go through the three pieces of mail in front of me. I threw two of them away immediately. After all, I didn’t need my carpet cleaned nor was I interested in a diaper service.

  The third piece of mail was from my insurance company. Amy and I had taken life insurance policies out on each other right after Clay was born. Inside the envelope was a letter, which read:

  Dear Mr. Cooper,

  Please accept our condolences on the passing of your wife, Amy Callahan Cooper. Enclosed

  please find our check in the amount of fifty thousand dollars as per your policy specifications. We

  know this can never make up for your loss, but hopefully it will help you to move on in a positive

  direction.

  Sincerely,

  Kent Worthington,

  Vice President, claims

  I threw the envelope in the trash, slipped the letter into my desk drawer and folded the check, slipping it in my shirt pocket. That would certainly help with the bills that had accumulated since I’d been gone, and Clay would now have a good start on his college fund. I’d show him the letter another time.

  I picked up the morning paper on my way into the office this morning and had just settled in with the front page when my phone rang. It was Dan.

  “Good morning, Matt,” Dan said. “Does it feel good to be back at work after all that time off?”

  “As good as it can feel,” I said. “If I had to spend another week at home I’d have opened a vein.” I laughed but Dan didn’t. “I guess that wasn’t funny.”

  “Matt,” Dan said. “I just called to give you the latest on our investigation into those three hoodlums.”

  “Did you find them?” I said, hope dripping from my words.

  “Not yet,” Dan said. “But we have a lead on one of ‘em. “One of our informants on the street tells us that the one who shot you is a two-time loser named Warren Chambers. His street name is Weasel. If we can get our mitts on this Chambers, he could lead us to the other two vermin.”

  “Sounds promising,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me in on this one?”

  “I’d like nothing better,” Dan said. “But we have to be very careful with the arrest and interrogation. I don’t want this cockroach slipping through any loopholes because of anything we did or didn’t do. You understand, don’t you, Matt?”

  “I guess,” I said. “I don’t like it, but I’ll stay out of it. You just let me know what happens if and when you get him, all right?”

  “Count on it,” Dan said and hung up.

  Stay out of it, indeed, I thought. I had sources of my own and I wasn’t about to sit idly by and let a guy like that go on breathing free air. Not if I could help it. I folded the paper up again and slipped into my coat, buttoning it over my shoulder holster. I still had a contact at the records department downtown. I’d known Eva Bishop for more than twenty years and she was always willing to help me in the past.

  As I walked into the clerk’s office I spotted Eva behind her desk, sipping coffee and munching on a cookie. When she saw me, she sipped her coffee again and washed the rest of that last cookie down before smiling and coming to greet me.

  “Matt, how are you?” Eva said. “I was so sorry to hear about Amy.” She laid her hand on my arm. “And how are you doing? My god, I heard you were shot or something.”

  “Thanks, Eva,” I said. “I’m doing all right physically. My wounds are healing but as far as the emotional part, I don’t know. How do you get over something like that?”

  “That’s a tough one, Matt,” Eva said. “If there’s anything I can do, you just let me know, okay?”

  “You’ll be the first one I call,” I said.

  “So what brings you here today?” Eva said.

  “I need you to look someone up for me in your records, if you will?” I said. “There’s this guy I did some work for a few months ago and he left town without paying me. Can you look him up and see what his new address is?”

  “Consider it done,” Eva said. “What’s his name?”

  “Warren Chambers,” I said and then added, “And Eva, this doesn’t go any further than this room, please.”

  “Okay, Matt. Whatever you say,” Eva said.

  She pulled her oversized journal off the shelf and brought it to the counter, turning it sideways so we could both look at its pages. Her finger ran down the column of names, turned the page and continued down it, stopping at Chambers, Warren P.

  “Here he is,” Eva said. “This shows an address on Kingsley Drive. According to this, that would put him just south of Melrose Avenue. Is this different than the last address you had on him?”

  “Yes,” I said. “When he skipped
out he was living in a dump over on Franklin near Cahuenga. What else can you tell me about him?”

  Eva checked a cross-reference number and pulled another book off the shelf. She scanned the pages and found Chambers’ name again.

  “Looks like his last place of employment was a machine shop in the valley,” Eva said. “Does that help?”

  “More than you know, Eva,” I said. “Thank you so much. I have to get going, but we’ll do lunch soon if you like.”

  “That would be nice,” Eva said. “You take care, Matt and give Clay a hug for me.”

  “He’s getting a little big for that these days,” I said, “but I’ll tell him you said hi.”

  I left the building and slid behind the wheel of my Olds. I’d driven an Oldsmobile since before the war but that was a 1939 and it was built like a tank. This new one I drove now was longer and heavier and gulped gas almost faster than I could put it in. And what with gas now costing twice as much as it did back then, I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep driving this big boat. As it was, the seventeen gallons it took to fill it now cost me almost six dollars. Where would it end? I wouldn’t be surprised to see gas hit an all-time high of forty cents before the end of the 60s.

  I drove to within a block of the Kinglsey Drive address Eva had given me and parked. I walked the rest of the way, casually looking at the house where Warren “Weasel” Chambers lived. It was a two-story duplex with Chambers’ address on the lower floor. I went for the direct approach and walked up the walk and rang the bell. I could hear footsteps coming toward me. I pulled my .38 out from under my arm and held it alongside my right leg.

  The door opened and a young man with a three-day growth on his face said, “What?”

  “Are you Warren Chambers?” I said in my official sounding voice.”

  “Yeah, who wants to know?” he said.

  I raised my .38 and backed him into the room. “Anyone else here?” I said.

  “Go to hell,” Chambers said.

  I cuffed him alongside his head to get his attention. “He wants to know,” I said, gesturing toward my revolver. I think you’d better answer him. He has a short fuse.” I raised the gun again and cocked my arm.”