The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  “What will you do then?” I said.

  “Whatever the hell I want to, or nothing at all,” Dan said. That’s the joy of retirement.”

  “Won’t be the same around here without you, you know that.” I said.

  “So what,” Dan said. “I have a lot of catching up to do. So, back to you two. What’s up?”

  I hiked a thumb in Clay’s direction. “Clay’s joining me in the business,” I said. “Cooper and Son.”

  Dan patted Clay on the knee. “That’s great, just great,” he said. “Hey, wait a minute, weren’t you going to be a lawyer or something?”

  Clay shook his head. “Scrapped that idea,” he said. “I want to be where the action is, with dad.”

  “Action?” I said. “Some days it’s all I can do to stay awake. Most of my work would bore the slime off a frog.”

  “Yeah, but what about all the other times?” Clay said. “The things you get to see and the people you meet and the places you go. That’s got to make it all worthwhile.”

  Dan and I exchanged looks and smiled at each other. We knew better.

  “So,” Dan said, turning to Clay. “What’s your first big caper all about?”

  “We don’t have one yet,” Clay explained. “Dad’s just taking me around and showing me the ropes for now. “But I’ll bet we solve it pretty quick, whatever it is.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I said. “Not every case comes to a satisfactory conclusion. We’ll just have to take each one as they come.” I turned to Clay. “Speaking of which, don’t you think it’s time we got back to the office? But first we have to stop downstairs.”

  “Downstairs?” Clay said.

  “We have to get you a carry permit and go gun shopping,” I said. “Gotta keep it all legal, don’t we?” I winked at Dan.

  We all stood and Dan extended his hand to Clay again. “Well, it was certainly great to meet you again, Clay,” he said. “Don’t be a stranger. My door’ll always be open to you. At least for the next two months, three weeks, four days and…”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Clay said.

  “I’ll check back with you closer to your retirement date, Dan,” I said.

  “You won’t be far behind,” Dan said. “You not even a year younger than me.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “but being in a private business like mine, I don’t get that fat pension like you get. I’ll have to work until I drop.”

  “True,” Dan said, “but now you have someone to take over for you when you decide it’s time.” He winked at Clay.

  I turned with Clay and left the office. We drove back to my office, or should I say, our office in my 1960 Oldsmobile sedan. Clay ran his hand over the metal dashboard and swiveled his head to take in the interior. “You always did like to drive an Oldsmobile, didn’t you?”

  I agreed. “Had one since the thirties,” I said. “My first car was a thirty-nine. That was a tank.”

  Clay cleared his throat. “And this one isn’t?” he said. “About time you got a new one, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I only have a hundred forty-five thousand on this one. It’s just getting broken in.”

  “You mean broken down, don’t you?” Clay said.

  “It’s a classic,” I said. “You won’t see these lines on today’s cars.”

  “Thank goodness,” Clay mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, dad.”

  Clay and I drove to the gun shop on Sunset. I knew the owner and was confident he’d treat us right. The bell above the door tinkled as we entered. My friend came out from behind the counter and walked up to us, his hand extended. I shook it.

  “Carl, how are you?” I said.

  “Matt, always good to see you. How’ve you been?” Carl said and then looked at Clay. “Who’s this?”

  “Carl Hastings, this is my son, Clay Cooper,” I said.

  Carl grabbed Clay’s hand and pumped it. “Good to meet you, Clay,” he said. “Your dad’s told me so much about you over the years, I feel like I know you.” Carl turned back to me. “So what brings you two here today?”

  I patted Clay on the shoulder. “Clay’s joining me in the business and we need to get him outfitted with a sidearm and holster rig,” I said. “What can you show us?”

  “Got just the thing,” Carl said and walked back behind the counter. He slid open the glass door on his display case and withdrew an automatic and laid it on the counter. “See how that feels in you hand,” he told Clay.

  Clay picked up the gun and bounced it in his hand, trying to guess the weight. He wrapped his hand around the butt and aimed at a spot on the wall, sighting down the barrel.

  “Feel’s pretty good,” he told Carl.

  I jumped in. “I’m sure it’s a fine weapon, Carl,” I said, “but can you show him something in a revolver?”

  “What’s wrong with this one?” Clay said, handing the gun back to Carl.

  “Automatics hold more rounds,” I said, “but you can’t beat the revolver for reliability. Automatics have been known to jam. I’ve never had a revolver jam. Besides, if you can’t settle your feud in six shots, four more aren’t gonna help you much.”

  Carl returned the automatic to the case and pulled out a Smith and Wesson .38 with a three-inch barrel. He pulled the hammer back slightly and spun the cylinder around before handing it to Clay.

  Clay felt the heft of this gun and sighted down its barrel before nodding his approval. “This one feels right,” he said.

  Carl turned around and pulled a shoulder rig off the shelf. He looked at Clay and held his hand out. Clay handed over the .38 and Carl slid it into the holster and handed the rig back to Clay. “Try this on for size and see how it feels, “ Carl said.

  Clay slipped into the shoulder holster and practiced drawing the gun and returning it to the holster. He did it like a man who’d had some experience.

  “You been practicing?” I said.

  “A little,” Clay admitted. “When I decided to join you I started looking into guns on my own. I’ve been to the range and had a few lessons and even a gun safety course. I wanted to be ready when we got to this point.”

  “Well,” Carl said, “It looks like you’re ready. When do you want to pick it up?”

  “Pick it up?” Clay said. “I thought I’d take it along with me.”

  Carl’s eyes met mine. I looked at Clay. “There’s a waiting period,” I said. “Keeps hotheads from flying off the handle and killing anyone before they’ve had a chance to think things over.”

  Carl spoke up. “If I might suggest something,” he said. He looked Clay over and said, “You a hothead?”

  Clay shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “I’m real even tempered. Ask anyone.”

  “Just like dad,” Carl said. “Tell you what.” He pulled out the gun permit and wrote something on it and showed it to Clay. “Okay, now you’ve had your cooling off period.”

  He had backdated the document and then winked at me. He turned to Clay and handed him a pen. “Sign here,” Carl said.

  Clay signed the application and pushed it back over to Carl. Carl signed it next to Clay’s signature. “That’ll be one seventy-five for the gun and I’ll throw in the holster for thirty-five,” he said. “Call it two bills even.”

  Clay opened his wallet and found only a hundred eleven dollars and his face fell. I opened my wallet and produced a hundred and handed it to Clay.

  “That’s coming out of your first check,” I reminded him.

  “Thanks, dad.” Clay said, handing over two hundred dollars and pocketing his last eleven dollars.

  Carl rung up the sale and asked, “Want me to wrap it?”

  Clay shook his head, reached for the rig and slipped out of his coat. He slipped into the rig and pulled his coat on over it. He looked down and smiled his approval. “Now I’m ready,” Clay said.

  I thanked Carl and walked with Clay out of the shop and back to the car. I drove back to the office and left
my Olds in the lot behind the building. We rode the elevator to the third floor. I’d had the same office on Hollywood Boulevard since I started the business right after the war. It’s been a second home to me all these years. When we got back in the office, Clay checked the answering machine and noticed a small red light blinking. He turned back to me.

  “Hey, we got a message,” he said. “See, I told you this thing would come in handy.” He twisted the dial to the Rewind position and the reels spun, stopping at a place predetermined by the counter dial, and then twisted the selector knob to the Play position.

  The message began, “Cooper, I need your help. Call me at this number.” He gave the phone number and the line went dead.

  “Well, it was brief, but we still got the message,” Clay said. “Might have a case here, dad.”

  “Didn’t leave a name, though, did he?” I said.

  “There’s one way to find out who it was,” Clay said.

  “Way ahead of you, son,” I said, picking up my phone and dialing the number. The phone rang three times on the other end before someone picked it up.

  “Hello?” a man’s voice said.

  “Hello,” I said. “This is Matt Cooper. Are you the party who left a message for me to call you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’d like you to come to my house. I have a proposition to make.”

  “Who is this?” I said.

  “There’s time for that later,” the man said. “I’ll pay your regular rates and a bonus if you’ll meet me out here as soon as you can. If you decide not to take my case, I’ll still pay you for your trip out here.”

  “This isn’t the way I do business,” I said. “I have to know…”

  “Cooper,” the man said. “We have to do this my way for now. You’ll understand when you get here. You interested in the job or not?”

  “Give me the address,” I said and wrote it down, adding, “How’s thirty minutes work for you?”

  “I’ll be here,” he said and hung up.

  I looked at Clay. “Looks like you have your first case,” I said. “You ready?”

  “You bet,” Clay said eagerly. “Let’s go.”

  We hurried down to the parking lot and headed toward my Olds. Clay grabbed my arm and suggested we take his car instead.

  “We want to make a good impression,” Clay said. “What kind of impression are we going to make in that old clunker?” He gestured toward my Olds.

  I reluctantly agreed and we took Clay’s two-year-old Chevy instead. I had to agree that it looked nicer and drove smoother, but it didn’t have that classic feel that mine did. I read the address to Clay and he drove out of the parking lot and headed west.

  “Read me that address again,” Clay said.

  I read him the address on Somma Way.

  “That sounds like Bel Air,” Clay said.

  “It is,” I said, referring to the map book Clay kept in his car. “Just off Stone Canyon Road. Turn here.”

  It was a sprawling estate on five acres south of the reservoir. We pulled up to the ten-foot wrought iron gate at the end of the driveway and Clay rolled his window down. A guard at the gate came out of the guardhouse and walked over to the car, leaning down to look in at us.

  “Cooper Investigations,” I said. “He’s expecting us.”

  The guard returned to the guardhouse, picked up a phone and talked into it briefly. He hung it up and stuck his head out of the door and waved us in. The iron gates opened and we drove up a long winding driveway to the house. It was a large white house with a red Spanish tile roof and a lot of sculpted hedges strategically placed around the entrance. We got out and walked up to the door. I pressed the doorbell and from inside we could hear what sounded like Big Ben chiming those familiar Westminster tones. The door opened and we fully expected to be met by a butler in a tuxedo wearing white gloves. Instead we stood face to face with Anthony Benedetto, the infamous crime world boss.

  “Come in,” he said, sweeping his arm in the general direction of the house’s interior. We followed him into a glass room that resembled a greenhouse but without so many plants. Benedetto gestured toward two wicker chairs with padded seats. “Can I get you something to drink?” he said.

  “Ice tea, if you have it,” I said.

  Clay held up two fingers.

  Benedetto pressed a button on the table and another man appeared from somewhere.

  “Two ice teas for our guests,” he told the man.

  “Yes sir,” the man said and disappeared through the door again.

  Benedetto sat in a third padded wicker chair opposite Clay and me. “I’m familiar with you, Mr. Cooper,” he said, “but I don’t believe I know your friend here.”

  “This is my son, Clay,” I said. “He’s just joined me in my business.”

  Clay held his hand out but Benedetto didn’t offer his.

  “Sorry,” Benedetto said, “But I never shake hands with anyone. So many germs out there, you know. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Clay said, retracting his hand.

  “I guess you’re both wondering why I summoned you here under such mysterious circumstances,” Benedetto said.

  “It had crossed my mind,” I said. “What’s with all the cloak and dagger?”

  The door opened again the same man came back with a tray holding three glasses. He handed Clay and me a glass of ice tea and handed Benedetto a rocks glass with ice and something that I was pretty sure was not ice tea. “Will there be anything else, sir?” the man said.

  Benedetto waved him off and turned his attention back to me. “As you may or may not have heard,” he said, “district attorney Harrison is making plans to bring me in on some trumped up charge of murder. I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you I didn’t do it, but those are the facts. It is inevitable that Harrison will send the police to pick me up, and I’m perfectly willing to go in and clear this thing up but...”

  “But you don’t think you’ll make it in?” Clay said.

  Benedetto pointed at Clay with his glass but spoke to me. “He’s got a real head on his shoulders, that boy of yours,” he said.

  “Is that your concern?” I said.

  Benedetto nodded and said, “I’ve heard through the grapevine that I won’t make it as far as the courthouse steps before I’m assassinated.”

  “By whom?” Clay said.

  “Whom,” Benedetto said, echoing Clay. “He’s educated as well. I like that. The whom is obvious. It’s no doubt someone on the inside at the courthouse. If I make it to the D.A.’s office, a few big wigs will go down hard.”

  “And what is it you expect us to do?” I said.

  “All I need is safe passage in and out, once I tell them what I know,” Benedetto said. “For that you will both be paid handsomely.”

  I looked at Clay and then at Benedetto. “I don’t see how we’ll be able to protect you if someone is determined to take you out,” I said. “They could pick you off with sniper rifle from some rooftop and we wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

  “You have any ideas?” Benedetto said.

  Clay leaned in. “Have you thought about a disguise?” he said.

  “You mean a beard and a rubber nose and glasses?” Benedetto said almost indignantly.

  No,” Clay said. “Nothing so blatant. Maybe just a workman’s uniform and a cap with a visor. We don’t draw any undue attention to your arrival and you just walk in like you belong there. And no one is to know the exact time of your arrival.”

  Benedetto nodded. “Could work,” he said. “Harrison will no doubt have a specific day that he’ll want me to come in. I don’t suppose there’ll be any way of keeping that from leaking out, so it all hinges on the timing.”

  I nodded agreement with Clay’s plan and added, “And you absolutely don’t want to show up in your regular car. We could have a heating and plumbing truck come to your house and pick you up. They can bring you the uniform and drive you right into the courthouse garage.” I took a deep breath,
reluctant to ask what I knew I must and then said, “Mr. Benedetto, who is it that they think you murdered?”

  “Is that important?” Benedetto said.

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t,” I said. “The more information we have, the better equipped we’ll be to help you. You’ll have to trust us on this.”

  Benedetto thought about it for a moment before he decided to co-operate. “Timothy Cleary,” he said.

  Clay and I looked at each other and Benedetto knew that we knew who he was talking about.

  “Cleary was the head of an organization that, shall we say, specialized in small business loans,” Benedetto said, licking his lips and pretending to be absorbed in the contents of his drink.

  “I remember now,” I said. “That was, what, almost a year ago?”

  Benedetto nodded.

  “I think I get it,” I said. “A loan shark. And if I also recall correctly, that was, or still is for all I know, your area of expertise. Could it be that the competition was getting a little stiff?”

  “If he wasn’t,” Clay added, “He is now.” He started to laugh but very soon realized that we didn’t think it was funny. He tried to turn his laugh into a cough but failed miserably. “Sorry,” he offered, leaning back in his chair and sipping his ice tea.

  Benedetto rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to me. “In case you’re wondering,” he said, “I didn’t choose you at random, Mr. Cooper. I’ve been following your career, so to speak, since right after the Korean War.” He shifted his gaze to Clay and added, “And you were just a toddler then.”

  Clay looked surprised to know that a man like Anthony Benedetto had even known of his existence, let alone any personal details about him. He was both impressed and unnerved.

  “That’s right,” Benedetto said to Clay. “I’ve known about you, too, and from what I know, I can honestly say I’m glad to have you in on this. If you’re anything like your dad, you’ll both be able to pull this off and get me in and out alive.”

  “And that’s all you want us to do?” I said.

  “That’s it,” Benedetto said. “You want the job?”

  I looked at Clay and he nodded. I looked back at Benedetto. “We’re in,” I said, “but with a few stipulations. First, you must do exactly as we tell you. Some of it may not make sense at the time, but we may not always have time to explain our reasons, so just follow our instructions and you just may get out of this alive. Agreed?”