The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  I stopped in front of the bench and looked at the man. He was maybe twenty-five or twenty-six with blonde, shoulder-length, greasy hair, blue eyes, about five-nine or ten, a hundred seventy-five or so. He had on dirty blue jeans and a black t-shirt with a picture of The Doobie Brothers on the front. He was exactly as Gloria had described him, right down to the pimple on his neck.

  “Is that a Gibson?” I said, pointing to the case.

  The guy nodded. “Wanna see?” he said.

  “Sure,” I said and stepped up.

  The kid stood and laid the guitar case on the bench and flipped the locks open, lifting the case’s lid to reveal what looked like an ES-335.

  “She’s a beauty,” I said. “Is she for sale?”

  “For the right price,” he said.

  “Would you take twelve hundred for it?” I said.

  “Show me the money,” he said.

  I made the gesture of reaching into my front pants pocket. The kid eyed my t-shirt and nodded. Then I caught a glint in his eye as he looked past me. I felt something hard pressed into my back and heard a low, throaty voice telling me to keep still and be quiet.

  I looked up the sidewalk toward the corner and saw an old woman slowly walking our way. She was wearing a full-length floral print dress and black shoes. Her gray hair was covered with a scarf and she was wearing sunglasses.

  The hard thing pressed into my back and the man behind me said, “Not a word, you understand?”

  I nodded and waited for the old woman to pass us. When she got to where we were standing, she stopped and looked at the guy behind me. “Excuse me young man,” she said in a frail voice. “Could you tell me how to get to Seventh Street?”

  “One block over,” the guy behind me said, gesturing with his chin.

  “Thank you so much,” the woman said, placing her hand on the guy’s shoulder. In an instant she dropped her hand, clamped down on the guy’s wrist, and twisted. The guy yelped and dropped the gun he’d been holding. Gloria picked it up and stuck it in the guy’s ribs.

  “Sit over there next to your partner,” she barked. She turned to the guy with the guitar. “You too, sit down.”

  By now, I had my .38 trained on both the men. Gloria handed me the guy’s gun and pulled the gray wig off her head, stepping out of the floral print dress. Both men’s eyes got wide when they recognized the woman they’d left unconscious in that house.

  Gloria stepped over to the man with the guitar and ordered him to stand. When he did, she dug her hand into his front pocket and came out with a wad of bills. She counted the bills and turned to me. “It’s all here,” she said and turned to the man with the guitar. She pulled the man’s wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open to the driver’s license.

  “Charles Dobbins,” she said. “Well, Chuckie, I know where you live. Keep that in mind.” She turned to the second guy and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. His driver’s license identified him as Arthur Travis. His was the address on the other side of LaBrea. “So that was your pad, huh Artie?”

  Artie looked sheepish and then turned his head away from Gloria.

  She grabbed him by the chin, the way a mother would just before she spits on her handkerchief and wipes the kid’s face.

  “Listen up, Artie,” Gloria said. “The way I see it, you’ve got a couple of choices. One, I can turn you over to the police and charge you with assault and battery as well as robbery. Two, I could plug you both here and claim self-defense. Three, Elliott here could stand watch while I kick the livin’ shit out of both of you. Or four, I can just take this guitar and walk away, which I’d do anyway after any of the first three options. So what’ll it be, boys?”

  They looked at each other and shrugged. The first guy snapped the case shut and handed it to me. “Go on,” he said. “Take it and go.”

  Gloria took the case from him and turned to face the second man. She swung her foot up and connected with the man’s crotch. His eyes widened and the breath came out of him all at once. He dropped to his knees, his hands cupping his crotch. He was even facing east so he could have passed for some Muslim praying to Allah. “That’s for hitting me on the head, you son-of-a-bitch.”

  She turned back to the first man. “Your turn.”

  He turned and ran as fast as he could toward the MacArthur Park pond and never looked back. I holstered my .38 and Gloria dropped the man’s revolver into her purse. She and I both laughed and walked away with the guitar.

  “Say, you really are a master of disguises,” I said. “And you looked so helpless and vulnerable.”

  “All part of the job,” she said.

  I got back to my car and offered to drive Gloria back to where she’d parked. A couple blocks away we found her Jeep sitting at the curb. Gloria got out and tossed the guitar in the back of her Jeep and said, “I guess I’ll see you back at the office, boss.”

  We both parked behind my building and rode the elevator to the third floor. Gloria set the guitar down just inside my door and flopped down on my couch, clasping her hands behind her head and smiling.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. This is gonna be fun.”

  I sat next to Gloria on the couch and turned toward her. “I have to admit,” I said. “I was skeptical when you first came in here looking for a job. But I don’t mind saying that I think you’ll fit right in with the business.” I held my hand out and she shook it. When I tried to pull away I noticed Gloria wasn’t letting go.

  “Thanks, Elliott,” she said, and kissed me on the cheek.

  “What was that for?” I said.

  “Just for giving me the chance to show you what I could do,” she said.

  I rubbed my cheek where she’d kissed me. “Don’t you think you’d better call your client and let him know you got his guitar back?”

  “Ooh, yeah,” she said, jumping up off the couch and hurrying to my desk. She reached for the phone but I interrupted her.

  “Uh uh,” I said. “That’s my desk. “Your desk is over there.” I pointed to the desk and chair she’d had brought in.”

  She got out of my chair, stepped over to her own desk, and sat. She unconsciously reached for the phone and then looked over at me. “Guess you better order another phone, Elliott.”

  “I’m on it, partner,” I said.

  46 - Mutiny On A Bounty

  It was a quarter to one and I’d used up most of my lunch hour at the sporting goods store. I’d stopped in to buy a box of ammunition for my .38 revolver. That in itself should have only taken ten minutes, but some of the newer models of handguns that they had on display there distracted me. Before I knew it, I’d wasted forty minutes and I needed to get back to the office by one o’clock. Gloria was holding down the fort until I returned and she was competent enough, but I needed to set a good example for her by not staying away past my hour. I couldn’t expect her to be on time if I wasn’t.

  I slipped behind the wheel of my car and headed back to the office. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I had neglected to fill it during this hour. I spotted a fast food burger joint half a block ahead and pulled into the parking lot. I would have driven through the drive-thru window, but the line for that was at least eight cars long and I knew I could get faster service by simply going inside and waiting at the counter.

  There were three lines at the counter, the shortest of which had just two people in it. I fell in behind the last man in that short line. There was a woman ahead of him and from the looks of it, she’d ordered enough food to feed a small army. She finally got all of her order and left with four bags full of food and a cardboard tray with four large drinks on it. The man ahead of me stepped up and placed his order. I glanced at my watch. If someone waited on me right away, I could still grab a burger and a shake, eat it on the way back to the office and still make it back in time.

  Just before the guy ahead of me got his order I saw another man come in through one of the side doors and walk immediately up to and behind the service counter. He stepped ba
ck behind the warming rack, coffee pot station and ice cream dispenser. He looked as out of place back there as a ballet dancer in a foundry. I kept one eye on him as I waited for my turn at the counter.

  I saw his hand go into his coat and come out with a small handgun. He was pointing it at a woman in a white dress shirt. All the other workers here had blue shirts, so I assumed she was the manager. She glanced down at the handgun and her eyes got wide and scared. She backed away from the man and bumped into a young woman who was making fries. The young woman turned around, excusing herself. When she looked up and saw what was happening she cringed and backed away. The gunman was guiding the manager back toward the office when I saw the young woman grab a large salt shaker, twist the top off it and dump the salt on the floor. She scooped the shaker into the hot oil that the fries were cooking in and quietly walked up behind the gunman, dumping the contents of the shaker down his neck.

  The gunman screamed a high-pitched scream, dropped his gun and grabbed his neck. He was writhing on the floor by the time I came back there with my .38 drawn.

  The manager took one look at me and my handgun and said, “Oh no. Two of them.”

  I held both of my hands up, pointing my weapon at the ceiling. “Oh no,” I said. “I’m not with him.” I pulled out my I.D. and showed it to the manager. “Elliott Cooper,” I said. “Better call the cops and an ambulance.” I picked up the gun the robber had dropped and slipped it into my pocket.

  The manager approached me, followed by the young woman. The manager gestured toward her employee. “Is Tracy here going to get into trouble for pouring the hot oil on that guy?”

  I looked at Tracy and smiled. “I’d dare say that the only person who’s likely to complain is the guy on the floor holding his neck,” I said. “Of course, by the time he gets out of prison, no one will care what happened here today. Don’t worry about it. You did what you had to do.”

  Tracy breathed easier but was still visibly shaken. A few minutes later a black and white patrol car rolled into the parking lot and two officers walked in to look over the scene. A minute later an ambulance pulled up to the building and two attendants rolled a gurney into the burger joint. I walked over to the two officers and started to show my I.D. to one of them.

  “Elliott,” the first officer said. “What are you doing here?” It was Jim Davidson, a cop I knew through my association with Dean Hollister.

  “Hey Jim,” I said. “I just stopped in for a burger and shake.” I looked at my watch. It was one ten. “Oh gees,” I said. “I was supposed to be back at the office ten minutes ago. You need anything from me?”

  “Go on,” Officer Davidson said. “I know where to find you if I need anything else.”

  “Thanks, Jim,” I said, and headed toward the door when I remembered that I still had the robber’s gun in my pocket. I turned around and stepped over to when Jim was questioning Tracy. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Almost forgot this,” I said, handing Jim the gun. “It’s his.” I pointed to the man squirming around on the gurney.

  “Thanks, Elliott,” Jim said.

  “Yeah, thanks, Elliott,” the manager echoed.

  “Don’t thank me,” I said. “Thank Tracy. She’s the one who stopped him.” Tracy smiled as I hurried back out to my car and drove back to the office.

  When I walked back into the office, Gloria made an exaggerated gesture of looking at her wrist, where there was no watch. She held the imaginary watch up to her ear and then tapped on the imaginary crystal, returning it to her ear. “Musta stopped,” she said, grinning a sly grin.

  “Hey,” I said. “I would have been back on time but...” And I proceeded to give her the details of my interesting encounter at the burger joint.

  When I got to the part where Tracy dumped hot oil down the robber’s neck, Gloria winced.

  “Ouch,” she said, holding her neck. “That had to hurt.”

  I laughed. “Not as much as if Tracy would have sprinkled salt on it afterwards.”

  That made Gloria laugh and then immediately cover her mouth, as if the laugh was somehow inappropriate. “I guess I’ll skip the pizza I was planning for tonight.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because every time I look at it, I’ll be thinking of that guy’s neck,” Gloria said.

  I was still taking bites out of my hamburger but paused and looked at the place where I’d taken a bite. I shrugged and took another bite, washing it down with another sip from my shake. I looked at Gloria. “Gloria,” I said, “Take a memo, would you?”

  Gloria grabbed a notepad and pencil. “Go ahead,” she said.

  “Type up a memo reminding me to discipline myself for taking more than an hour for lunch,” I said.

  Gloria had written down exactly two words before she caught the joke and threw the notepad and pencil on my desk. “Very funny,” she said. “So what have we got going for us today?”

  “Funny you should ask,” I said. “While you were out this morning, I got a call from Ernie Ballard, an old acquaintance of Dad’s from Arizona. He’d like to meet with me to discuss a matter he’d like me to handle for him.”

  “He wants to meet with you and discuss a matter he’d like you to handle for him,” Gloria said, emphasizing ‘you’ both time. “And what am I supposed to do while you are doing this?” This time she emphasized ‘I’ and ‘you’.

  “Naturally, we’ll handle this together,” I said. “Partners, remember?”

  “When is he coming here?” Gloria said, softening her attitude.

  “He’s not,” I said.

  Gloria face took on a puzzled look. “So we’re going to him?” she asked.

  “Not quite,” I said.

  “That doesn’t leave any other options,” Gloria said.

  “Except one,” I said. “Ernie wants to meet us somewhere between Los Angeles and Winslow.”

  “That covers a lot of area,” Gloria said. “Did he narrow that down at all?”

  I sat behind my desk, finished the last sip from my shake and tossed the empty cup in my trashcan. “We’re supposed to take the train east and he’s gonna get on somewhere along the way. Ernie said he’d meet up with us on the train.”

  “Sounds like he has a flair for the dramatic,” Gloria said. “You think Ernie’s been watching too many Alfred Hitchcock movies? How are we supposed to know where he’s getting on so we can watch for him?”

  I stepped over to my closet and pulled a small box off the shelf and set it on my desk. A few seconds later I pulled out a neatly folded train schedule that Dad had always kept. I never bothered to ask him why he kept it, since I’d never known him to take the train anywhere. I unfolded it and spread it out on top of my desk.

  “Take a look at this,” I said, beckoning Gloria over. I pointed to several cities on the map. “Looks like the train starts in Los Angeles with stops in six California cities along the way. There are only four stops in Arizona, so that should narrow it down a little for us. I’d say we find the mid-point and start spreading outward one city at a time. Chances are he’ll get on the train at one of those cities.”

  “What are the choices?” Gloria said.

  “All right,” I said. “First let’s determine the mid-point of this journey. Distance-wise I’d say Needles is pretty close to the middle of that route, so if he doesn’t get on at Needles, then he’ll probably get on at either Barstow or Kingman, which are one stop either side of center. The next choices on either side would be either Victorville or Williams Junction.”

  Gloria glanced at the map. “How long’s a trip like that take?” she said.

  “Let’s have a look,” I said and ran my finger across the map. “It’s just over five hundred miles and according to this, it would take eleven hours and twenty-four minutes by train.”

  “That ridiculous,” Gloria said. “Hell, you can drive that in eight and a half hours. Why would this guy insist on the train?”

  “If he wants it this way,” I said, “I’m sure he has a good rea
son for it, so I think we should just play along with him for now. Besides, the trip’ll do us both good. We can use a break after two solid months of work. We can just sit back and enjoy the scenery.”

  “I suppose so,” Gloria said. “When is this mystery meet supposed to take place?”

  “Tomorrow around midnight,” I said. “Which means we’ll have to catch the six-fifteen from Union Station tomorrow night. It would pull into Winslow at five thirty-nine the next morning, but if he’s getting on mid-way that would put our rendezvous at about midnight. And that brings us back to one of the cities in the middle of the route.”

  “Still,” Gloria said, “that’s six hours on the train. What are we gonna do for six hours?”

  “Are you a card player?” I said.

  “Solitaire,” Gloria said. “But I don’t suppose that’s what you had in mind.”

  “No,” I said. “I was thinking more along the lines of Poker or Gin Rummy.”

  “I suppose I could learn,” Gloria said.

  “Great,” I told her. “We’ll meet tomorrow right here in the office at four o’clock. That’ll give us plenty of time to make Union Station and buy our tickets and get our luggage checked and…”

  “Luggage?” Gloria said. “It’s just a six hour ride. This isn’t Gilligan’s three hour tour where all the passengers magically had twenty changes of clothes with them.”

  “Six hours there,” I said. “And six hours back, plus whatever time it takes us to conclude our business. What if the business keeps us overnight?”

  “Okay,” Gloria agreed. “One carry-on each should do it.”

  “You’re lucky we’re not driving this route,” I said.

  “Why?” Gloria asked.

  “Because Ernie would probably want to meet us by noon and that would mean we’d be leaving early in the morning,” I said. “We’d probably have to get going by six a.m. Could you be up and ready to go by then?”