The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  I shot another sideways glance at Gloria, who immediately pursed her lips, but kept walking. I knew that bounty hunters couldn’t wear uniforms or carry badges. That was lie number two. Ahead about half a mile I could see the train depot at Barstow.

  “Won’t be long now,” I said. “We can rent a car at Barstow and drive back to L.A. Are you coming with us, Ernie?”

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to hang around here and wait for those guys to come back,” Ernie said.

  Twelve minutes later, we walked into the ticket office at the Barstow depot. I immediately sat on one of the benches, took off my shoes and rubbed my feet through my socks. Ernie sat opposite me on the other bench and did the same to his feet. Before he’d even gotten his shoes back on, four men in suits approached us, their guns drawn and pointed at all three of us. I recognized two of the men as the two who’d chased us through the train car. I’d never seen the other two.

  “Keep your hands where we can see ‘em,” the first man said.

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Gloria said. “Look around you. Are you going to kill all these witnesses, too?”

  “Kill who?” the first man said. “What are you talking about, lady?”

  The first man reached into his inside coat pocket. I was sure he was going to withdraw a silencer, but instead he pulled out a small leather case and flipped it open to show Gloria and me.

  “Agent Harris,” the man said. “F.B.I. We’re here to take Frank Boyle into custody.”

  “Who the hell is Frank Boyle?” I said.

  Harris pointed with his revolver toward Ernie. “That is Frank Boyle,” he said. “And if you’re running with him, my guess is that you’re wanted, too.”

  Harris kept his gun trained on me as one of the other men had me stand and patted me down. “Got a gun here,” the other agent said, pulling my .38 out of my underarm holster.

  Harris gave me a cautious look.

  “Tell your boy to get my wallet,” I said. “You’ll find my permit and license in it. I’m a private detective and so is my partner here.” I gestured with my raised hands toward Gloria. Gloria smiled nervously and nodded.

  Harris took my wallet from the other agent and looked over my credentials. He tossed my wallet back to me. “Okay,” he said. “So you’re a shamus. What are you doing with Boyle?”

  “I didn’t know he was Boyle,” I said. “I thought he was a guy named Ernie Ballard, the guy who hired me and my partner.”

  “Hired you?” Harris said. “To do what?”

  I looked over at Ernie and then back at Agent Harris. “To help him find an escaped prisoner named Mickey Galloway,” I said. “He told me Galloway had escaped from prison and was after him.”

  “And you bought into that?” Harris said. “Galloway’s dead and so is Ernie Ballard.”

  “Dead?” Gloria said. “How?”

  “Boyle here, shot ‘em both,” Harris said. “Galloway did escape and came looking for Ballard and all Boyle had to do was follow Ballard, knowing sooner or later that Galloway would show up and try to get his revenge. Well, Boyle had Ballard’s office staked out and just waited until he saw Galloway and followed him into Ballard’s office. My best guess is that Galloway got the drop on Ballard while he was calling your dad to meet with him.”

  “Dad’s recuperating at home,” I explained. “Ernie got me on the phone instead.”

  I shot a quick glance at the man I believed to be Ernie. He said nothing but gave me a sly smile instead.

  “Why?” I said to him. “Why put us through this whole thing? What did you need us for?” I stepped up beside Boyle and yanked on his goatee. It came off in my hand. I threw it on the floor and ran my finger across the makeup that covered his mole, exposing it fully now. Boyle drew his head back, away from me, and scowled.

  Ballard/Boyle remained silent as the second agent slapped the cuffs on his wrists and lifted him to a standing position. He was still in his stocking feet and looked to his shoes as if to silently ask if he could slip into them again.

  Harris looked at me again. “I’m afraid you two will have to come with us to the sheriff’s department until we can verify your identification. If everything checks out, you’ll be free to go. If not, well, I guess you know what we have in store for you both.

  I nodded and peacefully accompanied Harris to their waiting cars and back to the Barstow sheriff’s department. Twenty minutes and three phone calls later, Gloria and I were freed. Harris gave me back my .38 and led Frank Boyle, a.k.a. Ernie Ballard into a holding cell. Harris instructed one of his men to drive Gloria and me back to the train station. There was a late train heading back to Los Angeles and we could just catch it.

  I turned to Agent Harris. “What I don’t get about all this,” I said, “is why Boyle contacted me in the first place. I mean, why go through this charade?”

  “Boyle didn’t contact you,” Harris said. “Ballard did and somehow Boyle knew about it, or maybe he was there when Ballard made the call. After the call, Ballard was expendable and Boyle took his place. I think Boyle just wanted to know what you knew.”

  “About what?” I said. “I wasn’t aware that I knew anything that anyone else would want to know about, especially Boyle.”

  Harris took a deep breath, exhaled and said, “Boyle didn’t know that. He thought he was meeting with Clay Cooper. Then he sees you and the lady and he has to somehow find out what’s going on.”

  “So that’s the reason for the disguises,” Gloria said. “He’s not very good at it, either. I spotted his covered up mole and he didn’t bother changing clothes when he changed facial disguises, either. The amateur.”

  The other agent stepped up to Agent Harris and waited patiently. Harris nodded to him and then turned back to Gloria and me. “Agent Kellerman here will drive you to the station. Sorry for the inconvenience but thanks for the help.”

  Kellerman dropped Gloria and me at the station just as the train from Needles pulled up to the platform. Several people stepped off the train as Gloria and I stepped out of Kellerman’s car. We thanked him for the ride, walked into the station and presented our tickets to Winslow to the clerk behind the counter. He issued us new tickets back to Los Angeles.

  “Our bags were on the train to Winslow,” I said. “How do we go about getting them back?”

  “Your bags would have been unloaded with the other luggage in Winslow,” the clerk explained. “They’re probably still there.”

  “But we didn’t check our luggage,” Gloria said. “We each had one bag under our seat.”

  “They might still be there,” the clerk said. “You can check when you get back on. If they’re not there, chances are that someone else took ‘em. If that’s the case, there’s nothing else we can do about it.”

  “Thank you,” I said, escorting Gloria back onto the train. We found the same seats we had and looked under them. The bags were still there and that struck Gloria as funny. She giggled like a little girl and flopped down into her seat, exhausted after our long ordeal with Ernie. I sat across from her, facing forward. Gloria thought about it for a moment and switched seats, settling down next to me.

  “I guess I don’t like to ride backwards, either,” she said, locking her arm around mine and leaning into my shoulder.

  I lifted my right arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her closer. I had a feeling that the trip back to L.A. was going to be a lot more interesting than the one that brought us here.

  47 - Witness Protection

  Johnny Banta squinted at the light in his eyes. He held one hand up in front of his face and dropped his head. “All right, already,” he said sarcastically. “You can knock off the Dragnet routine. I know my rights. You can’t pull this with me.”

  A large hand swung out of the darkness and connected with the side of Johnny’s face. Johnny fell backwards out of his chair and quickly propped himself on one elbow. He rubbed his face with the other hand and scowled. “You can’t get away with this. Wh
en my lawyer gets through with you, you’ll wish…”

  A shoe caught Johnny in the ribcage and he fell over with a thud, gasping for a breath of air. Johnny moaned and curled up in a fetal position on the floor, pulling his knees toward his body.

  Four hands grabbed at Johnny’s expensive suit and pulled him back up into the chair. Lieutenant Dean Hollister was the first to speak to him. “What is it you wanted to say to your lawyer, Banta?”

  Johnny was still breathing in short, erratic spurts and said nothing. He just looked up at the lieutenant with a defiant smirk on his lips.

  “First off,” Hollister said, “you haven’t been arrested yet. You’re just being held for questioning, so don’t give me any of that lawyer crap. You’ll see him when we’re damned good and ready. Second, you open your mouth again before I’m through and you won’t need a lawyer, you’ll need a dentist, got me? Third, we’ve got a witness who’ll swear in court that they saw you put three slugs into that businessman from Chicago last week. We’ve got you cold on that one. And lastly, when I ask you a question, I want an answer and I don’t want any runaround. Is that clear, Banta?”

  Johnny looked at Hollister and then over at me. I was flexing my fingers, making a fist and releasing it again. Johnny looked back up at Hollister and nodded faintly.

  Hollister made an exaggerated gesture of straightening out Johnny’s lapels and brushing him off. “Now, the first thing I want to know is who put the contract out on Detective Michaels? Give me a name, Banta.”

  Johnny’s eyes danced back and forth between Dean and me. Several beads of sweat rolled down Johnny’s forehead and into his eyes. He rubbed them with the backs of his index fingers. Johnny licked his lips and weighed his options. He quickly glanced at me. I was running my hands over an eight-inch leather-covered sap with a leather strap that went around my wrist.

  “This didn’t come from me,” Johnny said quickly.

  “A name,” Hollister said. “If it wasn’t you, then who was it? Come on, spill it.”

  I took a step towards Johnny with the sap, slapping it into my open palm.

  “All right, all right,” Johnny said, talking to Dean, but still keeping his eyes on me. “I’ll tell ya, just keep that goon off me, see?”

  Dean waved me off and pulled a chair up in front of Johnny. He turned it around backwards and threw his leg over the seat, resting his arms on the back of the chair. “A name, Johnny,” Dean said.

  “I want protection, see?” Johnny said. “If these guys ever find out it was me who dropped the dime, my life won’t be worth a plug of chewing tobacco. You gotta promise me protection.”

  Dean looked at me briefly and then turned back to Johnny. “You’ll get your protection, Banta,” he said. “Now give me the name, or my goon, as you call him, is going to get his money’s worth out of that sap.”

  Johnny swallowed hard, cleared his throat murmured in a low tone, “It was Lou. Lou Hogan.”

  I stepped forward again, still holding the sap. “Don’t give us that, Banta. Hogan’s been missing since Bailey’s Bar and Grille blew up three weeks ago.” I pounded the sap into my open palm. “You going to stick with that story, or has your memory suddenly come back to you?”

  “I swear,” Johnny said quickly, “Lou popped the cap on that cop. I seen him.”

  “And you’ll testify to that in court?” Dean said.

  Johnny thought for a moment. “What’s in it for me?”

  “If we get a conviction on Lou, you walk,” Dean said. “If this is a load of crap you’re feeding us and Lou beats the rap, we turn you loose in broad daylight and let nature take its course.”

  Johnny knew that could mean only one thing. He’d never see lunchtime if that happened. “This is on the level,” he said. “I’ll hand him over on a silver platter, but I want protection or you get nothing out of me.”

  “You’ll get your protection, Banta,” I said. “It grates on me to have to protect guys like you from guys like you, but if that’s what it takes to bring Detective Michaels’ killer to justice, we’ll bite the bullet.”

  “What about me?” Johnny said. “Where can you hide me where they won’t find me? Lou has guys everywhere, even right here in this building.”

  “What do you mean, he has guys in this building?” Dean said. “Guys working here or guys spying on county employees?”

  “Working here,” Johnny said. “I don’t know who they are, but every time something big goes down, Lou knows about it in plenty of time to clear out.”

  Dean stood, picked up his notebook and flipped open to the last page. He made a note to himself to check out any moles in the department, then he turned back to the first page in his notebook and read aloud to Johnny. “You’ll be relocated to an as yet unknown city with a new identity and a new face,” Dean said. “They’ll set you up with a job and a guaranteed income for the first six months. After that you’re on your own, so it would be in your best interest to make a go of it. The best thing you can do is stay out of trouble and keep a low profile. Don’t do anything that’ll attract attention to yourself, because you know your buddies are gonna be looking for you. If anyone finds you, it’ll be because of something you said or did or didn’t do. Don’t come looking to us for protection after that. If these terms aren’t acceptable, say so now and you’re free to go—after I make a call to Sonny Delgato.”

  Johnny knew that a call to Sonny would spell his own death before the day was up. He nodded faintly. “All right, I’ll do it.”

  Dean and I each took one of Johnny’s arms and lifted him out of his chair. We pulled him toward the door and banged on it. The door opened and a uniformed officer peered in.

  “Take Mr. Banta to his cell,” Dean said. “We’re going out to pick up Lou Hogan. Tell the captain where we are and have him send two backup units to LaMirada and Wilcox right away. Tell him we’ll be waiting there until backup arrives, then we’re going in.”

  The officer grabbed Banta’s arm and pulled him out of the room. He looked back at Dean. “Right away, Lieutenant,” he said.

  Dean and I drove to Wilcox Avenue and waited half a block from Lou’s apartment. Dean turned to me and smiled. “You did that bad cop-bad cop routine pretty good, Clay. I think we’ll have Banta’s full cooperation on this one thanks to you.”

  “That was kind of fun,” I said. “Why’d you pick me for the role? I’m not even a cop.”

  “Banta didn’t know that, and that worked in my favor,” Dean said. I usually do the good cop-bad cop routine with Sergeant Slocum, but he’s off today and when you showed up this morning, your timing was perfect. I just figured you wouldn’t mind a little role playing. By the way, why did you stop by this morning?”

  “I came down to file something with the County Clerk and had a few minutes to kill afterwards,” I said. “I haven’t seen you since the cookout at your house week before last.”

  “See the kind of fun you’re missing by being a private eye instead of a cop?” Dean said.

  “My job is entertaining enough at times,” I said. “And Elliott keeps me on my toes at the office.”

  A few minutes later, two black-and-whites pulled up behind Dean’s car. The six officers positioned themselves around the building and waited for the signal from Dean. Dean stepped up onto the front porch and waited. He could hear movement inside but it wasn’t the sound of someone in a hurry. Whoever was in there didn’t know the police were waiting just outside his door.

  Dean pounded on the front door and yelled, “Open up, Hogan, police.” Dean quickly stepped to one side. Three bullets tore through the door and whizzed past Dean’s ear. Dean hit the door with his shoulder and burst in. I followed close behind him. The back door nearly came off its hinges as two officers burst into the kitchen. Two other officers waited outside in case Lou Hogan decided to exit through a window.

  I covered the dining room while Dean cautiously eased toward a hallway with several doors. Lou Hogan bounded from one of the bedrooms. He came out
shooting. Dean fired once, hitting Hogan in the leg. Hogan went down like a marionette with its strings cut. I joined Dean in the hall and quickly stepped on Hogan’s hand, which was still clutching the automatic. I kicked the gun away and helped Dean pull Lou to his feet.

  “You’re going down, Hogan,” Dean said. “We’ve got you cold for Detective Michaels’ murder. You won’t be slipping out of this one.”

  Hogan gave us his dirtiest look. “Yeah? Says who?” he growled.

  Dean grabbed Lou’s collar and pulled the man toward him. “Says our star witness,” Dean said. “We’re gonna fry your ass. Now get moving.”

  Hogan spat in Hollister’s face. “You got nothin’, copper,” he said.

  Dean clenched his fist and drove it into Hogan’s stomach. The air left Hogan’s lungs in one quick rush. Hogan doubled up and started gasping for air. Dean and I picked him up and pulled him from the house, down the porch steps and out to the street. Dean and I threw him into the back of one of the patrol cars.

  Dean turned to the uniformed cop who stood next to him. “Take that killer downtown. We’ll be there in a few minutes. And take good care of that collar. He’s the one who buttoned Detective Michaels.”

  The cop sneered and nodded. “We’ll get him there, Lieutenant. But, boy, if I could just have five minutes with him behind the courthouse.”

  “I know how you feel,” Dean said. “But we have to make sure we cross our T’s and dot our I’s. I don’t want this maggot walking on any loopholes.”

  The killer’s trial lasted just short of three weeks and ended in the conviction of Lou Hogan for the murder of Detective Alan Michaels. Hogan was sentenced to death. Asked if he had any final words for the court, Lou simply spat at the judge and was dragged away in chains.

  Johnny Banta’s transformation had been underway for little more than a month when Dean entered the hospital room where Banta lay. Dean and I were dressed in white from head to toe and looked like ambulance attendants. Johnny’s face was wrapped in white bandages like a mummy, with just holes for his eyes, nose and mouth. Banta’s right wrist was shackled to the bed.