“And how’s Dad doing?” I said.
“He was resting,” Gloria said. “Mrs. Chandler made him some chicken dumpling soup and he was watching television.”
“That’s good,” I said. “He can use the peace and quiet. Poor guy. I hope he’s learned his lesson and doesn’t do anymore of whatever he was doing when he had this last heart attack.”
Gloria said nothing, but just switched on the answering machine, grabbed her jacket and headed for the door behind me. I followed and locked up the office. Back in my car, I handed her my notepad and told her to read off the next name and address.
“Mark Fuller,” she said, reading from the pad. “4447 Lockwood Avenue. That would make it on Lockwood mid-way between Vermont and Madison.” Gloria looked out her window. “Turn right on Western Avenue and take it down to Santa Monica. Then go east to Vermont and south two blocks to Lockwood and then turn left.”
“See?” I said. “Who needs a GPS when I have you sitting next to me?”
“I was born here, remember?” Gloria said. “And for almost six months before I decided to join dad in his investigations business, I drove a cab. I know this town like the back of my neck.”
“Hand,” I said.
“Huh?” Gloria said.
“You said like the back of your neck,” I told her.
“And that’s what I meant,” she said. “I can see the back of my hand. I can’t see the back of my neck. That’s how well I know this town.”
“Oh,” I said.
I drove east on Hollywood Boulevard, keeping my eye on the traffic. Gloria slipped my notepad above the passenger side visor and turned to me.
“So you struck out with the first guy on your list, eh?” she said. “What kind of excuse did you use to talk to him?”
“The old insurance benefit story,” I said. “When he thought he might be getting a check for three thousand dollars, he was cooperative as all get out.”
“Works for me,” Gloria said. “Can I be the insurance agent this time?”
“Sure, why not?” I said. “I’ll be your supervisor, you know, the guy with the check.”
“You like this role playing part, don’t you?” Gloria said.
“It’s as close as I’ll ever come to being an actor,” I told her. “And I don’t have to give my agent ten per cent, either.”
“I’ve got a role you can play,” Gloria said, eyeing me up and down and smiling wryly.
“I’ll bet you have,” I said. “But for now, suppose we concentrate on the suspect.”
“Turn here,” Gloria said as we approached Lockwood Avenue. She retrieved the notepad from above the visor and slipped it into her pocket.
The house was a small, blue, cottage-type affair with a short cyclone fence around the yard. The gate opened out onto the alley, which is where I parked the car. The sidewalk led up to the front door, without any steps or stoop. Gloria pressed the doorbell button but didn’t hear anything ringing inside. She pulled open the screen door and knocked on the inside door and waited.
The front door opened and a woman, perhaps forty greeted us. “Yes,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Mark Fuller,” Gloria said, checking her notes.
“I’m Mrs. Fuller,” the woman said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Gloria said. “I need to speak to Mark. Is he here?”
The woman looked puzzled. “Mark is still at work,” she explained. “He won’t be home until five or five-thirty. What is this all about?”
I stepped up next to Gloria. “Ma’am,” I said. “We are representatives of the Mutual Indemnity Insurance Company out of Omaha. We’re looking for a Mark Fuller that may have a substantial amount of money coming to him from a deceased relative, but we have to be certain that we have the right Mark Fuller. Could we ask you just a couple of questions to determine if he is, indeed the man we are looking for?”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Fuller said. “Won’t you come in?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Fuller,” Gloria said. “We won’t be here that long. Just two questions and we’ll be on our way. First of all, can you tell us what line of work Mark is in?”
“He works in a machine shop downtown,” Mrs. Fuller said.
I pretended to make a note of that on my notepad.
“And second,” Gloria said, “Can you tell me if Mark is right-handed or left-handed?”
Without hesitating, Mrs. Fuller said, “He’s right-handed.”
Gloria closed her notepad and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Fuller, but the man we’re looking for is left-handed. You have a good day now.”
The poor woman looked as though she’d just lost her last friend as we stepped away from her door and walked back to my car. When we got back into the car, Gloria turned to me and said, “Did you see the look on her face when she realized that she and her Mark wouldn’t be getting any check?”
“Two down and two to go,” I said. “Read off the next name, will you?”
“Frank Stouffer,” Gloria said. “823 North Coronado Street. That would be in the Silver Lake District.”
I headed east as Gloria checked her street map for a cross street. A moment later she found it.
“Between Kent and Marathon,” Gloria said. “Closer to Kent, so hang a left up here at the corner. Keep going until I tell you to turn.”
Ten minutes later we found ourselves in front of a pink stucco apartment building with a cast-iron fence around the yard. Even the driveway was closed off by an iron gate, similar to the one that opened onto the sidewalk just outside the front door. The building housed four apartments, two with doors that opened onto Coronado Street and two that opened behind the building. 823 was in the front. Gloria and I stepped inside the yard and started to walk up to the house when the front door opened and a large man stepped out onto his stoop.
“No salesmen,” he said, pointing to a sign in his front yard. “Can’t you two read?”
“Mr. Stouffer?” Gloria said in her sweet voice. “We’re not selling anything. We’re from the Mutual Indemnity Insurance Company out of Omaha.”
“I don’t need any insurance,” Stouffer said, “So beat it.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “We’re not here to sell you any insurance, either. We just want to…”
Stouffer wasn’t having any of it and wouldn’t give us a chance to use our phony lines on him. He started coming toward us and I had to think fast. I pulled a piece of paper from inside my jacket that I had folded twice the long way and held it in front of me.
“I have a check here made out to Frank Stouffer,” I said quickly. “It’s made out in the amount of three thousand dollars. It’s from a death benefit from one of your deceased relatives.”
Stouffer stopped dead in his tracks. “You have a check for me?” he said. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Gloria said. “One of your relatives died and we were sent to find you and deliver the check. The only thing is that we have to verify that you are who you say you are. You understand, I’m sure.”
Stouffer let out his breath and motioned to us. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s have a look at this check.”
I held one hand up, palm facing Stouffer and paused. “First we have to be sure that you are the right Frank Stouffer,” I said. “I just need to see a sample of your signature to compare it with the one we have on record. That’s all we need from you before we hand over the check and be on our way.”
“That’s it?” Stouffer said.
“That’s it.” I said. “Now, can I have you sign your name here so we can compare the signatures, please?” I held the piece of paper and my pen out in front of me. Stouffer took the paper in his right hand and grabbed my pen with his left hand. I turned around and let him use my shoulder to write on. When he finished signing his name, he handed the paper and pen back to me and waited anxiously for the results.
Gloria and I looked at his signature and then comp
ared it with his name in my notepad. We looked at each other and shook our heads before looking back at Frank Stouffer.
“One last question, Mr. Stouffer,” Gloria said. “Can you give me the name of your aunt in Lincoln, Nebraska?”
Stouffer thought for a moment, knowing full well that he was not the right man and then said, “Mathilda Conrad.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stouffer,” I said. “It would appear that you are not the right Frank Stouffer. The one we’re looking for had an aunt named Gertrude Hoffmeister. But thanks for talking to us, sir. You have a good day now.”
We turned and left Frank Stouffer standing there with his mouth hanging open. We both hurried back to my car and drove two blocks before I pulled over and killed the engine.
“It might be him,” I said.
“He was left-handed,” Gloria said. “And his temperament is not what I’d call stable, either. What do we do now?”
I opened the notepad again and wrote down a few items regarding Mr. Stouffer. I closed the notepad and handed it back to Gloria. “So far, he’s our number one suspect,” I told Gloria. “Let’s just check out the last guy on the list so I can tell Dean that we looked into all four of the names.”
The last name on the list turned out to be a fellow named Irvin Joslyn from Pasadena. We crossed him off the list after a brief glimpse of the man in the wheelchair. He told us that he’d been run down in a busy intersection more than five months ago. He couldn’t have been in an alley gunning down Gordon Reese two months ago. That left Frank Stouffer as our prime suspect.
“What do we do now?” Gloria said. “Didn’t you promise Dean that you’d let him know if you found out anything?”
“Yes, I did,” I said. “But what if we just do a little more snooping before I give Dean a call?”
“Snooping?” Gloria said. “Back at Stouffer’s place?”
“Exactly,” I said. “Grab my binoculars out of the back seat, will you? We can watch him from across the street. There’s a three-story apartment building that faces his on Coronado. We can lay flat on the roof and keep an eye on his apartment from there.”
“For how long?” Gloria said. “What if he doesn’t leave or what if he just sits in front of the television set all night. Then what will we have?”
“Do you have a better idea?” I said.
“Have you forgotten that I am, among other things, a master of disguises and make-up?” Gloria said. “With one of my best disguises, he’d never recognize me and I could actually get inside his apartment.”
“How are you going to do that?” I said.
“I could ring his bell and tell him I was looking for Joe Schmoe,” Gloria said. “He’ll tell me he’s not this Schmoe guy and I can bat my fake eyelashes at him and sweetly say something clever, like, ‘You’ll do’ and he’ll invite me in.”
“I don’t like it,” I said. “If he’s the guy we’re after, he could be dangerous.”
“Don’t make me have to go over my entire resume’ again,” Gloria said. “Master of disguises and dialects, top marksman in my class, Tae Kwon Do expert. Do you want me to go on?”
I held up a hand. I knew when I was licked. “All right,” I said. “But you just be careful, you hear?”
“Why Elliott Cooper,” Gloria said in an overdone Southern drawl. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“Well, I do,” I said. “When did you want to do this?”
“Right away,” Gloria said. “It’ll take us an hour to get back to the office and get my makeup kit and wig, get changed, and get back here.” She looked at her watch. “Let’s say six o’clock.”
“Okay,” I said, “But I’m calling Dean in on this just in case anything goes wrong.”
I drove Gloria back to the office and watched in awe as she transformed herself from Gloria to Sally, the blonde, curvaceous street walker. I called Dean and filled him in on our plan and he agreed to meet us down the block from Stouffer’s house. Gloria adjusted her wig and looked at her reflection in the mirror before announcing that she was ready.
“Do you have room to hide a gun in that outfit?” I said.
“I won’t need one,” she said. “I barely have room for this wireless transmitter. Do you have your earpiece with you?”
I patted my jacket pocket. “I’ve got it,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of you going in there unarmed, though.”
“You and Dean will be right outside with backup if it comes to that,” she assured me. “If there’s anything else I should be able to handle it from inside. Let’s get going.”
I let Gloria off half a block from Stouffer’s apartment and parked around the corner. Dean pulled up behind me in his cruiser and got out to meet me at my car. He got in next to me and shifted his gaze down the street at Stouffer’s apartment.
“He’s in the right front apartment,” I told Dean. A moment later I said, “Here comes Gloria now. Even I wouldn’t recognize her if I hadn’t seen her do that to herself.” I placed the tiny receiver in my ear and listened.
As Gloria rounded the corner she said in a low voice, “Are you boys looking for a good time?” and then walked past my car and gave us a wink.
I held up my thumb and index finger in a circle, signaling her that I had heard her loud and clear.
Dean tapped me on the shoulder. “What’d she say?” he asked.
“She said to say hi to you from her,” I lied. “She’s going up to the front door. She’s knocking. Wait a second, there he is now.” I handed the binoculars to Dean.
“Well, hello there,” Gloria said to Stouffer as he opened the door. “You must be Steve. I’m from the agency.”
“Lady,” Stouffer said, “You must have the wrong house.”
Gloria made an exaggerated gesture of looking up at the house numbers above Stouffer’s door and then looked back at Stouffer.” Oh,” she said, with a pout. “And the cab just let me out here and took off again. Do you think I could use your phone to call another cab?” She batted her fake eyelashes at Stouffer and smiled.
Stouffer looked both ways out his door and then smiled back at Gloria. “Sure,” he said. “Come on in.”
I could hear the footsteps both of them made as they walked through the house. Then I heard Stouffer telling Gloria where his phone was located. Gloria switched gears and said, “Maybe I could just do my job here, instead. What do you think?”
“Your job?” Stouffer said. “What is your job?”
“Steve was having a stag party,” Gloria told Stouffer. “I was supposed to be the entertainment tonight. I wouldn’t mind doing the same party for just one.”
My earpiece went silent for a moment. Stouffer must have been considering Gloria’s proposition. “Sure, doll,” he said. “Let’s see what your act looks like.”
I heard a scraping noise. Gloria must have been slipping out of her coat. Then I heard her voice again. “Do you have someplace where I can freshen up first?”
“You can use my room,” Stouffer told her. “It’s the first door on the right down that hall.”
“You know,” Gloria said in a voice reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe at JFK’s birthday bash. “I didn’t get your name. Would you like me to call you Steve instead?”
“Call me Frank,” Stouffer told her. “And what do I call you?”
“You can call me Marilyn,” Gloria told him.
“Oh brother,” I said. “She’s a regular little ham, that girl.”
“What’s that?” Dean said, unable to hear what I was hearing.
I waved him off and kept listening.
I heard the sound of a door opening and closing again and then Gloria’s voice came through my earpiece in a whisper. “Elliott,” she said. “I’m in Stouffer’s bedroom. I only have a second. I looked in this clown’s closet and you’ll never guess what’s hanging in there.”
“A cop’s uniform,” I said, mostly to myself, because she didn’t have a receiver on her. All she could do was transmit.
“A cop’s unifo
rm with a gun belt made for a leftie,” she whispered. “It’s him.”
The bedroom door opened and Stouffer bounded in. “Who are you talking to?” he said. “And what do you think you’re doing in my closet?”
I heard the sounds of a scuffle and pulled the piece out of my ear. “Let’s move,” I told Dean.
Dean grabbed the walkie-talkie on his lap and signaled his men to move in. We all descended on the house at the same time. Dean’s men covered the back door and the sides of the apartment building while Dean and I hit the front door. Dean gave it a solid kick and the door flew open. I hurried inside and found an open door in the hallway. It was the first door on the right.
I entered the room with my .38 ahead of me. Dean followed right behind me. We both stood in the doorway and smiled when we saw Gloria sitting on top of Frank Stouffer. He was laying face down, his arm pressed up behind his back. He was moaning something about his aching arm. Gloria looked up at us and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
“You boys sure took your sweet time getting here,” she said.
Stouffer strained his neck to look back at Gloria. “You’re a cop?” he said, still not able to believe that the woman who was a full foot shorter than he was able to take him down so quickly.
Dean holstered his .38 and pulled a pair of cuffs off his belt. He slapped them on Stouffer’s wrists and pulled him to a standing position.
Gloria smiled at Stouffer and sang, “Happy birthday, Mr. President,” in her best Marilyn Monroe voice.
Stouffer struggled to try to get at her, but Dean pulled him back again. Stouffer threw his head back and screamed a wild, maniacal scream, as if that would free him from his restraints.
“Let’s go, Tarzan,” Dean said, pulling Stouffer out of the room and out to the squad car.
“Good work,” I told Gloria as she reached to pull the blonde wig off her head.
I grabbed her by the wrist and stopped her. “Leave it on,” I said. “It looks good on you. In fact, you can just leave your whole outfit on all night if you like. We still have E.T. to watch when we get back to your place.”
“And you figure this is how I should look?” Gloria said. “Mmmm, kinky.”
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 191