About fifteen minutes into the playback something caught my eye on the eighth monitor. I stopped all of the playbacks, rewound a few minutes worth of video and started all of them playing again. A minute and a half later I saw it again in real time. There were two of them sneaking around inside the factory on a Saturday night. I watched as one of the men walked into frame with a wheelbarrow and set it down in front of a stack of boxes. He began piling several boxes into the wheelbarrow. When he had filled it, he wheeled it out of camera range. I looked one monitor to my left and the man with the wheelbarrow came back into view.
A second man joined him. He was pulling a four-wheeled cart behind him. The cart had a dozen or more boxes of varied sizes and shaped on it. They pulled and pushed their loot out of camera range and appeared on the next monitor in the chain. I followed both of the men all the way to the last monitor, which covered the back door to the parking lot.
I watched as the men exited the plant with full carts and returned with empty carts. They took the time to walk the cart and the wheelbarrow back to where they’d found them, trying to make the surrounding areas seem undisturbed. I listened, trying to hear what each man was saying, but they were talking in low tones close to each other’s face.
As they turned to leave, I noticed one of them looking around him, as if to see if he was being watched. He paused a moment and then continued out of camera range. Three more monitors over I picked them both up again. They had paused and I noticed one man looking up, in the direction of one of the cameras. His eyebrows furrowed and he continued to stare into the monitor from down on the floor. He said something to his partner that I couldn’t make out and then the first man looked like he was pushing a box ahead of him.
From out of nowhere a giant face stared at me from the monitor. The man moved his face a little to the left and soon all I could see of him was his one eye. It was almost on top of the camera. The picture on the monitor moved and I realized that he must have picked up the camera and had carried it back down to where his partner was standing.
“What do you make of this, Dale?” the first man said.
The picture jolted some more as the second man turned the camera around in his hand, finally aiming it right into his face. “Looks like some sort of camera, Lou,” the second man said. “What do you suppose it was doing up there?”
“Beats me,” Lou said. “I think maybe they’re gonna wire this place with surveillance cameras. Looks like they only got as far as setting them in place. Lucky for us they haven’t connected the wires yet or we’d be in deep shit.”
“That’s it for me,” Dale said. “Tonight’s out last load. I ain’t spending any time in jail for Kendall. If he wants any more of this stuff, he can steal it himself.”
“Me, too,” Lou said. “Put that thing back where to found it and let’s get out of here.”
The picture jolted for a few more seconds until a close-up of Dale’s hand pulled back from the screen and he jumped down off the box. He pushed the box back into its original position, took one last look around the shop and hurried out the back door.
I stopped all the monitors and clapped my hands together, rubbing them like Mr. Miyagi from that movie about the karate kid who kept getting beat up. “I got ‘em,” I yelled. I smiled and laid my hand on top of the monitor. I patted it and whispered, “Good job.” I unlatched all the mini monitors and brought them into the house with me.
Gloria was still sitting at the kitchen table, holding Matt in her arms when I walked in, all smiles. “You look like you just won the lottery,” she said.
“Next best thing,” I told her. “I got ‘em. There are two of them on the video and I caught ‘em in the act of stealing a carload of supplies from the factory. These idiots looked right into the camera and even called each other by name. Not the two sharpest crayons in the box. Boy, just wait until Mr. Powell sees this. That ten grand bonus is as good as mine.”
“That’s great,” Gloria said. “When are you going to see him again?”
I thought for a moment. “He told me to call him if I had anything to report,” I said. “Well, I have something to report, all right. I’ll call him first thing tomorrow morning. He’ll probably want me to fly up there again right away. You have Mrs. Chandler coming in again tomorrow, don’t you?”
Gloria nodded. “She’ll be here at eight o’clock,” she said. “What time do you think you’ll be going?”
“It depends on whether or not Mr. Powell can fit me in right away. I’m guessing he’ll make time after I tell him what I have.”
“I’m so proud of you, Elliott,” Gloria said. “I must admit that I was skeptical when you first told me about all this mini cam stuff, but you were right. It paid off.”
“Big time,” I said. “I can see this becoming a big part of our business in the future. We might even expand, who knows?”
“Just take this thing a step at a time,” Gloria said. “Don’t go spending that bonus on another load of spy cameras and such. Remember you have a family to think about, too.”
“Baby steps,” I said. “I’ll take it nice and slow and work our way up gradually.” I turned toward the living room but stopped to turn back to Gloria for a second. I held up one of the monitors. “I have to transfer all this video to the hard drive. I’ll be a while.”
“Go on,” Gloria said. “Earn that bonus.”
I had learned from a past job involving video surveillance not to give the client the only copy of the evidence that I’d collected. My first client got me started with video surveillance by providing the equipment and then letting me keep it all after the job was finished. I had gathered the evidence he needed and I had transferred it to a USB jump drive. I gave the client the jump drive, figuring I’d never have any use for the video evidence, but when the client was blown up in his car in my parking lot, he took the only evidence with him to the next world.
I made copies of all the videos I’d collected from the twelve cameras and left the originals on the cameras themselves. It would be easier for Mr. Powell to see the evidence just as I had seen it—across the twelve monitors with the suspects walking in and out of the frames and ending with the close-up and personal shot of the burglar’s face. My mind flashed to Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.” I had to laugh. These two idiots would be spending the next few years behind bars and Edgar Kendall would go from a high-paying, prestigious job of general manager of a major manufacturer to making license plates for the state.
Once I’d finished with the video transfers, I packed all the mini monitors into a single suitcase small enough for me to carry onto the plane. No way was I going to check this bag.
“Just give me another couple of minutes,” I said to Gloria. “I have to call Dad and tell him the good news.”
“Take your time,” Gloria said. “We’re not going anywhere.”
A few minutes later, after I’d finished talking to Dad, I joined Gloria in the kitchen again. She had just finished feeding Matt and had him laid over her shoulder, patting his back and waiting for that all important burp. It came a few seconds later and she hugged him to her. These were the Kodak moments you heard about.
Monday morning I was back in my office again. Dad was sitting behind Gloria’s desk and I was watching the wall clock over our door. When nine ten rolled around I picked up the phone and called Powell Industries and asked to speak to Carlton Powell. The receptionist put me through right away.
“Good morning, Mr. Cooper,” Powell said. “May I assume that you have good news for me this morning?”
“You may, indeed,” I said. “It took only three days, but I believe I have what you need. It’s all on video and I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you see what we captured with the cameras.”
“Marvelous,” Powell said. “How soon can you get up here, Mr. Cooper?”
I had already checked departure times with the airlines before I called Powell. “There’s a plane lea
ving here in an hour, Mr. Powell. I can be there by noon if you have the time.”
“I’ll make the time, Mr. Cooper,” Powell said. “I’ll see you before noon. And thank you again. Good bye.”
I hung up my phone and looked at Dad. “Gotta run,” I said. “There’s a flight leaving at ten-twenty. I can just make it if I hurry. I should be back here before you close up for the day. Thanks for watching things around here. You’ve been a big help, Dad.”
“Glad to do it, Elliott,” Dad said. “Go on, you have a plane to catch.”
Without any further exchange of words, I was out the door and in my van on the way to the airport. The traffic gods were smiling down on me this morning and I made it to LAX with time to spare. I held the small suitcase on my lap and settled into my seat. I patted my pants pocket to reassure myself that the backup USB drive was still there. It was, and I spent the next hour and five minutes just relaxing.
At eleven forty-five I met with Mr. Powell, made my presentation and waited for his reaction.
“Splendid work, Mr. Cooper,” Powell said. “I think I can safely say that Mr. Kendall won’t be walking around free much longer and neither will his two cohorts. I’m very pleased with your work, Mr. Cooper. You can bet I’ll be telling my associates about you. You can use more work along these lines, can’t you, Mr. Cooper?”
“As much as you can steer my way, Mr. Powell,” I said. “I really appreciate the work.”
Carlton Powell pulled a large checkbook from his desk drawer and opened it to the next available check. He filled out the check, tore it out of the book and handed it to me. I looked at it and my eyes got wide.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Powell” I said. “But this is more than we agreed on. Are you sure this is what you meant to write?”
Powell nodded. “Quite sure, Mr. Cooper,” he said. “It would have been a bargain at twice that amount. I forgot to ask you the first time you were in my office, but would you have some business cards that I could pass out for you?”
I reached into my jacket pocket and withdrew the plastic case that held a dozen of my cards. I took all of them out and gave them to Carlton Powell. I felt like Johnny Appleseed, anticipating a bumper crop of business from these cards.
He extended his hand and I shook it. When I let go, I remembered the USB drive in my pocket. I handed it to Powell. “Here is your copy of all those videos. I’ve combined them all onto this one jump drive. Just plug it into your computer and click the icon for your multimedia player.”
I packed up the twelve mini monitors into my suitcase, closed it and walked back out of Mr. Powell’s office happier than I’ve been in a long time. This business that my grandfather had started all those years ago was finally paying off big time and I was proud to have made that happen, not only for me, but for my family and my dad.
We could finally be a family business once again, only this time, we’d do it up in style.
80 - Single File
It was the weekend of the big bike rally and I was ready. Our Private Investigations office wasn’t open today and if anyone called for our services, the machine could take a message. Gloria was back in tip-top shape after having the baby. She looked forward to our bike outings and she was getting her figure back with all this exercise.
I wore my cut-off jeans and red tee shirt with a picture of The Beatles across the front. My shoes were nothing special, just a pair of sneakers. I didn’t bother with those fingerless biking gloves or slender, sunglasses. I skipped the biking helmet in favor of a tan baseball cap.
My wife Gloria and I had taken this fifteen-mile trek on several occasions and this weekend we were going with another couple that she knew from the Y.M.C.A. We’d arranged to meet at the edge of town and begin our trek from there. I got our two bikes loaded into the back of my new cargo van and honked the horn. Gloria had arranged for a babysitter for Matt. A minute later she came out of the house carrying two water bottles.
“What always takes you so long to get ready?” I said, impatient to get started.
Gloria held up the two plastic water bottles with their pull-up caps. “You’d have gone without these if I hadn’t…”
“Never mind,” I said. “We’re supposed to meet Brad and Tammy in ten minutes. Let’s just get moving.”
I arrived at the meeting place in just under nine minutes and had the bikes unloaded before our ten-minute limit had elapsed. Gloria slid the two water bottles into their prospective holders on our bikes and took her bike from my grasp. Brad and Tammy were already on their bikes riding laps around the parking lot. They pulled up to where we stood.
Brad wore a form-fitting orange biking shirt and matching spandex pants that came down to mid-calf. Brad’s shoes were special, glow-in-the-dark orange biking shoes with pink laces. He wore those fancy fingerless biking gloves and sleek, trendy biking sunglasses. His streamlined biking helmet sported a rear-view mirror that hung down and to the left of his eye so he could see traffic approaching from behind. He was everything the well-equipped biker should be and he didn’t care who knew it. Personally, I thought he looked like something from another planet.
“You ready, grandpa?” Brad said.
“Don’t gimme that grandpa crap,” I said. “You’re only six months younger than me.”
Brad snickered and pedaled off ahead of me, challenging me to keep up. Gloria and Tammy fell in behind us as we steered up onto the county road. The county had equipped this road and several others with bike paths. The paths were nothing more than a painted white line that separated the road itself from the three-foot area next to the shoulder, designated for bicyclists. Ahead of us we could see maybe sixty other bikers already on their way to the next county, which lay a mere fifteen miles north of us. That was our goal for this beautiful sunny summer day. Another thirty or so bikers were still in the parking lot, ready to fall in behind us.
I had the inside lane, closest to the shoulder of the road while Brad took up a spot alongside me closer to the road. We pedaled along for a few minutes before we heard the first honk of a car horn behind us. The car slowed down, waiting for oncoming traffic to pass the spot where he’d encountered us. When the road was clear he accelerated and went around Brad and me. As the driver passed us I could see him hunching his shoulders and raising both hands in the air in disgust.
“What’s his problem?” Brad said as he continued straight ahead, next to me.
“I think he’s trying to tell you to get in line on the bike path,” I said. “You’re holding up traffic.”
“Piss on him,” Brad said. “Bicyclists have just as much right to use the road as the cars do. I ain’t getting’ over. If they don’t like it, they can go around me.”
“Then why did the county bother putting in these bike lanes,” I said, pointing to the white line that was streaming past between us.
“Yeah,” Brad said, “that would make for a real interesting trip riding the whole way there lookin’ at your skinny ass. Besides, how else are we gonna talk?”
I shook my head and said, “I’m just tellin’ you that that’s why you’re getting the horn honks and the gestures.”
“Too bad,” Brad said. “I’m stayin’ where I am.”
We pedaled along for another mile and a half when the second car laid on his horn, trying to get Brad to fall in line with the other bikers. He stayed where he was and ignored the irate motorist. This one slowed down, rolled the passenger side window down and yelled, “Single file, idiot” at the top of his lungs as he passed. Brad flipped him the bird and kept pedaling.
“One of these days,” I said, “you’re gonna piss off the wrong guy and he’s gonna run you down. You’d ruin that nice orange girdle bouncing along on the asphalt.”
“This isn’t a girdle,” Brad protested. “It’s the latest in spandex…”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “A spandex girdle.” I laughed and pedaled faster, putting some distance between us.
Brad caught up with me before slowing down an
d falling in beside me again. “What’s your hurry?” Brad said. “We got all afternoon. You gotta learn to pace yourself, pops.”
“I was trying to give you a chance to fall in behind me and stop being a menace to the drivers out here,” I said.
Brad pointed to several groups of bikers ahead of us. “Look at them,” he said. “Some of them are riding two abreast. Why don’t you pedal on ahead of me and give them the same speech about riding single file?”
I just sighed and shook my head. “Forget it, you stubborn, pig-headed old fart. It’s your funeral.”
We’d gone another two miles before the next car horn sounded in Brad’s ear. Brad tried to ignore the idiot and kept looking straight ahead. The driver honked again as he passed us. From out his rolled down passenger window Brad could barely make out what this guy was yelling.
“A-hole,” the guy yelled, pointing ahead of us. His bright yellow Hummer sped past and he was obviously yelling at the bikers ahead of us who were also riding two abreast. They must have gotten tired of hearing motorists yelling at them because one by one we could see the bikers ahead of us falling into a single line.
I pointed ahead. “See,” I said. “He must be getting to the rest of those guys ‘cause they’re all riding single file now.”
“Well, he ain’t getting’ to me,” Brad said, madder than ever now. “I have a right to ride on this road, same as any car. And I am not getting over. Now would you drop this whole…”
Brad’s rant was cut short in mid-sentence as the front tire of his bike struck a large pothole and sent the rear tire careening over his head. Brad flew over the handlebars and landed with a thud and a crack onto his two hands. The bike toppled down on top of him as he lay there. He complained that his chest also hurt after it had hit the pavement. The impact tore a six-inch patch out of his brand new spandex top. He was bleeding from his upper chest, his right elbow, both knees and his nose.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 233