The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  Tammy hopped off her bike, let it fall into the ditch and knelt next to Brad. “Are you all right?” She almost screamed when she saw all the blood.

  I got off my bike and now Gloria was also trying to sit Brad up and assess any damages. I sat next to Brad and almost yelled, “Good grief, are you all right?”

  When his head stopped spinning Brad spit out a mouthful of blood, along with two teeth and tried to speak. He stopped when his tongue found no resistance where his front teeth used to be. “Thun of a bith,” Brad said through the gap in his mouth. “Thereth thixth thouthand bucths out the fuckin’ window. My dentith ith gonna thit when he theez me.”

  I looked behind Brad at the twelve hundred dollar bicycle that lay in a heap on the road. The front tire was still wedged in the enormous pothole that lay just eighteen inches outside of the white line that separated the road from the bike path. The front tire was mangled beyond repair. The front fork was twisted and the handlebars pointed upwards at an odd angle.

  On the other side of the road I could see something yellow stopping. I wondered who ordered a taxi way out here but then I realized it was the big yellow Hummer that had just passed us. The driver came over to where we were huddled on the side of the road.

  Brad found strength he didn’t know he had as his adrenalin kicked in and he tried to stand. I held Brad down and he just looked up at the driver now. “What do you mean yelling at me and calling me an A-Hole?” he said indignantly. “I have just as much right to ride my bike on this road as you and furthermore…”

  “Hold on there,” the driver said in his defense. “I didn’t call you an A-Hole. I was trying to warn you. I live a few miles north of here and I know every inch of this road. I was yelling that there’s a hole up ahead and that you should get on the bike path. I guess I was going by too fast for you to hear the entire warning. Sorry.”

  The driver walked back to his Hummer, slid in behind the wheel and was starting his engine before Brad could get his foot out of his mouth. The driver motioned for me to put Brad into the back seat of his vehicle.

  Gloria and I helped Brad to his feet and eased him into the back of the Hummer. Tammy ran around to the other side of the car and slid in next to Brad. He rolled the window down and said to me, “Can you watch my bike ‘til we get back? I’ll come back with my car and pick you both up.”

  “Sure thing…” I said as the Hummer sped off toward the emergency room, “A-Hole.”

  81 - Home, Home Within Range

  Dad was on his way to see Joe Finley, an old friend of his from Glendale. Dad asked me to accompany him this afternoon because he thought I could do some good the Mr. Finley. He was the owner of Finley Construction and he had mentioned to Dad that he was having a lot of trouble with expensive equipment disappearing from several of his jobsites. I told Dad I’d at least listen to what Finley had to say before deciding whether or not I could help him.

  I pulled my van into Finley’s worksite parking area. It fit right in with the other vans and pickup trucks already parked there. Most of them had Finley’s business name printed on their sides along with his phone number and web site address. That was something Dad still had trouble getting used to—a www address printed on nearly everything these days. But it was the future and the future was here now. My own business cards included our home page URL next to our phone number and address. I opted not to have any of this information included on the side of my van. Driving around in a marked van would make it extremely difficult to conduct undercover work.

  Dad and I got out of the van and walked over to where three men in yellow hard hats stood talking and looking over a partially rolled out blueprint. One of the men pointed up to an unfinished portion of the building under construction at this site. The man holding the blueprint pointed to a spot on the paper and made a circular motion with his finger, bringing it down on the paper for emphasis.

  “That’s Joe,” Dad said, pointing with his chin at the man holding the blueprint roll. “Come on,” I’ll introduce you.”

  As we approached the three men, Finley turned and saw Dad and me coming his way. He said something to the other two men and they walked away before we caught up with Joe.

  “Joe,” Dad said. “You’re looking fit today.”

  “Clay,” Finley said, “You always were a good liar.” He looked at me and said to Dad, “This has to be Elliott. I can see you in his face. Hell, I can see some of Matt, too.”

  Dad gestured toward me with his hand. “Joe Finley, I’d like you to meet my son, Elliott Cooper,” Dad said with a bit of pride in his voice. Then he turned to me and said, “Elliott, this is Joe Finley, an old and dear friend of mine.”

  I extended my hand and Finley took it. He had a grip like a bench vice and I had to shake the circulation back into my hand when he finally released it. “I’m glad to finally meet you, Mr. Finley,” I said. “Dad has told me so much about you over the years that I feel like I already know you.”

  “Same here,” Finley said. “I could have picked you out of a crowd. Hell, if I had a dollar for every time your ad has shown me a picture of you while you were growing up, I wouldn’t have to be working now.”

  “He’s exaggerating,” Dad said. “I couldn’t have shown him your pictures more than a dozen times and who can retire on twelve dollars?”

  “So Clay tells me you recently became a father,” Finley said, slapping the side of my shoulder. Then he turned back to Dad and added, “Isn’t that right, Grandpa?”

  “Look who’s talking,” Dad said. “You’re a grandfather four times over, you old coot.”

  “All right, all right,” Finley said. “We could go on and on about who’s older.” Finley shielded his thumb from Dad’s view with his body and hiked it in Dad’s direction, winking at me. “But suppose we get right down to the purpose of this meeting. We obviously can’t talk out here in the open. Follow me. We’ll step into my office trailer.

  Dad and I followed Finley into a twelve by thirty trailer that had been parked on the edge of the lot. When we got inside, there was another man sitting at the drafting table, drawing on a large piece of paper with a compass, a protractor and a mechanical pencil. Finley looked at the man and said, “Archie, how about if you got get yourself a cup of coffee? I’m going to need the trailer to myself for fifteen minutes.”

  “Sure thing, Joe,” Archie said. He laid his mechanical pencil down and walked out of the trailer.

  Finley locked the door behind him and turned back toward Dad and me. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward two empty chairs. He sat behind the drafting table and turned his attentions to me. “Elliott,” he said, “I don’t know how much your dad has already told you about the problem I’ve been having lately, but I think it’s time I called in some professional help.”

  “Dad mentioned something about some of your equipment disappearing from your job sites,” I said. “I’m not sure how I will be able to help you with your problem. Don’t you have security guards or night watchmen at each of your jobsites?”

  “Watchmen?” Finley said. “I’d need watchmen to watch the watchmen. Some of them wouldn’t notice a thief if he walked in on them stealing something. Some of them I’d have to wake up just to get them to notice the thieves and the rest could be helping the thieves. I just don’t know anymore. I can’t be everywhere at the same time and I currently have four jobsites going even as we speak.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out again. “What kind of equipment is disappearing, Mr. Finley?” I said.

  “Okay,” Finley said. “I’ve seen pictures of you from the diaper stage through adulthood, so drop the Mister and call me Joe.”

  “All right, Joe,” I said. “What are they stealing?”

  “This morning I came in early and noticed that an arc welder wasn’t where it was supposed to be,” Joe said. “Sure, it’s on wheels and can be moved around the site, but it wasn’t anywhere on this jobsite, or any of my other sites, either. It’s just plain gone. And t
hat’s just today. Last week forty-eight twelve foot two-by-fours suddenly grew legs and walked off the site. The week before it was Archie’s toolbox full of expensive tools. If it ain’t bolted down, someone will walk off with it. I’m just about at the end of my rope.”

  “But you won’t stop trying,” I said. “You won’t give up hope.”

  Joe looked at me and furrowed his eyebrows. “Huh?” he said.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s a bad habit of mine.”

  “What’s a bad habit?” Joe said.

  “Forget it,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, go on with your story.”

  “No,” Joe said. “Now you got my curiosity up. What did you mean about me giving up hope?”

  “Go ahead,” Dad said, knowing just about what was going to come out of my mouth next. “Tell him.”

  “Sorry, Joe,” I said. “But when you said, ‘I’m just about at the end of my rope’, my mind shifted to that old Smoky Robinson song Ooh Baby Baby. That was the first line of the bridge, followed by the two lines that I added. Forget it. Again, I’m sorry.”

  Joe seemed lost in thought and I could see his lips silently moving along to the silent song that was playing in his head. “You’re right,” he said. “I remember that song. Anyway, like I was saying, I don’t know what else I can do to protect my equipment and supplies around here. It’s not like each jobsite has a warehouse where all this stuff can be locked up at night. The only reason they haven’t stolen my acetylene torch on the hand truck yet is because I hook a chain up to it and hoist it forty feet in the air before I leave here for the day.”

  “I’ve seen that,” I said, “And I always wondered why it was hanging there. Now I know. You weren’t thinking of hiring me on as some sort of night watchman, were you? At my rates, that could end up costing you more than the equipment is worth.”

  “Not exactly,” Dad said. “I was telling Joe here about all that new surveillance equipment you just got and we were both wondering if you could use that in this case.”

  “Right,” Joe said. “A couple of inconspicuous camera placed around the jobsite could help us catch those bastards.”

  I thought about it for a moment and said, “Sounds good in theory, but it’s a big job site with a lot of areas to cover. I have a dozen mini cams, but that wouldn’t even cover one of your sites and there are a lot of blind spots besides. Have you thought about guard dogs?”

  “I had one,” Joe said. “They stole him, too.”

  “Hold on a minute,” I said. “I might just have something that could help you in this situation.”

  “Anything,” Joe said. “I’m desperate. What have you got?”

  “I just added a couple of new pieces to my arsenal,” I said. “In fact, I have one of them with me.” I reached into my pocket and withdrew something that looked like a metal pencil eraser. I held it in the flat of my hand so Joe could get a good look at it.”

  “What is it?” Joe said.

  “Yeah,” Dad said. “I haven’t even see this thing yet myself. What have you got there, Elliott?”

  I looked at Dad and Joe and said, “Do me a favor. Both of you turn around and face the wall for a minute.”

  “Huh?” Dad said.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Just do it. I’ll explain in a minute.”

  Dad and Joe turned away from me and I got out of my chair, looked around the room and spotted a shelf on the other end of the trailer. I walked over and put the little metal eraser gadget up on the shelf and came back to where Dad and Joe was still standing with their faces to the wall.

  “All right, turn around,” I said, pulling another gadget from my coat pocket. It was about the size of a book of matches. “I hid that little gadget that I just had in my hand somewhere in this trailer. See if you can find it, Joe.”

  Joe did a cursory scan of the inside of the trailer and turned to me. “It could be anywhere,” he said. “I don’t have a clue where you put it.”

  I handed Joe the matchbook-size gadget. I turned it on and it beeped a steady beep, spaced half a second apart. “Just walk around the trailer holding this up in front of you and see what happens,” I said.

  Joe held the unit in his open palm and started to walk toward the other end of the trailer. The beeping increased from half-second intervals to quarter second intervals and a small circle of LEDs indicated which direction the signal was coming from. The further he walked toward the other end of the trailer, the faster the unit beeped. He swept his hand back and forth, altering the frequency of the beeps and the red LED changed, like the hand of a compass to indicate direction. As the beeps got more frequent, Joe advanced in that direction until the beeping became a steady squeal. He looked up on the shelf and plucked the first gadget out from behind a coffee mug. He brought it back to me and handed me both gadgets.

  “A homing device?” he said.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “And you plan on doing what with it?” Joe said.

  “Okay,” I said. “Picture this. We find an inconspicuous place on a piece of equipment that is likely to be stolen. You just leave it outside and go home. Whoever steels that piece of equipment is going to think he got away clean.”

  “And you find it with this?” Joe said, indicating the homing device.

  “Exactly,” I said. “It has a range of twenty miles and I can home right in on the exact spot wherever it ends up. You call the police and they catch the thief with the equipment. Simple. So, what do you think would be the piece of equipment most likely to be stolen? I mean, what has the most value and is most portable? You know, something that could be rolled away and transported without too much trouble.”

  Joe thought about it for a moment and then said, “Probably the acetylene torch, but I can’t afford to have that disappear. I need that to do the job.”

  “Do you have any equipment that you could do without for a short time?” I said. “Or something that you have more than one of that wouldn’t stop construction?”

  “I have three portable generators,” Joe said. “I could get by with two for a while if I had to.”

  “Great,” I said. “Show me the one that I can use for bait.”

  Joe pointed past me. “It’s the one sitting right behind you,” he said. “I just got it yesterday and haven’t set it out for use yet. Will that do?”

  I turned and looked down at the portable generator sitting on the floor. According to the labeling on the side, this was the forty-three hundred watt model with two outlets for four hundred forty volts and two outlets for regular two hundred twenty volts. It had an four stroke engine housed in a tubular frame with easy to carry handles. Each handle had a rubber grip slipped over it, like on a bicycle handlebar. There was a cap on top of the unit for the gas filler. I grabbed one of the four handles and lifted. It barely budged.

  “Gees,” I said, “What does this thing weight?”

  “About ninety-five pounds,” Joe said. “Two guys could easily carry it off, one guy if he was pretty strong.”

  “What does one of these go for?” I said.

  “That one?” Joe said. “That retails for around twenty-eight hundred, but we get them for around two grand wholesale.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “That’s enough value to qualify for grand theft once we catch the guy. I take it you plan on prosecuting.”

  “You’re damned right I do,” Joe said. “I’ve lost too much time and money over this thing already.”

  I looked at my watch and turned to Joe. “What time does the site close down for the night?” I said.

  “We knock off at five o’clock,” Joe said. “I’m usually out of here by five-thirty.”

  “It gets dark around seven-thirty this time of year,” Dad said. “Suppose you leave the generator out tonight?”

  “I could do that,” Joe said. He turned to me. “Where are you going to hide the transmitter, Elliott?”

  I grabbed that same handle again. “Inside here,” I said. “This han
dle grip will slide off with a little effort. I can stick the transmitter inside the handle and slip the grip back on. You’d never know it was there.”

  “And it doesn’t make any noise to alert anyone?” Joe said.

  “No,” I said, “But this receiver sure will when we get close to it. Here, help me get this handle grip off.”

  Joe and I pulled on the grip, twisting it as we pulled. Little by little it came off. I looked into the tubing part of the handle. “I don’t want to stick it in there,” I said. “It could slide down into the frame and I’d lose it.” I looked around the office and spotted a roll of duct tape on the shelf. “Do you mind if I use a little of your duct tape, Joe?”

  “Help yourself,” Joe said.

  I grabbed the roll of tape and tore off a three inch piece and rolled it up in a ball. I inserted the tape ball into the handle about an inch. “There,” I said. “The transmitter can’t get any farther than the tape and when we recover the generator and pull off the handle, I’ll still be able to reach it.” I placed the eraser-size transmitter just inside the handle and slid the rubber grip back into place. “Now just leave it sit outside tonight. Don’t make it too obvious, thought.”

  “I will,” Joe said, “And thanks for your help, Elliott. This had been one big thorn in my side for a few weeks now and I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

  “We’ll check back with you tomorrow morning,” Dad said. “I’ll call you. What time did you say you get in?”

  “I’m here at six-thirty,” Joe said. “The rest of the crew gets in at seven.”

  “I’ll set my alarm,” Dad said.

  Joe gave Dad a puzzled look. “Why?” he said. “What time do you two start your day?”

  “Right around eight,” Dad said.

  “So you guys get to sleep in every morning, is that it?” Joe said.

  “That we do,” I said. “It’s one of the perks of being your own boss.”