I looked at Gloria. I knew she was just as eager to find this kid as I was. We exchanged knowing looks and both of us got up and headed for the door. I turned back to Dad, “Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help us look for this nut job?”
Dad sported a huge smile and followed us out of the office. We all got in Gloria’s sedan and started cruising the boulevard, not exactly sure what it was we were looking for. As we drove past Saul Green’s clothing store, I noticed that his front window was shattered. He had just had it replaced a few days ago.
“Pull up here,” I told Gloria. I turned and laid my arm over the back of the seat so I could talk to Dad and Gloria both. “I was just here this morning,” I said. “Saul Green, the owner, had just had this window replaced earlier this week. I don’t see the cops here, so we can assume this just happened. Dad, you go around to the back door. Gloria and I are going inside.”
When we got inside the store, I saw Saul on the phone, talking in a loud, excited voice and using lots of hand gestures.
“You send a car over here right now,” Saul demanded and hung up the phone. He looked up and saw me coming his way.
“Again,” Saul said. “Can you believe it, Mr. Cooper? That little bastard hit me again. If I get my hands on him I’ll kill him myself.”
I held up a hand. “Hold on, Mr. Green,” I said. “You don’t need that kind of trouble. The police will take care of whoever is doing this. Did anyone come in the store and talk to you about helping you prevent this from happening?”
“That’s the little bastard I’m talking about,” Saul said. “The nerve of that kid. I told him to get the hell out of my store or I’d kick him so hard he wouldn’t sit for a week.”
“And what did he say?” Gloria asked.
“He just told me I’d be sorry,” Saul explained. “And he ran out of here. Five minutes later I hear my front window shatter again, but the kid is nowhere around.”
“How long ago did this happen?” I said.
“Not two minutes ago,” Saul said. “You have to stop that kid before he hurts someone.”
“He already has,” Gloria said and then looked at me. “We’d better get moving, Elliott.”
“Pick us up out back,” I told her.
Gloria rushed back to her car and I left through the back door. Dad was standing in the alley when I emerged. A moment later Gloria pulled up and Dad and I got in.
“Where are we going?” Gloria said.
“I have a hunch,” I told her. “Drive over to Rudy Berger’s shoe store. It’s four or five blocks west of here.”
We got there in just a few minutes. The front window was still intact as Gloria pulled her car to the curb. We all got out and entered the store. Rudy came up to greet me as we entered. I introduced Dad and Gloria and told Rudy about Saul Green’s second hit on his window.
“Better keep an eye out,” I told Rudy. “This kid may be making return visits to the places he’s already hit.”
“You think he’ll come back here so soon?” Rudy said.
Before I could answer, the front window of Rudy’s store crashed to the sidewalk. A chrome nut hit a shoe display behind me and bounced to the floor. I instinctively pulled my .38 and made a dash for the front door. A kid on a red bicycle was peddling away as fast as he could. Dad stayed with Rudy while Gloria and I hurried out to the car. By the time Gloria was able to pull out into the traffic, the bicycle was gone. We cruised up and down some of the side streets, but didn’t see anyone with a bicycle, red or otherwise.
We pulled up in front of Rudy’s shop again and found Dad talking to a police officer, who was writing something in his notepad. I interrupted their conversation and told the officer about the kid on the red bike. “We lost him in the traffic on the side streets,” I explained.
“Did you get a good look at the kid?” the officer said.
“Only from the back,” I said. “He was wearing a blue windbreaker and had a matching blue baseball hat on. He wore jeans and black and white sneakers. What little hair I could see sticking out from under the hat was blonde.”
“That’s a pretty detailed description,” The cop said. “You a cop?”
“Private,” I said and showed him my I.D. and shield.
“And what were you doing here?” the cop asked.
“I stopped in here this morning to talk to Rudy,” I explained. “We had just been over to see Saul Green up the street and figured we’d better come back here again.”
“Why’s that?” the cop said.
“Didn’t you hear?” I said. “Saul Green was just hit again a few minutes ago. I figured the kid might come back here again so we drove over.”
“We?” the cop said.
“Excuse me,” I said, pointing to my two partners. “This is my wife, Gloria and my Dad, Clay Cooper. All three of us work out of the same office just down the street.”
A bulletin came through over the cop’s radio, alerting any unit in the area to be on the lookout for a kid on a red bicycle who had just broken a window at a store on Highland Avenue.
“Kid’s got a lot of nerve,” I said. “He just barely got away from us and he’s out hitting other stores already.”
The cop grabbed the mic on his shoulder, turned his head toward it and replied, “This is car seven,” he said. “I’m at Rudy Berger’s shoe store. The front window here was just broken again. It could be the same suspect.”
The transmission went silent for a moment and then the dispatcher came back on. “Car seven, meet Lieutenant Anderson on tact two.”
“Copy that, dispatch,” the officer said, switching to tact two on his radio. “Lieutenant Anderson, this is car seven, Officer Bradley, go ahead.”
“Car seven,” the lieutenant said. “I think the kid we’re looking for is Drake Phillips.” He conveyed the address to Officer Bradley. “Approach with caution. He’s probably killed one person already. And do not mistake that slingshot for a toy. It can kill you so treat it as though it was a gun.”
“Copy that, Lieutenant,” Bradley said.
“I heard that,” I told the cop. “The kid’s a killer.”
“You stay out of this, Mr. Cooper,” the cop said. “This is a police matter.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve heard that once before.”
The cop left the store and returned to the black and white parked at the curb and headed west on the boulevard.
“We’d better get moving,” I told Rudy. “Watch yourself.”
“I will, Elliott,” he said, and then proceeded to clean up glass shards for the second time.
Dad and Gloria and I got back into her car and drove west on Hollywood, turning south on Highland. “So where are we going now?” Gloria said.
“Two blocks over,” I said, pointing south down Highland.
“The cops just told us to stay out of it, Elliott,” Gloria reminded me.
“And?” I said.
“And I think this time we should listen to them,” she said.
“Gloria may be right on this one,” Dad said. “This is no longer just some misdemeanor glass breakage case. We’re dealing with murder. You interfere with that kind of investigation and we’ll all be sitting behind bars before the day is through.”
I thought about it briefly and said, “All right, but let’s just stop at Sam Perkins’ Deli for a minute. I just want to warn him about Drake Phillips. He may not even know about Abernathy’s death yet. If something happened to Sam and we could have prevented it, we’d never forgive ourselves. Come on, it’ll just take a minute.”
“But after this we stay out of it, right?” Gloria said.
“Right,” I agreed.
The front window was still in one piece at the delicatessen when we pulled up in front of it. We sat there for a moment and just observed. A moment later we all got out and walked toward the front door to the deli. I motioned to Dad to cover the back door while Gloria and I went inside. I saw the same clerk behind the counter and
smiled at her as we approached.
“Remember me?” I said.
“Mr. Cooper,” the clerk said. “What brings you back here so soon?”
“Just checking on a few things,” I said. “Has anyone been here to talk to you about the window since I was here last?”
The middle-aged woman shook her head. “No,” she said. “Was someone supposed to?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. I heard a commotion coming from somewhere behind the woman, who also turned toward the sound. “Where does that door lead to?” I said.
“It’s the back door,” the clerk said. “It leads to the alley behind the store.”
“Dad,” I said to Gloria as we both rushed through the back door.
Dad way lying on his back next to some garbage cans. He looked up at me and rolled his eyes.
“What happened here, Dad?” I said.
Dad gestured with his chin toward one of the garbage cans. “I was trying to step up onto the can to get a better look over that fence.” He pointed to a six-foot stockade fence behind him. “I slipped off the can and fell on my ass.” He extended a hand out to me and I pulled him to a standing position.
“Are you all right?” I said, looking him over.
“The only thing hurt was my pride,” Dad said, “and one butt cheek.” He rubbed his butt with his hand and stood there, looking embarrassed.
“What’s on the other side of that fence?” I asked the clerk, who had now joined us.
“Just a neighbor’s yard,” she said.
I looked back at Dad. “And why did you want to see over that fence?” I said.
“I thought I heard something,” Dad explained. “Of course, I made so much noise falling down that there could have been a squad of cheerleaders over there and I wouldn’t have heard them.”
As we stood there talking, I spotted a red bicycle coming our way down the alley. When the kid in the blue windbreaker looked up and saw us, he stood on the brakes, turned his bike around and sped back in the opposite direction. I gave chase while Dad and Gloria hurried around the building to Gloria’s car. The kid on the bike was too fast for me to outrun, but just as I gave up the chase, Gloria pulled around the corner and I got in. She followed close behind the kid with her car.
“That was Drake Phillips,” I said. “I got a good look at his face this time.
Phillips exited the alley and turned onto Selma Avenue, peddling as fast as he could. He turned into the next alley entrance and disappeared from sight for a moment. By the time we got to the alley entrance, we could see Drake Phillips standing next to his bike, his left arm extended straight out in front of him. In his left hand he held the slingshot, his right hand pulling back the pocket as far as he could. When we came into view, he released the pocket and a chrome nut smashed into the windshield between Gloria and me. Luckily Dad was sitting off to one side or he’d have been hit in the face with the nut. Gloria skidded to a stop and ducked down in her seat. I slipped out the passenger door and crouched behind it, my .38 in my hand.
A second chrome nut shattered Gloria’s front door window, glass showering her hands and head. I stood up and pointed my .38 at Drake and yelled, “Drop it, Drake. NOW!”
Drake loaded another nut, pulled back on the rubber tubing and released the pocket. The nut ricocheted off the windshield just inches from my head. He aimed the slingshot at me again and pulled back the pocket. Without hesitating, I fired at him. My shot went wide and zinged past Drake’s ear. It made him release the pocket and duck behind a telephone pole. I fired again, splintering the pole an inch or so from Drake’s head. A second later the slingshot landed out in the alley and Drake yelled from behind the pole. “Don’t shoot,” he cried. “I give up.”
“Come out of there with your hands in the air,” I yelled. “Do it.”
Drake gingerly stepped out from behind the telephone pole; his hands raised high above his head. He walked slowly toward me and dropped to his knees. He’d no doubt seen enough police shows on television to know what was expected of him.
I stood there, my .38 trained on him when I heard the first siren getting closer. Then a second siren joined in and a moment later two black and white patrol cars drove up, one from behind Drake and one from behind me. Two officers got out of the car behind me and yelled for me to drop my gun. I bend down and carefully laid it on the cement and raised my own hands in the air.
Two more officers got out of their cruiser and trained their guns on Drake Phillips. One of the officers grabbed his shoulder mic and called it in to the precinct.
Dad and Gloria got out of her car and tried to explain the situation to the first two officers. They held her and Dad at bay until they could determine who was playing what role in this scenario. They must have been satisfied with whatever Gloria had told them. Either that or one of the officers had recognized Dad. Either way, I was allowed to drop my hands and retrieve my .38 and slip it back into my shoulder holster.
One of the second set of officers pulled Drake Phillips to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back. He placed the kid in the back seat of his patrol car and closed the door just as Lieutenant Eric Anderson pulled up in his unmarked cruiser.
Eric took one look at me and then at Gloria’s nut-ridden car and then back at me. “Seems to me,” Eric said, “that I told you three to stay out of this one, didn’t I?”
“We didn’t go looking for the kid,” Dad said from over Gloria’s shoulder. “He came right at us. What were we supposed to do?”
Eric shook his head and looked at the ground. “I suppose I should be grateful that none of you were injured,” he said. “I suppose I should be grateful that the kid is in custody. I suppose I should be grateful that no one had to kill the kid. Lord knows what a mess that would have caused.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said.
“Hey,” Gloria yelled. “Who’s going to pay for my windows?”
“Don’t you have insurance for this sort of thing?” Eric said.
“Yeah,” Gloria said. “With five hundred dollar deductible.”
There was an awkward silence that followed before Eric added, “See, if you’d stayed out of this, like I asked, you’d still have all your windows.”
“And you wouldn’t have the kid in custody,” Gloria shot back.
“There is that,” Eric said. “Tell you what. You stop bellyaching about your car windows and I won’t run you in for obstructing justice and interfering with a police matter. How’s that sound to you?”
Gloria and I exchanged glances and then she looked back at Eric. “Gees,” she said, “you drive a hard bargain. Oh, all right, you old fart.”
“Go on,” Eric said. “Get out of here. Drive that wreck of yours down to the precinct. I’ll want statements from all three of you juvenile delinquents.”
Drake Phillips was charged with five counts of grand larceny and one count of murder. Because of his age, the judge remanded him to the custody of the county juvenile detention center until his twenty-first birthday. Somehow it didn’t seem like enough of a punishment, but even the judge had limits to his powers when dealing with a minor.
Six weeks later, as Dad and Gloria and I sat in our office, catching up on a backload of files that needed to be entered into our database, I came across an article in the Times about a death in the county juvenile detention facility. I sat up straight and said, “Listen up,” to Dad and Gloria. They stopped what they were doing while I read the article to them. It read:
Drake Phillips, fifteen, was found dead this morning in the kitchen of the juvenile facility. Another detainee outside had thrown a rock through the kitchen window, hitting Phillips in the head. Phillips died instantly. He was serving a six-year sentence for vandalism and murder and had been considered a model inmate for the past two months. He leaves behind a mother and father and one younger brother.
I set the paper down and looked at Gloria. Her expression didn’t give anything away. She didn’t look particularly sad, but she w
asn’t smiling, either.
“And that’s that,” she said, turning back to her computer to finish her work.
“Too bad,” Dad said. “He was just a teenager.”
I rolled my eyes. “A nut job is what he was.” I took the paper off my desk and joined Gloria and Dad in the never-ending quest to get all those files organized in the database. By the time we finished this project, if we ever did, I’d be retired and my son, Matt would be taking over the business. That was only another twenty years away, so we’d better get busy.
87 - The Next Great Adventure
I was stuck in traffic on my way to the office on this first Monday of the month. I was used to it and almost didn’t mind having to slow to a crawl at times. It gave me time to look at my surroundings, which I rarely got to see when traffic was moving at the posted speed. I noticed things at ten miles per hour that I hadn’t seen before. It also gave me time to take my eyes off the road and do a little channel surfing on the radio dial. I could cruise right past the heavy metal stations, the country music stations, the gospel stations and the polka stations. I liked the oldies, you know, music from before I was born.
I was born in the early part of the eighties and most of the music from that era was lackluster, to say the least. To me, disco music was like polka music—every song tended to sound the same. And by the time I was a teenager in the late nineties, the music only got worse. I had grown accustomed to listening to the music that Dad grew up with in the sixties. Now there was an era for real music. The Beatles, The Hollies, The Buckinghams and The New Colony Six were all staples on my MP3 player, along with a lesser known, but just as enjoyable band from Chicago who called themselves The Cryan’ Shames, with their flawless four-part harmonies. Man, they just don’t make music like that anymore.
I must have been somewhat lost momentarily in a daydream because the guy behind be began laying on the horn. I threw my hands up so he could plainly see that I knew he was there, but I couldn’t go any faster than the guy ahead of me. That didn’t seem to matter to the guy riding my bumper.
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 247