The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  Mansfield’s eyes got wide and he stared defiantly at Clay. “You’ll never get away with it,” Mansfield told Clay. “They’ll find you.”

  Clay looked down at the electronic device that Mansfield had dropped. Clay stood and brought his foot down hard on the black box. It stopped beeping and the display went dead. “Now you’ll never find it, either,” Clay said. “And we’re not waiting around for any more of your friends to show up.”

  Clay turned to Bonnie. “You feel up to riding horseback?”

  Bonnie smiled and nodded. “What about him?” she said.

  Clay gestured toward the makeshift restraints on Mansfield’s arms and legs. “Those won’t hold him for long,” Clay said. “But by the time he works himself free, we’ll be miles away from here. We may even find a road or the real rescuers. Either way, Paul here is going to have himself a long walk or a long wait. Let’s go.

  “That’s it?” Mansfield said. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

  “You have five people just outside to keep you company,” Clay told him. “I have to admit, though, they’re not much for holding up their end of the conversation.” He took Bonnie’s hand and led her out to where the hose was standing. Clay stuck his foot in the stirrup and threw his other leg over the saddle. He reached down and grabbed Bonnie’s hand, hoisting her up behind him.

  “Which way do we go?” Bonnie said.

  “I think we can just follow the horse’s tracks back from where he came,” Clay said, pulling on the reins and walking the horse back along the tracks it had left on the way here. They had walked for nearly three-quarters of an hour when Clay stopped and looked down the hill. There was a gravel road winding through the trees. Beyond the road he could see another road intersecting with it. Clay kicked his heels inward and the horse began walking toward the road.

  When the horse finally set foot on the gravel, Clay stopped and helped Bonnie off of its back. He stepped down onto the road himself and stretched his legs. “I wonder which way,” he said. He and Bonnie scanned the road in both directions. “I think that intersection we saw is just over that rise,” he said, pointing to the right.

  Before he could mount the horse again a distant noise caught Clay’s attention. He stopped and held up one finger to keep Bonnie quiet. He listened for a few seconds and then recognized the unmistakable sound of a helicopter’s rotors spinning through the air. He looked up and scanned the skies. There it was, coming toward them, almost directly overhead now. He and Bonnie waved their arms and shouted and a few seconds later the helicopter circled the area and descended. It landed on the gravel road and two uniformed rangers stepped out holding walkie-talkies. One of them held the device to his ear and said something into it that Clay couldn’t hear. The two rangers approached Clay and Bonnie.

  “Have you two seen anything of a plane wreck out in these woods?” one of the rangers said.

  Clay exhaled deeply and nodded. “We were on it,” he told the ranger. “Everyone else is dead.”

  The ranger looked at Clay and Bonnie. “What are your names?” he said.

  Clay smiled, relieved that his ordeal was almost over. “I’m Clay Cooper and this is Bonnie Damrow,” he said.

  The ranger lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth and relayed this new information to the dispatcher at the ranger station. The dispatcher acknowledged the ranger’s broadcast and told him that she’d relay the message to the state police.

  “You two had better come with us,” he told Clay.

  “What about the horse?” Bonnie said. “You can’t just leave him here.”

  The second ranger took the reins from Clay’s hand. “You two ride with Bob there and I’ll ride the horse to the ranger station. We’ll look after him.”

  Clay and Bonnie followed Bob back to the helicopter and climbed in, securing their seatbelts and closing the sliding door. The chopper lifted off of the gravel road and turned in a northeasterly direction. Below Bonnie could see the second ranger trotting off down the road and she was able to breathe easier.

  Bob turned his head a bit and spoke to Clay. “Can you direct me to the crash site?”

  I looked out the window and then turned to the pilot. “Which way is north?” I said.

  Bob pointed out the window. “That way,” he said.

  “Then just turn to a heading a little southwest of there,” I said. “It’s maybe four or five miles further. Oh, and one more thing. There’s a man inside the plane. He was tied up when we left him, but he may not be tied up any more. Be sure to tell whoever goes there to be careful with him. I had to take this away from him.” I laid the .45 on the seat next to Bob. “And once I can get back there, I can show you where I stashed one passenger’s leather bag.”

  “Why would you stash anyone’s luggage away from the crash site?” Bob said.

  “This bag’s loaded with a million dollars worth of cocaine,” I explained. “That’s what the guy who I tied up was after.”

  “You won’t need to go back,” Bob said. The DEA will comb the site with their drug-sniffing dogs. They’ll find it.”

  “Well, just tell them to look several hundred feet to the southeast,” Clay said. “There’s enough cocaine in there that the dogs could probably sniff it out from Denver.”

  *****

  The phone in my pocket rang and I scrambled to grab it and flip it open. “This is Elliott Cooper,” I said.

  “Mr. Cooper,” the woman’s voice said, “this is the Colorado State Police.”

  “Have you found my father?” I said, excitedly.

  “Mr. Cooper,” the woman said. “The forest rangers found your father and another woman and they’re all right. They’ll be bringing them to the hospital merely for precautionary checkups. But from what they tell me, they’re both in excellent condition.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” I said, nearly breaking down. I composed myself and said, “When can I talk to him?”

  “Stay by your phone,” the woman said. “As soon as they get here, I’ll put the call through myself.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said and closed my phone. Only then could I allow myself the luxury of crying like a baby. When I thought I could keep it together, I phoned Gloria at home.

  *****

  The helicopter touched down on the giant red X on the hospital roof. Bonnie and I stepped out and were directed to the roof door, which led down to the fifth floor. From there we were met by two attendants pushing wheel chairs.

  I waved them off. “We don’t need these,” I assured them.

  “Sorry,” one of the attendants said, “hospital regulations.”

  We were both too exhausted to argue and just sat with our feet on the tiny platforms while they wheeled us to an examination room. Aside from both of us being very hungry, we were each given a clean bill of health and released to the State Police. They led us to their black and white cruiser and told us to climb in the back seat. Within ten minutes the cruiser had pulled into the police station parking lot. The officer who was driving walked us into the station house and then into a smaller room where we were met by two detectives.

  We relayed our story to the two detectives. One of them, a man named Stewart, was holding Mansfield’s .45 casually in his hand. “You say you took this off a man who came looking for the plane?” Stewart said. “How’d you manage that?”

  I pulled my jacket open, revealing my .38 in the shoulder holster. Stewart exchanged alarmed looks with the other detective, a man named Brigham. Stewart straightened visibly. “Let’s have it,” he said, gesturing with the .45 at my shoulder holster.

  I complied and handed it over to him, along with my I.D., badge and carry permit. Stewart looked it all over and exchanged glances with Brigham, who nodded. I got my gun and I.D. back and returned them to their proper places.

  “Tell me about the guy who came looking for the cocaine,” Stewart said.

  “He called himself Paul Mansfield,” I told the detectives. “He said he had found us by tracking th
e plane’s transponder signal. I knew the transponder had gotten smashed, so whatever he was tracking with that thing he had must have been sending a signal, and that probably meant the bag of cocaine had a tracking device in it. I guess those guys don’t trust each other.”

  “When that much money is involved, they don’t even trust themselves,” Brigham said. He looked at Stewart and then at me. “I guess you two are free to go,” he said. “Mansfield can’t get far on foot out there. We’ll pick him up.”

  Stewart walked Bonnie and me out of the interrogation room and out to the front desk. Then I remembered my cell phone. I looked at Stewart. “Can I get cell reception in here?” I said.

  Stewart nodded. “Should be fine,” he said. “Thanks again for your help.”

  I turned to Bonnie. “If you have someone to call, now would be a good time,” I said, flipping my own phone open and punching in Elliott’s cell phone number.

  By the time Bonnie and I finished making our calls our stomachs began grumbling in unison. We both laughed turned to the desk sergeant. “Can you tell us where the nearest restaurant is?” I said.

  The sergeant pointed to the front door and curved his hand around to the right. “Go right when you leave here,” he said. “Two blocks up on the left side of the street. Can’t miss it. It’s a place called The Friendly Skies. I guess they called it that after pilots from Denver International started going there. The place just caught on after that.”

  I looked at Bonnie and smiled. “I hope the skies there are a lot friendlier than the ones that dumped us out in the woods.”

  Over dinner Bonnie told me about the call she had made to her lawyer. “He thought I was dead,” Bonnie told me. Apparently I even made the headlines and people started buying up my jewelry like crazy. I guess they figured it was like art and would only go up in value. So I guess this dark cloud had at least one silver lining for me. What about you? Did you get a hold of your son?”

  “I did,” I told Bonnie. “He told me that he and his wife, Gloria never gave up hope. He said he just knew I was still alive despite what the papers were saying.”

  “I’ll bet he’ll be glad to see you again,” Bonnie said.

  That’ll makes two of us,” I said. “He told me to catch a commercial flight to San Francisco and then down to L.A. I guess the airline that covers that route is not on strike.”

  “But didn’t you come here to meet a friend?” Bonnie said.

  “That’s right,” Clay said. “I’d better call Harry, I mean Fred, and let him know what happened. Thanks for reminding me. I’m obviously going to have to forget staying with him for a week, like we’d planned. I need to get home to Elliot and Gloria.”

  Well, which is it?” she said. “Harry or Fred?”

  I briefly explained Harry’s situation without mentioning either of his last names. “I’m sure he’ll understand,” I said.

  Bonnie pointed to my armpit. “Don’t try to take that thing on the plane with you,” she said.

  I patted my shoulder holster. “Oh gees,” I said. Now what am I going to do with it?”

  “Give it to me,” Bonnie said. “Unloaded, of course. When I get home I’ll pack it up carefully and mail it to you at your office.”

  “That’s illegal, you know,” I said.

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” Bonnie said. “I’ll label the box Fragile and Glass and maybe then they’ll handle it more carefully. When does the next flight leave for San Francisco?”

  “Tomorrow morning at ten-thirty,” I said.

  “Oh wow,” Bonnie said. “What are we going to do with you until then?” She smiled a wry smile and winked at me. “Maybe I can show you my jewelry. It’s at my house just a couple of miles from here.”

  Is that your version of showing me your etchings?” I said, smiling.

  “Something like that,” Bonnie said.

  “What will the neighbors say?” I told her.

  “Screw the neighbors,” Bonnie said.

  “But it’s your neighborhood,” I said.

  “And I’m one of the neighbors,” Bonnie say and then lowered her eyes.

  Clay guessed that when he told Elliott and Gloria about his ordeal that he could always leave that part out.

  89 - The Not-So-Private Eyes

  “Mr. Cooper?” the man said as he approached me on the street.

  I said I was.

  “Mr. Cooper, my name is Philip Sinclair,” the man said. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.”

  I nodded. “Sure,” I said and waited.

  “Uh, I mean in private,” Sinclair said.

  “Well,” I said, “I’m on my way to meet my wife for lunch,” I said. “Can this wait?”

  “Under normal circumstances maybe,” Sinclair said, “but I’m under a bit of a time constraint.”

  “Would talking to me in front of my wife be private enough for you, Mr. Sinclair?” I said.

  Sinclair thought for a moment and then offered, “That would depend on how public the place is where you’re meeting her.”

  “It’s just a regular restaurant,” I told him, “but maybe we could grab a corner booth off by ourselves. Would that do?”

  Sinclair nodded. “I guess it will have to,” he said. “At least I’ll be able to lay out the outline for you. And if you’re interested, perhaps we could meet at say, your house or office for the rest.”

  “The rest of what?” I said. “Look, if you have something to say, spit it out or be on your way. I’m a busy guy.” I lied. I just didn’t get a good feeling about this guy.

  “Where is this restaurant,” Mr. Cooper?” Sinclair said.

  I stopped right there on the sidewalk, gave Sinclair direct eye contact and said, “Right here.” I tossed my head to one side, gesturing toward the front door of The Gold Cup coffee shop. “Follow me.”

  Gloria was already sitting at a table for two in the middle of the room when we approached. She smiled when she saw me and then looked at the man following me and her face changed to one big question mark.

  “Philip Sinclair,” I said and then held my palm up in Gloria’s direction, “This is my wife, Gloria Cooper.”

  Sinclair extended his hand to Gloria. “How nice to meet you, Mrs. Cooper,” Sinclair said and then turned to me.

  I looked around the room and spotted a vacant booth in the back, away from curious ears. I turned to Gloria. “Gloria, would you mind if Mr. Sinclair joined us for lunch today?” I said.

  “Sure,” Gloria said. “I guess that would be all right.” She gestured toward the chair on her right.

  “Would you also mind if we took a booth in the back?” I said.

  Gloria’s eyebrows turned down but she slowly nodded just the same. “I guess that would be all right,” she said, picking up her coffee cup and following me back to the corner booth.

  Gloria slid in first and I sat next to her. Held a hand out toward the seat across from us and Sinclair slid in. A waitress came by with an extra set of flatware wrapped in a napkin and set it in front of Sinclair.

  “Coffee, gentlemen?” she said, waiting with her pencil poised over her pad.

  Sinclair held up one finger but I waved her off. “Just water for me,” I said.

  She returned a minute later with a coffee pot in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Sinclair turned his coffee cup upright and the waitress filled it. She set the water in front of me. “Would you like a minute?” she said. “Or are you ready to order?”

  “Give us a minute, would you?” I told her.

  She walked away and I looked at Sinclair. “All right,” I said, “let’s hear it.”

  “Hear what?” Gloria said. “What’s going on here, Elliott?”

  “Beats me,” I said. “I just met Mr. Sinclair on the way here and he wanted to talk to me so I suggested he join us.” I turned to Sinclair. “Well?”

  Sinclair sipped his coffee, patted his lips with his napkin, set the cup down and said, “Mr. Cooper, I represent the firm
of Sinclair, Newman and Maxwell.”

  “You’re a lawyer?” I said.

  Sinclair laughed. “Oh, heavens no,” he said. “We’re a publishing house. We publish books, both in hardcover and paperback.”

  “So far I don’t see any connection,” I said. “Are you looking to hire a private detective to do something for your company?”

  “Not exactly, Mr. Cooper,” Sinclair said.

  “Then what do you want, Mr. Sinclair?” I said.

  Sinclair paused, choosing his next words carefully. “Our firm would like to publish an account of the Cooper family and their legacy in the private investigations business.”

  “The Cooper family?” Gloria said. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Mrs. Cooper,” Sinclair said, “We’ve already done some preliminary background on your husband and his father...” Sinclair pulled a notebook from his pocket, flipped it open and continued. “…Clay Cooper. I understand that you, Mr. Cooper, are the third generation of Coopers to carry on the family business.”

  “Yes,” I said, somewhat suspiciously.

  “Well,” Sinclair said, “like I said, we’ve done some preliminary background and I see that it was Clay’s father, your grandfather, Matt Cooper who started the business in 1946. Am I accurate so far, Mr. Cooper?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but where are you going with all this?”

  “In our background check, Mr. Cooper,” Sinclair said, “we were able to find quite a few newspaper clippings going back to the forties that documented some of your grandfather’s exploits. We also found several interesting stories that involved your father, Clay. And we haven’t forgotten about you, either. Granted, there aren’t as many clippings about you, but you’re relatively newer in the business. I expect that you’re file will have many interesting pieces in it over time.”

  “My file?” I said. “Why would you have a file on me and my father and grandfather?” I said, a little annoyed now.

  “I’m sorry,” Sinclair said, “I thought I’d already mentioned that our firm is interested in a biography of sorts on the Cooper family and their private eye business. That is, if you’re interested in having your story told.”