I shook my head. “I don’t know about that,” I said. “We Coopers are kind of private. I don’t know that I’d want to air our dirty laundry, so to speak, in public.”
Gloria laid her hand on my arm. “Hold on, Elliott,” she said. “Let’s not be too hasty here. I’d like to hear a little more of what Mr. Sinclair has in mind for this project. You know, what angle he plans on pursuing if we give him the go ahead to do it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cooper,” Sinclair said. “What we had in mind was a little more on an epic scale, if I may explain. You see, we’d like to start even further back than your grandfather, Matt. We’d like to start at least one or two generations further back with our story, say, with Matt’s father or grandfather and we’d tell the story starting back then and work our way to the present day.”
I remained silent for a moment and thought about such a plan. After a while I said, “And why The Coopers? Why not any of the other eight or nine private eye agencies in Hollywood? And just exactly what’s in this for you? How can you even be sure a book like this would sell, unless…” I held up one finger and shook it. “…Unless you’ve already made some sort of deal for the movie rights,” I said. “That’s it, isn’t it, Mr. Sinclair?”
“It’s no secret that good books make for good movies,” Sinclair said. “And your family’s story is certainly interesting enough. And yes, I’ve spoken with some of the studios about such a project. It wasn’t something I was trying to keep from you, Mr. Cooper. I first needed to find out if you’d have any interest in such a project.”
“But I’m not a writer,” I said. “And Dad’s only written one book—a cook book. That doesn’t necessarily make him Raymond Chandler, now does it?”
“You don’t have to worry about that part, Mr. Cooper,” Sinclair said. “We would provide the writer. All you and your family would need to provide is the stories. Just tell them in your own words and our writer will arrange them into the correct format. From what I’ve seen from our research department so far, you’ll be able to come up with way more material than we’ll need. But that’s good. That way we can pick and choose what we like and what will work with the main storyline.”
“And that main storyline will be what?” I said.
“The saga of the Coopers and how you got to where you are now,” Sinclair said. “So what do you think? Does this sound like something you’d be interested in doing?”
“How soon would you need an answer?” I said.
“Naturally, we’d like to start as soon as possible,” Sinclair said. “It is a big project. But you two go home tonight and talk it over with Clay. We’ll want his cooperation as well. If you could let me know sometime tomorrow that would be great.”
Sinclair pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and slid it across to me. I looked at it briefly and dropped it into my own shirt pocket. “We’ll call you tomorrow, Mr. Sinclair,” I said.
The waitress returned and asked if we were ready to order yet.
Sinclair slid out of the booth and left two twenty-dollar bills on the table. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ve already had my lunch, but you go ahead and have lunch on me.” He turned and walked out of the coffee shop.
Gloria and I gave the waitress our order and she left again. I slid out of the booth and back in again, across from Gloria.
We exchanged looks, our eyes getting wide. “What do you think?” Gloria said. “Something like this could be really good for our business, but I’ll leave it up to you.”
“You know,” I said, “this reminds me of that motorcycle building show on television. There was this father and son in New York that had a small chopper building business. They were approached by a TV producer and asked if they wanted to build their motorcycles while the television crew filmed them. That was ten years ago and now those guys are both millionaires because of the exposure. I doubt that we’d get super rich off something like this, but it sure as hell couldn’t hurt us any.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Gloria said. “After lunch how about if we go back to the office and lay it all out for your dad and see what he thinks?”
“Sounds like a good first step,” I said, as our lunches were set down in front of us. When we’d finished, I paid for the two meals from the forty dollars Sinclair had left us and left five bucks for a tip. Even if we said no to his proposal, we still came out ahead by two lunches and fifteen dollars.
When we got back to the office, Dad was on the phone. It sounded like he was just wrapping up his conversation and five seconds later he hung up the phone and looked up at us. “How was lunch?” Dad said.
“Free,” I said, and waited for his reaction.
Dad looked at Gloria. “He made you pay?” Dad said.
Gloria shook her head. “Not me,” she replied.
“All right,” Dad said, “I give up.”
Gloria and I both pulled chairs up to Dad’s desk. We were both smiling.
“What is this?” Dad said. “Are you going to double-team me and tell me I’m fired, or what?”
“Nothing like that,” I said. “But get this.” I laid out Sinclair’s proposal for Dad and answered the few questions that I was sure he’d have for me.
“And you both think this is a good idea?” Dad said.
“Don’t you?” I said. “This could be the kind of exposure we need to take us to the next level. People in need of a private eye will think of us first. We can charge more for our services with exposure like this. We may get so busy that we’d have to hire more help. We can get out of debt.”
“Clay,” Gloria said, “if this projects gets made into a movie or maybe even a TV show, we could all become household names.”
“A movie?” Dad said. “Would we get to pick who we want to play us?”
“I don’t think so,” Gloria said. “They have casting directors for that.”
“Yeah,” Dad said, “but if they make some kind of reality show out of it, they’d be using us for that, wouldn’t they?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “We haven’t even given Sinclair an answer yet. There’s no book yet. And if they make a movie or TV show out of it, that’s way down the line, so how about if we decide on what we’re going to tell Sinclair before we start spending the millions we don’t have yet?”
“Well, I say yes,” Gloria said.
“I’m all for it,” I said. “What about you, Dad?”
Dad paused, looked at us both and smiled. “I’m in,” he said.
“All right,” I said, “before I call Sinclair back, what about family history going back to Grandpa and even further back? How much of our family history do we want to allow them to use? Dad, is there anything about our past that you wouldn’t want made public, you know, like before I was born?”
“I don’t have any skeletons in my closet,” Dad said. “And my dad had nothing to hide.”
“Are you sure you want to read about Great-Grandpa Nick’s murder in a book?” I said.
“All the people who were around then or involved are already dead,” Dad said. “It couldn’t hurt to let the story get out there. Yeah, I say let them have what they want. The more material they have to work with, the better the final product could turn out.”
“Then it’s settled?” I said. “We give Sinclair the go ahead?”
Dad and Gloria both nodded. I pulled Sinclair’s card from my pocket and dialed the number.
Another week had passed before Sinclair’s lawyers had drafted the contract between the firm of Sinclair, Newman and Maxwell and the Cooper family. It provided exclusive rights to the Cooper’s collective biography and also stated that a ten thousand dollar advance was to be paid to The Coopers against any future royalties. Elliott deposited the check in the company account and paid off all of his creditors, and still had fifteen hundred dollars left over. Now if business was slow for a while, they could still get by while the publishing company conducted their interviews and drafted their chapte
rs.
Philip Sinclair sent one of his best writers, a man called Henry Mandell, who had had several successes co-writing biographies for three movie stars, an Indy race car driver and one man who scaled Mt. Rainier on crutches. He had decided to start his interviews with Clay and try to learn more about Clay’s father, Matt Cooper. During his initial call to Clay, Henry Mandell asked if they could meet at a downtown hotel so that they wouldn’t be disturbed during the interview. Henry also asked Clay to bring along any material, scrapbooks or keepsakes that he thought might be helpful in crafting the storyline in chronological order. Clay took the elevator to the tenth floor and walked down the hallway until he came to room ten seventeen. He knocked on the door and Henry Mandell greeted him.
“Come in, Mr. Cooper,” Henry said. “I’m so glad you could make it. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, soda, beer or maybe a mixed drink?”
“Not right now, thank you” Clay said. “Maybe a little later.”
The room was more of a suite, with a bedroom and a sitting area with a sofa and two overstuffed chairs separated by a coffee table. Clay sat in one of the chairs and Henry sat in the other, a yellow legal pad on his lap and a mini digital recorder on the coffee table.
Clay felt a bit nervous, not knowing what to expect. “Where did you want to start, Mr. Mandell?” he said.
“Henry, please call me Henry,” Mandell said. “May I call you Clay?”
Clay agreed that that would be fine.
“Well, Clay,” Henry said, “What I had in mind was something along the lines of a multi-generational saga. Have you ever seen How the West Was Won or Captains and Kings?”
“I’ve seen them both, Henry,” Clay said. “I am admittedly a bit of a movie buff.”
“That’s great,” Henry said. “Then you know how the storylines in those movies progressed from the first character to the last. That’s how I see this project. Now, I know you can tell me all there is about yourself and your dad, but had your dad ever talked about his dad with you? That’s where I want to start just to briefly lay a little foundation for the Cooper Family story.”
“Well,” Clay said, “my grandfather’s name was Nicholas Cooper. He was born in 1881 right here in Los Angeles. He married Delores...”
“Let me stop you there for a second, Clay,” Henry said. “You’re reciting facts like I was a census taker. Feel free to take your time and expand on your facts. Otherwise, that part of the book wouldn’t even fill one page and readers like to get to know the characters. They like to feel like they’re part of the story and the more details you give, the more the readers can feel like they know that person.”
“I see what you’re looking for,” Clay said. “Okay, let me back up a bit. Grandpa Nick was an outgoing kind of guy, at least by Dad’s accounts. He told me that Grandpa could make friends with just about anyone and they all liked him, too.” Clay paused and his face turned somber. “Well, almost everybody.”
“Let’s go with that for a little bit,” Henry said. “What did you mean?”
“Grandpa Nick,” Clay said, “was murdered before he was fifty.”
“Really?” Henry said. “How did that come about?”
“From what Dad told me about it,” Clay said, “Grandpa Nick was looking into a land swindle over oil rights when someone shot him in the back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Clay. “Did your dad give you any more information on that incident?”
“I know they never caught the guy who killed Grandpa,” Clay said. “Dad thinks that someone in the oil business had enough clout to cover it up. That really bothered Dad for the rest of his life. He spent every spare minute he had looking into that crime. I wish he could have gotten some answers before he died.”
“How old was Matt when Nick died?” Henry said.
“He had just turned eighteen,” Clay said, recalling the conversation they’d had years ago. “That’s right, I remember he told me that it was the summer before the stock market crash of 1929.”
“What more can you tell me about Matt’s childhood?” Henry said.
“Dad never talked too much about his life as a little kid,” Clay said. But after Grandpa died, Dad left home and set out on his own. His older brother Philip had moved to Chicago a few years earlier and Dad decided to find out what Chicago had to offer him and followed Uncle Phil east.”
“What about your grandmother?” Henry said. “What became of her after your grandfather died?”
Clay thought for a moment. “Dad said that Grandma moved in with her sister after Grandpa died. Her sister was a widow and I guess they kind of needed each other. It worked out pretty well for both of them, otherwise Dad would never have gone to Chicago.”
“I think we can piece together some sort of childhood for Matt later on,” Henry said. “Tell me what you know about your father’s time in Chicago.”
“From what I can recall,” Clay said, “dad wasn’t even twenty-three yet when he joined the Chicago Police Department. That much I remember, because shortly after Dad turned twenty-three, Dillinger was gunned down in that alley next to the Biograph Theater.”
“That would make a good tie-in for the book,” Henry said. “People can relate to famous gangsters. What else did he tell you about that period in his life?”
“You know,” Clay said, “Uncle Phil is gone, but his two boys, Troy and Matt are still alive and living in Chicago. They’d be seventy-four and seventy-two by now. I’ll bet they could tell you a lot about that period.”
“Perhaps we can interview them at a later date,” Henry told Clay. “But for now, let’s stick with what you remember.”
“Henry,” Clay said. “Did Elliott tell you that I once wrote a book?”
“No,” Henry said,” but Mr. Sinclair mentioned it to me before he sent me on this assignment. I believe he said it was a cookbook? Is that right?”
“Yes,” Clay said, “but that’s not why I brought it up. I wanted to be a writer for many many years and I had even started a project about Dad’s private eye exploits.”
“Did you ever finish it?” Henry said.
“No,” Clay said. “I got several death threats from some people who were portrayed in that book and I set it aside. I only did the cook book to fulfill my contractual obligations. Then I thought I’d try my hand at humor and started writing a western humor novel about a singing cowboy who had to have one of those little inflatable donuts on his saddle because it hurt to sit down. I called that one ‘Roid Rodgers. I scrapped that idea when the Roy Rogers estate caught wind of my proposal and had their lawyers send me a letter of cease and desist. However, I still have my drafts from the Cooper exploits book. Would that be helpful to you?”
“I should say so, Clay,” Henry said. “I don’t suppose you brought it with you, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Clay said. “Would you like me to read a couple of passages for you?”
“That might be helpful,” Henry said. “Where does your book start?”
“Actually,” Clay said, “I started it with Grandpa Nick’s death. I didn’t spend as much time on that era as I wanted to before I moved on to Dad’s start with the Chicago Police Department.”
“Did you have a title for your book?” Henry said.
“Just a working title,” Clay told him. Blasts From The Past, referring to gun blasts. Kind of corny, now that I think back.”
“You know, Clay,” Henry said. “We might be able to use your book as a basis for this novel. What about those people who threatened you? Are they still going to be a threat?”
“Not unless he can come back from the grave,” Clay said. “Police shot him as he was trying to kill me and Elliott.”
“Well at least you won’t have to be looking over your shoulder anymore,” Henry said. “And having your notes should shorten this whole process by quite a bit. Suppose you read me some of the passages you have in your book. Once I have what I need on the recorder and in my notes, I can sort it a
ll out in the right order later. Tell me more about your father and his early police career in Chicago.”
Clay thought for a moment and smiled. “Dad told me one story that I always liked,” he said. “And he came up with a phrase that sticks with you even after the you’ve forgotten the story itself.”
“Go with that,” Henry said. “I like memorable phrases. They’re the kinds of things people will talk about and word-of-mouth always helps sell any book.”
“Well,” Clay began,” when Dad was a rookie in Chicago he had this superior officer named Burns. I’d have to look up his first name, but it’s really not important to this story. Anyway, as Dad told the story, this Burns character used to interrogate suspects with not-so-subtle methods, you know, giving them the third degree. So anyway, Dad sat in on a few of these interrogations and afterwards gave this officer the nickname Third Degree Burns and it stuck with him for years after the fact. Burns hated it and never knew who had started that nickname until many years later when Dad came back to Chicago from L.A. to visit his brother, Phil, who was also a Chicago cop.”
“Third Degree Burns,” Henry said, almost laughing. “I love it. That’ll play a big part in the book, I can guarantee you that.”
“Yeah,” Clay said, “Dad had a lot of sayings like that and he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. Anyone who knew him knew that what they saw was what they got. Dad didn’t pull any punches.”
“How long was you father with the Chicago P.D.?” Henry said, scratching away at his yellow legal pad.
“Let’s see,” Clay said. “I think it was something like two and a half years. He started with them in mid-1934 and left at the end of 1936, if memory serves me correctly. Yes, I recall that he left before Christmas that year and arrived in Hollywood a week later.”
“And then he went to work for the L.A.P.D.?” Henry said.
“Oh, no,” Clay said. “It would be another six years before Dad became a cop out here. He had a few other odd jobs in between. The day after Pearl Harbor Dad tried to enlist but they turned him down for flat feet. Now there’s a bit of irony, don’t you think? The U.S. government classifies Dad as 4-F because of flat feet and less than a year later he becomes a cop. I find that kind of funny, don’t you?”
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 256