The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories)

by Bernico, Bill

  As I returned my .38 to the underarm holster I could feel my face and ears getting hot. “It was an honest mistake,” I told the cop. “You’d have done the same thing.”

  The cop sighed. “All right,” he said, “both of you break out your license and registration and let’s get this over with.”

  When I got back to the office, Gloria gave me one of her impatient looks. “Where have you been?” she said. “I thought you’d be back thirty minutes ago.”

  “I was in an accident,” I said.

  “Her impatient look quickly changed to one of concern. “Are you all right, Elliott?” she said. “What happened?”

  By the time I’d finished telling the story, I could see that Gloria was having trouble keeping a straight face.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Get it out of your system. I can see I’m never going to live this one down.”

  “You have to admit,” Gloria said, “it is funny. Did the cop get the mannequin’s I.D., too?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And yes, when the cop asked the other driver if there were any other dummies involved, the other driver pointed to me. Now I hope we’ve heard the last of this incident.”

  Gloria held her hands up in a defensive pose. “I didn’t say anything else,” she said.

  Just them my phone rang. “Cooper,” I said, pressing the handset to my ear.

  “Elliott Cooper?” the voice on the other end said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Thank goodness,” the voice said. “I heard there was a traffic accident involving a dead body and I saw your name on the accident report. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Eric is that you?” I said.

  Lieutenant Eric Anderson, one of L.A.’s laughed loud and hard in my ear. “I couldn’t resist, Elliott,” he said, still laughing. “Just so you know, I checked the mannequin against out most wanted list and he wasn’t there so don’t give it another thought.”

  “Thanks for your concern, Eric,” I said and hung up.

  I turned back to see Gloria covering her mouth with her hand. When she couldn’t contain herself anymore, she let loose with another extended laugh. Seeing her laugh must have been contagious, because a few seconds later I was laughing right along with her.

  The phone rang on my desk and I held up one hand to Gloria. It took another three rings before Gloria could control herself. I picked up and said, “Cooper Investigations, Elliott speaking.”

  “Mr. Cooper,” the man on the other end said. “I’d like to speak to you about a job I’d like to hire you for. Would it be convenient to come by your office and talk to you this morning?”

  “One minute, please,” I said. “Let me take a quick look at the schedule.” I put him on hold, knowing full well that the daily planner on my desk was blank for today. It was good for business to let people think that we thought they were important enough so squeeze them into our busy day. I gave it a few more seconds before I came back on the line. “I can see you this morning. What time works for you?”

  “In five minutes,” the man said. “I’m across the street at the pay phone in the drug store. Can I come up right now?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Third floor, all the way at the end of the hall. I’ll see you in five minutes.”

  I turned to Gloria. “Looks like we may have some work this morning,” I said. “The client’s across the street and on his way up here. Let’s look professional. And no laughing, all right?”

  “What kind of dummy do you take me for,” Gloria said, trying to get a rise out of me. I wasn’t biting.

  I wagged one finger back and forth in front of her. “Uh uh,” I said. “Professional.”

  A few minutes later the office door opened and a man in casual clothes walked in, closing the door behind him. He looked at Gloria and then at me and decided he’d rather talk to a man. He came over to my desk and I rose to meet him.

  “Elliott Cooper,” I said, extending my hand.

  “Burt Harbinson,” the man said, shaking my hand.

  I gestured toward my client’s chair. “Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Harbinson?” I said.

  Harvey nervously glanced over at Gloria and then back at me. “Is there someplace private we can talk?” he said.

  I summoned Gloria to come over. “Mr. Harbinson,” I said. “This is my partner, Gloria, who also happens to be my wife. We share all our cases and whatever you have to say to me, I’m sure Gloria’s heard it all before.”

  Gloria extended her hand to shake Harbinson’s but he ignored it.

  “Maybe I’d better look elsewhere,” Harbinson said and started to leave.

  “I forgot to tell you, Elliott,” Gloria said. “I still haven’t brought that camera in from my car. I’d better go get it. I think I’ll get a cup of coffee while I’m out so I might be a while.” She turned and left the office.

  I gestured toward the client’s chair again. “Please, Mr. Harbinson,” I said, “won’t you have a seat and tell me how I can help you?”

  Harbinson reluctantly say and sighed. “It’s my wife,” he said. “I’d like you to tail her and find out what she’s up to.”

  “What is it you suspect her of?” I said.

  Harbinson paused before offering, “I saw her go into an establishment,” he said. “I’d like you to go in and find out if she works there.”

  “You don’t know where your wife is working?” I said.

  Harbinson shrugged. “I know, it sounds strange,” he said. “I mean, I know she has a job. At least that’s what she’s been telling me for the last few weeks. But I never see a payroll check and she always just brings home cash. She tells me she’s a receptionist, but no receptionist I’ve ever met ever made the kind of money she seems to have lately.”

  “So far,” I said, “this doesn’t seem like a job for a private investigator. What’s got you nervous about this job your wife says she has, and which establishment did you see her going into?”

  “After two weeks of her being so mysterious about her job,” Harbinson said, I got curious. I called in sick at work one day and followed her. The place she went into was a...” He paused. “How shall I put this? A house of ill repute.”

  “A brothel,” I said.

  “I guess you could call it that,” Harbinson said.

  “And how would you know that the place is a brothel?” I said.

  Now he really looked nervous. “That’s not important,” he said. “I just know it is and I want to hire you to go in there and see if she really is a receptionist, or...”

  I held up one hand. “I think I understand,” I said. “If she’s a receptionist, is that the end of it as far as I’m concerned?”

  Harbinson nodded. “That’s all I want you to do,” he said.

  “That shouldn’t take me more than an hour,” I said. “I have a one day minimum charge of two hundred dollars. Does that work for you?”

  Harbinson thought about it for a moment and then said, “I guess it’s better than not knowing. The suspense is killing me.”

  “Do you have a recent photo of Mrs. Harbinson?” I said. “Perhaps a three by five that’ll fit in my pocket?”

  “I thought you might ask,” Harbinson said, “so I brought one along.” He handed me a small photo. “This is Shirley.”

  I took the photo from him and studied it. The woman looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She had shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes and a face right out of a glamour magazine. I tucked the photo in my shirt pocket and assured Harbinson that I’d get him an answer, one way or another.

  “Does she work every day?” I said. “And when does she usually go to work?”

  “She works five days a week,” Harbinson said. “She doesn’t work weekends and she goes in Monday through Friday at six p.m.”

  “Second shift, eh?” I said, trying to illicit a laugh from the distraught husband. He failed to see any humor in it so I let it drop. “I’ll get on it tonight,” I said. “I should have a
n answer for you by tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait until tomorrow,” Harbinson said. “My stomach is already in knots. Shirley works six to midnight and I’ll be up until at least then. When you find out, call me right away.” He wrote down his home phone number on a piece of paper and pushed it across the desk to me.

  “I will,” I promised. “Just as soon as I have an answer for you.”

  Harbinson rose from his chair and shook my hand again. “Thank you, Mr. Cooper,” he said, and left the office.

  Gloria came back in a minute later. “I passed him in the hall,” she said. “What was so private that I had to leave the room?”

  I explained Harbinson’s case to Gloria and she immediately smiled. “So what’s his problem?” she said. “That his wife might be hooking or that he might have to find a different place to find his hookers?”

  “See,” I said, “there are two sides to every story. I guess I’ll be working overtime tonight. I can check the place out after supper tonight.”

  “You just make sure that’s all you’re checking out,” Gloria said, her arms folded across her chest.

  “Come on,” I said. “You know me better than that. I’d never waste a dollar paying for it.”

  Gloria punched me in the arm. “I don’t care if they’re running a special where the first visit is free,” she said. “You keep your hands to yourself.”

  I held both hands up in surrender. “Strictly business,” I said, and hugged her. “I promise I’ll be a good boy.”

  “You’d better,” Gloria said, softening and falling into my embrace.

  After supper, I slipped into a casual golf shirt and slacks with brown loafers. I pulled a tan windbreaker over the outfit. “Do I look like a typical John?”

  Gloria’s brows furrowed. “Why are you asking me?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, laughing. “It’s just something I said. Of course you wouldn’t know what a typical John looks like. This shouldn’t take too long. I should be back in an hour or two. Harbinson wants me to call him after I check on his wife’s employment status.”

  “Employment status,” Gloria said. “That’s one way of putting it, I guess. Couldn’t you just check her W-2 and see what she put down for occupation?”

  “Now why didn’t I think of that?” I said, and left the house.

  I drove to the address Harbinson had given me on Sunset Boulevard. I parked across the street and a little way down the block and waited for Shirley Harbinson to make her appearance. I didn’t have to wait long. As ten minutes before six she parked her car in a small lot alongside the building and walked in. I gave her a few minutes to get situated, wherever that might be, and tried to look casual, like a John might coming into a place like this. Another man walked up the sidewalk just ahead of me.

  I opened the front door and a small bell tingled overhead. The man I’d seen on the sidewalk was standing in front of a counter, counting out bills from his wallet. I looked around him and could see Shirley Harbinson sitting behind the counter, taking the man’s bills and stuffing them into a cash register. It looked like Burt Harbinson had worried for nothing. Shirley was apparently the receptionist. When she’d finished taking the man’s money, Shirley Harbinson stood and walked to the end of the counter, where she took the man’s hand and led him to someplace unseen down a hall and through a door.

  All right, I thought, she greets the John, takes him to a room and then comes back to the desk to continue her receptionist duties. That thought was dispelled when a different girl took the seat that the receptionist’s desk. She looked at me and summoned me over with two fingers. “What can I do for you today?” she said in a sugar sweet voice.

  I looked around nervously and stammered, trying to find the right words. “I, uh, this is my, uh. I usually don’t...” I said.

  “First time?” the sweet young thing behind the counter said. “There has to be a first time for everyone. But here at Massage Heaven, we know how to treat all our customers gently and patiently. My name is Penny. So, tell me what you’re looking for?”

  “Well,” I said, “how much does a massage cost?” I hoped I sounded naive enough to be convincing. The fact was that I had never visited a place like this before and had no idea what these kinds of services cost.

  Penny looked longingly into my eyes. “Your basic massage is twenty-five dollars for thirty minutes.”

  “Basic?” I said. “What do you mean? Is there more than one kind?”

  “Well,” Penny said, “with your basic massage, we work on the neck muscles, shoulder muscles and so on, down the back to your waist. We also work your calves and thighs to make sure you’re not tenses up at all.”

  “And that all takes thirty minutes?” I said. “What’s the other kind of massage?”

  “That would be the premium package,” Penny said. You get everything that the basic package offers plus you get the happy ending.”

  “Happy ending?” I said. “What’s that?”

  “Without going into too much detail,” Penny said, “it’s the ending part of the massage where you leave happy.”

  I played dumb and furrowed my brows. “I don’t...,” I said, and then smiled, as if her meaning were suddenly crystal clear. “Oh, I see. Is that it? Is there another level?”

  “Well,” Penny said, “there is, but that is up to the individual girl who’s doing the massage. Each massage therapist has a different specialty and each has their own special name for that extra service. So, yes, there is another level, but now, I don’t have a particular name for it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I think I get it. But I was wondering, do I get to pick which therapist I want? I mean, do you have pictures for me to choose from?”

  “Like a menu at a restaurant?” Penny said.

  “I guess,” I said.

  Penny reached behind her and pulled a three-ring loose-leaf binder from the shelf and opened it to the first page on the counter between us. “There are a dozen therapists in here,” she said. “You can choose from any of the first six in the book.”

  “What about the other six?” I said.

  “That would be the weekend staff,” Penny explained. “They’re only here on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.”

  I paged through the first six therapists in the book. I stopped on page four when I found myself looking at Shirley Harbinson’s photo. He looked a lot more exotic than she did on the three by five Burt had given me. She was dressed in a low-cut outfit with some sort of pushup garment beneath it, creating cleavage up to her eyebrows.

  “This one looks nice,” I said, pointing to Shirley’s photo.

  “She’s with a customer right now,” Penny said. “It could be another hour before she’s available.”

  “An hour?” I said. “Didn’t you tell me that the massage only took thirty minutes?”

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s for the basic package. Shirley’s customer selected level three, so unless you want to wait an hour, I’d suggest you select another therapist. I’m available.” Penny turned to the last page and pointed to her glamour photo on page six.

  I held a hand up to Penny. “Nothing personal,” I said. “I mean, you’re a beautiful woman and all, but I think I’d prefer Shirley. Maybe I’ll stop back in an hour.”

  “Okay,” Penny said. “We’re open until one a.m. I guess I’ll see you later.”

  I left the establishment and returned to my car. I sat there, wondering how I was going to tell Burt Harbinson that his wife was turning tricks at her new job. I had no idea what I was going to say to him or how he’d take it. But I knew I had to do it one way or the other. I plucked Burt’s phone number from my pocket, flipped open my cell phone and dialed. Burt Harbinson’s phone rang twelve times before I closed my phone and sat there in a bit of a stupor. I felt sorry for poor ol’ Burt. I can just imagine how I’d feel if I found out that Gloria was working in a place like that.

  I was just about to drive away when I saw another man walking up the sidew
alk toward the front door or Massage Heaven. There was something vaguely familiar about the man. When he pulled the door open and turned sideways for a second I recognized him. It was Burt Harbinson and he was carrying a handgun down at his side. I jumped out of my car and waited for the heavy traffic to let up before I could dash across the street and back into the massage parlor.

  Just as I pulled the front door open, I hear a shot and a few seconds after that I could see Burt down at the end of the hallway. He had his arm clamped around a nude woman’s throat, the gun pointing at her temple. It was Burt’s wife, Shirley. The look on her face told me that Burt was not playing around with her. The look on his face was one I’d seen once before in a hostage standoff that I had witnessed while riding on patrol with Lieutenant Eric Anderson of the L.A.P.D.

  Penny was standing in the reception area, screaming hysterically. I pushed her out of the way and told her to stay down and take cover.

  I held up both palms toward Burt. “Burt,” I said calmly, “put the gun down. I know you don’t want to hurt anybody.”

  “Stay back,” Burt yelled. “This is between me and Shirley.” He pulled back with his arm, lifting his wife off the floor several inches. “Isn’t it, Dear?” His tone was bitter and angry and he was gritting his teeth.

  Shirley Harbinson tried to speak, but all that came out were choking, gasping sounds. She kicked her feet, trying to gain a foothold on the floor. Her face was turning a bright red.

  “Let her breathe,” I yelled at Burt. “You’re killing her.”

  “So what,” Burt barked. “She belongs dead after what she did to me. Receptionist, my ass. I found her in that room, riding that man like she was in a fuckin’ rodeo.”

  “What did you do, Burt?” I said, trying to inch my way closer to him.

  Burt took the gun away from Shirley’s temple and pointed it down the hall at me. “You stay back, Cooper,” he yelled.

  The door to Burt’s left opened and a nude man crawled out into the hallway on his stomach, dragging a trail of blood behind him. He tried to drag himself with one hand while his other hand was clamped over the leaking wound in his stomach.