by Bill Bernico
Hearing him speak was enough to jostle my memory. This was the guy I’d caught roughing up Eddie Bartels back at Harry’s dry cleaning store.
Seconds later, the door opened again and another man walked in carrying a newspaper under one arm and a coffee cup in his opposite hand. “Welcome, Matt,” he said. Just as the words left his lips, he realized that there was some sort of a pun involved and snickered, “Sounds strange, don’t it, welcome Matt, considering the accommodations?”
“Who the hell are you and what am I doing here,” I said. My voice was more impatient that scared.
“All in due time, my man,” he said. “All in due time. Care for some coffee? Oh, that’s right, you can’t hold a mug right now, can you?” The man seemed to take a special delight in taunting me about my predicament. “Willy, untie our guest’s hands.”
Two large, unusually hairy hands fumbled with the bindings behind the chair and soon my hands were freed from the rope that was cutting into my wrists. Willy took his position in the other chair again and riveted his eyes on me.
I rubbed each wrist with the opposite hand and then lifted one to my head. There was a lump just left of center in the front and it was cut open about an inch from the hairline.
I noticed my shoulder holster was empty and that Willy was now holding my gun, half playing with it, as he made sure I knew I was being watched.
I warily held my hand out as the stranger passed me the coffee mug. The mug felt warm against my hands and I wrapped them both around the cup, raising it to my lips. With a halfhearted “Mmmmm,” I brought the cup down again, set it on the floor and looked at my host who was standing near the door.
“Are you ready to talk now, Mr. Cooper?” he said.
“Talk?” I said. “Talk about what? What do you want from me?” I was puzzled but had an idea what the man was after.
“The key, Mr. Cooper. I want that key.” The man’s voice was firm. “Willy, here, was having a friendly chat with the kid at Marcheske’s shop when you interrupted. He never got around to finding out what I sent him there for, so you’ll have to fill in the blanks for us. I’m sure you want to cooperate, don’t you, Mr. Cooper?”
It was the kind of a question that really didn’t warrant an answer, but I thought I’d put my two cents worth in anyway. “You must be thinking of some other guy. I don’t have any k…” I never got to finish my sentence. Willy knocked the last word out of my gut with his enormous fist.
“Come, come now,” the man said. “Let’s stop playing these silly games and get on with the business at hand,” Willy’s boss told me. “The sooner we get through all this the sooner Willy can show you the way out of here.”
I knew that the only place Willy was going to show me was some dark, lonely road in the country. And only Willy would return from a trip like that. I eyed Willy and then focused my attentions on the other guy who seemed to be in charge of the situation.
“Okay, but I don’t like an audience,” I said. “Tell your boy here to take a walk,” I said, motioning toward Willy.
The stranger looked at his henchman and with the single motion of tossing his head to one side, Willy was headed out the door and into the adjoining room, but not before he backhanded me in the face once more for good measure.
I wiped my lip with my left hand. My right hand reached for the coffee cup once more and I sipped the warm liquid.
With Willy out of sight, the stranger quickly produced a switchblade from his inside suit pocket and snapped it open in front of my eyes. “Just so you don’t get any ideas,” he said as he bent over and held the blade to my cheek. I could feel the sharp edge of the blade as it rested against my flesh.
I knew that if I didn’t do something soon, I’d never have another chance. The stranger started to straighten and backed up just enough to give me the room I needed.
I swung my coffee mug with a vengeance. It bounced off the stranger’s face, spilling the hot coffee as it swung.
The man dropped his knife and held both hands to his face. I scooped up the weapon and with a single swipe, sliced through the binding that held my legs together. In half a second I sprang to my feet and brought a closed fist to the midsection of my host. I brought my fist down on the back of the neck of this stranger who was now hunched over, holding his face. The man fell to the floor with a thud.
I quickly took my position alongside the door just as it burst open and Willy bounded in. My fist made a solid connection to Willy’s gut with almost no results. A second punch found Willy’s wrist, sending my gun sliding across the bare, wooden floor. Willy turned and faced me, anger raging in his eyes. He grabbed me by the lapels and half-lifted me as he flung me across the room with very little effort.
I dropped the knife as I fell and Willy picked it up. He started toward me with a look in his eye that told me I’d better think fast if I didn’t want to be carved up like some holiday bird.
I rolled over and lunged at the gun, which had come to rest in the corner. I could hear Willy’s footsteps coming closer as I reached it. I rolled over again just as Willy raised the knife and lunged. I fired. The bullet hit Willy square in the gut but it didn’t even seem to slow the giant. Willy kept coming. I fired again. And again. The last two bullets found their mark as they tore into Willy’s heart and lung. Blood spilled from the three wounds in the attacker’s torso. Willy dropped the knife and grabbed his gut as he fell backwards. The floor shook as the assailant connected with it, rolling over once and coming to rest next to the chair that once held me secure.
I holstered my gun and rose to my feet, still half dazed. I stepped over Willy and opened the door, making my way to the adjoining room. Looking back, I could still see the mysterious stranger lying there, out cold. I was tempted to go back in and try to learn this man’s identity, but instinct told me that I’d better put some distance between myself and this place. I turned toward the door, leaving my host in a pile on the floor.
I found the outside door and exited to the street, not even bothering closing the door behind me. I half ran, half stumbled my way around the back and made it to the alley. Looking both ways down the length of the alley, I decided that to my left seemed like the way out and started running up the alley. Safely away from my captors, I slowed to a brisk walk and finally stopped with my hands on my knees, bent over trying to catch my breath.
It was time to let Sergeant Dan Hollister in on what was happening. There were just too many angles to cover alone and I was in no hurry to join Harry Marcheske at the morgue.
I half ran, half walked about seven blocks, staying in the cover of the alleys as I went. At the end of the seventh block, I emerged from the alley to find myself across the street from Lou’s Pool Hall where this mess had started. I found my Olds still parked at the curb and climbed in, relieved to be back on familiar ground.
I turned the key in the ignition and pulled the shift lever down and back into first gear and sped away from the neighborhood that had brought me so much trouble. Fifteen minutes of city driving brought me once again to the street in front of my office. I remembered that my house was still a mess from the trashing it took earlier, so I decided to spend the night here, like I’d done so many times in the past.
Climbing the single flight of stairs that lay in front of me, I wearily walked to my office at the opposite end of that hall and inserted my key in the door. It opened easily and I stepped inside. I found my way over to the closet and hung up my jacket. I removed my shoulder holster but carried it with me to my desk.
I poured myself a shot of rye and quickly tipped the glass to my lips, finishing it in one hardy swallow. I returned the bottle and the glass to the drawer.
It was nearly three a.m. and I hadn’t slept for twenty-nine hours, not counting the involuntary nap I took while tied to the chair. I slid my chair away from the desk, rose and walked the eight steps to my overstuffed sofa, still carrying my shoulder holster. The sofa looked so inviting and I fell into the dent that my body had created over
the years.
My head still throbbed from my encounter with Willy and the other man, but I soon put the pain behind me. I placed my holster on the floor next to me and let my hand hang down near the gun’s handle as I nodded off.
Morning comes early when you hit the sack three hours before sunrise. I had neglected to close the blinds tight the night before and was reminded of that fact when the early morning sun washed my face. I lay there squinting, trying to ignore the light that was preventing me from getting the rest I so desperately needed.
I rolled over, facing the back of the sofa. I was determined to log another twenty minutes of sleep before facing another day. It was no use. The sounds of the morning traffic and the neighborhood prevented me from enjoying my rest. I lay there but couldn’t nod off again. Instead I stared at the fabric on the couch, thinking of how I was going to explain Willy’s huge, dead body to Sergeant Hollister.
I could put it off no longer and sat up, swinging my feet over the couch and onto the floor. My eyes felt as if Moe Howard had stuck two fingers in them, much as he’d done to his brother, Curley in all those Columbia two-reelers. Yawning and running both sets of fingers through my hair, I rose and walked over to the sink in the corner of my office. I turned on the water and cupped my hands, catching enough water to splash my face.
I looked up into the mirror above the sink. “Jeez, you look like shit, Cooper,” I said and splashed another handful of water in my face. I grabbed the towel hanging on the side of the sink and pressed my face into it, not rubbing but just resting my face in it.
I always kept a spare set of clothes hanging in the closet. Unbuttoning my shirt, I slipped out of it, bunched it up and tossed it in the corner of the closet. I pulled the spare shirt off the hanger and slid my arms into the sleeves. I removed the belt and wallet from the pants I had on, and set them on my desk. I replaced my old pants with the pair hanging in the closet and grabbed the suit coat to complete the ensemble.
I felt undressed without my shoulder holster and .45 and quickly slid into the harness, slipping the coat over it. I wasn’t eager to let Dan Hollister in on any of my cases, but there didn’t seem to be any way around this one.
It was still early and I was starving. I pulled my car up to the curb in front of Hazel’s Cafe and got out. Hazel’s was my old hangout and my former partner and I had spent most of our breaks there. It was the favorite spot of most of the cops in this neighborhood.
The front door swung open and I entered. I slung my leg over the stool at the counter and sat. I removed my hat and set it down on the counter next to me. Without having to order it, a cup of black coffee was set down on the counter in front of me. I looked up to see the friendly, familiar smile I’d come to know over the past eight years. “Morning, Hazel,” I said, grabbing the cup and raising it to my lips.
“What the hell happened to you?” Hazel asked, looking at the bruises on my face.
“Nothin’ much,” I said, “The usual. You know, get up, go to work, eat lunch, kill a guy.” My matter-of-fact tone usually got a laugh out of Hazel, but I noticed she wasn’t laughing this time.
Hazel bent over the counter and stared at me. “Anything you care to talk about, Matt?”
I set my coffee cup down and looked back at her. I started to speak but then decided I’d better keep it to myself until I knew what I was up against. “I’d like to, honey, but I’m not even sure myself,” I said.
Hazel knew me well enough not to press the issue and stood straight up once more. She gently laid her hand on my cheek and smiled. “Just take care of yourself, Matt. You hear?”
Hazel was genuinely concerned about her old friend. She was my age and we had become briefly involved after my wife had died. That was all in the past, but Hazel and I remained good friends in spite of it.
She quickly returned with a platter of eggs and ham with a side order of toast and set the feast down in front of me.
I was nearly finished with the toast when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around on my swivel stool and forced my cocked elbow into the midsection of the person who had dared to touch me. The man immediately bent over in pain as I quickly rose to my feet. With my left hand, I grabbed the guy by the lapel and lifted. My right hand was cocked and ready to connect with the man’s face when I stopped. I recognized this guy and dropped my fist. I loosened my grip, straightened the man’s wrinkled lapels and brushed off his suit.
“You lookin’ to die young, kid?” I said.
“N-n-no,” the kid answered, half coughing. It was Stanley Duncan, the eager reporter that I had encountered at the bus station.
I invited Stanley to sit at the counter next to me and called for Hazel. She emerged from the kitchen and looked at me.
“Hazel, give my friend here a cup of coffee, will you?” I said.
Stanley, still holding his gut, waved Hazel off. “No coffee, please. Just a glass of milk. And maybe a piece of that pie,” he said pointing to the pastry case.
I turned toward Stanley. “What the hell are you doing here?” I said.
Stanley sheepishly looked at me and answered, “My job?” His answer sounded more like a question but he continued. “I just have to get this story. It could mean a raise and a real byline.”
“Gettin’ yourself killed wouldn’t be much of a byline,” I said. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I can help,” he said. The words were out of the kid’s mouth before he realized it. A sudden burst of courage followed that statement. “That’s right. I could be your right-hand man. I could help you track down these guys you’re after.”
I grabbed Stanley by the shoulders. “Look, kid. I said it’s dangerous. I don’t have time to teach you even enough to keep you alive, let alone how to know what to look for. Now just forget it?”
Stanley surprised me. “I’m gonna help,” he said. “Like it or not, you can’t keep me from snoopin’ around on my own. You need me.”
I gave up and faced the counter again, trying to ignore the kid. After a few seconds of silence, I turned to Stanley and said, “Okay, if you wanna help me, you gotta do exactly as I say. No questions asked. Otherwise I’ll have you locked up ‘til this is all over. Got it?”
A broad smile covered Stanley’s face. “Yes sir, Mr. Cooper. Whatever you say. Where do we start?”
“We don’t start anywhere,” I said. If we’re going to cover ground, we gotta split up. I had the kid’s undivided attention. “I’ve got to make a stop at the precinct but I want you to go back to my house. I have an important job for you.”
“Anything, Mr. Cooper. Just name it.” Stanley was eager to please and I knew how to kill two birds with one stone.
“Here’s the key to my place,” I said. “I need you to go over there and pick up a few things for me. Can you do that?”
“You bet, Mr. Cooper,” he said eagerly. Stanley was already on his feet, ready to go. “What do you want me to pick up? Your gun? Your extra ammo? What?”
“I want you to pick up my place,” I said. “It’s a mess. Pick up the junk in the front room and put it back in its place. Then I want you to go into the kitchen and pick up the mess in there.”
The eager look left Stanley’s face as he realized he was not being taken seriously.
Not wanting to discourage him altogether, I continued. “I’m serious, Stan, this is important. Someone broke in there and tore the place apart looking for something. I need you to straighten things up and take notes as you do.”
Stanley’s frown turned to a smile once again and quickly withdrew his pad and pencil and began taking notes.
“Whatever you find, make a note of it,” I said. “The important thing is that the place looks like nobody’s touched it. See?”
“You bet,” he said. “I’ll do it. What’s your address?”
I grabbed the kid’s pad and pencil and jotted my address on the paper and handed it back to him. “When you’re done with that, we’ll meet up later and compar
e notes. Don’t let me down, Stanley.”
“I won’t,” he said. “You can count on me. If there’s any clue there, I’ll find ‘em.” Stanley left Hazel’s Cafe and was out of sight before I could sit again.
I turned back toward the counter. “Pretty sneaky, Matt,” Hazel said, handing me my hat. “Don’t you think you were a little…?”
“Rough?” I said. “I had to think of something or I’d never get that kid off my shoe. Besides, my place could use a good cleaning.” I smiled and kissed Hazel on the cheek. I placed my hat back on my head and dropped a quarter on the counter. “See ya later, doll,” I said, and returned to my car.
I drove the mile or so to the precinct and walked past the desk sergeant’s station and down the hall toward Hollister’s office. I’d made the trip so many times in the past that I instinctively walked in without knocking. Hollister was on the phone, but turned and looked at me in almost disbelief.
“Well, find out and let me know,” Dan said into the phone. Slamming the phone back onto the hook, Hollister now focused his attentions on me. I had taken a seat next to his desk.
“Don’t you ever knock, Cooper?” he said. “I’m very busy so make it quick and get out.”
“Hang on, Dan,” I said. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side this time. I’m still following up on this Marcheske thing and I thought we ought to have a talk.”
“Forget it, Cooper,” Hollister said, turning his back on me and taking a seat at his desk. “You’re not getting any information out of this office. This Marcheske thing is none of your business, so stay out of it, you hear?”
“Getting any information?” I said. “I didn’t come here to get any information. I came here to give you some, but if you’re too pigheaded to… oh just forget it,” I said and started for the door.
“Sit down, Cooper,” Dan said. “What is it? This isn’t like you to volunteer information on a case. What’s your angle?” Hollister suddenly showed interest in what I had to say. He pointed to the chair across from his desk and motioned for me to sit.
