Cooper By The Gross (All 144 Cooper Stories In One Volume)

by Bill Bernico

  I hiked back down Las Palmas to Hollywood Boulevard and turned left, a small stack of fliers in my left pocket. I held just one flier at a time, passing it over with my left hand, keeping my right hand free to go for my gun if necessary. I knew that our killer had to be a middle-aged male and decided not to waste my fliers on women or younger guys.

  I’d walked just a block or so when I saw a likely target. It was a man, perhaps forty or so with a gray overcoat and matching porkpie hat. I held one of the fliers out toward him. “Have you heard the word of God today?”

  I hadn’t even finished my short presentation when he grabbed the flier from my hand, crumbled it up into a ball and threw it back at me.

  “Get a real job, you whacko,” he said, obviously disgusted to be near me.

  The disguise was working. I walked on, confident that no one would recognize me. I’d passed a few more stores when possible candidate number two came toward me. As I handed my flier to him, his hand came toward me with a similar object in it. Almost in unison we both said, “Have you heard the word…” before we stopped, shrugged and continued on our respective ways.

  I’d gone another block and was about to pass up another man on the street. He stepped directly in front of me and passed a piece of paper at me. Instinctively I grabbed it and read.

  “Girls, girls and more girls,” the man said, echoing what was already printed across the top of the sheet he’d handed me. “Step right inside and see more beautiful girls than you thought possible.”

  I handed the sheet back to him. “No thanks,” I said and moved on.

  Half a block further east between Hudson and Wilcox I saw a man standing on the street, his back to me. He was shabbily dressed head to toe. I walked up to him, tapped his right shoulder and was ready to hand him the flier when he turned around and I could see the crucifix in his hand. He held it up as my right hand quickly retrieved my .38 and shoved it in his nose before he could move another muscle.

  “Hold on there, brother,” the man said, easing the crucifix toward my face.

  He was holding it by the long shaft—the long, unsharpened shaft—and he was already spouting religious rhetoric. He pressed the gold cross to his lips and held it out for me to do the same. I backed up, holstered my revolver and held one palm up toward the man. “Sorry, brother. My mistake.”

  I hurried away, wanting to put as much distance as I could between me and the man I’d almost shot. I hurried around the corner at Wilcox and rested against a building. A car pulled up to the curb and the passenger’s window rolled down. It was Dan.

  “What was that all about?” Dan said, hiking his thumb back toward Hollywood Boulevard.

  “Wrong guy,” I said. “I’m beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea.”

  “Give it another hour or so,” Dan said. “Just go on down to Vine, cross over and walk the boulevard back to Highland. I’ll pick you up there.”

  The window on Dan’s car rolled up again as he pulled away. I needed a break from the crazies on Hollywood and decided to skip the extra three blocks to Vine. I walked south on Wilcox to where it met Selma, headed west a block and then walked north on Hudson, back toward Hollywood Boulevard. Halfway up Hudson I spotted a man walking toward me. Here was a chance to hand out another flier. As I passed an alley, our paths crossed and I held out one of the fliers.

  “Pardon me sir,” I began. “Have you heard the word of God today?”

  That must have been like waving a red cape at a bull because the man pushed me to the ground without warning. The flier in my left hand flew away in the breeze. My right hand reached for my .38 but the other man was quick to kick me in the ribs. I rolled over, trying to avoid another kick. I managed to grab the handle of my revolver and pull it out from under my arm. Before I even had a chance to fire, the man launched another kick, this time at my right hand. The gun skittered across the alley.

  The man quickly straddled my body as his hand produced a sharpened crucifix and raised it overhead. My hand quickly grabbed his wrist and I pushed with all my strength, trying not to become a human pincushion. I rocked back, raising my left leg as high as I could and draped it across his face, pulling him off me. I quickly got to my feet and hurried over to where I thought I saw my gun. I couldn’t find it, but I could hear the man coming up on me from behind. I stood up, spun around and flung my left arm out in an arc toward the man’s head.

  A sharp pain pulsed through me as the man swung the crucifix at me, nicking my left arm and making a three-inch gash across my triceps. I kicked the man in the shin and he went down, giving me another chance to get to my gun. He and I saw the gun at the same time and he got to it first, kicking it further up the alley and lunging at me again with his homemade weapon.

  My right hand clamped itself over the wound in my left arm, blood seeping between my fingers. The man rushed me but I held up one leg and caught him in the chest. I pushed with all my strength and knocked him on his back. He got up again, this time he could see that I was getting weaker from loss of blood. He took his time walking up to me again, a maniacal look in his eye.

  I looked up at him. “Why?” I said. “What did I ever do to you?”

  The man shook his head. “You pious, bible thumping idiots should have minded your own business. But no, you had to push your poison on my son. My son, who had his whole life ahead of him until you indoctrinated him with so much crap that he couldn’t even think straight anymore. He couldn’t take it and he blew his own brains out. That’s why. I’m just evening the score.”

  I skidded myself back with my feet, trying to put a little more distance between me and this self-appointed vigilante. I found myself backed up against a garbage can. The man stepped on my feet, preventing me from defending myself. I cried out and fell back to the pavement.

  The man looked down on me again. “You’ll never mess up anyone else’s mind, you fucking idiot.”

  The hand holding the crucifix rose up over his head as he knelt alongside me. I let go of my wound, trying to fend him off, but I could feel my strength draining. I winced and braced myself for the painful end I was sure was just a second away. A shot rang out from somewhere behind the man. He arched his back and his eyes got wide. He dropped the crucifix and rolled onto his side, his head hitting the concrete hard.

  I raised my head and saw the barrel of Dan Hollister’s .38 still smoking. I was never so glad to see him in all my life, which until this moment I thought was over for sure. Dan stepped on the man’s hand, which was still wrapped around the crucifix. He kicked it away, pressed two fingers into the man’s neck and stood again, satisfied that he’d not be getting up again. Dan holstered his revolver and held his hand out to me. I grabbed it and he pulled me to a standing position.

  “If I ever say, ‘What have you done for me lately,’ give me a swift kiss in the ass,” I said, releasing Dan’s grip and clamping my hand over the wound again.

  “Count on it,” Dan said, looking at my arm. “But for now, let’s get you to the hospital.”

  Dan helped me back to his car, radioed for backup and sped away with me bleeding on his front seat. They stitched up my arm and decided to keep me overnight for observation.

  The next day Dan walked into my hospital room, a gun in his hand. He laid it on the bed next to me.

  “Found it in the alley,” he said. “Thought you might still need it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “For that and for last night.”

  “Forget it,” Dan said modestly. “You’d have done the same for me.”

  I didn’t answer immediately but just looked sideways at Dan.

  “You would, wouldn’t you?” Dan said.

  I reached under my pillow, produced a piece of paper and said to Dan, “Just one more thing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Have YOU heard the word of God today?”

  I handed him my last flier and smiled. Dan scowled, crumbled up the flier and threw it back at me. “There’s nothing wrong with yo
u. Get out of that bed and get your ass outta here. I have a report to finish and you’re gonna help me with it.”

  I got dressed, dropped my .38 back in its holster and opened the door to my room. Before I left, I looked back at my bed. Overhead, just above where my head laid, I spotted the crucifix.

  Dan saw me looking at it and turned to me. “They never stop trying, do they?”

  “And I’ll never stop resisting,” I said, closing the door.

  19 - Surprise Package

  I was sitting behind my desk, leafing through a travel brochure. I stopped on the page that showed a tourist resort in Acapulco, Mexico. I deserved a vacation and now was as good a time as any. I’d been working hard for the last few weeks on a surveillance job for a woman who suspected her husband of cheating on her. I tailed him for twelve days and confirmed her suspicions. Not only had he been cheating, but he’d also had a second wife and two small children. Needless to say his second wife threw his sorry ass out the door right after she’d paid my fee.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cooper,” she’d told me, gritting her teeth as she tore the check out of her checkbook.

  “Feel free to call me any time at all, Mrs. Frey,” I’d told her, stuffing the check in my lapel pocket.

  “That’s Miss Erickson,” she’d said. “That bastard can keep his name, too.”

  After I had made out the deposit slip, I took the slip and the check and stuffed it into my pocket. There was plenty of time to get to the bank this afternoon yet.

  I grabbed my desk phone and called my friend, Lila Duvall to see if she might like to accompany me on the trip. I dialed her number and leaned back in my chair, my feet resting on top of my desk. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello,” a sweet, feminine voice said.

  “Sweetheart, it’s me. Say, listen I was just thinking that maybe this weekend would be a great time to head on down to Acapulco and soak up some sun, maybe drink a few Margaritas and just act like tourists. Doesn’t that sound like fun, dear?”

  “Who is this?” The woman’s voice now had more of an edge to it.

  “Who’s this?” I said.

  “This is HOllywood three five four nine. Who did you want?”

  “Excuse me,” I said, dropping my feet off my desk and sitting up straight. “I’m sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number.”

  “You mean your offer’s no good now?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said something about Acapulco this weekend,” The woman said. “I’m free all weekend if you are.”

  In the background, I could hear several small children running and screaming and making the kind of noise only small children can. I held the phone away from my body and yelled at an imaginary visitor standing at my door. “Hold on, sir. I’ll be right with you.” I turned my attention back to the woman on the phone and said, “Sorry, I’ve got to run. Someone’s at the door. Good-bye.” I hung up the phone and exhaled a deep breath. I plucked my little black book from the middle desk drawer and looked up Lila Duvall’s number.

  “Ah, three five four eight, not nine,” I said out loud to no one. Maybe the vacation could wait. I slipped my coat over my shoulder holster and locked up the office. The bank was just down the street and I really didn’t want to stay in my office just in case good ol’ Mrs. three five four nine found out who had called her and decided to call me back.

  ****

  It was one of those summer nights when you could count the fireflies and smell the lilacs. On nights like this young couples migrate to the park looking for a place to be alone and get to know each other intimately. It was the kind of night that inspired countless love songs. It was also a night marred with murder.

  There were already several dozen people straining to see past the police barrier at the tarp-covered body lying on the grass. Sergeant Hollister stood over the body, looking down at Jack Walsh, the L.A. Medical Examiner. Walsh had part of the tarp pulled back to show Sergeant Dan Hollister the gunshot wound to the victim’s heart.

  “Death had to be instantaneous,” Walsh said. “Just one shot, but it blew the heart wall out.”

  “Any sign of sexual assault?” Hollister said.

  “Let’s have a look,” Walsh said, pulling the tarp back a little further. He lifted the girl’s skirt up and recoiled visibly.

  “Well?” Hollister said.

  “Have a look for yourself,” Walsh said, leaning back out of the way.

  Hollister leaned over and took a quick look before turning back at Walsh.

  Walsh stood, as did Hollister. “I may be just a medical examiner,” Walsh said, “But that looks to me like a penis.”

  “Sure doesn’t go with the D-cup breasts or the manicure or the perfect make-up job, does it?” Hollister said.

  “Take a closer look, Dan,” Walsh said, pulling tissue paper out of the bra cups.

  Dan scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “Could have almost passed as the real deal.”

  “At first sight,” Walsh agreed. “But take a closer look, right here.” He placed his index finger beneath the Adam’s apple and wiggled it up and down.

  “Yes, I suppose that would be another giveaway,” Dan agreed.

  “And then there’s this,” Walsh said, lifting the blonde wig from the victim’s head.

  “But the John would have to be drunk to overlook those obvious clues and still try to get to third base with her, er, him. I think I have an idea why she, or he got shot.”

  “And that’s probably the same idea I got about this person,” Walsh said.

  “Looks like some guy got himself a handful of surprise while they were parked here, going at it,” Hollister said. “Someone’s gonna have an awful mess inside their car when we find him.”

  “Unless he forced her, him, oh what do we call it?” Walsh said, obviously flustered. “Unless someone forced him out of the car first and then shot him.”

  “Then there’d be a mess somewhere here on the grass,” Hollister said. “Check his back, I’ll bet there’s a hole I could stick my fist through.”

  Walsh squatted next to the body and gave it a half turn, exposing the back. “There it is, just like you said. Must have gone clean through.”

  “That would make it a .45 or maybe a .44 magnum,” Hollister said. “Who carries that kind of fire power?”

  “Cops and thugs,” Walsh said, looking sideways at Hollister. “You didn’t do this, did you, Dan?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Hollister said, pulling his .38 out from under his arm. “Pretty neat trick if I could fit a .45 cartridge into this thing. Besides, he’s not my type.”

  Two men dressed in white approached, carrying a stretcher. They set the stretcher down next to the body, waiting for the go ahead from Walsh. Walsh nodded at the men, who promptly lifted the body onto the stretcher. The victim’s right arm fell sideways, dangling off the side of the stretcher. One of the attendants reached for the arm.

  “Hold on,” Hollister said, taking the victim’s wrist in his hand and turning it over, palm down. “Look here,” He told Walsh. “Even the nails were fake. See? He’s missing two of the on his right hand. Must have come off either during the initial shot or as he was being thrown out of the car. They might even still be in the killer’s car.”

  Hollister placed the victim’s arm under the blanket and gave the attendant a nod. The two attendants carried the stretcher back to the coroner’s van. The crowd of gawkers parted as the van drove through them and out of sight.

  “I’ll give you a more complete rundown after the autopsy,” Walsh said. “Maybe he’s got skin or something else under his nails.”

  “Could you send it over to my office when you’re done?” Hollister said. “And Doc, you might want to check the inside of the victim’s mouth.”

  “For what?” Walsh said and then immediately realized what Hollister meant. “Oh, yeah, right. Will do.” He left Hollister standing where the body had lain and walked back to his car.

  Sergeant Holliste
r motioned to one of the uniformed officers.

  The officer stepped over to where Hollister stood and looked down. “Pretty bad, eh?”

  Hollister nodded. “Just stay here and don’t let anyone get close to this area until the lab boys get here, understand?”

  “Yes sir,” the officer said.

  Hollister walked back to his patrol car and grabbed the microphone. “Car eight to dispatch, come in.”

  “Car eight, this is dispatch. Go ahead.”

  “Dispatch, could you patch me through to the captain?”

  “Car eight, copy that. Stand by for the captain. Go ahead.”

  “Captain Rogers,” the voice said.

  “Captain, this is Sergeant Hollister.”

  “Yes, sergeant. What’s the status on the park murder?”

  “Captain, this is a little more complicated than we first thought. I don’t want to give any details over the radio. Can I meet you in your office in half an hour?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “See you then. Car eight, out.”

  Hollister drove back to the precinct and went directly to the captain’s office and rapped on the doorframe.

  Captain Rogers’ door was open and he looked up from his phone call and motioned the sergeant in. He gestured with his free hand toward the chair across from his desk. A few seconds later he finished his phone call, hung up the phone and turned his attention to Sergeant Hollister.

  “So, Dan,” the captain said, “How’s Betty doing?”

  Hollister nodded. “She’s in remission, again. Seems like just when they get our hopes up, she has another relapse. We’re just trying to take it day by day.”

  “Well, you be sure and give her my best when you see her.”

  “I will, captain. She’ll be glad to hear that.”

  “Well, Dan, what did you find on that murder in the park? You mentioned it might be a little more complicated that we originally thought.”