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

by Bill Bernico

  “So you gave him a retainer. Did he write you out a receipt?”

  Luther shook his head. “No, he said his receipt book was up in his office and that I could stop back the next day for it.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yeah, but the office was dark and locked up tighter than a drum. I went down to the street and found a pay phone and called your number. You can guess what happened.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s check the neighborhood and see if anyone recognized the burgundy car or him,” I said, pointing at the sketch.

  I gave Luther a couple copies of the sketch and gestured toward the other side of the street. “You start on that side, and I’ll canvass this side. Let me know if anyone recognizes him.”

  Luther nodded agreement and crossed the street, starting with a bookstore on the corner. I walked into the door next to my building. It was a barbershop. The bell above the door tinkled as I entered. A fat man was tilted back in the chair, a white pinstriped cloth draped over his body. A towel wrapped in a circle obscured his face. The barber stood behind him. He looked up at me.

  “Be with you in a minute, Matt,” he said. “Can you wait?”

  “Not here for a haircut, Artie,” I said. “Just looking for a little information if you have a minute.”

  Artie pulled the towel off the man’s face and lathered it up with a brush he’d been swiping around inside a foamy mug. “Make it quick, Matt. Once I start with the straight razor, I need to concentrate.”

  I held up the sketch so Artie could see it. “Ever seen this guy around the neighborhood? This would have been five or six days ago and I think he might have been out front here and possibly driving a burgundy sedan.”

  Artie brushed the lather on the customer’s face and glanced at the sketch. He looked for a few seconds and then shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells,” Artie said. “But then again I might have been busy with a customer or facing away from the window. Sorry, Matt.”

  “That’s okay, Artie,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”

  The bell tinkled again on my way out. I tried the next door to the west. It was a record shop with a display of albums in the front window. They had The Mills Brothers, Frankie Laine and Frank Sinatra albums artfully arranged for maximum coverage. I walked in and found the first available clerk. Her name was Gloria and she was happy to look at my sketch and talk with me. I liked her immediately. I explained that I was trying to locate the man or the car that I’d described.

  “A week ago?” she said. “Let me think.” She looked again at the sketch and shook her head. “The face doesn’t do anything for me, but I do recall a burgundy car out front that day. The only reason I remember the car was because of something Bugs Bunny always says.”

  “Bugs Bunny?” I said. “What does Bugs say?”

  Gloria smiled and said, “Remember in all those cartoons where he’s describing a stupid person and he says something like, ‘What a dope, what a maroon’ or something like it?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve heard him use that line. What about it?”

  “Maroon,” Gloria said. “Burgundy, maroon, pretty much the same color. I remember seeing a guy get in that car and I said right out loud as he drove away, ‘What a maroon,’ and laughed.”

  “So you saw the car. That’s great. What can you tell me about it?”

  “Well, it was maroon, or burgundy, if you prefer. It had four doors, I know. I could see through the window and saw that the interior was either gray or tan or some other light color.”

  I looked at Gloria. “Do you say, ‘What a maroon’ every time you see something in that color?”

  She shook her head. “No, but in this case, I felt like Bugs Bunny when I saw the right front fender all dented in like that. I thought he must be a pretty dumb driver to smack it up like that. That’s when I made the maroon remark.”

  I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and jotted down the description of the car and the damaged fender. I looked back at Gloria. “But you didn’t see his face?”

  Gloria’s eyebrows tilted down. “Not his whole face,” she said. “Just a little from the side as he was getting in the car.”

  I smiled. “Tell me what you remember.”

  “Like I said, I only saw him briefly from the side and he had a hat on. Just before he got into the car, he turned his head this way and I could see that disgusting little mustache.”

  I held the sketch up again. She pointed at it.

  “Yeah, just like that. Funny how it didn’t register at first, but once I remembered the Bugs Bunny line, it came back right away.”

  “I don’t suppose you noticed the license number on the car, did you?”

  Gloria shook her head. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking at it, just the dented fender.”

  I gave Gloria one of my cards and asked her to call me if she thought of anything else. I left the record shop and headed west again toward a bookstore when I glanced across the street and saw Luther waving at me. He looked both ways on the boulevard and then scurried back across to my side of the street. He was out of breath when he caught up to me. He had an optimistic look on his face.

  “What’d you find?” I said.

  He gestured over at the clothing store across the street. “A guy in there remembers seeing the burgundy sedan. He saw some guy with a hat get in and drive away, but he was too far away to get a good look at him. What about you?”

  I pointed to the parking space where we stood. A Ford coupe occupied it now. “The car was parked right here,” I said. “The girl in the record shop said she saw this guy,” I motioned to the sketch. “She said the right front fender had a dent in it.”

  “Well,” Luther said, “that’s something, anyway. Where do we go from here?”

  “I have an idea,” I said. “It’s a long shot, but we got nothin’ to lose.”

  Luther followed me back to my building and we took the elevator to my floor. I opened my office and took my seat behind my desk. Luther stood at the window, looking down at the boulevard. I picked up the phone and dialed Dan Hollister’s number.

  “Hollister,” Dan said in his official sounding voice.

  “Dan, Matt. Can you check something for me?”

  “What’d you find?”

  “See if any patrolmen turned in any tickets involving a fender bender within the last two weeks.”

  “Why?”

  “I have reason to believe the burgundy sedan we’re looking for may have been involved in an accident. A witness described a dented right front fender. I know it’s not much to go on, but you never know, we might get lucky.”

  “You in your office?”

  I said I was and Dan agreed to call me back within the hour. I thanked him and hung up.

  “You think this’ll work?” Luther said.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” I said. “Looks like we have to wait so why don’t you tell me about your troubles with Ray Darnell?”

  Luther took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sheila, that’s my wife, met him at some party we both went to and I guess they hit it off. I didn’t know she was seeing him on the side after that and I didn’t want to ask her right out so I decided to hire someone to follow her and Darnell.”

  “And what’d you find out?” I said, before I remembered the circumstances. “Oh, that’s right, you never did get any information from the guy you hired, did you?”

  “No I didn’t,” Luther said.

  “And then?” I said.

  “Then nothing,” Luther said. “A couple days later I…”

  The phone rang. “Cooper investigations,” I said. “Yeah, Dan, what’d you find? Great, I’ll meet you there. Thanks.” I turned to Luther. “Wait here for me, Dan’s got something. I won’t be long.”

  “Can I come along?” Luther said.

  “Might be better if you just wait here,” I said. “The police may be a little more open with information if it’s just me. You understand?”

  Luther shrugged.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  I met Dan in a parking lot just east of LaBrea. He and two uniforms were standing next to a burgundy sedan with a crumpled right front fender. Another man was dusting different parts of the car for fingerprints.

  “How’d you find it so fast?” I said, gesturing toward the sedan.

  “One of our patrol cars spotted it speeding down Highland and gave chase. It was just supposed to be a simple traffic stop, but when they pulled him over he came out shooting. I guess you can see how that ended.” Dan gestured with his chin at the body lying on the pavement next to the burgundy sedan.

  The man was lying on his back, his hat a foot or so from his head. He had jet-black hair and a slimy little mustache. He didn’t look anything like me. Dangling from a pencil in the officer’s hand was a .38. I pointed at the .38 on the pencil.

  “Mine?” I said.

  Dan nodded. “Most likely,” he said. “We’ll find out for sure after ballistics finishes with it.”

  “You know who he is?” I said.

  “License on him says he’s Vern Carlton,” Dan said, showing me the man’s wallet. “But we’re holding off official identification until we run his prints. He opened the wallet wide, revealing several twenties and tens. “Had more than a hundred on him.”

  I pulled the police sketch out of my pocket and unfolded it. It was the same guy we’d been looking for. The car matched the description right down to the color and the dented fender.

  “Luther gave him a hundred,” I said, “when he thought this guy was me. Looks like he’ll get his money back.”

  “After it’s processed and run through the system,” Dan said. “I hope he doesn’t expect to get it back right away.”

  “He’ll wait,” I said. “He’ll just be glad to know he can get it back at all. I gotta get back and find him. He’ll wanna know about this. Thanks, Dan.”

  I drove back to my office and hung my coat on the rack. Luther was lying on my leather sofa, his eyes closed. I nudged him on the shoulder and his eyes fluttered open. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair and then stood.

  “What’d you find out?”

  “Good news and bad news,” I said.

  “What’s the good news?”

  “Good news is that you’ll get your hundred back.”

  “That’s great. And the bad news?”

  “Bad news is that it might take a while. It’s being booked as evidence.”

  Luther looked puzzled. “How’d you manage to get my money back?”

  “The guy you thought was me still had it on him.”

  Luther smiled and seemed genuinely excited. “Did you get him to confess? Did he tell you what he did?”

  “He didn’t say a word,” I said.

  “Couldn’t you make him talk? Couldn’t you beat it out of him?”

  “Luther,” I said, “as good as I am, even I can’t get a dead man to talk.”

  “Dead?”

  “As a doornail.”

  “And you’re sure it’s the same guy?”

  I pulled the sketch out of my pocket again and showed it to Luther. “Same guy only dead. No mistake about it.”

  Luther let out a long sigh. “Well, at least that one loose end taken care of.”

  “There’s more?” I said, sitting behind my desk and putting my feet up.

  “Well, yeah,” Luther said. “I never did find out if my wife was seeing Darnell. Now how can I rest not knowing if she’s been cheating on me?”

  “And?”

  “And I want you to look into it for me.”

  “Me?”

  “Well, first I’d like to see some identification.”

  I pushed my hat down over my eyes and lowered my head. I had to laugh.

  26 - Hit And Run

  Harry Ambrose sat across the table from his henchman, Luther Corbett as the two swirled their forks into their plates of spaghetti. Luther washed his mouthful of pasta down with a large gulp of wine, patted his mouth with his napkin and looked up at Harry.

  “How do you want this one handled, Harry?” Luther said. “You want maybe a quick and quiet slug to the head? Or how about I just throw him off the roof of the Cahuenga Building? Might not be a quiet as the slug and it’s damn sure gonna be a lot messier, but it would sure be a lot of fun.”

  Harry wiped his mouth, set his napkin back in his lap and swirled his fork again. “Neither of those,” he said. “What I want is to make it look like an accident so no one will come looking for us afterwards. I just want this one to go away, understand?”

  “Yes, I do,” Luther said. “Leave it to me. I’ll handle everything. By this time tomorrow Costa will just be a smear on the street.”

  Harry smiled broadly and said, “The old hit-and-run routine?”

  Luther shoved another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth and nodded. Harry sipped some of his wine and neither man had to say another word about it.

  Leo Costa had been a thorn in Harry’s side ever since Harry had offered to buy Costa’s nightclub, Twin Palms, more than six weeks ago. Twin Palms was situated in a prime location on the outskirts of town and was providing Costa with a decent income. Harry really wanted that location and offered Costa what he considered to be a fair price for the business. Costa was not interested in selling at any price. He had to be eliminated. It was just that simple. Once he was dead, Harry could easily buy the business from Costa’s widow.

  Luther used a piece of Italian bread to mop up the remaining sauce from his plate. He swallowed, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and sipped some more wine before dropping his napkin onto his plate and shoving his chair away from the table. He and Harry both stood. Harry dropped a five-dollar bill on the table for a tip and tossed another six singles on top of that for the meal. Luther did the same and the two men walked out of the restaurant and back to Harry’s Lincoln. Harry climbed into the back seat and Luther slid behind the wheel. They drove off into the night, confident that their plan would solve all their problems,

  It was exactly four days later when Luther and Harry put their plan into action. Harry had placed a call to Leo Costa, posing as a businessman from San Francisco who wanted to talk to Costa about renting the entire nightclub for a large party. He told Costa he wanted to meet him that night but that he couldn’t be seen in the nightclub. He instructed Costa to meet him just one block away on the corner at exactly nine o’clock. The party was supposed to be a secret and he wanted to make sure no one saw him go into Twin Palms. Costa agreed to the meeting and hung up.

  Harry hung up the phone and turned to Luther. “Nine o’clock on the corner. That’ll give you an hour to get a car and be waiting for him when he comes out. Just remember to put the car back right where you found it and don’t leave any prints.”

  “Don’t worry, Harry,” Luther assured him. “This ain’t my first time. You ain’t dealing with no amateur.”

  “Good,” Harry said. “I knew I could depend on you. You better get moving. I’ll get on over to Cleo’s Club and establish my alibi. You meet me there when it’s done.”

  Luther agreed and left Harry in his office. When Luther had gone, Harry drove the Lincoln to Pasadena and parked in Cleo’s parking lot. Luther took the Ford sedan and parked it a full two blocks from Twin Palms and waited. At exactly fifteen minutes to nine Luther left the Ford and walked over to the parking lot at Costa’s nightclub. There he found a Pontiac sedan parked on the end of the front row of spaces. The driver’s door was unlocked and Luther slid in, silently closing the door behind him. He bent over and reached under the dash for the two wires that he needed in order to jump-start the Pontiac. He pulled out his penknife and frayed the two wires, touching them together. The engine sputtered to life and Luther tucked the wires back under the dash and pulled out of the lot.

  It was eight fifty-five when Leo Costa emerged from his nightclub and began walking east to the next corner. Harry had picked that particular corner because he knew
it was close enough that Costa wouldn’t drive there. That wouldn’t do at all. Luther watched as Costa walked east at a brisk pace and when he got halfway up the block, Luther stepped on the gas and aimed the car directly at Costa.

  Leo Costa must have been absorbed in thinking about what he was planning on charging someone to reserve the entire nightclub for a party and hadn’t noticed the car bearing down on him. A second or two later the Pontiac jumped the curb and plowed into Costa, sending him flying in a shallow arc. Costa’s body came down sixty feet from the point of impact, his head splitting open as it hit the sidewalk.

  Luther steered hard to the right drove off down the block. Two blocks later he turned right. At the next corner he turned right again and headed back to Twin Palms. He pulled the Pontiac back into the last space, got out and quietly closed the door again. The left front fender and part of the grille of the Pontiac was caved in from the impact. There was a fair amount of blood covering the front end of the car as well. Luther pulled his gloves off and tucked them into his overcoat pocket and quickly walked back to the Ford sedan two blocks away. He slid beneath the wheel and silently drove on to Pasadena.

  I sat at my desk the following day, reading the morning paper and sipping from my favorite coffee cup. I flipped through the pages, eager to find the results of last night’s academy awards. On the first page of the entertainment section, I found what I was looking for. I’d been hoping that my favorite film, Treasure Of The Sierra Madre would take the Oscar for best picture, but it had lost out to Hamlet. Laurence Olivier, who starred in that motion picture, also took home an Oscar for best actor. Best actress that year went to Jane Wyman for her portrayal of a deaf girl in Johnny Belinda.

  I was about to close the paper when I spotted two Academy Awards that had gone to my favorite movie. John Huston took the Oscar for best director, while his father, Walter Huston won the Oscar for best supporting actor for “Treasure Of The Sierra Madre.” I felt better, knowing that other people also appreciated the movie. I folded paper, set it on my desk and picked up the phone. I dialed the precinct downtown and let it ring three times.