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

by Bill Bernico

  I spent the rest of that hour going through my notes from another case before breaking for lunch. I hung my ‘Back In One Hour’ sign on my door and took the elevator down to the lobby.

  My favorite diner was just a few doors west on the boulevard and I was hungry. I walked in and took a stool at the counter. I stared at the menu for a minute before settling for the special and a Coke. As I waited for my meal, I swiveled on my stool toward the large window facing the boulevard. People walked by at a steady pace. I turned back when I heard the sound of a plate being set in front of me. I finished my lunch in ten minutes and still had most of the hour before I was due back at my office. I decided to drive over to the Twin Palms nightclub just to satisfy my curiosity.

  In front of the Twin Palms entrance I found all of the parking spaces empty and eased my Olds into the one closest to the door. I got out and walked up to the door and found a hand written note attached to the door announcing that the nightclub was closed due to a death in the family. It didn’t mention when or if it would reopen.

  I walked to the end of the lot and stood in the same space where Wayne Crenshaw had parked the night of Leo Costa’s death. I turned toward the street and tried to retrace Costa’s steps, around the corner and up the block. I stopped at the exact place where the car had impacted with his body, and then I paced off sixty feet and stood right where his body had come to rest. I looked back at the sixty-foot distance and let out a deep breath. In my mind I could see the Pontiac with the damaged front end speeding off down the street. I turned and walked back to my car. I’d always been a visual person and it always helped me to see first hand where events had happened. I got back into my Olds and drove home.

  It had been nine days since I’d last seen the Crenshaws. Business was slow and I was starting to get bored. I found myself taking care of all the little odd jobs around the office that I’d been putting off. It had never looked cleaner than it did today.

  I could hear my outer office door opening and I immediately stopped sweeping and tossed the broom back into my closet. The footsteps came toward my inner door and then came the knocking. I opened the door and found myself looking into the face of Audrey Costa, Leo’s widow. I recognized her from the photo of her in the newspaper story about Leo’s death and about the changes happening at Twin Palms. I invited her in and showed her to the client’s chair.

  “Mrs. Costa,” I said. “How nice to see you. How are you holding up these days?”

  She shrugged. “As good as can be expected, I suppose. The first week was hard, not having Leo around anymore, but it gets a little easier every day. Thanks for asking.”

  “So what brings you to see me?” I said.

  “Mr. Cooper,” she said. “I read in the paper last week that Mr. Crenshaw had been completely cleared of any participation in Leo’s death. It mentioned your name in the article and that made me think of you when I decided to get some help with my problem.”

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. Costa,” I said. “And just what kind of problems are you having that I can help you with?”

  She wrung her hands in her lap and looked up at me. “There’s this guy,” she said. “He’s been at the house and on the phone several times trying to get me to sell Twin Palms to him. I keep telling him I don’t want to sell but he’s so persistent. He’s getting pretty annoying, Mr. Cooper.”

  I frowned. “I don’t see how I can help,” I said. “Can’t you just tell him to stop calling and to leave you alone?”

  “I tried that,” she said. “But he doesn’t give up. His tone started out friendly enough, but lately I’m beginning to feel threatened by this man.”

  “Have you called the police?” I said.

  She shook her head. “They can’t or won’t do anything about it. They say the man hasn’t broken any laws and that I should just tell him to stay away. That’s why I came to see you, Mr. Cooper. Is there anything you could do to get him to stop?”

  “Stop?” I said. “Stop what? Stop offering to buy the nightclub or stop calling you? I’m not sure what it is you think I can do that the police can’t. Who is this guy anyway? Did he leave a name or a number where he could be reached?”

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a small piece of paper and laid it down in front of me. I read what she had written and then looked up at her. “Harry Ambrose?” I said. “This is the guy who’s offering to buy Twin Palms?”

  “You know him?” She said.

  “Only by reputation,” I said. “He’s a gambler and a thug, among other things. You don’t want to get on his bad side.”

  “Are you saying he’d hurt me?” She said.

  I shook my head. “Not him personally. He has other men to take care of that for him. He doesn’t even have a police record and he’s very careful to keep it that way, but everyone knows that he’s the brains behind all that muscle. Even the police know all about him but can’t touch him.”

  “Oh, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “I’m scared. What can I do?”

  “You mean aside from selling him Twin Palms?” I said. “If you keep it, what do you plan to do with it?”

  “I’d like to keep it going,” she said. “Leo always made a decent living running it these past couple of years. I think I can keep it going and make just as much money. Leo didn’t believe in life insurance and if I don’t keep it going I won’t have any income.”

  “But you’d have the money from the sale,” I said. “How much is he offering you for it?”

  She withdrew another slip of paper from her purse and handed it to me. I looked at the figure and whistled. “That’s quite a bundle,” I said.

  “It’s not enough,” she said. “And he knows it. After I got his first offer, I had an appraiser come out to the nightclub and tell me what it’s worth. It took him two days of measuring, calculating and going over the books for the past two years before he came up with a realistic figure. What Mr. Ambrose is offering me is only about sixty percent of what it’s worth, and he hasn’t budged from that price. He just keeps getting nastier every time he offers it. I don’t know what to do.”

  I gave her back her two pieces of paper and said, “Have you thought about bodyguards or bouncers to help you run the place?”

  “I have,” she said. “But when I tell them who it is that I need protection from, they all turn me down.”

  “And you think I can do any better than professional bodyguards?” I said. “Guys like Ambrose would have me killed at eleven thirty and then go have lunch like nothing was wrong.”

  I thought for a moment and then offered, “What if you could sell the place to someone else for the actual value? Wouldn’t that solve both your money problems and your Ambrose problems at the same time?”

  “I’ve tried that, too, Mr. Cooper,” she said.

  “And?”

  “And Mr. Ambrose must be getting inside information about prospective buyers because every time I have someone over to look at the place and show them the potential earning power of the business, they tell me they’ll let me know within a day or two and then I never hear from them again. I’m sure Mr. Ambrose must be warning them all off.”

  “Have you thought about putting an ad in out-of-town newspapers?” I said. “The buyer doesn’t necessarily have to be a local, does he?”

  Mrs. Costa smiled. “I hadn’t thought of that, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “You think it’ll work?”

  “You have nothing to lose,” I said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cooper,” she said, rising from the chair. “If I may ask one more favor of you.”

  “Sure, what is it?” I said.

  “I took a cab to your office,” she said. “Could you drive me to Twin Palms? It’s not that far away and I did want to pay you for your time, but I didn’t bring my checkbook. It’s in the office at the nightclub.”

  “Certainly,” I said. “I can drive you back there, but there’s no charge for just talking to me. I didn’t do anything for you.”

  “But…”
<
br />   I held one palm up. “No,” I said. “I insist. No charge. Shall we get going?”

  She didn’t argue it any further. I walked her out to my car and we drove to the nightclub. As I got within half a block from Twin Palms, a burgundy Chrysler sped by us, fishtailing and nearly hitting my car. A second later, just before we turned into the parking lot, a huge explosion rocked us in our seats and I stood on the brakes. Directly in front of us, Twin Palms burst into a huge ball of fire and smoke, debris flying everywhere. I grabbed the top of Mrs. Costa’s head and pushed her down onto the seat and laid my body over hers. The glass in my Olds shattered and showered us with tiny shards. A couple of seconds later the explosion ceased and the vibrating stopped. We looked up to see Twin Palms burning out of control.

  We both sat up in the car and I turned to Mrs. Costa. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She was visibly shaken but otherwise unharmed. I backed the Olds up away from the parking lot and pulled to the curb. We both got out and looked over at the nightclub. Flames licked at the sky and smoke poured out the windows. I could hear many sirens in the distance getting closer and soon the area was filled with police cars and fire engines, their red lights rotating.

  Firemen jumped off the trucks and began rolling hoses across the street to the fire hydrant. Police kept the curiosity seekers away and in just a few more minutes I could see a few familiar faces among the police force. Dan Hollister saw us and waved me down. We stayed put and let him come to us.

  As Dan approached he looked the two of us up and down and asked, “Are you two all right? What happened here?”

  “We’re fine,” I said, gesturing toward Mrs. Costa. “Sergeant Hollister, this is Mrs. Leo Costa, the new owner of Twin Palms. Mrs. Costa, Dan Hollister.”

  “Please,” she said, shaking Dan’s hand, “call me Audrey.”

  “All right, Audrey,” Dan said, turning toward me. “What happened here?”

  “I was driving Audrey back to Twin Palms,” I explained. “When we got half a block from it, a maroon or burgundy Chrysler sped out of the lot and nearly sideswiped us. A couple of seconds later the place exploded and caught fire.”

  “Did you happen to see the license plate on the Chrysler?” Dan said.

  I shook my head. “Nope, it sped by too fast and was gone before I knew it,” I said.

  “I’ll get out an A.P.B. for burgundy Chryslers,” Dan said. “But I wouldn’t expect too much. He’s probably long gone by now.” He turned to Audrey. “And may I say how sorry I am about what happened to Leo? We’re working hard to find the guy who hit him, but there very little to go on.”

  Audrey laid a hand on Dan’s forearm. “I know you are and I appreciate your effort.” She pointed to the burning nightclub. “Looks like I don’t have to worry about selling the place now, does it?”

  Dan turned to me with a question on his face.

  “Audrey had been getting pressure from Harry Ambrose to sell Twin Palms to him,” I explained. “That’s why she came to see me.”

  Dan shook his head and sighed. “I guess we know where to start with our investigation into this fire,” he said.

  “You think he did this?” Audrey said.

  “Not him personally,” I said. “But it’s a safe bet that he may have had it done. With the building destroyed you’d no longer have a business to protect and he could buy the empty lot for peanuts.”

  “Well, he’s not getting it,” Audrey said. “The insurance company will pay me for the loss of the building, but the lot can sit vacant until hell freezes before I’d sell it to him.”

  “Can I drive you home?” I said to Audrey, before realizing that my Olds was parked in by several fire trucks and police cars. “Second thought, maybe I can’t.”

  “Come with me, Audrey,” Dan said. “I’ll get you home.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hollister,” Audrey said.

  “But only if you call me Dan,” Dan added, walking away with Mrs. Costa.

  I had nothing else going at the moment and couldn’t have done anything about it if I had so I hung around and watched the firemen do their jobs. I felt like a little kid again watching the show from my unique vantage point. It was several hours before they had the blaze extinguished. They rolled up their hoses and loaded everything back onto the trucks. As they drove away I looked at the pavement around the former nightclub. It was charred black in places, but mostly it was just wet from the hoses. The cars that had parked in Twin Palms’ lot over the years had left oil residue that now shone with a rainbow hue.

  Harry Ambrose owned a club called The Pot O’ Gold in Burbank. It was a well-known hangout for the seedier element and Harry fit right in. Police knew the club very well from having been called there on so many occasions involving fights, illegal gambling, underage drinking and prostitution. Even though he’d been in the business for a dozen years, Harry Ambrose had never spent a single day behind bars. The club’s liquor license was in his wife’s name as was the deed to the building. On paper, Harry owned nothing and nothing could be taken from him as a result of his underhanded actions.

  I drove to the Pot O’ Gold and sat in my car in front of the place. Before I got out I pulled my .38 out of its holster and made sure it was fully loaded before slipping it back under my arm. I walked in the front door and surveyed my surroundings. A long teakwood bar ran the length of the room on the left side. It accommodated at least twenty stools. There were round tables, each with four chairs throughout the rest of the room. On the back wall was a swinging door that opened to the kitchen.

  On the front wall next to the entrance was a stage, which sat eighteen inches off the floor. On it were a dozen chairs, each with a podium in front of them that bore the initials TT across the front. Tommy Tucker’s orchestra was the house band here. The bandleader’s real name was Melvin Daniels, but he’d adopted the Tommy Tucker name after he’d read it in some child’s nursery rhyme book. The character in the book sang for his supper and Melvin thought a name like that would stand out in people’s minds, especially since he was the band’s vocalist.

  There were a dozen or more customers in the place. The people at the tables went on enjoying their meals while most of the people on the barstools turned to look at me as I entered. They all turned back to their drinks a couple of seconds later. I sidled up to the end of the bar and waited for the bartender to finish pouring a drink for a burly man. When he’d finished, he walked over to the end of the bar, a bar towel flung over his shoulder.

  “What’ll it be, Mac?” He said.

  “I’d like to see Mr. Ambrose,” I said. “Is he in?”

  “He don’t see anyone without they call first,” the bartender said. “Now, you want a drink or not?”

  “Not,” I said, and walked toward the kitchen swing door.

  The bartender held up one finger and yelled after me. “Hey, you can’t go back there.”

  I kept walking and pushed the kitchen door open, stepping in and over to the first guy I found wearing a tall white hat. “Can you tell me where Mr. Ambrose is?” I said.

  The cook looked up and then shifted his gaze to a spot over my shoulder. I swung around just as the bartender came through the door, a baseball bat raised overhead. My .38 cleared the holster and swung up to meet the bartender’s face all in one fluid motion. He stopped in his tracks.

  “Mr. Ambrose’s office,” I said. “Where is it?”

  The bartender froze in his swing position, the bat still over his head.

  “And put that thing down before you hurt someone,” I said.

  He leaned the bat against the wall and licked his lips, still not willing to offer any information. I gestured with the .38 toward the kitchen door. He left the way he’d come with me in step right behind him. He walked me over to a stairway and slowly ascended. I stayed on his heels. When we reached the top he turned to the right and walked to a door at the end of the hall and knocked. He waited for a second and then opened the door. I stood to one side of the doorframe
, my gun still aimed at the bartender.

  “There’s a guy here wants to see you, Mr. Ambrose,” the bartender said.

  “Tell him to call and make an appointment, Jake” Ambrose said. “I’m busy.”

  I stepped into the open doorway and pushed Jake aside. “I’m busy, too,” I said. “Tell your boy to take a hike. We gotta talk.”

  Ambrose looked at my gun and then over at Jake. He nodded and Jake turned around and left, closing the door behind him. Ambrose pointed to a chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat, Mr…”

  “Cooper,” I said. “Matt Cooper.”

  “Well, Mr. Cooper,” Ambrose said, “What makes you think you can just barge in here and demand to see me?”

  “We wanted to ask you a few questions,” I said.

  “We?”

  I wiggled the .38 in my hand. “My and my buddy here,” I said.

  “I’ve met him before,” Ambrose said. “He doesn’t scare me. Now what do you want?”

  “I understand that you offered to buy Twin Palms from Mrs. Costa,” I said. “She doesn’t want to sell.”

  “Can you get to the point, Mr. Cooper? What is your interest in all this?” Ambrose said.

  “Let’s just say I’m working in her best interest,” I said. “Leo didn’t want to sell and now he’s dead. Coincidence? I don’t think so. But just let me tell you, if anything should happen to Mrs. Costa I’ll come looking for you.”

  “From what I just heard,” Ambrose said, “She has nothing to sell. Didn’t I just hear that there was a fire over at Twin Palms? Tragic, just tragic.”

  “Another coincidence,” I said. “They just keep piling up, don’t they? Well, Mrs. Costa will not even consider selling the vacant lot so that was all for nothing.”

  Ambrose sat up straight and scowled. “Are you suggesting that I had something to do with her husband’s terrible accident or that fire, Mr. Cooper?”

  “We both know better than that, Ambrose,” I said. “You’d never soil your hands on those kinds of jobs, but you could have had it done, and offhand, I’d say you look pretty good for both. So you just keep sitting here in your isolated tower, but you’d better grow eyes in the back of your head, ‘cause I’ll be keeping an eye on you and your entire operation. How’s that for getting to the point?”