by Bill Bernico
Dan tapped his finger on top of the report. “Did you notice the suspect’s name?”
I nodded. “Another coincidence?” I said. “That would be a stretch, to say the least.”
“Lenny Conners,” Dan said. “That’s trouble no matter how you shake it up and spill it out. That whole Conners family is trouble. And you can bet his three brothers don’t intend to let it pass. I think that’s where we’ll have to start looking. I have a feeling that once we go through the mug books and find the Conners Brothers, we’ll see the one who impersonated Officer Cahill.”
“Let’s have a look,” I said.
Dan buzzed Hannah and asked for the mugs books from A through D, which would include the Connors Brothers, if they were in there at all. A few minutes later Hannah came in carrying two fat scrapbooks. She laid them on the desk and left again without comment. Dan grabbed one book and I leafed through the other. We went through both albums and didn’t find any of the Connors Brothers. We both laid the books down again.
“What about books from the two-seven?” I said. “They might have mug shots in there that you don’t have. It’s worth a trip down there if for no better reason than to satisfy your curiosity, isn’t it?”
“I’d better call first so we don’t make the trip for nothing,” Dan said, pressing his intercom button. “Hannah,” he said into the intercom, “Get me Captain Coulter at the twenty-seventh precinct in Pasadena, will you?”
“Right away,” Hannah said.
A moment later the phone on Dan’s desk rang and he grabbed it. “Hello, Captain Coulter, this is Sergeant Dan Hollister at the twelfth precinct. I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but we’ve had two officers shot earlier today in two separate incidents.”
“Yes,” Coulter said. “Something to that affect came across my desk. Sorry to hear it. Is there anything I can do for you, Sergeant?”
“Well,” Dan said, “now that you mention it, I was wondering if you could have someone over there check the mug books and see if you have any entries for anyone named Connors. We had a shooting here some months back involving one Lenny Connors and we need to know if any or all of his three brothers had been run through the system yet. That would be Willie, Virgil and Lester Connors. Could you call me right back, Captain?”
“I don’t have to call you back,” Coulter said. “The Connors boys have been a thorn in our side for years. I know for a fact that all four made the mug shot books over the past few years.”
“Great,” Dan said. “Would you mind if I came over to look at the pictures? I need to know if someone I saw earlier today might be one of the brothers.”
“You’re certainly welcome to come on down and take a look,” Coulter said, “but I think I can narrow it down for you.”
“How’s that?” Dan said.
“Willie and Virgil Connors are both dead,” Coulter said. “Died in a shootout with some of our men just last month at a tavern on the south side.”
“And what about Lester?” Dan said.
“He wasn’t with his brothers that night,” Coulter explained. “And that’s the only reason he still has a pulse. Lester was the youngest but he was also the meanest one of the four brothers.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Dan said. “I’ll be there inside half an hour.” Dan hung up the phone and gestured to me. “Let’s go.”
I rode with Dan to Pasadena to the two-seven and we wasted no time in finding Captain Coulter’s office. His secretary announced our arrival and showed us into Coulter’s office. He was waiting behind his desk with the mug book already open to Lester Connors’ picture.
Dan shook the captain’s hand and turned to me. “Captain Coulter, this is Matt Cooper. Matt, Captain Coulter.”
I shook his hand while Dan picked up the mug shot book and studied Lester Connors’ photo. He showed it to me and we both nodded.
“That’s him,” I said, jabbing my finger on the photo.
“No doubt about it,” Dan said. “This is the guy who we thought was Officer Cahill and it’s a sure bet he’s the one who killed him and took his uniform.”
I explained to Captain Coulter what had happened earlier in the day, including the deaths of the two officers and the circumstances connected to the two killings.
“We want him,” Dan said. “And we want him bad. Two of our own are dead.”
“And so is one of ours,” Coulter said. “We want him, too. And I think it would be in our best interests to work together on this one to make sure we get him.”
“I agree,” Dan said. “Can you get us any more information on this guy, you know, last known address, known accomplices, any aliases he’s used, the works?”
“I’m already on it,” Coulter said. “I’ll get you a copy of his record and send two patrol cars with you to pick him up.”
“Let’s hit it,” I said, following the two cops out of the office.
Coulter’s men got into their black and white while Dan and I got into his car. We followed the patrol car to a small white house on Highland, just south of Melrose. There was a small semi-circular driveway in the front. The patrol car and the two officers covered the back door. Dan and I each stood to one side of the front door and waited until the two officers were positioned on either side of the back door. Dan knocked on the front door and then pulled back to one side. There was no answer but we could hear movement inside. Dan knocked again and a second later two slugs ripped through the door, out into the street. On the sounds of the two shots, the two officers kicked in the back door and rushed in. Dan kicked in the front door and the two of us ducked inside, our guns drawn and pointed ahead of us.
There was a room off to one side of the house and the door to that room was closed. We could see the two officers in the kitchen near the rear of the house coming our way. Dan signaled them and gestured toward the closed door. We all inched forward and one of the officers was about to reach for the doorknob when we heard the crash of glass. Dan twisted the doorknob that led to the bedroom and flung the door open in time to see a man jumping through the broken window to the yard outside. Dan and the two officers hurried into the bedroom and looked out the window to see Lester Connors rolling on his side on the lawn. Connors got to his feet and began running.
I hurried out the front door and down the two steps and was just a few yards behind Connors. Half a block away I caught up with Connors and dove at his legs, wrapping my arms around them and bring him down hard on the sidewalk. Connors’ gun skittered off into the street and mine fell on the grass. Connors twisted out of my grip and laid a fist alongside my head. I released my grip on him and fell backwards. Connors reached into his coat and withdrew something. I could hear a single click and then saw the switchblade glistening. Connors jumped on me and raised the knife overhead. As he brought it down I raised my left forearm, blocking his thrust.
I balled my right hand into a fist and jabbed at Connors on his left side. He flinched and rocked sideways. I rolled out from under him and quickly stood up. He came at me again, this time with the knife in an underhand position. We circled each other with Connors taking swipes at me with the knife. Off to one side I could see my .38 on the lawn. Connors noticed me looking at it.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Think you can get to it before I slice you open?”
I tried circling again, hoping Connors would circle with me and give me a chance to make a grab for the gun. He stood his ground, still swinging the knife every time I made a move toward my gun. I slipped out of my coat and wrapped it around my left arm. I used it like a shield while I tried to advance on my gun. Connors just kept swinging the knife, getting closer to me with each swipe.
As he swung he kept stepping closer to my gun. If I couldn’t get to it soon, he’d be in a position to grab it himself and then my life wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel. I unwrapped the coat from around my arm and swung it overhead, like a lasso. Maybe I could whip the knife out of his hand. I caught Connors on the side of his face and he winced, stepping back. Thi
s would probably be my only chance. I dove toward my gun and grabbed it but Connors was quick. Before I could get my finger in the trigger guard and roll over, Connors was on me, plunging the knife into my shoulder.
I dropped the gun and turned over onto my back. Connors raised the knife overhead again and I held up one hand, trying to brace myself for his next attack. As he brought the knife down, a shot rang out from somewhere behind me and Connors chest exploded in a spray of red. In a last ditch effort, he still tried to stab me again and got a second bullet for his troubles. He dropped the knife and fell forward onto me.
I pushed Connors’ body off me and looked up to see Dan standing there, his .38 still smoking. The two officers stood on either side of Dan, their guns also drawn. Dan holstered his and looked down at me. I started to get up but Dan held a hand up.
“Don’t try to get up,” Dan said. “We’ll have an ambulance here in a minute. You okay?”
I held one hand over my shoulder wound and shook my head. “It hurts like hell,” I said.
“Just stay still,” Dan said, “or you’ll bleed to death.”
“To death?” I said. “Don’t you think you’re laying it on a little thick, Dan?” I looked at Dan and thought of something clever to say, but before I could open my mouth again my head starting spinning and I fell into a black hole.
I fluttered my eyes open and looked at my surrounding. Above me I could see the ceiling of the ambulance. Dan sat alongside the stretcher, looking down at me. I was strapped in and the screaming siren made my head pound.
“Can’t you get them to shut that thing off?” I said.
“Just lie still,” Dan said. “We’ll be at the hospital in just a minute or so.”
“And Connors?” I said.
“The four brothers are all together again,” Dan said. “All dead and good riddance to the whole bunch of ‘em.”
I stayed still and tried not to think about the knife wound in my shoulder. It hurt every time the ambulance drove over a bump in the road. A few moments later the ambulance stopped and the back doors flew open. Two attendants pulled the stretcher out and wheel it into the emergency room. Dan walked alongside the stretcher as I was rolled alongside a table and lifted onto it. A nurse pushed Dan out of the way and grabbed a pair of scissors, cutting my shirt away from my shoulder. She turned quickly to Dan for a second.
“You’ll have to wait outside,” she said. “We’ll take good care of your friend.”
Dan looked down at me. “I’ll be in the next room,” Dan said.
I gave him a shallow nod and tried to relax. The nurses cut the rest of my shirt away and dabbed at the wound with gauze pads. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about what they were doing. Another nurse held a plastic mouthpiece over my face and the last thing I remember was taking a deep breath before everything went black again.
I woke up in a room with a curtain pulled around my bed. A doctor was pulling the curtains away and taking his place alongside my bed.
“I’m doctor Howard,” the doctor said. “How are we feeling?”
“We?” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I hurt.”
“That’s normal and to be expected,” doctor Howard said.
My movie trivia memory kicked in just at that moment. “Doctor Howard?” I said. “As in Doctor Howard, Doctor Fine, Doctor Howard?”
Doctor Howard laughed. “You’re not the first one to bring that to my attention,” he said. “I get that a lot. Sounds like you’re a Three Stooges fan.”
I nodded. “Men In Black,” I said. “1934, I remember it well.” My head throbbed and I held my hand over it. “You didn’t use that same anesthetic that Curley used, did you?”
“The big wooden mallet?” Doctor Howard said. “No, we’re a little more sophisticated around here.”
“Thank goodness,” I said.
“No,” Doctor Howard repeated, “We use a rubber mallet. Doesn’t leave a dent.” He chuckled.
“Glad to see you have a sense of humor,” I said. “Say, doc, how long to I have to stay here?”
Doctor Howard lifted a sheet on his clipboard. “The knife didn’t hit anything vital,” he said. “We’d like to keep you here for another day or two and check your stitches before you leave. Then you can go home, but you’ll need plenty of rest. Do you have someone who can look in on you for the next week or so?”
From behind him I heard a voice say, “I can look in on him.” It was Sheryl Roosay, Officer Tim Blake’s former girlfriend. She stepped up to the bed and laid a cool hand on my forehead. She looked at the doctor.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t open those stitches,” Sheryl said. “He’ll be in good hands.”
Doctor Howard turned to Sherry and extended his hand. “Doctor Howard,” he said, pumping her hand.
Sheryl pinched her nose shut and in a voice trying to sound like it was coming over an intercom said, “Doctor Howard, Doctor Fine, Doctor Howard.” She released her nose and laughed, looking at me and then at the doctor. “Sorry,” she said to the doctor, “I couldn’t resist.”
“Yes, well, I think I’ve had enough of the Stooges for one day,” Doctor Howard said, looking down at me. “Mr. Cooper, I’ll check in on you again before we discharge you.” He turned to Sheryl and started to open his mouth but thought better of it and just turned and walked out of the room.
Sheryl looked down and me and smiled. “I heard what you did,” she said. “I’m glad you were able to get justice for Tim, Mr. Cooper.”
I shook my head. “This won’t do at all,” I said.
“What won’t do?” Sherry said, puzzled.
“If you plan on looking after me, let’s hear no more of this Mr. Cooper stuff,” I said. “It’s Matt, okay?”
Sheryl smiled broadly. “Okay, Matt” she said, squeezing my hand. She held onto it and kept smiling at me. It made me uneasy.
“What?” I said.
“Oh nothing,” Sheryl said. “I was just wondering about something.”
“Wondering?” I said. “Wondering about what?”
She looked at the wound in my right shoulder. “You’re right handed, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said, not sure where this was going.
“Well,” she said, a sly smile playing on her face, “I know you’re in no shape for it now, but when you’re better I was wondering if you’d like to go bowling with me?”
“Bowling?” I said. “I’ve never been bowling in my life. I wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”
Sheryl squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all there is to know. I’ll have you bowling like a pro in no time at all.”
“But I don’t have any bowling shoes,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” Sheryl said. “With my method, you won’t need any.” Her smile widened.
“Huh?” I said, totally puzzled now.
“Never mind,” Sheryl said. “You look like a fast learner.”
Suddenly my aches and pains didn’t seem so bad anymore.
“You’re on,” I said, smiling and squeezing her hand.
28 - Double Trouble
I sat perched on my usual stool at the outdoor hot dog stand. I came here several times a week when time was tight and I couldn’t get away for a real, sit-down lunch. This stand sat right around the corner from my building on Hollywood Boulevard. The owner, Mike Mulligan, and I had been friends ever since he’d opened for business three years ago.
I was leafing through the paper to see if there were any good movies playing in the neighborhood. I was a regular movie buff, staying after everyone else had filed out of the theater so I could read the credits. I noticed that Humphrey Bogart and director John Huston had teamed up again for their latest theatrical release called Key Largo. If it was half as good as the movie they put out earlier this year, The Treasure Of The Sierra Madre, I’d be there. I made a note of the name of the theater and the show times and tucked my note into my pocket.
As I bit into my second hot d
og someone tapped me on my shoulder. I bit the end off my hot dog and tried to chew as I turned to see who it was that just had to bother me during lunch. It was a man in a suit similar to the one I was wearing.
“Mr. Cooper,” the man said. “My name is Kevin McDonald. I was wondering if I could speak with you for a few minutes.”
I was still chewing and held one finger up in the air, trying to chew faster. I chewed for a few more seconds, grabbed my bottle of root beer and washed it down. Once my mouth was empty I swirled my tongue around inside my mouth, swallowed once more, took a breath and said, “Can’t this wait until after lunch, Mr. McDonald? My office is right around the corner. I could meet you there at...” I flipped my wrist over and checked the time. It was eleven forty-eight. “...Let’s say, twelve o’clock?”
McDonald check is own watch, sat on the stool next to me and sighed. “I’m really pressed for time, Mr. Cooper. I was hoping I could be back at my desk by quarter after.” He placed both hands on his knees and waited patiently for my response.
I let out my own breath and said, “All right, let’s go.” I shoved what was left of my hot dog into my mouth, washed it down with the last of my root beer and set the bottle on the counter. I swiveled around and jumped down off my stool and began walking toward my office. As we walked up the boulevard I saw Stu Mackey who owned the drug store down the block. He did a double take as he approached us.
“I didn’t know you had a twin, Matt,” Stu said.
McDonald and I stopped and looked each other up and down and then turned back to Stu. “I don’t see it,” I said.
“Neither do I,” McDonald said.
Stu gestured with his hands, making a sweeping motion up and down. “Same shoes, same suits,” he said. “You two call each other before you got dressed this morning?”
