by Bill Bernico
“Do I look worried?” I said. “Besides, I’m taking her to Ciro’s for their New Years Eve bash. Should be a good one, from what I’ve been hearing. They’re going to send the forties out with a little style. Gees, just think of that—nineteen fifty already. The time’s just flying by.”
“That’s still three months off,” Dan reminded me. “A lot can happen before New Years rolls around. Some other guy could…”
“No chance,” I said. “Amy’s mine. All mine.”
“All the more reason to make an honest woman out of her,” Dan said.
I decided to turn the tables if that’s what it took to get Dan to stop hounding me about marriage. “What about you?” I said. “When are you going to get married and settle down?”
Dan quickly raised his beer mug to his lips and tilted it back to avoid having to answer me. He kept the mug raised longer than was called for and I noticed that he wasn’t swallowing now. “All right,” I said. “You can put it down now. And we can both stop asking each other about the M word. Agreed?”
Dan set his mug on the table. “Agreed,” Dan said. “I’m just too busy at work to think about a steady date.”
“That sounds like a good saying for your tombstone,” I said. “He was too busy for love. I can see it now carved in marble.”
“You made your point, Matt,” Dan said.
I said nothing further but just gave him my sarcastic smile and took another swallow of my beer. We sat there enjoying the air-conditioned peace when the front door opened and a man stepped in. He had a ski mask pulled down over his face and he was waving a revolver in the bartender’s face. Dan and I looked at each other.
Dan whispered, “You carrying?”
I nodded and patted my shoulder rig. Dan did the same.
“He doesn’t leave here,” Dan said. “Can you get around him and cover him from the left?”
“He’s not going anywhere,” I said.
We both quietly rose from the table. I tiptoed along the south wall where the gunman couldn’t see me from his position. Dan staggered up to the bar, pretending to be a drunk. When he got to the bar Dan slapped his hand down on the bar and said in a overly loud, obnoxious voice, “Barkeep, gimme another whiskey.”
The gunman turned from the bartender and pointed his gun at Dan, who just looked the gunman in the face and blinked, as though he was trying to focus. The gunman looked back at Dan.
“What are you lookin’ at, buddy?” Dan said, slurring his words.
The gunman waved his gun toward a chair and told Dan, “Go sit down before you get hurt, Pops.”
Dan just staggered closer to the gunman, waving his arms and making more noise to help cover my footsteps coming up behind him. I got within three feet when he heard me and spun around. We both had our guns pointed at each other in a Mexican Standoff.
“Put your gun down,” I said. “Now.”
“You put yours down,” the gunman said.
“We got you surrounded,” I barked. “Now put your gun down if you wanna live to see tomorrow.”
“Who’s this ‘we’ that has me surrounded?” The gunman said.
The sound of Dan’s hammer clicking back and his cylinder rotating into place must have been a familiar sound to this would-be Dillinger because he immediately let his gun swing on his finger until it dangled beneath his hand. I reach out and grabbed his gun while Dan pulled a pair of cuffs off out of his pocket and pulled the gunman’s right arm around to the back. He repeated the move on the man’s left arm and then spun him around to face him. Dan returned his service revolver to the holster beneath his arm, pulled the man’s ski mask off and threw it on the floor.
“Pops?” Dan said indignantly to the man, who was actually no more than a boy of maybe nineteen at the most. “You ought to have more respect for your elders. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that, kid?” Dan emphasized the ‘kid’ to drive his point home. Dan dragged the kid to the closest chair and sat him down. He turned to the bartender and held his badge out in front of him. Then he pulled one of his business cards out of another pocket and handed it to the bartender.
“Call this number and have them send a patrol car down here to pick up this trash,” Dan said, gesturing toward the shackled gunman.
I holstered my .38 and buttoned my coat over it. I looked at Dan. “Nice work, Pops.”
Dan raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “They never learn do they?”
“I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” I said, walking over to the gunman and pretending to point to something on his chest. When the kid looked down, I brought my finger up against his nose and raised it over his head. He wiggled his nose, trying to quell the pain I’d caused him. I laughed.
“See, kid,” I said. “You’re still in the grade school mindset and we’re more like your parents. You’re lucky I don’t take my belt off and let you have it but good.”
Seeing that even got Dan laughing. This kid didn’t like being laughed at and tried to stand. Dan pushed him back down onto the chair. “Try that again and I’ll shackle you up like some rodeo calf. Are we clear?” He slapped the back of the kid’s head, messing his hair. Dan wiped the residue of hair oil on the kid’s jacket. “Grease ball,” Dan said, holding his palm up toward me.
“I’m going to drop by the library and see Amy,” I said. “I’ll catch you later.”
“Thanks for the assist,” Dan said as I left the bar and walked to my car.
I made it to the library a few minutes before five. Amy wasn’t at the front desk when I walked in but I knew I could find her in one of the aisles putting books back on the shelf. I spotted her from across the room but she hadn’t seen me. I stopped in the aisle with the movie star trivia books before I quietly made my way over to the aisle one down from where she busied herself straightening things up. I could see her through the shelves. I pushed a book from my side and it in turn pushed the book on the facing shelf until it fell in the in aisle at Amy’s feet. I quickly walked to the end of the aisle when I saw Amy coming around the end of the shelves to see who’d done that. As she rounded the corner, I rounded the opposite corner, out of her sight.
By the time she turned around again I was behind her. She shrieked, startled by my touch and laid her hand on her heart. When she saw it was me she softened.
“Matthew Nicholas Cooper,” Amy said in a motherly voice. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”
“Like the one you give me every time I lay eyes on you?” I said.
She smiled and threw her arms around my neck but quickly pulled them off again, looking around to see if any patrons were in sight. The library was all but deserted and she returned her arms to my neck and kissed me. I kissed her back and we held it for a few seconds.
“I stopped by to ask you something important,” I said. “Can we talk?”
“I thought you’d never get around to it,” Amy replied.
“You ready?” I said.
Amy nodded and held her breath.
“Here goes,” I said. “How does the Dewey Decimal System work?”
Amy frowned. “That’s your important question?”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve always wondered about it and who better to ask than you?”
Amy slapped my shoulder. “I’ve got to close up, Matt. I don’t have time for…”
“One more question before you close up,” I said. “I’ll make it a quick one.”
“Go ahead,” Amy said in a monotone voice.
“What’s Judy Garland’s real name?” I said.
“You testing my trivia skills again?” Amy said. “Because if you are, that’s not a challenge at all. It’s Frances Gumm. Now can I close up?”
“Wrong,” I said. “It’s Gladys Gump.”
Amy laughed it off and dismissed it, going back to her the things she needed to do to close the library for the day.
I stopped her and repeated, “Gladys Gump,” I said. “I found the answer in one of thos
e movie trivia books right over there on the shelf.”
“Show me,” Amy said, folding her arms across her chest.
I led her to the shelf with the book I was talking about and pointed to it. “Right there,” I said. “Turn to page 212. You’ll see.”
Amy shook her head but played along, pulling the large book from the shelf and laying it on the nearby table. As she pulled the pages back, it automatically opened to page 212 because there was something between the pages that kept the book from fully closing. She opened the book to that page, looked down and cried. Lying there between the pages was the engagement ring I’d bought three days ago. Amy plucked the ring from between the pages and then looked at me, tears running down her cheeks. I smiled wryly and she threw her arms around my neck for the third time in as many minutes.
When she released me, she fixed her gaze on the diamond, her eyes wide as saucers. I took the ring from her hand and slipped it on her finger. “Amy Callahan,” I said, dropping to one knee. “Will you marry me?”
Amy looked down at my face, ran her fingers through my hair, nodded enthusiastically and mouthed, “Yes” even though the word wouldn’t come.
I stood back up and kissed her long and hard. When it ended we stepped back a little, still holding hands and just looked longingly at each other. Amy shifted her gaze back to the rock on her finger. She held her hand up in front of her, watching the fading sunlight glisten off the diamond. She seemed lost in a trance.
“Let’s celebrate tonight,” Amy said. “Let’s go somewhere for dinner.”
“You mean like the Trocadero?” I said.
“No really,” Amy said. “You can’t get in The Troc without a reservation. You’d have to make those months ahead of time.”
I said nothing, but just smiled back at her. She didn’t need to know that Bertie Stein, my gossip columnist friend, had used her influence and connections to get me those reservations just two weeks ago. Why spoil the image?
“You did?” Amy said.
I nodded. “Tonight.”
Amy squealed with delight. “I’ve always wanted to go there someday,” she said. “That is thee place to see movie stars. Anyone who’s anyone will be there.” Then her face dropped and she looked serious.
“What is it, Amy?” I said.
Amy held her hand to her mouth for a moment. “I don’t have a thing to wear.”
“Well, we’ll just have to do something about that, too,” I said. “Come on, close this place up and let’s find you that perfect dress.”
Amy hurriedly finished her nightly tasks and closed the library. I had the distinct feeling that she’d cut a few corners and skipped a few steps in order to get out of there. I was sure she’d correct them tomorrow.
Once we were in the car, I looked over at Amy and said, “Believe it or not, as much as I know about things in general, I have no idea where to go for a special dress. You wanna help me out here?”
Amy pointed out the windshield. “Drive over to Western and then up to Hollywood Boulevard. Turn left and just keep going until I tell you to stop.”
“Easy enough,” I said, pulling away from the curb.
We’d passed Vine Street and had gone a few more blocks when Amy pointed out the window to a store on my left. “Right there,” she said.
I parked in the lot around the back of the building and escorted Amy into the store. Once inside Amy took over and led me to the section that had racks of beautiful evening gowns. There were padded chairs, I assumed for the husbands and companions of women to sit while the customer tried on dresses. I sat patiently while Amy looked over the selection.
She walked past me to the dressing room with three gowns draped over her arm. I waited while she tried the first one on and then came out to look at herself in the full-length mirror just outside the dressing room. She stood there, running her hands down her thighs and turning back and forth to see herself from all angles. She turned toward me and held her arms away from her side, waiting for my input.
“Very nice,” I said. “That the one you want?”
Amy held up one finger and returned to the dressing room. Two minutes later she emerged again in a different dress and went through the same preening motions as before.
“What do you think of this one?” She said, turning to let me see her from the front.
“That’s nice, too,” I said. “Should we have them ring it up?”
“Not yet,” Amy said, slipping into the dressing room one more time and coming out wearing the third gown that she’d carried in there. She took a look at herself in the mirror and then waited for my opinion.
I held one finger up and was about to suggest that this third gown was the perfect choice. She looked at my one finger and nodded.
“I agree,” she said. “The first one.”
I dropped my finger just as she disappeared into the dressing room again. When she came out she had two gowns draped over her left arm and the gown she’d chosen was draped over her right arm. She handed the two leftover gowns to one of the store’s attendants and told her that she wanted the first gown she’d tried on.
“An excellent choice,” the clerk said, which I’m sure would have been the same answer had Amy chosen either of the other two gowns.
“So,” I said, rising from my chair and clapping my hands together. “You found one. We can go now, huh?”
“Not so fast,” Amy said. “I still need shoes to match.”
I sat back down again and when she was finished picking out just the right pair of shoes, I couldn’t help but think that here was an hour of my life I’d never be able to get back again. Now I remembered why I didn’t go along with my first wife when she shopped for clothes.
I carried Amy’s packages out of the store and back to the car. We were just two blocks from my office. Once we were back in the car, I turned to Amy and said, “Do you mind if I quickly stop at my office for a minute? I have something I need to pick up. It’s just two blocks away, won’t take but a minute.”
“Sure,” Amy said. “You can go on up and I’ll just wait in the car and keep an eye on my packages.”
I pulled out of the parking lot behind the store and drove two blocks down the boulevard, stopping in front of my building. “I won’t be long,” I assured Amy.
When I entered my building I could see a man going into the elevator. Once he was in, he turned around and pressed a button. I held up my arm and yelled to him, “Hold the elevator, please.” The man stuck his arm out, preventing the elevator door from closing.
I took my place next to him. Without looking at me, he said, “Which floor?”
“Three, please,” I said.
The man did nothing and then I noticed that he’d already selected the third floor before I’d gotten on. We rode up together in silence, occasionally looking up at the floor indicator arm above the door. When the doors opened on three I stood aside, allowing the other man to go first. He declined so I went first. I turned left off the elevator and headed down the hall toward my office. I could hear footsteps behind me and glanced over my shoulder. The other man was following me. Maybe he was going to the jeweler, who had an office across the hall from me. I didn’t think any more of it until I stopped in front of my door and felt a close presence behind me.
I spun around to find the man close enough to be wearing my clothes. I wasn’t wearing my .38 this afternoon. I didn’t think I’d need to visit Amy at the library. Yet, if there was going to be trouble, my revolver was still hanging on my coat rack behind this locked door. It might as well have been home for all the good it would do me.
I quickly spun around and grabbed the man’s lapels and shoved. “Why are you following me?” I demanded.
The man had been caught off guard and his eyes opened wide. “I’m not following you,” he said. “I’m here to see that man.” He pointed at my gold lettered name on my office door. I released my grip on the man’s suit and did my best to brush the wrinkles straight again.
“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy.”
“What have you got to be jumpy about?” The man said. “You going in there to see him, too?”
“Something like that,” I said, pulling my keys out of my coat pocket and slipping them into the lock. I opened the door and allowed the other man to go in ahead of me.
Once the man was in my office, I slipped out of my coat and hat, hanging them on the coat rack and taking a seat behind my desk. “How can I help you?” I said, looking sheepishly at the man.
“You’re Matt Cooper?” The man said, looking back at the door he’d come in.
I shrugged and my eyebrows shot up. “In the flesh.” I pointed toward the door. “Sorry about that before. A guy can never be too careful, you know. Earlier this year I had a client killed right here in this office. Someone mistook him for me and… Well, the details aren’t important, but ever since that incident, I’ve been overly cautious. You understand.”
The man nodded and nervously looked around the room. I gestured toward my client’s chair and the man sat down, removing his hat and holding it in his lap.
“Now,” I said, “what is it I can do for you?”
“Well,” the man said, “I was hoping to hire you, that is, if you’re available and if the price is something I can afford. Are you available, Mr. Cooper?”
“To do what?” I said. “And while we’re at it, you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Oh yes,” the man said. “I’m sorry. It’s Russell Finch.”
I nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Finch. Go on.”
“I was hoping I could hire you to watch my wife,” Finch said. “I have a feeling she’s seeing someone on the side and I’d like you to follow her and let me know if my suspicions are correct.”
I shifted in my seat. “Have you asked her about it?” I said.
Finch sighed and looked at the floor. “No, I haven’t. I’m generally not one for confrontations, Mr. Cooper. They make me very nervous.”
“Well,” I said, “one quick question to your wife now could save you two or three days of my wages while I find out for you. I get thirty-five dollars a day plus expenses, Mr. Finch. You’re looking at a little more than a hundred dollars just to avoid a confrontation. Are you prepared to do that?”
