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

by Bill Bernico

  “I knew it,” Emily said. “You people all stick up for each other. I had a feeling you’d try to sweep this under the rug.” Emily stood now and opened her handbag. She withdrew a small automatic and aimed it at Clay. She shifted her aim between me and Dad. “Slowly put your weapons on the table,” she said. “I don’t want to have to shoot you, but you will do as you’re told. Now slowly pick them out of their holsters with your thumb and forefinger and lay them down on this desk here in front of me.”

  Dad and I each did as we were told and laid our guns on the desk.

  “Now step back, away from them,” Emily said.

  We stepped back and watched as Emily scooped up the two guns and dropped them in her purse. She pointed the gun at Clay and said, “You look like you’re the boss around here. Sit down and write what I tell you.” She pointed with her small automatic to the seat behind my desk.

  Clay sat and picked up his pencil and yellow legal pad and waited for further instructions.

  The old woman cleared her throat and said, “Write, ‘Give Gloria Campbell a raise effective immediately. She has proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that her skills in makeup and disguise are invaluable’.”

  Toward the end of that last sentence, the woman’s voice changed from frail and shaky to the recognizable voice that I had been used to hearing for the last eighteen months. Clay looked up from the pad, a puzzled look on his face. I caught on right away and had to laugh. Gloria untied the scarf and pulled it off her head. She plucked the wig from her head and threw it on the desk, the thick glasses landing on top of it. She pointed the small automatic at Clay and squeezed the trigger. A steady stream of water splashed in his face and ran down his nose. Gloria turned to me and emptied the gun in my face.

  She threw the squirt gun on the desk, slipped out of the overcoat and bent over, laughing, her hands on her knees. “You two should see your faces. I wish I had a camera.”

  Clay wiped his face with his handkerchief, grabbed the yellow sheet off the pad and crumpled it up, throwing it at Gloria. “Very funny,” he said. “You could have gotten yourself shot pulling a stunt like that.”

  Gloria shook her head confidently. “Not very likely,” she said. “I had the drop on you two. You think maybe you’re both in line for a P.I. refresher course?”

  “You know you can kiss that raise goodbye,” I said.

  “Oh, come on,” Gloria said. “Can’t you two take a joke?”

  I thought about it for a second before calmly walking over to my sink and filling a glass with water. I took a small sip and then threw the rest of it in Gloria’s face.

  She wiped her eyes and cheeks and looked at me with fury in her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Clay said laughing. “Can’t you take a joke?”

  Gloria softened and smiled. Soon she was laughing, too.

  The following morning Clay called Olivia Watson and asked her to come to the office at nine o’clock. She came in ten minutes early.

  He explained everything that had happened up to that point and waited for a reaction from her.

  “Louis Ahern was infatuated with me?” she said, not believing all Clay was telling her.

  “Looks like it,” Clay said. “He had enough photos of you in his office to start his own fan club. And it was just like you suspected. Your husband wasn’t one of The Rooftop Sniper’s victims. Louis Ahern just tried to make it seem that way. I guess by his way of thinking, all he had to do was eliminate Conrad and sooner or later he could make his move. I know, it sounds a bit twisted, but that apparently was his plan.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Cooper,” Olivia said, getting to her feet now. “Nothing will bring Conrad back to me, but at least now I can try to put this whole terrible mess behind me and move on.” She turned her attention to Gloria and said, “And thank you, Miss Campbell.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Watson,” Gloria said. “I wish you well.”

  Olivia Watson turned and left the office without a further word.

  I stepped up to where Dad and Gloria were standing. “How do you like that?” I said. “She thanked the two of you and completely ignored me. And I was the one who took down her husband’s killer. That’s gratitude for you.”

  “What about me?” Clay said. “If I hadn’t made the Cagney connection, we’d have never been able to determine that her husband wasn’t just another Rooftop Sniper victim.”

  “What about that Rooftop Sniper,” Gloria said. “What’s going to happen with him?”

  “That’s not our problem,” Clay said. “Leave that one to the police. They’ll get him. They always do.”

  “Speaking of your Cagney connection,” Elliott said. “Suppose you tell us about that photo of J.C. you have hanging on the wall over there.”

  “You just now noticed it?” Clay said. “It’s only been hanging there for a little more than twenty-five years now. And you call yourself a trained observer.”

  “It has?” I said. “Funny I never noticed it before. Where’d you get it?”

  Clay sat and put his feet up on the desk. “Pull up a chair, you two. This is a pretty interesting story.”

  Gloria and I pulled up our chairs and waited for Dad to continue.

  “As you may remember,” Clay said. “I’ve always been a huge Cagney fan. Anyway, back in late 1985 after I’d watched Man of a Thousand Faces for about the twelfth time, I decided to send Cagney a letter and see if he would reply.”

  “Man of a Thousand Faces?” Gloria said. “What’s that?”

  “It was a movie biopic Cagney made about the life of silent screen star, Lon Chaney,” Clay explained. “It was my favorite Cagney movie of all time and I told him so in my letter. I remember specifically telling him that I’d seen the movie at least a dozen times. I thought I was being pretty clever when I said, ‘that’s twelve thousand faces’ in that letter. Well, I didn’t hear back from him and figured he wasn’t into answering fan mail.”

  “But you got the photo,” I said.

  “Yes,” I said. “A short time later I read in the paper that they’d taken Cagney to the hospital. Something about an infected toe, probably as a result of his diabetes. I wrote another letter without all the gushy fan praise and just wished him a speedy recovery. Again I didn’t hear back from him for a few months. Then one night I was watching the news and they said that James Cagney had just died at age eighty-six. That was at the end of March. Sometime in July, right around the time of my birthday, I got a large manila envelope with a return address from somewhere in upstate New York.”

  “Who do you know in New York?” I said.

  “You want to just sit there and listen to my story?” Clay said, “Or do you want to keep interrupting?”

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “Anyway,” Clay said, “I opened it and found an autographed eight by ten glossy photo of James Cagney inside. There was nothing else in the envelope, just the autographed photo. I took another look at the return address on the envelope and the name on it was Frances Cagney, Jimmy’s wife. And then I realized that she had probably read my letter and had sent me the autographed photo. It’s been hanging there ever since.”

  “That’s a great story,” Gloria said. “Is that the only picture you have of him?”

  “That’s the only one I have from him, and signed by him” Clay said. “I have some others that I bought at a book store years ago, but this one is my prized possession.”

  “What do the others look like?” I said.

  “One is a full length shot of him standing next to some fancy car,” Clay said. “I bought another of him sitting next to Joan Blondell. That’s a two-shot.”

  “A two-shot?” Gloria said. “What’s a two-shot?”

  “A two-shot,” I explained, “Is generally a picture shot from the waist up and there are two people in the photo.”

  “Then what do you call that one hanging there?” I said.

  “When it’s taken from the shoulders up, it’s referred to
as a head shot, or close-up,” I said.

  “Maybe The Rooftop Sniper had a similar picture,” Gloria said.

  “Huh?” Clay said.

  “Think about all his victims,” she said. “They were all…”

  “A head shot,” I said. “Interesting. It might be worth sharing with Dean, but it can wait until tomorrow.”

  The phone on my desk rang, but since Dad was sitting there, he answered it. “Cooper Investigations,” he said. “Yeah. No, I hadn’t heard. Did you get a name? Ah, interesting. No, I don’t envy you. You’ve got your work cut out for you. Good luck, Dean.” Dad hung up the phone and turned to me, a strange look on his face.

  “What is it, Dad,” I said.

  “That was Dean,” Dad explained. “The Rooftop Sniper just claimed his eighth victim over on Central Avenue downtown, a man named Martin Snyder.”

  “Seventh,” I said. “Remember, Conrad Watson doesn’t count.”

  “Oh yeah,” Dad said, looking up at his autographed photo of Cagney. “Seven. Not such a lucky number after all. And Martin Snyder was the name of the character that got Cagney another Oscar nomination. The movie was called Love Me Or Leave Me, with Doris Day.”

  “Let’s just hope there isn’t anyone living in L.A. by the name of George M. Cohan,” I said.

  Dad looked at me, somewhat surprised. “I didn’t know you knew about that movie,” Dad said.

  “Everyone’s heard of Yankee Doodle Dandy,” I said. “That one did get Cagney an Oscar.”

  Somewhere in the dark allies of Hollywood a man with a rifle in a zipper case slinks back to his lair, his body count increasing by one, and the city is no safer than it was yesterday.

  53 - A Passage From The Bible

  “Won’t you folks have a seat?” the salesman said, pointing to the two vacant chairs across from his desk. “I’m Gerald Bernard. Please, just call me Jerry.” He extended his hand to me.

  I forced a miniature smile and offered my hand as well. “Elliott Cooper,” I said as our hands pumped up and down. I eyed the huge gold and jewel ring on Jerry’s hand. It pinched my hand as he squeezed.

  “I see you’ve brought your lovely daughter with you,” Jerry said, knowing that the woman next to Elliott was much too old to fit into that category. “Is this her first car?”

  “This is my friend, Gloria.” I gestured toward the woman who stood at my right. Gloria giggled slightly and settled in the customer’s chair.

  “Welcome to Continental Motors,” Jerry said, his polished teeth glistening. He was still looking directly at me. “May I call you Elliott?”

  I nodded in agreement and sat in the chair next to Gloria. I was wary of this man in the plaid sport coat and flashy gold wristwatch who, just minutes earlier, had pounced upon us as we entered the showroom. I only wanted to look at the new models with a slight possibility of trading my present car. I was in no hurry and would rather have been left on my own to browse.

  “I couldn’t help noticing that you had your eye on that new sports coupe,” Jerry said, turning his head away slightly but still looking at me from the corners of his eyes the way a fox eyes a chicken. “That’s a smart move. You know that model is so popular I just can’t keep them in stock.”

  I was unimpressed. I’d heard it all before at the other car dealers when I’d bought my present car six years earlier. You’d think these guys would at least compare lines and try to avoid using each other’s clichés.

  “Yes,” Jerry continued, “That model is so popular that a lot of the other dealers are actually charging more than the window sticker.” He looked back and forth as if to see if anyone could overhear our conversation. “But you know, just between you and me, I think I can put you in this baby for a lot less.” He leaned back in his swivel chair and paused for effect.

  “Well, Jerry” I said, “I’m just looking today.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Jerry said. “But I gotta be honest with you, Elliott. I saw the car you drove up in and to be perfectly frank, I’m a little concerned about Gloria, here.” He extended his flattened palm toward Gloria, as if he was showcasing a prize on a game show.

  Gloria Campbell sat upright and leaned in toward Jerry. “My word, what are you talking about?” she said.

  Jerry rolled out from behind his desk and positioned his chair between us. He crooked his index finger and motioned for us to lean in closer. “I noticed the exhaust was leaking and the rear tires look like they could go any time now. Elliott, you’ve got the little lady to think about, not just yourself. You’ve got to ask yourself if you want to put Gloria at risk like that. Am I right, Elliott?”

  There were times when Gloria and I went out on cases and rode together. Sometimes she’d drive her car and I’d ride along, but most of the time I drove my own car and she rode along with me.

  Gloria heaved a heavy sigh and looked at me, expecting an immediate response. I could feel my ears getting hot and my fists clenching. I knew my present car wasn’t perfect. I also knew that two hundred dollars would put it back in roadworthy shape. But how could I defend myself against that look from Gloria?

  “Elliott,” Jerry said, holding his flat hand out, “Let me have your keys and I’ll have my manager test drive your car. Then we’ll know exactly where we stand. I’ll do the best I can for you. And that’s a promise.”

  I hesitated, looked at Gloria and then back at Jerry. I looked back at Gloria again before fishing my key ring from my coat pocket and handing it to Jerry.

  Jerry pressed a button on the desk phone console and another man in a flashy three-piece gray suit appeared. “Elliott Cooper and Gloria Campbell,” he said, rising from his chair, “This is my manager, Earl Gardine. He’ll be test driving your car.”

  I mechanically went through the introduction motions with Earl. Jerry handed my keys to Earl, who quickly disappeared out onto the lot. I watched as my car left the lot and pulled onto Hollywood Boulevard and vanished down the block.

  “You know, Elliott,” Jerry said, walking us over to where the new car sat on the showroom floor, “After you have this baby for a while, you’ll wonder how you ever got along without it.” Jerry ran his hand across the front fender and down over the headlight.

  He opened the front door, stuck his head inside and inhaled through his nose. He closed his eyes murmured, “Mmmm, that new car smell. There’s nothing like it. Come on, Elliott sit behind the wheel.” He held the door open as I reluctantly slid in. Gloria walked around to the passenger’s side and slid in beside me. She sniffed the air inside the car and purred like a cat.

  Jerry closed the door and stood back, holding his two hands up flat, thumbs connecting like a movie director framing a scene. “It’s you, Elliott. I can see you now tooling down the highway with your friend here at your side. I can just imagine all your neighbor’s faces when you pull up to the house in this little beauty.”

  I looked at the salesman and wished I’d never come in here. My stomach turned and I felt nauseous. If I only had the keys to this car, I thought, I could start it up and drive over Jerry and right out through the showroom window.

  After what seemed like all afternoon, I could see my car pulling back onto the lot. Earl Gardine entered the showroom through a side door and disappeared into a small office. Jerry excused himself and joined Earl in that room.

  “Let’s just go back to the office,” I said to my partner. “I’ll get the old car fixed good as new before we have to make that trip to Sacramento for this case we’re on now. I’ll think about another car when we get back.”

  Gloria looked out onto the lot at my car and then back at the new model. “Elliott,” she said, holding my arm, “You’re gonna need a new car eventually and your old car has been acting up.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t do it all the time. And I know how to fix it,” I assured her. “That’s why I carry that little tack hammer and that adjustable wrench. Let’s just hope it didn’t stall while he was test driving it.”

  “Elliott,” Glori
a said, “That car of yours has already left you stranded twice in the past two weeks. It’s time to get rid of it.”

  I didn’t get a chance to respond before Jerry returned with a piece of paper in his hands. He took his seat behind his desk and turned the paper around for me to examine. “Elliott,” Jerry said, “Here’s what it looks like.” He pointed to the bottom figure.

  I stared at the paper before looking back up at the salesman. “You know Jerry,” I said, “I was reluctant at first, but that’s not a bad figure. I never expected to get that much for my old car.” I smiled and looked over at Gloria. She had a glimmer of hope in her eyes, as well.

  Jerry had his shiny gold pen poised, ready to hand it to me to sign on the line. His smile quickly faded. “Uh, no, Elliott, that’s the cash difference. This is your trade allowance.” He pointed to the number above the bottom one.

  I lost my smile and a silence fell over the area. Now it was a game of “He who talks first loses” and I didn’t want to lose this particular game. Three minutes passed and it looked as if it would be a draw. Gloria broke the tie.

  “Elliott?” was all she said.

  That was Jerry’s queue to jump in with another barrage of rhetoric and hype. I wanted to say something but Jerry didn’t stop talking long enough to take a breath. I was getting madder by the minute.

  Jerry momentarily looked down at his notes and I jumped in. “Give me my keys. We’re leaving.”

  “But Mr. Cooper,” Jerry started to say. “Elliott.”

  “My keys,” I repeated, curling my four fingers toward me several times.

  Jerry patted his coat and pants pockets and practiced his bewildered look, knowing all the time that my keys were safe on Earl Gardine’s desk. It was a common practice to withhold the customer’s keys so they couldn’t just get up and leave if they disagreed on the figures. It gave the salesman time to stall and come up with an excuse to ‘Talk to the boss one more time.’