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

by Bill Bernico

  I could see Betty straining to remember three numbers. Her bottom lip quivered. “Seventeen right,” she said shakily. She waited as the gunman turned the dial and stopped. “Thirty-one left.” Again he turned the dial and waited. “Nine right,” Betty said.

  The man turned the dial to the right again and stopped on nine. He pulled the handle down and it clicked into place. The door swung open exposing a dark hole in the wall. The gunman reached inside with his left hand, his right still clinging to the gun. In an instant there was a loud snapping sound followed by a series of cracking sounds. All this was followed by the yelp of the gunman as he dropped his automatic and withdrew his left hand from the safe.

  I scooped up the gun and aimed it at the gunman, who was trying in vane to remove the large rat trap from his left hand. It’s a pretty hard task to set that trap using two good hands. Trying to release the spring with only one good hand was nearly impossible.

  Tears ran down the man’s face as he held his trapped hand out toward Betty. “Get this thing off me.”

  Betty stared at the man and then down at his hand. She took hold of the trap with her left hand and pulled the spring back a little way and then released it again before he’d had a chance to pull his hand free. The gunman yelped even louder this time.

  I went nose to nose with the gunman. “I think what the lady is trying to tell you is that there’s someone here holding up the place.” He turned to Betty. “Isn’t that what you were trying to say?”

  Betty rubbed her jaw where the gunman had hit her. Suddenly she smiled. “That’s kinda what I was saying.” She picked up a long, heavy pair of scissors from her desk and rapped the man on his sore hand. The trap was still attached and the man’s fingers were starting to turn blue. “That’s what I was really trying to say.”

  I held the gun on the would-be robber while Betty untied Carl and helped him to his feet. Carl had a bruise on his forehead but aside from that it looked as thought he’d be all right. Carl rubbed his head and then his wrists. He flexed his jaw a couple of time and stretched.

  “You all right, Carl?” Betty said, her hand on his shoulder.

  “A little stiff,” Carl said. “But I’ll be fine.” He looked at me and then gestured toward the gunman. “What are you going to do with him, Clay?”

  Betty reached for the phone and dialed. “Dean Hollister can be here in the squad car in just a few minutes. He’ll take this vermin to jail.”

  I handed the gun to Carl. “Watch him,” I said, and reached to remove the rat trap from his hand.

  As soon as the trap was removed, the man whimpered and stuck all four finger of his left hand in his mouth and sucked. He was still whimpering and sucking when Lieutenant Dean Hollister arrived with a backup unit right behind him. Dean found the three of us in Betty’s office along with the gunman. Carl handed the gunman’s automatic to Hollister’s deputy, who tucked it into his belt.

  Dean pulled his handcuffs off his belt and clicked one end onto the gunman’s right hand. The gunman’s left hand was still in his mouth. Dean pulled the hand out of the guy’s mouth, spun him around and slapped the other end of the cuff on behind him. The would-be robber was still crying.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, boy,” Dean said.

  “Not to mention a world of pain,” I said, pointing to the gunman’s throbbing left hand.

  “And that ain’t the least of his problems,” Betty said.

  “How’s that?” Dean said.

  Betty looked at the gunman but was still talking to Dean. “I was trying to save a little money when I had the safe installed,” she explained. “I checked on the price of a commercial wall safe and they wanted thirty-five hundred dollars. Carl here was good enough to build me one for less than two hundred. Only problem was that it wasn’t lined with steel all around. I had to make do with wood for the back part.”

  “So?” Dean said.

  “So it wasn’t rat proof,” Betty said. “Those little critters kept getting in somehow and were chewing on my money. I had to do something, didn’t I?”

  “That’s why the trap?” I said. “But I’m sure before this scum bucket gets to trial his fingers will be healed again.”

  Betty laughed. “That’s if he gets to trial,” she said.

  “What do you mean, if,” Dean said, a puzzled look playing on his face.

  “I wasn’t sure just a trap would do it,” Betty explained, “So I also sprinkled some powdered sugar in there—powdered sugar laced with arsenic. You buddy here just laid his hand right in it. Of course, you probably won’t find any of it on him anymore. He kinda sucked it all off a minute ago.”

  The gunman began to shake and before too long was writhing on the floor in convulsions.

  Dean’s deputy hauled the gunman away while Dean took our statements. By the time I looked up at the wall clock again it was half past eight.

  “Well, there goes my evening,” I said. “I was all set to settle down tonight and watch Jimmy Cagney in Ragtime. It was his last picture, you know.”

  “I know,” Betty said. She walked over to her video rack and plucked a box off the shelf. She handed it to me. “With my compliments.”

  It was the Ragtime video.

  “And Clay, just make sure you rewind before you return it,” Betty said. “Otherwise it’s an extra fifty cents.”

  I kissed her on the forehead and left. I still had time to watch the whole thing before bedtime.

  57 - Pay Dirt

  I sat across the table from my partner, Gloria Campbell, who was reading the menu. “What are you having?” I said.

  “I’d like to be having breakfast at Judy’s Restaurant for a change,” Gloria said. “We always come here, Elliott. I’m ready for a change.”

  “You know why we’re here today,” I said. “Today’s our lucky day.”

  Gloria studied the choices again before setting the menu down on top of mine. I’d long since made my choice. “Well,” I said, “Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess? What are you having?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said smugly as if she was holding something over me.

  I looked out the window and made an offhand remark about a car parked across the street. Then I turned back to Gloria and said, “Where do you want to go after this?”

  “You snot,” she said in that irritated voice. “You’re not going to ask, are you?”

  “Ask what?” I said.

  “What I’m having for breakfast,” Gloria said, obviously annoyed.

  I smiled slyly. “Hey, I figured if you wanted me to know you’d have told me,” I said.

  “Eggs and toast with the potatoes,” Gloria said, as if to bring closure to the subject.

  I leaned to one side and extracted my wallet from my hip pocket. I pried it open and pulled out the two cards with the twelve holes punched around their perimeters. I held them up in front of Gloria’s face. “Today’s the day,” I announced proudly. “Free breakfast for both of us.”

  The waitress hovered over our table, pad and pen poised. “Have you decided what you want?”

  “I’ll have…” Gloria started to say.

  I interrupted her in mid-sentence and turned to the waitress and said, “Could you give us a minute yet?”

  The waitress returned to the kitchen and Gloria slipped into her puzzled look. “I thought we were ready,” she said. “Did you change your mind?”

  I held the punched cards up again. “Free,” I said. “Today’s the day we collect the free breakfast. Remember?”

  “So?” Gloria said. “What’s that got to do with my order?”

  “Look,” I said, “We’ve been coming here every Saturday morning for the past three months and we’ve been ordering the same thing each time. When we pay at the counter they punch our cards. Pay for twelve and get meal number thirteen for free, remember? It’s like a frequent flier card, only in our case we’re frequent eaters. But you always get the two eggs over easy with toast and potatoes and I al
ways get the three French toast.”

  “So what,” Gloria said. “I like it. You like it. So why switch now?”

  “Don’t you see?” I said. “Your regular breakfast always costs $2.29 and mine always comes to $2.10. That’s less than four and a half bucks. Well, today breakfast is on them, so why not go with the most expensive thing on the menu?”

  “Because I don’t like their special,” Gloria said. “Bratwurst with scrambled eggs and orange juice and hash browns and pancakes don’t really trip my trigger.”

  I waved the cards again. “Might as well go for the money meal,” I said. “With these cards we can walk out free and clear on a bill for more than ten bucks. Pay dirt, baby.”

  “After three months of this same place it’s beginning to taste like dirt,” Gloria said. “And if you don’t like the food, what good is it?” Gloria picked up the menu again and motioned for the waitress. “I’m getting my usual. You can get whatever you like. More doesn’t necessarily make it better.”

  The waitress returned and waited for one of us to speak. Gloria pointed to the same place on the menu where her regular choice was printed. “I’ll have that.”

  “And you, sir?” the waitress said, ready to scribble on her pad.

  I picked up the menu and pointed to the deluxe super breakfast special. “I’m having that,” I announced proudly. The waitress sidled away.

  I picked my wallet up from the table and began to slip the cards into the currency compartment. Gloria looked down at my wallet. It was bulging with bills of all denominations. I thought about the punched cards. I’d be giving them to the waitress in a few minutes and it made more sense to slip them into my shirt pocket where I wouldn’t have to dig for them.

  “Why do you have to carry so much cash on you?” Gloria said, looking around to see if anyone else noticed.

  “It’s only a couple of hundred,” I said. “I just cashed Mrs. Filbert’s check last night and I haven’t been to the bank yet. We’ll go there from here, all right?”

  “Well for now just put it away and stop opening it up in plain sight,” Gloria said.

  “You worry too much, you know that?” I said, folding the wallet and returning it to my hip pocket. “Besides, like I said, this is our lucky day.”

  “Are you still going on about that free breakfast?” Gloria said. “What’s so lucky about free potatoes and toast with a wiener?”

  “It’s not just that,” I said, digging for my wallet again. I produced a ticket and handed it to Gloria. “Last night’s lottery,” I said. “I got four numbers.”

  Gloria studied the ticket. “And what does four numbers get you? Twenty-five dollars?”

  I snatched the ticket from between her fingers. “Nope,” I said. “Four numbers gets me five hundred big ones. How’s that for lucky? I can take it to the mini mart and cash it in right after we finish breakfast.”

  “Well, at least one thing is going right today,” Gloria said.

  “Two,” I said. “I get the big breakfast free while you get the same ol’ same ol’.”

  “Yeah,” Gloria said sarcastically, “That’s real lucky. Twelve orders of gut bomb food just to get another gut bomb free. Aren’t we blessed?”

  “Six bucks is six bucks,” I said. “And I’m going to enjoy every bite.”

  Gloria glanced over toward the kitchen. “Where the heck is that waitress with our order?” she said, somewhat annoyed. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “Maybe they know there’s no tip in it for them today and they’re purposely being slow,” I said.

  “What do you mean, no tip?” Gloria said.

  “How much will today’s meal come to?” I said, lifting the punched cards half way out of my shirt pocket.

  “Nothing,” Stella said. “Today’s the freebie.”

  “And what’s fifteen percent of nothing?” I said, smiling.

  “Nothing.” Stella had to admit. “I guess it is lucky in that sense anyway.”

  A minute later the waitress returned and set two plates of food down in front of us. I’d just dug my fork into the wiener when the front door opened and two men in their early twenties strode in. There was a confidence in their manner and a purpose in their step. One of them remained just inside the front door while the other marched over to the counter where our waitress was ringing up someone’s total on the cash register. The customer stood directly in front of her.

  “I’ll be right with you in just a minute,” she told the young man.

  The man reached into his jacket and produced a small handgun and pointed it at the waitress. “You’ll be right with me right now,” he said, pushing the waiting customer out of his way. “Empty the cash drawer into this,” he said, producing a white pillowcase from inside his jacket.

  At the other end of the room a middle-aged balding man got up to leave. The young man standing just inside the door produced a pistol of his own and motioned to the chair that the balding man had recently vacated. “Sit down, pop. Nobody’s going nowhere.”

  The waitress emptied the contents of the cash register into the pillowcase and handed it back to the gunman. He stepped over to our table and held the bag open. “We’ll start with you two. Drop your wallets into the bag and be quick about it.”

  Stella nervously dug into her purse and pulled out the brown leather wallet. She snapped the changed compartment open and reached in.

  “Just throw the whole thing in the bag, lady,” the gunman said, waiving his gun in our general direction.

  Gloria frowned at him. “You don’t have any use for my mother’s ring,” she said. “I’m keeping it. You can have the wallet.”

  The gunman bent over and snatched the wallet, ring and all, and dropped it into the bag. Gloria started to stand up but a sharp rap from his gun on top of her head sat her back down again. I dropped my wallet into the sack without resistance. The gunman pointed to our wrists with his gun. “Watches, too,” he said.

  Gloria and I slipped our watches off our wrists and dropped them into the bag. He moved on to the next table and repeated the procedure. After a few minutes, he’d collected wallets and watches from almost everyone in the restaurant. Some people weren’t wearing watches, but everybody donated their wallets.

  Gloria and I had met here at the restaurant. I hadn’t been to the office yet and my .38 was still hanging in its holster from the coat rack. This ought to teach me to wear it with me everywhere.

  The first gunman called over to his partner who was still guarding the front door. “Hey Vic, look at this,” he said holding up the bulging sack. “Looks like we hit pay dirt.” He backed out of the front door with the sack and followed his partner out to their waiting car.

  Our waitress collapsed on the floor behind the counter. The short-order cook hurried to her side and patted the tops of her hands and shook her. He reached up onto the counter and grabbed a water glass. He stuck his fingers into the glass and flicked water in the waitress’s face. She remained unconscious. He emptied half the glass onto her face before she came around.

  Some customers scrambled out the door while others peered over the counter, curious as to the waitress’s condition. Still others remained seated and simply waited, not sure if the two thugs would return.

  The short-order cook stood back up and reached for the phone on the counter. He dialed 9-1-1 and almost shouted into the phone before hanging up again.

  Gloria sat there, at a loss for words. The loss was short-lived when she remembered her mother’s ring and the other contents of her wallet that had disappeared out the door. She couldn’t decide whether to cry or yell. She yelled.

  “Lucky day, huh?” she said. “I had seventy-three dollars in my wallet. They got my mother’s ring. They got our credit cards. Your wallet’s gone with the two hundred bucks in it. Still think it’s a lucky day?” Her face sank when she remembered. “Your lottery ticket,” she said. “Five hundred bucks down the drain. Gees, what else can go wrong today?”

  I picked up my nap
kin and wiped my brow. My shaking hand sank into my shirt pocket and plucked the two punched cards from its depths. “Well,” I said, “At least we still get the breakfast free.”

  Gloria snatched the cards from my fingertips and tore them both in half and then in half again. She threw the pieces in my face.

  58 - Take The Money And Run

  The private detective business is not all car chases, shoot-’em-ups and ‘follow that car’. Sometimes we take a particular job either to have something to do when business is slow, or to help pay the bills. This was one of those jobs. Alvin Miller, the owner of Midwest Shows, a traveling carnival, had called Cooper Investigations to see if we might be interested in working security while their show was in town. It was just two day’s work, but those sixteen hours of walking the midway, looking for con men, pickpockets and petty larcenists would pay for our overhead for a week. The carnival couldn’t very well patrol itself so the city council took it upon itself to demand that Miller provide extra outside security during the carnival’s weekend stay in town. When they threatened to withhold Miller’s permit, Miller agreed to bring in extra security and called me. It wasn’t a prestige job, but it was something to do while Elliott and Gloria had their hands full working another case in Hollywood. I told Miller I’d handle this one myself.

  The night smelled like mud and soda and cotton candy and close bodies. The day was coming to an end and the sun was just starting to set in the west. The midway took on an orange hue and cast long shadows everywhere.

  People strolled the length of the midway, stopping at booths to knock over lead milk bottles with a softball or break balloons with a dart or toss ping-pong balls into fish bowls with small openings. A few people walked away with stuffed animals and worthless plastic trinkets. It was a sure bet the people walking around with the six-foot stuffed Teddy Bears were planted by the carnival operators as come-ons to show other people that it could be done with a little persistence and thirty dollars worth of quarters.