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

by Bill Bernico

  As far as Gloria and I were concerned, this case was closed. I made a note to myself to follow up with Gail and Lloyd Grimes on Tuesday, after they’d heard the reading of the will and had had time to take it all in. I wanted to tell them her about her father’s reason for leaving the land and the building to the city. The last good deed he did was not to saddle his daughter with that problem. I was sure she’d appreciate knowing that.

  Monday came and went and Gail Grimes had the Microsoft stock signed over to her. She and her husband weren’t the type to play the stock market and sold it immediately, pocketing nearly twenty-five hundred dollars. The City of Los Angeles became the new owners of Shapiro’s two point seven acres and one abandoned building. I heard much later that the city had had the building demolished and the rubble removed. The acreage had been listed for sale in the real estate section of the L.A. Times. The asking price was a cool quarter million and it stayed on the market for just three days before it was sold.

  Gloria and I continued seeing each other socially, which was a polite way of saying that we were running each other ragged in bed. The past three months had proved too much for me to handle and at the ripe old age of thirty-two and a half, I did something I never thought I’d do—I asked Gloria to marry me.

  She said yes.

  69 - All The Write Moves

  Two weeks ago, after completing our last case, and after an intense whirlwind relationship, I finally asked Gloria to marry me. To my surprise, and with no hesitation, she said yes. After the initial excitement of the moment wore off and after we’d had time to talk about our future life together, Gloria and I had to have one more talk about how an arrangement like that would affect our working relationship.

  I was concerned about second-guessing myself as far as assignments would go. If I had to worry about any aspect of a future case that Gloria might go out on, it could affect my own concentration if I ever got into a situation where my reaction time could affect whether I lived or died.

  Gloria’s concerns tended to center more on whether or not her job would interfere with her lifetime plans, which included having children and being a good wife and mother. We had discussed the possibility of her leaving Cooper Investigations if and when it came to that point. I told her I could always hire another employee to take her place. She agreed up to a point.

  “But the new employee would be a man, right?” she said.

  I looked at her. “What if I’d taken that attitude just before you came in to apply for the position?” I said.

  “But things are different now, aren’t they?” she reminded me. “Now what sense would it make for me to sit home while you’re off on some stakeout or on a cross-country train trip with her?” She emphasized her to drive her point home.

  “Look,” I said, “I’m not saying that I’d hire another woman. Hell, what are the odds that any other woman would apply who had your qualifications? You’re a skilled sharpshooter, master of disguise and makeup, Tae-Kwon-Do expert and all-round experienced private investigator. Those would be some tough shoes to fill even by a man.”

  Gloria breathed on her fingernails and rubbed them on her jacket. “I guess it would be at that,” she said. “But how about if we hold off any discussion along those lines until after we’re married and I have that perfect baby I’d always dreamed about.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I agreed. “But let me say this much upfront, so there’ll be no arguments about it when the time comes.”

  Gloria’s face showed a hint of concern. “What is it, Sweetie?” she said.

  “When the time comes, and by the way, this is not negotiable, but when the times comes to name the baby, I will NOT agree to any goofy, trendy, stupid or otherwise embarrassing names for my child.”

  “And what names would you consider to be goofy, trendy, stupid or otherwise embarrassing?” she said. “Tell me now so I don’t get hooked on a name I might hear between now and then that I’d consider perfect for our child. Give me some examples of what you’re talking about, please.”

  “All right,” I said. “You want examples? I’ll give you a few examples. For instance, no kid of mine will ever be named after a city, state or country. There will be no Dakota, no Madison, no Austin and no Brooklyn.”

  “I totally agree,” Gloria said. “Do you have any other restrictions you’d like to share with me?”

  “No kid of mine will ever be stuck with any goofy biblical name, like Ezekiel, Methuselah, Hezekiah or Gideon, or anything else along those lines.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me on those, either,” Gloria said. “What else you got? Bring it on.”

  “I won’t consider any names that will automatically label my boy as a target for some bully,” I said.

  “And just what kinds of names would fall into that category?” Gloria said.

  “Well,” I said, “I’ll have to think about that category for a moment, but a few that immediately come to mind are Poindexter, Bartholomew, Heywood and Chauncey.”

  Now Gloria was laughing so hard that she was holding her sides. “Poindexter?” she said. “Does anybody in this world think Poindexter is a good choice? I don’t think you have to worry about that category. Is that it, or do you have more?”

  “Even if you think a name is cute now,” I said, “think a few years down the road and try to imagine our daughter applying for a job when her name is Samantha, Brittney, Tabitha, Hailey, Brianna or Kaitlyn. God, I can’t stand those names. How can you take anyone with one of those names serious? Think about it. Would you want to keep a business card from anyone named Bela? There are only two people in the world that I’ve ever heard with that name and they were both creepy—Bela Lugosi and Bela Abzug. I don’t know which one was creepier. And that’s just if we have a daughter.”

  “No doubt you have a list of boy’s names that are also off limits, as well,” Gloria said. “Am I correct?”

  “You bet your birth certificate there is,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but personally I’d never hire a private detective named Dylan or Connor or Taylor or Tanner. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  “I think so,” Gloria said. “You are a traditionalist, no doubt, from the sound of this discussion. Suppose you tell me what you consider to be acceptable, normal, everyday, regular names.”

  “All right,” I said. “Of course there are the standard, traditional names that almost command respect, like John or William or Robert or George. Now there are some names any boy could wear proudly without fear of getting beat up in grade school. Nobody beats up a Tom or a Jim or a Frank or an Ed. I don’t care if fifty million other babies already have or have had a particular name in the past, no kid of mine is ever going to have to pick a nickname to hide their embarrassing real name.”

  “Okay,” Gloria said. “I get it—no experimenting.”

  “To put it in a nutshell,” I said. “If no one in the history of the world has ever had that name before, I don’t want it, either, just because it’s unique. Unique is just another word for weird. Just look at all those celebrities and what they’re naming their babies. Can you say ‘attention starved’? I mean, who else names their kid after a piece of fruit?”

  “Who did that?” Gloria said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “One of those trendy movie stars named their kid Apple or Cumquat or Avocado or something as equally stupid. And let’s not forget River Phoenix’s parents with their other kids, Rain, Leaf, Twig and Al. And Al was considered the oddball in that family.”

  “Now you’re making that up,” Gloria said. “And I’m getting a headache with all this talk about naming a baby we don’t even have yet. How about if we put this on the back burner until that day comes?”

  “Just so you don’t say you didn’t know when that day does come,” I said.

  “Fine,” Gloria said, hoping to change the subject. “And how’s Clay coming along with his writing?”

  “Funny you should mention that,” I said. “I ju
st saw Dad yesterday and when I stopped in he was pecking away at that old portable typewriter that he kept from back in his high school days.”

  “He has heard about that new-fangled invention out there called the personal computer, hasn’t he?” Gloria said. “I hear tell that they even have special programs now called word processors. You might want to suggest that to him next time you see him.”

  “I’m way ahead of you there, Peanut,” I said.

  “Peanut?” Gloria said. “Did I suddenly acquire a nickname from the same guy who thought Apple, Cumquat and Avocado were strange names? I would think your rule would apply to all of the food groups.”

  “Good point,” I said. “Would you prefer ‘Honey’?”

  “Food group,” Gloria said. “Besides, that’s nothing more than bee poop. I don’t find that especially endearing, do you?”

  I shook my head. “What would you suggest?” I said. “Dear?”

  “Nope,” Gloria said. “That’s from the animal group, and don’t even think about anything from the mineral group.”

  “That doesn’t leave much, does it?” I said. “Give me a hint, will you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Gloria said, staring at the ceiling and scratching the back of her head. “How about something like ‘Gloria’? Yeah, I like the sound of that one. Has a certain ring of respectability to it, don’t you think?”

  “Then Gloria it is,” I said. “Here, let me try it out. ‘Hey Gloria, would you bring me a Pepsi?’ Yeah, that’ll work just fine. Now that you got me way off the subject, I forgot where I was going with all this.”

  “Clay’s writing,” Gloria said.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “Dad started out banging away on his old typewriter but I brought over my old computer from college and set it up for him with a word processor on it. That’s just a word processor—no other programs on it to conflict with what he needs to do. The only other thing I added was a printer.”

  “And how’s he coming along with it?” Gloria said.

  “Great,” I said. “He got the hang of the word processor right off the bat and he’s loving it. When I left there he was nearly halfway through the first chapter of his book.”

  “Is he really writing about some of his old cases?” Gloria said.

  “That he is,” I said. “And he’s even found some of Grandpa Matt’s old files and he’s getting ideas from those as well. Should be a great book when he’s finished with it.”

  “Does he have a title yet?” Gloria said.

  “He’s had several working titles,” I explained, but nothing set in stone yet. I think his last working title was something like, Blasts From The Past, referring to gun blasts, I think.”

  “He can do better,” Gloria said. “Is he writing it in chronological order or is he mixing it up?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Does it matter?”

  “I only asked because if he’s just randomly adding stories, we could both give him a few ideas to use for his book,” Gloria said.

  “I’ll ask him when I see him tonight,” I said. “We’re having dinner in Burbank. Would you like to join us?”

  “Thanks,” Gloria said, “but I’d feel like an intruder on boy’s night,” Gloria said.

  The ringing of my desk phone interrupted our conversation. I grabbed the handset and said, “Cooper Investigations, Elliott Cooper speaking.”

  “Elliott,” Dad said. “I need to come up there and talk to you both. Will you be available for a while?”

  “Sure, Dad,” I said. “Sounds like some kind of trouble. Are you all right?”

  “Never felt better,” Clay Cooper said. “I’d just like to run something by you two. Twenty minutes okay?”

  “We’ll be here,” I said. “I think you know the way.”

  “Thanks, Elliott,” Dad said and hung up.

  “What is it?” Gloria said. “Is Clay all right?”

  “Says he is,” I told her. “He’s coming up to see us in twenty minutes or so. I guess we’d better be on our best behavior.”

  “Have you told him about us yet?” Gloria said.

  “I, uh, I meant to,” I said. “I was just looking for the right moment to break it to him.”

  “Don’t you think you owe it to him?” Gloria said.

  “I’ll tell him,” I said, and thought about it again for a moment. “How about if we both tell him when he gets here?”

  “It’s not that difficult,” Gloria said. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”

  Gloria could tell by my stare that she shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning and let it go. Twenty minutes later Dad walked into the office, his face showing signs of concern. He shook my hand and gave Gloria a brief hug.

  When he let go, Gloria looked up at him. “What is it Clay?” she said. “You look like you’ve lost your last friend.”

  “How about if we all sit on the sofa?” Dad said.

  Dad sat on the leather sofa against the wall. Gloria and I sat on either side of him. Dad hesitated briefly and then said, “As you both know, I’ve started writing again and you probably also know that what I was writing were memoirs and fictionalized accounts of some of my old cases.”

  “Yes,” Gloria said. “Elliott was telling me about your project. How are you doing with that?”

  “Oh, it’s coming along,” Clay said. “In fact, I took a little break from it to send some feelers out to literary agents and publishers.”

  “Any bites?” I said.

  “One,” Clay said. “A small publisher in Connecticut has asked to see three chapters.”

  “That’s great,” Gloria said. “It looks like you’re on your way.”

  “Not so great,” Clay said. “First off, I only have part of one chapter done.”

  “If you stick with it,” I said, “you can pound out another two and a half chapters in a couple of days. You just have to stick with it and don’t let anything distract you.” I could tell by the look on Dad’s face that there was more. “But that’s not why you wanted to talk to us, is it?”

  Dad shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “Let me ask you both something. Have either of you mentioned my book project to anyone?”

  I knew I hadn’t and said so without hesitation. Dad and I both looked at Gloria.

  “Well, don’t look at me,” she said. “I first heard about it this morning.

  “Why do you ask, Dad?” I said.

  “Well,” Dad said, “because shortly after my contact with that publisher I got a strange phone call. I don’t know who it was and he nearly whispered when he spoke. I guess he wasn’t taking any chances with voice prints.”

  “Voice prints?” Gloria said. “I don’t like where this is going, Clay. What did he say?”

  “Dad, what’s going on here?” I said.

  “Some anonymous caller told me to scrap my book project or he’d make sure I never wrote another word of anything,” Dad said.

  “That’s it?” I said. “Didn’t he say anything else?”

  “Not that first time,” Dad said. “That first call came Friday afternoon while I was writing. I got another call this morning.”

  “Was it the same guy?” I said.

  “Who knows?” Dad said. “It could have been. It’s impossible to tell when they whisper. But this time he said something about never writing anything at all or I’d be dead before the week was up.”

  I stood, my rage coming to a boil. I paced the room, clenching and unclenching my fists. I stopped in front of Dad again and said, “We’ve got to get a tap on your phone, and a trace. If this sick bastard calls again, I want to have some way of finding him.”

  “How do you expect to find him?” Dad said. “We don’t even know who he is. But if he’s worried about what I’m writing, chances are he’s somewhere in my case files, or he’s a friend or relative of someone else who is. I can’t imagine what’s so sensitive that someone’s afraid it could come out in a book.”

  “That’s where we’ll start then,
” Gloria said. “The publisher can wait. We have to go through those files and see if anything jumps out at us.”

  “That sounds like a big job,” Dad said. “Do you have any idea how many case files I’ve collected since I joined Dad in 1971? And I even have some of my father’s files in the mix as well. We’re talking thousands of folders here.”

  “Divided by three,” I said. “Gloria and I will help you go through them all. If there’s a whacko with a grudge out there, we have to get to him before he gets to you. We don’t have anything going at the moment, so the sooner we start in on those files, the better I’ll feel about this whole thing. You say you have them at your house? Well, let’s get moving.”

  Gloria was standing now, too. She and I each grabbed one of Dad’s hands and pulled him to a standing position. Gloria and I grabbed our jackets, locked the office and followed Dad back to his house.

  Dad put his car in the garage and closed the door. I left my car in his driveway. When I got inside, I saw that Dad had set everything up on his dining room table. The computer and screen sat in the middle of the table. On either side of the computer sat piles of file folders. Dad explained that the ones on the left were files he hadn’t looked through yet, while the pile on the right consisted of files from which he’d taken case histories and inserted parts of them into his story.

  After I’d looked over his setup, I turned to Dad and said, “All right, from what I can see, you’ve gone through approximately thirty or thirty-five files, correct?”

  “Thirty-eight,” Dad said.

  “Then it would follow that whatever someone is worried about getting out should be in the files you’ve already gone through and used information from, correct? I mean, if you first started getting the calls after you contacted a publisher, then someone knows how far along you are. Does that make any sense?”

  “In some ways,” Dad said. “But you would have to assume that the caller would also know what’s in those files and I don’t see how that’s possible. Besides, I haven’t sent the publisher anything yet, so even if the caller had a way of bugging my house or tapping my phone, he wouldn’t find out anything about what I’ve written so far.”