by Bill Bernico
“Tonight we have two very special guests with us,” he said. “The groom’s father, Clay Cooper and his brother, Nicholas, will play a song just for the newlyweds tonight. Please clear the floor for Elliott and Gloria, and please give a warm welcome for the only West Coast appearance of The Cooper Brothers.”
The audience applauded and cheered and whistled and when the noise died down, Nicholas started playing the intro to a slow ballad with a jazz feel to it. Clay joined in after four bars and the music that they produced filled the hall with sweet, mellow notes. Gloria grabbed Elliott’s hands and pulled him close as they moved around gracefully on the floor. Four minutes later the music ended and Elliott held Gloria and kissed her for a long time.
The band returned to the stage and started right in with a fast dance number and the floor filled with guests again, all of them eager to show off their dance skills. Elliott pulled Gloria to the door alongside the stage and watched as Clay and Nicholas came back out into the ballroom.
“Dad,” Elliott said. “I had no idea you could play that well. I knew you’d been plunking around on that guitar of yours, but my gosh, you guys were tight.” He turned to Nicholas. “And you, Uncle Nick, you could do this for a living.”
“I did,” Nicholas said, “for more than fifty years. Your dad and I have been practicing for the past seven weeks to get that song down pat. I have to tell you, I’m pretty impressed with my brother.” He wrapped his arm around Clay shoulder. “The Cooper Brothers indeed.”
Gloria stepped up and kissed Nicholas on his cheek and then turned and did the same to Dad. They both blushed and got suddenly humble, like their namesake, Gary Cooper.
“Welcome to the family, Gloria,” Nicholas said.
“Right back at ya,” Gloria said. “Looks like we’re the newest additions, you and me. And I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling pretty lucky to be a part of this family.”
“So am I,” Nicholas said. “So am I.”
“Would you all excuse us for a minute, please,” Gloria said, pulling me away from the crowd and out into the lobby.
“What’s up, Gloria,” I said. “Why did you drag me away from them?”
“Because I have something to tell you,” she said, and smiled warmly.
77 - Road To Nowhere
“Are you sure you can manage until I get back?” I said.
Gloria gave me the look that tells me I just asked a dumb question. “Well,” she said, “It’s not exactly a Patience and Prudence moment, but yeah, I’ll manage somehow.”
“Who and who?” I said.
“Patience and, oh that’s right,” Gloria said. “You’re not big on entertainment trivia, are you? That was your dad who stored all that stuff away in the back of his brain. Patience and Prudence McIntyre were a couple of teenage sisters who recorded a couple of hits in 1956, one of them being Gonna Get Along Without You Now. And now that I hear myself actually saying it, I realize it was the long way around the barn for a dumb joke, so forget I even said anything.”
“So that would be a yes, I take it,” I said.
“A yes to what?” Gloria said.
“Yes, you can manage until I get back,” I repeated.
Gloria gave one nod and said, “Yes.” She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t miss you, I just said I could manage until you get back. It’s just a week. If it gets really busy here at the office, Clay can come in and answer the phones while I’m out on the latest hot case.”
“Forget any hot cases,” I said, “especially in your condition. You just stay here and answer the phone and Dad can go out and interview potential clients. He can just tell whoever it is who needs a private investigator that I’ll be back next Monday morning. If it can’t wait, they’re free to find another P.I. You just take it easy and take care of my heir apparent and the next owner/operator of Cooper Investigations, all right?”
“I’m the pregnant one,” Gloria said, “but you’re the one acting like a mother hen. I’m not even due for another five weeks. You’ll be back with a month to spare, so just go to your convention and don’t worry about a thing on the home front. I’ll see you when you get back. I still wish you’d wait until morning. Why drive at night if you don’t have to?”
“Because,” I reminded her, “The convention starts at noon and I’d have to leave here before eight tomorrow morning and I don’t want to walk into the convention hall soaked in sweat and smelling like I slept in a stable. This way, I’ll get to Las Vegas around midnight tonight, get a room, relax with the television for a while and get my eight hours of sleep. Then it’s a quick shower, breakfast, a little sight-seeing and on to the convention. See? I’ve got I all mapped out, so why spoil a perfect plan?”
“Sight-seeing?” Gloria said. “Does that translate to ‘casinos’ or are you talking about Boulder Dam?”
“You mean Hoover Dam,” I said.
“Same thing,” Gloria said. “You knew what I meant.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going to blow a week’s pay in some one-armed bandit or some rigged roulette wheel.”
Gloria gave me a dubious look but didn’t press the matter. I gave her one last kiss and left the office. My bags were already packed in the back seat of my new car. Gloria and I had each gotten new cars after or last case, where our client was blown up in his car while parked between both of our cars, which burned up along with his. Gloria opted for a new minivan and I chose a more fuel efficient Toyota sedan. Since I was driving myself to the convention in Las Vegas, I wanted something that got good mileage. It was two hundred sixty-five miles one way and I figured I could make it there and back for about half of what an airline ticket would have cost me. Besides, for those four hours on the road I could listen to the abridged audio book version of Raymond Chandler’s “Lady In The Lake.” It was one of my favorites.
I caught Two-Ten east out of town and then cut north on Interstate Fifteen north toward Barstow. I didn’t mind a trip like this. The road wasn’t cluttered with a lot of inattentive drivers to annoy me. It would be a peaceful drive with just me and Chandler and Elliott Gould, who narrated all of Chandler’s audio books. He had the kind of voice that would keep you glued to the storyline, even if he was only reading recipes.
As I approached Barstow an hour and a half later, I exited onto Barstow Road and found a filling station near the corner. I knew I could make it all the way to Las Vegas on the gas I already had in my tank, but I’m a little superstitious and decided to fill up anyway. Besides, right behind the filling station I had spotted a grocery store and decided that a bag of chips and some candy would go good with Chandler.
I pulled up to the pump, slipped my credit card into the slot and filled the Toyota, delighted to see that it only took three gallons to fill it. That salesman wasn’t kidding about the great mileage this little car got. When I’d finished, I returned the nozzle to the pump, wiped my windshield down and opened my driver’s side door. That’s when I felt something hard jammed into the small of my back.
“Just keep quiet and get in,” the low voice said just above a whisper.
I slid behind the wheel just as my passenger side front door opened and a second man slid in. He had a navy blue ski mask pulled over his face and snub-nosed handgun pointed at me so I did as I was told. The man who’d jabbed me in the back with his gun, got in behind me. I still couldn’t see his face and he made sure I understood that I was to keep my eyes on the road.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“Just drive,” the man in front said. “I’ll tell you when and where to turn.”
I started the car, pulled away from the pump and paused at the gas station driveway that opened up onto Barstow Road. I stayed put and kept my mouth shut.
Finally the man in the back seat said, “What are you waiting for? Go.”
“I’m waiting for you to tell me which way,” I said.
“Left,” the one in the front said. “Back onto the h
ighway and go north towards Vegas. Now move it.”
I stepped on the accelerator and eased back onto the on ramp to Interstate Fifteen and got up to speed in a matter of seconds. My mind raced with the thoughts of what these two had in mind for me. I wouldn’t let myself dwell on it. I just kept going over scenarios in my mind. What would I do or could I do if I got the chance. They were both armed, but so was I. Neither of them had bothered to frisk me.
The one in the back seat slapped the shoulder of the man next to me and pointed at my car radio. “Turn that shit off,” he said. “I like it quiet.”
I pressed the eject button, Elliott Gould stopped narrating in mid-sentence and the car fell silent.
Just when I thought I had the perfect scenario worked out, the one in the back said, “Hey Chet. I almost forgot. Get his wallet.”
Chet reached into the inside of my sports jacket and plucked my wallet from the pocket. He pried it open and whistled. “Jackpot, Artie,” Chet said. “This one’s loaded, look.” He held up my stack of twenties and showed Artie. “Yeah this and the car will take us pretty far.”
Artie leaned forward in his back seat and put his mouth close to my left ear. “That was mighty nice of you to fill this baby up for us.”
I felt the heat of his breath on my neck and shivered.
Artie tapped Chet on the shoulder. “See what else he’s got,” Artie said.
Chet leaned toward me and felt around inside my jacket. His hand stopped on my shoulder holster. He grabbed the butt of my .38 and yanked it out. He looked back at Artie. “Didn’t you frisk him, Artie?” Chet said. “He’s packing.”
I could see Artie in my rear view mirror. He just shrugged. “Lemme see that wallet,” he told Chet.
Chet passed the wallet back to Artie, who rifled through all the cellophane windows. He slapped Chet on the side of the head. “This guy’s a cop,” Artie said. “Look at this badge. You dope. You grabbed a cop.” He threw my wallet back at Chet, who looked at the contents in the windows.
“This ain’t no cop,” Chet said. “He’s one of them P.I.s, like Magnum or Rockford.”
Or Marlowe, I thought.
Chet turned to me. “So you’re a snooper,” he said. “You on a case or something?”
I didn’t answer. Artie slapped me on the side of my head and my ears rang.
“He asked you a question,” Artie barked. “Are you on a case?”
“No,” I said, my anger burning. “Vacation.”
“We gotta get rid of this guy,” Chet said.
“There’s too many cars on this highway,” Artie told Chet. “Wait for the next exit and we’ll pull off.”
A few minutes later Chet pointed out the windshield at a green and white highway sign. “Baker, one mile,” Chet said and then turned to me. “Get off on highway one twenty-seven and just keep going right. Got it?”
A minute later the one twenty-seven exit came up and I eased off the Interstate. I continued southeast on one-twenty seven. Five minutes and five miles later Artie tapped my shoulder. “This is far enough. Pull over.”
I pulled onto the shoulder and put the car in park, killed the engine and waited. Chet unbuckled his seat belt and told me to do the same. “Now get out,” he told me.
I slid out of the car almost in unison with Artie. Chet got out on his side and came over to my side. He looked at Artie.
“What are we gonna do with him, Artie,” Chet said. “He’ll run to the cops first chance he gets.”
“Kill him,” Artie said.
“No, wait,” Chet said. “He hasn’t seen our faces and he doesn’t know who we are. How about if we just leave him out here for the snakes and the buzzards? We can be long gone by the time he gets out of this desert.”
“I don’t know,” Artie said.
“Look,” I said, “You’re not in that much trouble yet; just car theft so far. If you kill me, they’ll hunt you down like dogs. They tend to treat murder a lot more seriously than car theft. “Just take the car and go. You can have a good couple of hours head start. You got my cash and my piece. Just go.”
“He’s right Artie,” Chet said.
“We need more than just a couple of hours head start,” Artie said, and turned to me. “Gimme your shoes and socks. You’ll travel a lot slower without ‘em. And give me that shoulder rig, too.”
I did as I was told and peeled off my jacket. I slipped out of my shoulder holster and threw it on the ground, slipping back into my jacket. I bent over and pulled my shoes off and then my socks and stood there barefoot. Artie threw my shoes and socks into the back seat. Chet held his gun on me while Artie patted the rest of my pockets and removed anything that might identify me. He even took the wristwatch Gloria had given me for Christmas. They took my cell phone, flipped open the cover, saw it was working, and closed it again. Artie stuck it in his pocket.
As I was watching Chet’s eyes, Artie hit me with his gun behind my left ear and I tumbled to the ground. The last sound I remembered hearing was the sound of my Toyota’s tires on gravel as they drove away. A few seconds later my world went black.
The morning sun peeked over a mountain ridge and hit me square in the eyes. I blinked, squinted and tried to open my eyes. My hands were tied behind my back with some sort of cloth. When I tried to sit up, my head throbbed and I immediately lay back down again. I hear a familiar sound and looked up to see a car coming toward me on this desolate road. I lay still and just let it come. It skidded to a stop just a few feet from where I lay.
I hear footsteps get out of the car and walk around to the shoulder where I lay. A woman’s face looked down at me and she shook her head.
“My goodness,” she said, squatting down next to me. “What happened to you?”
I drew a blank and slowly shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said. “I just woke up on the side of the road and then you came along. That’s all I can remember.”
The woman looked to be in her late thirties or maybe even her early forties. She had long, brown hair that curled slightly on the ends. That was all I could see of the hair that hung out from under the wide-brimmed hat that sat on her head. Her face was smooth with petite features, and she couldn’t have stood more than five feet three. The woman put her hand around my head and tried to help me sit up. Her hand fell upon a soft, pulpy spot on the back of my head and I winced. She moved her hands to my shoulders and continued pulling into a sitting position. “Is that any better?” she said, reaching behind to untie my hands. She brought out a burgundy tie and handed it to me.
“Is this yours?” she said.
I didn’t answer, but just sat there trying to remember.
“What’s your name?” she said.
I paused and said, “It’s, uh. It’s…” I drew a blank. “I don’t know,” I said, frustrated with myself for not knowing.
The woman looked at me again. “How’d you get here anyway?” she said.
Again, I didn’t have an answer. “I don’t remember,” I said.
“What is the last thing you remember?” she said.
I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I still couldn’t think of a thing to say. “I just don’t know?” I told her.
“Well, you just can’t stay here,” she said. “Come on, I’ll held you into my car and get you some help for that bump on your head.” She helped me slide into the passenger seat and closed the door. When she got back behind the wheel she extended her hand to me and said, “Oh, by the way, my name’s Fletcher, Jane Fletcher.”
My head was still spinning and I think I managed to acknowledge her but still said nothing. Fifteen minutes later Jane eased her car to a stop in the driveway of a house out in the middle of nowhere. I turned to her and said, “Where are we anyway?”
“That little town we passed a few miles back was called Kelso,” Jane said. “If you blinked, you missed it. Anyway, this is home, at least for me and Steve.”
“Steve?” I said. “Who’s Steve?”
&n
bsp; Just then a large brown and black German Shepherd ran up to the car on my side and put his paws on the door just outside my window. I recoiled and shrieked.
Jane laughed. “That’s Steve,” she said. “And he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Tell him that,” I said and stayed put in my seat.
“Steve,” Jane yelled. “Down.” Steve pulled his paws off my door and settled down on the ground. “You can get out now,” Jane said. “He won’t bother you.
I opened my door and slowly got out of the car. Steve stayed where he was as Jane came around to my side and walked me up to her house. We stepped up onto her porch and she pulled the front door open.
“Don’t you even lock the door?” I said.
“No need,” Jane explained. “No one bothers me out here.”
“Probably because no one knows you’re here,” I said. “How can you stand it?”
“I was born here,” Jane said. “The rest of the world doesn’t interest me. I have everything I want or need right here on my own twenty-seven acres.” She removed the wide-brimmed hat from her head and hung it on a hook. “And where are you from, if I may ask?”
I held one finger up and opened my mouth, but I had no idea what to say. I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said.
“Sit here,” Jane said, pulling out a straight-backed wooden chair from her kitchen table. She left the room momentarily and came back with a roll of gauze, a tube of some kind of cream and some white pads. She pulled several sheets off a paper towel dispenser, ran then under her sink tap and patted most of the water out of them again. She stepped up behind me and pressed the cold towels to the soft spot behind my ear. I howled and pulled away.
“I know,” Jane said. “It’s probably tender and sensitive, but I have to see how much damage was done. Sit still now, so I can bandage you up.” She spread my hair away from the spot, uncapped the cream and squeezed a dab onto my head. She placed several of the one inch square white pads over the cream and then wrapped the gauze around my head several times before tearing the ends and tying it in a knot. “There, how does that feel?”
