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

by Bill Bernico

  “I guess he wasn’t kidding,” I said. “He was a little off, though, with the time. I guess the poison worked a little faster than he thought.”

  “Too bad,” Dad said. “He was a good tipper, though.”

  “Who are you guys talking about?” Harry said, looking up at the screen.

  I gestured at the screen with my chin. “That was the guy who hired us to find you and NOT kill you,” I said. “He’s the guy we met in the park yesterday. You can thank him for the five grand in your pocket.”

  “Well,” Harry said, “at least that’s one more guy who won’t be looking for me. And if the guys who hired him believe last night’s newscast, they won’t be looking for me, either.”

  The voice came over the intercom, “Passengers now boarding for Flagstaff, Albuquerque, Santa Fe and Denver.”

  “That’s it,” Harry said. “Gotta run. I’d like to say I’ll keep in touch, but we both know that’s not going to happen.”

  “Do you have a new name picked out for yourself?” Dad said.

  Harry thought for a moment and then grinned. “As much as I’d like to,” he said, “I’m afraid it would draw too much attention to me.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “The name I’d like to use,” Harry said. “It’s an old Irish name—Upton O’Good.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and then smiled. “But I won’t. I haven’t thought of a new name yet, but you can bet it will be one that a thousand other guys have as well. I just want to fade into the multitudes and live out the rest of my life in peace.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” I said. “Just don’t pick John Smith.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that one,” Harry said, and stepped up onto the bus. He waved from his window seat and a minute later the bus pulled away and headed off down the road.

  I looked at Dad. “What would you call yourself if you had to start over in another city?” I said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Dad said. “I have to admit I’d be tempted, like Harry, to be creative. Maybe I’d become Al Batross, or maybe Art C. Kraftsi.” Dad laughed at his own jokes. “What about you, Elliott? What name would you pick for yourself?”

  I thought about it for a moment and then a smile crept onto my face. I’ve got two perfect names. First choice would be Bob N. Frapples.”

  “Huh?” Dad said. “I don’t get it.”

  “Say it faster,” I said.

  I could see Dad’s lips moving as he said it faster to himself and then laughed out loud. “Good one, Elliott,” he said. “What was the other one?”

  “Fred Nethel,” I said and waited for Dad to decipher the meaning of that one.

  Dad shook his head. “Help me out here?” he said.

  I smiled and started to walk back to Dad’s car. Over my shoulder I said, “Who were Ricky and Lucy’s neighbors?”

  All the way home Dad and I tried to outdo each other with comical names. It was one of the most enjoyable trips with my dad that I can remember.

  87 - The Friendly Skies

  “Remember that guy I took off the bus at gunpoint a couple months ago?” Dad said.

  “How could I forget?” I said. “It wasn’t just some guy, it was the driver. Harry something-or-other, wasn’t it?”

  “Fleming,” Dad said. “Harry Fleming.”

  “What about him?” I said.

  “I got a call from him right before you got back from lunch,” Dad said. “He invited me up to Denver to visit him for a week. Apparently he landed himself a great job for big bucks and he wants to show his appreciation for getting him out of that bus driving job, and for saving his life. He even paid for the round-trip ticket.” Dad pulled an airline ticket from his pocket and held it up. “Fred sent this. It came in the mail this morning.”

  “Fred?” I said. “Who the hell is Fred?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Dad said. “I forgot to tell you. Harry Fleming had to change his name when he left Los Angeles and started over. His new name is Fred Wilson. I’ll have to get used to calling him that so I don’t tip his hand in Denver.”

  “And just when does he expect you to fly there?” I said.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Elliott,” Dad said. “Can you take a look at your calendar and see if there’s a slow week coming up where you could spare me? I’d really like to go. I’ve never been to Denver, or anyplace else in Colorado, as far as that goes.”

  I flipped through my desktop calendar and noticed that we were clear for six days starting tomorrow. I looked up at Dad. “Tomorrow works for me. I’ve got nothing going on for a week, unless we get a walk-in or a call, but I’m sure I can handle those until you get back.”

  “Gloria could come in if you get busy,” Dad said. “I’ll even bring you back something from Denver.”

  “As long as it’s not an omelet,” I said.

  “Huh?” Dad said, giving me a strange look. Then he got it. “Oh, yeah, very funny. No, it’ll be something cool, you’ll see.”

  “What time does your flight leave?” I said, writing this down on my desktop calendar.

  Dad studied the ticket in his hand and said, “It leaves LAX at eight-fifteen tomorrow morning and they like to have people show up at least an hour ahead of time. Christ, I’ll have to get up at five a.m.”

  “Tell you what, Dad,” I said. “I’ll swing by for you and drive you to the airport. That way you won’t have to leave your car there for a week. A free airline ticket won’t seem so free if you have to pay for a week’s worth of parking in that lot.”

  “Thank you, Elliott,” Dad said. “Is it any wonder you’re my favorite son?”

  “That’s not too tall an order to fill,” I said, “seeing as how I’m your only son. Are you packed already, or can we get some actual work done here today?”

  “It shouldn’t take me that long to pack,” Dad said. “I suppose I can squeak it in sometime after work and before I have to go to bed at eight-thirty.” Dad gave me a look out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll manage somehow.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Go on, you big baby,” I said. “Go home and pack. I’ll see you at six-thirty sharp. And don’t dawdle. You’re a terrible dawdler. Just make sure you’re ready when I get there. I hate waiting around for you.”

  Dad smiled a broad smile and hurried for the door. “Thanks, Elliott,” he said. “See you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

  I called home and got Gloria right away.

  “Hello,” she said, almost in a whisper.”

  “Oops,” I said. “Is Matt sleeping?” Matt was our one-year-old son and heir apparent to the Cooper Investigations dynasty started by his great-grandfather and namesake, Matt Cooper, back in 1946.

  “I just got him to sleep, Elliott,” Gloria said. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Does there have to be something wrong for me to call my lovely wife?” I said.

  “When do you need me in?” Gloria said. She’d become accustomed to helping out in the office when I needed her to fill in. She had been my full-time partner when we first met several years ago. Back then Dad was recuperating from his first heart attack and I had hired Gloria to fill in. She was the perfect candidate, having worked in her father’s investigations business before joining me.

  “Dad’s flying to Denver tomorrow morning,” I said. “He’ll be gone a week. Can you get Mrs. Chandler to come in and stay with Matt?”

  “I’ll call her,” Gloria said, “but I don’t see a problem. It’ll be good to get out of the house for a change.”

  “What if Mrs. Chandler’s not available?” I said.

  “I could always bring Matt to the office with me,” Gloria said. “I’d just be covering the phones anyway, wouldn’t I?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “We could get a call for a two-man job.”

  “Well,” Gloria said, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not a man.”

  “Oh, I noticed, all right, little goil,” I said in m
y lecherous voice.

  “Is that all you ever think about?” Gloria said.

  “What else is there to think about?” I said. “Those parts are all right there in the right places for a reason, aren’t they?” In the background I could hear Matt crying.

  “There,” Gloria said. “Now he’s awake again. Anything else on your one-track mind, or can I go attend to our son?”

  “I love you, too,” I said. “See you tonight.”

  I got through the rest of the day without speaking to another person. I hoped this wasn’t a sign of things to come. Lately business had been so slow that Gloria had been able to spend ninety percent of her time at home with Matt. Dad and I had been able to manage what little business we’d had these days. I closed up the office at six o’clock and drove home, thinking about how early five-thirty would be coming around the next morning. I had to open my mouth and volunteer to drive Dad to the airport.

  Gloria was in the kitchen when I walked in the door. Matt was sitting in his high chair with a bib tied around his neck and something green on his chin. His high chair tray looked like a vegetable garden battle field. I gave Gloria a kiss and took off my jacket.

  Gloria stirred something in a pot on the stove, set the spoon down and turned to me. “So why is Clay flying to Denver?” she said.

  “You remember Harry Fleming?” I said. “He was that bus driver who had a contract out on him and we managed to get him out of town a while back.”

  “Harry,” Gloria said, “sure, I remember. What about him?”

  “That’s who Dad is going to see,” I said. “Seems ol’ Harry wrangled himself some high-paying, prestigious job in Denver and invited Dad up there for a week to show his appreciation for all we did for him.”

  “And what did you get out of saving Harry’s life?” Gloria said.

  “I got Dad out of the office for a week,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but sometimes he can get, oh, what’s the phrase I’m looking for? Let’s just say that a little Dad goes a long way when he starts telling me some of those stories from when he and grandpa ran the agency. Know what I mean?”

  “I think I do,” Gloria said. “But he’s such a dear that I just let him tell me anyway, whether I’ve heard them before or not.”

  “Oh, and one more thing,” I said. “I told Dad I’d drive him to the airport tomorrow morning so he wouldn’t have to pay for parking his car in the lot for a week.”

  “When does his flight leave?” Gloria said.

  “Eight-fifteen,” I explained. “He has to be there by seven-fifteen, which means I’ll have to pick him up by six-fifteen. I’ll be very quiet when I get up at five-thirty.”

  “Then I guess I’ll see you in the office after Mrs. Chandler gets here,” Gloria said.

  “Thanks for helping out, Gloria,” I said, and kissed her again.

  “Glad to do it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll even get a chance to use some of my Tai-Kwon-Do skills. I sure don’t get to use them around here. But I have to say, Matt’s becoming a worthy adversary.” She smiled at me and winked.

  “Give him another couple of months,” I said, “and he’ll kick your ass.”

  Gloria turned her attentions back to the pot on the stove. We finished dinner and spent what little quality time we had left before I had to go to bed. I was up at the ass-crack of dawn and silently got dressed, tiptoeing out of the bedroom and out the front door. I was twenty minutes early and that meant that I could stop for a quick breakfast before I had to pick up Dad. I stopped at the fast food place on Sunset and had a plate of pancakes with sausage patty. Even after I’d read the free newspaper there, it hadn’t taken me as long as I thought it might, and I was still five minutes early when I rolled up in front of Dad’s house.

  I wasn’t about to annoy the neighbors by blowing my horn at that hour, so I stepped up onto Dad’s porch and rang the bell. Dad already had his coat on and his bags packed and was ready to hit the road.

  “Good morning, Elliott,” he said cheerfully. “How’s the family?”

  “How can you be so cheery this early in the morning?” I said. “I can’t even be civil at least until the sun comes up.”

  “It’s all in your outlook, son,” Dad said. “You’ll get back what you give, so come on, give me back some of my cheer.”

  “Stuff it, Dad,” I said. “Just let me wake up first, will you?”

  We drove the rest of the way in relative silence with just an occasional comment or two between us. I stopped in front of the terminal and stayed behind the wheel while Dad unloaded his luggage from the trunk. He set the suitcases on the sidewalk and bent over the window on his side. I pressed the button and the window came down.

  “Thanks for the lift, Elliott,” Dad said.

  I yawned. “You’re welcome,” I said. “I’d help you with the luggage, but this isn’t a parking zone. Take care and I’ll see you in a week. Say hi to Harry for me.”

  “Fred,” Dad said.

  “Huh?’ I said and then remembered. “Say hi to Fred for me. And don’t forget to call me when you get there so I’ll know you made it safely. Bye.”

  Dad grabbed his luggage and headed into the terminal while I pulled out into traffic and drove back to the office. I’d probably get there with a half hour to spare but that was all right with me. It would allow me another thirty minutes of shut eye on the leather sofa before I unlocked the office door and started my day.

  Clay Cooper managed to get his luggage to the check-in counter in plenty of time before his flight was scheduled to leave for Denver. The clerk took his ticket and gave him a boarding pass, along with claim tickets for the three suitcases he checked. Dad looked at his boarding pass and then back at the clerk.

  “Pardon me,” he said. “I think you gave me the wrong ticket. I’m going to Denver. This one says Flagstaff.”

  “That’s right, sir,” the clerk said. “The Denver flight is not non-stop. There’s a stopover in Flagstaff at Pulliam Airport to switch planes and pick up more passengers before they continue on to Denver.”

  “Since when did this happen?” Clay said. “I thought I read that Denver was a non-stop flight.”

  “It was,” the clerk said, “but the regular airline that services that route is out on strike. You’ll get to Denver, but it will just take an additional seventy-five minutes from what the schedule says. I’m sorry, sir, but this is your only option, aside from taking the bus, which would put you in Denver sometime tomorrow.”

  Clay sighed. “I suppose,” he said and walked to the waiting area.

  Clay sat looking out the window while he waited for his flight to be called. He watched as jet after jet took off and landed on the runway just outside. He looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock and there was still no plane parked outside the window. A few minutes later a plane taxied to a stop just outside. Clay noticed that it was a twin-engine prop plane that looked to be a couple of decades old. It immediately brought to mind images of Ricky Nelson’s ill-fated DC-3 that crashed, ending Nelson’s life and singing career.

  Clay turned to the man sitting next to him in the waiting area. “Is that our plane?” Clay said.

  “Only if you’re flying to Flagstaff,” the man answered.

  “It looks pretty old,” Clay said. “Is it safe?”

  “Sure,” the man said. “I’ve flown in those twin-engine prop jobs before. They’re not as fast and smooth as the jets, but they’ll get you there in one piece.”

  Clay looked around the room. There were about twenty other people all waiting to board the plane. “Are all these people flying to Denver, too?” he said.

  “No,” the man said. “They’re all flying to Flagstaff. You have to switch planes there to continue on to Denver.”

  Clay sighed. “Well, thank goodness for that,” he said. “I can’t imagine taking that thing all the way to Denver.”

  The man laughed. “Is this your first time on a plane?” he said. “You look as nervous as a pregnant fox in
a forest fire.”

  “No,” Clay said. “I’ve flown plenty of times before. Just never on an old prop plane like that one.”

  “It’s really not that old, as planes go,” the man said. “It’s probably no more than twenty years old. Lots of life left in that old tub.” He laughed.

  Just then the voice came over the loudspeaker. “Passengers for Flight six-thirteen to Flagstaff now boarding at gate twenty-seven.”

  “That’s us,” the man said, getting up from the chair.

  Clay followed the man to the counter where an agent took their boarding passes and directed them to the plane. The man ahead of Clay found his seat in the first-class section while Clay walked back to the coach section and took his seat over the left wing. He looked out the window but could only see the top of the wing surface. He settled back into the seat and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it to Elliott, but he was still tired. At least he could get some more sleep on the way to Flagstaff.

  He had just about nodded off when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Clay looked up to see a stewardess pointing to his lap. “You’ll need to buckle your seat belt, sir,” she said.

  “Huh?” Clay said, a little groggy. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He buckled his seatbelt and closed his eyes again. Once again he had come to the edge of sleep when the seat next to him jostled him awake. Someone had sat down next to him. He turned to see who was making such a fuss in the next seat. It was a woman, perhaps in her mid-forties with blonde hair and a creamy complexion. She wore slacks and a blouse with a sweater over it. Folded over her arm was a longer coat. She smiled when Clay turned to face her.

  “Hello,” she said, politely and then turned back to face the front.

  “Hi,” Clay said before he found himself at a loss for words.

  The captain’s voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to flight six-thirteen to Flagstaff. I know this is probably not what you expected, but as some of you may have heard, the regular airline that services this route is on strike and we’re filling in for them. Our flying time to Flagstaff will be one hour and ten minutes. Enjoy your trip and thank you for flying Northeast Airlines.”