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

by Bill Bernico

  “What is it?” Gloria whispered.

  I motioned for her to take Matt and walk to the other end of the store, all the while pulling my .38 from under my arm. Gloria hurried away, pulling Matt with her. I left the cart and silently walked toward the checkout register, my gun aimed ahead of me. When I got within fifteen feet, the cashier looked up, past the man and right at me. The man must have noticed something in the girl’s face and he whirled around toward me, a gun of his own pointing in my direction.

  “Drop it,” I yelled, crouching in my shooter’s stance and leveling my .38 at the man’s head. “Drop it or you’re dead. It’s not worth it. Do it, now.”

  The man didn’t take his eyes off me, but just started slowly backing up toward the front door. The girl at the register picked up a can of store brand peaches, raised it over her head and brought it down hard on the man’s head. His arm jerked upward and his gun went off, blasting a hole in the light fixture overhead.

  I rushed him and kicked the handgun out of his hand. It skittered across the floor and slid to a stop under another shopping cart. The man instinctively held his hand on his head where the girl had hit him. Blood oozed out between his fingers as he fell to his knees.

  Just then the sliding door at the front of the store opened and two uniformed policemen hurried inside, pointing their own guns at me. “Drop it,” one of them yelled. “Do it, now.”

  It was déjà vu all over again. I eased the hammer of my gun back down and laid my gun on the floor. I held both hands high in the air.

  “Not him,” the clerk said, pointing at me. “Him.” She pointed to the man on the floor who was holding his head. “He’s the crook. The other guy tried to stop him.”

  By now another black and white unit had screeched to a stop in front of the store and another cop came into the store. I shot a quick glance at my watch. “Little later there, Eric,” I said. “All the exciting stuff’s over.” I lowered my hands.

  Lieutenant Eric Anderson from the twelfth precinct gestured toward the first two cops and turned their attentions to the man on his knees with the bleeding head. One of the cops kept his gun trained on the man while the other slapped handcuffs onto one of the man’s hands and then pushed him to the floor. He pulled the other arm around to the back and connected the other half of the cuffs to his other hand. He pulled the man to a standing position and stood there looking at his lieutenant.

  “Elliott,” Eric said, “What were you…”

  I held up one finger and quickly ran to the back of the store where Gloria stood holding our five-year-old son close to her side. “It’s all right now,” I told her. “Take Matt out of here and wait in the car. I need to talk to Eric.” I walked her and Matt to the front of the store.

  When Gloria saw Eric she just shook her head. “It’s gettin’ so you can’t even go grocery shopping unarmed anymore,” she said.

  I picked up the can of store brand peaches off the checkout counter. It was the same can the clerk had hit the robber in the head with. I turned it around to read the label and then I looked at the robber. “Mexican peaches,” I said. “Not good for you. Not good for you at all.” I pointed to the blood running down the side of the robber’s face.

  “Take him in,” Eric said, gesturing toward the robber. “Book him for armed robbery and have someone look at that gash on his head.”

  “Yes, sir,” the patrolman said, pulling the robber out of the store.

  Gloria took Matt by the hand and led him out of the store and back to her car in the parking lot.

  I bent down and retrieved my .38, sliding it back into my underarm holster and closing my jacket over it.

  Eric turned toward the checkout clerk, a girl of maybe eighteen. Her hands were shaking and her lip was quivering. “Are you all right?” Eric said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

  “I think so,” she told him. “I was just so scared I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Looks to me like you did the right thing,” Eric said, although I wouldn’t recommend it if this ever happens again. If it does, just duck down and try to stay out of sight. The next robber might not hesitate to shoot you.”

  “There’s not going to be any next time,” the clerk said. “I just quit. I’m going to find me a nice, quiet job tucked away in some office away from the public.”

  “You’ll need to stick around for at least a few more minutes,” Eric told her. “I’ll need to get your name and address and take a statement from you.”

  “Okay,” she said and sat on the stool behind her counter. She sighed, sat still for a few seconds and then broke down crying.

  An older woman came out from behind a door on the end wall of the store and stood next to the clerk, trying to comfort her. She looked up at Eric. “I saw the whole thing from up there.” She pointed to a one-way mirror on a second floor level.

  “I’ll need your statement as well,” Eric said. “Could you just stay with her for a minute while I talk to this gentleman?” He gestured toward me and the two of us stepped away from the counter area over to where the shopping carts sat.

  “Trouble seems to find you, Elliott,” Eric said. “It’s a shame Gloria and Matt had to be here.”

  “Matt, yes,” I said, “But Gloria can handle herself in these kinds of situations. If I was a cop I’d want her watching my back.”

  “You might have something there, Elliott,” Eric said. “So tell me what you know about all this.”

  I gave him my story and told him I’d stop down at the precinct to sign a formal statement as soon as I dropped Gloria and Matt off at home. Eric agreed that it could wait a few minutes and let me go out to the car to be with my wife and son.

  I slid beneath the wheel, started the car and turned to Gloria. “Are you both all right?” I said.

  “Sure,” Gloria said. “We’re fine.” She tossed her head slightly toward the back seat. “He didn’t even know anything was happening.”

  “Let’s go home,” I said, and drove out of the parking lot, east on Hollywood Boulevard. This was turning out to be one hell of a Saturday.

  As I rounded the corner of my block, I saw Dad pulling up to the curb in front of the house. I pulled into my driveway and helped Gloria and Matt into the house and then returned to the curb. “What brings you around these parts, Dad?” I said.

  “Can’t a grandfather visit his grandson without there being some underlying reason?” Dad said.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “Come on in.”

  We met Gloria in the kitchen. She was getting a large cookie out of the chicken-shaped jar and handing it to Matt. Matt ran into the living room with his cookie and Gloria turned to greet Dad.

  “Hello, Clay,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “At least you didn’t ask what I was doing here,” Dad said.

  “Huh?” Gloria said.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Dad’s just being a wise guy.” The cookie jar was still sitting open on the counter so I took one for myself and held the jar toward Dad. He waved it off and I put the chicken-head cover back on and replaced the jar on top of the refrigerator. I took a bite and turned back to Dad. “Have you seen Dean Hollister lately,” I asked.

  “Just last night, as a matter of fact,” Dad said. “We tipped a couple at Jake’s and played a couple games of pool.”

  “How’s he doing?” I said. “Is he adjusting to retirement any better than you?”

  “You know,” Dad said, “when I was in my fifties I couldn’t wait to reach retirement age so I could kick back and relax. But the truth of it is you can relax just so much before it turns into boredom. I’m sure Dean feels the same way. There’s a lot to be said for feeling useful. Haven’t felt much of that lately.”

  “You saying you want to go and bag groceries at Ralph’s?” I said. “Or maybe get yourself a paper route?”

  “Now who’s being a wise guy?” Dad said. “I’m serious. Retirement is boring. It’s taking its toll on my self-esteem.”


  “Well, you know we’d have you help out more at the office,” Gloria said, “but times are so slow there’s barely enough to keep the two of us from twiddling our thumbs between cases. I wish we had something for you.”

  Dad smiled. “Don’t worry about old farts like me and Dean,” he said. “We’ll manage. Maybe we should start our own private investigations business, specializing in geriatric cases.”

  “Like what?” I said. “Missing slippers? Cats in trees? Black market Ben-Gay dealers? Exactly what niche would you two fill?”

  Dad laughed a short laugh and then his face got serious. “You know,” he said. “That might not be a bad idea. We could work out of our homes so there’d be no overhead. And to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t even care if I got paid for my services. I’d be just as grateful for something to do with my day. Hmmm, I think I just may run this idea past Dean and see what he thinks.”

  “Oh great,” I said. “Just what I need in this economy--more competition.”

  Dad waved me off. “There’s no competition here,” he said. “I’d be taking the cases you’d never get in the first place. My clientele would probably be older people on fixed incomes who couldn’t afford much, if anything at all.”

  “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” I said.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Gloria said. “Kind of like the Matlock crowd meets Jessica Fletcher and the Golden Girls. I say go for it, Clay.”

  “Thank you, Gloria,” Dad said. “At least someone has a little faith in me.” Dad turned to me. “You could be a little supportive. After all, didn’t I help that genealogy woman last month with your family tree project?”

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “You’re right. If you need any help getting started, or if there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

  “Thank you, son,” Dad said. “I just may take you up on that. I think I’ll drive over and talk to Dean about this. I’ll talk to you two later.”

  “Good luck,” Gloria called after Dad as he left the house and returned to his car.

  I caught up with Dad three days later when he stopped into my office to talk to me.

  Dad had an ear-to-ear grin on his face when he walked into the office that morning. “What are you so happy about?” I said. “Did you get lucky last night?”

  “I wish,” Dad said. “No, it’s something else.”

  “Well,” I said, “are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”

  “I talked to Dean,” Dad said, “and he’s excited about the idea of the two of us starting our P.I. business. He even came up with a name for it—Golden Eye Investigations. Get it? Golden for the golden years Dean and I are part of. Clever, huh?”

  “I can just imagine your first high-speed chase,” I said. “Six miles an hour down the sidewalk with your Rascal.”

  Dad just gave me a stupid grin and shook his head. “Funny,” he said. “Why don’t you go down to the retirement home and grease the hand rails in the bathroom?”

  “I can imagine your first case,” I said. “Someone will call and, ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ or something like it and you and Dean can rush to the scene, stick a new battery in their Life Alert necklace and ride off without being thanked, like Clayton and Jay.”

  “Clayton and Jay?” Dad said.

  “Moore and Silverheels,” I said. “The Lone Ranger and Tonto. But here’ the big question--which is which?”

  “Are you about through?” Dad said. “Why don’t you take your act on the road? I had this dumb idea that I’d come here and tell you about our new business and that maybe you’d show a little support. Silly me.”

  I held up one hand. “I’m sorry Dad,” I said. “I’m just...”

  “Yeah,” Dad said, “I know what you were just...”

  “Come on, Dad,” I said. “Look, I’m sorry. No more jokes. What can I do to help you guys out?”

  “Dean and I have it pretty much under control,” Dad said. “But if you hear of anyone who can use our service, we could use the referrals. We can’t get into the Yellow Pages until next January.”

  “Referrals?” I said. “You mean other than the people whose cases I will be able to take?”

  “Yeah, those,” Dad said.

  “You’ll be the first one I call if I get someone who’s not right for me,” I said. “Did you get cards made up yet?”

  “Not yet,” Dad said.

  “Good,” I told him. “Don’t. I have a program on my computer that’ll make custom business cards and print ‘em out. I can get you started with a couple dozen, if you like.”

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

  “Is there something you haven’t told me all these years?” I said. “Or did you leave other little Coopers out there somewhere?”

  “Not that I know of,” Dad said.

  “I can have the cards for you in an hour,” I told him. “Do you have something else to do in the meanwhile?”

  “I can go and see Dean,” Dad said. “Helen’s not to thrilled about Dean getting into the detective business after his last close call, remember?”

  “I do,” I said, “but I’m sure you can convince her that this time around the cases will be a lot tamer and safer for her husband.”

  “That’s why I’m stopping over there,” Dad said. “All I have to do is turn on the ol’ Cooper charm and she’ll come around.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said, and turned on my computer. “See you in about an hour. Why don’t you bring Dean with you? I’ll have a couple of card samples for you two to choose from by then.”

  Dad gave me the two-finger gunman’s salute and left the office just as Gloria was coming in. She turned back toward Dad as he was leaving. “Great talking to you, too, Clay,” she said to Dad’s back as he hurried down the hall toward the elevator. “What’s with your dad?”

  “He’s going to talk to Helen about Dean and him starting this new business,” I said. “You know Helen, she’s the nervous type.”

  “Can’t blame her after that last time,” Gloria said.

  “Yeah,” I said, “but how much trouble can they get into with the kind of people they’ll be dealing with?”

  “I suppose,” Gloria said, “but you never know.”

  “About what?” I said.

  Gloria waved me off. “Nothing,” she said. “They’ll be fine.” She looked over my shoulder at my computer screen. “What are you doing?”

  “I told Dad I’d make him some business cards for his new company,” I said. “By the time they run through these first two dozen cards, they may have gotten all this P.I. business out of their systems and maybe they’ll go back to feeding the pigeons in the park and watching Jeopardy.”

  “But what if the business takes off?” Gloria said.

  “Then if our business keeps getting any slower, maybe we’ll end up working for him,” I said. “Wouldn’t that be a real kick in the ass?”

  “Do they know what they’re going to call their new venture?” Gloria said.

  “Golden Eye Investigations,” I said, and explained the double meaning to her.

  “Clever,” she said. “I almost hope they make a go of it. It’ll certainly give them a reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

  “What do you think of this design?” I said, tilting my laptop screen back so Gloria could get a better look at what I’d created.

  “I like it,” she said, pointing to the single human eye colored in gold. Above that it said ‘Golden Eye Investigations’ in a script font. Dad’s name and cell number were positioned in the lower left corner while Dean Hollister’s name and phone number occupied the lower right corner.

  “That should do it,” I said. “There’s not much more you need to say on a card.”

  “He’ll love it,” Gloria said. “What are you going to print them on?”

  “I still have three or four sheets of that card stock left over,” I said. “T
hat’s enough for thirty or forty cards and that’ll hold him for now.”

  Gloria bent down and kissed my neck. “You’re a good son,” she said.

  “And apparently his favorite son,” I added.

  “Favorite?” Gloria said. “Is there someone else out there that we don’t know about?”

  “That’s what I asked him,” I said.

  “And?” Gloria said.

  “None he knows of,” I said.

  “All right,” Gloria said. “That’s about all I need to know.”

  About fifty minutes later the office door opened and Dad and Dean walked in. They were both smiling like a couple of kids in a candy store.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Helen said yes.”

  Dean gestured toward Dad with the flourish of his hand. “Yes,” he said, “thanks to Clay here. This is one smooth talker you got for a father. By the time he was done with Helen, she’d have agreed to join us if he’d asked her.”

  I picked up the short stack of business cards, cut them approximately in half and handed each of them twenty business cards. They both looked them over and then looked at each other, still smiling.

  “Looks like we’re in business,” Dean said, handing Gloria one of his cards. “My card, ma’am. Feel free to call on us if you ever need the services of two seasoned professionals.”

  Gloria looked the card over and then looked back up at Dean. “Are your rates reasonable, Mr. Hollister?” she said. “I’m just a poor widow on a fixed income but I do need to have someone tailed for six months. Could you take the job for thirteen dollars and eighty-nine cents?”

  Dean ripped the card out of Gloria’s hand and stuck it back into his mini pile with rest of the cards. “Madam,” Dean said, “I’d be stealing your money at that rate. Perhaps I could refer you to Mr. Cooper over there. He takes on the big money cases.”

  Gloria enjoyed a good laugh and that got Dean and Dad laughing as well. She looked at Dad and said, “So, besides those cards, how are people going to know about your business? Do you two plan to advertise?”

  “I thought maybe we’d print out a handful of fliers,” Dad said. “You know, pass them out or tack them up at the grocery store, senior center and a few other places around town. We might even rustle up a case for ourselves by the end of the week. You never know.”