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

by Bill Bernico

  Elliott caught his breath again and said, “I couldn’t reach the phone. Every time I tried, the pain was intense so I stopped trying.”

  Matt stood up and looked down at his father. “Don’t move, Dad, I’m calling an ambulance.” Matt dialed 9-1-1 and told the operator to send an ambulance to their office. When he finished that call, he hung up and dialed his mother at home. “Mom, it’s Matt.”

  “Matthew, how nice to...”

  “Hold on Mom, it’s Dad,” Matt said, cutting her off. “He’s hurt.”

  Gloria Cooper’s tone changed immediately. “Matt, what happened?”

  “Dad fell in the office and hurt himself,” Matt explained. “He thinks he might have broken his hip. I’ve called for an ambulance, so it doesn’t pay for you to come here. Meet us at the hospital, would you?”

  “Of course,” Gloria said. “I’m leaving right now.” She hung up and grabbed her purse, hurrying out the door and into her car.

  A few minutes later Matt heard the siren getting closer and a minute or so later two men in white came through the door pulling a gurney.

  “Over here,” Matt said, poking his head up above Elliott’s desk. Matt stood up and moved out of the way, letting the attendants evaluate Elliott’s condition.

  After feeling Elliott’s hips, legs and back, the two men in white eased Elliott onto a stiff body board. Elliott’s face winced in pain as they lifted him and the board up onto the gurney, secured him with straps and wheeled him out into the hallway and back to the elevator.

  Matt followed them out and locked the office. They all rode the elevator to the lobby, Matt walking alongside the gurney, holding Elliott’s hand and talking to him in a soothing tone. He let his father’s hand go and told the attendants that he’d meet them at the hospital.

  When Matt got to the hospital, the ambulance had already arrived and Elliott was already inside the hospital. After all, he didn’t have the advantage of a red light and siren to help him through the red lights. He was about to walk into the hospital when Gloria pulled up in her car and slid out from behind the wheel. Matt motioned her over and wrapped his arms around her. “They just took him in,” Matt explained, and walked with his mother to the nurse’s station.

  “The man they just brought in here, Elliott Cooper, where did they take him?” Matt said to the nurse behind the reception counter.

  She glanced down at her clipboard and then up at Matt. “Mr. Cooper is in the emergency room,” she said. “You’ll have to wait out here until the doctor has had time to examine him. We’ll call you when you can go in.”

  Matt and Gloria paced for a few minutes in the waiting room before settling into a couple of chairs. Matt could see the worried look of concern on his mother’s face and reached out for her hand. “He’ll be fine,” Matt assured her. “It may be painful, but it’s not life-threatening. You watch, Dad will be up and around again in no time.” He squeezed Gloria’s hand.

  It was nearly an hour and thirty-five minutes later when the doctor came into the waiting room and looked down at Gloria. “Mrs. Cooper?” he said.

  Matt and Gloria both stood. Gloria looked at the doctor. “How is Elliott?” she said.

  “He’s going to fine,” the doctor said. “Looks like he broke his hip in that fall.”

  Gloria let out a deep breath. “Can we see him now, Doctor?”

  The doctor nodded. “Only for a couple of minutes. He’s been sedated and needs his rest. He’s in the recovery room down the hall, room 107 on the right.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Matt said, following Gloria down the hall. Matt pushed the door open and held it as his mother walked into the recovery room. Matt followed close behind her. Elliott was stretched out in a bed on the opposite wall.

  Gloria stepped up alongside the bed and held Elliott’s hand. “Elliott,” she said, trying to sound calm. “How are you doing? What happened to you?”

  Elliott opened his eyes and stared up at Gloria but words wouldn’t come. He looked like he was trying very hard to stay awake and losing the battle.

  “He spilled his cup of chocolate milk on the office floor and slipped in it,” Matt explained. “Mom, he laid there for more than an hour and a half before I got back. He couldn’t reach the phone.”

  Gloria gasped and held her breath, trying not to show alarm to her husband of thirty-six years. “How’s the pain?” She noticed that a machine that administered morphine had been attached to the top of Elliott’s hand with a needle. Elliott still couldn’t answer.

  “Mom,” Matt said. “We really should let him get some sleep. We can come back later. I’ll even pick you up if you like.” The two of them said goodbye to Elliott and left the room. Matt walked his mother back to her car.

  Gloria turned to Matt and held both of his hands. “You realize he won’t be coming back to work, don’t you?”

  Matt nodded. “I know, Mom. I hope he has the good sense to realize it.”

  “What are you going to do for help?”

  Matt mulled it over for a moment and then shrugged, spreading his hands. “I can’t even think that far ahead right now. I’m still worried about how Dad is going to come out of this.”

  “When your grandfather had his heart attack, Elliott hired me and you know where that ended up,” Gloria said. “Have you considered Chris?”

  “I thought about it,” Matt said, “but I’m not sure working alongside my wife would be all that healthy for either of us. She can come in and help out in the interim, but let’s face it, I’ll probably have to run an ad for another operative. Let me think about it for the rest of this week and when I know more about Dad’s prognosis, I’ll be able to focus better on that task.”

  Gloria hugged her son and slid behind the wheel of her car. She drove away, but not before promising Matt that she’d let him know if and when she heard anything further from Elliott’s doctor.

  Matt drove back to the office and settled in behind his desk, lost in thought. He hadn’t even noticed the red light blinking on his answering machine. Matt hit the Play button and listened. It was Lieutenant Cole at the twelfth precinct calling to find out how Elliott was doing. It was a brief message, not even fifteen seconds in length. Matt erased the message and called Cole back, getting him on the second ring.

  “Matt,” Kevin Cole said. “Thanks for returning my call. How’s Elliott doing? I heard about it from our dispatcher who took the 9-1-1 call for the ambulance to your office.”

  “Dad broke his hip,” Matt explained. “He just officially retired for good. I guess he’ll be all right after he heals. I’ll know more when I see the doctor tomorrow, but I hear it can sometimes take two to three months or as much as a year.”

  “I don’t know about that, Matt,” Kevin said. “I knew one person, just about your dad’s age, who broke their hip and was home again the next day. Granted, that’s the best case scenario, but your dad’s hip may have only been fractured and not broken. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for him. Let me know what you find out, would you?”

  “Sure thing, Kevin. Thanks for the call,” Matt said and then hung up.

  Matt sat there, staring at the opposite wall, lost in thought. He got up from his desk and padded over to the mini refrigerator that sat on a small table near the bathroom door. The remainder of the chocolate milk was still sitting there in the half gallon container. Matt pulled it out, opened the cap and smelled it. He pulled his head back and made a face. The milk had gone bad. Maybe that’s what made Elliott spill it and slip on the spill. Matt poured the remainder of the milk down the sink drain, rinsed out the container and the sink and then tossed the jug in the trash.

  Early the next morning Matt called his mother and arranged to meet her at the hospital to talk to Elliott’s doctor. She was there waiting in the hallway when Matt arrived. “Did you see the doctor?” Matt asked.

  Gloria shook her head. “I wanted to wait for you so we could hear this together. He’ll see us any time now. We have to go to the nurse’s stati
on and let them know we’re both here now. The nurse asked Matt and Gloria to wait while she paged the doctor. He showed up a few minutes later and led them into a waiting room.

  “How’s Elliott doing?” Gloria asked the doctor, a middle-aged man named Spencer.

  Dr. Spencer asked them both to sit and he joined them. “Mrs. Cooper, your husband suffered a fracture of his right hip. It turns out it was not broken as I first suspected. Not to say that this event wasn’t serious for a man his age, but with proper care he should be up and about in a week to ten days. It’ll be slow going for the first few days, but as the pain subsides, he should be able to walk a little further each day. It’s important that you make sure he stays at least a little active during his recovery. Some patients have a tendency to want to recover from their recliner. You don’t want him getting too sedentary.”

  “How soon should I start this for him?” Gloria wanted to know.

  Dr. Spencer pursed his lips and breathed in through his nose. “You should let him just rest for the first day or two before you try to get him on his feet again.”

  Matt held up one finger. “What’s the long-term prognosis look like, doctor?”

  “You father may walk with a limp, but assuming he doesn’t fall again, he should be back to normal in a month to six weeks.” The doctor paused and added, “Was he an active man before this?”

  “Average, I guess,” Matt said. “He worked in the office with me and sometimes went out on a case with me or by himself. What about work? Should he come back to work?”

  “You would know that better than anyone,” the doctor said. “If it were my father, I’d advise him to enjoy his retirement and take it easy from now on. He’s earned it.”

  The doctor stood now. Matt and Gloria stood as well and walked with him to the door of the waiting room. “Thank you, doctor,” Matt said, shaking the doctor’s hand. Gloria thanked him as well and watched as the doctor left the room and returned to the nurse’s station to check another chart.

  “Then it’s official,” Matt said to his mother. “Dad’s retired as of now.”

  Gloria agreed. “Let’s go look in on him.”

  It had been nearly two weeks since Elliott’s fall and his recuperation at home was coming along nicely with Gloria’s help. Matt got back into his daily routine at the office, handling exactly two cases since that fateful day. As far as a replacement for Elliott, Matt thought that problem had been solved for him when Kevin Cole recommended an ex-cop named Ray Sparks, who had put in his twenty and pulled the plug at age forty-four. Matt thanked Kevin and arranged to meet with Ray that afternoon. Matt’s hopes were soon dashed about ten minutes after he met Ray and got into a heated argument with him. As it turned out, Ray had a major problem with authority and that problem was only exacerbated by the fact that Matt was almost ten years younger than he was. He made it quite clear to Matt that either he’d be an equal partner or nothing. Matt went with the second option.

  Several days earlier, Matt had placed an ad in the Los Angeles Times help wanted section for another operative. This morning he had the daunting task of interviewing several candidates who had made appointments to talk to him about the job. It was five minutes before nine and his first interviewee was due in exactly five minutes. Matt lifted one leg and sat on the corner of his desk, trying to look casual. Truth be known, he was probably more nervous about this process than the applicants.

  The knock on his office door came at a minute before nine. “It’s open,” Matt called out. “Come on in.”

  The door opened and Matt was surprised to see a red-haired man who looked to be Elliott’s age. Matt’s heart sank a little but decided to at least hear what the man had to say for himself. Matt invited the man to sit on the leather sofa while Matt pulled up one of the client chairs to face him. Matt held a clipboard with questions that he planned to ask each applicant during the screening process.

  Matt extended his hand to the man. “Matt Cooper,” he said. “Thanks for coming in this morning.”

  The man shook Matt’s hand and said, “Red Abbott. I mean Richard Abbott. I’ve been called Red for so long that it just comes out naturally.”

  “Red’s fine,” Matt said, making a note of the name preference on his clipboard. Matt paused, trying to find a delicate way to phrase his first question. “Excuse me, Red, but I just have to ask.”

  Red sat up straight and said, “I’ll bet you’re wondering why someone my age is looking for a job. Am I right?”

  “Not just a job, but this job in particular,” Matt answered. “It can be a little grueling even for me sometimes.”

  “Well,” Red said, “I retired six years ago and thought it would be the best part of my life. You know, to be able to coast from here on in. Well, I can tell you, it’s not like that at all.”

  “I think I know what you mean, Red,” Matt said. “My dad retired from this job at about that same time and he was back here in three months. Unfortunately he recently fell and broke his hip, so he won’t be coming back to work anymore. I have to be honest with you, Red. I don’t want to discriminate according to age, but with you on the job here, I’d be too worried that the same thing could happen to you that happened to my dad. There’s that plus the fact that I’d have to start this whole process over again in a few years when the job becomes too much for you to handle. I can string you along and tell you I’ll call you, but the truth is, I need someone younger who can grow with me and the company for many years to come. I hope I at least get points for candor.”

  “Well, young man,” Red said. “I have to say that’s about the gentlest rejection I’ve ever gotten. Thank you for that anyway. I wish you luck in your search for the right candidate.” Red stood, shook Matt’s hand again and headed for the door.

  “Thank you for understanding, Red,” Matt said, closing the door behind him and running a line through Red’s name on the clipboard.

  Matt next applicant had a nine fifteen appointment. Normally Matt would have allowed at least half an hour for each appointment, but he had so many people to interview that he didn’t want the whole day to be taken up with interviews. Besides, he looked at this first interview as the first tier in what could become a two-tiered process. If he liked any applicants good enough to be brought back for a second interview, he’d tell them so at the time and move on to the next person.

  At nine-sixteen Matt answered the knock on his door. Before opening it, he made a quick note on the clipboard that said simply, ‘Late for interview.’ When he opened the door, Matt found himself staring into the face of a woman who had to be at least sixty-five years old. He forced a smile and invited the woman to come in and have a seat.

  The interview didn’t last long, needless to say. Matt might as well have installed a revolving door on his office because this interview lasted exactly three minutes. Matt thanked the woman and showed her out, making a note on his clipboard about her that said, ‘Only qualification was that she’d seen every episode of Murder, She Wrote three times.’

  Things were not going as Matt might have imagined. The third interviewee fared no better when Matt learned that this guy, who actually showed up for his interview wearing a ‘40s fedora, had seen every noir private eye movie and answered Matt’s interview questions with lines from those movies. He even attempted a bad Bogart impression, lisp and all. Next.

  At ten o’clock there was the Asian fellow who had a degree in Karate but could hardly speak enough English for Matt to understand what it was he was trying to say. Matt’s patience was wearing thin and told the guy as best he could that he would not be getting a call back for a second interview.

  The ten-fifteen prospect was no easier to understand. “He wasn’t Asian, or even a foreigner, but a guy who was born here in the United States—Chicago to be exact. He was a black man in his early twenties who had mastered his language—Ebonics, which Matt didn’t speak. Thanks for coming in, but no thanks. Matt didn’t even own an Ebonics-to-English dictionary.

 
At ten-thirty Matt answered another knock on his office door. He opened it and looked out but didn’t see anyone until he looked down and saw a man looking up at him from the three-foot level. Matt smiled and invited the man in, offering his hand, which swallowed the little man’s hand up like shark swallowing a mackerel.

  “Matt Cooper,” Matt said.

  “Jimmy Blake,” the little man said.

  At this point, Matt was at a loss for words but managed to say, “I’m not even sure what to call you. I mean what would be the right word?”

  “Uh, Jimmy works for me,” he said.

  “No, I mean, do I refer to you as a, um, midget?” Matt held up both palms toward Jimmy. “I mean I’ve never had the opportunity to talk with a, with a dwarf?” There was noticeable nervousness in Matt’s voice. “Oh, hell, I suppose you prefer to be called a little person. Let me off the hook here, will you?”

  How about "a person that just happens to be of inadequate stature"? Jimmy said. “I am not a fan of political correctness. I think a duck is a duck. A moose is a moose. A midget is a midget. Just go with whatever you’re most comfortable with, I don’t care.”

  Matt let out a deep breath and smiled a phony smile. “I have to give you points for being blunt, but I have a few questions for you that need to be asked, no matter who you are.”

  “Go for it,” Jimmy said, settling back into the folds of the leather sofa.

  “Well,” Matt began, “The first obvious question would be regarding handling yourself out on the street. I would think someone your size would be a natural target for the bully element. And you will run across those types of people in this business. What would you do?”

  Jimmy slid off the sofa and took three steps toward the door. He turned and faced Matt, extending his hand. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Cooper.”

  That was easy, Matt thought, taking the man’s hand and shaking it. On the third pump, Jimmy spun around still holding onto Matt’s hand. Before Matt knew what was happening, he found himself lying on his back on the office floor.