The Cooperman Variations

by Howard Engel

  It’s a long John,

  He’s a long gone,

  Like a turkey through the corn

  Through the long corn.

  The few trapped visitors or regulars who noticed were impressed. In a corner were huddled the forms of a few more unreformed smokers, taking advantage of the circumstances to steal a few puffs in the lobby, buttressed by one another against the momentarily divided attention of the guards. I paused to listen for a minute or more, waiting for the courage to run the gauntlet of Security. The other guitarist and the bass now joined in the chorus:

  Mister John, John,

  Old Big-eye John,

  Oh John, John

  It’s a long John.

  You could hear the work-song origins pulsating through the lines. You could hear axe blades or railroad hammers striking with a rattle of prison chains as they finished up their take on this old jazz classic.

  “Ruth Pierson! Hey, baby, what are you doing here?” It was one of the musicians. He was addressing an attractively turned-out woman, who looked as though she was enjoying the music.

  “Hi, Josh! They won’t let me out of here. I’m trapped until they clear the doorway.” Ruth went over to the bandstand and began talking to the drummer in a quieter voice.

  I wandered through the lobby watching the people. Are there types who frequent TV network offices? Are there shy geniuses with bright ideas? Hucksters looking for a sucker? I wandered and eavesdropped. Two attractive young women with the glitter of metal in their ears and noses were talking about a party. “… It was billed as this terrific event. But there weren’t any real movie stars there. Not even real actors.”

  “Apart from the drinks, it was hardly—”

  “Oh, there was that female midget from Total Recall. She was there, but she’s not anybody.”

  “She did some guest spots on Seinfeld. She was on a few times.”

  “We thought that they’d have people from the movie or some production people or at least those robots …” I left them with their disenchantment and disappointment.

  Security this afternoon was a bored face with rimless glasses. She examined my pass, made me sign in and instructed me to go directly to my assigned floor without stopping to gossip in the halls. When she caught my expression, which I’m afraid echoed my heart, she turned on me with a stony look. “Commander Dunkery knows about you, Mr. Cooperman. I’d be on my best behaviour if I were you.”

  “Who’s your Mr. Dunkery?”

  “What? You don’t know Commander Dunkery? That is a surprise. I suspect you’re having me on.”

  “I suppose I can look it up. If I remember.”

  “You should get your picture on that pass, you know. It’s as good as my job if I let you through here after a week. You see to it, now.”

  I found the burgundy elevator and let NTC in all its corporate ugliness settle down around me again.

  Sally put down some complicated-looking schedules she was working on. Television requires a lot of work to keep it as bad as it is. Armies of talented people work their hearts out about whether to broadcast a series about a Martian who has imprinted on a gas pump earlier or later in prime time than a series about a straight guy pretending that he is gay in order to continue living with four scrumptious college girls. I’d seen them all, adults, every one of them, get depressed because a series had slipped from sixth to seventh place in the ratings game. And what was the series about? A show about an analyst who’s trying not to fall in love with two of her patients and who’s allergic to a third.

  “Benny! She’s been asking for you.”

  “You mean, she’s back?”

  “She just called from the airport.”

  “Good. I thought she was yelling for me here.” That gave me a little time.

  I must have looked fretful or indecisive, because soon Sally asked, “Where are you going now?”

  “How did you know I was going anywhere?”

  “You get this look when you’ve been in one place too long.”

  “But I just got here!”

  “Doesn’t matter. Gordon used to get it. It’s a man thing, maybe.”

  “I’ll try to watch out for it. I was thinking of going over to News, to bother Ken Trebitsch for a change.”

  “Watch your back.”

  * * *

  The News Department fairly vibrated with activity. There was a sense of purpose in the air as three dozen people moved like a human tangle of multicoloured wires about their business in the large newsroom from computer monitor to chalkboard, from chalkboard to duty desk and from duty desk back to monitor. There were enough clocks on the wall to tell you the time anywhere on the globe: Los Angeles, Tokyo, London, Rome, Moscow, Beijing, Washington. There was something self-important and comic about the bustle and the serious faces that managed to avoid eye contact as I came through the door. Trebitsch, in shirtsleeves, was leaning over a huddle of backs at one computer monitor. Obviously, he was a manager who stayed close to the action, not a dull administrator. “We haven’t got a story if we can’t get film on it.”

  “We’ve got file film, Ken.”

  “Yeah, with Tito leading the parade. You’re going to have to do better than that. See if Humphreys at CBC can feed you anything. He still owes us for Kosovo.” He disengaged himself from the clutch of news people and was heading into another huddle when he saw me. “Mr. Cooperman! Are you still here?”

  “I’ll bet you thought I accepted an invitation to go home to Grantham.”

  “You’d be surprised at the amount of good advice that gets ignored. But there’s no reasoning with some people.”

  “What’s your part in all this?” I asked. “Do you see an enemy behind every bush and stone?” He looked at me in a peculiar way.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” For the first time his eyes had lost their hooded, snake-like look. They shone with innocence.

  “I came here hoping to learn something.”

  “If you don’t know now, you won’t learn in a thousand years.”

  “You want to run all this?” I moved my arms to suggest that there was a world beyond News.

  “Not just this, but—never mind. I haven’t the time to explain. But you need an education, and I think you’re going to get it.”

  “You’re talking hard knocks?” He didn’t answer directly, but looked over a pair of shoulders into another monitor for a minute, made a suggestion, then turned back to me.

  “As you may have noticed, I’m a hands-on type. I like to know what is going on around me.”

  “And what happened to Renata Sartori is outside your grasp. Not in your schedule? Is that it? How’s that different from a plane crash or a hurricane? You’re in the dark, and your friends aren’t very good at turning on the lights.”

  “Go home, Cooperman!”

  “That was the message you tried to deliver the other night.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, but it makes sense. Take it to heart. You’ll live longer.”

  “Sounds like a threat.”

  “Forget what it sounds like; grab the sense of it and go!”

  “Your boys with the green car aren’t much good. They could get into trouble negotiating a stoplight. I’d get them out of sight, if I were you. They could be an embarrassment to a man on the move like you.”

  “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about. But there are a lot of heavies around here if you need them. There are always new bodies to take the places of the fallen.”

  “Yeah, and the Third Reich will last a thousand years. Can your world takeover be stopped with Raid?”

  “Look, Cooperman. You’re persona non grata. Need a translation? I don’t like it when there are too many players on the floor. Even the cops would be happier if you went home. I know that for a fact. Why don’t you just do that?” I shrugged. It only irritated him. “For God’s sake, this isn’t some sort of game! This is my life you’re playing around with. My fucking life!”

&
nbsp; “This isn’t a life. This is a delusion. You think you’re delivering the news. You’re a pap merchant. At least be an honest one. It’s not all the news that’s fit to print; it’s all the news that fits. It’s not news if you’ve got no pictures. A two-week war is a week too long. It needs editing.”

  “You’ll never understand what we’re trying to do here.”

  “Right, because I won’t smoke the stuff you’re smoking. Writing the news is honest work. But you puff it up like it’s a blast from Mount Sinai.”

  “I want you gone, Cooperman, and gone fast. This place is filled with serious professionals. We know our business. Why don’t you mind yours? If you don’t, as I keep telling you, you could get hurt. You’d be surprised how little that would bother me.”

  “For a newsman, you’re behind the times. Things have been happening under your nose in the last few hours. You’ve got some catching up to do. There have been some moves since you stopped watching the board. See you around.” I turned to go. I was sorry I couldn’t get more from him. Just for the hell of it, I turned to see him still watching me as I headed for the door. I called across to him, “At the sound of the tone, the time in Tokyo will be exactly four, seventeen and a half.” For a moment the only sound you could hear in the newsroom was the sound of electric clocks.

  I left him intrigued, I think. Trebitsch was the sort whose shoes pinched when he wasn’t in the race. I didn’t want to tell him that shortly the cops and I would be talking again—that would only prompt another call to the Chief’s office—but it gave me a good feeling to see him looking just a little uncomfortable.

  It proved to be a little premature for me to feel smug about the tenuous hold I had over Trebitsch. I discovered this as I reached the halfway point between News and my office.

  “Mr. Cooperman!” It wasn’t a greeting, a sign of recognition, but a command to stand still. I did that. When I turned around, I could see three men in uniform coming along the corridor after me on the double. For a moment, I thought of running for it, but I gave up the idea. This wasn’t my own briar patch. I was certain to find a deadend corridor or try to cut through a broom closet. If I was to get the better of these three, it would have to be through other means.

  “Mr. Cooperman, you’d better come with us.” The trio in uniforms marked NTC Security blocked my passage. There was nothing to do about it but to shrug and go with them. At least they weren’t the Horsemen. I tried to engage them in chat, but it didn’t work. One guard pushed the elevator button with a deeply concerned brow, as though it signalled the destruction of civilization as we know it. Inside the elevator, I got no answers to my many questions. I made a reference to Mr. Dunkery, which made one of them blink. So, I was guessing right about who wanted to see me.

  They led me down a trail of turns and ins and outs until we entered a room clearly marked SECURITY on the door. At least they weren’t trying to keep that a secret. I was left seated on the civilian side of a counter for about five silent minutes—I was getting used to silence—and then I was told that Commander Dunkery would see me now. My three playmates saw me to the door, where they were dismissed by a nod from the man behind the desk.

  Dunkery’s office was designed to intimidate. It was part war room and high-command post. I thought of officers being briefed, and smoking if they liked, and synchronizing their watches, and not having any questions. There were more photographs of Dunkery shaking hands with well-known figures than you’d ever want to see. Citations and diplomas covered what was left of the wall space that wasn’t given over to floor plans of the NTC building. A big brass globe with the network’s owl on top sat on a shelf near his right hand, so he could stroke it maybe if he started feeling insecure. An abridged Bible, not printed on smokable paper, lay open on the desk blotter. Several of the texts were underlined in colour. I thought of George trying to get past the Commander. Dunkery sat behind his desk, which was lifted up on a platform of some kind, so that I sat below him looking up. For a moment I thought I’d try the play from The Great Dictator and sit on the edge of Commander Dunkery’s desk, staring down at him, but I decided against it.

  “Well, Mr. Cooperman! So, we finally meet. You should have come to me a week ago.”

  “I didn’t know you were looking for me. You know where I work?”

  “Yes, and we know who you’re working for and why.”

  “That makes it unanimous, I guess. What can I do for you?”

  “You can get the hell out of here and let professionals deal with what is clearly none of your business.” I nodded at this, as though giving it serious thought. On the subject of my getting out of town, this silly network was a bloody theme park.

  “What gives you the monopoly at NTC? I saw local cops on the twenty-first floor last week. Maybe there are Provincial Police on the third or Mounties on the sixteenth. Are you planning to tell them to shove off too?”

  “I won’t answer that or any other foolish questions. I want to see the back of you, Cooperman, and I want you gone this afternoon.”

  “Sure you do. And when Vanessa Moss gets shot because you won’t put a man on her door, you’re going to look terrific. Especially when they find out that you chased away her babysitter. I can’t see that I’m queering your pitch, Commander.”

  Commander Dunkery was a brown man. I’m not talking about skin pigmentation, I mean he was wearing a brown suit with a military cut to it, his sparse hair was brown, and his shirt and tie looked brownish as well. A brownish moustache tried but failed to underline his authority. His face was florid. I guessed that he was having trouble with blood pressure as well as with unwanted private investigators. “This afternoon!” he repeated.

  “Just how are you going to arrange that? I’m working on the staff of Vanessa Moss, head of Entertainment. I guess she can hire whom she wants. Or are you going to limit her to the grandsons of Desert War veterans?”

  “You’re being irrelevant, Cooperman.”

  “Sorry. Ms. Moss wields a lot of weight on the twentieth floor. She usually gets what she wants.”

  “Not for much longer. She’s nearly finished at this network.” I got the feeling that he wanted to go thwack with a swagger stick against the side of his boot.

  “But, alas for you, not quite yet. I understand that she will be back in the building within the hour with all of her titles intact. If that’s so, why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind. You must have seen rent-a-cops before? You probably have hired quite a few in your time.”

  “You have been insulting to my staff on several occasions. It has been reported to me, and I will not stand for it!”

  “I don’t like wearing stick-on labels, Commander. They’re hard on my clothes.”

  “You were told to get proper identification.”

  “I’ve been too busy trying to stop Vanessa Moss from getting murdered.”

  “Nobody’s trying to kill Ms. Moss.”

  “Can I quote you? What about Renata Sartori? Were you looking after her too?”

  “That happened off the premises. I’m not responsible—”

  “That does sum it up, doesn’t it? Now, if you’ll—”

  “Listen, Cooperman! You don’t get to this office without building a network of trust. There isn’t anybody here who doesn’t owe me. I’ve been a useful fellow to know for the last ten years. I’m owed favours on the twentieth floor. If they don’t start flowing by themselves, all I have to do is rattle their chains. Do you follow me?”

  “And you’d call in all these favours just to get rid of me?”

  “I have broken better men than you, Cooperman. You make me sick. I’ve got a good system going here, and it works as long as everybody plays the game. You and your sort never play the game, do you? Not in my experience. Can’t stay in line. So, my advice to you—”

  “Before you break some important blood vessel inside your head, Commander, I’d like to report a breach in your system.”

  “What are you talking about? My
system?”

  “Yeah. A couple of thieves have just driven off with a truckload of recording equipment belonging to NTC, if I’m not mistaken. Looked brand new. But what do I know? That comes under your responsibility, doesn’t it? Your people were holding the doors open for them when I came in here half an hour ago. The crooks were wearing shopcoats, and the truck was unmarked, except for the licence. Do you let that happen often, Commander? All part of the system? A man could get wealthy on that sort of thing with just one or two truckloads a month. Of course, there might be criminal charges if anyone was caught in the act. There were at least two witnesses besides me. Maybe they got the truck’s licence number too.”

  “Why you … !” He stood up at his desk. It was the first time I’d seen him standing. He was right to place his desk on a riser. He was shorter than I am by two inches. I would have got up myself just then, only I had never been asked to sit down. I turned and walked out of the office of the head of Security and caught an elevator back to my office on the twentieth floor. I left the Commander sputtering behind me.

  NINETEEN

  I could tell that Vanessa was back. There was a crackle of static electricity as I rounded the corner to her office. She did something to the way people moved by her door. My suspicion was confirmed when I saw Sally: trade papers and draft schedules in sight, no coffee mug sitting near her.

  “Who’s with her?” I asked.

  “Thornhill was waiting for her. They’ve been in there ever since she arrived.”

  “Is she going then?”

  “Benny, she hasn’t had a second to tell me anything. It’s been non-stop since she walked in the door. Philip Rankin’s there, of course. He’s always been ‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary.’ He watches to see how his garden grows and grows. Wants Music to become NTC Recordings, Benny. A whole division under him. Oh, and Ken Trebitsch is in there now. Wouldn’t you guess? He’ll come out with pie all over his face even if he gets only another thirty minutes of prime.”