The Cooper Saga

Featuring Six Generations of the Cooper Family

Stories 341-350

by Bill Bernico

You’re Welcome

John Cooper was an easy going guy by anyone’s standards.  He was polite and well mannered and almost never had a harsh word to say about anyone for any reason.  But it seemed lately that his patience was constantly being tried by the public in general.  Civility appeared to have taken a back seat to the ‘me first’ attitude that a lot of people these days have displayed lately.  In the generation that he had been brought up in, men were taught to open the car door for ladies.  They were taught to let ladies go first in most social situations.  They were taught to say please and thank you as a common courtesy.  Those days were long gone and civilization was slowly but surely declining.  John had said as much to his father, Nick Cooper on many occasions.  Nick had to agree with John’s assessment of the public in general.

John tried very hard to hold his tongue and keep his negative comments to himself, but lately that was becoming harder and harder to accomplish.  Take today, for instance; as he was exiting the restaurant, he could see in his peripheral vision that there was another couple behind him.  After John had exited, he held the door for the couple, but they just strolled past John as if that was his job to hold the door and didn’t say a word of thanks or even acknowledge that he was there.  It was as if they were entitled and that didn’t sit well with John, but again he let it pass without comment.

Conversely, he was several steps behind a man who had opened that same restaurant door and had walked inside, letting the door close behind him, even though it was clear that he knew John was also about to enter.  It made John wonder why he ever bothered extending that courtesy to anyone else if they weren’t going to return the courtesy.  He just silently counted to ten to himself and let it pass.  He wasn’t going to let one or two discourteous louts spoil his day or force him to lose the manners he’d grown up with.

When John got home that night, he told his girlfriend, Abby about the rude people he had encountered and how one-sided the world seemed to be when it came to common courtesy.

“Just let it go, dear,” Abby said.  “Just take solace in the fact that you’ll always be the gentleman that you are and they’ll always be three steps below you on the social ladder.  It’s not worth worrying about.”

“I suppose you’re right,” John said.  “But it just makes me wonder how these people were brought up.  And I’m not just talking about those people I just told you about.  I see examples of that kind of behavior out there every day.  Did you know they even have a label for them?  It’s true; they refer to rude, insensitive trouble makers as Karens.  Boy wouldn’t you hate to be someone named Karen these days?”

“I have seen some of those videos you just described,” Abby replied.  “They’re so unbelievable that you can’t look away.  Luckily I’ve never encountered one but I imagine it’s just a matter of time.”

“You’re right,” John said.  “I won’t let those kind of people change me.”

The following day on his way to work, John came to a four-way arterial stop just a second ahead of the driver to his left.  John knew that he legally had the right of way, being on that other driver’s right side.  That didn’t even seem to matter to the other driver, who just pulled out into the intersection, even though John had already started to cross.  To make matters worse, the other driver blew his horn at John and even flipped him the finger.  How dare John get in his way?  Luckily John had been a cautious driver and was able to stop in time to let the other driver pass.  John took a deep breath and let the aggravating moment pass before proceeding through the intersection.

During his lunch hour John decided to go to the neighborhood fast food restaurant.  He walked in and looked up at the overhead menu board.  He was the only person standing in that area and was about to step up to the counter to order his meal when the door opened and a young man walked directly up to the counter and began ordering his meal.  John held up his index finger and said, “Excuse me, but I was next.”

The kid looked at John with a defiant sneer and said, “If you were next, then you’d be standing here, but you’re not, so just wait your turn, Pops.”  The kid went back to ordering his food, turning his back on John, who was steaming mad but didn’t feel like making a federal case out of it.

John finished his lunch and got back into his car to return to work.  As he pulled into the Cahuenga Building parking lot, he spotted just one parking space left unoccupied and started to turn into it when a small red sports car came from the other direction and sneaked into that space just ahead of John.  The young girl who got out of that sports car, closed her door and just strutted past John as though she had just won a major prize on a game show.

John slammed his hand down on his steering wheel and mumbled a few choice words under his breath before driving on in search of another available parking space.  His ears were still hot and he was still mad about that young girl and her red sports car, but by the time he got back to his desk, he was relatively calmer.  He was able to make it through the rest of his day without thinking of any other disrespectful, rude people.

When five o’clock rolled around, John tidied up his desk area and pulled his jacked off the coat hook.  Before he left he looked over at his father and said, “Are you coming, Dad?”

“You go on ahead,” Nick replied.  “I just want to finish this last report for the case I just completed.  I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

John left the office area and started toward the elevator.  If he ran he could still make it.  The doors were still open but were just beginning to close when John yelled at the man standing just inside to hold the elevator.  The man didn’t even make any effort to hold the door and just let them close.  Here we go again, John thought as he patiently waited for the car to return again.  John made it to the lobby and walked toward the front door that opened onto a busy street.

Two blocks east on that busy street, a black and white police car was in hot pursuit of a man in a stolen white Corvette.  Both cars sped west at a high rate of speed, the cop’s lights flashing and his siren screaming.

Back inside the building, John grabbed hold of the exit door and pulled it open but before he could step outside, another young man with a full head of red hair rushed past him and beat him out the door.  “Thanks, Pops,” the kid said as he hurried outside.

The man in the stolen car screamed though the intersection at Hollywood and Cahuenga and drove up onto the sidewalk to avoid another police car coming his way.  He and the kid, who had just rushed through the door ahead of John, made it to the same spot on the sidewalk at the same time.  The car mowed the kid down, along with three other pedestrians.  People screamed and ran in every which direction amid the chaos.  The car kept going, but the red haired kid lay dead on the sidewalk.

The anger quickly drained out of John and he let out a deep breath.  He looked down at what was left of the kid and said to himself, “At least he said thanks,” and kept walking.

Perfect Exposure

It was the kind of investigations job that Nick Cooper didn’t really like.  Oh sure; it paid the bills and kept the business going, but Nick had done so many of these same kind of jobs that he felt like his enthusiasm for them was diminishing and that he couldn’t really give it his all.  On the other hand, his adopted son, John, who was also his business partner, needed someone to set a good example for him so Nick put on a good front for him and made sure that he did the best that he could.

“Who was that?” John said right after Nick hung up his phone.

“That was a guy who wants to hire our services,” Nick explained.

“I hope it’s for something exciting,” John remarked.

“Not too,” Nick replied.  “It’s just another cheating spouse case; you know how that goes.”

John nodded.  “And you got stuck with it, eh?  I’d like to help you out, but as you know, I’ll be starting my own case right after lunch today.  Good luck with it anyway.  Did your client say specifically what he expects you to do for him?”

“Well,” Nick began, “I asked him all the usual questions and told him what his options were, but he said all he wants is video evidence of his wife’s infidelity.  That could prove a little trickier that just following her and snapping a few shots of the other guy and her together.  He told me that he works second shift from four to midnight and that he suspects that his wife’s lover stops by his house while he’s at work, so it looks like I’ll be charging him time and a half for nighttime work.  I met with him yesterday initially and got his signature on one of our contracts and collected a six hundred dollar retainer.”

“Might as well make it easy on yourself,” John suggested.  “There would be no need to bother with a big, bulky, heavy camcorder.  Just use your cell phone’s video recorder.  It fits nicely in your jacket pocket and weighs almost nothing.  And it doesn’t need an external light source, either.  Good luck with that one, Dad.”

Shortly after lunch John left the office for his own case, leaving Nick alone there to plot out his strategy for the coming night’s surveillance, which only took up twenty minutes of his time.  He spent the next two and a half hours making sure his equipment was charged and in perfect working condition.  At three o’clock Nick also hung a sign outside the office door saying that he’d be out of the office for the rest of the day, then stepped over to the leather sofa beneath the south window and stretched out for a nap.  He figured that since he’d be working into the wee hours of the night that he’d better charge his internal battery.

He awoke just before seven-thirty and stepped over to the sink in the alcove next to his desk and washed his face.  It was Late December and it began to get dark right around six o’clock.  It was time to head out to his client’s house to find a good place to stake out for his surveillance.  His client was a man named Jay Brady.  Brady’s wife’s name was Lisa and she was a dozen years younger than her husband.  Nick had no idea who the other man was but he was sure going to find out tonight.  Jay Brady had given Nick his address and had described which window on that house was their bedroom.  He also told Nick that before he left for work that night that he managed to skew one of the slats on the blinds that covered that bedroom window, leaving a one inch opening through which he could record the video of his wife’s indiscretion.

Nick drove to the Brady house, which sat on a side street off Melrose Avenue in a quiet neighborhood.  He parked his car at the end of the block and around the corner, out of sight.  From there he casually walked east until he came to the Brady house and situated himself between a large, leafy bush and the Brady bedroom window.  Nick sat at the base of the bush and just waited until he saw the front porch light come on.  Shortly after that a car pulled up and parked three doors down from the Brady house and a man emerged from the car and walked directly to the Brady address.

Lisa Brady was there at the door to welcome the man inside.  Nick pulled out his notepad and pencil and made a note of the time, as well as the license plate number on the car down the block.  He waited while the two probably poured themselves a couple of drinks and started in with the small talk that would eventually lead to the bedroom.  Just as he had figured, the bedroom light came on ten minutes later and Lisa led her guest into the room and over to the bed, where the two of them sat, still holding their drinks.

Nick positioned himself at the window sill, steadying his cell phone on the ledge and placing it into video mode.  The camera silently ran, capturing the two people in the throes of foreplay and then in the actual act of lovemaking.  Nick thought it a bit strange that these two lovers had not bothered crawling under the covers and instead did their nasty deed right on top of the covers.  Nick made sure he got good shots of the man’s face as well as the activity on the bed before he decided that he had enough evidence to present to Jay Brady the next day.  He silently left his protective bush and walked back to his own car.  All in all, he had put in no more than an hour and a half, including drive time.  Still his minimum one-day charge of four hundred fifty dollars would still make for a good day’s wage.

Nick slid back behind the wheel of his car but before he started it, he put his cell phone back in the camera mode and tapped the icon for the video he had just recorded.  He watched just the first two minutes of it, to make sure that the video came in crisp and clear before he turned it off and drove home again.

The following morning when he came into his office, the red light on his answering machine was blinking.  There was a message from John letting him know that he was still on his own case and wouldn’t be in at all that day.  Nick settled in behind his desk, had his morning glass of chocolate milk, read the morning paper and then decided to call Jay Brady.  Mr. Brady always slept after his shift, meaning that he’d be up by nine and could stop by the Cooper Investigations office by ten-thirty at the latest.  Nick told Brady that he had the evidence that he asked for and said that he’d have it ready for Brady to pick up before noon.  Brady thanked him and hung up, promising to stop by around ten-thirty.

Brady was early, showing up at ten-fifteen with an eager look on his face.  Nick invited him to have a seat across from his desk and then opened his laptop with the video program that could play the footage he’d gotten the night before.  After Brady had watched the twenty minute amateur skin flick, Nick turned off the program and waited for Brady’s reaction.

“That’s great, Mr. Cooper,” Brady began.  “You got perfect exposure and everything turned out nice and clear.  Thank you so much for all your efforts on my behalf.  He took the jump drive with the video on it that Nick had offered.  “And you managed to get it all in one day, too; good work, Mr. Cooper.”

Nick slid his middle desk drawer open and withdrew a hundred fifty dollars, handing it to Jay Brady.  “As I mentioned, I get time and a half for nighttime work, but was able to complete the assignment in one day.  You have a hundred fifty dollar refund coming; and thank you for your business.”  He rose and walked Brady to the door, closing it behind him.  Nick stepped back over to his desk, made out a deposit slip for the four hundred fifty dollars and put it and the money into a bank envelope for deposit later that same day.

Two days later John had finished his case and was in the office bright and early to find Nick sitting behind his desk with a puzzled look on his face.  “Morning, Dad; is there something bothering you?”

“You know,” Nick began.  “I’ve been in this business for so many years that I thought I’d seen it all.”

“But apparently you haven’t?” John remarked.

“Hang up your coat and pull up a chair and I’ll tell you all about this strange case of mine,” Nick said.  “You remember that guy who wanted to hire me to get video of his unfaithful wife?”

John nodded.  “Sure; Jay something or other, if I remember correctly.”

“Well get this,” Nick said.  “I got a call this morning from one of our competition; a P.I. named Blake.  Anyway, this Blake fellow told me that Jay Brady used me as a reference to get him to work for him doing the same thing I just did for the guy.”

“So maybe Brady’s wife didn’t learn her lesson,” John surmised.  “Or maybe once he presented her with the evidence, she confessed to the affair and told Mr. Brady that she wanted a divorce.  Who can figure women?”

Nick shook his head.  “Not even close, Chucky.  That call from Blake was the second call I’d gotten from other P.I.s looking for a reference for Brady.  Between the three of us we figured out what Brady was up to and I have to admit, it was pretty clever.”

“And what was it?” John asked.

“Turns out that Jay Brady wasn’t looking for evidence to use in any divorce case,” Nick said.  “What he was actually doing was collecting videos of his wife and her lover.  And from what those other two P.I.s told me, Brady has been doing this for several months already, switching around from one P.I. to another until he had enough raunchy footage of his wife to sell to some X-rated video company.  The wife’s supposed lover was in on the whole thing from the start.  That’s why I had no problem getting good, clear footage of the two of them.  Her boyfriend purposely left the bedroom light on and the two of them stayed on top of the covers.”

“Now I’ve heard it all,” John said and got up from Nick’s client chair.

As John was heading for the door, Nick called out, “Now where are you going?”

“Down to the video store to see if they have a copy of Brady’s video,” John said with a wicked grin.

Nick had to laugh.  “On your way back how about picking up a couple of pretzels and two cups of soda.”

“What; no popcorn?” John said and hurried off down the hall.

Without A Paddle

Local multi-millionaire, Maurice Donaldson was what most people would consider a bit on the eccentric side as well as a bit paranoid.  He had recently bought a twenty acre parcel with a mansion situated in the middle of it all.  The first thing he did once he had moved in was to install a twelve foot wrought iron fence around the two acre parcel that included the mansion itself.  It culminated in a large wrought iron gate that opened to the circular driveway that led up to the house.  He had also installed a closed circuit television camera and intercom system at the gate.  If anyone wanted to gain access to the house, they had to announce themselves and look into the camera before the gate would open.

Every window in the mansion had been equipped with an alarm of its own.  If the window were to be opened while the alarms system was turned on, a loud siren would alert the homeowner of their presence.  All the doors were similarly equipped.  Just inside the front door there was an alarm box with a number pad on it wherein the homeowner could punch in the three digit code to disarm the entire system within forty-five seconds of entering the mansion.

To top off the rest of the security measures, the owner employed a live-in caretaker and had also bought three guard dogs to patrol the grounds.  These were three large, muscular Rottweilers with spiked collars and large, sharp teeth.  One look at these dogs and you knew they meant business and their purpose was to keep unwelcomed visitors off the premises.

With all of these precautions, Donaldson’s brother, Charles still was not satisfied that his brother was fully protected the way he thought he should be.  That’s where private investigator Nick Cooper came in.  Donaldson had placed the call early on a Monday morning but had gotten Nick’s son and business partner, John instead.

“Cooper Investigations, John speaking; how may I help you this morning?”

“Mr. Cooper,” Donaldson began.  “My name is Maurice Donaldson and I’d like to know if you are available to work for me.”

“Well, that would depend on when you need us and what you want us to do for you.”

“I wouldn’t care to discuss any of this on the phone,” Donaldson replied.  “Could I come over and speak with you in person?  What I need is a little more involved than could be explained with just a phone explanation.”

“When would you like to come by?” John asked.  “Our office is on the corner of Hollywood and Cahuenga; third floor in the front, last door on the right.”

“Would this morning be convenient for you, Mr. Cooper?  Let’s say at ten o’clock precisely.”

“That’s perfect, Mr. Donaldson.  I look forward to meeting with you.”  John hung up and turned to Nick, who was still reading the morning paper.  “Looks like I have a live one, Dad.  He’s coming over at ten this morning.”  He looked up at the wall clock over the door and said, “So how about if we try to look like a professional business.  Put away the chocolate milk glass and the newspaper and at least pretend to look busy.”

Nick gave his son a military salute and stuffed the newspaper into one of his desk drawers before rinsing out his chocolate milk glass in the sink.  He pretended to straighten the tie he wasn’t wearing and then licked his palm to smooth back his hair.  He looked at John and said, “Ready for inspection, sir.”

John just rolled his eyes and pursed his lips.  “Smart ass.”

“What does this guy want you to do for him?” Nick asked.

“He wouldn’t say,” John replied.  “I guess he’s going to lay it all out for me when he gets here.”

Later that morning, John looked up at the clock and noticed that it was exactly ten-fourteen when he heard the elevator doors open and footsteps coming down the hall toward his office.  “That must be him,” John said.  “Look sharp.”

The door opened a moment later and a well-dressed man carrying a briefcase stepped in.  He looked at Nick and said, “Mr. Cooper?”

Nick gestured toward John and said, “I believe you spoke with John earlier this morning.”

John stepped up and offered his hand to the man, who shook it and said, “Suppose we get right down to business.  My time is valuable and I’d like to get started on this as soon as possible.”

John spread one arm out toward his client’s chair and invited his visitor to sit.  Donaldson set his briefcase on John’s desk and withdrew several pieces of paper, laying them in front of John.  “This is the layout of my brother’s house and grounds and I’d…” he began and then looked back at Nick before looking at John again.

“That all right, Mr. Donaldson,” John said, seeing the concern in his client’s eyes.  “That’s my father and business partner, Nick.  You can talk freely in front of him.”

The tension in Donaldson’s face eased as he continued with his presentation.  He pointed out on the paper where the gate was located as well as the area covered by the perimeter of the fence itself.  Another paper had a floor plan of the mansion, showing where the alarm box could be found, even though he didn’t tell John the correct combination of numbers needed to disarm it.  “I won’t tell you where the security cameras are mounted.  I expect you to find a way to avoid them or bypass them altogether,” Donaldson explained.  “In a nutshell, Mr. Cooper, I want you to find out any weak spots in my brother’s security system so we can have those flaws corrected.  Do you have any questions?”

John thought about the scenario for a moment and then asked, “Where will your brother be during the time that we’re trying to break in?”

Donaldson smiled, anticipating the question.  “Normally, he’d be somewhere in the house.  You won’t know where, so be aware of that premise and don’t let him see you once you get inside; if you can even get inside.”

John nodded and said, “I like a good challenge.  What night would you like me to start?”

Donaldson waved him off.  “You pick the night but I don’t want to know.  It would be more realistic if even Charles was surprised.  Now, I suppose you have some sort of contract for me to sign and I assume you’ll need some sort of retainer.”

“That’s right, Mr. Donaldson,” John said.  “Our normal rate is three hundred dollars an hour but since I’ll be working on this at night, we get time and a half; four hundred fifty dollars an hour and I’ll need a two day deposit to get started.”

Donaldson pulled a wrapped bundle of hundred dollar bills from inside his suit pocket and handed it to John.  “Here’s a thousand and for that I’ll expect a detailed report of everything you do, see, think and encounter while on your quest.”

John made out a receipt for the man and handed it to him, thanking him for his business.  “You won’t hear from me until the job is complete.  You’ll get my full report at that time.”  He walked Donaldson to the door and told him he’d be in touch and added one last question for his client.  “In the event that Charles would be in the house on the night we decide to break in, what’s to stop him from shooting us if he discovers two strangers in his house?”

“Charles doesn’t even own a gun,” Maurice said.  “He’s deathly afraid of firearms but he does have a pair of crossed swords hanging above his fireplace mantle.  Those would be his only weapons so keep an eye out for them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Donaldson,” John said as the office door closed and the client’s footsteps echoed down the hall.  When John heard the elevator doors open and close, he turned to his father and slapped the thousand dollar bundle against his palm and said, “You can’t make it any easier than this.”

Nick nodded and said, “So, tell me where I fit in.  This seems like it could be a two man job.”

“I think you’re right, Dad.  How about if we spitball this thing for a little while and work out the kinks before we get to it.”

The two of them talked about every eventuality and the things that could possibly go wrong, making notes as they talked.  Once they thought that they covered every contingency, they began to outline the steps they’d take once they were standing outside of the wrought iron fence.

Nick spoke first.  “I think Donaldson is going to figure that you’ll start at least one or two days from now.  He’ll never expect you to start tonight and that’s exactly what we’ll do.  We’ll make this a real test for the old man’s brother.

Nick turned on the answering machine, hung a closed sign on the office door and locked up the office.  The two of them each went home, promising to meet in John’s driveway once it got dark.  They agreed to get some sleep and start on this quest at two a.m. the following morning, when most people would be sound asleep and they could go about their business fairly certain that they wouldn’t be interrupted.

After a filling supper and two hours of television, John set his alarm clock for one-thirty and crawled into bed.  Nick did almost the same thing, but set his alarm for one o’clock, giving him the extra time to drive to John’s house.  Both men had remembered to wear their sneakers for this job.

The two investigators set out for the Charles Donaldson mansion a few minutes before two a.m. and arrived thirty minutes later, parking a block away and walking toward the wrought iron fence.  Nick stopped, looked up and down the road and then stepped up closer to the fence, looking up.  He turned to John and said, “This thing’s got to be twelve feet high with nothing but the vertical bars; no place to get a foot hold.”

John agreed with his father’s assessment and said, “There has to be foot holds on the gate.  Maybe we can climb over that; come on, let’s go take a look.”  He and Nick walked a hundred yards or so to the driveway entrance with the fancy wrought iron gate.  Upon examination, they discovered that within the fancy scrollwork that made up the gate’s design, there were several places where a person could get foot holds to the top, which featured a fancy D at the peak.  John looked both ways up and down the road before he grabbed hold of the vertical bars and stepped up onto the gate, pulling himself up as he went.  He had made it to the top and had one leg over the horizontal structures when he felt the gate moving and looked down to see Nick pushing the gate open.  He said in a low, whispery voice, “Dad, what are you doing?”

“I just picked the lock and it popped open,” Nick replied.  “Come on back down here.”

John climbed back down and joined Nick at the opening in the gate.  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to pick the lock?”

“I was going to, but you just started climbing before I got the chance,” Nick said.  “Best rule of thumb; always check the easier way before you try the harder way.  Come on; let’s see what we can find closer to the main house.”  They both soft-footed over to the front door and gave it a quick once over.

“I suppose you can pick this lock, too,” John said.

“It wouldn’t matter if I could,” Nick said.  “Even if we could get inside, we have no idea how to disarm the alarm box.  We’ll have to think of something else.”  He started walking around to the side of the mansion with John following close behind.

John walked a bit further before he noticed a light in the window on the third floor and elbowed his father before pointing up at the light.  “That must be Donaldson’s bedroom,” he whispered.

“Apparently he didn’t expect us to be starting tonight,” Nick said.  “Well, he did say he wanted Charles to be surprised if and when he saw us in the house.”  He and John continued walking toward the back of the house until they came upon a ground level basement window.  Nick produced his penlight and shined it down onto the small window.  He dropped to his knees to get a better look.  He didn’t see any wires attached to the glass and figured that the alarm system had not been hooked up to this window.

John dropped to his knees as well and pulled his pocket knife out and opened the blade.  He slipped it between the window and the frame and wiggled it back and forth until the latch moved out of the way and they could push the window open.  “Come on, Dad,” he whispered and slid his body through the opening.

Nick took one more look around the grounds and then followed John in.  The basement room was pitch black with the exception of the small circle of light that Nick’s pen light produced.  He closed the window behind him and latched it again.  Shortly after Nick got the window latched again he stepped down, away from the window just as three Rottweilers stopped outside and began sniffing the ground in an excited manner.  Not seeing anyone in their immediate vicinity, the three dogs kept sniffing as they followed John and Nick’s trail back to the front gate.

Nick and John stood there, frozen in fear as the dogs ran off again.  They both shined their lights around the space.  To their left they could see a wooden door with a black knob and decided to see where that led.  Nick turned the knob and pulled the door open.  He shined his light in and found that it was nothing more than an apple cellar and backed out again.  “There must be another door out of here,” he told John and kept looking.

At the opposite end of this small room they found a second door and pulled it open, shining their lights into the abyss.  The small circles from both pen lights illuminated a wooden stairway that led up to the main floor.  “You going up, Dad?” John said; his voice a bit shaky.

“After you,” Nick said.  “After all it is your case.  I’m just your assistant on this one.”

John took just two steps up when the board on the second step creaked and he stopped dead in his tracks.  He spread both feet apart, stepping as close to the wall as possible where the stairs didn’t creak as much.  Nick followed John’s example, stepping where John had stepped until they got to the top of the stairs.  The door wasn’t locked and John eased it open, entering what appeared to be a kitchen area.  Nick eased the door closed again after he made it into the kitchen.  They both shined their lights around the space and silently exchanged a knowing glance.

Nick aimed his beam at a door with dual hinges that swung both ways and decided to see if it led to some sort of dining room.  He elbowed John and beckoned him to follow.  The swing door opened silently and the two passed through to the next room.  Without making a sound, the two of them continued through the dining room and into what appeared to be a large living room with a huge fireplace.  Hanging directly above the mantle, John spotted the area where the crossed swords would have been displayed.  Instead, all he saw were the lighter parts of the wall where the swords had left a telltale sign that they had once hung there.

He turned to his father and nodded.  Nick knew what he was referring to and just kept looking around this room.  John had taken just one more step when he tripped on something and went down onto the thickly carpeted floor.  He turned to his right and shined his penlight into the face of Maurice Donaldson, who seemed to have a sword sticking out of his chest.  Maurice’s face was frozen in horror or disbelief.  John gasped, getting Nick’s attention.

Nick shined his light down onto Maurice Donaldson’s body and then illuminated John’s face.  “Come on; this job just officially ended.  Let’s get out of here and call the police.”

“Not so fast,” a voice from somewhere in the darkness said.

Both Coopers quickly aimed their lights toward the voice.  An older, gray-haired man stood there holding a sword that matched the one sticking out of Maurice Donaldson’s chest.

“What are you two doing in my house?” the man said in a no-nonsense voice.

“I take it you would be Charles Donaldson,” Nick said.

“You take it correctly,” Charles said.  “Now tell me what you’re doing in my house.”

John looked down at Maurice Donaldson and then back at Charles.  “He hired us to check your house for security flaws.  I guess he was just looking out for you.  Now suppose you put that sword down before someone else gets hurt.”  When Charles didn’t comply immediately, Nick and John both produced the revolvers from under their arms and aimed them at the man with the sword.

Charles turned the sword around, handle facing John and took just one step toward the two armed intruders.  Nick and John each took one step back as Charles kept advancing.  When he got to where his brother lay dead, Charles caught the toe of his right foot on Maurice’s leg and tripped.  He stumbled forward, falling straight down onto the tip of his own sword.  The handle of the sword hit the floor first and Charles’ body fell straight down onto the tip, sending it all the way through the old man’s body.  He landed right next to Maurice’s body and lay there like two gruesome bookends.

“Now we really have to get out of here,” Nick insisted and started for the front door.

Just then the front door opened and the caretaker stepped in, holding onto three long leather leashes, each with a Rottweiler straining to get away from the man and at the Coopers.  The light switch switched on, illuminating the entire room now.

Nick and John both stepped back away from the beasts.  “Gees, now we’re really up the creek,” Nick said.

“And without a paddle,” John replied.

Both men were still holding their .38 revolvers out in front of them and aimed at the dogs.  Nick looked at the caretaker and said, “Look, mister, we don’t want to shoot your dogs if we don’t have to, so just make sure they don’t get loose from your grip.”

The caretaker, a man named Jud, said, “What happened here?”

Nick gestured with the barrel of his gun at the homeowner and said, “He did that to himself.  He tripped and fell on his own sword.  I assume that he must have killed his brother, lying there next to him.”

“Brother?” Jud said.  “Mr. Donaldson didn’t have any family, let alone a brother.  I don’t know who that guy is, but he sure as hell ain’t no brother.”

Now Nick and John turned to each other, a puzzled look on his face.  “Then who is he?” Nick asked of the caretaker.

Jud looked down at the man, who had originally presented himself to the Coopers as Maurice Donaldson and said, “That sure looks like Michael Harper.”

“And just who is Michael Harper,” John asked.  “And what was he doing here?”

“Hell if I know,” Jud said, holding on tight to the three leashes.  “But he’s been here several times before, asking about buying this place.  Mr. Donaldson has already told him he doesn’t want to sell, but this Harper fellow didn’t want to take no for an answer.  I have to say, though, that his being in here at this time of night is a new one on me.  No doubt Mr. Donaldson was taken by surprise when he came upon Mr. Harper.  It looks to me that the only thing Mr. Donaldson could protect himself with was that sword sticking out of Harper.”

“I think we need to bring the police in on this one,” Nick announced and produced his cell phone.  He hit the speed dial number for the Twelfth Precinct and got a desk sergeant named Peter Ripley.

“Twelfth Precinct, Ripley.”

“Sergeant Ripley, this is Nick Cooper.  Can you send a patrol car over right away?”  He gave the sergeant the address and added, “And you’d better send the crime lab and the coroner while you’re at it.”

“What have you got, Nick?”

“Two dead bodies lying on the living room floor,” Nick explained.  “And you’d better hurry; there’s another guy here holding back three dogs on leashes, so tell your men to be careful when they come inside.”

“They should be there in the next ten minutes,” Ripley said.  “Stay put until they get there.”  He disconnected the call.

Nick returned his phone to his pocket and turned to Jud.  “The police will be here in ten minutes.  Could you put those dogs in another room until then?”

Jud looked down at the three dogs, pulled them away and left the room momentarily.  He returned a moment later empty handed and stepped closer to the two dead men.  He looked down at Michael Harper and noticed that Harper’s right hand was stuck under the body.  There was just enough of the hand protruding out from under Harper’s stomach that Jud could make out the handle of a gun in Harper’s hand.  He started to bend over to reach for the gun.

“Better not touch anything,” Nick said.  “The police take a dim view of tampering with a crime scene.”

Jud stood back up and backed away from the corpse.

A few minutes later there came a knock on the front door and Jud hurried over to open it.  He stepped aside when he saw two uniformed police officers standing on the stoop.  The two cops let themselves in and turned toward the Coopers, whom they recognized.

“Nick is that you?” One of the cops said.

“Kenny Nolan,” Nick said.  “How’d you get stuck on the graveyard shift?  And who’s that you have there with you?  Is that Glen Carmichael?”

“Yes it is,” Nolan said.  “What’s going on here, Nick?”

Nick and John ran through the entire explanation, starting with being hired to check the security of this house.  He pointed down at Michael Harper’s body, explaining that the man had presented himself as Maurice Donaldson and that the owner of the house was his brother, Charles.

Sergeant Nolan stepped closer to Harper’s body and winched when he saw the sword sticking out.  “Ouch; that had to hurt,” he said, nudging the body with his foot to reveal the handgun still in Harper’s hand.  Nolan slipped into a pair of surgical gloves and pulled the gun out of Harper’s hand.  Then he looked over at Charles Donaldson’s body, which also had a sword sticking through it.  “Double ouch.  Then he worked out the scenario in his mind and said, “There’s no way they did this to each other.  Either one or the other could get run through, but not both.  Did you know about the gun in this one’s hand?”

Nick shook his head.  “Neither of us saw it.  It was Jud who noticed it.”  Nick looked around the room and added, “Where’d he go?  He was just here?”

“Who?” Sergeant Nolan said.

“The caretaker,” Nick said.

“He won’t get far,” Nolan said.

John stepped forward now with the explanation of how Charles had turned the sword around, handle first and was about to give it to Nick when he tripped and fell right onto the blade, sending it through his back.

“That’s gotta be one for the books,” Officer Carmichael offered.

Nick looked around and then back at Sergeant Nolan.  “Didn’t you bring the coroner with you?”

Nolan made an exaggerated motion of looking at his watch and replied, “Dr. Kline is probably still fast asleep.  These two will be just as dead in the morning.  For now, we’ll just have to transport both bodies back to the morgue and leave them.”

Just then the front door opened and two attendants in white pulled their gurney over to where Sergeant Nolan was motioning to them.  “Take these two back to the morgue.  Dr. Kline can start in on them in the morning.”

“You got it, Sarge,” the first attendant replied and began loading Harper’s body onto the gurney.  They had to lay it on its side since the sword prevented them from laying the body on its back.  They brought Harper’s body out to the ambulance and returned for Donaldson’s.  They were gone a few minutes later.

“What about statements from the two of us?” Nick said.  “I don’t suppose they could also wait until tomorrow morning.”

Nolan tossed his head toward the front door.  “Go on; get out of here.  Stop over at the Twelfth in the morning.  We won’t be there, but Lieutenant Stone will.”

Nick gave Nolan the two-fingered gunman’s salute and walked with John out through the front door and back to their car.  As Nick drove John back home he said, “Officer Carmichael was sure right about this case.”

“How’s that?” John replied.

“It certainly is one for the books.”

“Dad, there’s still one thing I don’t quite understand.”

“And what’s that?” Nick replied.

“Why on earth would Maurice Donaldson, I mean, Michael Harper go through that whole charade of pretending to be Charles Donaldson’s brother and being concerned about the house’s security.  Seems like a wild goose chase as far as we were concerned.”

“That kind of puzzled me, too,” Nick said.  “But the more I thought about it, the more I’m sure that Harper was counting on the fact that we wouldn’t have started the case the same day he gave it to us, or he wouldn’t have been there himself.”

“Come again.”

Nick held up an index finger.  “Think about it; he was probably hoping that once we broke in that he could just call Charles anonymously with a disguised voice and tell him that he’d seem someone breaking into his house, hoping Charles would hurt or kill one of us.  Then once Charles was arrested and sent to prison, Harper could easily buy the property with no resistance from Charles.”

“You lost me, Dad,” John said.  “I still don’t know what Harper was doing there tonight if he thought we’d be there soon enough.”

“Maybe we were his contingency plan in case he couldn’t get in tonight,” Nick surmised.  “Hell, I’m just guessing.”

As it turned out, Nick’s guess was wrong.  Later the next morning, John and Nick stopped in to see Lieutenant Steve Stone to give their statements.  “Sounds like you two had quite a night,” Stone said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” John replied and went through the story one more time.  “So, did you find out whether or not Charles Donaldson killed Michael Harper with that sword?”

Steve had to smile.

“Did I say something funny?” John asked.

“In a way; Harper was obviously killed with the sword, but Donaldson didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?” Nick asked.

“The fingerprints we found on the handle of the sword sticking out of Harper belonged to one Judson Ziegler,” Stone said.  “He was the caretaker at the Donaldson estate.  From what we could piece together, he killed Harper and might have killed Donaldson if you two hadn’t come along when you did.”

Nick and John exchanged a quick glance.  “Or Donaldson could just as easily have killed Jud.”

“Yeah, there is that,” Stone agreed.

“But Donaldson’s just as dead for being clumsy,” John said, with a bit of a chuckle in his voice.

The three of them were silent for a moment after that.  Stone broke the silence with, “Well, if you two will excuse me, I still have a lot of work to do.  You can just leave your formal statements at the front desk.  Thanks for stopping down.”

On their way back to their office, John said, “Officer Carmichael hit the nail on the head when he said that it certainly is one for the books.”

Nick had to agree and added, “And isn’t it a good thing that we got that thousand dollar deposit?”

John agreed and drove back to the Cahuenga Building parking lot.  The rest of their week would pale in comparison.

Spare Change

Walter Burns came into work that morning like he’d done every weekday morning for the past few years.  It wasn’t what he would have call his dream job; it was just a job; a means to get money to pay the rent and feed himself.  There were days when the job almost rose to the tolerable level, but for the most parts, it was just acceptable.  It was an office job, which was better than toiling in some hot, sweaty foundry, but this job was slowly sucking the life right out of Walter Burns.

What he really wanted to do was play music, like he’d done when he was younger.  Walter had taken up the guitar at the impressionable age of fourteen and had learned as much as he could as fast as he could.  In no time at all he had formed his own rock and roll band and was quickly making good money playing at picnics, birthday parties, bars and other venues.  Walter loved the life and played as often as he could.  But as with most things in life, people grew up and gravitated away from the band scene and into the work-a-day world of adulthood.  The other four musicians in Walter’s original band got drafted into the army, got married, took real jobs, bought houses and just abandoned what Walter considered the ideal life, which he was now no longer doing.

Oh, he still kept up with his guitar playing, learning the latest songs from the radio.  He had kept his fingers in shape, making sure the calluses on his fingers didn’t go away from non-use.  He had kept his singing voice in shape as well, singing along to his record player whenever he got the chance.  He wanted to be ready if another opportunity to join a band came his way.

It was just three weeks from Walter’s eighth anniversary with this particular company and he was certain that he’d be eligible for that raise that he needed.  An hour before lunchtime, Walter was called into the boss’s office.  He was ready to act grateful and surprised when the boss told him of his upcoming raise.

The boss was a no-nonsense guy named Peter Chaney, who had been with the company for nearly thirty years, since its founding.  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Chaney,” Walter said.

“Have a seat, Mr. Burns,” Chaney said, gesturing to a wooden chair across from his desk.  “Burns, the reason I asked you in here this morning was to let you know how our company is doing.  As you may be aware, another company that sells the same products we do has been operating in town for nearly six months now and it would appear that they are eating into our profits.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Walter said.

“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Chaney began, “I have the unpleasant duty to inform you and several other workers that we have been forced to trim expenses any way we can.  I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I have to lay you off if we expect to stay in business.”

The announcement took Walter by complete surprise.  Not only was he not getting that raise he was looking forward to, now he no longer had a job.  As it was, he was just making enough money here to pay his rent with enough left over to just stay on this side of the poor house.  Now what was he supposed to do?  He wracked his brain but couldn’t come up with a reply for Mr. Chaney.

“Mr. Burns, I’m sorry to have to rush you along, but I still have six more exit interviews to complete before lunch, so if you will excuse me.”  Before Walter left his office, Chaney said, “We’ll still pay you for the full day today but that’s it.  You can stay until the end of the day or you can leave right now; it’s up to you.”

“There’s a no-brainer,” Walter mumbled on his way to the door.

“How’s that?” Chaney asked.

Walter didn’t answer but just walked straight over to his desk and loaded all of his personal possessions in a cardboard box before leaving the building for the last time.  On the walk back to his car, Walter wondered what his chances were of getting another band together before his rent came due.  He just shook his head in disbelief and drove back to his apartment.  He set the box on his kitchen counter and headed for his bedroom.  His favorite guitar hung on the wall across from his bed.  He pulled it down and sat on the bed, playing the first tune that came into his head.

Walter spent the next morning hitting the bricks in search of another job.  They were hard to come by and by lunchtime, he’d become so disillusioned that he gave up looking.  He just couldn’t take any more rejection.  On his way out of the last place he’d inquired about a job he saw a man on the street, just sitting on the sidewalk, leaning up against a building.  The man had a tin cup and wore a sign around his neck, asking for spare change.  Walter walked right past the man without even giving him eye contact, yet he wondered how much money a man like that could take in during the course of one day.  Would it be enough to feed him?

Back home again, Walter sat once more on the edge of his bed, playing his guitar and singing along to the song on the radio.  Suddenly the idea hit him like a bolt of lightning.  What if he took his guitar out to the streets and tried to sing for his supper, so to speak.  While people may be reluctant to give money to some man just sitting there with a cup and no presentation, those same people might be inclined to reward a street musician.  Hell, it was worth a shot.

For the next three days, Walter worked up a song list and practiced each of the thirty tunes until he could play each one from memory.  He was going to go into this venture with the minimal amount of equipment; just him and his guitar.  Maybe later, if this worked out the way he hoped it might, he could always get a small battery powered P.A. system and a music stand for his laptop.  Then he could play along to backing tracks and sound like a full band.  But for now, he’d have to be content with just himself and his guitar.

On the fourth day Walter got up, washed, ate his breakfast and then carried his guitar case out to the car.  Luckily, living in Southern California, and not having to worry about bad weather that could prevent him from playing, Walter looked forward to a long and enjoyable career of playing music on the streets.  And this being Hollywood, of all places, the tourist crowds would be plentiful and they’d be sure to reward Walter for his efforts.

Walter parked his car on one of the side streets so he wouldn’t have to worry about frequently returning to it to feed the parking meter.  He carried his guitar to Hollywood Boulevard and saw a black and white police car parked at the curb.  Two uniformed officers stood up next to one of the buildings, keeping an eye on pedestrian traffic.  Walter walked up to them and asked if there were any laws against playing music on the street.  They informed him that as long as he didn’t interfere with pedestrian traffic, that he was welcomed to play for as long as he wanted.  Walter thanked them and found a nice spot just a block south of the Chinese Theater.

He pulled his guitar from the case and left the case open.  Taped to the lid of the guitar case, Walter had attached a piece of paper that simply said, TIPS.  He had already thrown two single dollar bills and another dollar’s worth of change into the case before he’d left the house.  Now that he had ‘primed the pump’ so to speak he was ready to start playing music and making money.

Walter started right in with a Neil Diamond tune that he had played since it was new all those years ago.  At first, most people just walked right by, oblivious to the street musician standing there.  Then one woman’s face revealed that she was enjoying the music and dug into her purse for some change.  She threw several quarters into the case, smiled at Walter and then waited for the song to end before she clapped and continued on her way.

By the time Walter had started into his second song, an oldie but a goodie from The Eagles, several other people had also tossed spare change into his case and had nodded their approval before continuing on their way.  By the time Walter had finished his sixth song, he could see that his guitar case now held several bills, including a five and a ten, as well as a dozen or more singles.  Almost the entire bottom of the case was covered with coins of all denominations.  He guessed that he had made approximately forty dollars and he hadn’t even been playing for half an hour yet.  Oh yes, this was going to work out just fine.

When he had played for a little better than an hour, Walter had considered packing up and calling it a day, but there were still so many tourists walking past his spot that he felt like he’d be leaving money laying on the table to quit now.   He had gone through his thirty song repertoire and had to start from the beginning again.  It really wouldn’t matter because the people who had initially stopped to give a listen were long gone by now and a new crowd of people had taken their places.

By the time he had been playing for two hours, Walter figured that he had nearly a hundred dollars in his case.  On his way home this afternoon, he’d stop by the music store and buy that battery-powered P.A. system for tomorrow’s performance.  Back at home, he already had a laptop filled with more than twelve hundred backing tracks and accompanying lyrics sheets.  He wouldn’t have to try to remember all those songs, since he could just display any particular song on the laptop screen and play along to it.  He’d be able to fill almost any request that came his way and the money would just keep pouring in.  He just hoped that no one would request anything from Bob Dylan.  That was one musician Walter couldn’t stand.  He could never understand why anyone would find his music acceptable.  He sang like a dog that had been hit by a car and his lyrics were so abstract that only Dylan himself could understand the message behind them.  He had enough other tunes to cover almost any other request, so he wasn’t worried about it.

That night in the comfort of his living room, Walter familiarized himself with the operation of the program on his laptop that displayed the lyrics and chords on the screen and synchronized them with the backing track that was playing along to it.  Before he went to bed that night, he was confident that he could pull this off.

The next day, right after breakfast, Walter returned to his favorite spot on the boulevard and set up his new equipment in just minutes.  He was no more than thirty seconds into the first full sounding tune when dozens of pedestrians stopped to listen with amazement at the solo artist who sounded like a full band.  The tips flew into his guitar case, keeping the genuine smile on Walter’s face as he sang his heart out for his fans, as he liked to think of these people.

Walter’s streak of successful performances continued for the next two and a half months and he had made more than twice what he would have made working in that stuffy office for Peter Chaney.  That alone made Walter smile as he played and sang for the pedestrian on Hollywood Boulevard.  At last he had a job now that he looked forward to going to each day, and even sometimes on the weekends.  He was fulfilling the fantasy he’d had since his youth.

At the end of another fruitful and enjoyable day on the street, Walter drove home, counted his money and settled in for a nice supper and a relaxing night in front of his television.  He was just a few minutes into one of his favorite shows when his kitchen phone rang.  Walter sighed, paused the television and hurried to the phone.  “Hello.”

“Hello, Mr. Burns; this is Peter Chaney; remember me?”

“Yes,” Walter said a bit impatiently.  “What do you want?”

“Mr. Burns, as you may or may not know, that other company that I told you about that had been cutting into our profits has gone bankrupt.  Well, that means that our company is doing much better now.  What I’m trying to say is that we’d like you to come back to your old job with a five percent raise.  What do you say, Mr. Burns; can we count on seeing you bright and early Monday morning?”

Walter couldn’t help but laugh right out loud.

“Did I say something funny, Mr. Burns?” Chaney asked.

“As a matter of fact, you did,” Walter replied.  “I have a much better job now that I really enjoy and it pays me more than twice what I was making with you, so you can take your five percent raise and stick it.”  He hung up the phone and laughed even more at the satisfaction he got from that call.  He was still laughing when he returned to the TV and started his show again.

The next morning and for the next two weeks, Walter returned to his favorite spot on the boulevard and enjoyed making music for the crowds that came to hear him perform.  Then one morning as he parked his car and carried his guitar around the corner onto Hollywood Boulevard he saw something strange.  There, standing in the spot where he usually set up his equipment was another guy standing there with a guitar of his own, playing music through a battery-operated P.A. system, much like the one he used.  He leaned out and looked down the length of the block.  There were two or three other musicians all belting out their favorite tunes and collecting the tips that should have been his.

Walter guessed that he could find another spot on another block, but this was the premier spot for tourists, since most of them gravitated toward the Chinese Theater to look at their favorite actors’ foot and hand prints.  He decided to move across the street and play in front of the Masonic Temple, which had been remodeled into a television studio for one of the current talk shows hosts.  He was still making music, but the crowds on this side of the street weren’t nearly as receptive as the crowds on the north side of the boulevard.  After two hours of putting his all into his music, his case held just nine dollars and some change.  This wouldn’t do at all.

Walter knew what he had to do.  He’d have to get up even earlier tomorrow morning and get to his favorite spot before anyone else claimed it.  And that’s exactly what he did.  The sun had just risen over the mountains and the pedestrian traffic on the boulevard had just begun milling around the Chinese Theater.  He was the first street musician to arrive and he quickly set up his equipment and began playing for the few stragglers who passed by.  An hour or so later two other musicians began setting up their equipment farther down the block.  The crowds were getting bigger and Walter was getting his fair share of the tips so far.  Now if he could just keep up the momentum he’d do all right.

Just before noon, Walter needed to use the bathroom in the store that he’d been looking at for the past few months.  They actually didn’t mind Walter coming in to use the facilities, since his performances had managed to bring more customers into their store.  He did his business, washed his hands and returned to his musical spot on the sidewalk, picking up where he’d left off.  The traffic sounds on the street sometime interfered with his music, but that was the price he had to pay for this prime spot.

Today, just as he was coming to the soft passage in his ballad, the sounds from the street picked up and drowned out the music.  Walter just kept playing, knowing that the sounds would die out soon enough.  They didn’t; in fact they got louder and louder as time passed.  He recognized one of the sounds as a police siren.  A patrol car was chasing a speeding car west on Hollywood Boulevard.  The speeder ran the red light on Highland Avenue but failed to lose the police car, which was still on his tail.  The speeder glanced back momentarily and in that split second had lost control of his car and fishtailed in the street.

The speeding car, now out of control, slid sideways and jumped the curb.  It slid west on the curb until it came to its first obstacle—Walter and his musical setup.  It plowed into Walter, sending him flying fifty feet down the street while still wearing his guitar.  The car then ran directly over Walter’s music stand, laptop, guitar case and battery-operated P.A. system, crushing everything to bits.  The tips in Walter’s guitar case flew into the crowd and down onto the sidewalk where it was quickly snatched up by the passersby who had not yet scrambled out of the way.

The car only stopped when it rear-ended the black and white police car parked several spaces to the west.  Police quickly apprehended the speeder and hauled him away.  The two cops who usually stood on the sidewalk hurried over to where Walter hand landed on top of the colorful umbrella that covered a jewelry stand.  Walter slid off the umbrella and came to rest at the base of the jewelry stand on the sidewalk.

“Don’t try to move,” one of the cops said to Walter.  “An ambulance is on its way.”  The cop looked down at Walter’s hands which had been scraped raw from the fall.  Pieces of the guitar Walter had been wearing were still attached to the strap around his neck.  The cop turned to his partner and commented, “Looks like this guy’s guitar playing days are over.”

“Too bad,” the cop’s partner replied.  “From what I could hear, he was pretty good.  And just look at the scrape on his neck.  I’d say his singing days are also behind him.”

The first cop pulled his partner aside, away from Walter.  “Unless he wants to do nothing but Dylan songs.” 

Do Not Analyze

As uncharacteristic as it was of private eye Nick Cooper to come in late, here he was at the start of a new week in the family business coming in nearly ten minutes late.  His business partner, who also happened to be his adopted son, John was on the phone so Nick just quietly stepped over to his own desk and settled in.  He had no sooner turned the first page of his morning paper when John ended his call and stood looking over at his father.

Nick held up on hand and said, “Before you give me the fish eye and start in on me for being late, I have a perfectly good excuse.”

“It doesn’t matter, Dad.  I just got off the phone and it looks like I may have a case this morning.  By the way, that was the second call I took this morning.  Another guy needs our services and I told him you’d be calling him back as soon as you got in.  I have to run, so make sure you call him right away.”  He handed Nick the pink phone message slip with the man’s name and number and then turned for the office door.  “I’ll let you know how the interview goes and when I’ll be starting on this one.”  John plucked his jacket off the coat hook and slipped it on over his shoulder holster.  He was gone five seconds later.

Nick sat there staring at the message slip, disappointed that he never got to tell John his perfect excuse for being late.  He laid the slip next to his phone and punched in the number.

“Flash Industries,” a female voice said.

“Good morning, this is Nick Cooper from Cooper Investigations returning your call.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Cooper,” the receptionist said.  “Please hold and I’ll connect you with Mr. Trumbull.”  The on-hold music played briefly before a man came on the line and said, “Mr. Cooper, I’m so glad you called back so soon.  I need your help right away.  Are you available?”

“That would depend on when you would need me to start and how long you’d need my services.  What is it you’d like me to do for you, Mr. Trumbull?”

“Mr. Cooper, I’m tied up in a meeting this morning for the next forty minutes.  Could you stop by my office at let’s say ten o’clock this morning so I can fill you in on my problem?”  He gave Nick the company address as well as his room number.

“I can be there by then,” Nick assured him.  “Thanks, I’ll see you then.”  Nick hung up and jotted down the client’s name and address before looking it up on his online map program.  The program informed him that Flash Industries was located just twenty minutes from the Cooper office, so he had time to finish his paper before he had to leave.

Fifteen minutes later, Nick folded the paper and laid it on his desk before slipping back into his own jacket, turning on the answering machine and hanging his back-at sign on the door.  Normally, his secretary Abby Ross could have kept an eye on the office while both he and John were out conducting business, but this was her day off.

Nick set the GPS unit on his dash and entered the address for Flash Industries.  He could be there with five minutes to spare and pulled out of the Cahuenga Building parking lot.  He made it to his destination in plenty of time and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor.  That same receptionist he’d spoken with earlier welcomed him in and asked him to have a seat while she announced him.

Several moments later the door behind the receptionist’s desk opened and a middle-aged man in a double breasted blue pinstriped suit stepped out and over to Nick.  He offered his hand as Nick stood.  “Mr. Cooper, I assume.  I’m Anson Trumbull; won’t you come in?”  He swung one arm out toward his office door and let Nick go in first.  He gestured to a padded leather chair opposite his desk and Nick sat.  Trumbull sat behind his desk and started right in with his request.

“Mr. Cooper, as you may or may not have read in the paper recently, my executive vice president was killed in an automobile accident last week.  I now find myself in the awkward position of having to fill that vacancy but I’m afraid I don’t have the time or the inclination to handle that task.  It would involve an extensive background check of the candidate I’m considering and that’s where you come in.”

“Background checks are a big part of what we do at Cooper Investigation,” Nick explained.  “How deeply into your candidate’s background do you need to go?”

Trumbull picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk, like Johnny Carson used to do while interviewing guests on his show.  “Mr. Cooper, the position is an extremely import one and I would need you to go back as far as this man’s grade school days.  I don’t want to have to hire a man next week only to find out in a month that he has some skeletons in his closet.  He’d be in charge of more than three hundred employees and several million dollars quarterly so you can imagine how thorough I would need you to be.”

“Not to worry,” Nick said.  “After my investigation, I should be able to tell you more about the subject than even his own mother could tell you.”  Nick produced his notepad and pencil and said, “Can you give me the name of this man you are considering?  Anything you could tell me about his would help in my investigation.”

Without missing a beat, Anson Trumbull handed Nick two sheets, stapled together in the upper left corner.  “These are copies of his employment application, including his college, high school and grade school affiliations.  It also lists his past and present employment records as well as personal references.  How long do you think this will take you, Mr. Cooper?”

Nick examined both sheets and then looked up at Trumbull.  With all this to verify and all the references to check, I would think that I could bring you results within a week to ten days.  Will that do?”

Trumbull flipped over several pages from his desk calendar and then looked back at Nick.  “We still have eighteen days until the first of the month, which is when I need to fill the position.  Ten days will do nicely; when can you get started?”

“As soon as I leave here,” Nick replied.  “Now might be a good time to talk about my daily rate, which is three hundred dollars.”

Trumbull waved the figure off as inconsequential.  If you can get me everything I need in that time frame, I think we can make it work.  What do you need from me to get started?”

Nick produced a folded contract from inside his jacket and laid it out before Trumbull.  “I just need your signature on the bottom and half down as a retainer; call it fifteen hundred.  If I finish my investigation sooner, you’ll get a refund of the unused portion of your deposit.  If not, the remainder will be due on completion.”

Without hesitating for a second, Trumbull signed the contract and pushed it across the desk to Nick, who tore off the client copy and gave it back to Trumbull, who buzzed his secretary on the intercom and asked her to bring in the company checkbook.  He wrote out Nick’s deposit check and handed it to the P.I. before shaking his hand again and showing him to the door.

Nick rode the elevator back to the lobby, patting his shirt pocket where the folded check resided.  He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face all the way back to his car.  His first stop would be back to his office, where he’d get his surveillance equipment, some bottled water and some snacks to eat during the surveillance.  He decided that his first stop after that would be to visit Lieutenant Steve Stone at the Twelfth Precinct, just four blocks south of his own office.  If the subject had any kind of a record at all, the search could end right then and there.  He hoped it didn’t; it would be the difference between a minimum one-day charge of three hundred dollars versus three thousand dollars.

Steve was in his office and invited Nick to come in.  He turned several papers on his desk face down and said, “Well, Nick, what brings you down my way this morning?”

“Oh, I’m doing fine,” Nick said sarcastically.  “John’s doing fine as well.  Gees, you get right down to the nitty gritty, don’t you?”

Without missing a beat, Steve said, “So tell me, how are you and John doing these days?”

“Nice try, Steve, but that moment has passed.”  Nick smiled, trying to cut through the awkward moment.  “Anyway, I just picked up a new client and I’m on a background check case and thought I might as well see if you have anything on record for my subject.”

Steve curled his fingers toward Nick and said, “Give me the name; I’ll check it out.”  He took the stapled sheets from Nick and turned around to face his computer, logging into the database.  After a moment he stopped, looked at his screen and turned back to Nick.  “Nothing criminal; he has just one entry with fingerprints when he applied for a government job a few years ago.  He looks clean enough.”

Nick gestured at the screen.  “Could you print that out for me, Steve?”

Without answering, Steve just hit the print key and a single sheet rolled out of his printer.  He handed it to Nick and said, “Anything else you need?”

Nick stood with his sheets and Steve’s and thanked him for the effort.  “Gotta run; I’ve got a lot of stuff to look up before I’m finished with this one.”  Before he walked out, Nick turned back and asked, “So, how’s your life going on these days?”  Before Steve could answer, Nick was gone, leaving Steve sitting there laughing to himself at his visitor’s wacked out sense of humor.

Nick slid back behind the wheel of his car and started the engine.  Before he pulled out of the parking lot, he casually glanced down at the printout Steve had given him.  Steven Taylor’s name stood out on the top of the sheet.  “Close but no cigar,” Nick thought to himself.  Everyone knew of Steven Tyler from the rock band Aerosmith, but this was obviously not that Steven.  Nick pulled back on the shifter and drove on to his next destination.

Nick spent the rest of that day and part of the next doing follow-up work on the references listed on the sheet Anson Trumbull had given him.  The three former employers listed on the sheet all gave Taylor a favorable report.  One of them even wished that he could have Taylor back with his company again but just couldn’t match the wage he’d been offered by Flash Industries.

As for his college records, Steven Taylor had exemplary grades, earning him a three point nine grade average.  There were no skeletons in this closet.  Nick went back even farther, assuming that Mr. Trumbull was serious about that part of his request.  He didn’t want to leave any stone unturned and wanted to earn every cent of that three grand.  Steven Taylor had been a resident of Los Angeles his whole life, not moving around like a lot of people tended to do back then.  All his grade school records resided in the same grade school building downtown.  Getting the information he needed took the rest of that day.  He called it a day and drove home.  He’d pick up the rest of his case in the morning.

Nick brought the papers inside with him, figuring he’d go over them again right after supper and before he settled in for a night of television.  As he sat there on his sofa, scanning the sheets in front of him, something caught his eye and he studied it a bit closer.  At the bottom of the second sheet, Nick noticed that Steven Taylor’s name had come up twice during a search of two laboratories that processed DNA results and both requests came from someone identified only by a case number.  Both numbers matched and were dated more than ten years earlier.  The search had something to do with a paternity request from the person identified by the case number.  Could it be that Steven Taylor, the clean-cut, all American boy with the good grades and the perfect employment record had at least one skeleton in his closet?  That made Nick curious so he made a note for himself to look into that aspect in the morning when he resumed his case.  He jotted down both laboratories in his notepad.

Eager to get back on the case the next morning, Nick skipped breakfast, figuring he could get something on the road.  He took his car through the drive-thru at one of the fast food restaurants and bought himself a carton of chocolate milk and a ham and egg muffin with some hash browns.  He had all of this gone before he had gotten to his first stop—the first DNA laboratory mentioned in the report.  He wiped his mouth and fingers on the paper napkin, tossed it in the trash can in his rear seat and looked at his image in the rear view mirror.  He looked presentable enough.

Nick copied down the case number from the DNA search onto his notepad and dropped it back into his pocket.  He figured he could make up a decent story to go along with his questions.  He walked in through the front door and found a receptionist drinking coffee.

She put the cup down when he visitor walked in.  “Good morning, sir; may I help you this morning?”

“Yes,” Nick began.  “I’d like to talk to someone about some DNA results that came out of this laboratory a while back.”

“Certainly, sir,” the receptionist said.  “If you’ll just have a seat I’ll get someone out here for you.”  She pressed a button on her intercom and asked someone unseen to come to the front desk.  When he did, she gestured toward Nick and the man turned that way.

Nick stood now and offered his hand.  The man invited Nick into an office down the hall and told him to have a seat.  “Now, what is it I can help you with today?”

Nick cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been putting together a family tree for my daughter and when I went to look for the DNA results I’d gotten here almost ten years ago, I couldn’t find them.  I was wondering if I could get another copy.”

“Do you have a case number I could look up?” the man said.

Nick produced his notepad and read the number to the man, whose nametag identified him as someone named Dr. Thomas Cummings.  He logged into his database and found the number, looking at Nick to see if he fit the criteria.  “What is your name, sir?”

“Cooper,” Nick said and left it at that.

Dr. Cummings’ face relaxed when he compared that name with the name of the person who had originally requested this information; they matched.  “Here we are; Cooper, John.”

Nick almost slipped and corrected the doctor about the first name but caught himself.  “That’s right.  The original request was made ten years ago.  Boy, am I glad you still have this on record.  My daughter is going to be thrilled when I present her with our family tree.  Could you print that out for me, please?”

Dr. Cummings hit the print button and a one page report slid out of the printer.  He retrieved it and handed over to Nick.  “Will there be anything else today, Mr. Cooper?”

“No, that should get me back on the right track.  Thank you so much for your help with this.”  Nick stood, shook the doctor’s hand and left the office, eager to get back to his car where he could more closely study the report he’d just gotten.  He half walked, half ran out of the building and back to his car.  His hands were shaking when he closed the door and turned to the report.  There in black and white was Steven Taylor’s name along with the name of the person who had requested the DNA search—John Cooper.  Nick couldn’t believe what he was looking at.

For the past two decades he had gone under the assumption that Kevin Cole was John’s biological father and now here was proof to the contrary.  And what’s more, John had known about this for that last ten years and said nothing to Nick or to Shelley.  Shelley had gone to her grave thinking that John’s parents were Nick’s twin sister, Veronica and Kevin Cole, a former L.A.P.D. captain.

All the way back to his office, Nick’s mind wandered, unable to focus on the everyday things going on around him.  As he passed through an intersection, horns honked and tires screeched.  By the time he had looked up, Nick realized that he’d just run a stop sign, narrowly missing the other driver, who actually had the right of way.  Nick straightened up and paid closer attention to his driving the rest of the way back.  When he pulled into the Cahuenga Building parking lot, he spotted John’s car and knew he’d better sober up and not give anything away.  He killed his engine, looked at his reflection in the mirror and slapped himself on the cheek, making himself concentrate.

Nick paused just outside his office door, took another deep breath, smiled and let himself in.  “Hey, John,” he said in what he thought was a normal voice.

John closed his laptop and looked up at his father.  “Is there something bothering you, Dad?  You seem a little shaken up.”

Nick hiked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Nothing much,” he said.  “I just had a near miss at one of the intersections a few minutes ago.”

John shook his head.  “Gees, there’s a lot of idiot drivers out there these days.  It’s a good thing you were paying attention.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Nick replied and laid his file folder on his desk.  “Looks like I’m going to finish my case by tomorrow.  I just collected the last of the information I needed.  I guess I can turn it all in to my client in the morning.  That was a long eight days.  It looks like I won’t be making the three grand I was thinking about.  I finished two days early, but that still get me twenty-four hundred.  Not a bad week’s earnings.  How’d your case turn out?”

“I finished it last night,” John said.  “There were only seven days for me so I guess I didn’t quite match your take; just twenty-one hundred.  Still, forty-five hundred bucks between the two of us will keep us going for a while.”

Nick thought about his ham and egg muffin from earlier that morning and suddenly realized that he had skipped lunch altogether.  He turned to John and said, “Could you go for a hot pretzel and a Pepsi?”

John nodded.  “Sounds good to me; are you buying?  You made the bigger wages between us.”

“All right,” Nick said, pulling the money from his wallet.  “How’d you like to go get them?”

“Sure,” John said and then quickly remembered something, snapping his fingers.  “Sorry, Dad, but I’m expecting an important call any minute now.  Would you mind getting them?  I don’t want to miss this guy.”

Nick sighed and said, “All right; that’s how hungry I am, but next time you pay and you go get ‘em.”

“You got it, Dad.”  John sat near his phone and watched as Nick left the office.  To help pass the time, John stepped over to the south window and looked down at the pedestrian traffic on Hollywood Boulevard.  A moment later he could see Nick walking up to the pretzel stand on the corner.  John turned away and started back toward his desk, when the file folder on Nick’s desk caught his eye.  He sidestepped over to Nick’s desk and lifted the file folder cover, looking at the documents inside.  He casually thumbed through the papers and was about to close the file again and his own name jumped out at him and he did a double-take.  He quickly looked out the window again and could still see Nick talking to Herb and knew he still had a minute or so.

John plucked the paper with his name out of the folder and quickly identified it as the report with his DNA results on it.  He also saw a name he hadn’t thought about in nearly ten years—Steven Taylor.  Oh no, he thought.  That meant that Nick knew about John’s biological father.  His ears got hot and he quickly put the report back into the folder and hurried back to his desk just as the office door opened and Nick stepped in with the pretzels and sodas.

John was all out of breath and quickly stood again, grabbing his jacket from the coat hook.  “Looks like you’ll have to eat ‘em both, Dad.  I got my call and I have to go.  I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”  Without a further word, John was gone.

Nick looked at the two pretzels and knew he’d have no trouble finishing both of them.  He carried the treats back to his desk and then slipped out of his jacket.  He had just taken the first bite out of the first pretzel when he glanced down at his file folder.  The corner of one of the sheets was sticking out.  He opened the file, ready to straighten out the odd sheet when he noticed that it was in the folder upside down.  He picked it up, turned it around the right way and then noticed that it was the DNA report. Then it hit him like a bolt.  John must have been snooping in the folder and must have seen his name along with Steven Taylor’s.  That’s just great, he thought.  Now they both knew about John’s real father.  That is, John knew that Nick knew but he didn’t know that John knew he knew.  This was going to make for one awkward moment tomorrow morning when they both came in to work.  DNA indeed, he thought Do Not Analyze.  Just deal with it.

Nick sat there until it was time to close the office.  He had all the evidence arranged and ready to present to Anson Turnbull.  That much was squared away, but what would he say to John.  Or would John even bring it up?  He couldn’t let this dark cloud hang over the two of them and let it come between them.  He’d have to rehearse what he was going to say and how he was going to bring it up.  He thought about it all that night and had trouble falling asleep.  But early the next morning the anxiety had left him and he felt like he could get through this all right.

The next morning Nick called his office and left a message on the machine that he’d be going to his last client’s office to deliver his findings and collect his check and that he’d be back right after that.  John came in at the usual time and was surprised to see Nick’s desk still unoccupied.  Then he saw the red light blinking and pressed the Play button.  Once he had heard Nick’s message, he calmed down somewhat and knew that he had maybe another hour to go over his explanations.

Nick brought Anson Turnbull the documents he had requested and assured him that Steven Taylor’s credentials check out just fine.  He collected Turnbull’s check and drove straight to the bank to deposit it.  He drove back to his office, all the while rehearsing what he’d say during his father and son talk.  Father, he thought.  Now not only was he not really second in line as John’s father, he was third in line.  He wondered if all this new knowledge would impact the bond that he’d developed with John over the years.  He had to push those kinds of thoughts out of his mind and just deal with the reality of it all.

When he came back in to this office, John was waiting there on the leather sofa beneath the south window.  He smiled at Nick and invited him to come and sit next to him.  “Dad,” he began.  “I think we need to have us a talk.”

“So do I, Son,” Nick said emphasizing ‘Son’.  “So do I.”

I’m Innocent

Nick Cooper stopped at the bank of mail boxes in his lobby on his way in to work that morning.  There were several pieces of mail waiting for him in the box, most of which were advertising or other junk mail.  It was the last envelope that caught his attention.  The return address on it stated that it came from San Quentin prison two days earlier.  He set this one on the top of the envelope pile and stepped over to the elevator.  His son and business partner, John was already at his desk when he let himself in.

John knew better than to razz his father about coming in even two minutes late and kept his comments to himself.  Instead he let Nick get settled in behind his desk before he said, “Morning, Dad; anything exciting in the mail this morning?”

Nick tossed the stack of junk mail and ads on the corner of his desk and said, “Those are all for you; I only got this one.”  He held up the San Quentin envelope and then slid his letter opener under the flap.

John got up and grabbed the short stack Nick had discarded and brought them back to his desk.  He quickly looked through the pile before tossing them all into his waste can.  “Cute,” he told his dad.  “What’s that last one you have there?”

Nick held up his index finger to silence John while he finished reading the letter.  When he got to the end, he looked over at John and motioned him over.  “Take a look at this one,” he said, handing the letter to John and waiting for him to read through it.

When John had finished with the letter he handed it back to Nick and said, “Isn’t that what all convicts say; that they’re innocent.  Gees, you’d think no one who was ever sentenced to prison was guilty.  Are you thinking about answering this guy?”

Nick laid the letter on his desk and leaned back in his swivel chair.  “I don’t know,” he began.  “Sure the odds are against him, but what if he is that one innocent guy doing time for something he didn’t do?  Don’t you think we owe him that much to at least look into his case?”

“Dad, San Quentin is nearly four hundred miles from here.  A drive like that would take you almost seven hours one way.  And even if you flew, it would still take you an hour and a half and cost you something like a hundred fifty one way.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed, but did you read the part of his letter where he said he just inherited a bundle and is prepared to spend it all just to get out of prison?  A case like this could net us something like two grand a week plus expenses.  What have we got to lose by at least hearing him out?”

“Okay,” John said.  “But he’s not going anywhere for a while and we’ve got time on our side.  So before you go spending three hundred dollars flying up there, how about if you just answer his letter and wait until you hear from him?  Then if he turns out to be some kind of flake, you’d only be out the cost of a stamp.”

Nick snapped his fingers and pointed at his son.  “Good idea; that why you get the big bucks.”

John looked puzzled.  “I do?  My big checks must have gotten lost in the mail.”  He gave his dad that smart ass smile he saved for just such occasions.

Nick pulled a piece of office stationery from his desk drawer and slipped it into his printer tray.  He typed out a short reply on his laptop and sent it to the printer, signing it at the bottom.  He produced a Cooper Investigations envelope, folded the letter and slipped it inside, licking the flap and then flapping his tongue around in his mouth the take away the glue taste.  A single stamp was applied before the letter was thrown into his Out box.  “There,” he said.  “Now it’s all up to him to convince us to help him.”

Nothing more was said about the letter for the rest of the day.  A little better than two weeks later Nick got another letter with the San Quentin return address on it.  He was the first one in that morning and decided to wait until John came in to open it.  John came in less than a minute after Nick had gotten settled in behind his desk.  Nick held the letter up and said, “Looks like we got a reply from our prisoner friend.  Come on; slide your chair over and we can read it together.”

John slid his client’s chair next to Nick and watched as Nick sliced the envelope open and withdrew the single page letter.  It started:

Dear Mr. Cooper,

Thank you for answering my letter.  I’ll be honest with you; I sent three other letters out to three other private eyes and you were the only one who bothered to answer me.  I believe I was stuck with a public defender who really didn’t care about my plight and I ended up in here.  I should also mention that I recently inherited a large sum of money, so you needn’t worry about my ability to pay your fees, whatever they are.  Would you please visit me so that I can lay it all out for you?  I’d rather not say in these letters, since the prison reads all outgoing mail and would censor the letters.  If you come and talk to me and still don’t want to take my case, I’ll pay you for your time and expenses of getting here.  Visiting hours are Fridays from three to five p.m.  I look forward to seeing you.

Leon Grimes

John leaned back in his chair and sighed.  “Gees, Dad, that’s a tough one.  What if you get up there, talk to him and decide you don’t want the case?  How would ever get him to pay you like he said he would?”

Nick pulled out another piece of Cooper Investigations letterhead paper and typed out a brief response to Leon Grimes, stating that Grimes would first have to arrange to have someone send him the retainer plus the expenses for flying up there, totaling fifteen hundred dollars.  “I’ll take this one to the post office myself right now and have them overnight it.  If he sends us a fifteen hundred dollar retainer check, I’ll at least fly up there and see what he has to say.  If not, well, than I’m not out anything except the postage.”

True to his word, Leon Grimes sent Nick a check for the amount he had asked for.  In the envelope with the check was a one sentence note; Please visit me at your earliest convenience.

It was Thursday morning when the check arrived.  Nick turned to John and said, “Looks like I’m flying up to San Francisco tomorrow.  Keep an eye on the place while I’m gone.  Meanwhile, I’m going to take this to the bank and make sure it clears.  Do you want me to stop at the corner on my way back and bring a couple of hot pretzels with me?”

“Don’t forget the mustard packs and Diet Pepsis,” John said.

Nick returned forty-five minutes later carrying a cardboard carrier with two cups of soda and two waxed paper wrapped pretzels.  The two of them sat around John’s desk eating and drinking as Nick told of how the bank did a thorough examination of the check and declared it to be good.  Nick washed the last bite of his pretzel down and said, “Well, now we at least have a fifteen hundred dollar cushion to fall back on if it gets slow around here.”

“What time is your flight?” John asked.

“I don’t even have to make a reservation,” Nick replied.  “They have flights every hour of every day.  That’s to San Francisco; I can rent a car from there.  Just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll catch a noon flight out of LAX.  That’ll put me at the airport around one-thirty.  Figure another hour to rent a car and drive to San Quentin and I’ll still have half an hour to spare.”

John looked up at the wall clock above the door.  “Well then, you’d better get moving if you expect to make LAX by noon.”  It was quarter past ten and the airport was a good hour away under ideal traffic conditions.  “Are you staying overnight or coming back after you talk to this guy?”

“I guess that would depend on what he says and where my first lead takes me.  I can call you from the rental car once I finish talking to, what was his name?”

“Grimes,” John offered.  “Leon Grimes.”

“Right,” Nick agreed and plucked his jacket off the coat hook.  “Wish me luck.”  He left the office, rode the elevator to the lobby and drove out of the Cahuenga Building parking lot.  He found a parking spot close to the terminal and made it inside with time to spare before the noon flight would be ready for loading.  Nick looked over the prices on the boards behind the various ticket counters and found a super saver fare of just twenty-five dollars one way to San Francisco.  He smiled at the thought of saving a hundred and a quarter on his fare and hoped he could find the same deal on the return trip.  He had already gotten three hundred from Grimes for the round trip.  Nick hadn’t even departed L.A. and he’d already save a good chunk of change.  He bought his ticket and a large Diet Pepsi and found a seat in the loading area.  He checked his watch and found that his plane wouldn’t be leaving for another twenty-two minutes.  That gave him plenty of time for another of his favorite pastimes—people watching.

To his left and across the aisle, Nick could see a skinny, middle-aged man with his plump, obviously overbearing wife telling what to do and where to sit.  No matter what he said or did, she was right there to criticize him for it.  Nick could easily picture this poor slob snapping some day.  If he was clever, they might not find her body for several months, giving him ample time to leave the country and finally get to live the rest of his life in peace.

To his right and two rows of seats back, Nick spotted a young couple with twin boys.  Nick guessed them to be no older than three and they were a handful from what he could see.  As soon as they got one of the boys settled down, the other would cry for apparently no reason and that got the other one going as well.  The weary worn look on the young man’s face told Nick volumes.  He could see this young man picturing in his mind riding free in the wind with half a dozen other men on the motorcycles.  Nick could almost read the man’s thoughts.  His face looked like he was wishing he’d spent the extra seventy-five cents for a condom.

Just as things were getting even more hectic, a voice over the loudspeaker announced the flight to Phoenix.  Nick was relieved to see that the young couple took their twins and hurried to the next gate.  Nick breathed easier now, knowing that the twins would not be on his flight.  He sipped that last few drops of soda from his cup and tossed it into the trash bin just as his flight was announced.  Nick stepped up to the boarding gate, ticket in hand and waited to be called.  With planes leaving every hour on the hour, this particular flight wouldn’t be very crowded and Nick was eager to get to his seat and take a nap.

Nick’s plane touched down in San Francisco and one-thirty-seven and he hurried to the car rental counter.  He found a compact model for eighteen dollars a day and told the counter man that he’d have it back within the twenty-four hours allowed.  He headed out of the airport parking lot and drove toward the highway.  Traffic was a little heavier than usual and he made it to the front gate of San Quentin prison by quarter to three.  Before he stopped at the gate, he had slipped off his jacket, removed his shoulder holster and slid it under his front seat.  The guards asked the typical questions and allowed Nick to drive in and find a parking spot.

Once inside, he checked his watch and found it was just a few minutes after three.  He told the guard at the desk that he was here to visit with Leon Grimes.

“Wait right here,” the guard told Nick and picked up his phone, asking to have prisoner Grimes brought to the visitation area.  He hung up the phone and turned to Nick, pointing to a door across from the desk.  “Just go right in that room.  A guard will bring the prisoner in shortly.”  He gave Nick a visitor’s badge to pin on his shirt.

Nick thanked the guard and let himself into the visiting room.  He could see a row of seats with platforms in front of them.  Alongside the platform hung a black phone that connected to a matching phone on the other side of the glass that separated the visitor from the prisoner.  Nick took a seat at the window on the far end and waited.  A minute later the door on the other side of the glass opened and a prisoner stepped in, taking the seat directly across from Nick.

The prisoner picked up the phone on his end and gestured for Nick to do the same with the phone on his side.  “Mr. Cooper, I assume,” the man said.  “Leon Grimes; I glad to see that you made it.  I was worried that you might have decided against such a meeting, like the other three investigators I asked.  Can I also assume that you got my last letter with the retainer you asked for?”

Nick nodded and said, “Yes, it came yesterday; thanks for that.  I think we ought to get right down to business since I have no idea how much time you’ll be allowed for this visit.  Give me just a little background on your situation, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“They arrested me for hiring a hit man to kill a man named Bert Walker.  Well, wouldn’t you know it, the hit man I hired turned out to be an undercover cop and with his testimony, they convicted me and I got a sentence of twenty years to life.”

“And did you do what you were accused of?” Nick asked.

Grimes shrugged.  “Sure, the bastard had it coming, but that’s another story for another time.  Besides, that was three years ago.  Jump ahead to seven months ago.”

“What happened seven months ago?” Nick asked.

“My uncle died and left me eight hundred thousand in his will,” Grimes explained.

“Now I see how you could afford to hire me,” Nick said.  “Go on.”

“Well, I figure that every man has his price; that anyone can be bought.”  Grimes smiled a half smile and went on.  I figured I could hire someone like you to contact Walker and give him a message for me.”

“A message?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, it’s simple, Mr. Cooper,” Grimes went on.  “All you have to do for your money is find Walker and tell him that he’d better recant his testimony, or else I would use my new wealth to hire a hit man to kill him for real this time.  Once he recants I can get a new trial and I could be out of here in no time.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Grimes,” Nick said, worry showing on his face.

“Hey, you wouldn’t be involved in anything but passing along my message,” Grimes explained.  “You’d just be the messenger.”

Nick waved his free hand back and forth in front of Grimes’ face.  “No thanks, Mr. Grimes.  What you’re asking is illegal, immoral and I simply won’t do it.”  He stood now, still holding the phone to his ear.

Grimes stood also and said, “What about that three grand I paid you?”

“Retainers are non-refundable.  Besides, I had expenses.  Good day, Mr. Grimes.”  Nick hung up the phone on his side and walked away with Grimes slapping his palms on his side of the glass and cursing Nick out.

Nick made it back to the front desk, turned in his visitor’s badge and asked to be let out.  The guard told Nick to have a seat and that someone would be with him shortly.  Nick sat back down and waited.

A moment later a man entered the room but wasn’t wearing a guard’s uniform.  He was wearing a blue business suit with a red tie.  He walked up to Nick and said, “You are Mr. Cooper?”

Nick agreed that he was and asked what this was all about.

“My name is Warden James Faulkner.  Please, Mr. Cooper, won’t you have a seat?  We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Mr. Cooper,” the warden began.  “Not many people know it, but the phones in the visitor’s room are all connected to a main switchboard and all visitor calls are recorded.”  When he saw the momentary look of alarm on Nick’s face, he added, “Don’t worry, Mr. Cooper.  You’re not in trouble for anything you said.  On the contrary, you said what any law abiding person would have said.  It’s Mr. Grimes who slipped his own neck into the noose with his proposal to you.  Not only will he not get out in twenty years, he will spend the maximum for his little stunt.  He will be spending the rest of his natural life behind bars.  I just thought you should know.  Thank you for visiting with Grimes.  Now he will also not be eligible for parole or even a new trial after a confession like the one he made to you.”

The warden stood now, as did Nick.  They shook hands and parted ways as the guard opened the door for Nick to leave.  He made it back to his rental car and drove out the front gate, pulling up alongside the road just outside the prison.  He called John like he said he would and told him what had transpired during the visit.

John had to laugh.  “This Grimes fellow doesn’t sound like the sharpest Crayon in the box.  What’s going to happen to him now?”

Nick relayed what the warden had told him, ending with, “And I get to keep the whole retainer.”  He checked his watch and said, “So I should be back at Lax by six and back home an hour after that.  I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning at the office.”

“Have a good flight back,” John said and hung up.

Nick flew back to Los Angeles, unable to nap, thinking about all the goodies he could buy with the three grand retainer.

Life was good.

Help Me

You get all kinds of clients in the private eye business, like the one I own with my son, John.  John once took a case from an insurance company who would soon be liable for a big cash payout to a woman hurt in a car accident who claimed to be blind.  All John had to do was follow this woman around for a few days before he could turn in his report.  He had recorded video of the woman driving around town; case closed.

I was once hired to tail a subject for whatever reason; I’ve since forgotten why and it doesn’t really matter.  I eventually found him—tarred and feathered in an alley downtown.  That one went in my Nick Cooper scrapbook as the most unusual case I’d ever handled. 

Then there was the wife who was caught cheating on her husband with his father.  I’m telling you, folks, you just can’t make this stuff up.

John and I handled one case together.  Some woman had hired us both to tail her husband, whom she had suspected to cheating on her with another actress in his theater group.  As John and I sat in the audience, taking notes on the play before us, we saw out subject come out onto the stage and start trading lines with the actress his wife had suspected was involved.  Three or four lines into his part, our subject grabbed his left arm and grimaced before falling down onto the stage in the throes of a heart attack that everyone, including the actress with him, assumed was part of the play.  He died right there at center stage to a standing ovation from the audience, but never got the doctor that the actress had called out into the audience for.

Nick also recalled the time that some crazed woman was stalking him.  She had made it apparent that she was after Nick as her love interest, but he was having none of it.  This woman was relentless.  She had sent him flowers with clever little notes attached.  Nick would come of out his house only to find gift-wrapped packages addressed to him.  Then, after Nick hadn’t responded in kind to the woman, crazy letters started being sent to neighbors about how awful he was, that he was a thief or even worse. This went on for a couple of months, so decided to investigate.  He finally caught her in the act and threatened her with legal action if she didn’t stop all this nonsense.  He was relieved when she finally got the hint and moved on to other prey.

This brings us to Nick’s most recent case and one of note.  To understand it, we need to go back six weeks to when Nick first got the most unusual phone call while he was alone in the office.

“Mr. Cooper,” the man’s voice said.  “I saw your ad on one of the billboards around town and thought I’d call to see if you could help me.”

“To do what?” Nick asked.

“To help me find my cousin, Ray,” the man said.  “I understand that you do this sort of thing.”

“That we do.  I’ll need a little more to go on; for starters, to whom am I speaking?”

“That’s not important.  What is of the utmost importance is your discretion.  I can pay whatever your going rate is, along with a bonus if you get results.  It is very important that you don’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone, including any of your employees.  You can’t ask law enforcement for help; just whatever you can find on your own.  Is that clear?”

“Now wait just a minute, whoever you are,” Nick argued.  “That’s not how I operate.  I…”

“Hold it right there,” the unidentified caller interrupted.  I’ve researched your company extensively before I called you.  I know, for example, that you charge three hundred dollars a day and require a two day retainer.  “Handle my case my way and I’ll double your rate and throw in a bonus of two thousand dollars once you find my cousin.”  Nick was silent for a moment the man continued.  “I thought that would get your attention.  Now, may I continue?”

“By all means, go on.”

“In tomorrow’s mail you will get a two thousand dollar retainer in cash.  And before you start thinking that I couldn’t prove I even sent you cash, just know that you’re being watched just to keep you honest.  Once you get your retainer you are to start looking for my cousin immediately.”  There was a momentary pause before he continued.  “I also know that you have questions burning in your head, so I’ll tell you just this much and no more; it is imperative that you find him quickly.  He is the only person I know who can donate one of his kidneys.  If you don’t find him, I’m a dead man.”

“What if I…?”

“And that brings me to another rule; no arguing with me and no second guessing my methods.  And don’t ever call me, not that you could.  I’m calling you on a disposable cell that will be destroyed after this call.  If I need to talk to you, I will call you.  Now, you can either accept this assignment or not.  If not, I’ll have to find another operative who can keep all this to himself.  If so, look for the cash in tomorrow’s mail.  Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Cooper; no paperwork at all on this case, understand?”

“Understood, but I think you may want to share one more thing with me,” Nick said.  “I’m going to need your cousin’s name at least in order to get started.”

“Yeah, right,” the man said.  “My cousin’s name is Kane, Jordan Kane; that’s all I have to go on.  And I’ve already checked the phone listings.  There are no Jordan Kanes anywhere in the area.  What I’ll need from you is a report on what his daily schedule is, where he hangs out and whether or not anyone lives with him.  I will call your cell phone every day for your progress reports.  So, Mr. Cooper, can I count on you to handle this discretely and should I send the retainer over?”

Nick couldn’t think of any reason not to do the job and said, “Sure, why not; I’ll free up my schedule for the next week and give your case my undivided attention.”

“Good,” was all the man said and disconnected the call.

Nick hung up his phone and furrowed his brow.  This would certainly take over the first place spot in his scrapbook for unusual cases.  The following day before he rode the elevator to his third floor office, Nick stopped at the bank of mail boxes in the lobby and opened his box.  There was the envelope, as promised, with twenty one hundred dollar bills inside.  He quickly looked both ways in the lobby to make sure he was alone before he folded the envelope and stuffed it into his front pants pocket.  He was nervous all the way up to his office.

Keeping his current case detail to himself, Nick started out on the quest to find Jordan Kane, who was supposed to be living somewhere within the millions of people who called Los Angeles their home.  The first three days yielded nothing Nick could call progress and he told the mystery man as much every day that he called for a progress report.  It was on the fourth day that Nick’s luck changed.  After talking to a dozen people he finally caught a break and found out that Jordan Kane was a regular at one of the downtown bars in L.A.  Nicked noted this on his notepad and kept following Kane for another three days.

On the seventh day, when the client called, Nick reported that Kane lived alone, worked at a nearby gas station and frequented the aforementioned bar several times a week, always between six and eight p.m.  The client thanked Nick for his efforts and told him that his services would no longer be needed.

“I’ll still pay double your usual daily rate plus the bonus I promised you, but you’re finished on this case.  I can take it from here and thank you, Mr. Cooper.  You may have just saved my life.”

Before Nick could reply, the phone went dead and Nick just stood there looking at it.  “You’re welcome,” he said into a dead phone and headed home.  All this week Nick hadn’t said a word to his son and partner, John and he felt a little bad about that part of this strange case.  But he suspected that he’d get over it once he got the final payment in tomorrow’s mail.  He’d be sure to treat John to something nice but was still not sure he’d want to fill him in on the case details.

The following morning as Nick cane into the lobby, he stopped at his mailbox but didn’t find any envelopes, money filled or not.  He thought that strange but just figured the postal service was the culprit and let it go.  The following day was Saturday and Nick made a special trip to the Cahuenga Building to check his mailbox.  There was still no fat envelope with his bonus.  Now he was starting to worry but realized that there wasn’t much he could do about it until Monday morning.

On Sunday night, John had stopped by Nick’s house to watch one of their favorite movies.  John brought his girlfriend, Abby with him.  She was also an old movie fan and enjoyed them as much as both Coopers did.  They had all just gotten settled in on the sofa with a large bowl of popcorn between them.  The movie would be starting in eight minutes.  Nick turned to the correct channel and watched as the evening news was just wrapping things up.

“And in the latest news, local businessman Jordan Kane was found shot to death outside of the Good Times bar earlier this evening.  Mr. Jordan had taken one shot to the chest and another to the head; execution style.  Police speculate that the mob had taken out a hit on Kane and are looking into that possibility.  We’ll have more coverage on our eleven o’clock report.”

A picture of Jordan Kane filled the screen for a few seconds as the anchorman was signing off.  Nick nearly spit out his mouthful of soda but quickly clamped his hand over his mouth.

“You can’t inhale your soda,” John joked.

Nick wiped his mouth on his sleeve, swallowed and turned to John.  “That’s not it,” He said.  “You know that secret case I’ve been on all week that I couldn’t tell you about?”  He gestured with his can of soda at the screen.  “That was the guy I was following; Jordan Kane.”

“What?” John exclaimed.

“That’s who you were tailing?” Abby added.

Nick nodded and said, “Now it all makes sense.   My client didn’t want any paperwork.  He didn’t even want to tell me his name and he was the one who would always call me for updates; never the other way around.  And that also explains why I never got my final payment or the bonus he promised.  He knew I’d never be able to track him down for it.”  Nick had to chuckle.  “And he was probably paid ten times what he initially paid me for the job.”

“What can you do about it now?” John asked.

Nick shook his head.  “There’s nothing I can do, and even if I could, I wouldn’t.  We don’t need that kind of trouble coming down on us.  Hell, I can’t even tell the police about this.  I have no proof that my client ever existed.  There wouldn’t even be any record of the calls he made to me.  Pretty clever, if I do have to admit it.”

“Well, if nothing else,” John added, “I think you’ve at least learned a valuable lesson about not taking any more cases unless you can call the shots.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Nick said.  “Looks like my client got to call all the shots, including the ones into Jordan Kane.

The movie started playing but suddenly no one was in the mood to watch it and Nick switched off the TV.

Oops

Private investigator John Cooper pulled to a stop in front of the insurance company and walked up to the front door where a brass sign read, Brotherhood Insurance Company - Since 1950.  John reached up and brushed away a single pigeon feather from the raised letters and continued into the building.  A middle-aged blonde woman sat behind the receptionist’s desk that had a name plaque on it that read Jackie Keller.  John stepped up to the desk and said, “John Cooper to see Mr. Cunningham; he’s expecting me.”

Without replying, Jackie hit the intercom button on her desk and announced John to Mr. Cunningham.  “Send him right in,” came the reply over the intercom.  Jackie gestured to the door to her immediate right but still said nothing.

“Oh, the chatty type,” John said to himself as he knocked on the door and then opened it, stepping into the office.  He looked at the no-nonsense man sitting behind a large oak desk and said, “Mr. Cunningham?”

“Come in, Mr. Cooper,” he replied.  “Thanks for coming so quickly.  Won’t you have a seat?”

John sat across the desk from the man in the three piece gray suit.  “You said something on the phone about a case you wanted me to handle.”

Without answering, Cunningham slid his middle desk drawer open and withdrew a manila folder and laid it open in front of John.  “This woman was involved in an auto accident six months ago and has been wheelchair bound ever since…or so she claims.”

“I get the feeling you don’t believe her,” John said.

“Not for a minute,” Cunningham said with certain conviction in his voice.  At several different occasions, different people have told me that they’ve seen her walking round her neighborhood and sometimes even running.  One person reported seeing her driving around town.  Mr. Cooper so far Brotherhood Insurance had paid her hospital expenses as well as continued care in her home.  I think we’re being taken, Mr. Cooper and I’d like you to get me the evidence we need to put a stop to all this so we can stop paying and start recouping some of our losses.  Do you think you can handle this for us?”

“Without a doubt,” John said confidently.  “My family has been in the private investigations business since 1946, shortly after World War II.  These days my father, Nick and I run the business.  I can assure you that between the two of us that we can get you as much evidence as you’ll need.  Our going rate these days is three hundred dollars a day plus expenses.”

Cunningham waved him off dismissively.  “That’s nothing compared to what you could save us by exposing this fraud.  How soon can you get started on this?”

John withdrew a folded contract from inside his jacket pocket and laid it out in front of Cunningham.  He filled in the particulars of the case and showed him where to sign before tearing off the client copy and handing it to him.  “I’ll need six hundred dollars to get started on this case.  If we need more of a retainer after two days, I’ll let you know.”  John waited as Cunningham wrote out a check for six hundred dollars and handed it to John.  John gestured with his chin at the manila folder.  “Could I get copies of this woman’s information sheet and a current photo, if you have one?”

Cunningham pushed the entire folder toward John and said, “These are all copies; you can keep them for now until you complete the case.  At the back of the folder you’ll find a recent head shot of Jane Hollings; that’s the subject you’ll be looking into.  Please keep me informed of any progress you make.  You can call my office directly; here’s my number.”  He gave John one of his business cards with his personal phone number hand written on the back.

John took the card, slipped it into the folder and stood, offering his hand to Cunningham.  “Thank you for your business, Mr. Cunningham.  We’ll get right on this.”  John left the office, nodded once at the receptionist and then exited to the street.  He drove directly back to his office where his father waited to hear about John’s latest case.

“Well, did you get us another client?” Nick said when John walked into the office.

John produced the signed contract and the check and handed them both to Nick.  “It’s a good thing your calendar is clear for the next few days.  I told the client we’d both get on this one and from what I could see, he, or should I say, the company has deep pockets.  This could be a big money case for us so let’s get started.”

Nick turned on the answering machine and hung the ‘Closed’ sign on the outside of his office door.  He and John rode the elevator down three stories to the lobby and hurried out to the parking lot.  “Well, for starters, I think we’d better stick together and go have a look at the subject’s house.  You can drive; I want to study the folder material on the way there.”

The address was someplace on Lexington, just east of Van Ness.  It was a small, unassuming house with an iron fence surrounding a small yard and a driveway.  “There it is,” Nick said, pointing out the windshield.  Pull up half a block further and park it where we can watch the house without being seen.”

John pulled to the curb just far away enough so as not to attract attention but close enough to see the driveway and the front door from where they sat with their binoculars.   They both unfastened their seat belts and got comfortable, each one taking turns watching the target house.  Things went pretty slow for the first hour and to help pass the time, Nick started talking about nonsense things that had been preying on his mind lately.  He turned to John and asked, “What do you call an alligator in a vest?”

“I give up,” John said.  “What?”

Nick smiled and replied, “An investigator.”  He laughed to himself at that one but John didn’t find the humor in it probably because he was getting a sore ass just sitting there for so long.

“Not your cup of tea?” Nick asked.  “All right, no jokes; how about something a little more cerebral to tax your brain?”

“Like what?”

“Okay, let’s say you are granted one wish, but you have to use the wish for someone else.  What would you wish for?”

John pursed his lips and frowned.  “That’s a good one, Dad.  Let’s see; I’d wish that the person I’m giving the wish to could grant me three wishes.”

“Not bad,” Nick said.  “Not bad at all.  Try this one.”

John stopped his father’s ramblings long enough to point at the house and then lifted his binoculars to his eyes.  “Check it out, Dad.  There’s a woman pulling into the driveway in a large black sedan.”  The driver’s door opened and she slid out and walked up to the front door of the house.  John got a good look at the woman’s face and quickly compared it to the head shot photo in the manila folder.  “It’s her all right,” he announced and made a note of the date and time along with the current location.

Nick was already aiming his thirty-five millimeter camera at the house and snapping off several shots, capturing the woman walking as well as several close-ups of her face.  He lowered the camera when the woman pulled out a key and let herself into the house.  “Well,” he told John, “We’re off to a good start.  There’s obviously nothing wrong that that woman’s legs.”

“Now what do we do?” John asked.

“We sit tight and wait for her to come out again and then we follow her and see where she goes and what she does,” Nick explained.  “We need to get some video footage of her walking, running, driving, or whatever else we can catch her doing on her own.”  They sat silently for a few moments before Nick said, “So, as I was saying earlier, try this scenario out for size.  Suppose some guy wants to know what his friends would say about him if they thought he was dead.  And suppose he could arrange with a friend of his at the funeral home to let him be laid out in a casket in full undertaker makeup and all.  Then all he had to do was lay still and listen to what his so-called friends will be saying about him.”

That made John smile.  “Do you remember what George Carlin used to say about this very subject?  He said that a person’s approval rating goes way up the minute they die.  And don’t you think someone would see this guy’s chest rising as he’s laying there breathing?”

“Okay, new scenario,” Nick said.  “What if it’s a closed casket funeral with just his framed portrait sitting on the casket while the guy himself is standing among the mourners in a really good disguise?”

John shook his head.  “Gees, Dad, it sounds like you’ve given this some thought.  Are you worried about what your friends would say about you?”  Several minutes had passed since the woman had let herself into the house and before John could speculate on his father’s crazy idea, the front door opened again and that same woman stepped out of the house and locked the door behind her.  She hurried back to her car and backed out of the driveway, heading west.

“Here we go,” Nick said.  “Don’t lose her.”

“I’m on it, Dad,” John said and kept a safe distance between his car and Jane Hollings’ sedan.  He stayed with the large car for several blocks before it turned onto one of the main boulevards and then pulled into a grocery store parking lot.  Jane Hollings exited the car and hurried into the store at a brisk pace.  John turned to see that Nick was already recording the woman’s carefree movements with the video feature on his camera.  John parked a few spaces away from Hollings’ car and decided to wait until she came back out of the store.  John looked at his father and said, “You want to do me a favor, Dad?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Don’t tell me any more jokes or give me any more hypothetical situations until we’re back in our office.  I want to be able to concentrate on this Hollings woman.”

The two of them waited another thirteen minutes before Jane Hollings emerged from the grocery store carrying two full bags of groceries in her arms.  Nick caught it all on video as Jane bent over and loaded the groceries into her back seat.  He waited for the woman to pull out of her space before he turned to John.  “I think we have enough evidence to satisfy Mr. Cunningham.  There is no way this Jane Hollings could deny evidence like this.  Come on; let’s get this back to our office and arrange it all in some semblance of order before we give it to the client and close this case.”

John drove directly back to the Cahuenga Building parking lot.  He and Nick hurried back up to their office and pulled out a blank jump drive to hold the pictures and the video.  They spent the next hour editing and arranging the video for length and clarity before transferring it to the jump drive along with the still photos.  Nick pocketed the jump drive and looked up at the wall clock over the office door.  “We’re early; how about if we go have our lunch before we take this evidence to Mr. Cunningham?  Besides, he’d probably be out having his own two hour lunch.  Or maybe it’s a two martini lunch.”

Nick and John enjoyed a leisurely lunch at the Gold Cup coffee shop before walking back to their parking lot for John’s car.  They arrived at the Brotherhood Insurance Company twenty minutes later and had to wait an additional fifteen minutes for Cunningham to return from his own lunch.

Cunningham and two other men walked into the lobby a moment later.  He stepped up to them in the waiting room and smiled.  “Well, hello again, Mr. Cooper; I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.  Have you got what I asked for?”

Before answering him, John swept an arm out toward Nick and said, “Mr. Cunningham, I’d like you to meet my father, Nick Cooper.”

Cunningham shook Nick’s hand and led the two men back to his office.  They both sat across from Cunningham’s desk before Nick handed the man the jump drive that he had prepared for him earlier.  “Just stick that into your computer and play the files.  I think you’ll agree that Jane Hollings is not impaired in any way at all.  You’ll have a rock solid case with this evidence.”

Cunningham stuck the jump drive into the USB slot in his laptop and played the video file.  His face took on a broad smile that eventually broke out into a full blown laugh.  “Excellent, Mr. Cooper, excellent.  Yes, this will do very nicely; thank you both.”

“Mr. Cunningham,” John said.  “I collected a two day retainer from you this morning but we were able to get what you asked for in just one day.  You have a partial refund coming.”

Cunningham held up one palm toward his guests.  “Keep it, Mr. Cooper; you earned it.  Besides, I’ll need you both to be witnesses at the hearing for this Jane Hollings.  It shouldn’t take but an hour, so you’ll have your second day’s worth of work in by then.  I’ll let you know when this thing comes to trial.”  He thanked the two men again and showed them out of his office.

Nick and John drove back to their own office, satisfied that they had done a good job.  They hoped Mr. Cunningham would spread the word to his friends, resulting in more work for Cooper Investigations.  They could both use a few more high profile cases like this.

They didn’t hear from Cunningham for another three weeks when he called to make sure they’d be in court when he presented his case to the judge.  When Nick and John walked into the courtroom they took their seats in the gallery and could see Cunningham and his lawyer at one table and Jane Hollings at another table with her lawyer.  Jane was not sitting in a wheel chair and seemed perfectly healthy and happy.  Cunningham’s face had taken on a confident look as he conferred with his lawyer.

“All rise,” the bailiff announced as the judge entered the room and stepped up to his chair.

They wasted no time in getting right down to the matter at hand.  The judge banged his gavel just once, read the indictment and looked at Cunningham’s lawyer.  “Mr. Porter, you may start the proceedings.”

Attorney Porter stood, looked at his notes and started to explain how the defendant had fraudulently taken compensation for injuries supposedly sustained in an auto accident.  He was about to go on when Jane Hollings’ lawyer, a man named Calvin Redman stood and objected.  “Your honor, there seems to be some confusion on the part of the plaintiff.  If I may be allowed a little latitude.”

“Proceed,” the judge replied.  Attorney Porter sat again.

“Your honor, I’d like to call our only witness for the defense,” Attorney Redman said and spread his arm out toward the back of the room.  The courtroom doors opened and a man walked in pushing a wheelchair with a woman seated in it.  “Your honor, this is Jane Hollings, the actual defendant.  This woman seated next to me, who was brought here under protest, is her twin sister and constant caregiver, June Hollings.  It would seem that the plaintiff brought charges against the wrong person and as anyone can see my actual defendant is still crippled.”

Cunningham turned in his chair and looked sharply at the two Coopers, whose ears were now getting hot.

Nick turned to John and softly whispered, “Oops.”

Grandma

“You know, Dad,” John Cooper said.  “I was watching a TV show about Hollywood back in its heyday of the studio system.  You know; where the studios had their stable of actors that they used for all their movies.  Anyway, I was watching a special about the making of Gone with the Wind.  Did you know they had to ‘borrow’ Clark Gable from another studio in order to cast him as Rhett Butler?”

Nick looked up from his morning paper and said, “Yeah, that was pretty commonplace back then until actors started going freelance.  That pretty much marked the end of the studio system.  Hell, these days the top stars can work for any studio that wants to hire them or they can and sometimes do start their own production companies.  Why did you bring that up now?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” John said.  “I just found it interesting enough to share with you; that’s all.”

Nick was about to get back to his paper when the phone on his desk rang.  “Cooper Investigations, Nick speaking.”

“Mr. Cooper, my name is Sophie Larson and I think I need a private eye,” the woman said.  “Are you available?”

“That would depend on what it is you want me to do and when.  Can you tell me a little more about what it is you need from me?”

The woman hesitated briefly and then said, “Do you think I could come to your office and talk about this?  It’s not very private where I am right now.”

“Sure,” Nick said, and gave the woman his address and described how to find his office.  “When would you like to do this?”

“How about some time this morning?” Sophie said.  “Would ten o’clock work for you?”

Nick said that it would and thanked her for the call.  “Then I’ll see you at ten.”  He hung up the phone and turned to John.  “Sounds like a live wire for sure.  That was a woman and from the sound of her voice I’d say she has an unfinished quilt at home waiting for her to finish sewing her part of it.”

“You could tell all that just from talking to her for two minutes?” John asked.

“You’ll see for yourself when she gets here at ten,” Nick said and went back to his paper.  Half an hour later he put the paper away and checked his image in the mirror above the sink.  He decided he looked presentable and set about straightening up his desk.

“Are you expecting royalty?” John asked.  “I’ve never seen you get this prepared before just to meet a client.”

“You never get a second chance to make a good first impression,” Nick told his son.  “She should be here any minute; act professional.”

Just then a frail knock came at the door but nobody let themselves in.  John stepped over and opened the door to find an old woman standing there.  He invited her in and introduced himself and Nick to her before inviting her to sit.

“My name is Sophie Larson.  I spoke with something earlier this morning.”

“That was me,” Nick said.  “How can we help you this morning?”

“Mr. Cooper,” Sophie began.  “I recently joined a women’s group called the Green Hat Society just to be able to interact with other women my age.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea,” Nick said.  “How’s that working out for you?”

Sophie’s face soured.  “It’s not; I’ve only been to four meetings so far and each time, when I get home, I find that there’s something missing from my purse or from my coat pocket.  I’m afraid that one or more of the Green Hat women are stealing these things from me.  I know I could confront them myself, but that would probably mean having to leave the club.”

“But do you really want to stay in a club with women who would steal from you?” Nick asked.  “Maybe you’d be better off to cut your losses and find another club.”

“There is that,” Sophie agreed, “but I’d like to recover what they took before I decide to leave and that’s where I need your help, Mr. Cooper.  Can you help me?”

Nick knew that neither he nor John would be able to look into Sophie’s problem without sticking out like a sore thumb but he didn’t want to give up just yet.  “You do realize that we get three hundred dollars a day for our services, aren’t you?”  He thought that after hearing their price that she might give up and try something else.

“I can afford it,” she replied.  “My Arthur left me well taken care of after he passed on.  Please, Mr. Cooper, I don’t know where else to turn.  Besides, I’m pretty sure that one of these ladies took my antique brooch and it was appraised at nearly twenty-seven hundred dollars.”

“Leave it to us,” Nick said.  “We’ll look into this for you and see if we can’t recover your brooch.  When and where is the next meeting?”

“It’s this afternoon at the meeting hall over on Santa Monica Boulevard,” Sophie said.

Nick touched Sophie’s forearm and said, “Don’t go to that meeting today.  I have an idea I want to try that might work out better if you weren’t there.”

Sophie agreed to miss today’s meeting.

Nick got her signature on a contract and collected a two day retainer from the woman before showing her to the door.  Once he heard her footsteps fade down the hall and heard the elevator door close, he looked at John.  “That’s gotta be a first for us; rousting a group of old ladies for a brooch.  Any ideas about how we can accomplish that?”

John looked puzzled at first and then offered, “Too bad the P.I. business isn’t like the old studio system from way back when.  Then we could just borrow…”  He stopped himself and said, “Never mind, it was a stupid idea.”

Nick snapped his fingers and pointed at John.  “Not so fast; that’s not as stupid as it sounds.”

“Huh?”

“It just so happens that I know of another P.I. business in town that has an older lady on its payroll…as a P.I. no less.”  Nick was smiling now.  “Maybe we could hire her for a day or two to look into Sophie’s case on our behalf.”

“Really, Dad; you actually know a little old lady private eye?”

Nick sat back down and looked up the investigator he was thinking of and punched in his number.  While he waited for the phone to be answered, he said, “Yeah, I met her at one of the last P.I. seminars in the valley.  She…”  He stopped talking and said into the phone, “Jack, is that you?  It’s Nick Cooper.  We met at…”

“At the seminar last fall,” Jack said.  “Sure, I remember you.  What’s shakin’?”

“Listen Jack, the last time we talked you mentioned something about having an older woman working for you as an investigator.”

“Sure; Augusta is still on my payroll and a damned good shamus.  Why do you ask?”

Nick explained about his latest client’s needs and said, “I was hoping to borrow her from you for a day or two at the most if you can spare her.”

Jack was silent for a moment before he replied, “You wouldn’t want to just turn your case over to us, would you?”

“Come on, Jack; I’d do it for you if the tables were turned.  In fact, the next time one of your cases calls for a debonair man about town type of sleuth, I’d loan myself out to you.  What do you say?  I’d owe you one.”

“Let me call you back in a few minutes,” Jack said.  “I want to run this by Augusta and see how she feels about it.”

“Okay,” Nick said.  “Can you let me know this morning yet?”

“Just a few minutes, no more,” Jack said and broke the connection.

“Gees, I thought you were kidding, Dad,” John said in amazement.  “I didn’t think there really were little old lady gumshoes.”

Even before Nick could object to John’s choice of words, his phone rang.  It was Jack calling back.  “Sophie says she’ll do it.  When do you need her to stop by?”

“The sooner the better,” Nick said.  “We’ll be here waiting.”  He gave Jack the address and hung up.  “She’s on her way.  Looks like we just hired us a grandma.”

John knew that the generation that preceded him didn’t look as old as the same age group from fifty years ago.  These days, sixty year olds looked pretty much like they did when they were younger.  The men from back then usually kept the same hair style from their youth, if it was possible.  There were overgrown hippies and still wore pony tails even though the top of their head had lost its cover decades earlier.  Some of the older women still dressed like the younger women of the day.  The only differences that told them apart were the extra lines on their faces.

Twenty minutes had passed since Jack had agreed to loan out Augusta to Nick.  Nick stood at the window, looking down at the pedestrian traffic on the boulevard.  He saw an older woman walking toward the front door of the Cahuenga Building and wondered if that was Augusta.  She looked to be dressed somewhat modern and had no trouble walking.  She disappeared through the front door and Nick stepped away from the window.  “I think she’s coming.”

Two seconds later there came a knock on the office door and John stepped over to open it.  “She couldn’t have made it up here that fast,” he remarked.

Standing in the hall was a typical grandma in a floral print dress and sensible shoes, carrying a large purse and supporting her weight with a wooden cane.  “Good morning, young man.  Would Nick Cooper be in?”  John stepped aside and let the old woman pass.  She thanked him and walked over to where Nick stood and introduced herself as Augusta McBride.  “Jack sent me over; said you needed my services on one of your cases.”

Nick shook her hand but his face told Augusta that she was not what he was expecting.  She was about five feet nothing, cute and plump, with gray hair, big cheeks, and a sweet smile. She looked like a sweet old lady who could be the best grandma ever. She dropped the frail old lady voice and laid her cane on Nick’s desk, straightening up considerably.  “Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Cooper.  This is how I manage to go places you couldn’t.  And don’t think I’m not up to the task at hand.  I can drop and give you twenty with the best of them.”

That got Nick laughing.  “I believe you could.  Won’t you have a seat so I can fill you in on my client’s problem?”  He told her of Sophie’s stolen brooch and how she thought it had been taken.  Ten minutes later Nick had Augusta briefed and told her where to start—at the Green Hat Society.  Augusta picked up her cane again and dropped back into her grandma persona and promised to call Nick with any progress reports before she left the office.  Nick looked over at John and said, “Another first—getting a case worked on without having to leave the office.”

John snickered and said, “I’d have given my eye teeth to see her drop and do twenty pushups.  You know this might just work out for us.  Another thing I was thinking; what with the times where a woman could come in handy as an operative…”

Nick pointed at his son and said, “I was thinking the same thing.  Maybe we should think about getting Abby trained as a P.I.  It would be another arrow in our quiver that could come in mighty handy on certain cases.  Maybe we can approach her when she comes in tomorrow.  I’m sure she’d like it better than just being a secretary and filing papers and answering the phones.”

Augusta made a quick stop at the closest second hand store and found the perfect green hat to help her with her case.  She stuck a long hat pin in it and wore it out of the store and caught the city bus down to Santa Monica Boulevard where the Green Hat Society met.  They wouldn’t be coming here for another hour of more so Augusta decided to take a closer look at the building.  The lights were all out and the place seemed deserted.  Perfect, she thought.

Augusta checked her purse and found everything that she’d need to do her job.  She looked both ways up and down the sidewalk before shielding the door knob with her body.  She plucked the hat pin from her green hat and worked it around in the lock for a moment before the locked clicked and the door opened.  She took one more look up the sidewalk and eased herself into the lobby, locking the door behind her.  She climbed the five steps up to the meeting room and looked all around, familiarizing herself with the layout.  She found the restroom and also noted where the main meeting room was in relation to the restroom.

Augusta pulled three very small video cameras from her large purse and began arranging them in places where they couldn’t be seen.  Yes, this was going to work out perfectly, she thought.  With the three cameras set up, Augusta went to the restroom to check their placement on her pocket sized monitor.  She knew exactly where she’d leave her purse when she excused herself during the meeting.  Assuring herself that everything was in place and ready to go, Augusta dropped the little monitor into her dress pocket, let herself out of the building and locked the door again.  She’d wait in the coffee shop across the street until she saw women arriving before coming back here.

Augusta took a seat by the window of the coffee shop, leaving her green hat on the seat next to her.  She kept an eye on the building across the street as she sipped from her cup of tea.  Fifteen minutes later she could see the first of the women arriving, each one wearing their trademark green hat.  She finished her tea and gave the woman another ten minutes to get settled in before she wandered back across the street to meet these ladies.

Augusta let herself in again and stepped up the five steps to find eleven older ladies sitting around talking, each one wearing a green hat.  One of the ladies looked up and spotted this new arrival and walked over to greet her.

“Well, hello there,” a gray-haired woman said.  Her name tag identified her as someone named Flora Michaels.  “Welcome to the Green Hat Society.  How did you learn of us?”

Augusta tried to look surprised and replied, “I hadn’t really heard of you before.  I was having my tea at the coffee shop across the street and when I looked over and saw all of you wearing hats like mine I got curious.  What is it you do here?”

Flora smiled and took Augusta’s arm, leading her over to where the other eight ladies sat talking.  “Ladies,” Flora said, “I’d like you to meet…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Augusta, Augusta McBride.”  She smiled and nodded at the women.  “Like I was telling Flora here, I saw all you ladies from across the street and just got curious.  She was about to tell me what you all do here.”

Flora spoke up again.  “The society's events vary depending on the chapter, but common activities among Green Hatters include hosting tea parties, playing games, raising hell in local taverns and not tipping, going to movies or theater events, traveling on excursions and to larger GHS conventions.  Today is our game day.  We were just about to settle down to a raucous game of Pinochle.  Do you play?”

Augusta smiled, knowing she could outplay anyone in this group.  “I’ve played it before.”

“Well come and join us,” Flora said.  “Then we can all introduce ourselves and get to know you.  Perhaps you’ll want to join our little group before the afternoon is up.”  Flora and some of the other women helped set up several tables and then bring out the packs of cards.  “Oh, this is perfect.  Now that we have an even twelve players, we can split up into three groups of four each.”

Augusta looked for the table with just three players and set her purse up on a nearby shelf before taking the vacant seat and waiting to be dealt her hand of cards.  They were ten minutes into their games when Augusta stood and said that she needed to use the restroom and asked where it was.  Flora pointed to the door at the far end of the room and told Augusta that their table would hold off until she got back.

Augusta closed and locked the restroom door, pulled the little monitor from her dress pocket and turned it on, keeping a close eye on the shelf that held her purse.  She checked the other two locations and could see each of the other eleven women, who had all stopped playing and were now looking around the room.  Automatically, one of the women stood and kept an eye on the restroom door while Flora quietly padded over to the shelf with Augusta’s purse and quickly rifled through it.  She took something that Augusta couldn’t identify but she already knew everything that she had in her purse so it would just be a process of elimination before she could determine what was taken.

When Augusta returned from the restroom she took her seat again and turned sharply toward Flora, pointing in her face with her index finger.  She turned her palm up and said, “All right, let’s have it.  You know what I’m talking about.”

Flora tried to play dumb and put on her blank face.  She shrugged and spread her hands.  “I don’t…”

“Are you sure this is how you want to play it?” Augusta said and then produced her pocket-sized monitor.  When she played the video for Flora, the woman’s face fell and she sat there speechless.

“Hand it over,” Augusta demanded and waited while Flora reached into her own pocket and produced a gold wrist watch.  She handed it to Augusta, still unable to form a sentence.

Augusta slipped the watch onto her wrist and stuck her upturned palm out again.  “And I’ll take Sophie Larson’s brooch as well.  Don’t make me ask you twice.”

Flora and some of the other women exchanged glances before one of them produced the brooch and slid it across the table toward Augusta, who snapped it up and dropped it into her pocket.  She stood now, grabbed her purse from the shelf and started for the door.  Before she left, she looked back and said, “And one more thing; if I ever hear of any of you robbing any other little old ladies, I’ll take what I know to the police.”  She reached up in three places and retrieved her mini surveillance cameras before exiting the building.

As soon as she was out of the room, the eleven ladies all began chattering like a flock of magpies, each one blaming the other for this misadventure.

Augusta walked to the corner and caught the first bus to Hollywood Boulevard.  She got off at the corner of Cahuenga and walked over to the entrance to Cooper’s building.  She rode the elevator to the third floor, carrying her large purse.  She made a quick stop in the ladies room and changed out of her floral dress and sensible shoes, changing into another, younger looking outfit before continuing on to the Cooper office.  She knocked on the door and waited.

John opened the door and said, “Yes, may I help you, ma’am?”  She said nothing but just let John look at her a little longer until he caught a glint of recognition in her face.  “Augusta?  What happened to you?  You look so different; come in.”

Augusta stepped into the office and looked over at Nick, giving him a flirtatious wink before holding out Sophie’s brooch in the palm of her hand.  “Got it.”

“So you did,” Nick said smiling broadly.  “How’d you do that?”

Augusta wagged her finger back and forth in front on Nick.  “Uh uh, trade secret.”

“Well, whatever you did, it worked and that’s all that counts.”  Nick produced his wallet and said, “So, what do we owe you for your trouble?”

Without hesitation Augusta said, “Two bills should cover it.”

Nick paid her immediately and thanked her for her efforts.  “I’ll keep you name on file in case anything like this ever comes up again.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve the Green Hat Society,” Augusta said.  “My cover is blown there.  Thanks again, Mr. Cooper.”  She let herself out of the office and hurried back to the corner to catch her bus.

“That does it,” Nick said.  “When Abby comes in tomorrow we can both work on her and see if she’s game for joining us as a P.I.”

“No need,” John said.  “I’ll lay it all out for her tonight at home.”

“Yeah,” Nick said.  “And when you’re done you can ask her if she wants to be a P.I.”

John’s face turned red and he sighed heavily.  “What am I gonna do with you, old man?”

Nick enjoyed a good laugh at John’s expense and pulled the paper from his desk drawer to finish what he’d started earlier that day.

And Abby Makes Three

After the last case Cooper Investigations handled without involving either Nick or John, the two partners decided that they could use a female agent to handle cases they couldn’t.  They got this idea when they had farmed out their case to a little old lady who was able to fit right into the situation and get the results that neither Cooper could have.  That was when Nick suggested to John that he ask his girlfriend, Abby Ross, who also happened to be the Coopers’ secretary; if perhaps she’d like to train to become a P.I. instead of a secretary.  John promised his dad that he’d approach Abby with the prospect when he got home that night.

Abby and John came in together the next morning and Nick could tell by the smile on Abby’s face that she liked the idea that John had suggested.  Either that or it was something else that John did to put that smile on her face, but Nick wasn’t going to go down that path and decided to keep it on a professional level.  Nick was already sitting behind his desk when the two of them came in and he invited them to both pull up a chair across from his desk and get right down to the matter at hand.

Before Nick could start in with the talk, John said, “Dad, Abby and I talked about what you suggested and she’s all for it.”

“That’s right, Nick,” Abby agreed.  “While I do enjoy my time here with the two of you doing secretarial work, I think I’d welcome the change for something a little more challenging and rewarding.  Count me in.”

“Terrific, Abby,” Nick replied.  “From just being around us for all this while, you have a pretty good grasp of what it is we do so it should be a breeze for you to use that information to get yourself up and running in no time.  We’ll have to take you down to the Twelfth Precinct and get you to fill out the application for your private eye license and you’ll need to take a gun safety course before you can get your carry permit.  You do want to carry a weapon, don’t you?”

“You bet,” Abby replied.  “From just what I’ve seen you two doing, I’d feel downright naked without a sidearm.”

Nick blushed ever so slightly from Abby’s last remark but it didn’t faze John in the least.  He just looked at Abby and wagged both eyebrows at his girlfriend and smiled like Mona Lisa.

“How long do you think all of this will take?” Abby asked eagerly.

“Not too long, if we get right to it,” Nick said and then turned to John.  “Would you keep an eye on the office while I take Abby over to see Steve?”  Steve was Lieutenant Steve Stone of the L.A.P.D.  Nick stood now and turned to Abby.  “Shall we, Miss Ross?”  He swept one arm toward the office door.

“Certainly, Mr. Cooper,” Abby said, grabbing her purse and following Nick down the hall to the elevator, leaving the office to John.

John knew from having applied for his permit and having signed up for the gun safety course about how long they would be gone and just settled in behind his desk with Nick’s morning paper.  During the time they were gone he had taken just one call but it didn’t develop into a client for Cooper Investigations.  Forty minutes after they had left, Nick and Abby returned.  She was holding a single sheet in her hand and had a huge smile covering her face.

“How’d you do?” John asked.

Abby set her purse down and laid the sheet on her desk.  “I filled out my P.I. license application.  I should get an answer back in a day or two.”  She pointed at the sheet she’d brought in with her.  “And that is my carry permit application.  I’ll hold off filling it out and turning it in until I get my P.I. license.  Gees, this is awfully exciting.”

Nick looked over at John’s desk.  “Is that my paper?”

John folded the paper back up and handed it to his father.  “There you go, Dad, just like new again.”  He turned to Abby and asked, “Have you thought about what kind of gun you might want to carry and where you’d carry it?  I wouldn’t suggest that you carry it around in your purse, in case you need to get it out in a hurry.”  Then he turned back to his father and asked, “Dad, do you remember where Mom used to carry her revolver?”

Even thought it had been a while since Shelley’s passing, it still hit a nerve with Nick, who tried not to let it show.  Nick’s late wife, Shelley had been on a case, riding with Nick when the people they were supposed to be tailing, pulled up alongside Nick’s car and sprayed the back door with automatic gun fire.  Several rounds passed through the back door on an angle and went through Shelley’s seat back, killing her instantly.

“Your mother mostly wore an underarm shoulder holster, but on occasion wore it on her belt,” Nick said.  “Abby can decide later where it would be handiest for her.”

Abby looked at Nick and said, “I guess I can wait until I actually get my gun before I have to decide.”  She sat behind her desk and looked over the carry permit again.

Nick got up from his desk and stepped over to Abby’s desk.  He unbuckled his shoulder holster and slipped the gun out, emptying the cylinder of the six bullets before slipping it back into the holster.  He held the holster rig out to Abby and said, “Here, why don’t you try mine on and see how it feels under your arm.”

Abby laid the application back down and took the shoulder rig from John, who helped her slip into it and fasten it.  She hunched her shoulders, helping to arrange the fabric of her blouse and then just stood there with the gun hanging there.  “It feels heavier than I imagined,” she said.  “Do they make an outfit like this for a smaller gun as well?”

Nick and John exchanged a knowing glance before Nick said, “I’m sure they must make one for a .22 caliber or maybe a .32 revolver, but you can’t beat a .38 for stopping power.  Like I told John when he picked out his weapon, it’s better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.  Why don’t you just wear that around the office for a while and see if you can get used to it.  And once you have yours, you’ll need to wear outfits that include some sort of jacket that’ll cover it up when you’re in public.”

Abby nodded.  “There’s something I hadn’t considered.  Thanks for the advice.”

John shrugged his shoulders and said, “Now I feel naked without my sidearm.”

No other calls came in that morning and by the time lunch had rolled around, Abby figured that she had had enough time to get used to wearing the shoulder holster and slipped out of it, handing it back to John.  John slipped the six cartridges back into the cylinder and strapped on the holster again.  He hunched his shoulders, like James Cagney did in so many of those gangster movies he was known for.  “That feels more like it.  Who’s up for some lunch?”

Nick held a palm up toward his son.  “Why don’t you and Abby just go and get something to eat.  I want to hang around the office for a while.  I’ll get something for myself when you two get back.”

“We won’t be long,” John promised and led Abby out of the office and down to the elevator.  The two of them walked the half block west to the Gold Cup Coffee Shop on the boulevard.  They took a booth by the window and watched the pedestrian traffic go by as they ate their sandwiches.

“I’m so excited to get started on this new adventure,” Abby told John.  “Thanks a lot for giving me the opportunity.  I won’t let either of you down.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” John replied.  “And it’ll be great having another female operative again.  There were times when Mom and I worked together and those times were special for me.  She taught me so much.”

“And I’m sure I’ll be able to learn a lot from you, too,” Abby replied and then went back to finishing her sandwich and orange juice.

Back at the office Nick had gotten a call from Lieutenant Stone, who informed Nick that he had pulled a few strings and called in a few favors to help get Abby’s P.I. registration rushed through.  “It should come back in the next day or two but I’m going to need to see her results from the gun safety course.  Would you make sure she takes care of that part today or tomorrow?”

“I’ll see to it myself,” Nick assured the lieutenant.  “And thanks a lot for the influence.  I’ll owe you one.”

“Funny you should mention owing me one,” Steve said.  “I could use some help from at least one of you for the next twenty-four hours.  It doesn’t matter which one, you or John, but I need some help with something.”

“What is it, Steve; something interesting or mundane?”

“Depends what you consider interesting,” Stone said.  “But what it involves is just some easy interviewing of three or four witnesses to a car accident that happened earlier this morning.  I just don’t have the manpower to send any of my own men out, so I was just hoping…”

“You got it, Steve,” Nick said.  “I’ll hand this over to John as soon as he returns from lunch.”  Just then the office door opened and Abby and John walked in.  “Hold on, Steve, John just walked in.  Let me put you on hold and John can talk to you directly about this.”  Nick pressed the hold button and told John to pick up line one.

“Hey Steve, what’s new and exciting in the world of law enforcement?” John asked.

Stone went over the assignment he had for John and thanked him for his help before hanging up.  John turned to Nick and said, “Steve actually asked for me?”

“Somewhat,” Nick replied.  “He kind of hinted around that he needed one of us for just a day and I suggested you.  Besides, he did us a favor.”  Nick explained about Steve’s rushing Abby’s P.I. application through and caught her broad smile from his peripheral vision.  Also, he wants to see the results of Abby’s gun safety course and I told him I’d take her there myself and that left you.  Have fun.”

Abby sat back down and immediately began filling out her gun safety course application.  She looked up at John and said, “Thanks.”

Nick furrowed his brow and looked at his son.  “What did she mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing much,” John said.  “It’s just that every time I went to the range for practice, Abby came along with me and I’ve been going over the things they asked of me when I took the course.  Hell, she’s as ready as she’ll ever be.  You’ll see; she’ll pass that course on her first try, no sweat.”

Nick pursed his lips and cocked his head to one side.  “Well then, looks like we’re off and running.”  He looked at Abby and said, “I hope you’re a fast learner.”

“I can handle it, Nick,” she said.

And she did.  She filled out the application and rode with Nick to the range to go through her paces while John fulfilled his promise to Steve by conducting the interviews for him.  When the course ended, the instructor looked at Abby and said, “Well, young lady, that was pretty impressive shooting and you handled your weapon safely almost like you were born to do it.  I can tell you with all certainty that you passed the course and here’s your certificate; congratulations.  I understand that you’ll be joining Nick here in his business.”

“That’s right,” Nick said.  “John and me and Abby make three.  Thanks a lot, Frank.”

Nick drove Abby back to the office and updated her employee file to include operative to her job title.  Just before they closed the office for the day, John returned from his day of interviews for Steve.  As soon as he walked in, Abby held up her course certificate and smiled.  She rushed over to John and threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“I’ll give you that one,” John said.  “But don’t ever do that when we’re in public or on the job.”

Abby kissed his cheek and stepped back, still smiling.  “I’ll remember.”

“Tomorrow we can go gun shopping,” Nick told her.  “We’ll get you something that fits who you are and something that you can handle easily.  I say we tackle that task first thing in the morning so we can get it out of the way and get on with our day.  And as for assignments, you’ll ride along with either me or John or with both of us until I think you can handle one by yourself; okay?”

“What about my P.I. license?” Abby said.  “I still don’t have that yet.”

Nick reached behind him and pulled a small piece of paper off his desk.  “Steve called earlier and told me I could come down and pick it up.”  He handed it to Abby and said, “Keep this on you at all times, along with your gun registration, which you won’t get for a week after we pick out a gun for you.  Meanwhile, you’ll have to just ride along and observe without getting involved.”  Nick paused momentarily and added, “So, I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow morning bright and early.”

Abby couldn’t wipe the smile off her face all the way home.  She couldn’t wait for her first ride along and eventually her first real case.  She didn’t have to wait long for the ride along.  The following morning John got a call for his services and told Nick he’d be taking Abby along with him.  It was a simple case of some woman who wanted Cooper to have her fur coat examined by an expert because she claimed her dry cleaner ruined it.

Abby seemed a bit disappointed by the banality of the case but figured she had to take the dull with the exciting if she expected to be accepted by her fellow workers.  When they got to the house, Nick looked at Abby and said, “Now remember, you’re just here to observe so let me do all the talking when we get inside.”

“It’s all yours,” Abby agreed and followed John up to the front stoop where he rang the doorbell and waited.  A younger woman answered the door and looked at the young couple standing there.  She had expected a private eye like the ones she’s seen on television and her face showed a bit of disappointment.  “Mrs. Mercer, my name is John Cooper.  We spoke this morning about a problem you were having with your dry cleaner and some fur coat.”  Mercer’s face softened somewhat and she invited them both inside.  John introduced Abby to the woman and then followed her into the living room where Mr. Mercer was already sitting.  He was holding on to a fur coat and stood when the two strangers entered.  Mrs. Mercer introduced him to their guests.

“Look at this, Mr. Cooper,” Jack Mercer said.  “A fifty-seven hundred dollar fur coat and that idiot at the dry cleaners ruined it.  Just look at those stains.  He claims they were already there and wouldn’t do anything for us.”

“And what is it you’d like me to do for you regarding the coat?” John asked.

“We’d like you to take it to an expert who can identify those stains so we’ll have something to use for leverage when we sue the dry cleaner.  Can you do that?”

“I can,” John said, “But just so you know, that’s also something you could do yourself.  We get three hundred dollars a day for our services.”

Jack Mercer waved him off.  “That’s peanuts compared to what that coat cost.  Once we get the proof we need, your fee will be money well spent.  How long to do you think this will take?”

“As it happens,” John said.  “I do know an expert in this field and could have the results for you by tomorrow morning about this same time.  Meanwhile, I’ll need your signature on one of our contracts and a two day retainer.  If I can complete this all in one day, you’ll get a refund.”

“Where do I sign?” Mercer said and gestured toward his wife to go get the retainer.

John thanked him for his business and left with the coat in his arms.  He and Abby walked back to John’s car, laid the fur coat in the back seat and drove away.  “You just happened to know an expert?” Abby said.  “Who’s that?”

“Phil Ryerson in the crime lab back at the Twelfth Precinct,” John explained.  “He owes me a favor and something like this would be child’s play for him.  Hell, with the equipment he has at his disposal, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got results while we waited.  Come on; let’s go pay Phil a visit.”

“It’s a good thing I’ll eventually be carrying a gun,” Abby said with a tinge of sarcasm.  “With a case like this I…”

“All right,” John replied.  “I get it; not all cases end up in a shootout but like I originally told you, these nothing-burger cases pay the bills.  The exciting cases are the frosting on the cake.”  He parked in the parking lot behind the police station and carried the fur coat over to the elevator.  He and Abby rode it to the second floor and stepped out into the crime lab.  Several benches down, John could see Phil Ryerson standing at one of the benches looking at what John supposed was evidence in some important case.  When he got closer, he could see that the crime lab tech was staring down at a half-eaten sandwich.  Phil was also holding half a glass of milk.  “Ah, the case of the early lunch, eh Phil?”

Phil wasn’t smiling at first but managed a smile when he saw John and his girlfriend standing there.  “Actually, I’m working on a murder case.  Either that sandwich or this milk has poison in it, and I have to determine which one has it and what kind it is.” 

“Sorry, Phil,” John said.  “It looks like you’ve got your hands full.  Maybe we could come back some other time when you’re not so busy.”

Phil spoke to John but was looking at Abby when he said, “Nonsense, I could use a break from this case.  What do you have for me?”

John held his arms out, offering the fur coat to Phil.  “Talk about your boring cases, I picked up this case earlier today from some woman who claimed that her dry cleaner ruined that coat with several stains and she asked me if I could have the stains analyzed to find out what he did to her coat.”

“That’s it?” Phil said.  “I could do this one in my sleep.  Just let me get my magnifying glass and have a look.”  Phil examined the stains for only a few seconds before he stood erect and smiled.  “I’m pretty sure I know what this is, but just to be sure, let me run it through one more test.  He laid the coat on another table and ran some sort of machine over it.  A minute later a single page rolled out of the printer and Phil looked at it with a knowing smile.  “Just as I suspected, here see for yourself.”  He handed the sheet to John.

Abby leaned over John’s shoulder to read the note along with him.  They both looked up at Phil, wide-eyed.  “Is this correct?”  Then he caught himself.  “Of course it is; your machine wouldn’t lie; now what?”

“Now I’d say you take that sheet and this coat down to Lieutenant Stone and lay it out for him.  I’m sure he’ll want to have a talk with that couple, and maybe even the dry cleaner; anything else, John?”

John shook his head.  “Nope, that should do it; thanks Phil.”  John offered his hand to shake but Phil declined, holding up his gloved hand.  He and Abby rode the elevator back to the lobby and got out.  Lieutenant Stone’s office was right down the hall.  John knocked and opened the door, poking his head in.  “You busy, Steve?”

“Not at the moment; come on in,” Stone said and then smiled widely when he saw Abby following John inside.  He looked at her and said, “So, you can’t already be on a case yet, can you?”

“Not yet, Steve,” Abby said.  “I’m just the ride along today until I get my permits all in order.  And by the way, thanks for rushing my paperwork through; I really appreciate it.”

Stone looked at the fur coat draped over John’s arm and then looked back at Abby.  “Come on; you didn’t have to buy me a gift.  It was just paperwork.”

John laid the coat on Steve’s desk and then handed him the report Ryerson had printed out.  “I had Phil run a test on this coat and those were his results.  He suggested I bring them to you.”

Stone read through the report and then turned to John.  “Where’d you get this coat?”

“From my latest client,” John explained and then gave Stone the condensed version of his case details.

“And your client’s name is…”

John hesitated and said, “They still have client confidentiality, Steve.”

Stone thought about it for a moment and said, “But the dry cleaner doesn’t have confidentiality, does he?”

“Not with me,” John said and gave Stone the name of the dry cleaner.

“I think I’ll go have a talk with this dry cleaner,” Stone said.  “He can always provide the customer’s name.  Either way, one of them is going to have a few questions to answer about how cocaine got onto this fur coat.  You can just leave the coat with me as evidence.  Thanks for bringing this to my attention, John.”

“All part of the full service,” John replied.

Stone turned back to Abby and said, “Well, Abby, are you learning what to do and what not to do?”

“It didn’t make a whole lot of sense initially, but it’s all starting to fall together now,” Abby said.

“Just keep doing what John and Nick tell you and you can’t go wrong,” Stone said.

“Gotta run, Steve,” John said and left with Abby.  They drove back to the Cahuenga Building parking lot and returned to their office.   Nick was on the phone when they walked in.  They waited patiently for him to finish his conversation.

Nick hung up the phone and said, mostly to Abby, “Well, how did it go, kids?”

“Kids?” John said indignantly.

“It’s a relative term,” Nick said in his defense.  “How did it go, you younger-than-me people?  You like that better?”

John just sighed but didn’t pursue it further.  “Interesting case, all things considered.  What he initially thought was going to be a dull case…”

“A nothing-burger,” Abby added.

“What we thought was going to be a dull case,” John went on.  “Turned out to be pretty interesting.”  He explained about Phil Ryerson finding traces of cocaine on the fur coat and how Lieutenant Stone had taken the case over from him.

“Any bets on which one of them will be in trouble—the couple or the dry cleaner?” Nick asked.

“My money is on the couple,” John said, “but I guess Steve will know soon enough.  We’ll just have to wait to hear from him.  Dad, what about the retainer I collected from my client?  If it turns out they are to blame, can we still legally keep it?”

“I don’t know,” Nick replied.  “However, I know for sure that if it was the dry cleaner, there’s no question that you can keep it.  After all, you did find out what the stain was.  Now it’s up to Steve.”

The following day Stone called the Cooper office to let them know what happed in the fur coat case.  “Well, the dry cleaner’s off the hook.  When I asked him about that couple’s claim, I could tell he wasn’t happy about the accusation.  He told me that they had dropped off the coat but that he didn’t do anything to it, since he wasn’t equipped to handle that particular situation.  He said he had dry cleaned fur coats in the past, but he didn’t want to handle this one and just called the customers to come and pick it up again.  That’s when the wife called you; when she couldn’t get satisfaction from the dry cleaner.”

“Did you talk to the couple?” Nick asked.

“Oh yes indeed I did,” Stone replied.  “Mr. and Mrs. Mercer are both cooling their heels in one of our cells, waiting for their lawyer to show up.  They’re going to have some explaining to do as to how that cocaine got on the fur coat.  And we were able to extract enough of the cocaine to make a felony out of this case.  I guess you can tell John that his case just ended.”

“Thanks for the call, Steve,” Nick said and hung up.  He turned to John and relayed what Steve had told him.  “I guess you’ll be keeping that retainer after all.”  He turned to Abby now and asked, “Do you think you’re going to like being a P.I.?”

Abby smiled and nodded enthusiastically.  “Absolutely, and I’ll like it even better once I get a case with a little meat on it.”

“All in due time, Abby,” Nick said.  “All in due time.”