Total Sarcasm (Mary Cooper Mysteries #1, #2, #3) Read online

  “Let me ask you something, Cecil,” Mary said. “Do you think if I shot you in the head, and then looked inside your skull through the bullet hole that I would see the name of this comedian? The name you’re keeping from me?”

  Mary could practically see the little moustache fibers on Cecil’s face twitching in fear.

  Cecil backed away from her. “Okay, okay! Talk to Jimmy! Jimmy knows that kind of stuff,” he said, his voice high and whiny. “I swear to God I don’t know any names or locations or anything. I just pay the guys. Jimmy will be on tomorrow at four. I promise. Tomorrow at four he’ll be here. He’ll be able to tell you.”

  Mary slid the .45 into her shoulder holster.

  “You sure know how to get a man excited,” Cecil said, massaging his moustache.

  Mary let her eyes run up and down his body, just like he’d done to her.

  “Hotties like you just bring it out in me,” she said.

  Eight

  Mary stepped outside and breathed deeply, even though it was L.A. She made a mental note to buy a nasal inhaler for use after visiting places like Cecil’s office. Rinse the smell out of the nostrils.

  She tried to mentally cleanse herself of Cecil Fogerty. At this point, she wanted to go back to her apartment and maybe take a long shower. Watch a movie. Forget about places like this for a little while.

  But when she got to the Buick, she stopped, her breath momentarily caught in her throat. Her hand on its own volition traveled to the butt of her .45.

  And then she counted the bullet holes in the Buick’s windshield. There were six.

  She turned and did a 360-degree turn. There was no one anywhere near the car. She reflexively checked rooftops or open windows for the barrel of a rifle. But she saw nothing.

  Mary felt the anger rise again. She gritted her teeth. And then she walked closer to the car and read the note tucked underneath a piece of the windshield.

  Stop – or the next joke is on you.

  Nine

  As she gathered her thoughts, Mary saw a patrol car pull a U-turn three blocks down.

  She took out her cell phone and called Jake.

  “Someone shot up my car,” she said.

  “Who’d you piss off now?”

  “Hey, your buddies in blue are here,” she said as the patrol car pulled up next to the Buick. “You might want to pull up your pants and let them know this probably relates to a certain ongoing murder investigation.”

  She hung up before Jake could answer and volunteered herself to the patrol officers. Once she finished answering their questions, she did her best to see if anyone had witnessed the shooting. Eventually, someone pointed out a young guy with greasy hair and thick glasses. She walked over to him.

  “I’ve never seen a car assassinated before,” Mary said.

  “I saw you talking to the cops,” he said. “Is it yours?”

  “A Buick? What, do I look like I’m 90 years old?” she said. “I’m just curious. Like you.”

  They walked as close to the car as they could get, without getting in the way of the cops. He took a closer look at the windshield. “Probably just some kids,” he said. “Vandals, don’t you think?”

  Mary considered it for a moment. “Yeah, vandals,” she said. “Old ones.”

  “Old ones?”

  “Old people think Buicks are for them,” she said. “So they hate seeing a young hardbody like me driving one. This happens to me quite a lot, actually.”

  The guy adjusted his glasses and looked at Mary, his eyes slightly wide with fear.

  “Why do you still drive it then?” he said.

  “I’m not gonna let those old bastards win, man.”

  He seemed to think about it for a moment, then said, “You know, now that you mention old people, I may have seen a little something. It was probably nothing, but now it makes a little more sense, maybe.”

  Mary felt her heart beat a little faster. She needed a break.

  “What’d you see?” she said, keeping her voice bored and disinterested.

  “Well, I thought I heard something weird, little pops and breaking glass. I live up on the fourth floor,” he said, pointing to a building about a half a block away.

  “So then what did you do?”

  “Well, I walked over and saw the car, then I saw a guy a few blocks down, walking kind of fast, but trying not to look like he was walking fast, know what I mean?”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “I never got a good look at him.” He tapped his glasses. “It was just that he had a windbreaker on. And it was a weird color. It was kind of hard to tell, but it sort of looked like a turquoise blue. But like I said, I can’t see very well. And I am partially color blind.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked him.

  “Tim.”

  Mary nodded.

  “All right, take off Tim, unless you want the cops to take you downtown and question you for half the night.”

  Tim virtually trembled at the thought. He turned to go, but then had a second thought.

  “You know, you were bullshitting me with that old people thing, weren’t you?” He squinted at her through his thick glasses.

  Mary shook her head, then held up two fingers in the peace sign and hooked them into sharp claws.

  “As we used to say in the Girl Scouts: Honor bright – Snake bite!”

  Ten

  Jake and Mary watched the Buick’s front end slide up onto the LAPD tow truck. Even though the crime scene unit had done some preliminary work, the vehicle would need to be taken back to the lab to dig out the bullets and perform more intricate examinations. Because it was possibly tied to an ongoing murder investigation, Jake had arranged for a forensic full-court press.

  “So you’re going to need a ride, huh?” Jake said, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “Sure will,” Mary said. “Want to wait with me for the cab?”

  He took that one in stride, she saw.

  “Now, Mary, there’s no need for a cab,” he said. “The good citizens of Los Angeles would be happy to know their tax dollars were being used to give a lady in distress much needed transportation.”

  “It’s the Jake Cornell sex tax,” she said. “I don’t recall seeing that itemized on my annual tax statement.”

  “It’s listed under city services.”

  “Ah,” Mary said. She knew Jake was kidding around, but the idea of taking her home being seen as a charitable service pissed her off just a tad. “Well, I would accept a ride,” she said. “But I’m just afraid that if the Shark found out, you would have to tuck tail again like you did last night.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s called being professional,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

  “Career advice from a guy sleeping with his boss,” Mary said. “That makes sense.” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’m calling a cab. You meet a better class of people that way.”

  “Look,” Jake said. “If you let me take you home, I’ll let you know a few things we’ve found out, okay?”

  “Now you’re talking.” Mary climbed into his unmarked car.

  Jake fired it up and they headed east toward Santa Monica and Mary’s condo.

  “Spill it, Shark Wrangler,” she said.

  “Bullet was a 9mm,” he answered. “The knife was traced to a wholesaler in Gary, Indiana, but their products are often moved from retail location to retail location so it’s virtually impossible to track.”

  Jake swung onto Lincoln and Mary caught a glimpse of the ocean when they turned onto Ocean Park.

  “Any other good news?” she said.

  “We’re continuing to interview the waitress and trying to track down other customers who were there, but so far nothing. We have a few names we’re running down, but no one’s jumping out at us.”

  Mary nodded.

  “What about you?” he said.

  “The guy who shot my car may have been wearing a turquoise blue windbreaker, bu
t my wit is partially color blind,” Mary said. “So who knows?”

  Jake pulled to a stop at a red light. They were a block from the ocean and Mary could see the moon peeking out from behind the Santa Monica mountains.

  “Sounds like we’ve both got nothing,” Jake said.

  “Is that what you’re going to tell Davies? Maybe during a little pillow talk?”

  Jake sighed. “A. We’re not sleeping together so there is no pillow talk. And B. Christ, no, I won’t tell her anything you say. You think I’d tell her the truth? That I gave some information regarding an ongoing investigation to a private investigator? Do I look suicidal?”

  Mary smiled inside as the light turned green and Jake gunned the car. He had shared information with her that Davies would not be happy about. That was good. She liked that. She thought of saying something nice to him.

  Instead, she said, “Maybe it slipped out during a particularly fierce orgasm.”

  Jake took both hands off the wheel to raise them in frustration. “You need to give me a break. That was a one-night stand – we were both drunk. It didn’t mean anything. And it still doesn’t. Besides, you and I had already broken up.”

  “It was an unofficial breakup. You had Davies seal the deal – with her cooker.”

  “Oh my God,” Jake said. Mary enjoyed the fact that she could exasperate him so.

  They pulled up outside Mary’s condo and Jake rammed the shifter into Park. He turned in the seat to face her. “Don’t act all innocent,” he said. “I heard you were going around with some weird little weightlifter guy. What’d you guys do on your first date, spot each other on the squat rack?”

  “The guy at my gym?” Mary laughed. “He was my trainer.”

  “Yeah, sure. Uh-huh,” Jake said. “Probably your sex trainer.” Mary loved it when he tried to get sarcastic. It was like a kid trying on clothes that were too big for him.

  “The only squat thrust I’ve seen recently,” Mary said. “Is the one Davies was doing over your goddamn wanker.”

  “All right!” Jake let out a fierce sigh. He put both hands back on the steering wheel and squeezed as if it were a stress reliever. “Let’s just…stop talking about it.”

  They sat for moment before Mary spoke. She really would have liked to invite him up to her place, but didn’t want to ask. It was like she’d gone too far down a one-way alley and didn’t have enough room to turn around.

  “And for your information,” she said. “I didn’t go out with that little weightlifter guy. I was worried he would chalk his hands when things got heated up. Maybe strap on that big leather belt of his.”

  Jake laughed softly. Mary loved to see him smile. He had a great smile, his eyes brightened and ten years fled from his face.

  “You know what I don’t get?” he said, glancing in his rearview mirror.

  “Nose hair,” Mary said. “But you’re getting plenty in your ears.”

  “When we were together,” he said, ignoring her. “You never really acted like you cared too much, you know? I mean, I figured you did, but maybe I was wrong. And if so, then I don’t see why you would now.”

  “Who says I care now?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I care about the truth,” she said.

  “Oh, the truth,” he said.

  “Look,” Mary said. “You moved on. You made love to a woman with the personality of a cod. And we hadn’t broken up yet. But if you want to maintain your innocence. Go ahead. Fine with me. Your conscience is clear, even if your ear canals aren’t.”

  Mary swung her door open and stepped out. She shut the door then leaned in through the window.

  “But even if I still cared, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you wouldn’t be able to withstand the full force of my emotions – it would render you a slave. You would beg me to allow you to caress my nether regions, to gently buff my ivory butt cheeks––”

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” Jake said as Mary backed toward the door of her building. “Have a good night, Mary.”

  He pulled the car from the curb and zoomed back toward the city.

  She watched him go. Well, what she had said was mostly the truth. Except for the part about her ivory butt cheeks.

  They were really more like porcelain.

  Eleven

  The Voor Haven Funeral Home was a modest building two blocks west of Santa Monica Boulevard. Mary stood in the stuffy, overly perfumed parlor next to Alice and her uncle, Kurt Cooper, Brent’s brother.

  Looking at Uncle Kurt, Mary was reminded again what a cruel puppet master genetics can be. Uncle Brent had been a dashing ladies man. Uncle Kurt looked like Burl Ives after a three-month crack binge.

  Kurt’s son, Mary’s cousin, was a twenty-three-year-old hipster named Jason. He had thick greasy brown hair and an impressive monobrow. Best of all, even with the nauseating stench of potpourri, Mary could detect the scent of marijuana that enveloped him.

  In the casket next to them Brent lay in peace, with his hands across his chest and a microphone in one hand. The microphone had been Kurt’s idea.

  “It’ll give him something to do with his hands,” he’d said.

  One of Brent’s buddies from his condo complex stepped up to pay his respects. He held out his hand to Kurt, who stood at the head of the line.

  “He was a good man,” the old man said.

  “Nice try,” Kurt said. “I already called dibs on his stereo.” Kurt then beamed and clapped a hand on the man’s back. The man was caught off guard, looking at each of them in turn, and then back to Kurt.

  “Um,” he said.

  Mary shook her head and looked down at her shoes. They needed a good buffing. Nice leather. She had a feeling she’d be looking at them quite a bit today.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mary watched as Alice stepped forward and took the man’s hand. “Pardon my brother,” she said, nodding toward Kurt. “He thinks he’s in a comedy sketch.” She twirled her finger around her ear. “Dementia,” she whispered.

  Mary accepted the man’s condolences as an older woman spoke to Kurt.

  “He’ll be missed,” she said. “It was horrible, horrible what happened to him. I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  Kurt took her hand, a look of sincere grief on his face. “Well, I hope he’s dead because we’re going to bury him in forty-five minutes.” Kurt paused, then burst out laughing.

  The woman’s face held a look of barely concealed horror. Alice once again tried to explain, while Mary wished she could smoke some of her cousin’s weed.

  It was going to be a long, long morning.

  Twelve

  St. Hugo’s Catholic Church was sparsely occupied for Brent’s funeral. Because of his ornery personality, Mary was surprised anyone had shown up at all. Then again, from where she was standing behind the altar in the doorway leading to the priest’s quarters, she studied the visitors and saw that most of them were old. There may have been a bus from the old people’s condo where Brent lived, and it was likely that some of its occupants thought they’d signed up for a trip to the farmer’s market.

  Mary turned and watched as Alice and Kurt argued about his behavior at the funeral home.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Kurt said. “I was in the zone, on a roll, baby! They were eating it up!” His face was flushed and he looked like he had just come off the field after scoring the game-winning touchdown.

  “You made that whole thing about as dignified as one of those hookers down on Crenshaw,” Alice shot back.

  “Hey,” he said. “Don’t talk about the priest’s girlfriends like that.”

  Mary heard a subtle cough come from behind the priest’s half-open door. Uncle Kurt was definitely going to Hell. No doubt about it.

  “Listen, butthead, this is a church. Not a comedy club,” Alice said. “They don’t have a liquor license here. There aren’t any drunks to appreciate your gags.”

  “They have wine,
dude,” Jason said. He looked at each of them for a response, when he got none, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

  “Is it Night Train?” Mary said. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Okay, listen goody two shoes,” Uncle Kurt said to Alice. “First of all, there is dignity in good humor.”

  “Yeah, good humor. I’m surprised you didn’t ask one of the old ladies to pull your finger,” Alice said.

  Cousin Jason snickered and Mary got an even stronger whiff of dope. He must have toked up on the way over from the funeral home.

  “Second of all,” Kurt continued. “Some of those hookers are really quite dignified – they put a handkerchief on your lap when they blow you.”

  The cough behind the priest’s door was a little louder this time.

  “Okay, Uncle Kurt, if you’re finished preparing your sermon,” Mary said, and tapped her watch, but Kurt kept going.

  “Listen,” Kurt said. He put his arms around Alice’s and Mary’s shoulders, and pulled them together like a coach gathering his players in the huddle. “We’ve got a good crowd out there. They’re expecting a Cooper style performance, so let’s not disappoint them.”

  “It’s not a show, you jackass,” Alice said.

  Jason wandered over and picked up a long, brass candle snuffer and turned it upside down. Mary could hear his thoughts; ‘hmm, if I put the weed in here…’

  “You think Brent would have wanted a big sob fest?” Uncle Kurt continued. “If we don’t have those people laughing, he’ll send down a curse. So just all of you go sit down. I want to go over my material. I’m gonna blow ‘em away.”

  Alice looked at Mary.

  “Is your gun loaded?” she said.

  Thirteen

  Mary, Alice, and Jason sat in the front pew. When the priest finished his role in the ceremony, Kurt came on to deliver the eulogy. Mary wanted to shrink down lower, but her knees were already pressed up against the front of the pew.

  “We’re here to remember Brent Cooper,” Uncle Kurt said with a solemn tone to his voice. His head was bowed. He was the absolute picture of somber sincerity. “If anyone’s here for the Denny’s Early Bird Special – that’s two doors down.”