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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 87: Cooper 28
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Brown 312
Cooper awoke before his wakeup call to sunlight coming through the window. He plugged in his computer and while it was charging opened his Bible application and spent some time in prayerful study. Foremost in his mind were the questions of why he had been sent here and whether he was doing the right thing. He stayed with it until the phone on the nightstand rang. He answered it, and it was, as he expected, his wakeup call; it was nine o’clock.
“While I have you,” he said to the voice at the other end of the phone, “Is it possible for me to get some breakfast delivered to my room?”
“Yes, sir; what would you like?”
“Three eggs, over easy, with toast, bacon, and do you do hashbrowns?”
“Home fries.”
“They’re good. With orange juice and coffee.”
“White, wheat, or rye toast?”
“Let’s do rye.”
“And how do you drink your coffee?”
Biting back all the potential jokes he could make, he simply said, “Black.”
“Very good, sir. It will be about half an hour.”
They thanked each other, and hanging up he returned to his reading.
The food arrived. He decided that the people working this morning wouldn’t be the same as those last night, so he answered the door as he was in jeans and T-shirt. It struck him that these were going to need washing, but he had nothing to wear while washing them, so that was something else to add to his list of needs. He ate his breakfast distracted by his reading, but it was very good, even the coffee.
He repacked everything, putting the new dart-maker and supplies in the bottom of his small nylon backpack and including both outfits and the dart gun in its holster and belt and two folded paper grocery bags below his other gear. He slid the sword down one side; the hilt stuck out the top, but he saw no other options. He removed one gold coin from the money belt and placed it in his jeans pocket, putting that belt also in the backpack. It was getting full; if he got more clothes, he was going to need a larger pack. Then on his way out the door with the backpack on his back, his laptop over his shoulder, fanny pack containing a full water bottle, and walking stick in hand, he again left his dishes outside the front door as instructed.
He, now Brian Cooper, walked to the office. There was a key drop to which he availed himself, not wanting to be connected to the room he just left, but he went inside to the desk.
“Good morning,” he began, addressing the unfamiliar man behind the counter. “I might be seeking a place to stay tonight. Can you tell me your rates?”
“It’s four dollars a night, plus room service if you order it.”
He nodded, reminded that he had absolutely no idea how much that was in terms of purchasing power. Another thought occurred to him. “Do you have long-term rates, if I wanted to stay longer?”
“Twenty dollars a week, that’s two days free, and we throw in continental breakfast, that’s coffee and some kind of pastry or donut, depending on what we have.”
“Thank you. A friend recommended that I visit a place called Lance’s Gold Emporium. Where is that?”
The clerk seemed to think that was an odd place to want to visit, but proceeded to give a moderately complicated set of directions including the name of the street it was on. Cooper thanked him, said he might return, and headed out to try to find this destination.
He made three wrong turns in the unfamiliar city, and asked passersby for directions twice, but in about an hour he managed to find the place. It occurred to him that if he was going to fight crime in this city he was going to have to learn his way around. That, though, was not today’s task. He went inside.
“You were recommended,” he said. “I have some gold and I need to exchange it for cash.”
“I can help you with that. How much do you have?”
“Well, I have several of these,” and he pulled the coin from his pocket and showed it to him, “but I think I’ll start with one right now, see what that’s worth, and when I’ve gotten settled I’ll decide how much more cash I need. After all, gold travels well.”
The man nodded, examined the coin closely and placed it on a balance scale. “That’s a one-ounce coin; I can give you forty dollars for it.”
He nodded. “That sounds good to me. Let’s do it.”
Efficiently the man dropped the coin through a slot in the top of a safe, then opened a cash drawer. “Do you mind large bills?”
“I’d better have some smaller ones, in case.”
Nodding, the cashier counted out a twenty, a ten, a five, and five singles. “Can I ask who recommended us?”
“He calls himself The Eagle.”
“Oh,” he said, and hesitated. “Well, any friend of The Eagle is welcome here.”
“Thank you,” Cooper said, taking the bills, folding them, and stuffing them in his pocket.
“Thank you,” the clerk replied.
He now had money; he wasn’t certain what the next steps were, but he was moving forward. After contemplating it for a moment, he decided to go back to the Paris Motel--assuming he could find it. He wished he’d thought to leave something there to help find his way back, but he was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way. Again it took him the better part of an hour to find his way, and it was after noon by now. He entered the office and, finding it empty, rang the bell on the counter. The same man came from a back office.
“May I help you?”
“I hope so,” Cooper said, pulling the roll of bills. “I’d like a room. I’m not sure how long I’m staying but I’d like to have it for at least a week. I believe you said that would be twenty dollars?” He placed the twenty on the counter.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is Lucky 7 available?”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
“Can I ask why it’s called Lucky 7?”
“Lucky Lindberg, that is, Captain Eagle, stayed there one night.”
He was handed the key, and went to the room, where he unburdened himself and then sat on the bed trying to decide what to do next. He could watch television; but then, with prime time as bad as it was, what would daytime television be like? This, he thought, was the golden age of soap operas. No, thank you.
Suddenly he had an idea. Finding a phone book in the night table drawer under the phone, he looked up William Tell, Junior. Sure enough, he was listed. He reached the hotel switchboard and gave them the number. It rang three times, and the fourth ring was interrupted. “Tell,” said a young man’s voice at the other end.
He didn’t know quite what he was doing, but said, “Good afternoon. This is the new Mister Justice. I understand you sometimes worked with my predecessor, and thought we should meet somewhere, sometime at your convenience.”
“Oh!” Tell said. “Um--congratulations. Did you know Timothy well?”
“I never met him until the night he died. I only just arrived in Berkeley very early yesterday and am still getting oriented to the place, but if you suggest when and where I can probably get a taxi.”
“A taxi? That’s ridiculous. Where are you? I--I can have my friend, William Keller, pick you up, and we can get together at his house. He won’t mind.”
“Sounds good. I’m at the Paris Motel? Do you know where that is?”
“I--he can find it. Maybe half an hour?”
“I’ll be here. I’m in number seven, under the name Brian Barrelmaster.”
“Good. See you soon.”
The call ended, and Brian decided he should probably go in costume, so he got organized and pulled out the suits. He put one on, and this time took the time to adjust the straps for a better fit. Then he waited.
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #510: Versers Debate. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
