Copp For Hire, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton Page A
Authors: Don Pendleton
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and dropped it on Linda's lap, hate them or not, and bailed out of there with my big piece leading the way.
One of the nice things about being a big man is that it enables you to pack a big piece without unnecessarily advertising the fact that you're carrying. Not that I ever considered it necessary to carry a cannon. Most of the shooting I've ever done was on a pistol range. That's true of most cops. You have to fill out too damned many forms if you fire your weapon in the line of duty. But there is a psychological advantage to a big piece if you are in a stare-down with some dude holding a little snubnosed pocket piece. So years ago I adopted a Smith & Wesson Model 57 double-action revolver. It's a 41 Magnum, which is a bit unusual; has an 8-3/8" barrel, more than a foot long overall and weighs over four pounds loaded. Theatrical as hell, I know; but then half of what a cop does is theatrical, so what the hell. If I can prevent a shooting just by unbuttoning my jacket, why not? But if it does get to a shooting, the S&W 57 is very accurate and reloads quickly.
I had a shooting now. My boy had ridden the wreck all the way, I guess. I went scrambling down the hill behind him and drew fire about halfway down. I sent two quick rounds sizzling into the wreckage and got no answer. But I had to respect the return-fire capability, so that slowed me. By the time I got down there my boy was gone. I found some blood on the front seat and a smear on a rock just outside the car, and that was as close as I got to the guy.
I jotted down the license number and took the pertinent info off the registration, which I found in the glove box. Registered to a guy who lived in La Canada, which is the other side of Pasadena. Had no doubt at all that the vehicle would show up on the stolen-car list.
Linda was waiting for me all a'sweat outside the Cad when I finally got back topside. I noticed that she did not have the little pistol I'd dropped on her.
"Where's your gun?"
She pointed to the car, then nearly fainted in my arms. I provided physical support but I was fuming. "Wouldn't have done you much good, would it," I groused, "if the wrong guy had come back up that hill."
She did not reply to that but only clung closer. I gave her time to get it back together, then disentangled and led her to the car.
Neither of us had a lot to say about anything at all. So it was a pretty quiet ride the rest of the way. I took her to a luxury hotel in Covina and checked us in with fictitious names. That's only a misdemeanor offense so my crimes were getting lighter. I did not want to advertise her presence anywhere, not even in Covina, which is another jurisdiction. In case someone might go searching, I figured the classy joint would be among the last places to look. It was built entirely around interior courtyards and every room was a suite with kitchen capabilities, so it could also be a comfortable place to lie low for a while, if that should be necessary.
I tucked her into the suite and went looking for provisions, first making sure that she understood she was not to open the door to anyone but me. Cops or anyone else; let them kick their way inside if it should come to that.
I found a twenty-four-hour mart just a few minutes away; bought instant coffee and milk, some fruits and a few snack foods; also filled a requisition from Linda for cosmetic necessities.
She was wrapped in a towel when she let me back into the suite, and I noticed the phone was off the hook. "Why the phone?"
"I'm talking to my mother. Please be quiet."
Be quiet, my ass.
I went over and picked it up, covered the transmitter with my hand. "No goddamned phone calls, Linda."
She said, "Don't be silly. I always call her when I get home from work. She would be worried silly. I didn't tell her what's going
One of the nice things about being a big man is that it enables you to pack a big piece without unnecessarily advertising the fact that you're carrying. Not that I ever considered it necessary to carry a cannon. Most of the shooting I've ever done was on a pistol range. That's true of most cops. You have to fill out too damned many forms if you fire your weapon in the line of duty. But there is a psychological advantage to a big piece if you are in a stare-down with some dude holding a little snubnosed pocket piece. So years ago I adopted a Smith & Wesson Model 57 double-action revolver. It's a 41 Magnum, which is a bit unusual; has an 8-3/8" barrel, more than a foot long overall and weighs over four pounds loaded. Theatrical as hell, I know; but then half of what a cop does is theatrical, so what the hell. If I can prevent a shooting just by unbuttoning my jacket, why not? But if it does get to a shooting, the S&W 57 is very accurate and reloads quickly.
I had a shooting now. My boy had ridden the wreck all the way, I guess. I went scrambling down the hill behind him and drew fire about halfway down. I sent two quick rounds sizzling into the wreckage and got no answer. But I had to respect the return-fire capability, so that slowed me. By the time I got down there my boy was gone. I found some blood on the front seat and a smear on a rock just outside the car, and that was as close as I got to the guy.
I jotted down the license number and took the pertinent info off the registration, which I found in the glove box. Registered to a guy who lived in La Canada, which is the other side of Pasadena. Had no doubt at all that the vehicle would show up on the stolen-car list.
Linda was waiting for me all a'sweat outside the Cad when I finally got back topside. I noticed that she did not have the little pistol I'd dropped on her.
"Where's your gun?"
She pointed to the car, then nearly fainted in my arms. I provided physical support but I was fuming. "Wouldn't have done you much good, would it," I groused, "if the wrong guy had come back up that hill."
She did not reply to that but only clung closer. I gave her time to get it back together, then disentangled and led her to the car.
Neither of us had a lot to say about anything at all. So it was a pretty quiet ride the rest of the way. I took her to a luxury hotel in Covina and checked us in with fictitious names. That's only a misdemeanor offense so my crimes were getting lighter. I did not want to advertise her presence anywhere, not even in Covina, which is another jurisdiction. In case someone might go searching, I figured the classy joint would be among the last places to look. It was built entirely around interior courtyards and every room was a suite with kitchen capabilities, so it could also be a comfortable place to lie low for a while, if that should be necessary.
I tucked her into the suite and went looking for provisions, first making sure that she understood she was not to open the door to anyone but me. Cops or anyone else; let them kick their way inside if it should come to that.
I found a twenty-four-hour mart just a few minutes away; bought instant coffee and milk, some fruits and a few snack foods; also filled a requisition from Linda for cosmetic necessities.
She was wrapped in a towel when she let me back into the suite, and I noticed the phone was off the hook. "Why the phone?"
"I'm talking to my mother. Please be quiet."
Be quiet, my ass.
I went over and picked it up, covered the transmitter with my hand. "No goddamned phone calls, Linda."
She said, "Don't be silly. I always call her when I get home from work. She would be worried silly. I didn't tell her what's going
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