FOR DECADES, Northeast Philadelphia had felt almost like a suburb, a place somehow apart from the city, even though it rested firmly within the city limits. The lawns were wider, the houses slightly bigger. For years, it had been a haven for middle-class families fleeing the blue-collar neighborhoods of the inner city. But recently it had become a glorious melting pot, much like the rest of Philly.
Except for this part of it.
Mickey Bernstein’s slice of Northeast Philly held on to that 1950s white-flight feeling—outsiders most certainly not welcome. This neighborhood was so far to the northeast, it was practically Bucks County.
Cooper pulled up in front of the homicide detective’s house. A massive lawn crawled up to the main entrance of the Colonial-style home and its three-car garage, from which hung a tasteful Eagles flag, the new white Bronco parked outside. Whatever job Bernstein was doing on the side clearly had its perks.
What was Cooper thinking, taking the fight to Bernstein? He knew this was a total grade-school move: You showed up at my place, I’m gonna show up at yours. Only I’m not going to hide in a white Bronco.
No, it wasn’t that. Cooper wanted to talk to Bernstein face-to-face. He was tired of being brushed off and chased away. He wanted straight answers.
Cooper pounded on Bernstein’s door with the side of his fist. Inside, a dog yip-yip-yip-yipped like it had lost its fool mind. Cooper pounded again. That’s right, pooch, wake up your owner. And the owner’s wife and kids while you’re at it. Let’s get the whole family down here to talk about Daddy Detective’s afternoon with Maya Rain.
Slowly the house creaked to life. An upstairs light switched on. Blinds were parted with fingers, then shut again. The dog continued to express its very strong feelings about the visitor at the front door. Slippered feet slapped their way down a hardwood staircase. A vestibule light flickered to life. The door opened. A blinking murder cop looked at him.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Bernstein said.
“Clearly you had an urgent need to see me,” Cooper said. “Figured I’d save you the trouble of coming to my place again.”
“It’s two in the goddamn morning. Who gave you my address?”
“Tell me, Mickey, back in the academy, didn’t they teach you that dating the nanny of a murder victim’s family might not be the best look?”
“Get the hell out of here.”
Bernstein was wearing a robe, but Cooper could tell that was for show. The homicide detective had none of the telltale signs of sleep, and his breath carried the sweet-sharp odor of whiskey.
The yipping dog—some indeterminate breed that reminded Cooper of a dust mop—appeared between Bernstein’s legs to complain a bit more. Cooper forced a smile as he locked eyes with the noisy little bastard and reached into his jacket pocket.
“Hey!” Bernstein said. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”
“Easy,” Cooper replied. He pulled a small plastic baggie of dog treats out of his pocket. “Lupe loves these things. I think your pooch will go crazy for them.”
Before Bernstein had a chance to protest, Cooper was taking a knee and grabbing one of the nuggets (“Paw-Lickin’ Chicken”). The Yipping Dust Mop was suspicious but also intrigued by the scent.
“Don’t you give my dog anyth—”
The protest was cut short because Cooper made two moves in rapid succession. He dropped the treat for the Dust Mop, then he clenched his right fist and sent it rocketing skyward on a collision course with Bernstein’s face.
The homicide detective was caught completely off guard. Usually, a person taking a knee in front of you doesn’t have the advantage in a close-quarters fight. But Cooper didn’t intend this to be a fight. He was betting that his strength, speed, and weight would knock Bernstein for a loop.
Which it did. Blood gushed out of the detective’s nose and mouth, and the blow had the bonus effect of rendering Bernstein unconscious. Cooper had heard people say this was difficult to do in real life. He supposed that was true, but the army had taught him many ways to do exactly that.
“Good dogs deserve treats,” Cooper said.
Cooper pushed Bernstein’s body all the way into the vestibule and dropped a few more treats for the Dust Mop before he pulled the door shut. Cooper wasn’t a total monster.