Dee Dee Cooper And The Prospect (Ch.1)

1

Chapter One2

"The concept of understanding."3

When I was a kid, I believed in the idea of moral super heroes. Heroes of misunderstanding and mortality, who could be destroyed, killed, who would sacrifice themselves for a greater good. As I grew older, I gradually lost hope in such insane ideas. Until I met Dee Dee Cooper.4

My name is Jeffery McBaine, I was an undercover detective for the Dakota County Police Department in Minnesota. In 1997, I was assigned to a case that most had made out to be urban legend. A series of mass murders began popping up like the black plague. However, instead of hysterical communities pointing fingers and condemning a philosophical medical doctor, they were praising him. Media reports spoke of a man who dressed in black rock n' roll/metal t-shirts and a leather biker jacket was brutally slaying drug pushers, dealers, smugglers, serial killers, and rapists. Most called him a hero for darkened times, others called him a maniac without a true cause. As I would find out for myself, he was a hero, and he was very much a maniac. But he had a very legitimate cause. And overall, everybody called him "Dee Dee Cooper." Nobody knows what this urban radical's real name was but "Cooper" was given to him from the public due to his face paint which resembled that of Alice Cooper. And he proudly adopted the name to his persona. 5

When these stories first came about, me and the boys in my department used to make remarks like "Who the HELL does this guy think he is?! Some kind of one-man Justice League?" But it was only funny for so long. A little over a year after I had been assigned the case, the only thing I had was a vague description of Cooper. All that can be recognized of him in the portrait compared to sketches of him in the news paper is the face paint. I was feeling stressed, anxious, and desperate for anything that could bring me to him. The phone rang and someone who remained as anonymous and secretive as they could tipped me off that Cooper was on his way to a house in downtown St. Paul. Usually the best thing to do when you get an anonymous tip like that, the best thing to do is ignore it. However, it's different when you're either too desperate to care or an undercover. Two things that I had in common to the situation. Grabbing my keys, I realize that this isn't the kind of thing you want to walk into with a badge and without a gun, so I head over to my desk, which had crumpled papers and coffee stains from long nights of trying to analyze Cooper's next move. I open my desk drawer that had a rattling of some keys and a few loose bullets. I reached in, grabbed the keys and put the bullets in my pocket, pulled out my 50. caliber Desert Eagle. Damn thing's got enough kick to knock in a door just from the recoil. I reach back into the desk and pull out 3 boxes of ammunition, all are unopened and didn't need to be at this point, the gun was already loaded so all I had to do was check the safety. It was on. Getting into my car I devised to spread out the boxes of ammo for best security. One box went into the compartment of the driver's door. The other two were put into the glove box and the gun was put into my pocket holster. I start up the engine of my midnight black '97 Honda Integra spruced with an upgraded turbo and air intake system and think to myself "What if it's a set up?" But I shake it off and head out to the scene. 6

I arrived no more than 20 minutes after the call. Looking at the house I thought to myself "He MUST be insane! This is a $20,000,000.00 gargantuan home! No way in hell does this have ANYTHING to do with drugs, murders or rape." So I made my way around the back of the house covertly and did as much snooping as I could. All the windows were pitch black except the sliding glass door but all I could see through that was some kitchen tiling and part of a dining table. Suddenly a low, voice said "His name is Stephen Fetcher, Mr. McBaine." Startled like a child in a haunted clown maze, I turned around swiftly and nearly shit myself when I realized who was talking to me." I found myself staring into the deep blue eyes of chaos, surrounded by black paint. Without missing a beat, he cracked a smirk and said in a cocky and sarcastic tone "Yes! It is the man, the myth, the legend! Every woman's dream and everyone else's nightmare! You wanted the best, you got the best! I give you, Dee Dee Cooper!" Followed by a somehow easing chuckle that brought me to a sense of relaxation. I couldn't help but exclaim "What the hell's wrong with you?! I could've shot you right then and there!" He merely let out a soft laugh and replied "With the safety on and your finger nowhere NEAR the trigger? That would be quite amazing, even beyond my standards, Jeff." I grew a little uneasy being this is the second time he used my name. "How the hell do you know me?!" I demanded. He then looked at me as if I were a complete dumbass and said "Well, I'm no 'Cop Killer' but I do get a good kick outta makin dirty pigs squeal and one of em shrieked out your name. Told me that you were trying to find me, so I found a phone to use and established a meeting. Mr. Fetch wasn't too pleased but I've been meaning to pay him a visit anyway. He's alive, I assure you." At that point, I then knew that there was more to what Cooper was telling me, A lot more. However, unless I could gain his trust, I'd never know what it was. Yet at the time, I had no assurance or even very little reason to trust Cooper. How could I?! Hell, in the last year he had brutally slain over 84 people! 52 Of which were profusely tortured in ways that not even any horror flick could depict. But I also had to consider the fact that none of those people were innocent civilians, much less cops. Averting my attention back to Cooper I asked "So, what's the angle?" Cooper then cracked a smirk like an intoxicated adolescent who just witnessed their equally intoxicated sibling stumble over their own feet and crash land to the ground face first. Cooper then reached into his inside jacket pocket via left hand side and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. As he lights up, he takes a long, slow drag, eyes closed and relaxed as though the carbon smoke, which had a quite graceful ember, had just triggered an orgasm. Opening his eyes as slowly as the smoke which was now seeping out of his nose and loosely closed lips in such a way that formed the smoke into an upside down mushroom cloud, looked to me, with his eyes turned to an ice cold seriousness and said "There is no angle, so to speak. I just want you to understand." Dumbfounded I asked "Understand WHAT?" With a half smile he said "The illusionary society of which we live. There's much to be explained but it'll take time for you to truly understand." At that point, I had realized that Cooper was seeking an ally, or in his words a "Prospect" and he just invited me to take the role. "But... Why me?" I asked. "Because, unlike most of the other pigs in suits, you believe in the true ideal of political justice with due process. Instead of getting dirty and using any thing that would make one of your suspects look as guilty as O.J. Simpson, you rather take leads from both sides and allow someone that the law is trying to point their gritty finger to and allow said culprit to at least TRY and prove their innocence. There's not enough police officers, lawyers, or even judges like that these days. And that's the kind of person I need to be on my side. Yeah, I've been able to stop a lot of bad people but, sometimes I make mistakes and innocent people pay because of them. Jeff, this city... This country NEEDS people like us to ratify their illusion of "Justice" and show the people that there are real people out there that are fighting for a greater good. And so far, you and I are the only ones that I know of that have that potential." Cooper explained. I was moved by Cooper's words. It was then that I realized that he wasn't just some maniac who liked to exterminate powers of corruption, he was a philosophical patriot who is coming to terms with his vulnerability and could really use a hand. At that point, I felt a rush of honor rushing through my veins like fire and lightning and I gave Cooper a very stern nod, showing that I accepted what he was asking of me. I then asked "What do you need me to do?" Cooper then dropped his cigarette butt to the ground and stepped it out, looked to me and said "Keep an open mind. We're going to have to establish a means of communication, I have your number and this is Fetcher's pager number." Cooper then handed over a slip of paper which was folded in half. He then continued "Speaking of which... Let's go see how he's doin." 7

We walked in through the back sliding door, Cooper leading the way as if he were a real estate agent trying to sell someone's home. As soon as he stepped into the house he shouted "STEVIE I'M HOME!!" His voice echoing, both of us begin laughing and I can't understand why other than the idea of such a ferocious killer being so random and childish. As we walked through the house, which was twice as big as the outside made it look, Cooper switched on every light switch in his path, taking random turns just to turn on every single light. Some he would flicker and shout "INTRUDER ALERT!!" Again, causing us to burst with laughter. But when he opened up the door to the wine cellar, it hit me: Cooper wasn't doing all of these random, absurd gestures for simple amusement, although he did enjoy doing these kind of things greatly. I began to imagine what kind of condition Cooper must have left Fetcher in. Obviously Fetcher's being restrained if Cooper has the confidence to just waltz into his house as if Cooper also lived there and start shouting through the whole damn place. See, this is part of Cooper's tactic, to show his victim that he's not mentally stable and not a man who's going to cut a deal or take a bargain unless he's the one to make it. Genius in it's own psychotic way but then again, the only difference between genius and insanity is a very thin line. A line of which Cooper has maintained the balance of quite expertly. As inconceivable as it may be, it gave Cooper sort of a charm. As we made our way down the cellar stairs, I could only think of how interesting this was about to become.8

As I approached the bottom step, Cooper was already a few steps ahead, he made a turn around the corner and flipped on the light. Then, I saw what would be considered a horrible sight to most, but a nice piece of work to the likes of Cooper and those like him, if there is any. Fetcher's hands were above his head, chained to an overhead pipe, he was levitating off the ground by at least a foot, blindfolded, gagged, and had a few cuts on him. Once I got a better look, I was really shocked. Cooper and stuck some knives in Fetcher right above the kneecaps and they were still there, just hanging out by the handles. And the gag is some ratty old sock which was gripping with vomit. And just below Fetcher, was a puddle of his bodily drippings, a toxic mixture of blood, vomit, and even urine. There was no doubt in my mind that Cooper was capable of this, just as well I had no doubts that Cooper enjoyed doing it. Had Fetcher not been shaking, and whimpering I'd have presumed he was already dead. Cooper approached the dangling, rotting meat pile that was Fetcher, put an arm around him and said in a most stereotypical homosexual tone "Hey, big boy..." Fetcher then shuddered and locked up, stiff as a surfboard. Cooper then continued "Fetcher, I'm going to give you an ultimatum: You tell me everything I need to know, based off of everything I've asked you before... I'll make it quick and painless. If not..." Cooper then grabbed and twisted both knife handles and Fetcher turned crimson, with veins and blood vessels sticking out as though to burst and behind the gag was a barely muffled blood curdling scream. Cooper continued "... I'll ensure that the time leading to your demise will be the most excruciating period of existence that mankind has ever been aware of. For the souls of all of the children you've killed, raped, and transported to a world of slavery for an extra dollar. For the souls of your wife and two daughters whom you also raped and sold for the money that got you the stock in this worthless little wine cellar you have. For the blood you have spilled, diseased and corrupted, your finale will be that worthy to get me a death penalty 60 times over. The world may see you as a dignified executive but I see through it, you're nothing but a despicable degenerate covered by the social blanket of society." Cooper had lost his tone of sarcasm, when he spoke to Fetcher, he spoke as though he were facing his arch nemesis in a final battle right before a tragic decapitation, marking an end to a saga. Fetcher is now trying to hold back tears, doing his best not to cry and then Cooper add "Don't fight it, men who have to stay strong may have the right to hold back tears but you're just another being of scum that society spat onto the streets of life." At that very moment, Fetcher began to break and Cooper then inflicted such a devastating blow to Fetcher's jaw that the sock and at least 5 teeth flew out at a high velocity. "Now tell me." Cooper demanded in a low relaxed tone, lighting up another cigarette. It took Fetcher a while to maintain his composure, long enough for Cooper to get half through his cigarette but eventually, Fetcher started to speak up "... In two days... I'm supposed to show up at the Coon Rapids Dam with a bus I have stashed behind The King of Diamonds in South St. Paul, on Robinson Dr. There'll be two black Volkswagon Vans... One with 20 kilos of crank and the other with 20 girls..." Cooper then said "Alright, that's good enough, you can shut the fuck up now." Fetcher fell silent with a look of shame. Cooper approached me and asked "You okay?" And I said "No, I honestly wanna shoot this bastard in his fuckin skull." Cooper nodded slightly, mashed out his cigarette and unchained Fetcher. "On your knees, dog!" Demanded Cooper, and Fetcher dropped down. I held out my Desert Eagle, thirsty for retribution of the innocent, took a breath and squeezed the trigger. Fecher flew back and his head was nothing more than a bloody stump with a tongue dangling out of it. Cooper approached the limp freakish body said "Enjoy your stay in hell, and please remember to tip your torturers." Cooper then turns to me and asks "How do you feel, Jeff?" I stare at Fetcher's body blankly , thinking and reflecting on the question. Finally, I turn to Cooper and say "Well, out of all the people there are in the world... I'm really glad I got to shoot this one." And just like when Cooper was pulling his antics upstairs, we both begin to laugh, like two best friends who just got into a fender bender with one another. Cooper then looks at Fetcher's body for a moment, turns to me and says "Well the good news is, there's more where that came from. I'm gonna grab that bus and you're gonna stake out at the dam, we'll meet up in two days. If anything comes up, I'll let you know. And Jeff... Lose the fedora, you look like an ass."