Diamonds Aren't Forever (11 page)

"Gotta a dollar you could spare?"

Hawkman stopped in his tracks. He focused his gaze on a figure sitting on the landing, with legs dangling over the side. The burning end of a cigarette held in the mouth silhouetted a man's scraggy face.

Ignoring the question, Hawkman brushed past the vagrant and went inside. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the lobby doors closed. Heading up to the second floor, he didn't waste any time in using his pick to open room number twenty-three. Then he quickly rescued the feather off the top of the door before it had time to float to the floor. He pulled the laptop computer from under the mattress and set it atop the bed. It took a minute or two to boot up. Several files cluttered the desktop, but the one that drew his attention had the name of ‘title'. When the folder opened, he found an icon inside named ‘mail', and clicked on it. A message from the title company to Jamey Gray or Jamey Schyler appeared. So Hopkins had succeeded in penetrating their files.

He then went online and found Hopkins had a message. Should he risk reading it? Recognizing the server, he knew he could ‘save as new’ and Carl would never know he'd opened it. But just as he put the pointer over the icon, squabbling voices penetrated the hallway. He closed the lid and stood beside the door. His hand automatically went to his shoulder holster where he released the cover and rested his hand on the gun grip.

Two men were loudly arguing right outside Hopkins’ room. They'd soon have the whole place awake if they didn't cool it. Then down the way someone yelled, “Shut up!"

It seemed to work as the two lowered their dispute and the sound trailed off down the hallway. Then a couple of doors slammed. Hawkman hurried back to the computer and opened the e-mail which came from Jamey. It stated she'd be at the meeting at two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon. No mention of her arrival or departure. Hawkman toyed with the idea of permanently deleting the e-mail but knew that Hopkins had the talent to find wherever the computer might hide deleted mail. And then he'd know someone had messed with his machine. Also the message didn't give any new information. So, he clicked on ‘save as new'.

He found nothing else of interest, turned off the computer and slid it back into its hiding place. He inspected the dresser drawer again and found the gun still wrapped in underwear.

The room appeared pretty much the same as before, so he grabbed the feather off the dresser, replaced it on top of the door and slipped out. He'd no more stepped down the first few steps than he recognized Hopkins backing in the front entry and shouting at the vagrant on the landing.

"Why don't you get the hell out of here. No one has any money around this place. Go to some fancy hotel, you stupid old man."

Thank God for that tramp, Hawkman thought, as he quickly turned and hightailed it up the stairs to the third floor. He stood in the shadows out of sight until he heard Hopkins’ door close. Quietly, he eased back down the stairwell keeping an eye on room twenty-three, then hurried down the next flight, and dashed out the door. He noticed the old derelict had disappeared off the porch.

Carl ran his fingers over the top of the door and rescued the feather from its hiding place. He then stepped inside and dropped the piece of fluff into a cup sitting on the small table in the corner. Immediately, he reached under the mattress and pulled out the laptop. Odd, he thought, running his hand over the top, it feels warm. Maybe it isn't such a good idea to keep it under there where it can't get any air circulation to cool down. He sat on the bed and opened the lid. A tinge of excitement ran through him when he heard the voice say, ‘you've got mail'. He'd set it up so anything coming through to American Title with the name ‘Jamey, Schyler or Gray’ would also come to him.

"So, she'll be at the title company, Tuesday at 2 o'clock,” he said aloud. “I'll be there, my pet, Jamey. That is, if I don't find you beforehand.” He did a quick search on the airlines and noticed several flights coming into Medford from Los Angles and San Francisco. He shoved a pillow behind his back and leaned against the rickety headboard. “If it's true what the one-eyed investigator says, you'll be coming from South America,” he mumbled. “That's a long haul. You'll more than likely fly in Monday evening and spend the night at a motel."

He opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a phone book. His eyelids grew heavy as he looked for motels near the airport. Turning down the page, he set it aside. The late work hours had brought on a new feeling of fatigue, something he hadn't experienced in quite awhile. Curly requested he come early on the weekend as Friday and Saturday nights were their busiest. And from what he'd experienced tonight, he believed it; he hadn't even taken a break.

He stripped off his clothes, opened the window and crawled under the covers. The evenings were still cool and nice for sleeping. His eyes closed, he wondered if Curly remembered him coming into the bar over a year ago looking for Jamey. If he did, he didn't act like it. But he knew his new boss and the private investigator were friends. However, Curly treated him the same as all his other employees. A good man. No wonder he had such a successful business, along with the prettiest cocktail waitresses in town.

The next morning, Carl rose late, showered and stood in front of the cracked mirror in the bathroom. He stared at himself with disgust, hating the beard and long hair. Running a comb through the wet strands, he scrunched up his nose. He'd have to keep the long mane so Jamey wouldn't recognize him until he got close enough to grab her.

He went to the dresser and opened the drawer hiding the gun. He unrolled the revolver from the underwear and caressed the barrel. You have to pay, Jamey. You ruined my life. It isn't fair you got off scott free and left me holding the bag. Why did you do that? You led me to believe you loved me and I would have done anything for you. But not now, my pretty one. You destroyed it all.

He stood staring at the gun until a loud pounding at the door caused him to flinch, bringing him out of the trance like state. “Who's there?” he shouted.

"It's me, Jake, from down the hall. A church has brought a free lunch wagon outside. If you want some, you better get your ass to the front of the building before it's all gone."

"Thanks, Jake. I'll be right down."

He rolled the gun back up in his underwear and closed the drawer. Quickly shoving the computer under the mattress, he left the room and locked the door behind him. As he headed down the stairs, he thought, maybe it isn't too bad living in these flea-bitten hotels. At least someone takes pity on the poor souls and makes sure they have food. Another good reason to keep the beard and long hair. It fit the image.

Hawkman rose early the next morning. He figured the time had come to inform Williams what he knew about Hopkins. They only had a few more days until Jamey's arrival. He and the detective should establish a plan to make sure Hopkins never got near her. That Glock .40 hidden in Carl's dresser drawer made Hawkman very nervous. He took the pictures he'd printed of Hopkins’ room, stuck them into a file and carried it to the kitchen.

Last night's narrow escape convinced him he shouldn't go back to the hotel without the detective. If Hopkins had spotted him, their plans of keeping an eye on the ex-con could have been jeopardized.

Jennifer strolled into the room, her hair wet from the shower. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

He smiled. “Like a log."

"Hmm, do logs snore?” she asked. “If not, you were sure sawing them."

He laughed. “Sorry about that."

"I tried putting my pillow over your face, but it didn't help."

Hawkman raised his brows. “So that's why I had a suffocating nightmare."

"More than likely,” she said, putting the skillet on the burner. “But you finally rolled over on your side and I'd say it saved your life."

He chuckled. “Why didn't you sleep in?"

"I've got too much to do today. Need an early start. Of course, I'm not fixing you any breakfast, so you're on your own,” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes."

"Are you serious?” he asked with a hurt look.

She grinned. “Gotcha. Knew you couldn't stand the thought of not having bacon and eggs."

"Sometimes you're mean to me, Jennifer."

"Hawkman, you're so spoiled it's pitiful.” She removed the bacon from the frying pan and cracked the eggs into the grease.

He reached over and snatched a piece of the meat. “Not me,” he said with a sly smile.

She popped some bread into the toaster. “Marge called last night and verified Jamey would be at the meeting on Tuesday to clear the title."

"Yeah. She called Williams, too. But we don't know when Jamey will arrive or where she'll stay."

Jennifer cocked her head and glanced at him as she slid the eggs onto his plate. “Why would she have to stay anywhere?"

"What do you mean?” he asked, picking a piece of toast off the saucer she'd placed on the breakfast bar. “That's a long flight and I figure she'll have to come in the night before."

"Think about it, Hawkman. She's probably furious with herself for signing those papers without studying them. Wanting to keep her arrival a secret from everyone, except the title company, she'll take the latest flight she can get. If she does stay in a motel, she'll pay cash and use an alias. But I don't think that will be the case. I think, she'll arrive at the last minute, sign the documents and be on the next flight out of here."

Hawkman stared at her, open mouthed. “You sound like a con-woman."

She laughed. “No, its just a female's way of thinking. Jamey's afraid of you and the law."

"What makes you think that?"

"A natural thought process, when you've done something wrong. She's probably convinced that you've figured out how they pulled off the heist and isn't sure if you have anything on her. The scary part is, I doubt she's aware of Carl Hopkins’ release, which leaves her vulnerable.” Jennifer bit her lip and gave him a worried stare. “Do you think he plans to kill her?"

Hawkman took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “I don't know. But that's no toy gun I found in his room."

"You have to do something. Regardless of what the woman did, she doesn't deserve to die at the hands of a deranged man."

"What do you suggest? We don't know her flight or where she'll go when she arrives. How can we protect her if we know nothing?"

She pushed her plate away and stood. “I could have Marge send her an e-mail warning her that Carl Hopkins is in town."

Hawkman shook his head. “Can't do that, hon. We have no proof Carl has any plans to harm her. Williams is the only one who can make that type of decision. Also you're putting your friend's job at stake. Her e-mails might be monitored. She's running a risk of being fired just for telling you anything about the company's business.

"Do you think the detective might consider notifying Jamey?"

"Nope. He has no grounds. At this point, he doesn't even know Hopkins has a gun or that he's hacked into the title company's files. I'm going into town today and tell him what I've discovered."

She frowned. “You could get your license taken away if Williams reports you've broken into Carl's room."

"The detective doesn't ask questions. He accepts my word."

Jennifer moved around to his side and played her fingers across his broad shoulders. Sliding her arms around him, she placed her chin gently against his back. “You work in a dangerous world."

He nodded. “It's not always threatening."

"True, but the more menacing, the more you love it."

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he swiveled around on the stool and enfolded her into his arms. “Does that worry you?"

"Sometimes. I know you're capable of handling most situations, but I get nervous with people like Carl Hopkins who appear unstable. It's difficult to decipher what he's thinking."

Hawkman stood and gave her a hug. “Hopkins is preoccupied with Jamey at this point. My job is to keep him at bay. Right now, I'm the farthest thing from his mind.” With his arm around her shoulders they walked toward the

'Hawkman Corner’ where he took his new Stetson cowboy hat off the hook and plopped it onto his head.

She gnawed her lower lip. “I hope you're right. Promise me to watch your back."

He smiled at her phraseology. “I promise.” Giving her a quick kiss, he left.

Jennifer, her arms wrapped around her waist, stood in the entry and watched her husband drive away. A feeling of anxiety swept over her. The thought of Jamey Schyler having more of a hold on her husband than she did at this moment filled her with mixed emotions. She shook her head as if to dispel the jealousy that swept through her. “That's ridiculous,” she said aloud.

She slammed the door in anger at her own thoughts, knowing Hawkman had focused on bringing that woman to justice for her deeds, and not on physical attraction. Jennifer trusted her husband, but knew she must never take him for granted.

Then her mind drifted to Carl Hopkins. She had never seen the man, but from what Hawkman described, he probably looked like an eccentric old cuss. For a young person to go to this extreme seemed odd. She shrugged her shoulders as she sat down at her computer. Staring at the blank screen, she muttered, “Carl Hopkins, stay away from my husband."

Hawkman drove into Medford with images of Jennifer running through his mind. While he didn't want to worry her, he could only ease her fears by coming home safe and sound each night. His thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of the cell phone against his waist.

"Casey here."

"Hi, Hawkman, this is Patti from the airport."

"Yes, Patti."

"I wanted to check this out with you before I reported it to my supervisor."

"What happened?"

"Before my shift ended last night, I received a phone inquiry about a Jamey Gray. Is this the same woman?"

Hawkman stiffened. “Yes. She has many aliases. Who made the call?"