Diamonds Aren't Forever Read online

  The idea he thought this might be the last time they'd have together for awhile ran through her mind. He loved her to a point, just like she loved him. When either faced danger, egos took over and individual safety became paramount. She understood the concept and wouldn't push him to accompany her to Medford. And she really didn't care to hear him say anything more about his risk.

  Arranging her long dyed brown hair around her shoulders, she let a few strands fall forward over her bosom, then checked her bracelet to be sure the clasp was tight. She sprayed Bob's favorite perfume across her throat. He'd be home anytime now, aching for a romp. More than likely, he'd been thinking about it most of the day. She chuckled and strolled out of the bathroom to find him standing naked beside the bed. He sported a grin that beat the Cheshire cat's any day.

  "Oh my God. You're beautiful. You remind me of an angel in that gown."

  Jamey whirled in a circle, advancing toward him. The skirt billowed out and draped around his legs as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He picked her up and carried her to the bed.

  After a bout of passionate love making, Bob rolled over and fell into a deep sleep. Jamey scooted out from under the sheet, grabbed the gown off the floor where Bob had tossed it and went into the bathroom. Her face felt unusually hot and flushed. She glanced in the mirror to discover she'd been whiskered by Bob's day old beard. Her cheeks were so rosy they looked chafed. She immediately rinsed her face with cool water, then applied a cream that soothed the burning sensation. If the blush didn't go away, she'd definitely have to apply a heavier makeup tomorrow night. No way did she want to bring attention to herself with a red complexion.

  Knowing she couldn't fall asleep right now, she slipped on the gown and robe then traipsed downstairs. Pouring a stiff gin and tonic, she carried it into the den and searched the bookcase. She'd been required to buy a book last year when she and Bob attended a class in self-defense. He'd insisted they both attend when they got settled in their home. Living in a country where crime was rampant, a person needed to know how to defend oneself if ever attacked. Why she thought of it at this moment, she wasn't sure, but finally found the small book and pulled it from the shelf. Thumbing through it, Jamey decided to take it with her on the plane to refresh her memory. It would help occupy her mind on the long flight. She finished her drink and went back upstairs. Tucking the book into her purse, she slid into bed beside Bob and closed her eyes.

  * * * *

  Carl finished mopping the floor around the bar, dumped the water down the drain and stored the cleaning equipment in the closet. He walked back into the room, plopped a dollar on the counter and took a soda from the refrigerator. Climbing onto the stool, he took a big swig of the drink and let out a sigh.

  Curly came around the corner, spotted the bill and handed it to Carl, smiling. “I think I can afford to give you a bit of refreshment. You've done a good job."

  "Thanks,” Carl said, sticking the money into his pocket. “There weren't as many customers today as Friday and Saturday. At least I had a chance to take a breather every now and then."

  "Never is much of a crowd on Sunday. That's why it doesn't pay to stay open late, then I'm closed on Monday to restock. I found out over the years, the first day of the week hits everyone hard and they don't feel like going out.” He laughed. “They play hard on Friday and Saturday. Then if the truth be known, I think it all catches up with them by Monday and they feel like hell."

  A slight smile creased the corners of Carl's lips. “Yep, I know what you mean.” He drained the can and tossed it into the trash. “If you don't need me anymore, think I'll get on home."

  "Everything looks pretty much in order,” Curly said, glancing around the room.

  Slapping his hand on the bar, Carl jumped off the stool. “Then, I'll see ya Tuesday night."

  Curly gave him a wave as he placed clean towels on the counter.

  A bright spotlight flooded the alley where Curly's employees parked. Carl climbed into the Toyota and inserted the key. As battered as the outside of the car appeared, the engine sounded smooth and hadn't failed to turn over. He'd just treat it gentle and hope it would last him awhile.

  As he drove toward his one room home, the headlight beams from a car turning in behind him off a side street flashed across his rearview mirror. He didn't think too much about it until he observed it followed him all the way to the hotel parking lot. He took note as the car passed and rounded the corner. Squinting, he tried to read the license plate, but the shadows prohibited a good view. At least he'd know the fairly new model Buick if he spotted it again. Being an ex-con, he worried that someone might be checking on him.

  He hurried to his room, removed the feather, then locked the door from the inside and threw the chain. Tossing the key onto the bed, he immediately went to the dresser, checked the drawer for the gun and breathed a sigh of relief when he found it still wrapped in the underwear. Crossing over to the head of the bed, he lifted the corner of the mattress. The computer rested in its hiding place untouched, just like he'd left it. Relieved that nothing had been disturbed, he shed the uniform which Curly supplied and dumped the beer smelling clothes into the box he used for a hamper. He then took a quick shower and after toweling dry, turned out the lights, then strolled over to open the window. Looking down at the alley below, he jerked back when he spotted the dark blue Buick. “Damn,” he growled, leaning on the sill. “Why are they tailing me? I haven't done anything to make them suspicious.” Stepping to the side, he glanced out again and saw the soft glow of a cigarette. “Maybe it doesn't mean anything. After all, I'm not the only ex-felon in this rat-hole."

  He turned from the window and moved to the dresser. His hands twitched as he pulled the gun and an extra clip from the drawer. “No one except that damn private investigator knows I'm interested in Jamey,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I should never have gone to his office. Stupid move. He and that detective are probably in cahoots.” Plopping down on the bed, the gun clutched in his fingers, he contemplated his next move.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Late Sunday night, Hawkman drove over to the airport. Inside the terminal, he spotted Patti at the ticket counter and waited until the line of customers diminished before approaching.

  She glanced up and smiled. “Hi, Hawkman. Those chocolates were heavenly. But they can do havoc to a girl's figure."

  "I don't see where they've done you any harm. Glad you enjoyed them."

  She lowered her voice and pretended to be searching for something. “I know why you're here and, unfortunately, I've nothing to report. There isn't a sign of Shirley Ann Noland, Jamey Gray or Jamey Schyler on any of the schedules. In fact, there isn't a soul coming in from South America tonight."

  "That really doesn't surprise me. I don't figure she'll head in here until tomorrow. So keep your eyes open."

  "I will."

  Hawkman patted the counter top and walked away.

  Before heading home, he decided to cruise by the hotel. When he passed the front, he noticed the dark colored Buick parked in the alley under the hanging neon sign. Hawkman grimaced, and pulled his cell phone from his belt. “Williams, sorry to bother you at this late hour, but you'd better advise your guys to find another surveillance spot. Hopkins’ room is just above where they're parked and I'd bet my last buck he's spotted the car."

  "Damn,” the detective said. “I'll call that unit in and send out a fresh crew."

  "Sorry I didn't explain Hopkins’ room location. Didn't think about it at the time. But I have to admit the officers picked the perfect spot. It gave them a view of the front and back of the building without being conspicuous."

  "I'll advise the next bunch."

  Hawkman pulled to the side of the road and waited several minutes before driving back to the hotel. He circled the block and noted the Buick had disappeared from the alley. In the parking area across the street, he recognized the beige Ford he'd seen parked at the police station lot. “You're fast, Williams. Have to gi
ve you that,” he mumbled, as he headed for the freeway and home.

  * * * *

  Carl placed his gun back into the dresser drawer, then booted up the laptop. He propped the pillow against the headboard and sat down, placing the computer on his thighs. He struggled for almost an hour trying to get into the airlines data base, but finally set the computer aside.

  "They've got a new security system,” he grumbled. “I don't recognize the coding and can't crack it. They probably installed it after the 9/11 attack.” He slammed his hand down on the mattress. “Damn, I'll need to meet every plane coming in tomorrow."

  Pushing tangled hair away from his face, he stood beside the bed deep in thought for several minutes. He sure didn't want to bring any attention to himself for the next few days. Pacing the small room, he pounded a fist into his left hand. But with the cops watching him, he'd have to be careful. Even though he never planned returning to Curly's Bar & Grill, he'd call in sick Tuesday morning. That way, no one would be curious about his absence from work. That should give him time to get the hell out of this burg.

  He meandered over to the window and pulled back the tattered curtains. As he glanced down into the alley, his crooked smile reflected off the window. “They're gone,” he said aloud. “Must have figured I'm in for the night."

  He fingered his beard and sat down on the chair near the table. But now they're on to me, so how will I escape their scrutiny? After staring into space for a few seconds, he removed the computer from the top of the bed and put it on the small table. Climbing into bed, he pulled the rough blanket over his body and closed his eyes. A plan developed in his mind.

  Carl arose Monday morning about nine, pulled on a pair of worn jeans and tee shirt, then slipped bare feet into his shoes. After stowing the computer into its hiding place, he strolled down the hallway and knocked softly on one of the doors. “Jake, you awake?” he asked, in a soft voice.

  A man, about his same size, also sporting a beard and long hair, opened the door.

  "Yeah, man. Come on in. What's up?"

  The smell of fresh coffee wafted around Carl's nose as he stepped into a room almost identical to his own. Jake had been there longer and had acquired a hot plate and coffeepot.

  "Man, that brew smells good."

  "Sit down and I'll get you a cup,” Jake said, waving toward the small corner table.

  He took a couple of mugs from one of the shelves he'd nailed to the wall above the hot plate. “You'll have to keep an eye out at the thrift shop for a coffeepot. I got this one for three bucks."

  "Hey, that's a great buy,” Carl said, scooting out a chair and sitting down. “How much did the hot plate cost?"

  "Got that little gem for five.” Jake placed a steaming cup in front of Carl, then pointed a long bony finger in the air. “But you have to visit the shop every day, as these items go like hot cakes."

  "Yeah, I bet,” Carl said, sipping from the mug. “Boy, this tastes great."

  Jake smiled and took the other chair. “Now, I know you didn't come down here for a cup of coffee. What's on your mind."

  "I got a favor to ask."

  "Shoot, and I'll see if I can help."

  Carl explained his plan, leaving out the part about the diamond heist and his vendetta against Jamey. He made it sound like his long lost love would be coming to Medford to see friends. She'd refused to see him since he got out of jail and put a restraining order on him. The police were keeping a close watch on his whereabouts and he'd never be able to leave without being followed. That's where he needed Jake.

  "I just want to see her. That's all,” Carl said, dropping his head into his hands. “She won't have anything to do with me now, but I can still get pleasure out of just gazing at her from a distance.

  Jake scratched his head. “Sounds like you got it bad."

  Carl nodded and sniffed. “Yeah, I found the love of my life, but did a stupid thing and lost her forever."

  Jake refilled their cups. “So, what you want is to trade vehicles for a couple of days and have me dress like you to distract the cops? Could I get into hot water if I helped you out? I don't need no more trouble, I've had enough in my day."

  "I don't see how,” Carl said, stroking his beard. “Even if they stopped you and asked why you're driving my car, you could tell them yours is getting fixed and you needed to run some errands.” He shrugged. “So, you borrowed mine."

  "What if they asked where you are?"

  "Act innocent. Tell them as far as you know, I'm in my room."

  Jake pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, then leaned back in the chair. He studied his friend for several moments in silence then put out his hand.

  "Oh, hell, what are friends for, if not to help out each other. In fact, it will be fun trying to fool a bunch of dumb cops."

  Carl's face brightened. “Thanks, Jake,” he said, shaking his hand.

  "So when do we start?"

  "Today. But there's one more thing. I need to look like you. You always wear that old hat and long coat. Could I borrow them for a couple of days?"

  Jake threw his head back and laughed loudly, showing the gap of his front missing tooth. “Guess I won't need them, if I'm supposed to wear jeans and a tee shirt like you."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After exchanging car keys with Jake, Carl handed him a twenty dollar bill for gas, then draped the coat over his arm and plopped the worn cowboy hat onto his head. The large brim drooped over his eyes and almost blocked his view.

  Jake snickered. “Damn, you look seedy."

  Carl grimaced. “Thanks for the coffee."

  He went back to his room and tossed the disguise onto the bed. Dragging a pair of army boots from the closet, he pulled out the socks tucked inside and gave them a shake before pulling them onto his feet. He walked around for a few seconds, then mumbled. “These will work."

  As soon as Jake left to lead the cops away, he'd take off for the airport. Even though Carl hadn't learned whether Jamey changed planes in Los Angeles or San Francisco, he'd checked flights arriving from South America at both airports and hadn't found any landing before ten in the morning. Then the flight to Medford could add another hour or two. So, no sense in getting there before eleven.

  He'd called all the motels and hotels in the area, asking for Jamey Gray or Jamey Schyler. None had her registered. He realized she might appear incognito. But why, if there were no charges filed?

  He let out a sigh, then went into the bathroom and filled a plastic glass with water. Sitting down at the table, he opened the paper sack where he'd stored donuts from one of the church wagons that had visited the hotel yesterday. He finished the stale pastry, then glanced at his watch. Any minute, Jake's coded knock would let him know he was leaving.

  Carl picked up the long olive green overcoat, shrugged into it, then wrinkled his nose. The smell of body odor floated into his nostrils causing him to sneeze. Just have to get used to it, he thought, shaking his head. He picked up the dirty hat from the bed and pulled it down over his thick hair. Going into the bathroom, he gazed into the mirror and adjusted the brim so it concealed most of his face. Jake wore this garb all the time, and it would be hard for anyone to tell the difference between the two men, especially from a distance. They were nearly the same size and height. Their hair color, length, and beards were similar. They could pass as brothers.

  Jake shouldn't have any trouble driving his car, other than his being followed. He'd understood this and thought of it as a game to lead the cops on a merry chase while Carl checked out the airport.

  He removed the gun from the dresser drawer, pushed in the clip, put on the safety, then slid the weapon into the coat's inside pocket. He girded the coat's belt around his waist so the sides wouldn't have a tendency to flap open.

  The signal from Jake suddenly echoed throughout the room. Carl stood rigid and his stomach tightened. He brushed a hand over his beard. What if this didn't work? Knowing he had to try , he gave his friend a few minutes before he
moved toward the entry. Stepping into the hallway, he glanced back into the room to make sure everything appeared in place, then closed and locked the door.

  When Carl reached the main floor, he peered out the window. He'd have to go into the lobby to view the parking lot. Did he want to risk the caretaker seeing him? He shifted from one foot to the other, then spotted the battered Toyota move into the street in front of the hotel. Jake turned the corner and headed for town. At that moment, a beige Ford pulled out from the parking lot across the street. Carl smiled to himself. So far, so good.

  Once the Ford disappeared from sight, he pulled open the front door, moseyed down the steps and headed for his friend's old green Chevy. Jake never hurried, so he must keep that in mind as he played the part.

  * * * *

  Hawkman paced the living room, pausing now and then to look out the picture window. He'd always marveled at the beauty of the reflections in the calm lake. In the early morning hours, the water didn't have so much as a ripple unless a breeze ruffled the surface. It appeared like a canvas, still and beautiful. He finally took a cup of coffee out on the deck. Walking over to the aviary, he spoke softly to the falcon. “Pretty Girl, I promise you a hunting trip in a day or two."

  The bird cocked her head, then nodded, as if she understood.

  He placed his mug on the old cutting block they used as a table. Resting his cowboy boot on the lower railing of the wrought iron guard, he watched a truck pulling a large horse trailer make its way past the bridge and head toward Topsy Grade.

  Feeling restless, he went back inside the house. Jennifer had already moved to her computer, coffee steaming from the cup beside her keyboard.

  "Good morning,” he said. “You're getting an early start."

  She nodded and put a finger to her lips. “Don't talk. I had a scene flash through my brain and I don't want to lose it."

  He smiled, knowing exactly how she felt. She'd be completely focused for an hour or more, so no need to hang around. He shrugged on his jeans jacket, and went out the front door. It smelled like summer, but a nip in the morning air told him it hadn't arrived yet. Jennifer complained of it being too cold on the dock to fish comfortably, especially when that afternoon breeze hit. But, she'd bundle up about once a week and try her luck anyway. Another month and she'd be fishing every day.