Angle of Attack

by Lee Baldwin

  “So why are they coming over tonight? To talk about old times?” She sounds a little snarky, not like her usual centered calmness. Bit of the old Montana leaking through. I see she’s been rubbed raw.

  “It’s about the jewelry.”

  Tharcia gives me an ah-hah expression. “Major freak-out at the homestead over that. Mom accused me of borrowing them, she accused Twyla and Francie, everyone who had been around our place. Twyla cried and ran out. Mom backed Rayne against the wall and screamed in her face. She thought you took ‘em.”

  “It was Twyla,” I tell her sadly.

  “What! How do you know?”

  “Twyla comes up to me today and gives me these.” From my shirt pocket I hand over the small tan envelope with Montana’s gold necklace and earrings in it.

  Tharcia sees, and breaks down in tears, clutching the envelope hard.

  “Is this them?” I ask her. She manages a nod. Of course I have no tissues in the place, fetch a roll of paper towels. “These are heavy duty,” I tell her helpfully.

  The beauty of her face as she laughs through her pain is stunning. I kneel by the sofa and pull her in. She is cursing into my shirt and clutching the envelope. “Twyla, you little klepto dump.” She looks up at me. “Don’t ever get mixed up with her, she’s poison.”

  “Believe me I already got my first clue.”

  Tharcia is just calming down when a car stops by the porch. She pulls away and runs to the bathroom. I hear the latch click.

  They don’t knock, just kick the door open and barge in, their usual boisterous hellos. Darla has a paper bag with bottle necks showing, Carla has a cardboard box that’s folded shut on top.

  “Hey sweet cheeks,” Darla comes close for a full contact hug. I am feeling neglected so hug her hard and give her a kiss. She kisses me back, just enough for old time’s sake.

  “Leave my sis alone, you perv,” Carla cracks. Scenes from our childhood.

  I’m not in a joking mood. “We just came from the memorial,” I tell them solemnly. “Tharcia is here.” I tilt my head toward the bathroom.

  The twins are immediately all serious and whispering. “Oh we didn’t know. Is that the daughter?”

  I nod. “Well,” Carla says, “we’ll do our thing and get out of your way.”

  “No, it’s fine. You guys met her at the jam night?” Both of them say yes.

  Carla’s at the kitchen table removing things from the box.

  “Clay you want a G and T?”

  I think. “Sure, a slow one.”

  Darla digs out some ice. Carla has her tools ready. “So where is this stuff you want me to check out?”

  I pat my shirt pocket. Whoops. I gave the bag to Tharcia. I tap on the bathroom door. “T, did I give you the jewelry?” Door clicks and a slim wrist extends the envelope.

  “You OK?” I whisper. I get a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes. She closes the door without a word, expression unreadable. Whew.

  Carla takes the envelope, slides the three pieces onto a dark velvet cloth. Sharp intake of breath when she first sees them. Darla and I sit with her at the table. Carla’s totally silent, looking carefully at the sparkling rocks. I hope I’m not wasting her time with this, but the pinkish stones cast back fierce light.

  Carla has a small microscope, and she positions the pieces so she can see each one in turn under the powerful lens. I can tell she’s thoughtful.

  “Clay,” she says cautiously, “where did you get these?”

  I try to keep my voice low. “Montana had them.”

  “She have any others like these?” Carla is looking at me with wild eyes. I try to think.

  “She might. Tharcia would be the one to ask.”

  Carla is intent at the microscope. Her fingers tremble. Finally she sits back and looks at both of us. Her face is pale.

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t try to get these evaluated.”

  Darla and I look at her blankly. I shake my head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Besides having serial numbers engraved on each one, these diamonds are beyond hot. Completely over the top.”

  “Pink diamonds? Montana said they were costume jewelry.”

  “Star Eyes, can I see?” Darla is busting to get a closer look. Carla slides the microscope in front of her.

  “Diamonds absolutely,” Carla says. “I think they are Argyles.”

  “Argyles.”

  “The Argyle Pink is a type of diamond from an Australian mine, the Rio Tinto. People aren’t much aware of colored diamonds. Know how Montana got them?”

  “They were given to her,” Tharcia says from behind us. “A boyfriend.”

  We all turn at the sound of her voice. Carla goes to Tharcia and hugs her. “We are so feeling you on this girl. It is beyond hard. She was such a lovely soul.”

  Darla steps over and does the same thing. “We knew her, when we all were kids.” Tharcia comes to me to be held and for a time we’re all quiet.

  “Why do you say they are hot?” I ask. “I don’t know anything about diamonds.”

  “There was a major theft,” Carla says. “In 2003, an Italian gang got inside the Antwerp Diamond Center and emptied most of the deposit boxes. Almost all were full of gemstones. There were many Argyles. The loss was in the hundreds of millions of Euros.”

  “You said hundreds of millions,” Darla observes cautiously.

  Carla nods. All three of us are riveted as she goes on. “The thieves dump some trash down the road including half a sandwich. The saliva DNA leads authorities to a few suspects. At least one’s in prison, but may be out soon. None of the jewels have ever been found. May have been lost. Could have traveled all over the world.”

  “Including here,” I throw in just to cover the obvious.

  Carla nods, “Including the USA. These are the first I have heard of, and I’m freaking touching them! There are all kinds of theories, like movie stars have them, Arab princes, et cetera. But you couldn’t wear them on the red carpet or anything public, would have to be a private party. A very exclusive one.”

  “But the ultra-rich play to a select audience,” Darla reminds her.

  Carla nods. “There’s rumor in gem circles that mentions a theft years after the Antwerp robbery. Supposedly, some stones had come into possession of a certain film actor living in Malibu canyon. Sources suggest a private sale at the star’s home. A number of set diamonds and raw stones was later being transported to a secure storage facility in Claremont, California.”

  Do my ears prick up when I hear Claremont? You damn well betcha.

  “There’s a deception,” Carla continues, squinting again into the microscope, “a Brinks truck was hired to return the jewels, but the stones went by private car with two armed guards. Some say a servant or bodyguard was bribed for the information. The car was to arrive at the storage location after the Brinks truck left. But a team of robbers hits the car before it arrives, taking the jewelry. One of the three thieves is shot and dies later that day. The others escape in different vehicles. One left on a bicycle.” Tharcia throws me a sharp glance.

  We play musical chairs, taking turns at the microscope. Tharcia just cries when she looks at the image of perfect, pink-toned facets, saying Mom, why why why.

  “They are incredibly rare,” Carla continues, “so they would pass as costume jewelry for most people. The pinkish cast looks like cubic zirconia, a synthetic crystal. The Argyle Pink Diamond is the most concentrated form of wealth on earth. Because of that one mine, Australia produces double the diamond output of any other country.”

  “So you are saying,” I’m groping for a coherent thought, “that no matter how valuable, Tharcia could never sell these?”

  “Not to say it’s impossible, but someone would have to be well connected. This pink ice is beyond hot.”

  I’m stroking my chin. Then I start to grin at everyone, at Carla in particular. “Well, wise ass. Why you suppose we called you?”

  Chapter 12

  Change of Plan
<
br />   WADE AND I HAVE AGREED that I will fly the Mustang to New Mexico. Full stop. Which means I have a lot to sort out. There are a lot of supplies, equipment and logistics to deal with. I’ve spent a ton of time with sectional charts of the airspace from California, Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexico. I know the route I want, I’m checking the weather daily.

  I’ve been playing with the flight simulators on my laptop, reading everything I can find online. I phoned Sean and asked about some of the maneuvers we made on our flight. I have read dozens of NTSB accident reports involving the P-51, researched blogs by and about WWII pilots who flew the Mustang. I’ve done everything except take one off and land it on my own. I am as ready as I can be, without advertising what I am contemplating. Will flying a stolen aircraft to New Mexico violate my parole? Bet on it.

  I’d made one banzai run to Wade’s place, to go over the plane again and work through our various contingency plans. What if I crash on takeoff, what if it won’t get off at all, what if I have to bail out... how do we handle those possibilities? And last but not least, what are the steps for the payoff if I should, by some remote chance, actually succeed?

  That possibility cheers me. And I realize with greater certainty that I’ve pulled away from the idea Wade and I have worked out over several years... switching my identity and vanishing from a life that revolves around being a convicted felon.

  The complication that trumps them all is Tharcia. Between her mom’s death and the fact that we could be related, she’s been hanging onto me for dear life. And she has awakened a part of me I never knew existed, a part I genuinely like.

  My phone goes and who do you think it might be?

  “Hey Tharcia, how’s by you?”

  “It comes and goes. I dropped my classes.”

  “Really! Actually I am not surprised, you need to decompress.”

  “Yeah. The term’s half gone and I’ve missed a week already. I’m all skitzy, crying one minute, normal the next. Ricky helped me with that, she’s an angel. My adviser suggests I wait until Fall term next year then start back. Doesn’t matter if I am a year behind, no jobs out there anyway. I’ve got a lot to sort out. Are you back?”

  Only a week since Montana died. Seems like ten years, so much has changed.

  “Yah. Got in last night. What about your scholarships?”

  “Well, I lose out on this year, the money is spent. I might be able to get one of them reinstated when I enroll next year.”

  Her voice trails off. Then, “I thought about you Stuka.”

  “Missed you babe.”

  “Yeh.”

  “Wolfe leaving you alone?”

  She sighs. “Not really. I am meeting him at Mom’s bank.”

  I am immediately on alert. “What for?”

  “Wants me to open her safe deposit box for him.”

  “What! Does he have a search warrant?”

  “He says he does.”

  “What time is this going down?”

  “Quarter after three.”

  “Have you spoken to your attorney?”

  “I don’t have one. Think I should?”

  “Listen, let me come by and pick you up. We can talk on the way. What bank is it?”

  “Union Bank on First. I’ll be here Stuka, thanks.”

  At ten till three I get the weirdest feeling, realizing it’s the first time ever I knock on Montana’s door without expecting her to be there. Tharcia steps out. With her long blond hair, black beret, and camel hair overcoat, she looks the part of a classic gangster’s moll from an old time film, such as Casablanca, or a Raymond Chandler character.

  The house is different. Things are gone from the walls, lighter-colored rectangles where pictures, paintings, an embroidered saying once hung. The tank with its colorful fish is gone. Rooms are bleak, hopeless. The Actual Parent Wanted sign has vanished from her bedroom door.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, gesturing at the empty walls.

  “Can’t stay here. Can’t stand how this feels. Been staying at Rayne’s apartment.”

  “Where will you go?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Stuka, why does the detective want in Mom’s safe?”

  “It’s about the diamonds. They could help put Mick away for good, and ice his network besides.”

  “You mean Mom’s jewelry?”

  “Yah. They might be connected to something Mick pulled off.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “There might be more diamonds or other jewelry in her safe box. What Carla said about those robberies. If so, Wolfe will take that as evidence against Mick. Which would be a good thing.” I hope to steer her away from discussion of evidence against Montana, although she’s bound to see that. I’m coming around to the fact she will find out what her mom was up to, but I firmly believe it should be me that tells her. And hopefully not too soon.

  “If there are no diamonds in the box, give him your mom’s jewelry. Say I gave them to you at her memorial, from Twyla. You put them aside and remembered today. Otherwise keep them and say nothing.”

  “Okay.” Her face is soft, tearful.

  “Tharcia?” She looks up at me.

  “Tell me the truth. Are you attached to them?”

  Looking around the barren room, she thinks about it. In this house she’d grown from a nine-year-old girl into a mature woman. I can sense her disbelief in the way it came crashing down.

  “I have other things that are more important. Mom was attached to those, I’m not. But Stuka, if they are stolen, and from Mick, those aren’t memories I would keep.”

  “Good. Tharcia, what does she keep in her safety deposit box?”

  “There is the house deed in it, insurance policies, legal stuff. I found her key after Wolfe called.” Her eyes fix on mine. “Stuka? My mom was bent, wasn’t she?”

  I look back at her, not surprised she knows, wondering how she will handle the details, finding her mother was a gangsta mole in the Santa Clara County parole system. So I soft pedal, tell her about my meeting with Mick’s enforcers, the hit Mick ordered, the threats against her and Montana.

  “Mick may have been forcing her to help him. If he threatened you, she would find it hard to resist. Those guys play mean, with guns.”

  She nods unhappily.

  “Get her jewelry and we’ll take off.”

  She returns with the small manila envelope. I give her a hug. “You are going to be okay. We should go.”

  “Stuka, there’s something I need you to help me with.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “What do I do about Mom?”

  I get an instant flash of the crematory urn on Montana’s dressing table.

  “The ashes.”

  “Yeh.”

  “She ever say anything to you about that?”

  “She said at sea, one time.”

  “I’d be honored to be with you.”

  Downtown, we wait in front of the bank. Wolfe walks up with a man in a dark suit. With them is Ricky Emmanuel, the trauma lady from County. Inside the bank, Tharcia and a clerk retrieve the deposit box and bring it to a private cubicle where we all stand, expectant. Tharcia opens the box.

  There is a collective gasp. Aside from the usual paperwork, the deed to Montana’s house, her will, insurance papers, some old photos, there are several fat bundles of hundred-dollar bills. There is also a roll of black felt. Tharcia carefully unrolls it on the table. In separate small clear bags are six pink diamonds. There are four pieces of set jewelry, a bracelet, a necklace, and two pendants, all featuring the same exotic stones.

  The man in the suit looks them over carefully using a loupe and a special light. He nods at Wolfe.

  “Ms. Harrison,” the detective says, “we must seize these jewels. We believe they are from a theft in Belgium in 2003. We must also seize this cash.”

  Tharcia looks straight at him. “How did my mom get this?”

  Wolfe shakes his head. “We think it was Mick McIntyre.”
<
br />   “So my mom was mixed up with him?”

  “It is too early to tell. We need to trace these diamonds back. They may have been stolen more than once.”

  Meanwhile sirens are going off in my head about the day of the Claremont job. Montana as good as told me but I have to go down there, see for myself. We leave the bank; Tharcia is silent as the two of us walk to my car. Exiting onto First street heading for 280, I know what I have to do.

  “Tharcia, there is something else. Remember about the chase up Mt. Baldy? I think it’s diamonds I stashed up there, not money.”

  Her mouth forms a round O. “You said it was a drug deal.”

  “I thought so until recently. Those diamonds in your mom’s safe. That has to be part of the take from the Claremont job. Which means they are from Mick. The stash I left up there might be diamonds too.”

  “Hah. Does that mean there is an adventure in your future?”

  I smile back at her. “Yours too, if you play your cards right. Is tomorrow too soon? What is your lady love up to?”

  So early next morning Tharcia, Rayne and I depart in a pounding rainstorm for a run down Interstate 5 in Rayne’s Dodge crew cab, south across the California Mojave, over grapevine pass to the 210 then to I-10 and east, toward San Berdoo. In Claremont we get off on Mountain Avenue and go north, uphill, toward Mt. Baldy village.

  From a roadside pullout we look down a rocky slope. Four years ago I’d gone over the edge here on a trail bike. Riverbed at the bottom was dry then, but it’s been raining here and snowing on top so there’s some runoff.

  There is no trail, unless you’re a goat. Rayne is a bit hesitant but I tell her since she’s hanging out with Tharcia she’s a thrill-seeker by definition, which wins that argument.

  We fill backpacks. We have no idea if we’ll get stuck down there, it might take more than one day. Each pack gets a compass and flashlight, some compressed granola bars, water, binoculars, rain gear, saws and knives, a branch lopper, sleeping bag, and a first aid kit. It won’t look like overkill when we need it. I have a pocket GPS unit. We’re dressed for the weather down to our waterproof hiking boots.