"That's a bunch of crap,” Hopkins spat.
"You've been here all day. I imagine you're lonely."
"So what's it to you? I'm waitin’ for someone."
"Sounds mighty fishy to me,” Hawkman said, shaking his head. “Hasn't your friend ever used a phone or e-mail?"
About that time, Hawkman's cell phone vibrated against his waist and he stepped back.
"Tom Casey."
"Hawkman, this is Patti. We were just informed the plane Shirley Ann Noland is scheduled to arrive on has been delayed. It appears an incident occurred just before disembarking in San Francisco between her and a prisoner the FBI had in custody. The authorities are questioning Shirley Ann, but don't feel she's involved in anything but self-defense. They'll hold the plane for a little while. You want me to call and let you know if she made it aboard?"
"I'd appreciate it."
Hawkman hung up and moved back to the side of the Chevy. “Well, Carl, you might as well go home. Your friend has been detained by the police in San Francisco."
Carl's eyes widened as he stared up at the tall investigator. “What the hell are you talking about?"
"Aren't you waiting for Jamey?"
Carl clamped his mouth tight and his blazing eyes bore into Hawkman. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about,” he hissed.
Hawkman moved away from the car, he went for his gun when he noticed Carl reaching inside his coat. “Don't do anything stupid."
Hopkins raised his hands, palms out and slammed them down on the steering wheel. “Look, Mr. Private Detective. I don't have a quarrel with you. Why don't you just go away and leave me alone."
"Little hard to do when you came to my office wanting to find Ms. Jamey. Makes me think you might have something on your mind beside a chat with the young lady."
"Is that why you sicced the cops onto me?"
"You might say that. Especially since you're fresh out of jail. You sounded a bit vindictive when you paid me a visit."
"Well, I've simmered down. Got me a nice job and nothing can undo what's been done."
"Then why the big charade?” Hawkman asked.
"What charade?"
"The one between you and your look alike, Jake Withers. He's been driving all over town in your car, dressed in your clothes. The cops are on his butt while you sit out here in his car, dressed in his garb, waiting for planes to land. Looks a bit suspicious."
Hawkman watched Carl's hands grip the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white. “I don't have to answer your damn questions.” He reached down and turned on the ignition. “I'm outta here, man. You make me crazy.” The engine roared to life and he drove out of the lot, a plume of smoke trailing from the rear of the car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A blue cloud of exhaust swirled around Hawkman as he walked toward the terminal. He figured Hopkins would return. It made him shudder when he thought about how the man's hate for Jamey showed in his eyes with just the mention of her name.
Hawkman decided to stake out the small terminal and hoped Detective Williams showed up. He figured Carl Hopkins anticipated opposition now. But it appeared unclear how much he'd be willing to sacrifice.
He pulled open the door, turned and surveyed the parking lot. Still no sign of the Chevy. Stepping inside, Hawkman assessed the close quarters of the small building, and it worried him. The passengers would disembark on the runway, walk to the terminal and enter the swinging doors at the back. Friends and relatives would bunch up at the gate waiting for their loved ones to come through.
Security would keep anyone from getting too close. But what would occur if Jamey left the crowd and headed for the exit? Would Hopkins spot her? No disguise could fool the man at this point. He needed to be close to the ex-con in case he pulled the gun.
As Hawkman strolled through the building, a thought flashed through his mind and he hastened out the door at the other end. His head cocked, he walked around the structure on the outside and studied the roof area. A fence met the corner of the building, preventing anyone from wandering onto the runway. He peered around the edge and spotted a garbage dumpster close to the side, but not tall enough for a man to use and climb to the apex. Further down he noticed a metal ladder draped over the top edge of the roof which hung over the ledge about four feet. A mechanical device would be needed to lift a person to meet the rungs.
He turned and headed toward the front of the building. The area was well lit and several spotlights illuminated any shadowed crevices around the structure. After examining all alternatives, he doubted any person could make it atop the roof without being detected. It appeared Carl Hopkins would have to make his appearance through the doors leading into the terminal.
This relieved Hawkman's mind to some extent. He then decided to search the restrooms and any other possible escape routes. The men's room only had one narrow window, about four feet long and ten inches wide, which ran along the top where the ceiling met the wall. A locked bar ran through the middle of the transparent plate. Only one door led inside. He meandered over to the women's bathroom and made sure it wasn't occupied before taking a quick peek inside. He discovered it to be the same design as the men's.
Strolling through the terminal, he noted all the glass panes were stationary with no opening devices. The doors leading out to the planes were secured or manned by personnel. As he headed for the coffee shop, a tap on the shoulder made him whirl around.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,” Patti said, grinning. “Aren't you a little early? That plane just left San Francisco."
Hawkman nodded. “Just wanted to do a little checking. Is our girl on it?"
"Yes. I was just getting ready to call when I saw you."
"Want a cup of coffee?"
"Sounds great. I'm on a quick break. We have a few hot headed people waiting for that plane, so Dan took over for a few minutes. Seems they don't give a guy as much guff as they do a woman."
Hawkman chuckled. “No one tends to mess with a guy who looks like a linebacker."
She laughed. “You've got a point."
They ordered coffee and found a vacant table in the corner. Patti sat down and dropped her black purse on the floor beside her chair. She sipped the hot brew, then raised a brow and tilted her head. “By the way, what are you checking?"
Hawkman pushed back his hat with his forefinger and blew on the mug. “Escape routes."
She frowned. “Why?"
"Because the man pursuing Shirley Ann Noland will be here to meet that plane. I want to have all points covered. Do you know if there's an underground area beneath the terminal?"
Her face paled. “I'm sure there is. That's where the heating and air conditioning units are located."
"Then there's bound to be entries for repairmen."
"I have no idea where the openings are located.” Her eyes widened. “Since 9/11, Security has tightened our movements and we're hardly allowed out of the building.” She reached over and clutched his arm. “Hawkman, should I alert them?"
"I don't think it's necessary. The police will be here.” Spotting a uniformed officer, he half rose from his chair. “In fact, they're here now. Why don't you go back to work and I'll talk to you later. I don't want the detective to connect you as my snitch."
Grabbing her purse, Patti, hurried out of the shop and headed toward the ticket counter. Hawkman adjusted his hat, then meandered into the main terminal. He spotted Detective Williams standing at the front door with a couple of officers.
When Williams saw Hawkman, he motioned for the policeman to stay at the door and moved forward to meet him. “What's happening?"
"Nothing at the moment. The plane's on the way after a delay"
"Is the girl on it?"
"Yes."
"Has Hopkins appeared?"
"I found him in the parking lot in his buddy's car. After I confronted him, he got all fired up and left. He hasn't returned."
"Think he will?"
"Oh, yeah. But he
's aware we know about his plans, so we've got to keep a close eye on everyone coming and going. Hopefully, there won't be too many passengers this late at night."
* * * *
Carl Hopkins gripped the steering wheel as he drove. So much adrenaline had pumped through his body that his muscles trembled. He'd seen a police car heading for the airport and figured they were getting ready to stake out the place. “Damn private investigator,” he said aloud, slamming his hands against the wheel. “I've got to change my plans. I won't be able to get near Jamey with a hoard of police surrounding the area."
He drove into the hotel lot and parked Jake's car next to his. Taking several deep breaths, he waited a few minutes, then checked across the street for the surveillance car, but it had disappeared.
When he wiped his face with the sleeve of the coat, he cringed and almost barfed from the smell. “I've got to get out of this damned stinking thing.” He lunged out of the car and stormed toward the hotel. Once he reached the lobby, he stopped at the pay phone and called the airport. The plane would land in about forty minutes.
He peeled off the long overcoat as he climbed the stairs, and thought about what the investigator had said. Something about his friend being delayed and questioned by the police.
Carl passed his room and headed for Jake's. Before knocking, he made sure he stood alone in the hallway, then removed the gun from the inside pocket of the coat. He slipped the weapon into his waistband and covered it with his tee shirt. Adjusting the garment over his arm, he tapped on the door, then removed the filthy cowboy hat and held it in his hand
Jake opened the door and grinned. “Hey, Carl, come on in."
"I haven't got time to stay more than a minute. I'm going to change roles with you now and be myself. Here's your keys, coat and hat. Thanks for the help."
Jake frowned. “We need to talk."
"Tomorrow. Let me have my keys."
Shrugging, he lifted the key ring from the dresser and handed it to Carl. “Is everything okay?"
"Not really, I'll tell you about it later."
Carl went back to his room, unlocked the door, caught the feather as it floated to the floor and stepped inside. His mind drifted back again to Tom Casey and their conversation. He concluded that the comment about his friend obviously meant that Jamey had gotten into some kind of trouble. Not having much time to speculate, it appeared from the actions of the investigator, she'd arrive on that incoming plane.
He crossed over to the small closet and hauled out a plastic bag. Removing the gray suit he'd picked up at the thrift shop for a couple of bucks, he stood in front of the dresser mirror, slipped on the jacket and held the pants against his waist. Studying his reflection in the wavy glass, he decided the suit would fit just fine. He threw it onto the bed and headed for the bathroom.
While waiting for the hot water to reach his room, he took a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet. Chunks of hair dropped to the floor as he snipped at his beard and long mane. Soon, steam rolled up from the sink and fogged up the mirror. He stopped trimming his hair, wiped off the glass with a towel, then lathered his chin, cheeks and upper lip with shaving cream. The dull razor rasped across his skin making him flinch. Within a few minutes, he stared at a smoothed faced man that he barely recognized.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jamey felt embarrassed after the ordeal with the police, but thankful they'd held the plane. When she boarded, she thought everyone glared at her with scornful stares for delaying the flight. But how would they know she'd caused it? She decided her imagination had worked overtime. Regardless, she headed toward the tail area and found a seat where she'd be alone.
Once settled, she removed her hat and rubbed her throat. The pain still remained where that bastard had gripped her neck. The airline's doctor had examine her injury and assured her no permanent damage had occurred. But he warned she'd have soreness around the area for a few days from the bruising of the soft tissues. She felt exhausted.
When the plane headed down the runway, the rumble of the big engines actually sent a calming effect through her body. Never in her dreams did she actually think she'd be glad to see Medford. She hoped never to relive the trauma she'd just been through. When the seat-belt light went off, she leaned back and closed her eyes, hoping to get a quick nap before the plane landed.
It seemed like only a few minutes before a tap on the shoulder awakened her.
"Please return your seat to the original position."
* * * *
Carl Hopkins jumped into the shower and rinsed away the short itchy hairs clinging to his neck and shoulders. After drying, he donned the suit and strutted in front of the mirror. What a change, he thought, looking at his reflection. Clean shaven and sporting a short hair style. “Hell, I even look kinda handsome,” he scoffed aloud.
No one would ever recognize him as the sleazy looking ex-con that lived in this run down hotel. He sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced at his bare feet. Frowning, he went to the closet. He had three pairs of footwear to his name: sandals, work boots and white tennis shoes. He grabbed the tennies and snatched a pair of socks from the dresser drawer. They'd have to do. He needed to hurry. The plane would be landing in the next few minutes. Sitting down on the chair, he put on the foot gear.
He slipped the gun into the outside pocket of the suit coat, but didn't like the bulge it caused, so transferred it to the inside breast pocket. Peeking into the hallway, he made sure the coast was clear before slipping out and locking the door. Carl didn't put the feather on the top, figuring no one would enter his room tonight.
Hurrying out of the hotel, he climbed into his own car, hoping that Jake had left him with plenty of gas. The engine roared to life and the gas gauge moved up to half a tank. Carl breathed a sigh of relief.
When he reached the airport, he circled the lot, but his stomach tightened as he counted three black and whites parked inside. No telling how many unmarked cars belonged to the cops. He drove around the boundary and spotted two more patrol cars near the back side of the terminal. He also recognized the SUV he'd seen earlier and figured it belonged to the big cowboy with the eye-patch.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he felt the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. This isn't going to work, he thought. The police, along with that damn private investigator have this whole place covered. It's a small terminal and there's no place to hide. Even if he got in without being spotted, Jamey would recognize him immediately. She'd probably let out a terrifying scream, alerting everyone. Then if he pulled the gun, the police would shoot him down in cold blood.
No denying it, if he wanted to come out of this caper alive, he'd better skip tonight and go to plan B. He turned the Toyota around and headed back to the hotel. No sense in risking his life, he thought.
Back in his room, he shed the suit and hung it in the closet, then flopped down on the bed. A slow grin curled the corners of his mouth as he thought how that cowboy would be watching for him. At least for now, he had the satisfaction of knowing he'd fooled the authorities.
* * * *
Jamey pulled the lever to make the seat pop back into it's original position. She hadn't unbuckled the belt, remembering the experience of the earlier turbulence. The forty-five minute nap had done nothing but make her mouth dry and her eyes scratchy. She stretched her arms and wiggled her shoulders, only to feel soreness across her back caused from the hoodlum's attack.
The pressure in her ears indicated the plane had moved into its approach pattern and they'd be landing soon. Opening her purse, she removed the compact and checked her make-up. After smoothing down loose strands of hair, she put on her hat and returned the mirror to her purse. Then she stared out the window as she spotted the lights of the airport below. The sight triggered a chill down her spine.
Trying to ignore the warning, she focused on having a drink as soon as she acquired the rental car. She'd find some out-of-the-way bar where no one would recognize her and have a nice tall gin and tonic.
The plane flew low over the airport on its approach and her heart squeezed. Several patrol cars were parked around the terminal and she wondered why they were there at this late hour.
The plane coasted down the runway and into its designated area. Within a few minutes, the workers pushed the tall ladder-like gangplank toward the exit. No police surrounded the plane, so the problem must not be onboard. That partially relieved Jamey's mind. But something had happened inside the terminal for so many black and whites to be present. She felt butterflies in her stomach as she hoisted her purse strap over her shoulder and retrieved her small suitcase from the overhead rack. Fighting to gain composure, she stepped into the aisle.
Even though there were few passengers, it felt like an eternity before she finally made it down the steps. She shivered as a cool breeze whipped around her. Her gaze ventured to the windows of the terminal and she did a double take. She felt her heart pounding inside her ears as she recognized the tall man in the cowboy hat with a patch over his eye. Feeling her knees buckle, she collapsed to the pavement.
Jamey's eyes flitted open as strong arms lifted her gently onto a gurney. Her head cleared immediately and she thought about protesting, but decided against it. Let them get me through the terminal and out to the ambulance, she thought.
She let out a groan. “What happened?"
"You're going to be all right, ma'am,” one of the paramedics said.
"You went down pretty hard,” the other said, pushing the rolling bed toward the terminal. “We're going to run you to the hospital and have them check you over."
"I'm cold,” Jamey said, pulling up the coverlet so it partially covered her face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Hawkman searched the building from one end to the other but saw no sign of Carl Hopkins. Phone in hand, he continued checking with the officers in the parking lot every few minutes. He'd warned them to watch for an old gray Toyota or a green Chevy. Neither had been spotted.
The plane taxied down the runway and coasted to a stop near the building. Hawkman moved toward the window and watched the assistants roll the staircase to the door of the plane. The first few people exited and Hawkman moved toward the rear of the crowd inside so he had a good view of the passengers entering the terminal. Also, he could keep an eye on the entrances into the main room from outside.
Diamonds Aren't Forever Page 13