Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  She planned to wear the garb into the building, find a ladies’ room, change back to her regular clothes, sign the papers, go back and swap into the disguise again, then leave the building. She'd head straight for the airport and board the first available plane to San Francisco.

  About the time she'd stripped down, someone pounded on the door.

  "Hey, how long are you going to be in there?"

  She quickly slipped into the old dress and opened the door a crack. “I'm sorry, my mother and I will be here quite a while. She's having a problem. I hope you understand. Maybe you ought to find another restroom."

  The woman put her hands on her hips in disgust, then turned and marched off, grumbling.

  Closing the door again, Jamey wished she had an ‘out-of-order’ sign she could hang on the knob. She'd remember that in case she ever had to go through this again.

  She checked the time and noted she still had a good hour to get ready, but definitely didn't want to spend it all in this room. The outfit she'd brought happened to be a real costume she'd purchased last year to go to a Halloween party with Bob. People actually thought he'd escorted his mother instead of his girl.

  The padding across the back and around the middle of the floral dress distorted her figure. The uneven hem, shawl, vinyl handbag, laced up shoes, and the old lady wig, completely transformed her into a frumpy old woman. She'd even mastered the slow limping walk.

  Stashing her good clothes into the plastic bag, she placed the vinyl purse on top, then picked the paper towels off the floor and threw them into the wastebasket. Glancing around to make sure she hadn't left anything, she grabbed her regular purse and the sack, then peeked out the door. Breathing a sigh of relief that no one had hung around, she dashed to the car. She left the station and remembered spotting a rest area on the way. That would be her next stop to put on the finishing touches.

  Jamey parked at one of the far slots, away from any inquisitive stares. She checked the plastic bag to make sure she had everything she needed and set it aside. Then, pulling down the mirror on the visor, she adjusted the gray wig, which had been fashioned into a small bun at the crown with loose gray hairs trailing down the back. After tucking her own dark strands underneath the elastic, she removed the green contacts, wiped off her lipstick, then patted her face with a pale powder. She stepped out of the car for a few minutes and arranged the shawl over her shoulders, then scooted the knee high socks down around her ankles. Climbing back into the vehicle, she shoved her good purse into the plastic bag and placed the old vinyl one next to her on the seat.

  She checked her watch and figured the complete change back into her regular clothes would take fifteen minutes. Starting the car, she headed for her appointment.

  * * * *

  Carl Hopkins stepped inside the title company office at one thirty. A young woman at the front desk glanced up. “May I help you,” she asked.

  "Not at the moment. I'm waiting for someone and I'm a bit early."

  The girl smiled and went back to her duties.

  Carl meandered over to a row of seats along the wall where another man sat looking at a magazine. He glanced up, then went back to his reading. Carl picked up a brochure from a small table and proceeded to the farthest seat. He pretended to be engrossed in the printed material while keeping an eye on anyone who came in the door.

  He'd been there for about ten minutes when an old lady limped into the office and went straight to the reception desk. Carl yawned and placed the advertisement folder on the chair next to him.

  "May I help you,” the girl asked.

  "Yes, honey,” the little old lady said in a low voice. “I need to go to the bathroom before I have my meeting. Could you please tell me where I can find it."

  "Oh, sure.” She turned and pointed. “It's down that hallway to your left. The second door on the right. It's marked. You won't have any problem spotting it."

  The old lady sucked her lips together. “Thank you, honey. You're a sweet girl."

  She limped toward the designated area and disappeared around the corner.

  Carl strolled up to the reception desk. “Could you tell me the time?"

  The girl adjusted her wristwatch. “It's about ten minutes till two."

  "Thanks."

  He crossed over to the glass doors and looked outside. No sign of Jamey, but he did notice extra cars parked across the street with men sitting inside. He figured they were cops.

  When he turned around, his mouth dropped open. Jamey, dressed in a sharp green pants suit, hurried past without so much as giving him a glance. She brushed by the receptionist's desk and walked swiftly to an office on the far side of the room.

  "Damn,” he muttered. How'd she get inside without me seeing her. He surveyed the large office complex. There must be another door, he thought.

  Carl noticed the other man had stood and spoke adamantly into his cell phone as he paced in front of the row of seats. His riveting gaze toward the office where Jamey had gone gave him away. The cops had obviously planted a plainclothesman inside. This made Carl uneasy and might make his plan a bit more difficult. But if he kept his head and played his cards right, things should work out just fine.

  He turned back to the young lady at the desk. “Is there another door leading into here?"

  She shook her head and pointed toward the front entry. “No, that's the only way in or out."

  "Thanks."

  This time, Carl sat down by the entrance of the short hallway leading to the restrooms, a grin curling the corners of his mouth. “Jamey, you've just made this whole thing a lot easier,” he muttered, picking up a magazine.

  Within ten minutes, Jamey exited the office. “Thanks Marge. I hope that takes care of everything and I don't have to make another trip."

  "That does it,” a woman's voice echoed from the office.

  Jamey closed the door and hurried toward the restroom. Carl noticed she carried the same plastic bag that the little old lady had in her hand when she entered the building. He held the periodical high, shielding his face, as Jamey rushed past without giving him a second look. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the plainclothesman put the cell phone to his ear.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Hawkman raced to the 4X4 and peeled rubber as he rounded the corner. He glanced at the clock on the dash and it read one-thirty. Snapping his cell phone off his belt, he punched the memory button for the detective.

  "Williams, Hawkman here. Are your men set up at the title company?"

  "Yeah. They're all in place. What's up."

  "I just came from the hotel. Hopkins’ car is still in the parking lot. So, I checked his room. He's not there and the gun's gone. From the remnants of hair I found on the sink and in the wastebasket, looks like he's shaved off his beard and cut his hair. Other telltale signs indicate he's probably wearing a suit or sports jacket."

  The detective groaned. “You're such a bearer of good news."

  "Have you seen any signs of him?” Hawkman asked.

  "No. And no trace of Jamey either. But if her meeting's at two, I wouldn't expect her to show until almost time."

  "I can tell you, Hopkins is out there somewhere. I don't know how he arranged it, but he's probably watching you guys. So keep on the lookout for a clean shaven man in a business suit. I'll be there in about five minutes."

  When he arrived at the scene, Detective Williams hurried over to the Chevy. “Just got a call from my plainclothesman inside. He said that Jamey appeared out of nowhere. He ranted and raved that no one told him about another entry to the office. We tried to tell him there wasn't one. He insisted she didn't come through the front door."

  "Did he see anyone else come in?"

  "Yeah. A little old lady and a businessman were the only two people in the last twenty minutes.” Williams slapped his forehead. “Damn! That's probably Hopkins."

  Hawkman jumped out of his vehicle. “And Jamey in disguise. Let's move in closer on foot.” He hastened toward the tit
le company building as the detective gave instructions to his men.

  * * * *

  Jamey quickly donned the costume and threw on the wig. She wanted to get out of this place as fast as possible. Taking a deep breath, she hunched over and limped out of the bathroom, down the short hallway. When she turned the corner to head for the front door, she'd have stepped on Carl Hopkins’ foot if he hadn't quickly moved it.

  The minute she passed him, Carl rose and followed her outside. He took long steps until he moved alongside her and took her arm. “Now watch that curb, dear,” he said, poking the gun barrel into her ribs.

  She glanced up and almost stumbled trying to pull away, but his strong arm held her tight.

  "Hello, Jamey."

  "Carl! What are you doing here?” she gasped.

  His eyes narrowed. “Looking for you my sweet little grandma. Now, just remain calm. Play like I'm your son helping you to the car. You have on the right costume, so act the part."

  She felt the hard rod against her side and her stomach knotted.

  "Smile. Remember, you love me."

  Her lips quivered.

  "That's better. Now which of these cars is yours. Don't point, just tell me."

  "It's the blue Honda,” she said, her voice trembling. Glancing up at him, she saw his gaze fan the parking lot.

  "It's right in front of us."

  He jerked her arm. “Shut up and open the door."

  When she inserted the key into the lock, Carl placed his hand over hers. “I'll take those now.” He gave her a slight shove. “Get in and scoot across to the passenger side. Don't try anything funny or I'll kill you on the spot."

  She could see the weapon plainly now and her heart beat rapidly as she wiggled across the console and settled into the seat.

  He climbed into the driver's side, keeping the pistol low but aimed in her direction. Inserting the key with his left hand, he started the engine.

  "What do you want from me, Carl?"

  "You put me behind bars. Remember? It didn't take long to figure out how those diamonds got into my truck. But what threw me is why you left them. At first, I figured you were scared and didn't want to get caught with the stash. Later, I learned from an Oklahoma newspaper that the diamonds were a minuscule part of that heist.” His glare made her shiver. “All I stole were diamonds. Where did you get the other jewels?"

  "I don't know what you're taking about."

  "Of course, you do. You and that diamond courier were in cahoots. I bet he stashed those gems in that room and you knew where they were. You then hid them in your pocket or on your body while I risked my life to get those damn diamonds."

  "Prison has made you soft in the head, Carl. That's ridiculous."

  He let out a cynical laugh. “You thought you'd gotten away, but I traced you to Oregon. Then when things got hot, you decided to plant the diamonds in my truck to take the heat off of yourself. After all, you didn't need them with the big stuff."

  "You're crazy, Carl,” she said, staring out the windshield. She sucked in a breath and her fingers covered her mouth when she spotted Hawkman running across the street toward the title company. Just then another man dashed out of the office building waving a gun in the air.

  Carl jerked his head around, threw the car into reverse and backed up.

  "Where are we going?” she asked.

  "Getting the hell out of here."

  "I don't want to go with you,” she cried, opening the car door.

  He jammed on the brakes, grabbed her arm, and shoved the gun into her face. “Shut that damn door or I'll blow your brains out right now."

  She stared at him in fear and yanked it shut. His eyes were raging with an emotion she'd never seen. “You aren't the same Carl Hopkins I used to know."

  "No, my dear. You, along with a year in prison, changed that. So don't try any more cute stunts if you value your life."

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Are you going to kill me?"

  "I haven't made up my mind yet. But you keep doing stupid things and you might force me into it."

  She focused her gaze toward the front of the car.

  Hawkman stood like a giant with his gun pointed at Carl's head.

  "Get out with your hands up."

  Carl moved his weapon into view pointing it at Jamey's head. “Call off your apes or she gets it."

  Hawkman stepped out of the way and lowered his gun, then waved the police back. “You harm her, Hopkins, and you'll go back to the slammer for life."

  "That all depends on you guys.” He shoved the gear shift into drive, and roared out of the parking lot.

  Jamey hung onto the door handle, terrified at what might happen next. From her side mirror she could see the police cars in pursuit. Her stomach felt queasy as the Honda rounded each corner, barely missing pedestrians and other vehicles. “Carl, you'll never outrun them. They're going to catch you."

  "Maybe, but not before I get a chance to have a long talk with you."

  Suddenly, she stiffened when Carl pulled up into the front yard of her own little house. “What the hell are you doing?

  He turned off the key, grabbed her arm and pulled her over the center console. “Come on. We don't have much time. We've got to get inside."

  "We can't,” she said, trying to pull away. “The house is occupied by someone else."

  "Don't give me any static, Jamey.” He dragged her to the front entry. When he tried the knob, the door opened. Shoving her into the living room, he slammed the door just as Hawkman's vehicle screeched to a halt at the curb.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Charley experienced an upset stomach during the night and slept fitfully. He arose early, worked in the garden, tinkered with the tractor, then did a few chores until around one o'clock. He figured a large bowl of chicken soup, some crackers and a good nap would correct whatever ailed him. That's what Mary always told him when he didn't feel good.

  After eating, he rinsed his bowl and placed it on the counter alongside several other dirty plates. He stepped back and stared at the dishwasher which he'd never used. Stifling a yawn with his hand, he mumbled. “I'm going to have to learn about that contraption one of these days. It might save me some time."

  Feeling drowsy and much better with a full stomach, Charley strolled back to the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his boots. Dropping them onto the floor, he tugged at the cover of his unmade bed and rested his head on the pillow. The next thing he knew someone jostled his shoulder, arousing him out of a deep sleep.

  "Wake up,old man."

  Charley blinked open his eyes and tried to focus on the two figures standing by his bed. “Huh? What is it? Something wrong? Mary, is that you?"

  He raised his head and shook the cobwebs from his brain. Once his vision cleared, he realized the two standing before him were not family. Even though the female had gray hair and wore a mature woman's dress, she wasn't old. In fact, he recognized her as the woman who owned this house. Why the heck had she dressed like that, he wondered? And the man didn't have a beard or long hair, but he remembered those piercing blue eyes that looked through your soul.

  Charley shoved the pistol barrel away from his face with the palm of his hand. “Don't point that damn gun at me. What the hell are you two doing in my house?"

  "We're going to have to use it for awhile, grandpa."

  Charley threw back the cover and sat up on the edge of the bed. “I ain't your grandpa. So don't call me that."

  Carl seemed physically shaken by the old man's brazen behavior and glanced at Jamey whom he still held tightly by the wrist. She gave no reaction as she watched the old man yank on his boots.

  Charley stood and propped his fists on his hips. “Now what the hell ya want?"

  About that time, a voice bellowed over a bullhorn. “Charley Sullivan, are you all right?” And then the phone rang.

  The old man brushed past Carl, stomped into the kitchen and picked up the receiver.

  "Hello."
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  "Hawkman here. You okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine. Got my nap interrupted by this damn fellow you warned me about. He's got a gun pointed in my direction. And it looks like he's also holding the lady who owns this house as a hostage."

  "You're right on both statements. Remain calm and do whatever he wants. We'll get you out of there real soon."

  Charley hung up and glared at Carl from under bushy eyebrows. “You know you're not gonna get away with this. Whatever's on your mind, won't work. Never does.” He pointed toward the window. “And if you ain't careful, you'll get yourself killed by them sharp shooters out there."

  * * * *

  Carl felt beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. He expected the old man to show some sort of fear. “Go sit down,” he said, pointing the gun at one of the kitchen chairs. “And I'll answer the phone from now on."

  "Whatever you say,” Charley said, heading for the seat.

  Holding on to Jamey's wrist so tightly made Carl's hand cramp. He glanced around the kitchen. “You got any rope around here?"

  "Out in my shed. You want me to go get it?"

  Carl raised the gun toward him. “No. You're not leaving this house. Understand? And if you try anything cute, I'll kill the girl."

  Charley held up both hands. “I ain't gonna try nothin', don't worry."

  Spotting a rag hanging on a hook beside the kitchen door, Carl dragged Jamey behind him and yanked it off the nail. He put the corner of the cloth between his teeth and tore it in two pieces. Shoving Jamey down in one of the chairs, he slipped the gun into his belt then jerked her arms behind the back rest.

  She grimaced. “You're hurting me."

  "Shut up and be still."

  While tying Jamey's wrists, he noticed a braided sash dangling from the side of her dress. After making sure her bindings were tight, he worked his hand until the circulation returned, then tore off the tie and used it to secure Charley's arms. Carl then moved to the window and peeked outside. Police cars had surrounded the area. He spotted the private detective standing beside an unmarked car, talking to several men and pointing toward the house. He knew it wouldn't be long before they tried to contact him again.