Free Diamonds Aren't Forever by Betty Sullivan La Pierre Page A

parked earlier.
    He ambled up the chipped concrete steps leading to the entrance of the hotel and glanced around for mailboxes outside. Not seeing any, he grasped the tarnished brass handle and yanked open the heavy wooden door. He stepped into the foyer onto a worn dirty carpet which appeared as ancient as the structure. The stairwell stood directly in front of the door and an adjacent hallway led back to the first floor units. He entered the large room to the right which appeared to have been a magnificent lobby at one time. At the far end stood a large counter with a small ante room behind it.
    Hawkman approached the large bar like construction and read a hand-scribbled ‘NO VACANCIES’ sign perched on the top, plus a placard listing the prices for extra services. A person could get a weekly room cleaning for twenty-five dollars a month. Dry cleaning and laundromat services were available. No loud music, drugs or wild parties permitted in the rooms.
    Behind the structure on each side of the doorway hung cabinets with cubby holes. He assumed they served for mail or messages. Each opening had a room number and a name sticker attached. Hawkman quickly canvassed the cluster and found Carl Hopkins in room twenty-three.
    He heard the muted sound of a television or radio coming from the rear and turned to leave, hoping not to be discovered. But then a loud voice rumbled through the room, “Can I help ya?"
    Hawkman stopped and faced a man not more than five feet tall, his head and shoulders barely visible over the tall counter. Bushy gray hair stuck out in all directions and his thick eyebrows bobbed up and down. His left arm appeared to be missing and the long shirt sleeve clung to his side where he'd tucked the cuff into his belt.
    "No, thanks,” Hawkman said. “I see you don't have any vacancies."
    "Nope, nothin’ available. Sorry.” He gave a wave, and headed back into the area that Hawkman assumed to be the man's own quarters.
    Waiting until he disappeared, Hawkman slipped around the corner and silently stole up the stairs. The second floor hall extended the length of the building. Most of the apartment numbers hung askew on the doors. The second room on his left, number twenty-three, had the number two hanging upside down, held only by one small nail. He knocked softly. When he received no answer, he removed the lock pick from his pocket. He gave a quick glance up and down the hallway, then worked the pick into the old lock, and had it open in a matter of seconds.
    When he stepped inside, a small feather floated down in front of his face. Hopkins had obviously rigged up a trap so he'd know if anyone had entered the room. He'd make sure to return the piece of fluff when he left.
    The light from the hotel sign hanging directly over the window lit up the room enough so a flashlight wouldn't be necessary. The dingy curtains fluttered as a faint breeze came through the partially opened window.
    An unmade bed took up most of the room and a small desk occupied the space next to the headboard. In the far corner, a lamp with a dirty, tattered shade rested on a round table flanked by a chair on each side. On the opposite wall as you headed toward the bathroom, a scuffed four drawer wooden dresser leaned cockeyed as if one leg was shorter than the others. Hawkman noticed a phone sitting on its top. Odd, he thought, why is that there and not on the bedside table?
    He walked over, picked it up and discovered the cord missing. Crossing over to the head of the bed, he moved the desk slightly away from the wall. He found the small square outlet for a phone connection above the baseboard. with the telephone cord still plugged in. He followed the wire with his hand to the point where it disappeared into the bed. Lifting up the corner of the mattress he found a laptop computer tucked underneath. He understood why Hopkins hid this piece of expensive equipment, but it also indicated in Hawkman's mind that Carl hadn't lost his hacking