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

skills. He decided not to investigate the machine at this time, not knowing exactly how long Hopkins might stay at Curly's tonight. He'd wait until he had a good couple of hours before searching its contents. Removing the miniature camera from his pocket, he snapped a picture of the machine and took several shots of the room.
    He rummaged through the wastebasket, and found a receipt that indicated a cash purchase for the computer a couple of days ago. Hawkman let out a low whistle. “Where the hell did he get money for that toy?” he mumbled aloud, sticking the paper into his pocket.
    In the desk drawers, he found the instructions for the laptop and a few miscellaneous receipts. The closet revealed a scarcity of clothes. As he dug through the dresser, his hand hit a hard object. He carefully unrolled a pair of boxer shorts, and found a small caliber handgun concealed within the fold. Hopkins’ prison record prohibited him from owning any type of firearm, so he'd obviously purchased this illegally.
    Hawkman stared at the weapon, wondering why the man needed a gun. The thought sent a chill through his body. Careful not to touch it, he snapped a picture, then refolded the underwear around the pistol and closed the drawer.
    Checking the time, it surprised him that he'd been there almost an hour. He decided he'd better leave and retrieved the feather he'd placed under a glass on the table.
    He pressed his ear against the wooden door and listened for several seconds before opening it a couple of inches. The dimly lit hallway revealed no one in sight, so he stepped out of the room, stuck the feather on the top of the door and closed it. He hurried down the stairs and just bounded off the last step when he collided with the clerk rounding the corner from the lobby. Hawkman grabbed the man's shoulders to prevent him from falling.
    "What the hell are you still doing here? I told you there ain't no vacancies,” the clerk said, frowning.
    "Uh, yeah I know,” Hawkman stuttered. “Just thought I'd look around a bit and see if I'd like it here.” He moved toward the exit. “I must say it's a quiet place.” With that, he rushed out the door.
    Close call, he thought, trooping briskly across the street to his 4X4. He glanced back at the hotel as he climbed into his vehicle and noticed the clerk watching him through the large front window.
    Hawkman decided to stop by Curly's bar before heading home. He lucked out and found a parking place nearby. None of the cars around the establishment resembled Hopkins’ junker, but he figured it could be in the alley where many of the employees put their vehicles to save room for the customers.
    Several patrons mingled on the front patio enjoying the mild evening temperature. A few recognized Hawkman and waved as he made his way toward the entrance. Inside, he weaved through the customers to the bar and perched on one of the stools. He heard Curly's irritated voice coming from the kitchen, complaining about the low stock of hot wings.
    He ordered a beer and swiveled around to search for Hopkins. In the far corner, he spotted the long-haired, bearded man loading a cart with dirty dishes as he cleared and wiped off tables. He appeared oblivious to the people around him.
    Curly stormed out of the kitchen mumbling, threw a towel over his shoulder and helped the bartender load the trays for the cocktail waitresses. It took him several minutes before he spotted Hawkman.
    He dried off his hand and stuck it out. “Hawkman, how the hell are you? Hey you look different, lose some weight?"
    "No, got a haircut,” Hawkman said, suppressing a smile.
    "I think I know why you're here.” He winked and nodded toward the corner of the room.
    Hawkman grinned. “Yeah, you got that right. So, how's business?"
    "Couldn't be better.” He lowered his voice. “That is, if I could keep my damn cooks on the ball so they'd let me know what I need to order. That's what I pay ‘em for, but they're so anxious to get out of