Sweetie's Diamonds (29 page)

Tuff ran back through the store, tossed the key to the cashier, and burst out the door.
 
He bolted around the building and found the spot underneath the window where David would have fallen.
 
He looked around the property and realized that the only direction the boy could have gone was out into the field.
 

“David!” he called.
 

One advantage to losing an eye was that the remaining one naturally compensated for the lack of 20/20 vision.
 
Emo Tuff's one good eye saw exceptionally well, even in the dark.
 
He scanned the moonlit horizon and detected movement some hundred yards away at an angle of thirty degrees.
 
The kid was running.

Tuff took off after him.

David wanted to call for help but knew that no one would hear him out there.
 
Besides, he was already out of breath.
 
He couldn't run much more.
 
His heart was pounding and his chest hurt.
 
Nevertheless, he heard Emo call his name—he just couldn't stop now.
 

Please, please, find a place to hide!

He kept running but his pace slowed.
 
His lungs screamed in agony as he attempted to draw a decent breath of air.
 
It's what happened when his heart had to work overtime.
 
He couldn't get enough oxygen and he passed out.
 

No!
 
Not that!

An excruciating pain ripped through his chest, causing him to stumble and fall.
 
He hadn't felt anything like it since he was a small child, back when they had first discovered he had a heart problem.
 
He had just done what his doctor had told him not to do—exerted himself beyond his capability.
 
He needed his medicine badly.

David rolled in the grass and lay face up, gasping for air and clutching his ribcage.
 
That's how Emo Tuff found him.

“You little shit, I'm gonna beat you senseless!” the man yelled over him as he squatted by the fallen boy.
 
Tuff pulled David up by the shirt and made a fist, ready to knock the kid's jaw loose.
 
Then he saw that the boy was not well.
 

“David?
 
What the fuck is wrong?”

David gasped for air, unable to speak.
 
He looked at Emo Tuff with wide eyes, the whites shining in the moonlight.
 
The way the kid was holding his ribcage prompted Tuff to ask, “What's the matter?
 
Is it your heart?
 
Nod your head if it's a yes!”

David nodded.
 

“Okay, take it easy,” Tuff said.
 
“Sit up.”
 
He helped the boy into a sitting position.
 
“Calm down.
 
I'm not gonna hurt you, David.”
 

But David lost consciousness and drooped forward into his arms.
 

“Aw shit,” Tuff said.
 
“Don't die on me, you stupid kid.”
 
Valentine would have his hide if the boy died en route to California.
 
Tuff looked back toward the gas station and saw no indication that the cashier had followed him outside.
 
Tuff cradled the lanky boy in his arms and picked him up.
 
He carried David across the field and back to the van.
 
After opening the door, he placed David in the back seat and strapped a seat belt around the boy's waist.
 
He shut the door, locked it, and then went to peer through the glass front of the shop to see what the cashier was doing.

The black man's eyes were closed and his head was cradled in his arms on the counter.

Tuff went back to the van, got inside, started the ignition, and drove back to the highway.

D
iane parked the Honda in the lot next to the bank and got out of the car.
 
Carrying her purse and a few towels in a shopping bag, she went inside the bank lobby and approached the first available teller.

“I'd like to get into my safety deposit box, please,” she said quietly.
 

“Sure,” the teller said.
 
“I'll need identification and your bank card, please.”

Diane produced the two items from her purse and the teller signaled one of the men who sat at desks on the bank floor.
 
A Vice President-type, the young man walked over to Diane and said, “I'll be happy to help you, ma'am.
 
Come this way.”
 
He led her through double doors into the surprisingly small room that contained the boxes.
 
With the appropriate authorization given to him by the teller and the correct key, he unlocked the little door, pulled out the box, and handed it to Diane.
 
He then led her through another door into a room furnished with a table and a couple of chairs.
 

“You can have some privacy in here,” he said.
 

“Thank you,” Diane said as she placed the box on the table.
 

The man gestured to a phone on the table.
 
“Just punch seven if you need any assistance.”

He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with the elongated metal container.
 
Diane carefully opened it and saw that everything was as she had left it—when was it?
 
Three months ago?
 
It was an eternity.

She lifted the heavy black velvet bag and untied the drawstring.
 
She spilled the diamonds onto the table and counted them, guessing as to what she might get for them if she went to a straight jeweler.
 
Actually, she had no idea.
 
She was so used to the black market prices that Moses Rabinowitz offered her that she didn't have a clue what they were worth in a legitimate market.
 
Perhaps in California she could find a fence that would give her something reasonable.
 
If her plans worked out, someone she knew would be able to point her in the right direction.
 

Diane scooped the diamonds back into the bag and tied the drawstring.
 
Weighing it in her left hand, she reflected on the fateful day that she acquired them and the dreadful phone call that came after midnight…

“Hello?”

“…help me…”

“Sweetie?
 
What's wrong?
 
You sound—”

“Please…”

“Where are you?”

“…warehouse…”

“My God, what's happened?
 
Sweetie?”

“…shot…”

“What?
 
I can't hear you!
 
Did you say—?”

Then there was the sound of the receiver dropping.
 
The line went dead.
 

“Shot”—that was the last word Diane had heard her speak.
 
She had got out of bed, dressed quickly, and sped to Valentine's warehouse.
 
The place was well lit but eerily quiet when she arrived.
 
She found a window, near the loading dock where Valentine and his men always entered, and that's where she crawled in.
 
Diane feared that she might find something terrible inside but she never expected to encounter the bloody tableau on display in the creepy old place.
 
Bodies were strewn here and there, full of gunshot wounds.
 
Four black men.
 
Three of Eduardo's thugs and Eduardo himself lay on his back, his chest ripped open by several rounds of ammunition.
 
Diane called out for her sister but didn't see her.
 
Where was she?
 

Her sister.
 

Diane.
 
Dana.
 
Sisters.
 

Who was who?
 
The events of that night were jumbled in her mind.
 
What was memory was not necessarily fact.
 
Or was it?
 
What had happened?
 
Where was her Sweetie?
 
She liked to call her Sweetie.
 
It wasn't her real name but it had stuck.
 
(
When they had been little girls, the twins called each other Sweetie for the fun of it.
)

Her head hurt.
 
She reached up, felt the back of her head, and then examined her hand.
 
There was blood on it.
 
How did she get hurt?
 
She wasn't at the scene of the massacre when it happened, she had been at home in bed.

Or had she?

Look, she thought, there was a trail of blood on the concrete floor.
 
Perhaps she should follow it?

“Sweetie?” she called again as she slowly traced the red-streaked trail into the rows of stacked boxes that filled the building.
 
Diane found her, unconscious, in the small office that was located near the stockpile of videotapes waiting to be distributed around the country.
 
Sweetie had found a phone on a desk there and must have used every bit of strength she had to make the earlier call.
   

There was a gunshot wound in Sweetie's head.
 
The blonde hair was matted with blood.

Diane examined her carefully and saw that she was still breathing.
 

Got to get help
, she thought.
 
Or would they be coming after her?
 
They would come soon, they surely would!
 
With this kind of carnage at the warehouse, they would want revenge.

Diane carried Sweetie back to the central area of the warehouse, where Eduardo and the black gangsters lay sprawled about like broken dolls.
 
On the table was an open briefcase.
 
Diane stopped to look and gasped.
 
It was full of sparkling gems.
 
Diamonds.
 
(
“Eduardo is making a big haul tonight,” Sweetie had said
.)
 
Even after the shock of seeing her sister with a gunshot wound to the head, the sight of the dazzling baubles made her gasp.
 

What should she do?
 
Could she risk taking Sweetie to a hospital?
 
Think!
 
Think!
 
How could she turn this situation into an advantage for the two of them?
 

The incinerator was going full blast.
 
Had they disposed of someone?
 
That was where they did it, Diane knew that.
 
If Valentine wanted to get rid of somebody, Eduardo or one of the other goons would throw the victim into the incinerator.
 
Then there was no trace.
 

Diane looked at the incinerator and then at her sister.
 
That's when she was suddenly aware of intense pain in the back of her head.
 
Diane touched her hair and felt a wet stickiness.
 

Why was her head bleeding?
 
For a moment she had to lean against the table to regain her equilibrium.
 
Then she knew what she had to do to complete her mission.

Near Eduardo's right hand was a gun—a Colt .45.
 
Diane picked it up and put it in her purse.
 
She then closed the briefcase with the diamonds inside and took it with her…

T
hat was what had happened, wasn't it?
 
At least that's how Diane remembered it.
 
It was so long ago that the details were all mixed up, just like they were in her dreams.
 
Best not to dwell on that night
, she thought.