A Brilliant Plan

Chapter 19

Around four o'clock, I made my way to my temporary storage. I had rented a mailbox in one of the many mail offices on Hawthorne Avenue in Torrance—under one of my assumed names. The store also had office supplies, so anyone watching could assume I was stocking up my office. The mailboxes came in various sizes and I had rented one of the bigger ones, able to hold packages the size of a small shoebox. You could store a lot in a shoebox, especially a lot of jewels. I simply wrapped whatever I needed to store for a few days as a regular package, sender, addressee and all, opened my mailbox, put it in and simply left it. The mailbox clerks naturally assumed that someone from another shift had put it in. No one had ever stolen anything from that small-scale mail office.

I entered the mail office, opened my box and retrieved the small package, which was the size of a VCR tape. I opened the package inside the store to dispose of the wrapping paper, along with my secret identity, and I put the box in my knapsack.

The drive to Santa Monica took me less than 30 minutes. I parked at a valet parking lot close to the end of Santa Monica Boulevard. With that many diamonds with me, I wanted to avoid lonely parking garages. From there, it was a brief walk to the ocean front park. It was a vista point above the sea with a spectacular view over the Pacific; the pier was to the left. I found an empty park bench overlooking the sea and sat down to wait. The winterish sun settled slowly.

Thomas looked seriously down on me and didn't deliver his usual 'glad to see you' routine. We were long past that stage. Furthermore, this was business.

I didn't look at him. "Here they are, take them and get happy."

Thomas looked at the small package beside me, sat down with two feet of distance between us and tapped his fingers on the closed box.

"I really regret doing this, you know," he sounded genuinely apologetic.

"Don't spill any crocodile tears on my behalf," I told him and continued looking at the sundown.

"There is a lot at stake," he answered, still tapping on the package. Then he put it on his lap, carefully opened the lid and looked inside. And then repeated, as if to himself, "A lot is at stake."

He closed the lid carefully, put the box between us.

"What is this supposed to mean?" Thomas looked at me curiously, as if I were an interesting piece of art instead of a former girlfriend.

"Take the stuff and leave me alone. This is what I can offer," I said.

His hand found mine and he slowly squeezed.

"Calendar, I am not being taken as a fool. You must know that this is not what I came for. These stones are peanuts, probably the pathetic stuff you usually deal in." He shook the box and the gems rattled like gravel, masking any other sound. "It is very unfortunate that pain is the only language you seem to understand. Where is the Max?"

I struggled my hand free from his tight hold. First things first, I gently took the box with 'my' gems from the bench and rattled it in front of his face. "As you didn't claim them, they still belong to me."

"Help yourself," he shrugged.

"What is it you want from me, Thomas?"

"I don't care who killed the watchman, Calendar. Could be you, could be someone else, I don't care." Thomas spoke through clenched teeth, he seemed angry. "All I want is the Max."

"Who is Max?" I asked. Now this was getting interesting.

"Not who! What!" Thomas had an almost worshiping look in his eyes as he looked back at me. "Currently, you are my main suspect in this case, the only one who could have pulled it off."