The Queen of Diamonds Read online

  “He hung up on me.… That shit-head just hung up on me.…”

  “He’s probably just—”

  “I’m done with him! I can’t take it; he’s so uninterested in me, I don’t even know why we were together in the first place! I can’t talk to him, we never hang out, I haven’t even been to his apartment—”

  “Danny—”

  “I NEED TO VENT!”

  I shut my mouth and nod. Usually he talks to Molly about these kinds of things. Danny continues.

  “You know, he never asks about me or how I’m doing. He also doesn’t tell me anything about himself, like it’s all some big secret or something, and ready for this? He’s constantly asking about you. It’s like, uh, hi, you’re dating me, not my brother, but he’s literally obsessed with you. Don’t worry, I made it perfectly clear you aren’t gay and that you have a girlfriend, but my god, he always wants to know where you are, what are you doing, how’s your situation with the police and your schizophrenia—ok, sorry I told him about that, but I figured you wouldn’t mind—”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Hey, I said I’m sorry.”

  “No, not that.” My mind is racing. Could it really be? Is it really that simple? Suddenly everything’s becoming clear.

  “Jimmy’s color is red. Molly’s number is 208. Brendan is the Queen of Diamonds.… But it’s not just that. Brendan—the fake Brendan—always wore something from 42nd Street.”

  “Les, what are you talking about?”

  “Forty-two!” Sum of two queens flipped…forty-two. Derek’s number.

  “The Queen of Diamonds.… Oh, I get it—” I flip open my phone and quickly dial Trish’s number. Nobody answers. I try again. “Dammit.”

  “Les?”

  “I know who the real Brendan Adams is. Danny, we have to get to Molly’s and warn Trish.”

  “Wha—” I grab him and we dash to the car. I just hope we aren’t too late.

  * * * *

  There was nobody at Molly’s apartment. We try the theatre next. Empty. I call Trish’s number over and over again and leave several messages warning her about Brendan. Now I find myself sitting alone in the empty theatre with Danny and realize I have to explain to him that his boyfriend is actually the homicidal psychopath who’s been setting me up.

  “Danny.…”

  “Yeah?”

  Okay, good start, but now I’m at a loss for words. Danny senses that something’s up.

  “You said you know who the real Brendan is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who?”

  “Um.… Well, actually, turns out we know who he is.…”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, he, uh, he’s an actor in the play,” I’m stalling. Why am I stalling? Spit it out. “See, the real Brendan.… You know, you helped me figure out who it really is.”

  “Les, who is it?!”

  “Uh.… It’s.…” He might hit me. Maybe I can get Mark to tell him.

  “LES!”

  “It’s Derek.”

  I wait for a reaction. Nothing’s happening.

  “How do you know?”

  Good question. I’m not sure how to answer that. Oh, well, you see, Scott, my imaginary friend, told me that the guy represented by the number 42 was the murderer. I was also warned by the ghost of Dr. Patricia in my dream.

  “Well, Trish was trying to tell me on the phone the last time we talked. I didn’t really understand until now.…”

  “You think he was dating me just so he could set us up for the robbery?”

  “I never said that.… But yes, basically.”

  “And that’s why he’s been asking so much about you and the police?”

  “Yeah—”

  “And the reason he doesn’t talk about himself? So I guess it makes sense that he’s a good actor, since apparently he’s been pretending to like me this whole time.”

  “Danny, please don’t—”

  “This bastard was planning to ruin Molly. He got you institutionalized, is framing us for a robbery, murdered a person, and I’ve been dating the son of a bitch. And just now I led him to Trish—”

  “Danny, this isn’t your fault! Don’t blame yourself for any of this, there was no way you could’ve known—”

  “And I gave him the code.”

  “You had nothing to—wait, what now?”

  “I gave him the code,” Danny repeats, suddenly rising and running to the prop table. I follow him and watch, confused, as he starts to rummage through the prop suitcases, throwing them around, searching for something.

  “What code?” I ask cautiously.

  “To the suitcase,” he says airily, no longer focused on making sense. He finally stumbles across the suitcase he was looking for and eagerly grabs it from the pile. Something jingles inside. He runs the suitcase center stage and carefully places it flat in front of us, then stands and looks at me.

  “Did Jimmy ever give back the gun Mark lent you?”

  “Um…yeah, he gave it back to me in the hospital parking lot. Why?”

  “Do you have it with you now?”

  “…Yes?”

  “Could I see it?”

  “Uh.… Are you going to shoot someone?”

  “Give it to me.”

  I hesitate before pulling out the gun and offering it to him. Danny grabs the revolver, cocks it, and shoots the suitcase lock. The explosive sound echoes through the theatre and I jump back, terrified.

  “Danny, what the hell?!”

  He ignores me and bends down to the suitcase. I give him his space, keeping my eye on the gun in his hand. He opens the suitcase, stares for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

  “Les…Les, take a look at this!”

  “Will you give me the gun?”

  “Wha? Yeah, here, just needed to break the lock.”

  Danny slides me the gun and I quickly pick it up. Danny looks at me, smiling, and moves out of the way so I could see the suitcase’s contents. My jaw drops. The velvety interior of the case is covered with jewelry of gold, silver, and sparkling diamonds.

  I drop to my knees and gawk at the treasure. The police weren’t kidding when they said Dr. Patricia had an impressive collection of jewelry. The sparkling diamond necklaces and rings send little rainbows dancing around the suitcase. Danny reaches in to pick something up but I quickly grab his arm.

  “Don’t. We don’t want our fingerprints on this.”

  “Good thinking, but I was going for that.” Danny points at some papers lying hidden underneath the necklaces. I use my sleeve to take the folders out and open them up.

  “The missing files from Dr. Patricia’s office,” I say, giving Danny the folders labeled “Adams, Brendan” and “Adams, Daniel”. I keep the folder yellowing with age labeled “Adams, Leslie”.

  Inside are copies of insurance information, filled out psychological evaluations, and papers of notes my psychiatrist had taken down, notes probably written while I was sitting there in front of her all those years ago.

  I flip through the pages in the file and stop at a picture. It’s a photo of ten-year-old me, sitting smiling on the coach next to Dr. Patricia.

  “I remember this,” I say out loud. It was taken on the last day of my sessions with her, before I went back to seeing my regular psychologist, Dr. Massy. The photo is paper clipped to a few childhood drawings I’d made, scribbled in bright crayon and labeled in sloppy, backwards letters. There’s a clumsy drawing of two smiling stick figures, one with a green shirt and purple hair. “Scott” is written above his head.

  My cell phone rings and I wake up back to the present. I recognize Trish’s number and quickly pick it up. Trish’s quivering voice gives it all away; Derek—or, rather, Brendan—is there with her.

  “H-hey, Les. Um, where are you guys? Are you still at the police station?”

  “Tell him we found the diamonds and his records. Call him Derek.… Don’t worry, Trish, we’ll get you out of this.”

  The line is
quiet for a moment. I wait, mouthing to Danny what’s going on and what I hear. Finally another voice answers the phone.

  “So you finally figured me out?” Brendan says in a clear, emotionless voice.

  “Yeah. Danny helped me realize—”

  “Tell him he’s a piece of shit,” Danny growls.

  “He calls you a piece of shit, by the way.”

  Brendan tsks. “And I really liked him…for a second, anyway. So, down to business; I’ve got the girl, you’ve got the gold. How about a trade?”

  I hesitate, look at Danny, then at the diamonds. I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.

  “Where?”

  “How about the scene of the crime?”

  “Dr. Patricia’s?”

  “Other crime. Let’s see what’s left of Trish’s house. Come alone; I see or hear a cop, and Trish might have another unfortunate accident—”

  “I’m bringing Danny.”

  “You bring Danny, she gets a bullet. Let’s keep this between you and me; after all, you know how ex’s can get. Ten o’clock. Bring the diamonds, my file, and my diary; Danny told me you found it in the theatre. I must admit, I wasn’t too pleased to hear you guys were reading through it. You know, that stuff’s private—”

  “How do I know you won’t just blow the place up again once I’m inside?”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Les. I like you too much.… Almost as much as those diamonds. Plus, I can’t lose my scapegoat, now can I?”

  He hangs up. I put away the phone.

  “Well? What’s happening?” Danny asks.

  “He wants to meet and swap the suitcase for Trish.”

  “Okay.… When and where, and more importantly, are we actually going through with this? Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “No police. He wants me to come alone.”

  “Because he’s planning to kill you,” the childhood drawing of Scott in my hands tells me. I look down at the drawing bewildered.

  “But…I’m the scapegoat,” I answer the drawing. The red crayon smile on the figure flips into a frown.

  “He’s a lunatic and a murderer. He’s going to want to tie up loose ends, you’ve read the diary.”

  I know the drawing’s right, but I’m not sure I have a choice. Trish is doomed if I don’t show up.… Of course, he probably plans on killing her either way.

  “I’m not going to let you go alone, Les. Once he gets a hold of all this shit, what’s stopping him from hurting you or Trish?” Danny repeats my thoughts.

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.…”

  We need some leverage. Lucky for us, there’s plenty right here in this suitcase.

  “I’ve got an idea. Grab another suitcase; I’ll take this one with me with the files inside when I meet with Brendan. You take another suitcase with the diamonds and hide them—someplace he won’t find them, like in the woods or something. Make sure you don’t get your fingerprints on anything, and keep your cell on—”

  “So we’re not giving Brendan the diamonds?”

  “Well, you’re right; once he gets the diamonds, there’s nothing stopping him from—well, you know. Also, call Jimmy and get the diary.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone with that psycho—”

  “You’ll have to.”

  “Well, what’s your plan!? Something’s going to go wrong.”

  “Then I’ll bring the gun. I’ll give him the files and the diary, and negotiate a trade for the diamonds after Trish and I are safely out of the building. I’ll figure it out.… Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Easier said than done, I realize. Even I’m panicked, but at least I hide it well.

  * * * *

  After hours of arguing and waiting, Danny drops me off a block from Trish’s burned and hollowed home. I walk the block as slowly and stiffly as one on their way to meet the devil. I have no plan, no backup, and no idea what’s waiting for me. I just have a goal: get Trish and get out.

  I get to the house quicker than I would’ve liked. The withered building looks naked and broken. Caution tape is wrapped around the perimeter, but otherwise the house stands unguarded. I get a sense of déjà vu; I remember standing here before, watching as golden flames licked the wood and brick, sending smoke billowing out the shattered windows and into the night sky.

  Somewhere within the house a floorboard creaks and a voice whispers—or perhaps these windy noises are just imagined, sparked by my inventive mind. Either way, I can’t just stand out here waiting. Trish and Brendan are waiting for me inside.

  “Why, Les! I was wondering when you were going to quit dawdling outside and join us,” Brendan says when I enter. He has a gun, as I expected. Trish is sitting on the floor behind him, her hands tied around a pillar, but somehow looking quite comfortable, smoking a cigarette.

  “You okay?” I ask her. She coughs, trying to respond while keeping the cigarette in her mouth.

  “She’s fine. Let’s speed things up. Hand over the suitcase.”

  I hesitate. Brendan stretches out his arm and points the gun at me. “Don’t make this difficult,” he says with a sneer.

  I sigh and hold out the suitcase. He carefully walks forward and grabs it, then retreats backward towards Trish. He puts down the suitcase on the floor, opens it, and frowns.

  “Where’s the diamonds?” he demands.

  “The diamonds are Trish’s and my ticket out of this. We walk out of here safely, I’ll call Danny and you’ll get your diamonds.”

  “You think I’m going to trust you?”

  “You’ll have to. It’s the only way you’re going to get what you want. Only Danny knows where the diamonds are hidden. Anyway, I gave you the files—”

  “Minus yours?”

  “Yeah, well I figured that was my private business. Speaking of which, I’ll get you your diary. I just don’t have it on me right now—”

  “Oh, that’s right! Jimmy has it, doesn’t he?”

  I freeze up. How does he know about Jimmy? Brendan smiles.

  “Oh, Jimmy! Come on out.” he calls.

  Footsteps. Someone’s coming down the stairs. Brendan watches, amused, as I turn pale seeing Jimmy, diary in hand, a sheepish grin on his face. Brendan walks over and grabs the diary, cackling. His cool demeanor is deteriorating. I pay no attention to him and just stare at traitorous Jimmy, trying to burn a hole in his head with my glare. Jimmy turns red and kind of sinks under my gaze.

  “I’m sorry, Les, but I’ve known this guy a lot longer than you. Hell, I used to rob houses with this guy! He’s an old friend. Plus, he promised me a slice of the profits if I helped him out.… Come on, Les. Diamonds? That collection’s worth hundreds, thousands even!”

  I don’t respond. Of course Jimmy would betray me. He’s a thief. I’d forgotten; I should’ve listened to Jenny’s warning.

  Jimmy looks like he wants to go on, but Brendan cuts him off.

  “Jimmy, grab his cell phone. Unless, Les, you want to call up your brother and tell him to bring the diamonds?”

  My silence gives him his answer. Brendan nods to Jimmy, who starts to approach me. Every step he takes sounds like thunder and shakes the house—or, at least, that’s how it seems to me. My heart’s pounding. The room starts to slant. The walls twist and collide, pouring into each other. Pieces of wood drip from the ceiling like splintering raindrops.

  I grab out my gun and point it at Jimmy. “Not a step closer,” I growl. Jimmy freezes. He looks at me and my gun, at Brendan, than back at me. Brendan barks, “Take the gun, too.”

  “I’ll shoot,” I lie.

  Brendan laughs. He can see through my tough act. Jimmy still seems unsure. If he hadn’t just betrayed me, I’d feel bad for him.

  He looks me in the eyes, and I suddenly have a strong sense that he’s trying to tell me something.… I realize I can hear him thinking. Red, brown, sixteen, gray.… Damn, I wish I could read actual thoughts, I have no idea what he’s trying to say. He slowly moves closer. I grip the gun tight. I don’t plan to
shoot him, but I won’t give up the gun without a fight.

  “Hurry up!” Brendan shouts.

  Then Jimmy changes focus. With his eyes and a little bob of his head, he points downward. I look and see that he’s pointing to my tracking bracelet. Then a whole lot of things happen at once.

  Jimmy grabs my gun. I jolt and pull back, but Jimmy’s managed to hit my hurt hand. Pain shoots through my arm and I yelp like a hurt puppy. Jimmy takes this to his advantage and twists the gun downward.

  BANG!

  …Shit.

  I let go of the gun and quickly back up, petrified. Did I shoot Jimmy?

  Jimmy stands in front of me. He holds my gun in his hand and is aiming it at me. He doesn’t seem to be hurt, so a new question pops into my head.

  Have I been shot?

  I frantically examine my body, patting around to see if I’m bleeding anywhere.

  “Jimmy, what the hell?” Brendan barks. Jimmy responds, but the words that I hear are jumbled. I’m still busy making sure no one’s been shot. I look down and see what Jimmy was shooting at. My tracking anklet has a large dent and the little red light on it is blinking wildly.

  FLASH.

  Orange. “…Don’t bother trying to get it off; even if you try to break it, it’ll automatically send a signal straight to the police, giving them your exact location.”

  I look up and catch Jimmy’s gaze. He flashes me a smirk and I have to stop myself from smiling back. Jimmy hasn’t betrayed me after all, thank god. All we have to do now is stall for time until the police arrive.

  By now, Trish has dropped her cigarette and, unable to retrieve it, seems to have decided she doesn’t like being a captive anymore.

  “Untie me, Brendan. Really, this is getting ridiculous.”

  Brendan turns on her, looking shocked.

  “You think this is a joke?”

  “‘So there are three guys in a burned up apartment. One’s a schizophrenic, one’s a wanna-be gangster, and one’s a gutless fruit cup.…’ Sounds like a joke to me—”

  “All right, then, I’ll let you in on the punch line; you die!” Brendan growls, cocking the gun.

  “Hey, hey, let’s not do anything drastic—”

  Brendan cuts me off.

  “Call Danny, get him to bring the diamonds—Call outside, so he won’t hear anything in the background,” he tells Jimmy.