The Five of Diamonds

The Thief

The ThiefDarkness lay in the opulent bedroom, save for a beam of moonlight which streamed from the open window to display the wide dressing-table and the contents there. Perfumes, makeup, all the trappings of a wealthy woman — including a decorative tall box of fine jewelry.

I crouched in shadow beside this table, waiting.

We’d been hired to solve a string of burglaries in this fine set of apartments: a collective in Spadros quadrant, 177th Street East.

The members met together every Wednesday. Over the past few weeks, a different woman returned to her rooms after each meeting to find her jewels missing. Guards had been set in the hallways, yet the thefts continued.

A puzzle, and I so loved to solve them.

Pale bluish light ruffled the edges of sheer curtains billowing in the faint summer breeze.

I glanced back to the doorway: all was quiet.

I never asked why these people didn’t first go to the Spadros Family for help. Yet I did understand turning next to an investigator. Going to the police in a city ruled by the Four Families would have been their last option. Life could become most unpleasant should Roy Spadros learn they’d crossed him.

A grating noise at the window startled me.

A hand appeared, gloved in black leather. A form clothed in black perched upon the windowsill briefly, then entered, one stealthy motion at a time. Then the figure approached, falling into and out of shadow.

The way this person moved seemed familiar.

My heart pounded so loudly I feared the thief might hear it. I dared not even breathe. I also was clothed in black, but any motion would bring notice.

Like some moth reversed, the shape moved away from the moonlight’s glow to what it illuminated. More to the point, the jewelry box.

A dark hand reached for the lid.

That was far enough. I grabbed the wrist. “Got you!”

A shriek came from the intruder, who tried to pull away. But I’d anticipated this; my grip was firm.

Lights came on.

Morton lounged against the door frame, finger still on the light switch. “Well, well, well … what do we have here?”

The black-clothed intruder tried to pull away again more forcefully, glancing between us both in fear. The sudden move wrenched my wrist, and I let out a cry.

The thief tried to run, but Morton (or as he was known in Bridges, Master Blaze Rainbow) crossed the room to lay hands upon the burglar’s shoulders. He wrestled the prowler, shrieking and kicking, back to me.

The figure was almost as tall as I, but lithe, boyish. Black trousers, a loose tunic which hung to the upper thigh, and a finely-knitted, tight-fitting mask covering all but a bit of pale skin around deep blue eyes. Trapped, the intruder said nothing, staring back and forth, eyes wide.

Morton grabbed the mask at its crown and yanked it off, a few strands of black hair coming along with it.

The intruder grabbed — her — head. “Ow!”

I stared at the girl in astonishment. “Katie?”