Metro Girl

  “Do you suppose it’s possible that we’re being followed?” I asked Hooker. “I keep seeing this same guy. Someone different from Puke Face. He’s all in black. Slicked-back hair. He was in the diner. And now he’s here in the club. And I think he’s watching me.”

  “Sugar, everyone’s watching you.”

  We hit a third club, and I belted back my third cosmopolitan. I screamed at a couple guys, asking about Bill. And then I danced with a couple guys. I had part of a fourth cosmo, and I danced some more. I was liking the music a lot. And I was feeling very unconcerned over Puke Face. In fact, I was feeling pretty darned happy.

  In this club, the women onstage were men. They were all dressed in a jungle theme, and they were excellent, except I’d gotten used to seeing a lot of big fake boobs and it felt like something was missing here.

  I’d stopped worrying about the time, worrying about meeting Hooker at the designated exit. Probably a half hour had passed, but for some unexplainable reason the numbers on my watch had gotten blurry. Actually, it occurred to me that I might be just a teensy drunk.

  Hooker plastered his hand against the small of my back and he guided me off the floor.

  “Hey,” I said. “I was dancing.”

  “I noticed.”

  He maneuvered me out the door and into the warm night air. He gave the parking attendant his ticket and ten dollars.

  “So,” I said to him. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been watching you dance in this little dress for the last half hour, and you probably want to rephrase that question.”

  “Are we going to another club?”

  “No. We’re going home.” He looked down at my shoes while we waited for the car to be brought around. “Don’t your feet hurt in those shoes?”

  “Fortunately, I lost the feeling in my feet an hour ago.”

  I woke up in Hooker’s guest bedroom with the sun pouring in on me. I was still wearing the little dress. I was alone. And I was pretty sure I hadn’t done anything romantic before I fell asleep. Hooker had refused to drive me back to Bill’s. He said it wasn’t safe. I guess he could be right, but it didn’t feel safe here either.

  I rolled out of bed and padded barefoot across the room to the window. I looked down and had a moment of vertigo. The ground was w-a-a-ay down there. Now here’s the thing…I don’t love high. Hurtling around a race track at 120 mph, in a metal enclosure resting on four wheels, feels natural to me. Being shot up thirty-two floors in an elevator does not. And the thought of dropping thirty-two floors turns everything in my intestines to liquid.

  I carefully backed up and made my way out of the room, down a short hall, and into a large living-dining area. An entire wall of the living room and dining room was glass. I could see a balcony beyond the glass. And beyond the balcony was air. And a seagull flying backward.

  The kitchen opened off the dining area. Hooker was lounging against a kitchen counter with a mug of coffee in his hand.

  The kitchen was very white with splashes of cobalt blue. The living room and dining room mirrored the white-and-blue color scheme. Very contemporary. Very expensive looking.

  “Why is that seagull flying backward?” I asked Hooker.

  “Wind. We’ve got a front blowing through.”

  And then I noticed it. The sway of the building.

  There was a loud crash, and I turned to the window in time to see a seagull bounce off the glass and drop like a rock onto the patio.

  “Omigod!” I said.

  Hooker didn’t blink. “Happens all the time. Poor dumb buggers.”

  “We should do something. Will he be okay? Maybe we should take him to a vet.”

  Hooker walked over and looked out. “He might be okay. Oops. Nope, he’s not okay.” Hooker drew the curtains. “Vulture food.”

  “You’re kidding! How awful.”

  “It’s the chain of life. Perfectly natural.”

  “I’m not used to being this far off the ground,” I said. “I don’t really love being up this high.” Alexandra Barnaby, master of the understatement.

  Hooker sipped some coffee. “It didn’t bother you last night. Last night you loved everything. You tried to get me to take my clothes off.”

  “I did not!”

  “Okay, I’m busted. You didn’t. Actually, I volunteered but you’d already passed out.”

  I cautiously crept to the kitchen and poured myself a mug of coffee.

  “Why are you walking like that?” Hooker wanted to know.

  “It’s spooky being up here. People weren’t meant to live way up here. I feel…insecure.”

  “If God didn’t intend for people to live up here he wouldn’t have invented reinforced concrete.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker. My tongue feels like it’s stuck to the top of my mouth.”

  “You keep talking dirty like that and I’m going to get excited.”

  “You get excited, and I’m leaving.”

  “It would help if you weren’t wearing that dress.” His eyes moved north to my hair. “Although, the hair is enough to make most men go limp. Not me, of course. But most men.”

  I could hear flapping and scuffling sounds coming from the patio. “Is that the seagull?” I asked.

  Hooker pulled the drape aside and peeked out. “Not exactly.” There were some loud angry bird sounds, and Hooker jumped back and pulled the drape shut. “Food fight,” he said.

  There was a breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the dining room. Four stools lined up in front of the bar. A photo in a silver frame sat on the far end of the breakfast bar. It was a picture of a boat.

  “Is this your boat?” I asked, picking the picture up to see it better.

  “It was my boat. Prettiest boat ever made. And fast…for a fishing boat.”

  “Last night I talked to a bunch of guys who knew Bill, and the consensus is that Bill made a last-minute decision to take off. Apparently, Flex II had just returned from a trip to the Bahamas. Bill went clubbing the night he got back, but he was supposed to sail the following morning, so he cut out early. Around one AM. And that’s the last anyone’s seen him.”

  “When did he call you?”

  “Around two AM.”

  “So he comes back from a trip to the Bahamas,” Hooker said. “He goes clubbing until one AM. He calls me at two AM. And he calls you right after he hangs up with me. He’s on a boat. My boat!”

  “Maybe he’s on your boat.”

  “It’s the only boat missing in the goddamn marina. I checked. He tells you some guys are going to be looking for him. A woman screams. That’s the last we hear from him. An hour later, someone kills the night watchman.”

  I told him about the night watchman conversation I had with Puke Face. “So what does all this mean?” I asked Hooker.

  “Don’t know, darlin’.”

  “I need to go back to Bill’s apartment. I left my duffel bag there. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  Hooker palmed a set of keys off the bar. “I can help with that. NASCAR Guy to the rescue. After we get you out of the dress and into some shorts we can get on with the Bill search.”

  I followed him out the door, into a foyer with two elevators. Hooker pushed the button and looked at me.

  “Are you okay? You just went white.”

  That’s because my heart stopped pumping when I saw the elevators. “I’m fine,” I said. “A little hung over.”

  We stepped into the elevator, Hooker hit the lobby button, and the doors closed. I sucked in some air and squinched my eyes shut. I didn’t whimper or yell out “we’re gonna drop like a rock and die.” So I was sort of proud of myself.

  “What’s with the closed eyes?” Hooker wanted to know.

  “I don’t like to see the numbers changing.”

  Hooker slid his arm around me and hugged me close to him. “Cute.”

  Hooker parked the Porsche in front of Bill’s apartment building, and we both got out. Bill’s front door swung open when I pushed
it. No key necessary. Definitely broken.

  We went upstairs and froze at the entrance to the living room. The apartment had been tossed. Again. Not trashed, like the first time, but clearly searched. Couch cushions were slightly askew. Drawers weren’t entirely closed. My duffel bag wasn’t exactly as I’d left it.

  “Why would someone go through twice?”

  “Maybe we’ve got two different people.”

  We walked through the bedroom and bathroom. Nothing appeared to be missing. The Puke Face mess was sort of caked into the rug and not smelling too good.

  “Give me ten minutes to shower and change my clothes. And then I’m out of here,” I said.

  I took a fast shower, blasted my hair with the hair dryer, and got dressed in shorts, T-shirt, and the white sneakers.

  Hooker wasn’t in the apartment when I came out of the bathroom, so I slid the duffel bag strap over my shoulder and went downstairs to look for him. I found him talking to one of Bill’s neighbors. Smart. NASCAR Guy had a brain. Not to give him too much, I thought motivation helped. He really wanted his boat back.

  It was late morning, and the sky was a glorious blue, no clouds in sight. The wind had cut back to a gentle stirring of air. The pale stucco buildings with the peach and aqua trim sparkled in the sunlight. Flowers were blooming everywhere, on trees, on vines, on bushes. Lizards rustled in the undergrowth. I was keeping guard for the cockroach.

  Hooker left Bill’s neighbor when he saw me emerge from the building. He walked over to me and took the duffel bag off my shoulder. Fine by me. No reason to get carried away with women’s rights.

  “I didn’t want to interrupt,” I said. “I assume you were asking about Bill?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been going door to door. Most were no answers. I found the super’s unit and told him about the broken lock. I said Bill was cruising, and you were here on vacation. He’s going to take care of it. I also suggested he get someone in to shampoo the rug. The guy I was just talking to is retired and stays home all the time. His name’s Melvin. His wife doesn’t let him smoke in the house, so he’s out on the front porch a lot. Said he has trouble sleeping and lots of times he just sits out and smokes.”

  I smiled at Hooker. “And he saw the guys who broke into Bill’s apartment?”

  “Both times.”

  THREE

  Hooker dropped the duffel bag into the back of the Porsche. “According to Melvin, the first break-in occurred around eleven, Tuesday night. He said there were two guys. He didn’t see them go in. He just saw them leave. He said he thought they were Bill’s friends. It turns out Bill has lots of parties. Big surprise, hunh? He said they got into a black Town Car when they left. He didn’t know any more than that.”

  “He give you a description of them?”

  “It was dark. He couldn’t see much. Medium build. Average height. He thought they were Cuban.”

  “And the second time?”

  “He said they were Caucasian. Two guys again. This time, one went in and one stayed out. Dark slacks. Dark short-sleeve shirts. He was pretty sure they weren’t wearing uniforms, but the Flex crew wears navy, so I’m not ruling that out. He said the one guy had slicked-back hair like a gangster.”

  “That sounds like the guy in the diner and the club. Remember I told you he was watching me?”

  “It also sounds like half the guys in Miami. Melvin said the one guy walked right in, like he was expected.”

  “The lock was broken.”

  “Melvin didn’t know about that. Melvin said he saw us leave. And then about five minutes later, the guys in black showed up. Melvin figured Bill was home. I think he felt bad that he didn’t report it.”

  “Did Melvin see Puke Face just now?”

  “No. Melvin was inside watching TV.”

  “Melvin isn’t too smart.”

  “Melvin is at least three hundred years old.”

  “There seem to be a lot of people involved in this.”

  “We have the guys who tossed the apartment the first time. We have Puke Face. And we have the guys who tossed the apartment the second time.”

  “Unsettling.”

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. I could clean their clocks if I had to.”

  “Because you’re the clock cleaner?”

  “Because I’m NASCAR Guy!”

  “Frightening.”

  “Get in the car,” Hooker said. “I’m taking you to breakfast at the News Café. Everyone eats breakfast at the News Café.”

  Five minutes later, we were on the sidewalk in front of the outdoor eating area of the News Café. We were waiting for a table, and we weren’t alone. There were lots of people waiting for tables. We were all milling around on the sidewalk, gawking at the lucky people who had food, gawking at the people across the street who were rollerblading in thongs.

  “This is Ocean Drive,” Hooker said. “And as you can see, across the street there’s a small green belt with a bike path, and beyond the green belt is the beach and the ocean.”

  “Would you rollerblade in a thong?”

  “I wouldn’t rollerblade in body armor.”

  “What happens when someone falls?”

  “I move in closer to get a better look,” Hooker said. “There’s usually a lot of blood.”

  Hooker waded into the diners, stopping here and there to say hello and ask about Bill. He made the rounds, and he came back to the sidewalk. “Nothing,” he said.

  After ten minutes of waiting, we got a table. Hooker ordered eggs, a stack of pancakes, sausage, juice, and coffee. I got a bran muffin and coffee.

  Hooker poured syrup on his pancakes and looked over at my bran muffin. “Yum,” he said.

  “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a skinny wiseass.”

  “I’m not skinny,” he said. “I’m buff. I’m ripped. Geeky guys are skinny.”

  There was a steady stream of guys coming up to Hooker, clapping him on the back, doing weird handshakes with him. “Hey, man,” they’d say, “how’s it going? What’s happening?” And Hooker would say, “It’s going good, man.” Sometimes Hooker would say, “I’m looking for Wild Bill. Have you seen him?” And the answer was always the same. “Haven’t seen him. What’s up with that?”

  A Miami Beach cop car parked at the curb across the street, followed by two trucks and an RV. A bunch of people got out of the trucks and began off-loading equipment.

  Hooker forked pancakes into his mouth. “Two possibilities,” he said. “A movie with a volleyball scene, or else it’s a fashion shoot. You can tell which it is when the girls come out of the RV. If they have big boobs, it’s a volleyball scene.”

  “I seem to be the only one interested.”

  “At this time of year Ocean Drive is filled with this stuff. It gets old. Just like the club scene gets old.”

  “I can’t believe you said that. NASCAR Guy thinks the club scene is boring. You keep that up and you’ll ruin your image.”

  “I’ll try to be extra shallow today to make up for it.”

  I finished my muffin, and I was working on a second cup of coffee when my cell phone rang. Hooker and I locked eyes at the first ring, both of us hoping it was Bill. I pulled the phone out of my bag and did a mental groan at the number on the screen. It was my mother.

  “Where are you?” she wanted to know. “I’ve been calling your apartment, and there’s never any answer. Then I called your work number, and they said you took a couple days off.”

  “I felt like I needed warm weather, so I flew down to Miami to visit Bill.”

  “You hate to fly.”

  “Yes, but I did it. And here I am. And it’s warm.”

  “How is your brother? He never calls me.”

  “Bill isn’t here. He’s at sea, but he should be back any day now.”

  “When you see him, tell him his friend called yesterday looking for him.”

  “What friend is that?”

  “He didn’t leave a name, but he had a Hispanic accent. He said Bi
ll was expecting his call. Something about a property dispute. Apparently Bill inadvertently took something that belongs to this man.”

  I talked to my mom for another minute, promised I’d be on guard for the roaches, and then I disconnected.

  “You’re going straight to hell,” Hooker said. “You just lied to your mother, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t want her to worry.”

  “Lying for a good cause. That’s the worst kind of lying.” He threw some money on the table and stood. “Let’s go to the marina and see if my boat’s drifted in.”

  I followed Hooker through the crowd to his Porsche. “Are you telling me you don’t lie once in a while for a good cause?”

  “I lie all the time. It’s just that I’m going to hell for so many other reasons, lying doesn’t hardly count.”

  “You didn’t call my mother, did you?”

  “No. Was I supposed to?”

  “Someone with a Hispanic accent called and asked for Bill. They said it was regarding a property dispute.”

  Hooker parked at his condo building, and we walked up to the marina. The crime scene tape was still restricting entrance to the dockmaster’s office, but it had been removed from the entrance to Pier E. We walked past Pier E to Hooker’s pier. Flex II was tied up at the end of the dock. No one was on deck. The helicopter was still in place.

  “How often does a boat like that cruise?” I asked Hooker.

  “The corporate boats are out a lot when the weather’s good. The executives use them to sweet talk clients and politicians. It’s always nice to have a politician in your pocket.”

  We stopped at Hooker’s slip. No boat.

  “Shit,” Hooker said. It was more a thought than an exclamation.

  There was movement on board Flex, and we both turned to check it out. A couple crew members were setting out lunch at the back of the boat.

  “Someone’s on board,” Hooker said.