Metro Girl

Two pretty young women in bikini tops and wrap skirts came on deck. They were followed by two men who were in their late sixties, maybe early seventies. Moments later, they were joined by a man in a Flex uniform and a poster boy for the young, up-and-coming corporate executive.

  “Do you recognize anyone?” I asked Hooker.

  “The tall gray-haired guy in the uniform is the captain. I don’t remember his name, but he’s been around forever. He captained Flex I and then moved over to Flex II last year when the boat was launched.”

  “Is there still a Flex I?”

  “No. It’s been scrapped.”

  “Do you know anyone else?”

  “The bald guy with a face like a bulldog. He’s a state senator. The guy modeling for Tommy Bahama looks like corporate chum. I don’t know who the women are. Entertainment probably.”

  “And what about the remaining man?”

  “Don’t know him.”

  The remaining man was average height and chunky. His thick, wavy hair was silver. His face was doughy. He was wearing tan slacks and a floral-print short-sleeve shirt. We were some distance from him, but something about his body language and the set to his mouth was repelling and sent my thoughts back to the giant flying cockroach.

  “Want to share your thoughts?” Hooker asked.

  “I was thinking about a cockroach.”

  “That would have been my second guess.”

  “He’s probably a perfectly nice guy,” I said.

  Hooker was blatantly staring, hands in his pants pockets, back on his heels. “He looks like he kills people and eats them for breakfast.”

  The man looked our way and Hooker smiled and waved. “Hi,” Hooker said.

  The man watched us for a moment without expression and then turned his back on us and continued his conversation with the senator.

  “Nice,” I said to Hooker. “Now you’ve annoyed the professional killer.”

  “I was being friendly. For a minute there I thought we were bonding.”

  We turned away from Flex and walked back to the concrete path. There was a lot of activity around us. The weather was perfect, if you like hot and hotter. It was noon Friday, and by Miami standards this seemed to constitute weekend. Hooker was wearing sandals, totally washed-out jeans with a lot of rips and holes in them, a bleach-stained black sleeveless T-shirt, sports sunglasses, and a ball cap that advertised tires. I had sunglasses but no hat and no sunblock. I felt like I could cook an egg on my scalp, and if I looked cross-eyed I swear, I could see my nose blistering.

  A guy was walking toward us on the path. He had a schnauzer on a Burberry leash, and the dog was prancing along, head high, eyes vigilant under bushy schnauzer eyebrows. The guy caught my attention because he was everything Hooker wasn’t. His brown hair was perfectly cut and styled. His face was clean shaved. His white three-button knit shirt was stain free and unwrinkled. His khaki shorts were crisply ironed and a perfect fit. He was maybe an inch shorter than Hooker, and he had only slightly less muscle. My best friend, Marjorie, says you can always tell if a guy is gay by the size of his pores. And, even from a distance I could see that this guy exfoliated.

  The dog and his walker got even with Hooker and me, and the dog stopped and growled at Hooker.

  “I am so sorry,” the guy said. “He’s just been in a mood today. I think he must need a bran muffin.”

  “No problem,” Hooker said. “You’ve got a good grip on the leash, right?”

  “Absolutely. Down, Cujo,” the guy said to the dog.

  “His name is Cujo?”

  “No. Not really. His name is Brian.”

  I smiled at the dog walker. “Jude?”

  “Yes?” He looked over at me, recognition slammed into him, and his eyes opened wide. “Barney? Omigod. I don’t believe this!”

  “This is Jude Corker. We went to grade school and high school together,” I said to Hooker.

  “Jude Corker, Sam Hooker. Sam Hooker, Jude Corker.”

  “Everyone calls me Judey now,” he said, extending his hand to Hooker. “Barney and I were such good friends, and then we went off to college and completely lost touch.”

  “How long have you been down here?” I asked him.

  “I went to school here and decided to stay. I met a lovely man my junior year and that was it. He had a thriving business here, so of course we couldn’t move.”

  “And you’re still a couple?”

  “We broke up a year ago. Just one of those things. But I’m a Miamian now. What brings you here?”

  “Bill lives here.”

  “No! I didn’t know that. I haven’t run across him.” He looked back at Hooker. “And who is this person? Is this a love interest?”

  “Associate.”

  “Nice body,” Judey said. “But the hat has to go. Tires. Ick.”

  Hooker smiled at him. Friendly.

  “I don’t suppose you’re gay?” Judey asked Hooker.

  “Nope,” Hooker said. “Not even a little.”

  “Too bad. The sleeveless tee is a good look for you.”

  Hooker kept smiling. NASCAR Guy wasn’t threatened by Gay Guy.

  “And so what does ‘associate’ mean?” Judey asked. “Because girlfriend, I don’t see associate in his eyes. He’s looking at you like you’re lunch. And shame on you,” Judey said, turning to Hooker. “You have her standing out here in the sun without a hat. Look at her little pink nose and her poor pink scalp. You’re never going to get to first base if you let this pretty little blond sunburn.”

  Hooker took his hat off and put it on my head.

  “Not that hat,” Judey said. “That hat belongs in a garage. She’s already been there done that. Go get her a nice hat.”

  Hooker blew out a sigh. “You’re going to be here when I get back, right?” he said to me.

  “Where would I go?”

  “God only knows,” Hooker said. And he ambled off.

  “He’s gorgeous,” Judey said. “In a brutish kind of way. Totally ripped.”

  “He drives NASCAR. And he’s from Texas.”

  “Omigod. Say no more. He’s an asshole, isn’t he?”

  I looked after Hooker. “Truth is, I’ve known worse. As far as assholes go, he isn’t all that bad.”

  I told Judey about the phone call and the missing boat and the searched apartment. I told him about Puke Face, and I was on a description of the second search when Hooker returned. He took his hat off my head and replaced it with a pink hat that said SEXY in pasted-on rhinestones.

  “Much better,” Judey said. “Totally tasteless. Very trashy. It’s perfect Miami.”

  “I don’t suppose you know any of the Flex crew members?” Hooker asked him.

  “Well, of course I do. I know a very nice young man named Todd. And since the boat is tied up at the dock and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, Todd is most likely on the beach.”

  Ten minutes later we were all crammed into Hooker’s Porsche. Hooker had the top down, and Judey and Brian were scrunched into the tiny backseat.

  “Park at Eleventh,” Judey said. “Todd is always at Eleventh Street.”

  The beach was broad at Eleventh and stretched far in both directions. The sand was white and hard packed. Vendors parked on the beach, selling iced coffee and assorted stuff. And bodies seeking skin cancer were everywhere. The bodies were fat and thin and everything in between. Some of the women were topless. Thongs were the order of the day. And a lot of the thongs were sucked into more cheek than I ever wanted to see.

  Traffic buzzed in the background, competing with cell phones and MP3 players and with the shushhhh of waves breaking far out and calmly rolling in, swirling around the people who ventured into the water to wade and splash. Freighters and tankers hung on the horizon. A prop plane flew overhead trailing a banner that advertised a club.

  We walked into the crowd of greased-up abs and flabs with Judey leading the way and Brian straining at the leash, snapping and snarling at passing dogs.

  “
He’s so alpha,” Judey explained. “It’s the German in him.”

  “There’s so much on display here,” I said to Hooker. “Doesn’t it ruin the romance? Would you want to date one of these topless, thonged women?”

  Hooker looked around. “I want to date all of them. No wait a minute. Not that fat one with the hair on her chin.”

  “That’s a man.”

  “I don’t want to date him.”

  “Jeepers,” Judey said. “I don’t want to date him either.”

  “It’s like being in a bakery,” Hooker said. “You look at the doughnuts and you want to eat them. Admit it, you walk into a bakery and you get hungry, right?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “It is to a man. This beach is just one big bakery.”

  “You are so eloquent!” Judey said to Hooker.

  “That’s because I’m NASCAR Guy,” Hooker said. He slung an arm around my shoulders and dragged me close to him. “This conversation isn’t doing much to improve my chances of scoring with you, is it?”

  “There he is,” Judey said. “That’s Todd. He’s the luscious thing on the blue beach towel. And he’s wearing his red thong. Don’t you love it? He’s such a Mr. Pickle Pants!”

  Todd was stretched on a beach towel, broiling himself on the sand, halfway to the water’s edge. He looked like he was probably in his early twenties. And Judey was right…Todd was luscious. He stood when he saw us, so we could better appreciate his lusciousness. His body was toned and golden, and the red thong showed off a terrific ass and a bunch of lumpy things in the front. I was trying to think positive about the bakery concept, but the bagels in his bathing suit weren’t doing a lot for me.

  Todd bent over to pet Brian, and I made an instant mental note to never bend over in a thong. Brian didn’t share my perspective and thought it was all just fine. In fact, Brian was beside himself, wagging his tail, vibrating with happiness.

  Judey introduced us to Todd and told him Bill was missing.

  “Missing,” Todd said. “What do you mean?”

  “Gone. Poof. Disappeared,” Judey said.

  “We were told he quit.”

  “Yes. But then he disappeared. And his apartment has been searched. Twice!” Judey said.

  “I don’t know what to say. He didn’t seem to be into anything weird. One minute he was there, and then he was gone. I was sorry to see him take off. He was a good guy.”

  Brian was dancing around, wanting to be petted some more. He was kicking sand up with his schnauzer toenails, and the sand was sticking to Todd’s oiled, perfectly waxed legs.

  “Did you work with him on the last trip?” I asked Todd, trying hard not to stare at the lumpy banana sling.

  “Yeah. We were out for five days.”

  “Anything unusual happen?”

  “No. It was a routine run, except it was cut short. We were supposed to be out for a full week. A Calflex vice president and a Calflex security guy were on board. A couple South Beach ladies. And four executives from some software company.”

  “Do you know why it was cut short?”

  “No, but it happens. Usually it’s because Calflex needs the boat to entertain someone more important. The drill is that the resident Calflex company man says he’s sick, and we head back to port. We off-load the cargo, pick up the new VIP, and head back out again. This was a little strange because we were told we were sailing the following day, but then it was cancelled. And the boat’s been sitting at the dock ever since. Not that I mind. I’m getting paid for beach time.”

  Brian wasn’t getting any attention with the dancing around so he added some barking. Arf, arf, arf.

  Judey gave a tug on the Burberry leash. “Stop it!” Judey said to Brian. “Behave yourself.”

  Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf.

  “I got him in the property settlement when we split,” Judey said. “I should have taken the Boxster.”

  Todd looked down at his legs. “I’m going to have to wash this sand off. It’s going to ruin my tan.”

  We walked to the water’s edge and waited while Todd plunged into the surf. A roller came in and caught him midthigh.

  “Eeeeee. Cold!” he shrieked, jumping around, flapping his arms, splashing back to us, doodles bouncing in the silky red pouch.

  Brian was at the end of his leash, panting, choking himself, trying to get to Todd. Judey was busy trying to control Brian. And Hooker and I were mesmerized. The bouncing doodles were hypnotic.

  “Holy crap,” Hooker said.

  “You see my problem with the bakery theory.”

  “Yeah, but just so you know, my ‘boys’ would look better.”

  “Let me guess. You’ve got NASCAR ‘boys.’”

  “You betcha.”

  Todd stopped jumping around, and we all pulled ourselves together.

  “There were some people on board Flex for lunch today,” I said to Todd. “One of them was a state senator.”

  “Bulger. He’s around a lot. Doesn’t usually sail with us. Just comes to socialize. He pals around with Luis Salzar. Salzar was probably there, too.”

  We were back at the beach towel, and Todd stood air-drying his legs before reapplying oil.

  “Is Salzar a chunky guy with a lot of silver gray hair? Looks like a professional killer?” I asked him.

  “Yeah. That’s Salzar. I hate when he’s on board. The ship always gets locked down.”

  “Locked down?”

  “The main deck is off limits to everyone but Salzar’s personal crew. He’s got his own steward, two bodyguards, and two-man helicopter crew. Plus the captain and the purser are company men, so they have access. And sometimes Salzar brings one or two members of his family. And I don’t necessarily mean relatives when I say family. It’s like cruising with Al Capone. Always lots of guns. Conversations that stop when a nonfamily member enters a room. It’s pretty darn creepy.”

  “Salzar’s a Cuban businessman,” Judey said to Hooker and me. “Got his finger in a lot of pies. He lives in Miami, but the rumors go that he’s mucho friendly with Fidel.”

  “Yeah,” Todd said. “We fly Salzar to Cuba on poker night.”

  We all looked at Todd.

  “Not really for poker night,” Todd said. “That’s just the joke on the boat. When Salzar sails with us we tie up at Shell Island Resort in the Bahamas. And in the dark of night, the helicopter mysteriously takes off and returns with the first light of dawn the following morning.”

  “You think it takes Salzar to Cuba? Isn’t that illegal?” I asked.

  Todd shrugged. “Lots of people go to Cuba these days. Not Americans, but everyone else.”

  “I thought we monitored flights.”

  “We monitor for drug flights and boat people. Anyway, I imagine a helicopter could go in low, under radar. This is all just conjecture, anyway. Like I said, the second deck is off limits when Salzar’s in residence. Junior crew members, like me, don’t have access to flight plans. In fact, sometimes we’re not even sure where we are. If you want to keep your job on this boat, you do a lot of smiling, you don’t ask questions, and you don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Bill,” I said.

  Todd grinned. “No. Bill wasn’t a total fit. Bill was like Brian. Into everything, tail wagging, kicking up sand.”

  “Was Salzar on the last trip?”

  “Salzar hasn’t sailed with us for a while. Maybe two or three weeks. I’d say on an average he goes out once a month. Sometimes his crew goes out without him. Sometimes the second deck gets locked down for just the Salzar people.” Todd turned to Hooker. “You’re a couple slips down from Flex, right? The name of your boat is Happy Hooker?”

  “Yeah, the boat disappeared with Wild Bill.”

  “That’s a good-size boat. Bill would have a hard time taking it in and out by himself.”

  “We think he had a girl with him,” Hooker said. “You have any idea who it might be?”

  “I co
uld probably narrow it down to two or three hundred women.”

  “No one special?” I asked.

  “They were all special,” Todd said. “Last I talked to Bill, he was going clubbing. He probably brought someone home with him.”

  “Someone who could handle a boat,” Hooker said.

  “Someone who didn’t mind a quickie,” Judey said. “If they left the club at one, and they were stealing the boat an hour later, they didn’t have a lot of foreplay time.”

  “Maybe Bill ran off with someone’s wife and now the enraged husband is after him,” Todd said.

  A perfectly logical assumption, but the boat part of it bothered me. “I don’t get the boat-stealing part,” I said. “Bill’s running from someone. Let’s say it’s the husband. Why does Bill take a boat? If you wanted a fast getaway you’d use a car. If you were going any distance you’d take a plane. A boat seems so limiting. And snatching the boat seems extreme. And what about the apartment trashing?” Not to mention Puke Face and the fear speech.

  No one had an answer.

  “Maybe it was that the boat was the fastest way out,” Hooker finally said. “Or maybe it was the only way out. Maybe Bill didn’t go home to his apartment. He was supposed to sail in the morning. So maybe he went back to Flex, and something happened, and he had to take off.”

  “We were supposed to sail early. Almost everyone stayed on the boat,” Todd said. “I went to dinner with some friends, and I was back on the boat by ten.”

  “I have twin diesels. Combined they give me fifteen hundred fifty horses,” Hooker said. “Didn’t you hear Happy Hooker leave?”

  “You can’t hear a whole lot in crew quarters. Mostly you hear the generator. I can ask around, though. Maybe one of the other guys knows something.” Todd’s eyes opened wide. “Hey, wait a minute. Happy Hooker wasn’t in its usual slip. There was something wrong with the electrical hookup, so they had her at the end of Pier F. Bill moved her. He had your key. He was listed as captain with the dockmaster.”

  “I walked every square inch of this marina, and I didn’t see my boat,” Hooker said. “Why didn’t the dockmaster tell me the boat was moved?”

  “It was a real mess when they discovered the guard. Nobody was thinking about anything but the murder. And then the office was a mess and the records were trashed. I guess it was a real bloody struggle. Probably no one even remembered about your boat.”