I stripped my clothes off and exchanged my bikini undies for a thong. I dropped the dress over my head and tugged it down. It was silver metallic with some spandex. It had a v-neck that plunged halfway to my doodah, and the skirt fell two inches below my ass. I swiped some mascara on my lashes, sprayed my hair into a style that looked like maybe my brain exploded, and I tarted up my mouth. I'd brought two pairs of shoes with me ...the sneakers and a pair of silver strappy sandals with four-inch stiletto heels. Shoes for every occasion. I slid my feet into the sandals and swung out of the bathroom.

"Holy cow," Hooker said.

"Too short?"

"Now I'm flustered."

Hooker had his hair gelled back. He was wearing black linen slacks, a short sleeved black silk shirt patterned with fluorescent purple palm trees, and loafers without socks. He had a Cartier watch on his wrist, and he smelled nice.

"Easy to see how Puke Face got in. The door is completely broken," Hooker said. "If there's anything of value here, you should hide it or take it with you."

I gave Hooker the photo of Bill to put in his pocket. "The only thing of value is the television, and it's not that great."

I followed Hooker down the stairs and out to the Porsche. Hooker drove a block and a half over to Washington and valet parked the car in front of a club.

"We could have walked," I said.

"Boy, you don't know much. You probably think owning a Porsche is about power and bling. Okay, power and bling is part of it, but it's mostly about valet parking. It's about the sucking up and the oogling and the envy. It's about the arrival, baby."

He was being funny, but there was some truth to what he said. There were about a hundred people milling around outside the club. These were the people who weren't thin enough, young enough, rich enough or famous enough to get on the A list. None of them had arrived in a Porsche. And none of them had given the doorman enough money to compensate for their shortcomings.

The doorman smiled when he saw Hooker and motioned him forward. I guess being a famous NASCAR guy has its compensations. The smile widened when he saw me attached to Hooker. I guess having legs that went from my ass all the way down to the ground had its compensations, too.

We took a moment to adjust to the dark and the lights and the pulse from the DJ. The women dancing on stage were all wearing feathers. Big feather headpieces, feathered g-strings, feathered bikini tops on their big fake boobs. The feathers were peach and aqua and lavender. Very South Beach avian.

"You do the men," Hooker yelled at me over the music, pressing the photo of Bill into my hand. "Hit up the bartenders and security guys. I'll do the women. I'll meet you at the exit in a half hour. If you see Pukey, get up on a table where people can see you and start dancing."

If you want to chat with someone in a club you have to yell in their ear or hope they read lips. I found a bunch of guys who knew Bill but none who knew where he was. A bartender gave me a Cosmo. I felt a lot more relaxed after I drank the Cosmo. I even started to feel a little brave. I met Hooker in a half hour and we left together.

"Did you get anything?" he asked.

"A cosmopolitan."

"Anything else?"

"Nope. That was it."

"I didn't get a lot either. I'll fill you in later."

The valet brought the car around. We got in and drove three blocks to another club. The experience was almost identical except this time the women performing were dressed like Carmen Miranda. Lots of fruit on their heads, colorful rumba ruffles on their G-strings, and rumba ruffles on the bikini tops that held up their big fake boobs. I drank another Cosmo. And I found out nothing.

"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. Hes 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 on stage 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's hand wrapped around my upper arm, 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 forty floors in an elevator does not. And the thought of dropping forty 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 backwards.

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 backwards?" 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. 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 general consensus is that Bill made a last-minute decision to take off. Apparently, Flex II 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 a.m. And that's the last anyone's seen him."

"When did he call you?"

"Around two a.m."

"So he comes back from a trip to the Bahamas," Hooker said. "He goes clubbing until one a.m. He calls me at two a.m. 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 the duffle 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 duffle 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 duffle bag strap over my shoulder and went downstairs to look for him. I found him talking to one of Bill's neighbors. Smart. The 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 duffle 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."

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