He walked in the door of the hotel and made for the elevator, pausing only to buy a copy of Luxury Florida Homes in the gift shop. There was nothing like seeing how the other half lived on Florida’s premier real estate to encourage the dreams he had when he bought his weekly lottery ticket. Not that he would ever throw his wealth around if he did win. Bowen liked to think of himself using his as yet unfound wealth with discretion. Enjoyment with anonymity. Dressed from head to toe in Tilley Endurables, he felt as anonymous as the situation now required, mixing unnoticed with the guests who were staying in the hotel.
Bowen rode the elevator up to the floor below the Pier Top, and walked round the hall to the east-facing suite where the stakeout was located. Standing in front of the door, he glanced one way and then the other before knocking carefully. A few seconds passed and then the door opened on the chain.
Kate Furey almost laughed. Most of all it was the hat that got to her.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ he said, as if he had been wearing a Santa Claus outfit.
‘Of course it is,’ she said and let him in.
Bowen advanced through the door and glanced around the suite before she ushered him into the bedroom.
‘Hi there.’
At the window, behind an arsenal of high-powered lenses mounted on tripods, two bored-looking men grunted back. A third, wearing headphones and facing a whole sound stage of eavesdropping equipment, remained silent, unaware that someone had come into the room. Kate left all three unidentified. She knew that Bowen wasn’t looking for introductions. More than likely he had driven up from Miami in search of a free lunch.
‘Nice room,’ he remarked. ‘Very nice indeed.’
Kate shrugged as if she herself didn’t much care for it and said, ‘Actually, this is supposed to be a suite.’
‘A suite? Jesus, Kate, how much is that costing?’
‘Same as a room. I got a rate.’
‘How come?’
‘My can’t-happen-soon-enough-ex-husband acted for the hotel in a personal injury suit. I seem to remember it was some dim-witted dork who injured himself in the revolving bar upstairs. It’s really tacky, but a great view. I guess that’s why they go there. The airheads.’ Kate laughed with undisguised contempt. ‘Give them something to talk about when they think they’re being romantic. You want to take a look at it before you go.’
Bowen said stiffly, ‘Thanks, I already did.’
Kate giggled. ‘I guess they think it’s pretty soigné, but I thought it was like being inside a really cheap sports watch.’
‘Hardly that cheap, I’d have thought,’ bristled Bowen.
‘Damn right,’ said one of the men on the cameras. ‘Last night I paid ten bucks for the worst goddamn Margarita I ever tasted.’
Kate looked at Bowen. ‘There’s not much you can see up here when it gets dark,’ she offered by way of an excuse.
‘I guess not.’
Kate said, ‘I could show you some pictures, but right now you can see the live action.’
Bowen clapped his hands together purposefully. ‘Then let’s take a lookee-see what we can I-spy, shall we?’
The big lenses were focused on the opposite side of the Stranahan River and the Portside Yacht Club where some of the biggest and most expensive boats in Fort Lauderdale were moored. The cameraman who reckoned he knew a good Margarita when he tasted one, took Bowen through the cameras like a salesman in a Sharper Image store.
‘This one, the 500-mill, gives you a pretty good view of the whole boat and what’s happening on the mooring.’
Bowen swept off his Tilley hat and pressed his eye close to the viewfinder. At 110 feet long the Britannia was hardly the biggest vessel in the harbor. Not with Trump about. And she was dwarfed by the 150-foot triple storey moored alongside. But with her large flying bridge and elegant lines she was a graceful-looking boat. Fun too, if the small speedboat, Wet Bikes, Jetskis, and Hobiecat she had on board were anything to go by. Not to mention the naked female occupant of the Jacuzzi on the bridge.
Bowen grinned and said, ‘I’ll have me some of that. Who’s the little lady with the bubbles?’
Kate sighed wearily and said, ‘So far as we can tell her name is Gay Gilmore.’
‘Gary’s sister, huh?’ sniggered Bowen. The girl in the Jacuzzi rubbed some bubbles over her breasts. ‘Hey, let’s do it, babe.’
‘Actually, she’s from New Zealand. Until a few weeks ago she was working illegally as a table dancer at a joint on Collins. Right now, she seems to be the Britannia captain’s main squeeze.’
The Margarita man said, ‘You can see him on the 800-mill here. Name of Nicky Vallbona. He’s the ugly bastard on the aft deck.’
Reluctantly, Bowen changed cameras and found himself looking at a dark man with a pencil-thin mustache. He said, ‘You’re right, he is an ugly bastard.’
‘He’s clean as far as we’re concerned,’ said Kate.
‘What does a babe like her see in a hog like him?’ mused Bowen.
The second cameraman stirred on his chair to put out his cigarette. He snorted and said, ‘The boat, I shouldn’t wonder. Chick seems to like it as much as she likes him. Comes and goes pretty much as she pleases. Always in that Jacuzzi. I believe she’s quite popular with the folks looking through the telescope up on the Pier Top. She’s becoming a regular tourist attraction.’
Bowen moved back to the first camera to take another look at Gay Gilmore.
‘Me I prefer the boat next to the Britannia,’ said the Margarita man. ‘That one belongs to Sean Connery.’
‘007’s got a boat here in Lauderdale?’ Bowen’s voice betrayed excitement. ‘Any pictures of the big guy himself?’
The two cameramen exchanged a guilty look and then shook their heads simultaneously.
‘No,’ lied one.
Bowen said, ‘You’re right though. It is a nice boat. Sean Connery, eh? Matter of fact my own ancestors were Scottish. From Edinburgh. Just like him.’
‘I guess there are lots of other similarities,’ said Kate.
But Bowen was too interested in Connery’s boat and the naked girl on the Britannia to be aware of Kate’s sarcasm.
Kate said, ‘I checked out your theory, sir. With Palmer Johnson Yachts right here in Fort Lauderdale. They’re one of the biggest makers of boat hulls in Florida. The guy I spoke to, Luis Madrid, said it was possible that you might get a hull made of compressed cocaine that might look like the real thing when covered with a linear polyurethane coating. But that it would hardly perform to the same standard.’
Bowen had moved back to the 800-mill lens to get a closer view of Gay Gilmore’s naked body. She was touching herself all over now, almost as if she knew that people were watching. The thought occurred to him that maybe she was acting as some kind of distraction to keep people watching what was happening in the Jacuzzi and not somewhere else. But swinging the camera lens all around it didn’t seem that there was much else to see. Just Vallbona talking on the cellular.
‘I wonder who Nicky’s talking to on his Nokia,’ he murmured.
‘Right now, it’s his bookmaker,’ said Kate.
Bowen looked up for a moment, surprised.