“Inside his home, the women help him into bed. While the guy’s out cold, they take everything they can carry in a hurry — jewelry, silver, small pieces of art, TVs, electronics. They’re long gone when he wakes up and calls the police.”
“What about the house cleaners?” Phil asked.
“That’s another variation,” Oscar said. “They travel in packs and make much bigger scores. Young women are taught to be cautious. Men don’t think about women preying on them.”
“How long has this been going on?” Phil asked.
“In this area? Since before I moved here. At least the mid eighties. There used to be a bar called — well, never mind the name, it’s long gone — but it was a hot spot for the gals to pick up guys wearing pricey watches and jewelry. A couple of years ago, it happened to one of my clients. His condo had no CCTV. She not only ripped him off, she took his car. The police fingerprinted the drink glasses, but I don’t recall they ever caught anyone. Why the questions? Did something happen to a client?”
“Yes. He met a woman at the Perfect Manhattan and she cleaned out his entire house. Took everything, even his bath towels. I can’t give you any details.”
“Let me guess,” Oscar said. “He was talking to her at the bar, then he felt sick and she helped him home. He didn’t remember much, but when he woke up they had a real honeymoon weekend. He went back to work on Monday, and gave her free run of the house.”
“You got it,” Phil said. “The gang brought in a truck and cleaned the place out. That was eight months ago and the police didn’t find a trace of them.”
“They won’t,” Oscar said. “The women left town that same day. They make a circuit of the high-priced beach towns. That’s a common European phenomenon. Gangs of beautiful women or handsome young men, often from Eastern Europe, move from one tourist site to another in France, Italy, Spain. A beautiful woman will spend the whole weekend with the mark.”
“What about security videos?” Phil asked.
“These women are very, very smart. They are careful to turn their faces to hide from the cameras. Many have long hair, and use it like a curtain. Most security systems have such blurry images, it’s hard to see the person. The police rarely get anywhere.”
“Why haven’t the police cracked down on these scammers?”
“These are the cream of the crooks,” Oscar said. “They can spot an undercover cop.”
“How?” Phil asked.
“Easy. These women have fine-tuned senses. They notice little things. The undercover cops trying to pass as rich guys buy their expensive suits at resale shops, so they’re a couple of years out of style. They have ‘cop eyes.’ They’re alert, watchful, not like someone having a drink at a bar.”
“What if I went undercover?” Phil said.
“You’d need different clothes,” Oscar said. “You look too... uh, casual.”
Helen hid a smile. That was a tactful summary of Phil’s style. She paid her manicurist and strolled over to Oscar’s chair, where he’d just removed Phil’s protective cape with a flourish.
“To attract that kind of lady,” Oscar said, brushing off Phil’s shoulders with a small whisk broom, “you’ll need an expensive watch, maybe a ring, the clothes that go with them, and a fast car. Those kinds of gals would turn up their pretty noses at your old black Jeep. Maybe you could rent a Ferrari or a Maserati and buy the clothes.”
“How much would the clothes cost?”
“Several thousand. And don’t forget the shoes. The shoes are definitely a giveaway.”
“You’re about the same size as our client, Phil,” Helen said. “Maybe he’d lend you something.”
“Good idea.” Phil brightened considerably. “When do you think the scammers will be back in the area, Oscar?”
“How long ago was your client hit?”
“About eight months ago,” Phil repeated.
“That’s about time for her and her gang to come back, but she won’t be at the Perfect Manhattan this time. Let’s see, what’s the local hot spot?” Oscar looked at the ceiling, as if the answer was written there. “I’d try the White Lady Lounge, the new place on the beach.”
“Cute,” Phil said. “Slang for coke and a cocktail.”
“You might want to go there this weekend,” Oscar said. “It’s the big boat show, and the high rollers will be in town. Many of them arrive on Friday, so Saturday night is best.”
“This is an elaborate trap, Oscar. What if she isn’t at the White Lady?”
“Trust me, she’ll be there this weekend.”
“Then I’ll be easy prey for a shady lady,” Phil said.
“Don’t go alone, Phil,” Oscar said. “You’ll need backup. That woman will slip you a mickey and you’ll never see it.”
“I’ll be there to watch him,” Helen said.
“You’ll need someone to keep the men away, pretty lady,” Oscar said. “In a place like the White Lady, you’ll attract your own crowd. You won’t be able to watch Phil.”
“I’ll bring a chaperone,” Helen said. “Do these women carry weapons?”
“I don’t know,” Oscar said.
Helen felt cold to her bones, and it wasn’t Oscar’s air-conditioning. Oscar wasn’t sure if there were weapons, but Phil could be definitely dead if his dreamy date got desperate.
Phil thanked Oscar and tipped him generously. Back in the Igloo, Helen blasted the air-conditioning and said, “Federal Highway?” Phil nodded.
“Phil, can we trust Oscar? Will Donna be there this weekend?”
“Yes. I don’t know how he knows, but Oscar is right. You’d be surprised the friends he has.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. You were a bartender, Phil. What’s in a White Lady?”
“Ingredients no self-respecting bartender would put together,” Phil said. “It’s a foo-foo drink made with gin, Cointreau, lemon juice, and an egg white.”
“Yuck.”
“I liked Oscar’s idea that we look for Donna at the White Lady Saturday night. I thought of someone who might know more. Remember Broker Morgan?”
Helen smiled. The Peerless Point detective was known as “Broker” because his name was a reversal of Morgan Stanley. “How could I forget him? He helped us with that shoplifting case, but Will Drickens’s house isn’t in his town.”
“No, but Broker’s part of the county tourist protection task force, and all those little cities and burgs have countywide arrest powers. It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll see if he’d like to meet us for a sandwich, maybe at the Bonefish Grill.”
“You, at a fish place?”
“They make good burgers.” Phil punched in the detective’s number. “Broker, you free for lunch? Helen and I have something that might interest your task force. How about the Bonefish Grill on Federal just past Bayview?”
After a pause, Phil said, “Good. See you there in fifteen. I’ll get us a booth where we can talk. You want a burger, right?”
Helen and Phil headed for the Bonefish Grill, tucked in a strip shopping center. The restaurant was dark and cool inside, and they were seated in a big booth in a quiet corner. Their white-aproned server took the order for the three of them. Phil was happily drinking a beer and dunking warm bread in seasoned olive oil when Helen spotted Broker at the door. He was hard to miss: Broker was thirty-something, with thick dark hair, broad shoulders, expert tailoring, and those watchful cop’s eyes. He joined them, and took up most of the other booth. After their food was delivered, Phil told Broker about Will Drickens.
“That crew has been on our radar,” Broker said. “They travel up and down the Florida coast from Vero Beach to Miami. Donna — if that’s her real name — is good at slipping past condo security. We don’t even have any prints. She usually picks a Friday or Saturday night to drug her mark and take him home.”