Two Jakes (24 page)

“And,
of course, the Israelis are very good payers.”

“The
best.”

“That’s
quite a story, Alana. One I hadn’t heard before.”

“Americans
are so wound up in their own history and lives they don’t realize that the rest
of the world is fascinating. I bet my grandfather and yours could have traded
some wonderful tales. They would have liked each other.”

“Probably.
Is yours still alive.”

“No.”
She left it at that. “But you are good, Jake. I’m back talking about myself.
Let’s get back to you. Where did you go to school? How did you become a dashing
private eye?”

He
told her, leaving little out, except his military service. She was easy to talk
to. She had the ability to focus all her concentration on the person who was
talking, as if he was the only one in the world. Even when she turned away to
sip her drink, he felt that she was absorbing everything. At times she was
coquettish. Then sympathetic. When he spoke of an interesting case, she
appeared fascinated, and her questions were always on point. He finally
realized that they had been talking at the bar for almost an hour.

“Have
you ever been in love, Jake?”

He
was startled. She was looking into his eyes with a bemused expression.

“Yes.
What about you.”

“God,
no. And I hope never to be. It implies a loss of control. I don’t lose
control.”

She
said it so matter of factly he was stunned. Scarne knew many people said they’d
never fall in love – usually after a terrible breakup. They didn’t really mean
it. But Alana said it like it never crossed her mind.

“Maybe
you haven’t met the right man.”

Scarne
knew he sounded ridiculous. Alana laughed.

“Or
the right woman, or Great Dane. Why limit me to men, Jake? Next thing you’ll be
waving a white picket fence and snot-nosed little kids at me.”

“You’re
a man killer and you know it, lady. You can play them like a fiddle, like
you’re playing me right now. Aren’t you?”

She
leaned forward, an elbow on the bar, and brought her face close to his. He could
smell her perfume and the sweet essence of vermouth on her breath.

“Absolutely.
Actually, I like children.” She smiled. “Just as long as they’re someone
else’s.”

That
was too much for Scarne. They had been reduced to talking in clichés, trying to
impress each other. Instinctively he knew that this was a woman who used her
beauty and intelligence to build a carapace around her feelings. He stared at
her until her smile evaporated.

“You
know, Alana, we have something in common. Both damaged goods. Orphans, raised
by grandparents. Loved, surely, but, of course, it’s not the same. There was a
duty to their love. Grandparents have already spent much of their emotional
capital on their own children. We get what’s left.”

He
had her attention. The restaurant sounds faded into the distance.

“It
doesn’t matter how old you are when parents die,” he said quietly. “You lose
the only people who are always on your side, who think the world of you and can
forgive anything. Love without strings. We may be able to give that kind of
unconditional love, but we’ll never have it again. We spend the rest of our
lives trying to find something remotely like it. You’re kidding yourself if you
think you’re any different from the rest of us.”

If
looks could kill, Scarne thought.

She
stood up.

“I
know a wonderful place in Hollywood Beach where we can stop on the way home.
You’ve never seen anything like it. Are you game?”

CHAPTER
28 – EVEN THE WAITERS STOPPED

There
was a good breeze coming off the Atlantic as Scarne drove. Alana hugged her
legs to her chest but insisted he leave the top down. She did allow him to
fetch a sweater from his bag, which she draped over her shoulders. Suddenly she
sat up, eyes bright with excitement, her good mood restored.

“There
it is. That long white building.”

Cars
were lined up by the valet stand, but boys ran back along the line and handed
out claim tickets. Scarne and Alana walked toward the entrance to the
restaurant, which a large neon sign identified as “Taverna Opa.” Dozens of
people were waiting to enter and Scarne heard Middle Eastern music wafting
through the screens. He began to have his doubts. Alana walked to the head of
the line. A man holding a clipboard moved the rope amid much grumbling.

“If
you need anything, Alana, let me know,” the man said as he held the door for
them.

Inside,
Scarne was startled to see people belly dancing on tables while people ate
below them. Some of the dancers were obviously professionals but most were
patrons, an eclectic mix of families with children and a jet-set crowd. One
grandma was shimmying precariously near the end of a table, while a couple of
anxious children, probably her grandkids, hovered nearby, ready to catch her.
On another table, two wildly gyrating toddlers kept threatening to bump each other
off their perch, although grandpa dogged their every move. The water of the
inter-coastal shimmered out the back windows

“What
is this, the road show of My Big Fat Greek Wedding?”

“Let’s
go to the bar. It’s a bit quieter. I never take a table, even when I come here
to eat. The food is superb, by the way, especially the lamb and fried smelts.
But I don’t like people’s feet in my food. Do you like fried smelts?”

“Not
particularly. But I bet it would be a great pickup line here.”

They
sat in the bar and watched the dancers, sipping ouzo. Scarne marveled at the
efficiency of the staff as they served delicious-smelling platters amid the
swaying arms and kicking feet. One waiter opened a bottle of wine, poured four
glasses, left the wine in a bucket, all the while pirouetting as various
servers and dancers swirled around him. A minute later the same waiter was
dragging a recalcitrant woman onto a table, where she promptly began dancing
with wild abandon to the music, which was provided by a DJ.

Some
of the scantily clad belly dancers, all of whom were lovely and had hips that
wouldn’t stop, drew dozens of eyes. But the “civilian” dancers seemed lost in
their own world, as if they were the center of the room’s attention, rather
than that of perhaps their family and a few friends, if that. It wasn’t
Scarne’s cup of tea, but everyone seemed to be having a great time, especially
the family groups, which included some well-dressed swells undoubtedly out
slumming. Suddenly there was loud shouting and waiters ran down between the
tables throwing napkins in the air, which floated down over dancers and diners
alike. Most wound up on the floor. He looked at Alana.

“They
used to smash plates on the floor, but I guess the insurers put an end to that.
It was pretty wild. You can imagine the noise. Another reason I prefer the bar.
Napkins are quieter, but it does seem silly now.”

“When
do they bring in John the Baptist’s head on a platter?”

“I
think you have to special order. And he might not be in season.”

“More
ouzo and my head will be on a platter. Yours is like a rock, Alana.”

“Good
genes. But I may have to dance some of it off. Care to join me?”

“I’ve
had enough excitement for one day.”

Alana
reached down and took off her sandals, handing them to him. She walked out to
the dining room and grabbed two young teen-age girls who were sitting at a
table. Laughing, she yanked them up on a table near the center of the room. One
of the real dancers joined the trio and paired off with one of the girls.
People nearby started clapping in time with the music. The girls got down and
the belly dancer brought two little children, obviously brother and sister, up
to the table. She and Alana soon had them dancing like dervishes. The little
girl was a natural. Even at her tender age, she had all the moves, twirling her
belly and hips and looking provocatively at men in the audience. Her family
roared approval. Alana helped her down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She
had the table to herself until one of the waiters, at the urging of his fellows,
joined her. He was apparently the Travolta of the wait staff and began a
sensuous dance with Alana. They swayed in sync, dipping past each other as if
on cue. Alana’s skirt twirled up, revealing her luscious legs. Her face took on
an abandoned look as her hair swirled around her eyes, which took on an Asian
cast in the light. As she tossed her head, her earrings twirled. Everyone in
the restaurant was looking at her. Even the waiters stopped serving.

Scarne
reached her just as the music ended. She looked down at him, breathless, and
then fell into his arms. Her body was warm and her skin glowed. There was
applause as they walked back to the bar. He handed her the sandals. She picked
up some napkins.

“Let’s
sit on the dock,” she said, walking out barefoot.

When
they got there, she handed him the napkins and sat at the edge, swishing her
feet in the water. He sat next to her, leaning back against a piling. She
kicked water at him, laughing. Then she twirled around and extended her legs to
him.

“Would
you mind?”

As
he dried her feet her eyes glistened in the reflection from the lights on the
dock. When he finished he put on her sandals.

“Where
did you learn to dance like that?”

“Someday
I will tell you. Now I am tired. Take me home.”

It
was almost 10 P.M. when they got to her house on the bay across the Indian
River from Miami Beach. Her neighborhood was heavily treed but he occasionally
caught a glimpse of the bright lights of the condos and hotels on the stretch
where his apartment was. A low stone wall backed by thick hedges surrounded the
property. A well-lit courtyard beyond the gate fronted a large two-story house.
There were three cars in the circular driveway and he could hear the faint
strains of Caribbean music. He walked Alana to the door. She pushed a button on
an intercom. A metallic voice answered in Spanish.

“It’s
Alana,” she answered, and the door buzzed open.

She
turned to face him, smiling.

“A
good day. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t ask you in. I have people staying
over for a party tomorrow. I’m going to take a hot bath and go to bed.”

Hopefully
hiding his disappointment, he replied, “That’s quite all right. We’re both
pretty tired, I’d imagine.”

She
gently slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. He
started to reach behind her, but she quickly broke free, laughing.

“I
had a wonderful time, Jake.” She started to go in, then turned abruptly. “It’s
a pool party. Why don’t you come? Lots of interesting people. Some from work.
You can look for clues.” She paused. “Victor won’t be here.”

“Sounds
like fun. What time?”

“Anytime
after noon,” she said. “Don’t forget your bathing suit.”

After
she went in, Scarne leaned back on the warm body of his car, staring at the
house. The night was very still and he could hear small creatures rustling in
the heavy tropical foliage. There was a slight sweet smell in the air, a
combination of both flowering and dead vegetation. Would she have invited him
in had she not had company? Did she even have company? Should he have asked her
to see his place on the way? He went through all the second guessing men do
when they think they may have blown the chance to sleep with a special woman.
For whatever else Alana Loeb was, she was special.

***

Alana
Loeb stood by a window in her second-floor office looking down at Scarne. The
hook was set deep; she wondered how long it would take. Ordinarily, she would
consider such a matter dispassionately. But, unexpectedly, she felt the first
flush of arousal. She realized, somewhat to her consternation, that she wanted
him. He slowly got into his car and drove off.

She
had recognized the painful truth in what he’d said at the bar. She had been
angry but suspected that she was the first to hear it from him. Why her? She
opened the window and let the warm, fragrant night air wash over her.

With
it came long-suppressed memories and a foreboding that was completely alien to
her.

CHAPTER
29 – CANAPÉS AND CALL GIRLS

Scarne
slept late and woke feeling groggy. The champagne and ouzo might have relieved
the tension of the insane golf match, but he was now paying the price. He drank
two glasses of orange juice and changed into running gear.

Once
at the beach, he jogged north near the waterline. The hardpan near the
buildings would have been easier, but he wanted a good workout. It wasn’t long
before he was sweating, even though there was a nice breeze and it was in the
60’s. He passed a few strollers, plenty of sea birds and, as he got nearer the
public beaches, some newspaper-wrapped bums. His calves burned from fighting
the sucking sand. Occasionally, he misjudged a wave and was rewarded with a
refreshing splash up to his shorts. After a couple of miles, breathing hard, he
cut over to Collins Avenue. He spotted a Cuban bakery and bought a fruit
empanada. Then he walked back to the apartment, made coffee and ate on the
portion of his terrace that overlooked the Indian River. He thought he spotted
Alana’s house in the distance, but wasn’t sure.

***

Scarne
arrived at the house just before 1 PM. Cars were parked up and down the street,
some on lawns. A large white truck was in the driveway. On its side were the
words, “Parties by Rico,” and a line of men in white coats were unloading trays
of food. The driveway was full of Jaguars, BMW’s and Mercedes, and one Bentley.
A valet gave him a ticket. Scarne took his bag and walked into the courtyard
past a board holding dozens of car keys on hooks.

The
two-story house was much bigger than it looked from the street, where it was
hidden behind hedges and trees. He was happy to see that it was an older house
and not a McMansion. The stucco walls were spotted with ivy. A sign near the
front door directed him to a path that led around the side. He could hear
music, laughter and an occasional splash. He passed a small pool house and then
was in the thick of the party.

There
were perhaps 50 people in the backyard, most of them wearing speedos or
miniscule bikinis. Some of the more beautiful women were topless. A few guests
who were more fully dressed stood around awkwardly. Waiters walked around the
pool and nearby gardens passing out drinks from silver trays. Looked like
champagne, apple martinis and, of course, mojitos. There was a Tiki bar near
the back of the house, complete with thatched roof. The music came from a small
Calypso band set up near the bar. A buffet table was just outside the kitchen.
In its center was a large ice sculpture of a dolphin surrounded by lobsters,
shrimp, clams, oysters and other delicacies.

A
small stretch of lawn separated the huge pool from a bulkhead and boat dock on
the bay. Scarne walked over to the dock and looked down at the greenish brown
water. His shadow spooked a school of small baitfish that rippled the surface.
There was a series of pipes with shower heads at various levels adjacent to the
dock with a sign in English and Spanish that said: “Please shower before
entering the pool!” As he read it, he heard a splash and looked up to see a man
swimming from a small cabin cruiser at anchor about 75 feet out. Another man
was poised on the gunwale and soon followed the first diver into the water.
Further out in the bay a larger yacht streamed by. Several men on deck passed
binoculars back and forth. They were looking at the topless women at the party.
The boat’s horn tooted cheerfully and a couple of the men waved. Scarne smiled
and waved back.

The
two men from the smaller boat reached the dock after a few short powerful
strokes and climbed up onto land. They walked past Scarne shaking their hands
and heads, catching him with some spray. They seemed not to notice, and took
turns standing under the top shower head, which poured out a strong stream when
they pulled a chain. They seemed to barely glance at Scarne, although he had
the feeling they got a good look at him. Both men seemed very fit. Their bathing
trunks were fashionably tight. That was where the similarities ended. The
taller, thinner of the two was very blond and his hair was cut short. He looked
vaguely familiar. His companion was more muscled and had thick black hair that
glistened as he stroked it. He was dark complexioned and had a trim mustache.
Both moved gracefully. Dancers? Scarne didn’t think so. There was something
menacing about them.

The
men went to the pool and dove in, then climbed out the other side and made for
the bar, picking up towels from unoccupied chairs. What were they doing at
Alana’s party? The thought occurred to him that they had crashed. It would be
so simple to park your boat and then swim into a party. Anybody in a bathing
suit would blend in. He headed after them.

“Hot
shit, ain’t it?”

Scarne
turned to see that a man has fallen in beside him. He barely came up to
Scarne’s shoulders and was wearing pink trousers, a flowered shirt and white
sneakers. A substantial martini, thick with olives, was in his hand.

“Alana’s
parties get all kinds. Euro trash, Rio trash. They come out of the woodwork.
But see that older guy holding court with the babes in the corner. Thomas
Harris.
Silence of the Lambs
. Lives a few blocks away. And over there
near the food is Iggy Pop, the singer. I think one of the Bee Gees is roaming
around, too.”

The
man held out his hand.

“Tony
Goetz.”

Scarne
introduced himself, saying, “Remind me to skip whatever comes with the fava
beans. Where do we fit in?”

“Hell,
you’ll have to speak for yourself. I’m local Miami trash.”

They
reached the Tiki hut and Goetz crooked a finger at the bartender.

“Pablo,
another one, por favor. S’il vouz plait. One more olive.”

The
bartender, whose nametag didn’t say “Pablo,” rolled his eyes and looked at
Scarne, who shook his head. Three topless women strolled by.

“Six
abreast,” Goetz commented.

The
bartender puts his martini on the bar. The glass was half full of olives.

“Like
olives?” Scarne said.

“Hate
the fuckin’ things. The glass holds about 10 olives. Then I know to stop, or
switch to beer. Doesn’t work with lemon peels. I’d be dead.”

“Jake!”

He
looked over to the pool to see Alana Loeb springing out of the pool. She
grabbed a small towel from a chair and began vigorously drying her hair as she
walked slowly over to the two men. She was wearing a bikini, both parts. But it
was very wet and left little to the imagination. Her nipples were boldly
outlined in the fabric. The effect was more erotic than the bare breasts of the
other women. The bottom part of the suit was severely V-shaped and accentuated
her long legs.

“Goddamn,”
Goetz said under his breath in open admiration.

As
she reached them she draped the towel around her shoulders.

“I’m
so glad you came. I see you have already fallen into bad company.”

She
gave Scarne a brief kiss on the cheek, then leaned over to buss Goetz.

“I
know I’m irresistible, honey, but you already kissed me when I came in,” the
little man said. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“I
just heard that you led all the salesmen this quarter. That deserved another
kiss. Now, can I borrow Jake for a minute? I want to show him around and get
his things put away. I’m sure he wants to take a swim.”

She
took Scarne’s arm and led him across the patio past a spiral stairway with
decorative wrought-iron railings leading up from a loggia to the second floor.
In the kitchen, waitresses were busily unwrapping platters or pulling pans from
the stove. She stopped to pluck a canapé off a platter that was sitting on the
island in the kitchen. After plopping it in her mouth, she uttered a purr of
delight, grabbed another and raised it to Scarne’s lips.

“Let’s
get out of here before they send out empty platters,” she laughed.

There
was a small room just off the kitchen with a pullout couch, a chest of drawers
and a computer desk surrounded by bookshelves. A curtained door led out to the
patio. Another opened to a small bathroom.

“Drop
your bag and I’ll show you the hacienda. You can change in here rather than the
pool house. And don’t forget to grab one of my towels out of the chest. They’re
nicer than the ones we put out on the deck.” She walked over to the chest and
opened it to show him his choices, then reached in and pulled out a small
half-robe, which she put on but did not cinch.

“I
leave these all over the house. Sometimes I forget myself and walk around in my
bathing suit. Or less. Not very ladylike. Of course, nobody would notice with
this crowd. Are you shocked by some of the guests? Things are pretty casual in
Miami Beach. It’s like Rio. Cuban girls, especially, like to flaunt it.
Suicidal, when you think how jealous Cuban men are.”

“These
are all friends?”

“Not
hardly. People from the office, to be sure. But mostly clients and a few
neighbors I invite so they can’t complain about the party. Old college trick.
Wouldn’t be surprised if there were one or two call girls out there. Men like
their arm candy.”

She
sat on the couch and used her towel to dry her feet.

“I
should leave some flip flops or sandals around too. I’m liable to break my neck
slipping on the stairs with wet feet. This will have to do. Come on, let me act
like the nouveau riche I am and show you around.”

It
was a beautiful house, with an open floor plan that led to several spectacular
rooms. The dining room featured an octagonal recessed ceiling with hand-painted
panels and deep burgundy walls. A large glass-topped table with scrolled wood
bases was surrounded by Tuscan-style chairs with green velvet backs and woven
chenille fronts. A gold-framed painting of Venice sat on one wall opposite a triple
wide china closet. Across from the living area was a family room with a
mahogany pool table and antique bar. Through that room was a home theater, with
lounge chairs at floor level and plush sofas on an upper tier. Another door led
into a library with Caribbean rosewood flooring and recessed tin panels in the
ceiling. A large fireplace framed with a hunter-green lambrequin dominated the
room. Each room made a statement and stopped just short of ostentation. Much
like the woman, Scarne thought.

“You
have exquisite taste. I liked the Richard Prince in the library.”

“I
adore him. And thank you for the compliment. I did most of the decorating
myself.”

They
emerged into the front foyer where a huge iron chandelier hovered above a
mosaic floor. They took the marble staircase to the second floor.

“There
are four bedrooms, but I’ll just show you the best. Mine.”

She
led him to a large master bedroom at the rear of the house. The room was done
in all yellows and celadon. A bright floral print for the draperies matched the
accent pillows on the king-sized bed and its Louis XVI-style headboard. A door
opened out to a small terrace where the decorative staircase spiraled down to
the pool area. Scarne spotted the two men who had come off the boat earlier.
They were looking up at them.

“Alana,
who are those two men standing down at the bar? The blond and the swarthy one.”

She
looked down. Her good cheer evaporated.

“What’s
the matter?”

“Nothing.
I know them. They work for us. But they usually don’t come to my parties. I
didn’t see them come in.”

“They
swam from that boat. Thought they might be crashers.”

“They
tend to be loose cannons.”

“I
think I might know the blond fellow from somewhere.”

She
looked at Scarne with a funny cast to her eyes.

“I’ll
have to introduce you,” she said, starting down the stairs. “I’ll meet you at
the bar after you’ve changed.”