I immediately understood that Marty was distracting the cops from Allie and the bartender, but I also saw how serious the cop was, so I was surprised that Marty stood his ground. He really didn’t want to give the cop his name. The whole encounter was kind of thrilling, at least through my drug-enhanced view of it. I just hoped Marty’s ploy worked and the cops didn’t go to the bedroom and get Allie’s and the bartender’s names as well.
Finally Marty said, “My name is Martin Hawking.” He didn’t give the cop any more trouble as he provided his date of birth and address.
On the way out, the cop said, “You guys need to keep it down. Palm Beach goes to bed early and it doesn’t like scandals.”
Allie peeked out of the bedroom as soon as she heard the door shut, and Marty excused himself to go to the bathroom.
Allie said, “I could hear everything through the door. Your boyfriend just saved our jobs. He’s fantastic.”
I looked at her and said, “Yes, yes, he is.”
Chapter 18
The next morning I woke up with Marty’s arm draped across me. For a few seconds I panicked, wondering if Allie and the bartender were still in the apartment. I had never experienced that kind of fear in the morning and vowed right then never to take another one of Marty’s crazy pills. I’m not saying I regretted it. Everyone needs to get wild once in a while, but things had gone a little too far last night. I wasn’t completely clear on what had happened after the cops left.
We knew to keep it quiet, but there was still more drinking, and the bartender had some really potent pot. The night got wilder, and now I vaguely recalled Allie and the bartender slipping out sometime in the early-morning hours.
Marty stirred and I turned in bed, giving him a kiss to wake him up. That put the smile that I wanted to see on his face.
Without prompting, he said, “Maybe we don’t need any pharmaceutical help to have fun anymore. I’m not sure I’ll ever say the sentence ‘It’s not really a party until the cops show up’ again.”
That made me laugh as I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. It wasn’t just the small square footage of the apartment that was such a change from my previous residence; it was the overall feel of everything, from the low ceilings to the tiny bathroom. It immediately got me thinking about my house on South Ocean and the jackass who’d thrown me out of it.
Marty said, “What would you like to do today?”
An idea popped into my head and I just said it out loud: “I have a key to my old house, and I’d like to pay a visit if Brennan isn’t there.”
“You want to burglarize your old house?”
“Technically, I think we would just be trespassing.”
“No, I’m pretty sure you’re talking felony.”
“Anyway…” I turned to look Marty in the eye and said, “Are you game?”
He shrugged his bare shoulders and said, “Why not? The Palm Beach cops already love me.”
That was all there was to it. After a little breakfast, our usual walk on the beach ended up at the beach bungalow across the street from the house. It didn’t take long for us, sitting on the beach together, to see Brennan pull out in the Jaguar. He headed south, which meant he was crossing the Southern Boulevard Bridge, and I knew he’d be gone for at least an hour. It isn’t worth leaving the island unless you’re going to be gone for more than an hour. That was plenty of time.
We had to jump the gate at the beach and cross the street quickly, but then we just walked up the driveway, and I led Marty past the front door and through an unlocked gate into the backyard. The key I had was to the pool house, and as we walked through it, I realized that it was almost twice the size of my current apartment.
We paused for a minute before we stepped through the door that led to one of the rear patio rooms. I listened and didn’t hear anyone. Generally, Brennan kept a very small staff, just a housekeeper and a guy who supervised the lawn and pool care. He wasn’t here every day.
I also knew that Brennan activated the alarm system only when the house was going to be empty for a few days or more, when he was traveling. It was his typical arrogant attitude that nothing could ever happen to him. That was the attitude I was counting on.
Chapter 19
I opened the door and we stepped into the cool patio room that looked out on the pool. Part of the roof was made of glass panels that let the sun in. It was a transition from the main house to the outside and had been a sanctuary for me. Slowly, I led Marty into the main part of the house.
Marty, of course, was drawn to the architecture of the interior. His face was turned up like he was a tourist in New York City. He said, “This is an unbelievable house. Some of the crown work and the fireplace have to be a hundred years old. Done by true craftsmen, too.”
I said, “I picked out most of the furniture and the art.” As I was standing next to a landscape painted by an up-and-coming Miami artist, I decided to make myself comfortable and slipped over to the wet bar in the corner of the room. I made us a couple of Grey Goose vodkas on the rocks with a splash of cranberry, and we took them back into the patio room, which had loungers and a great view of the pool and yard.
I wanted to prove I wasn’t scared, so I stretched out
