Free Sideswipe by Charles Willeford Page B

take his first morning swim, he stepped on a discarded sanitary napkin with his bare left foot. Bacjdng away from that and saying "Shit," he stepped into a pile of the very thing with his bare right foot. No dogs were allowed on the beach (a rule that was strictly enforced), so Hoke was worried that he had stepped in human shit. He scraped it off with an empty beer can and decided, then and there, that he would not rent out any of his El Pelicano apartments to Latins.
     
    Hoke swam beyond the surf for almost an hour, then walked up the beach, staying close to the hard-packed sand of the littoral. By the time he reached the third condo, the beach was almost deserted. The condos, especially the older ones, were sold out completely, but only about thirty percent of the owners lived in their apartments full time. The majority came down at Christmas and at Easter, or spent three or four winter months there; most of the year their apartments were unoccupied. At least, Hoke thought, they aren't all year-round residents, like the condo owners in Miami and Miami Beach. If all of the apartments and motel rooms on Singer lsland were occupied at the same time, there probably wouldn't be enough room on the island to hold all of their cars. The island population would triple overnight. He wondered if the people buying into those condos under construction were aware of the population glut that was coming if they kept putting up these twentyand thirty-story buildings. The condos all had heated pools on the ocean side of their buildings, explaining why very few condo residents took advantage of the warm Atlantic. Hoke decided that from now on he would walk down here and swim in front of one of these condos instead of swimming at the public beach.
     
    As Hoke started back toward the public beach, he noticed a man seated in a webbed chair beneath a striped beach umbrella behind the Supermare, a twenty-story condo with a penthouse on top. The man had a blanket, an open briefcase, and was talking on a white portable telephone. As Hoke stopped to look at him, the man put the phone on the blanket and made a notation with a gold pen on a yellow legal pad.
     
    Hoke crossed over to the blanket and looked down at the man. He was balding in front, but he wore a thick gray moustache, and there was a thick cluster of curly silver hair at the back of his head. He wore a rose-colored cabana set with maroon piping on the shirt and on the hems of the swimming shorts.
     
    "Good morning," he said, not unpleasantly, taking off his sunglasses.
     
    "Morning. D'you mind if I use your phone?"
     
    "Local or long distance?"
     
    "Long distance. Miami. But I'll call collect."
     
    "No need to do that." The older man shrugged as he handed Hoke the phone. "I've got a WATS line. Don't worry about it."
     
    Hoke dialed Ellita Sanchez in Green Lakes, and she picked up the phone on the third ring.
     
    "Ellita? Hoke."
     
    "How are you, Hoke? I've called your father a couple of times, and--"
     
    "I'm fine. You won't have to call him again. I'm living in a new place. You got a pencil?"
     
    "Right here."
     
    "It's the El Pelicano Arms. Apartment number 201, upstairs, here on Singer Island."
     
    "What's the phone number?"
     
    "No phone. The address is 506 Mall Road, Singer Island, Riviera Beach. I'm going to need a few things. My checkbook, bankbook, and probably my car. I bought some surfer trunks yesterday, but the legs are too long, so pack my swimming trunks when you send someone up with the car."
     
    "What other clothes will you nerd?"
     
    "None. I've got a new plan. I've still got my gun, badge, and cuffs, and I won't need them either. Maybe you can turn them in at the department for me?"
     
    "-Espera-, Hoke! Let's wait awhile on that. You've got thirty days of leave, and Bill Henderson's covering for you just fine. Don't rush into any rash decisions. Your dad told me you were going to stay for a while, but you might change your-- What's that roaring