The Case of the Yellow Flower Tattoo

CHAPTER FIVE Richard’s condo was on Collins Avenue and 50th Street directly on the ocean; the Middle Beach as it’s called. South Beach, the reputed world’s playground with its Art Deco hotels, restaurants, and clubs, runs from 1st street and the ocean to about 40th street where the Fontainebleau Hotel sits. From 40th street north to about 63rd street, Middle Beach is located. North of that to the city line at 87th street, is North Beach. Each section has its own flavor, ethnic makeup, and politics. South Beach is fantasy land mixed in with working class residences, million dollar condominiums, and businesses that serve tourists, the wealthy, and the urban poor. Middle Beach tends to be residential, and middle class or wealthy. North Beach has pockets or ‘Islands’ as they’re called where middle and upper class residents reside, but it’s mostly a rundown venue in sore need of urban renewal. The restaurant I was headed to was in the heart of South Beach at 11th street. It was squeezed in on a side street between Collins Avenue and Ocean Drive. Ocean Drive runs parallel to the ocean, and the Art Deco hotels face the beach from the west side of the street. Collins Avenue and Washington Avenue are busy business districts that run north and south, just west of Ocean Drive. The place was packed since it was about noon, and the lunch crowd was starving. Locals and tourists alike eat breakfast or lunch there, searching for the deli food that used to be served by big name operations like Wolfie’s, Junior’s, and The Rascal House. I managed to get a seat at the counter. I ordered breakfast and ate slowly, spending a lot of time people watching. As things slowed down inside, I started a conversation with the waitress. “You guys do some hell of a business here,” I said. “Do ya’ ever get a break in the action?” “Hardly ever. Its go, go, go all the time. After lunch maybe, but then we have to do our side work and get ready for close. We’re breakfast and lunch only.” “You guys earn every penny you make. I couldn’t do it.” As I said this, I handed her three folded twenty dollar bills. Sometimes you need to explain your whole story, sometimes you don’t. “I need some information on one of your regular customers,” I whispered as I leaned toward her, my arms pulled close to my chest. “Cop? Must be new. Never saw you before.” “Private Investigator, and maybe you can help me out here.” She disappeared for a minute to take care of some guy a few seats away who was twitching all over the place for another cup of coffee and a check. She ran into the kitchen, returned with an order for someone, and came back to me. “What do you need doll,” she asked. “A guy named Richard. He’s in his 50’s, about 5’10”, a little overweight, got white hair, and he’s balding a little. Very quiet guy.” My new informant, Tammie according to her name tag, leaned back toward me and blinked a lot. I wondered if she was really thinking this over or was waiting for another hit with a couple of twenties. “I know Richard. He’s a counter customer. If that’s him he comes in a couple of days a week for lunch and don’t have too much to say. Yeah, shy. Maybe could be who you mean.” “Ever see him with someone? Does he always eat alone and just leave?” “If you mean the one that I’m thinking about, no. He eats alone and goes. Friendly to me and all that, but no flirter with the waitresses like the other regulars are. He don’t even check out the eye candy in the place.” “How long has he been a regular?” “A couple of months I would guess.” Tammie disappeared again, this time for a while. She had checks to hand out and the last of the lunch orders to get out of the kitchen. Things were slowing down, but she still was busy. When she came back, she had a bomb to drop. “Ya’ know what? There was one time he did sort of pick up this twinkie, or more to the point, she picked him up. Maybe a couple of weeks ago. He was eating lunch and she sat down next to him. They began to talk and she was holdin’ down the conversation. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but she was going on and on. Russian girl…I could tell from her accent.” “What did she look like?” “Hold off. I’ll be back.” While Tammie took care of her business, I was mentally taking care of mine. If this was in fact Richard, and it sure sounded like him, then I had a break here. Another person, not previously known about, was now a potential lead.