by Bill H Myers
Taylor smiled. “Next time, lead with the good news instead of the bad. Now tell me who Rooster and Roscoe are.”
I told her about the guy who would be going out into the yard with us and about his dog, Roscoe. But I didn’t tell her about the other set of keys we needed to test, the ones Abby had found.
Rooster came out of the office and waved us over. “Dog's up. Let's give the key a try.”
Taylor and I got out of her car and followed him into the impound lot. He led the way as we walked past cars in various states of disrepair. Some had obviously been in serious wrecks, while others showed almost no damage. The undamaged ones were probably towed to the lot for illegal parking or traffic offenses.
My motorhome was still sitting where it had been before, but it looked a lot worse. Being open to the Florida sun, the sea birds and the big dog living in the lot was taking its toll.
When Taylor saw it, she stopped in her tracks. She said nothing for a few moments then turned to me and said, “I can't believe you survived, but I'm glad you did.”
That made two of us.
Chapter Forty-Four
After walking past my wrecked RV, Rooster took us to the remains of the Corvette. There wasn't much left. Both doors were gone as was most of the interior. The back glass, which hadn't shattered during the wreck, was also gone, as were the tail lights and most of the Corvette emblems.
But the frame of the back hatch, where we needed to test the remote, was still there. Rooster held out his hand and said, “Let me see the key.”
I gave it to him, and asked, “You think it'll work?”
He shook his head. “Won't know until I try.”
He bent over just behind the rear hatch and used his hand to feel just above where the license plate had been. He wasn't smiling while he was doing this. In fact, he said, “I don't like putting my hands up where I can't see what they're touching. Could be a spider or wasp nest up there. I've been bitten by both and don't want it to happen again.”
I understood. I'd been stung by a wasp before, and it hurt like hell. Spiders I stay away from. Most are harmless but not all. The little ones were the ones that would get you. A bite from a brown recluse could be painful, might even send you to the hospital for a few days.
Rooster should have been wearing the big, heavy gloves he had let me borrow when I searched the motorhome. But he wasn't. They were still in his back pocket.
I watched as he ran his bare fingers under the hatch, moving them along the edge, searching for the keyhole.
It didn't take him long to find it.
I’d already given him the key, so he had it in his hand. But instead of trying it, he held it up and said, “This is the master. It'll unlock everything on this car. They hide these in the remote so if the car's battery dies, you can still unlock it.”
He'd told me the same thing before, but now we were going to put it to the test.
He bent down and tried to slide the key into the lock. It went in without any effort. But when he tried to turn it, nothing happened. The key wouldn't move.
Rooster tried several more times but with the same result. The master key wouldn't turn the cylinder in the lock.
He let out a deep breath and turned to me. He held the key up, and I was prepared for the bad news he was about to deliver. He was going to say the key didn't go with the Corvette.
But that's not what happened. He said, “The key went in pretty easy; that's a good sign. The fact that it didn't turn the lock doesn't mean it won't work. Could be the lock was never used and it just needs a little lube. I’ve got some in the office. Wait here while I go get it.”
Rooster walked away, humming a familiar tune. I wasn't sure what it was, but it sounded like something from a TV commercial.
Taylor had been quiet since we'd entered the impound lot. When we walked by the remains of my motorhome, she'd said she was glad I survived. But she had said nothing since.
I didn't mind the silent treatment; it's okay with me when people don't talk. But if something was bothering her, I wanted to know. I asked, “Are you okay? You're not saying much.”
She nodded then said, “It's this place. So many wrecks, so many sad stories behind them. I hate to think about how many people died in the cars around us.”
She continued, “When I saw what was left of your motorhome, I realized how lucky you were. You being alive after something like that really puts things into perspective.
“We go along every day complaining about the little things, things that really don't matter when compared to what happened to a lot of people who were in the wrecked cars around here.”
That was the end of our conversation. She had told me how she felt, and I could understand what she was feeling. I felt the same way. Many of the wrecks were life-changing or life-ending events for the people involved.
We stood in silence waiting for Rooster to return.
He wasn't gone long. He came back holding a small white tube, about the size of a cigar.
He held it up so we could see it and said, “A lot of the cars around here have stuck locks. We use this powered graphite to loosen them up. It usually does the trick.”
He walked to the back of the Corvette, got down on his knees, and put the nipple of the graphite tube into the lock cylinder. He squeezed it three times and then put the tube into his shirt pocket.
Still down on his knees, he put the master key from the remote into the lock and tried to turn it. At first, it didn't budge. But he kept wiggling the key, and each time it moved a bit further in the lock.
After several tries, the key unlocked the cylinder. Rooster stood and said, “It works. It's the right key for the car. Where’d you find it?”
I pointed at Taylor and said, “She was metal detecting on the beach last night and found it in the sand.”
Rooster handed her the remote and said, “That's a lucky find. It doesn’t look like it's spent much time in the sand though. But I'm glad you found it and happy it still works.”
He took a breath then turned to Taylor and said, “If you want to sell it, I'll give you a hundred dollars for it.”
Instead of taking his offer, Taylor turned to me, held out her open hand and said, “Take it. It's yours. You decide what to do with it.”
I took the remote and said, “I'll keep it for a few days, just until we get this thing settled. After that, you can have it back. You can do whatever you want with it.”
She turned to Rooster. “I'll bring it back to you when we're done. It's not something I want to keep.”
He nodded. “Yeah, sometimes a key can bring nothing but bad luck. Just look what it did for whoever was driving the Corvette.”
Chapter Forty-Five
After leaving the impound lot, I called Abby and let her know the key Taylor had found belonged to the Corvette.
I thought she'd be excited to learn that it fit, but she wasn’t. In fact, she sounded like it didn't matter much. She said, “I'm glad it worked, but it doesn't really prove much. What we really need to know is if the house keys belong to Chance. If they do, it'll make my meeting with his father go a lot better.
“I found him on the internet. His full name is Ezra Boudin, and he heads a large investment firm and has an office in New York. He also has a major interest in a casino in Atlantic City.
“I called his office to try to see him, but his secretary said his calendar was full and there was no way I could meet with him. But she said that if it was important, she could arrange a meeting with one of his assistants.
“Since I couldn't talk to the man himself, I went ahead and made an appointment with one of his underlings. Maybe once he hears my story, he might get me in to see Boudin. But I don't have my hopes up. Not unless the key works at Chance's place.
“Try it. Call me back before my meeting at eleven. I need to know either way.”
She ended the call, and I turned to Taylor. “We need your help. When we first inspected the Vette, Abby found some house keys in t
he console. She thinks they might belong to Chance. The only way to know for sure is to visit his place and try them. But to do that, we need to know where he lives. That's where you come in.
I paused then asked, “Do you know where he lives?”
She nodded. “I do. He has a condo on the beach about four miles past the reality show house.
“I've been there, but it wasn’t by choice. The show had been picked up for another season, and he held a party. The producer said everyone had to go, whether we wanted to or not.
“I went but didn't stay long.”
I nodded. “So you know where he lives. What’s the name of the building he’s in?”
She hesitated like maybe she was trying to decide whether or not to give up his address. But, finally, she said, “He’s in the Portofino. He has the entire top floor. He lives there alone, and if I remember right, it has four bedrooms, five baths, and a wall of glass overlooking the beach.
“The only way to get to his place is to use the private elevator that goes from the parking deck to the foyer outside his front door. You need a special key to open the elevator doors.”
I reached in my pocket and pulled out the keys Abby had found. Think one of these will work?”
She shook her head. “I don't know. He had a doorman working the elevator when I went there; I didn't need a key.”
She was quiet for a moment then said, “If you're going to Chance's place, you'll have to be careful. He's got security cameras everywhere. One in front of the elevator, another one where the elevator opens in his foyer, and another in his private parking space. If he's home, and he sees you on one of the cameras, you could be in trouble.
“I know he has at least one gun. Maybe more. I don't think he'd shoot you, but he might.
"If you want, I can take you there. Just tell me when.”
It was almost nine when we left the impound lot and it was getting close to ten. Abby wanted me to call and tell her what we found before her meeting at eleven. That meant I had less than an hour to get to Chance's place and try the keys.
Taylor was driving. We were already headed back to our place on Manasota Key. When we crossed the drawbridge leaving the mainland, I asked, “Will he be home?”
She shook her head. “I don't know. This early, there's no telling. But later on, after one, he’ll usually be on the set. They shoot three days a week, depending on the weather. Usually Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.
“They didn't shoot this past Tuesday. Too much wind. But the weather is nice today, so they're probably setting up for a shoot. Chance and the other cast members have a meeting with the writers before the cameras roll; it usually starts at eleven. But Chance doesn't always go. He doesn't think he needs to follow a script. He likes to make it up as he goes.
“But he has to be on set by noon, whether he goes to the writer’s meeting or not. So the best time to check his place would be in the afternoon, after twelve. He won't be there then.”
That wouldn't work for me. I needed to find out about the keys before eleven. If I waited until noon, it would be too late.
And frankly, I wasn't worried about running into Chance. He was a big guy but soft and inexperienced when it came to defending himself. If he came at me again, I'd be ready.
He wouldn't get a second chance to get the first punch in.
“Let's go there now. I need to find out about these keys.”
She slowed her Miata and asked, “Are you sure? Because this time of day, he'll probably be there.”
“Yeah, I'm sure. Let's get this over with.”
She dropped the Miata into second gear, and we headed toward Chance's condo.
When we were close, she said, “Maybe we should park at the building next door then walk over on the beach side, so his security cams won't pick us up.”
I nodded. “Good idea, that's what we'll do.”
She slowed as we got close to Chance's building. It towered well above the older mom and pop motels in the area. The parking lot was gated, which meant even if we wanted to go in, we couldn't.
Taylor found a spot in the lot next door, and we walked to the beach, trying our best not to look out of place. Everyone else was in swimsuits and toting towels and beach chairs. We were going in empty-handed.
But nobody seemed to care what we were doing. They were too busy trying to find their perfect spot in the sun or, if they already had a spot, were watching the waves while slathering on sunblock.
Taylor led me to the high tide mark at the water's edge, and we followed it north until we came to the beach side of the Portofino. A path leading toward the building had a sign that said, “Private Property. Portofino Guests Only.”
There was no gate on the path, nothing to keep us out, so we followed it to the Portofino parking deck. Before entering, Taylor stopped and pointed out the security cameras. There was one at the parking deck entrance and another at the exit.
She pointed to a bank of elevators. I could see a security camera facing them.
Still standing just outside the parking deck, she pointed to a glass door with a sign above it that said, “Private.”
The door led into a small carpeted room with an elevator door at the back. It looked to be the ground floor foyer for a private elevator.
I asked Taylor, “Is that his, and is the door locked?”
She nodded. “It’s his. But I don’t know about the door. It wasn't locked the last time I was here. But the elevator is. That's where you need to try the keys.
“There's an intercom there you can use to let Chance know he has a visitor. When someone uses it, he can check the security cam. If he approves of the visitor, he can buzz them onto the elevator.
“They probably keep the outside door unlocked so UPS and FedEx can drop off packages. But I don’t know for sure.
“You'll be on his security camera when you get close to that door and then the elevator. Don't act suspicious.”
I almost laughed. How do you not act suspicious when you're on a security camera trying to see if a key you shouldn't have will get you in a door you shouldn't be going through?
I was wearing a ball cap I’d found in Abby’s room that morning and pulled it down tight so that it mostly hid my face. I turned to Taylor and said, “It shouldn't take long for me to get over there and try the key. Wait here until I get back.”
I casually made my way over to the glass door, trying my best not to look suspicious. I walked up to it, opened it and went into the foyer. Once inside, I went over to the elevator, acting like I belonged there.
I looked around, hoping to find a keyhole near the elevator where I could try each of the three keys I'd brought with me. But I didn't see a keyhole. Instead, on the wall next to the elevator were two buttons. One read, “Intercom.” The other read, “Penthouse.”
I pressed the Penthouse button, and the elevator door rolled open. I was surprised I was able to get in without a key. Taylor had said one was needed, but I had gotten in without it.
Looking around inside the elevator, I saw that, instead of a row of buttons with different floor numbers, there was just a keyhole.
Because I wanted to spend the least amount of time in the elevator, I tried the smallest of the three keys.
It went in without any resistance. I knew that even if it went in, it didn't mean it would turn the lock. The only way to find out for sure was to try.
I gently turned the key clockwise, and the elevator doors immediately closed. Within seconds, I was being carried up to the penthouse, where Chance lived.
Chapter Forty-Six
When the elevator doors closed, I quickly turned the key counterclockwise, thinking that would take me back down to the ground floor. But it didn't.
The doors remained closed. The elevator kept going up. There were no other buttons to press: no stop button, no down button, nothing to control the actions of the elevator.
Taylor had said it would take me directly to the private foyer leading to Chance's living room.
If he were home, his security system would probably let him know I was coming. There was no way I could prevent it.
The elevator was taking me to his front door, whether I wanted to go there or not.
If he were home, my showing up unannounced at his doorstep might give him reason to think I was coming after him, to finish the fight. If he felt his life was in danger, he could use deadly force to stop me. Florida's stand your ground law makes it legal.
The elevator took me to the penthouse, and with a whoosh, the doors parted, opening up to a thickly carpeted foyer leading into Chance's home.
He was there, waiting for me; baseball bat in hand.
He slapped the bat against his open hand and asked, “What are you doing here?”
I smiled and came up with a quick answer. I pulled the set of keys out of the elevator, and said, “I'm returning your keys.”
He looked at them, then at me, and asked, “How did you get my keys? Nobody is supposed to have those except for me.”
I nodded. “I know. That's why I'm bringing them back. I figured you wouldn't want anyone else finding them and breaking into your place.”
He slapped the bat against his palm again, and said, “You didn't answer my question. How did you get my keys?”
I smiled before I answered. Then I said, “You left them in the Corvette. Remember? You put them in the console before you went for a drive.”
Again, he shook his head. “They were in the Corvette? I don't remember leaving them there. But it doesn’t matter. What were you doing looking through Chipster's Vette?”
I didn't know who Chipster was, but I figured he was the son of the Vette's owner.
“I was trying to find out who was driving when it crashed into my motorhome.”
I let my answer sink in then said, “Yeah, it was me in the motorhome that you hit. If you hadn't been in such a hurry to run off after the wreck, you wouldn't have forgotten your keys. Since I found them, I'm bringing them back to you.”
He looked surprised then asked, “That was you in the motorhome?”
“Yeah, that was me. The cops said you were doing well over a hundred when you crashed into me. I'm surprised you didn’t get hurt. I wasn’t so lucky.”