The Surfside Caper Read Online Free PDF Page A

reservation about two weeks ago. That came a few days later.”
    I picked up the second note. He said, “That one was waiting when I got here yesterday.” It read: “Get smart and take your business somewhere else.”
    I picked up the third note. It was more blunt than the other two: “Check out, Dolphin, or be checked out the hard way.”
    I said, “When did you get this one?” I pushed the notes back at him.
    “This morning,” he said. “It was in my box. In a plain envelope. All three came that way. Two in my box here; the first one at my apartment in town.”
    I said, “With your own name on them?”
    He glowered into his glass. “All three had the name I used to make my reservation here. Jonathan Dorffmann. Spelled right too,” he added. “Two
f’s and two n’s.”
    I thought that those two
f’s
in the name showed a nice touch of imagination. I said, “Who could know you were using that name?”
    “Nobody,” he said. “I made it up. That’s why I wanted you.”
    I said, “Why pick on me to protect you? You can hire a dozen oldtime hoods for a job like that.”
    He said sourly, “Can you see an oldtime hood getting to stay in a joint like this? I’m in a bind, Flynn. If I could hire any of the old bunch, I would. But I’m legit, like I said. So I got to work through guys like you. I don’t like that, but I haven’t got any choice. So I’m paying five grand if you keep the punk that wrote those notes off my back.”
    I said, “No, I won’t take the job. I can’t work on your terms.”
    “I haven’t made any terms,” he yelled.
    I said, “You haven’t leveled with me either. You wouldn’t come to a place like this without a good reason. And you aren’t about to tell me that reason. That means I have to work blind. On those terms the answer is no.”
    I picked up the wad of bills and got to my feet. I tossed the money into his lap. “It’s no deal.”
    My turning him down was a good maneuver. It should have got him to open up to me. But his face said he was remembering the other time we tangled, and remembering that I had won.
    He just got up and left.
    • • •
    The crackers and the rye hadn’t hurt my appetite. Neither had Dolphin. I headed through the living room to get some dinner. I got as far as the foot of the porch when I was stopped.
    A man who looked like a high-paid croupier and another one who might have been a jockey were coming up the path. They might have passed for guests, or for visiting tourists come to gape. But not to me. I could see cop written all over the croupier type.
    I said, “The name is Flynn and this is Cottage Eleven. Come in and loosen your uniform buttons.”
    The croupier looked hurt. He was wearing expensive gray flannel. He didn’t seem to think I should recognize him as the law. He said sulkily, “I’m Colton, Lieutenant, Rio Pollo Police Department.” He stepped back slightly. “This is Mr. Milo Craybaugh.”
    He had won that round. I stood and gaped at Craybaugh’s small wiry hand. Then I came unkinked and shook it. I said, “Who was the joker in the truck then?”
    Milo Craybaugh was about thirty-five. He had grown just enough to fit comfortably into Jacob Dolphin’s pocket. It was a surprise when he opened his mouth and talked in basso. He said, “That was an employee of mine, a man named Samuels. He took the truck without authorization.”
    I turned and led them inside. I turned on a few lights. I took an easy chair. They sat on the divan. Colton leaned back and crossed his legs. He was very careful with the crease in his flannels. He got a notebook out of his pocket.
    He said formally, as if Surfside guests had to be handled carefully, “I’d like your version of what happened, Mr. Flynn.”
    I gave him my version. I told it as it happened, but with minor changes. I didn’t think either Colton or Craybaugh would be interested in the trap I’d set for the driver on that last curve.
    Colton made scribbles in his notebook. He