Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 41, No. 4, October 1977

Painter was about to retort when Lieutenant Thomas Elfmont came into the office. He was just six feet tall, with the body of a trained athlete, prepossessing, direct, with dark eyes that seemed to be looking straight through whomever he was talking to.

Shayne and Elfmont shook hands. Elfmont’s face was grave.

“You’re on the case, Mike?”

“Yep. Quite a ripoff.”

“We know.”

“I need your help, Tommy.”

“I need yours,” Elfmont said. “I’m interested in a far more important matter. Becky has been kidnapped. We just got this note.”

Shayne read the note — ‘Get off the case, Elfmont, or Becky goes into the drink. About three miles into the Atlantic.’

Shayne whistled silently. “When did they grab her?”

“About an hour ago in a shopping center.”

“Where was that dog of yours — what the hell’s his name — Bruiser?”

“Locked up in the car. He tried to tear out of there but they took off with her. He couldn’t get out. All the doors to the car were locked.” Elfmont shook his head. “A bad move on Becky’s part. She should have left a window open at least.”

Shayne shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tommy. What now?”

“Let me give it to you straight. I don’t care about the diamonds. And I don’t care about the murder of that salesman. I want to find Becky first. Do I make myself clear, Mike?”

“Perfectly, Tommy. Count me in. All the way.”

“Good. We get Becky back, and I’ll work with you on the rest. You may know I’ve been working on the Johnny Roselli murder. Our information is that there are going to be a lot more killings, some of them right here on the Beach. A couple more wipe-outs and we’ll have the Tourist Bureau, the Hotel Associations, and the Merchants’ Associations on our necks. Now, you got any ideas, Mike?”

“One. If what the note says is true, it means they have Becky on a boat. Our first move should be to check the various marinas, in Miami Beach and Miami, Fort Lauderdale, the works.”

“That’s a helluva job, Mike. The two of us could never do it.”

“I’ll put out some feelers. You got any contacts in the marinas?”

“A few.”

“Thomas,” Chief Painter said, “if you like, I can assign Sergeant Patterson and Detective Wilson to you for a short time. Two weeks?”

“That’s fine, Chief. You do that and we’ll talk to them.”

“You just work with Lieutenant Elfmont, Shayne,” Chief Painter, shaking a finger at the redhead, said. “He’s in charge. Understand?”

“Short of killing myself, Chief,” Shayne replied.

II

Outside Chief Painter’s office, Shayne said, “I think it best we work alone. I’ll see what I can dig up, and you see what you can come up with. I’ll call you, or you can call me, about six this evening. Try my office first. If I’m out, try my apartment. I’m in the book.”

Shayne went to a phone booth and called the Miami News, asked for Tim Rourke. He gave him a rundown on the situation.

“Wow! Do I get an exclusive on this, Mike?”

“Don’t you always?”

“Not always — but okay. What do you want from me?”

“I want to know if you have any information about a hood in town who owns a boat and where it may be moored.”

There was a long silence. Impatiently, Shayne said, “Tim?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Rourke replied. “I was thinking. First of all, the mob knows that Lieutenant Elfmont is investigating the Roselli killing, and that he’s coming close. Let me run it down for you.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“The word came down from New York, from the Big Guy who took over since Carlo Gambino died. A lot of the soldiers, and a few on the inside, were about to start singing a la Abe Reles. Murder, Incorporated, remember?”

“Yeah, I know the whole bit. Go on.”

“Don’t be so damned impatient. There’s a lot to this. When they knocked off Sam Giancanna in Chicago, that was the beginning. Next, Johnny Roselli. Street talk was that the CIA may have been behind the two killings to stop Giancanna and Roselli from talking about the Castro assassination deal. Big flopperoo. Rumors. Nothing behind them.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep. Now, the only Don in this town who owns a boat is Dom Colletti. Dom takes his orders from New York and Chicago. The boys there call him and tell him to bark. He barks. They tell him to jump and he says, ‘How high.’ That’s it.”

“So?”

“Mike, for Pete’s sake, have you lost all your marbles? The Council, the Grand Council of the Mafia, ordered Giancanna killed. And then, Roselli. Both were scheduled to testify. Roselli already had testified before the Committee investigating crime.

“Senatorial, Mike. The big guns, also wanted to delve into the CIA, and just how much the bureau was involved in assassination plots.”

“Nope. Let’s keep it local. Dom Colletti.”

“He could be the man behind the Roselli assassination, and so behind the snatch of Lieutenant Elfmont’s wife.”

“What’s the name of his boat and where is it moored?”

“The Angelina, named after his daughter. Colletti’s wife died about two years ago. It may be moored at the Marina, alongside Pier sixty-six, Seventeenth Street Causeway.”