The Case of the Dine-and-Dashers

THE CASE OF THE DINE-AND-DASHERS

Featuring the Allen Brothers

By Terry Adcock

Ron Allen backed his sleek Topaz Express, Fish Patrol, into the wide berth at the West Ocean City marina. As he deftly maneuvered the thirty-three-footer, it was impossible to miss the tall blonde waiting at the end of the slip. Her golden hair radiated in the sun, setting off her perfectly tailored pink business suit.

She stood ramrod straight, arms folded across her chest, as she tapped her Gucci heels on the wooden planks. Belinda “Bel” Woods was strikingly beautiful, but the incongruence of seeing her standing among the crab pots, bait buckets, and fishing tackle stacked along the dock offset her beauty. Beside her stood a portly gentleman whose attire was in direct contrast to the well-groomed real estate broker.

Poor Walter. The designer hadn’t been born yet who could make him look presentable. At his best, Walter O’Brien always appeared disheveled. As president of the local restaurant owner’s association, or ROA, he curried favor and exerted his influence among the many resort businesses up and down the coast, but always with an eye to benefit his own interests. He mopped his brow with a sodden handkerchief without effect. His shoulders sagged under the oppressive heat, like he was about to dissolve into a pile of goo.

Ron sighed; his perfect day fishing the deep canyons of the Atlantic had ended. Something momentous must have occurred to compel the two prominent business owners to withstand the blast of the afternoon sun and await his return. He would soon learn the details; that was clear enough, but it could only mean trouble.

“They’re at it again,” Bel said as Ron stepped from the gunwale onto the dock. “The same couple hit three more restaurants between last night and lunchtime today. That’s seven days in a row! What are you going to do about it?”

Taken aback, Ron replied, “Not my problem. Call the police. Let them handle it.”

Walter sputtered with indignation. “The police—yeah, right! They claim they’re too busy to spare a team to trace these dine-and-dashers. You’re the hot-shot ex-cop. We thought you might help. Or is the case too tough for you?”

It was true; Ron had retired from the force two years ago, and since then, he’d been enjoying his well-earned leisure time with an emphasis on fishing as often as possible. If experience taught him anything, it was to avoid over-reacting whenever goaded. He gave Walter a steady look, then turned to address Bel. “Why are you involved?”

“Crime that affects one business sector can have a trickle-down effect on others. If word got out that Ocean City wasn’t safe, it could scare off vacationers and hurt the rental trade as well. Besides, I hate these lowlifes who take advantage of our family-friendly town.”

“Have you ID’d the punks yet? It would help if you had some clear images, a credit card, license plate, or something to go on.”

“We’ve got plenty of security footage from each place they hit,” Walter said. “But they’re real clever about disguising their appearance each time. They use stolen credit cards, even some not yet reported missing. Apparently, after rifling someone’s beach bag, they immediately go on a shopping spree, which includes dining out at our collective expense.”

Walter made it sound as if they had victimized every restaurant in the entire beach resort. To be fair, at the rate the dynamic duo was blitzing the town, it could be true soon enough.

“What does the chief have to say?” Ron asked, referring to his friend, Tom McKelvey, head of the local police department.

“He put me off; said he’d look into it when he had time.” Walter tried a more conciliatory approach. “We could really use your help. How about it, Ron?”

Ron noticed Bel giving him a hard look that spelled trouble if he declined. She was a force to be reckoned with when she was determined.

“Okay, Walter, I’ll drop by later to pick up the security footage, but I expect something in return.”

Walter sighed. “I’m not surprised. How much is this going to cost?”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“Any chance you’d consider working pro bono?”

“You restaurant guys are all the same. You rake in a pile of dough throughout the tourist season, then lounge all winter in the Florida sun while we regular folks stick it out here. No dice, pal. Dig into your Swiss bank account, for once you’ve got to pay the piper.”

Walter shuffled off, muttering something about highway robbery. Ron turned to Bel, who did not look pleased with him.

“I hope you’re going to take this seriously. We need to nip this in the bud. It’s bad for Ocean City’s image, and that’s bad for business.”

“I said I’d help. Don’t get all riled up; it spoils your lovely image. I’ll take it from here.”

Bel’s face softened. “We’re all counting on you.”

“You can be such a bully sometimes, Bel. Now you’ve got me doing Walter’s dirty work. You know he hates me.”

“I prefer strong-willed. Even so, hate is such an unpleasant word, hon. I’m sure Walter doesn’t hate you, just your guts.” Bel laughed at the shocked expression on Ron’s face.

They left the marina and headed for their favorite watering hole, the Brickhouse Sports Bar and Grill, a popular bayside hangout on Coastal Highway, a few blocks south of the Route 90 bridge.

The late-afternoon party was in full swing. Each afternoon, the bar crowd drank a toast to the setting sun, a venerated Brickhouse ritual celebrated throughout the summer. As they approached, they could hear the entire bar crowd singing along with the deck band as they belted out the last strands of Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl.

Brick, owner and bartender extraordinaire, gave them a brief nod as they squeezed into an opening at the bar. The gentle giant was the epitome of efficiency in motion as he built one drink after another with practiced expertise. Showing off for the crowd, he flipped a glass over his shoulder and caught it behind his back. In one fluid motion, he deftly added a scoop of ice, a shot of liquor, and a dash of mixer while keeping up a running chatter with his customers. He did this every day all season long, as methodical as a machine.

He automatically placed two ice-cold National Bohemians in front of them. Even with that booming voice of his, Brick had to shout over the noisy bar crowd. “You got this fishing bum to help after all, huh?” he said, aware of the hot topic among all the restaurant owners.

Ron grinned. “Hey, who are you calling a bum? My brother and I practically finance this place, old friend. Be nice to your regulars.” Ron tipped his bottle in Brick’s direction in salute, then took a big swig of his Natty Boh.

“Speaking of Jon, have you seen him today?” Bel asked as she looked around. At the end of the bar, a rowdy trio of darkly tanned surfers occupied the spot Jon preferred.

While setting up a flight of tequila, Brick said, “He left an hour ago, probably headed home for a nap. Say, Ron, you gotta get that brother of yours moving before he has a heart attack one day. The poor guy’s too sedentary for his own good.”

“I’ve tried, but he’s set in his ways. He likes to mooch around the house when he’s not hanging out here. It’s his choice. I say to each his own.”

Bel piped up. “Why don’t you ask him to help with the investigation? It’ll give him something to do and make him feel useful.”

“He’ll never get off his backside to track down a couple of freeloaders, you know that. This is Jon we’re talking about.”

“Give him a break. He’s still in mourning over losing Sharon. Go on, call him. Make him come out with you and do something besides sit around the house. After all, he’s still your big brother.”

“Older doesn’t necessarily mean bigger,” Ron said as he gave a mock rendition of a bodybuilder by rolling his massive shoulders and flexing biceps as hard as cannonballs.

“For an older guy, you think you’re hot stuff,” said Bel. “I promised Walter and the ROA folks you’d get to the bottom of things. They’re worried the dynamic duo will disappear before we can catch them. So, what’s our plan?”

“Since when did my investigation become our investigation, my lovely one?”

“Since I decided you need a good manager to help you stay on top of things. Otherwise, you’ll end up like your brother moping around and wasting time – like going fishing.”

“Oh, so now I need close supervision. Besides, fishing is the one thing I enjoy most about retirement. Or didn’t you get the memo?”

“Nope, no memo. See what I mean? You’re already behind on your correspondence, but don’t worry, I’m here to help,” Bel said with finality. She drained her beer and signaled for another.

# # # #

It was dark by the time they arrived back at the marina. Bel waved goodbye as she hopped into her sporty BMW and they parted, each headed for their respective homes.

Ron drove north along Coastal Highway at a leisurely pace before coming to a decision. He made a U-turn and picked up Route 50, heading west over the drawbridge toward Ocean Pines, a subdivision across the Assawoman Bay from Ocean City.

If he guessed right, he’d find Jon parked in front of his television watching an old mystery movie or something equally droll. Jon had become so predictable of late. He either hung out at the Brickhouse chugging beers, and generally being morose, else had his head buried in a thriller by one of his preferred British authors or watched reruns of old film noir mysteries. Take your pick.

When they were kids, Ron had tagged Jon with the nickname Sherlock Holmes because of his love for British mysteries. He once made the mistake of calling his older brother Miss Marple. Back then, owing to their relative differences in age and size, it didn’t end well for young Ron.

Those days were long gone, and the physical dominance which Jon once held over his brother had shifted in Ron’s favor. The younger Allen brother was now the undisputed king of the hill.

Bel was right (Bel was always right!). He had to motivate his brother to be more productive with his life. Following Sharon’s untimely demise, Ron encouraged his brother to get involved in new activities, but so far, he’d shown little interest.

Jon never enjoyed crowds or large social events to begin with, even while Sharon was still around, and with no other family responsibilities, he had become a virtual recluse over the past year. Following retirement from the police force where the brothers had served together, they moved to Ocean City to enjoy all that the bustling resort town had to offer. Well, one of them, anyway.

It was time Jon got out of his rut and returned to the mainstream of life.

As Ron pulled into the drive, he observed light from a TV inside the house flicker against the drawn curtains. He was willing to bet Jon hadn’t moved from his recliner since he arrived home.

Ron hammered the brass plate repeatedly with the heavy knocker; the sound echoed throughout the neighborhood. He could hear obscenities directed at him coming from the other side of the door as Jon unlocked the deadbolt.

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Since when does your own brother need an appointment to visit? If I’m not intruding on your busy schedule, I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

“I don’t do favors this late at night. Come back tomorrow.” Jon started to close the door.

“Actually, it’s not me that’s asking. It’s Walter.”

Jon paused, his face screwed up in confusion. “Walter asked you for a favor? No way.”

“He’d never ask unless it involved money. A couple of freeloaders are skipping out on checks all over town. You know what a tightwad he is; Walter’s afraid they may eventually hit one of his joints.”

“And Walter wants you to sort things out? I don’t believe it.”

“He got Bel involved, she tagged me, and now it’s your turn. I want you to help me nail these guys and get Bel off my back. She won’t let me rest otherwise.”

“If Bel’s on your case, then you have a problem. I was about to settle down for the night, but come on in.”

Ron sat on the sofa opposite Jon’s recliner. He grabbed the remote and lowered the volume of the TV, and then quickly sketched out the details of the problem Bel and Walter had described earlier. Jon’s eyes glazed over, but Ron carried on with his pitch.

“I’ve got a hunch the dine-and-dashers will skip town soon. If they hang around too much longer, they’d only press their luck.”

“I care about this because . . .?”

“We’re in a good spot at the moment. Old Walter and his ROA pals want us to run the dine-and-dashers out of town. And if we do, I’m confident they’ll want to show their appreciation.”

“And here’s me thinking my investigative days were behind me.”

“Once a cop, always a cop; it’s in the blood. C’mon, it’ll be fun, you and me together again, just like the old days.”

“I thought I’d retired from the ‘old days.’ By the way, you see the flaw in your logic, don’t you?” Jon shook his head sadly.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s say we stop these small-time crooks, does that entitle us to mooch off the entire ROA? Doesn’t that make us just as bad as the people ripping them off in the first place?”

“Well, if you’re going to point out the obvious. Instead of a fee, I thought we’d get Walter to compensate us in kind for our diligent work. Here I am trying to cut you in for a slice of the pie, and you go all logical on me.”

“If Walter and the gang want to be grateful, I’d prefer hard cash instead. Any chance of that happening?”

“Ah ha! I knew I could appeal to the mercenary in you!”

“I still cannot believe Walter wants us involved. Only last week he accused you of grandstanding after Buster published that blurb in the paper about you recovering those stolen landscaping tools. Besides, you know he hates both of us.”

“Hate is such an unpleasant word, or so I’m told. Are you in or out, bro?”

“Yeah, I’ll help, but only so I can watch Walter squirm when we pull this off. I want to wipe that smug, superior look off his face once and for all.”

“I promise there’ll be lots of face-wiping, handwringing, and gnashing of teeth by the time we’re finished with Walter O’Brien.”

Before the brothers parted, they agreed to meet the following afternoon at the Brickhouse to compare notes. To get started, Ron planned to visit each restaurant victimized by the dashing duo while Jon conducted an online search for evidence of similar incidents in recent months.

With a solid plan in mind, the Allen brothers were back in business together.

# # # #

The next morning, Ron dropped by the Skipjack Saloon and Crab House, which Walter used as his primary office, one of a half dozen establishments he owned.

“Heard anything new about our dynamic duo?” Ron asked. Not waiting for an invitation, he sat down in the faux leather chair opposite Walter.

“Thankfully, no. Perhaps they’ve already moved on, and this turns out to be a fruitless exercise after all.”

“You wish. Gimme the surveillance footage, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Walter handed over a thumb-drive. “I merged surveillance footage from each restaurant into one file. The thieves were clever about skipping out when the staff got distracted. And always at the height of the rush, whether breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”

“No worries. We’ll soon get onto them.” Ron stood to leave.

“Uh, about your fee . . .” Walter began hesitantly.

“That reminds me,” Ron said, and sat back down. “I know you’ll appreciate this. You’re getting two Allen brothers for the price of one.”

Walter looked shocked. “Jon’s involved? For goodness sake, he might hurt himself! When’s the last time you let him out on his own?”

“Relax, he’ll be okay. Besides, how much trouble can he get into?”

“Why is Jon suddenly interested in our local crime wave?”

“He’s not, but he’s been missing in action for too long. It’s time he rejoined the real world, so I asked him to lend a hand.”

“What does this mean? In terms of costs, that is?” Walter asked, anticipating the deep gouge.

“Here’s the deal, Walter, old friend. If we’re successful, Jon and I expect you and the good folks at the ROA to show an appropriate level of . . . gratitude. And if you’re fair to us, we’ll be glad to assist you again when the need arises. But first, let’s see how this gig works out.”

Ron exited the office, leaving Walter to consider his offer. Walter looked neither pleased nor displeased with the open-ended arrangement, although he would surely try to minimize any reward that may be forthcoming. After all, “skinflint” was his middle name.

Ron checked for oncoming traffic before turning right onto Coastal Highway. The smattering of restaurants where the duo struck stretched from the north end of Ocean City down to the inlet. He decided on an orderly approach, beginning with the farthest point and working his way southward.

His first stop was the Pirate’s Lost Gold. The waterfront restaurant was across the canal from Fenwick Island near Lighthouse Cove. A popular restaurant and night spot with beach goers, the Pirate boasted great seafood and a friendly atmosphere. Diners relaxed under colorful umbrellas to watch boats and jet skis traveling up and down the waterway. Boaters often tied up dockside and came ashore for a brief spell to enjoy the cozy ambiance of the Tiki Bar.

Ron strolled through the restaurant in search of the manager, Maritza Avilla. They’d become good friends in the relatively brief time since Ron retired to the Eastern shore. Her establishment was one of more than a dozen victimized by the dine-and-dash dynamic duo (and wasn’t that an alliterative mouthful!).

“Hello, Ron. I was hoping you’d stop by. Care for some coffee?” Maritza came up behind him from the kitchen. She had tied her raven hair back, leaving long, loose tendrils framing a sensuous, expressive face.

“Hello, you,” Ron said, as they embraced. “Nothing for me, thanks. Walter gave me the security footage, but I haven’t reviewed it. I was hoping you may have spotted something unique about the couple who ripped you off.”

“To be fair, although I was on duty that day, I didn’t see them. We were quite busy, as you can imagine.”

“When did you learn they’d skipped out?”

“Brad, their server, alerted me. Several of us ran out to the parking lot, but they’d already disappeared. They were quick about it.”

“How much did they sting you for?”

“Let’s see, they had lunch plus several drinks, which came to a little over eighty bucks.”

“Whoa! If they do this a couple times a day all week long, it adds up,” Ron observed.

“It’s not that unusual. Every so often, someone will duck out on a check; it’s a business hazard. However, this couple has elevated it to an art form.”

“How so?”

“It’s one thing to rip off a place and get away with it, but to do it over and over within the same locale takes a lot of brass. I mean, restaurants keep each other informed when things like this happen, yet this couple continues to hit one place after another along the entire stretch of Coastal Highway. It’s like they’re taunting us.”

Ron looked serious. “We’ll catch them, don’t you worry.”

Suddenly, Maritza got a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. “Come over tonight, and I’ll cook dinner for you. You can tell me all about how you intend to stop these guys. I don’t have another thing planned for the entire evening.” She batted her eyelashes at him in an exaggerated manner, mocking him to take her up on the offer.

“Thanks, but I, uh, just got started on the case, and I’ve got lots of places to follow up. You know how it is, Maritza.”

“I promise to be gentle.” She laughed at his obvious nervousness, but the look she gave him was an outright challenge.

“Another time, perhaps?”

“You big chicken. I’ll catch you next time, handsome. You can count on it.”

With that, Ron made a hasty exit. Wasn’t it Oscar Wilde who said he could resist anything except temptation?

At least Ron was honest with himself enough to realize if he were alone with Maritza, he’d likely capitulate to her charms in a heartbeat. The voluptuous vixen was more than a handful for any man!

Maritza enjoyed provoking reactions; she was unabashed and outspoken like that, but it was not the first time she’d propositioned him. His mind drifted toward lurid thoughts, which he quickly dispelled when recurring images of Bel made him feel curiously guilty.

He was not blind to the fact that similar offers had become more frequent and just as scandalous, and not exclusive to just those two sources. Was there something in the local water inciting these amorous advances, or was it vanity on his part and his inflated ego was getting the better of him? Or worse, was he subconsciously encouraging these advances? He could dwell on that later. Right now, he had places to go and people to see.

Referring to the list Walter provided, Ron continued to work his way south toward the inlet, where he met with owners and managers of several more establishments. The statements given by the staff at each location were a repetition of previous ones describing how the duo disappeared, leaving the restaurant stuck with the unpaid check.

One curious detail emerged from the interviews about how the couple disguised their appearance each time. Obviously, a change of clothes was called for, but beyond that, the woman was especially adept at not only changing her hairstyle, but the coloring as well. At times she appeared as an attractive blonde sun-goddess, other times a dark-haired beauty, while still others she presented a plain Jane look complete with streaks of gray hair and dowdy attire.

Her companion was just as resourceful. The young man alternated between colorful Hawaiian prints or t-shirts depicting various logos ranging from surf shops to hot rods or heavy metal bands, and always with a variety of hats and dark shades.

They were careful to avoid drawing undue attention to themselves, like requesting special changes to menu items or engaging their server in conversation beyond routine chitchat. They conducted themselves as run-of-the-mill tourists out for a meal.

Although their appearance varied, one recurring trait emerged, as observed by several servers that Ron interviewed. After lingering over drinks, the couple would get around to ordering their entrée. However, about halfway through the meal, they invariably went into their disappearing act. The woman would excuse herself and head for the lady’s room while her accomplice either ordered something else, like another drink, or signaled for the bill. With the server’s attention diverted elsewhere, they blended in with the fluctuating crowd and exited the restaurant.

As strategies go, it was not brilliant by any means, but it was effective in its execution, not to mention frequency. Ron was eager to turn over the surveillance file to his brother to get a fix on how this couple operated, but it was a fair bet on each occasion they carried out their plan with precision, right down to synchronizing their departure.

In general, Ron detested all crime, but this hackneyed trickery was particularly irritating. For him, the dine-and-dash couple represented every opportunistic, second-rate crook he’d ever busted throughout his long and distinguished career. It would be a pleasure to put a stop to their cheap charade.

# # # #

It was mid-afternoon when Ron arrived at the Brickhouse Sports Bar. Ensconced in his usual place, Jon sat at one end of the bar with a clear view of the bay. He had notes spread out before him. Brick was busy rinsing glasses, but roared out an enthusiastic greeting as Ron strolled in.

“What are you working on?” Ron inquired.

“I may have found a link to our notorious gang of two. Look at this.” Jon shoved a folded sheet of paper in Ron’s direction.

Ron read through the concise notes detailing the exploits of a young couple on a crime spree in the New Jersey area, where they ripped off restaurants in a manner similar to the couple now operating in Ocean City.

“The police are on the lookout for two people, Ethan Stone and Meg Myers, both in their early twenties. They’re listed as ‘persons of interest,’” Jon said.

“I see from your notes they were never arrested. Why not?”

“Lack of evidence. However, the M.O.’s an exact match. It’s got to be the same couple.”

“I believe you’re right, bro. Nice work. That didn’t take long at all.”

“I like to think of it as years of dogged experience brought to bear.”

Without asking, Brick automatically set a Natty Boh in front of Ron and replaced Jon’s empty Corona with another. “Your brother’s already got a lead on our crooks.”

“Yeah, it looks like it. Jon’s an expert at research. I’ll give him that.”

“It’s easy when you know what to look for. The thing is, we still don’t know what names they’re using, or where they’re staying.”

Brick said, “I doubt they’d use their real names. So, it’s a matter of someone recognizing them or catching in the act, don’t you think?”

“We’ll put the word out to every restaurant and bar in Ocean City if necessary. They’ll make a mistake eventually, and then we’ll nab ‘em.” Ron took a big swallow of ice-cold beer.

“Hard at work, I see.”

The three turned in unison as Bel approached the bar.

“It’s lunchtime,” Ron said defensively. “I’ve been up and down this town all morning.”

“Relax, I was just kidding. Find out anything useful?”

“Jon discovered a couple operating in New Jersey using a similar M.O. We’re pretty sure it’s the same pair we’re searching for.”

“Fantastic! So, I can tell Walter you’ll have them rounded up by dinnertime? If I were you, I’d set up a sting operation before Walter blows his top. In case you haven’t heard, they struck again.”

A chorus of “No’s” rang out.

“Who did they hit this time?” Jon asked.

“Little Salvo’s Pizza on the boardwalk. Just like before, the old dine-and-dash routine. Walter’s fit to be tied. He threatened to call the mayor to complain that Chief McKelvey is not doing enough to help, but he’s embarrassed because he jumped the gun and got you two ‘amateurs’ involved. His words, not mine.”

“The little weasel. He doesn’t want to piss off the chief,” Ron said, taking another swig.

“He’s already pissed off the chief!” A loud voice came from the entrance. Chief Tom McKelvey marched into the bar in full uniform and sat down next to Bel.

“Gimme a beer, Brick.”

“Are you sure, chief? I mean . . . seeing how you’re in uniform and all?”

“To hell with that. Gimme a beer.” Chief McKelvey swiveled his barstool to face the others. “Walter’s been bleating to the mayor all morning, so then I got an earful. I’m supposed to, and I quote, personally oversee the investigation, unquote.” McKelvey took a long pull and then set the bottle down with such force, a spray of beer erupted like a foamy volcano.

“Take it easy, Tom.” Ron started to speak, but McKelvey cut him off.

“I don’t appreciate being lectured on how to do my job. And I can’t stand Walter’s constant whining. Never mind all that, bring me up to speed on what you’ve got so far.”

“Jon’s got a possible identification on the pair; Ethan Stone and Meg Myers,” Ron said. “We can put out the word to all the hotels and rental agencies in town. Who knows, we may get lucky.”

Bel said, “Also, Walter provided security footage from all the restaurants that were hit, except for today’s incident, of course.”

“I’ll review the footage when I get home,” Jon said. “Hopefully, they made a mistake or left a clue that will help nail them.”

“Meantime, you need to relax a little. I’m confident we’ll find something to get the mayor off your back.” Ron clapped a hand on McKelvey’s shoulder to reassure him.

“It’s not like we don’t have enough on our plate with normal tourist traffic. Now these two come along and make fools of all of us.”

The group commiserated over their beers for a short while, then Jon spoke up. “I wonder if these two have some kind of master plan in mind for their dine-and-dash routine.”

“What do you mean” McKelvey asked.

“Either they’re either working from a predetermined list or taking advantage of totally random opportunities.”

“It’s a thought,” said Ron. “But I don’t see how that helps narrow down the field.”

Bel said, “Perhaps they alternate from one end of town to the other to keep everyone guessing where they’ll strike next?”

“It’s possible.” Jon mulled over the list of restaurants. “Perhaps we’re overlooking an obvious method to their madness. I’ll plot the dates and times of each location to see if there’s a pattern.”

“I’ve got a team spot checking the area; a show of force might deter further incidents, anything to get the mayor and Walter off my back.” McKelvey drained his beer, tossed a couple of bills on the bar, and left. Although still angry, he was a man on a mission.

Jon said, “I’ll be at home on the computer. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Everyone’s got somewhere to go. Where are you off to?” asked Bel.

“Back on the streets interviewing witnesses. Wish me luck.” With that, Ron also exited the Brickhouse.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, kid,” said Brick.

“I’d love to stay, but I’m leaving, too. I’ve got an idea I want to check out.”

“Be careful, Bel. Remember, wherever you go, always be aware of your surroundings. Maybe you should wait for Ron?”

“I can take care of myself. I’m not sitting around while everyone else is on the hunt. See you later.”

It was time to tap her extensive contacts to see what she could shake loose. Bel slung her purse over her shoulder and left Brick to tidy up after their impromptu meeting.

# # # #

The sun reflected off the sparkling ocean, and hordes of people staked out their turf with blankets and umbrellas up and down the crowded beaches of Ocean City. Almost everyone seemed to have one of those big-wheeled beach carts loaded with every conceivable item one could need for a day at the beach.

Moms and kids raced ahead to find a spot near the water while dads schlepped their heavy burdens, like pack animals, across the hot sand. Watchful lifeguards monitored their charges as vacationers enjoyed surfing the breakers on their boogie-boards, swimming, or wave jumping.

Bel expertly navigated her sporty convertible through the heavy beach traffic as she headed south toward the inlet. Turning left at 26th Street, then left again, she doubled back on Baltimore Avenue before arriving at the offices of the Ocean City Times, one of several independently owned local newspapers.

As usual, Buster Thompson was at his desk, painstakingly typing out a story one hen-pecked letter at a time. The bi-weekly paper was a small operation that he ran practically single-handedly along with contributions from a handful of free-lance writers. You could always count on Buster to keep his ear to the ground and know what’s going on around town. He was a bit of a busybody, but trading on information was how he made his living.

“Hello, Bel. What brings you to my humble shop?”

“Hey, Buster. Sorry to barge in like this. Question for you: Have you heard about a couple of hustlers skipping out on their dinner checks recently? They’ve created quite a stir over the past week.”

“Someone mentioned it to me, yes. Not content to get away with it once or twice, I heard their antics have turned into a full-scale operation. Got any hot tips for me?”

“Jon discovered a couple using the same M.O. working in the Jersey resort area. It may be the same couple now ripping off restaurants in Ocean City.”

“Do you know their names?”

“Jon said the police in Atlantic City are still looking for a young man going by the name of Ethan Stone, and his girlfriend, Meg Myers.”

“Thanks for that. Anything else?”

“Only that Walter’s ready to split his pants over the whole situation. I talked Ron Allen into looking into things. He even got his brother to help if you can believe that!”

“Ron’s a good man. He’ll get to the bottom of things, but how in the world did he get Jon involved? Jon should be careful; he could over-exert himself.”

“That’s funny; everyone keeps saying that. Do you have any information that might help?”

“Nothing on my end, but I’ll keep my ears open. Is it true Walter got McKelvey into hot water with the mayor? I’ll bet that stirred up a hornet’s nest!” he said with a laugh.

Just then,s the metal flap on the letter slot screeched opened and slammed shut, causing them both to jump. Someone shoved a yellow envelope through the slot that fell to the floor.

Buster went over to retrieve the letter. “It’s too early for the regular mail.”

Buster quickly opened the door and stuck his head out, looking up and down the sidewalk. Stepping back inside, he shut the door. “I didn’t see anyone except a jogger. I wonder who it’s from?”

“There’s only one way to find out. Open it up!” Bel urged.

Buster tore open the flap and pulled out a sheet of paper folded in half. The sender had pasted words and letters cut from a glossy magazine to the page. It was a crude, but effective method to avoid identifying the sender, reminiscent of a poison pen letter from an old Agatha Christie novel where the blackmailer communicated their demands anonymously.

Buster read aloud, “’The stage is set; the time is right. Hot times in the old town tonight. Free treats, and lots to eat!’ Now, isn’t that cute? Nursery rhymes, no less.”

“Of all the nerve! It’s gotta be from that Jersey couple. Talk about rubbing your nose in it,” Bel said with indignation.

“Why drop off the letter here? Why not send it to the mayor? Or Walter? After all, he’s the head of the ROA and the best person to needle, if that was their intention.”

“I suspect they want notoriety. And what better way to taunt the police than by getting the media involved?”

“It’s one thing to report the news, but it’s quite another to be part of it. I don’t want to get dragged into the middle of all this.”

Bel took the letter from Buster and reread the note. She turned it over, but there was nothing on the back. “I’ve got an idea. Could you publish a brief article to put the word out about these dine-and-dashers? Mention them by name and that they’re wanted for questioning.”

“The new edition goes to print tonight, but I believe I can squeeze in one more item.”

“Good. I’ll let the others know. We need to turn up the heat on this pair. Do you mind if I take this with me?” Bel asked, the letter still in hand.

“Go ahead. I’m interested to know what Ron makes of it.”

Bel headed back to her office to alert the team. There was a lot of real estate business to catch up on as well; lately, she’d been neglecting her duties.

# # # #

Jon worked his way through the security footage, carefully piecing together how the dynamic duo operated. There must be a pattern to their shenanigans.

After staring at the computer screen for several hours, he was about to give up and close the file when a small detail caught his attention, something he’d overlooked in all the times he had played and replayed the video. He paused on a particular frame and enlarged the image to get a better look.

And then he spotted it.

Jon zeroed in on an image of the capricious couple seated along the back wall of a seafood restaurant they recently victimized. As they prepared to leave, Meg Myers turned in her chair and swung her shapely legs out from under the table. Jon zoomed in on the frame to its maximum capacity, but the image became too distorted. As he reduced the size, it came back into focus. The enlargement revealed a small blue dolphin tattooed on the inside of her left ankle.

Gotcha!

Cops loved tattoos. It virtually eliminated all doubt when witness statements or surveillance video matched perpetrators to their skin art. Jon now had proof that put the crooks at the scene of this particular crime.

The difficulty remained in locating and apprehending the young lady now that she’d been positively identified her. But it was a good start!

# # # #

It was late afternoon when the local commercial fishing fleet returned to port and anchored near the West Ocean City marina. Ron had just finished interviewing the staff at the Blue Parrot Saloon. After visiting all the restaurants on his list, he didn’t learn any new details about the dynamic duo that he didn’t already know.

Like magicians, they appeared for a moment, then vanished without a trace. Depending on your point of view, that was both the beauty and the travesty of how Stone and Myers operated. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the way they merged with the crowd of vacationers coming and going all day long, thus making it doubly hard to pin them down.

His cell phone chirped at him. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the number. “Hey, chief. How’s it going?”

“My guys are drawing a blank. You’d think that with all the manpower and technology available to us, we could get a fix on this pair, but it ain’t happening,” McKelvey snapped off.

“I know what you mean.”

“The mayor’s been riding my tail again. And then Buster called to warn me he’s running an article tomorrow. Bel put him up to it.”

“I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t know. Is that going to cause problems for you?”

The silence lingered for a moment. “I don’t welcome the extra publicity, but I can’t seem to get a handle on these two. Who knows, it might help.”

“I’m in the same boat as you. I wasted an entire day with nothing to show for it.”

“Speaking of boats, when are you going out again?”

“Why, are you in need of a little R&R? I never need an excuse; I go whenever I’m in the mood.”

“How about getting in the mood tomorrow morning? I could use a break from all the hysteria created by these dine-and-dashers.”

“I promise you, a few hours of fishing the canyons will clear your head. Works for me every time. Don’t be late; the Fish Patrol leaves at six.”

“Thanks, old buddy!”

# # # #

At Bel’s request, Buster inserted a brief blurb about the dine-and-dashers in time for the next day’s edition. Buster reviewed the last-minute article with a critical eye.

Each summer brings new challenges to resort visitors and businesses alike along Maryland’s Eastern Shores, and this summer is no different. A pair of thieves have been running up tabs all over town and then disappearing, leaving several restaurants stuck with a slew of unpaid bills.

The New Jersey state police listed a couple as persons-of-interest involved in several “dine-and-dash” incidents in their area, a crime which carries a maximum fine of $5000 and up to a year in jail. The police now believe the alleged culprits are operating in Ocean City and wish to interview Ethan Stone and Meg Myers about the thefts.

Assisting the police in searching for the “dynamic duo” are former police officers, Ron and Jon Allen, now retired and living in the area. Walter O’Brien, president of the local Restaurant Owners Association, called on the veteran detectives to investigate when several businesses reported a string of thefts.

The Allen brothers often meet at the Brickhouse Sports Bar and Grill, the perfect setting to relax and strategize on apprehending the pair now targeting our area. Stand by for updates as the private investigators and local law enforcement intensify their search for the dine-and-dashers. If anyone has any information about this couple, please notify the police.

That should put Mr. Stone and Ms. Myers on notice. Satisfied, Buster turned his attention to gathering background material from last year’s world-famous White Marlin fishing tournament to prepare for the kickoff of this year’s event beginning next month.

# # # #

The Brickhouse nearly overflowed with the lunch crowd when Bel arrived. She found Jon in his usual place at the end of the bar. “I haven’t heard from Ron all morning. Do you know where I can find him?” she asked.

“Nope. I haven’t seen or heard from him either. What’s up?” Jon asked.

“I got word someone ripped off a woman’s wallet at one of the Simply Sea-sational beach supply stores. Security cameras caught a woman lifting a wallet from the open-top satchel of one shopper. It’s the same woman, Meg Myers, only this time she was working alone.”

“Have you tried calling Ron’s cell phone?”

“Yes, but it goes straight to voice-mail.”

“If he stops in, I’ll have him call you right away, alright?”

“Did you see Buster’s article?”

“Yep. What’s the idea? Are you trying to lure them out?”

“I just want these crooks to know people are watching. Whether they’re arrested or decide to move on, it makes little different to me as long as they’re no longer operating in our town.”

“We shall see,” Jon said.

Bel left Jon to his daily ritual. On a whim, she drove by the marina in case Ron decided to work on his boat. When she arrived, the berth was vacant.

Brick was correct, Unsupervised, Ron could turn into a fishing bum alright. But she’d soon put a stop to that errant behavior. How dare he sneak off to go fishing when they were in the middle of an important investigation. Just wait until she caught up with him. She’d give him a piece of her mind!

# # # #

Blissfully unaware of the storm that awaited them upon their return, the two friends enjoyed a day of bonding and relaxation. Ron navigated to a point about ninety miles offshore along the Baltimore Canyon. He set the throttle, and they slowly trolled the calm waters.

They hadn’t been in position very long when McKelvey hooked into a yellowfin tuna. It was a hard-fought contest between fish and angler, but at last McKelvey reeled in the nearly eighty-pound tuna.

The day wore on, but they got very few bites. As it neared time to return to port, and as luck would have it, they both snagged a couple of bull mahi and golden tilefish. It was the perfect end to a day on the water, but now, sadly, they had to face reality.

As they pulled into the marina, Ron had a sense of déjà vu all over again when he spotted Bel standing at the end of the pier.

“Uh oh, I sense trouble,” McKelvey said as he stored away the fishing gear.

“Don’t I know it. What now, I wonder?”

Ron swung the boat around and backed into the slip with practiced ease while McKelvey deployed fenders and secured the bow and stern lines.

Time to confront the wrath of hurricane Belinda!

# # # #

With the boat now secured, Bel invited McKelvey to join them at the Brickhouse. He shied off, claiming a dinner date with his wife. With that, he got into his SUV and sped away from the marina.

Ron turned to Bel and said, “That sounds like a good idea. Let’s grab something to eat.”

“Lovely, but the boys are waiting for us. Jon found something interesting.”

“Then let’s have dinner at Brick’s. I’ll call ahead.”

When they arrived, they found Jon and Buster enjoying buffalo wings and beers as Brick presided over his domain.

“C’mon. We’re having a proper meal tonight,” Ron announced. “No pub grub for a change.”

“Did Bel bring you up to speed on the latest?” Buster inquired.

“You could say I’ve been well-briefed.” Ron still smarted from the chewing out Bel gave him for wasting an entire day fishing with McKelvey. It wasn’t like he had to punch a time clock, but she made him feel like a truant from high school.

“Look at this,” Jon said, and swiveled his laptop around so Ron could get a good view. Ron leaned forward to get a close-up of the surveillance clip.

At the appropriate spot, Jon paused the video and pointed to the lower part of the screen revealing Meg Myers’ tattooed ankle. “We’ve got the goods. Now all we have to do is locate her.”

Ron replayed the video several more times as if to memorize the young woman and her distinctive identifying mark.

“No doubt about it. Once she’s located, she’s done for. And so is her accomplice. We can place the two of them at each of the restaurants they’ve hit in the past couple of weeks. Nice going, bro. You did it again.”

After settling their bar tab, the hostess led the foursome to a table on the back deck overlooking the Assawoman Bay. They watched as vacationers enjoyed a variety of water sports, including fishing, jet skiing, and parasailing. The view of the sun as it began its descent was spectacular.

They ordered drinks all round and spent several minutes perusing the menu. The Brickhouse offered the usual mixture of ‘comfort food’ options, but also specialized in fresh seafood dishes.

Jon was the first to speak as they huddled up to discuss their next moves. “I mapped out each restaurant targeted by our notorious couple, but unfortunately, there was no discernable pattern. The time of day and locations appear random, almost as if they’re operating on the spur of the moment.”

“A dead end. How disappointing,” Buster said.

“Crimes of opportunity; it’s not all that unusual,” Ron observed. “It makes sense. They can’t control every variable at a busy restaurant, so they wait for the right opportunity.”

“So, what do we do now?” Bel asked. She closed the menu and set it beside her plate. The broiled crab cakes sounded appetizing to her. She took a sip of her chilled Chardonnay.

“It’s impossible to cover every restaurant in town, hoping they walk into a prearranged trap. What are the chances they’d pick the one place where we set up a sting?” Jon finished his Corona and set the empty bottle aside.

Ron said, “Since they’re hitting restaurants at random, all we can do is hope someone recognizes them and calls it in.”

“That’s not good enough. We could wait forever for the right circumstances,” Bel said with a flash of impatience.

“Let’s not get wrapped around the axle over this,” Jon said. “We’ll figure it out, although for once nothing comes to mind.”

“Let’s just relax tonight and we’ll start again tomorrow,” Ron said as the server approached their table.

Bel ordered the broiled crab cakes, and the others followed suit. They raised their glasses and toasted to a quick resolution to the puzzling case.

# # # #

The next day, prior to opening time, Bel entered the Brickhouse in a rush. Ron and Jon arrived earlier in response to Bel’s call for an urgent meeting.

“What’s this all about?” Jon asked, as Bel slid onto a barstool next to him.

“There’s been a fresh development. Buster received another letter this morning. He’s on his way here now.”

Soon Buster came barreling into the bar, gripping the letter in his hand; his face flushed with excitement. “They’re at it again!”

Buster slapped the letter down on the bar. Just like the first letter, the sender cut the words from a magazine and pasted onto the sheet of paper. “You’re not going to like this.”

Ron picked it up and read aloud: “What fun watching the infamous detectives cry in their beers. I’d cry, too, if the perps I was searching for walked past me and I failed to notice. LOL. It’s doubtful the Allen brothers could catch a cold! By the way, how were the crab cakes? Allow us to help drown your sorrows. The next time, the beers are on us. We’ll see you soon!”

Ron dropped the letter on the bar and snorted. “When I get my hands on those two . . .”

“Relax, bro. We’ll catch them. It never fails, whenever criminals get cocky, they make mistakes. Just wait and see,” Jon said.

Ron was less sanguine than his brother. “They’ve avoided detection up to now. I don’t know how they’re getting away with it, but they’ve certainly got the luck of the Irish on their side.”

Bel held up a finger. “I’ve got an idea. Buster, I want you to publish another short blurb about the dynamic duo, only this time take a swipe at Ron and Jon. Make it sound like they’re totally stumped. I want the dynamic duo to feel like they’ve won; like they’re too clever for the local boys. Think you can arrange that?”

“Not a problem.” Buster turned to Ron and Jon. “What do you guys think?”

Ron said, “I see where you’re going with this, Bel. It’s like Jon said: if they get cocky, they could make mistakes. It’s worth a try.”

“I agree.” Turning to Brick, Jon said, “Meantime, let’s have a look at your surveillance system. We’re going to need a wide range of coverage.”

Brick said, “If they dare to show their faces, it’s all over but the crying.”

Each drained their beer. A cacophony of bottles hit the bar with a loud bang!

Time to go to work.

# # # #

The next morning, the bi-weekly edition of the Ocean City Times was on the stands all over town. Page three carried the short blurb Bel suggested.

Once again, the Allen brothers failed to apprehend the alleged “dine-and-dash” culprits. What are the brothers waiting for? Are they stumped or simply past their prime? Meantime, the alleged perps, Stone and Myers, continue to rack up a lopsided, but impressive win-loss record against the Allen brothers and the police as well.

Have the Allen brothers abdicated their responsibilities or are they hard at work on a clever but obscure plan of action? Whatever their strategy, they appear to be in no hurry to resolve the case that has frustrated local restauranteurs as they continue to warm the barstools of their favorite hangout, the Brickhouse. A solution may be imminent, but highly doubtful.

# # # #

By the time Ron, Bel, Buster, and Jon arrived at the Brickhouse, the party was in full swing. McKelvey and another officer had already been on duty for several hours, monitoring the surveillance cameras from Brick’s back office. Several other officers in plainclothes blended into the bar crowd to cover the exits.

Had they correctly anticipated their quarry’s reaction to the news article? It was a long-shot, but it remained to be seen whether the dynamic duo took the bait. Waiting was the worst part. It was like trolling the deep waters hoping for a strike but also knowing they could come away empty-handed.

It was almost too much to hope that Stone and Myers would show their faces at the Brickhouse so soon after their first visit. But as Ron had said, it was worth a try.

The foursome settled in to watch Brick showing off as he kept up a running chatter while entertaining his thirsty regulars. The music was loud, the enthusiastic crowd at the bar was noisy, and the liquor flowed. Wouldn’t it be ironic if they ended up half-drunk while waiting for the dynamic duo to appear? That would only add insult to injury. The gang made an effort to pace themselves.

Suddenly, Ron’s cell phone chirped. He checked his text messages. “It’s McKelvey. He spotted the girl with the dolphin tattoo. At least he’s pretty sure it’s her. She’s on the back deck, but her boyfriend’s nowhere to be seen.”

“Don’t be in a hurry,” Jon cautioned. “I’m sure he’s close by. He’d never abandon her.”

“Where did they come from?” Buster asked incredulously. “How did they get past all those watchers?”

Jon said admiringly, “Damn, but they’re good. Totally reckless, but bold as brass.”

Ron snorted at that. “They’re not bold. If you ask me, they’re irresponsible fools.”

Bel glanced over her shoulder. “I see Meg Myers. She looks nervous.”

“I would be, too, if I were them. What do they expect to gain by taking risks like this?” Ron shook his head in wonder.

“I told you, when crooks get cocky, they make mistakes. Just sit back and let it play out,” Jon advised.

Ron’s cell phone buzzed once again. “Ethan Stone just joined his girlfriend.”

The gang cast furtive glances toward the back deck. With their heads bent close together, the couple appeared to be arguing. Suddenly, Meg stood up.

As they prepared to leave, a swarm of officers surrounded their table. McKelvey pushed through the crowd to confront the culprits as the entire bar came to a standstill to watch the drama unfold.

Shocked by the overwhelming police presence, Stone soon recovered that cocky attitude of his. “This is quite embarrassing. It appears you were expecting us. You must be Chief McKelvey.”

“We meet at last. At first, I thought you two were ghosts until I saw you in action on the surveillance videos,” McKelvey said, a satisfied grin spread across his face.

“C’mon, chief, admit it. I’ll bet you admired our style. We were in and out of so many places, it felt like we’d become invisible. Tell me, what gave us away?” the young man asked.

Standing next to McKelvey, Ron extended his arm, pointing downward. Addressing Meg Myers, he said, “You should have covered your tattoo.”

The couple glanced down and then back at each other. Meg said, “To be honest, I forgot all about it. After a couple of years, who notices tattoos anymore?”

Jon spoke up. “I’m curious. Why did you hang around? Why didn’t you get out while you had the chance? You risked it all, and in the end, you got caught anyway.”

Arrogant to the last, Stone said, “After the first seven or eight times, it got easier and easier. It was obvious the local cops weren’t up to the challenge. Especially after they called in a couple of used up retirees.”

Ron lunged toward the young thief, but McKelvey blocked his path. “Don’t bother with these two. They’ll have a long time to reflect on their poor choices.”

McKelvey turned and barked orders to his team. “Take them away. I want everything by the book, men, strictly by the book!”

Looking pleased, McKelvey joined the others at the bar.

“Congratulations, chief,” Buster said. “Nice take down. In the next edition, I’ll see that you get all the credit you deserve.”

Ron held his hands out, palms up. “Hey, what about us? What are we, chopped liver?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a nice write-up as well. Good enough to make old Walter choke at the thought of having to pay up. This I can’t wait to see!” Buster headed for the exit, eager to return to his office to inform his adoring public of the arrests.

Brick set a row of drinks on the bar. “Nice work everyone. This round is on the house. You, too, chief. That is, if you’re off duty now. It’s celebration time!”

Ron offered a toast to their success, and they downed their cold beers. A cheer erupted from the bar crowd, and the party was on!

Struggling to be heard over the noise, Bel said, “I still can’t believe they came back a second time. They had to know we were watching.”

“That’s human nature for you,” Jon observed. “Fatally flawed to the bitter end.”

Ron drained his beer and set the empty bottle on the bar. “I believe it was their monumental egos that got the better of them. They convinced themselves they were invincible and tempted fate once too often.”

“At least now the mayor and Walter will get off my back. I can return to my regular duties.” McKelvey glanced at his watch and then polished off his beer. “See you later. I’ve got a ton of paperwork to catch up on.”

As McKelvey exited the bar, he passed Walter O’Brien, who came rushing in, waving his arms and looking flustered. “Is it true? I heard the police finally rounded up that vicious gang of dine-and-dashers. No thanks to you two, I’m sure. I should have called in the police to begin with and let the professionals handle the problem.”

“Man up, Walter, it’s time to pay the piper.” Jon said. “You can’t wriggle off the hook this time. We’ll drop by tomorrow to talk a little business.”

Ron spoke up. “And don’t worry, as a friend of mine recently said, we’ll be gentle. You can count on it.” Ron tilted his head back and roared with laughter.

Red-faced, Walter hurried from the Brickhouse, grumbling all the way to his car. How had he allowed himself to get talked into hiring the Allen brothers in the first place? It must have been a moment of weakness. He’d never live this down.

Ron and Jon clinked their beer bottles together. Ron said, “Here’s to you, Jon. Thanks for coming through in a pinch. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“It’s good to be back in action. Cheers, bro.” Jon took a long pull of his beer.

Bel leaned in close and whispered a private word into Ron’s ear. “I believe we make a great team, don’t you? I want you to think about this: ‘Woods and Allen Brothers, Private Investigators.’ It’s got a nice ring to it. Between the three of us, we could clean up this town. What do you say, hon?”

Ron gave her a wide, toothy grin. “So, you think you deserve top billing, do you? I’ll tell you what, meet me early tomorrow morning and we’ll have a nice long chat about it. By the way, the Fish Patrol leaves at six. Don’t be late.”

THE END

Terry Adcock © 2022

Author Notes: Thank you for taking time to read my story. Any comments or suggestions for improvement will be gratefully received.

Recommend Write a ReviewReport