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Summary
Summary
Everyone out of the water!
Serge A. Storms is back! The one-man crime spree hits no speed bumps as he swings through Tampa, Disney World, and parts south before settling down in Miami Beach to team up with a former sidekick and launch his long-overdue offbeat travel service.
It's a labor of love as Serge forces customers to confront the underbelly of the Sunshine State's past and present. Some clients get it; others run for their lives. No matter. Bullets fly, cars crash, bodies pile up, fireballs reach into the sky, local lore is recited. The tour continues.
But wait! There's more!
Our overachieving antihero has a full to-do list, and he multitasks during the tourist juggernaut to battle the Palermo crime family, mystery assassins, local police, the FBI, the CIA, Fidel Castro, and telemarketers.
Whew! That's plenty! . . . No, it's not!Serge is also out to solve a forty-year-old mystery involving the infamous "Murph the Surf" gem heist. Could this be what got his grand-father killed? So we jump into the time machine to meet his eccentric granddad, Sergio, who is running a small-time bookie operation in 1964 Miami Beach, a golden time and place popu-lated by the Beatles, Cassius Clay, James Bond, Jackie Gleason, and Flipper. . . .
Back to live action! Serge and his customers have become the hunted, hopscotching through a series of famous hotel rooms. But Serge tells them not to worry. He has a master plan, which is about to unfold in all of its insane glory . . . on Cadillac Beach!
Author Notes
Tim Dorsey was born in Indiana in 1961. He received a B.S. in transportation from Auburn University in 1983. From 1983 to 1987, he was a police and courts reporter for The Alabama Journal. He joined The Tampa Tribune in 1987 as a general assignment reporter. He also worked as a political reporter in the Tribune's Tallahassee bureau and a copy desk editor. From 1994 to 1999, he was the Tribune's night metro editor. He left the paper in August 1999 to become a full time writer. He is the author of the Serge Storms series.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Certifiable nutcase Serge Storms and Lenny, his spacey marijuana-addicted sidekick, are back again in Dorsey's sixth screwball crime-spree novel (after The Stingray Shuffle), this time on the trail of a stash of missing gems. As the novel begins, Serge escapes from Chattahoochee, Florida's state psychiatric hospital, and heads for Miami, obsessed with the idea of clearing up the mystery surrounding his grandfather's alleged suicide, which is tied to the legendary dozen diamonds still missing after Murph the Surf's infamous 1964 jewel heist from the Museum of Natural History. Serge's ambitious crusade gets off to an ill-omened start when he awakens the interest of both the mob and the Feds after getting into a graveside altercation with Tony Marsicano, the mob boss who was alone at the deathbed of Rico Spagliosi, a deceased fence reputed to have a part in the jewel heist. In a typical display of off-the-wall buffoonery, Serge starts a specialty Miami tour service, and his first booking is a group of drunken salesmen who, out to play a practical joke on a colleague, mistakenly kidnap Tony, with dire results. Sporadically moving back and forth between time present and nostalgic flashbacks to Miami Beach in the 1960s, the novel chronicles the methodical murders of Serge's grandfather's old cronies as Serge tracks his grandfather's movements at the time of the infamous gem heist and the return of the most famous of the stolen stones. Studded with psychosocial observations and dopey gags, this latest episode of Florida's hottest helter-skelter, hallucinogenic freak show will delight legions of Dorsey fans. Agent, Nat Sobel. 5-city author tour. (Feb. 3) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
Serge Storms, the history-loving, letter-writing, offbeat, possibly certifiable serial killer, returns in Dorsey's delicious sixth novel. The adventure begins, briefly, in 1964, then switches to 2004, then 1996, and then, a little bit later, to the present, then 1963, then 1918, then--well, you get the idea. What's it about? That's harder to follow than the time frame, but try this: Serge's grandfather died 40 years ago, possibly suicide, possibly murder. The man was a bit of a blowhard, though Serge prefers to think of him as a storyteller, and others have described him as crazy. Dear ol' Granddad may, or may not, have been involved in a notorious jewel heist. And Serge, while perpetrating various scams and running afoul of various questionable individuals, wants to know how his grandpa died. Dorsey's novels are slapstick comedies, grand adventures featuring vastly larger-than-life heroes and villains, wacky plots, and plenty of laughs. Recommend this one to fans of Donald E. Westlake and Carl Hiaasen. --David Pitt Copyright 2003 Booklist
Kirkus Review
Just because South Florida trivia aficionado Serge A. Storms is crazy doesn't mean he's stupid, as Dorsey demonstrated in The Stingray Shuffle (2003) and wallops home once more. Back in the swingin' '60s, when South Beach was still low-rent housing and the Fountainbleu in the full flower of its glory, Serge's grandpa Sergio got a hold of a dozen of the diamonds heisted by Murph the Surf from the Museum of Natural History. Now Serge is out to recover the ice and prove that granddad's subsequent suicide was actually murder. He recruits Lenny Lippowicz, who between tokes drives a limo for Serge & Lenny's South Florida Experience, a tour that showcases the side of Miami nobody's seen--or wanted to. But when four customers, Brad, Keith, Rusty, and Doug, make an unscheduled stop at the airport to play a prank on fellow conventioneer Dave and mistakenly shoot mobster Tony Mariscano, the hunters become the hunted. Joined by City and Country, two hot chicks last glimpsed in Hammerhead Ranch Motel (2000), and New York sportscaster Mick Dafoe, whom Serge kidnapped in hope of bagging someone to ransom back to the mob, the growing entourage runs from the Mafia and after the diamonds, meanwhile making all the South Florida Experience's scheduled stops. Serge's uncharacteristically sharp focus takes some of the edge off as Dorsey's freewheeling style, still gloriously manic, is compressed into a mere two dimensions. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
After Florida Roadkill: Serge heads to Miami to discover why his bookie grandfather died-and trips over some missing diamonds. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
Cadillac Beach A Novel Chapter One Tampa -- 1996 A bearded man in rags stood on the side of a busy noon intersection, holding up a cardboard sign: will be your psychic friend for food. A Volvo rolled up. The bum leaned to the window. "People are out to get you. Vaccinations will be rendered obsolete in coming years by superaggressive bacteria. Your memory will start playing tricks. Tackle those feelings of hopelessness by giving up." The driver handed over a dollar. Serge stuffed the bill in his pocket and waved as the car pulled away. "Have a nice day!" The traffic light cycled again; an Infiniti pulled up. "Today is the day to seize opportunities and act on long-term goals. But not for you. The House of Capricorn is in regression, which means the water signs are ambiguous at best. Meanwhile, Libra is rising and out to fuck you stupid. Stay home and watch lots of TV." A dollar came through the window. "Peace, brother." The light ran through its colors. Serge knocked on the window of a Mitsubishi. The glass opened an inch. "Put off making that crucial life-decision today because you'll be wrong. Stop and notice the small things in life, like pollen. Wear something silly and give in to that whimsical urge to kick people in the crotch." A dollar came through the window slit. Serge waved cheerfully as tires squealed. Next: a cigar-chomping man in an Isuzu. Serge bent down. "The word 'smegma' will come up today at an awkward moment. Begin keeping a journal; write down all your thoughts so you can see how stupid they are. Don't be rash! Blue works for you!" "Hey, what kind of a reading is that?" "Top-of-the-line," said Serge, holding out his hand. "Where's my money?" "I'm not paying you." "Come on, ya cheapskate!" "That was a lousy reading!" "Okay, let's see what else I got." Serge placed the back of his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "Wait, I'm getting a strong signal now. A transient will take down your license plate, track your address through the Department of Motor Vehicles, come to your house at night and kill you in your sleep." Serge opened his eyes and smiled. "How was that?" The silent driver held out a dollar. "Oh, no," said Serge," that was my special five-dollar prediction." The man didn't move. "No problem," said Serge, pulling a notepad from his pocket. "I'll just jot down your plate and come by later to get the money." The man pulled a five from his wallet, threw it out the window and sped off. Serge picked up the bill, kissed it and waved. He looked around and smiled at his chosen surroundings: drive-through liquor stores, robbery stakeout signs, bus benches advertising twelve-step programs, billboards for deserted dog tracks and talentless morning radio. A sooty diesel cloud floated by. Ah, the great outdoors! Serge turned and headed away from the street. Back to the swamp. It was a small swamp, but it was his swamp, nestled in the quarter-loop of a freeway interchange in the part of Tampa where I-275 dumps Busch Gardens visitors off for thrifty motels and breakfast buffets and encounters with local residents that make the Kumba inverting three-G roller coaster look like a teeter-totter. Serge pushed back brambles and shuffled through underbrush until he popped into a clearing at a hobo camp. Smudge-faced men tended a small fire in the middle of the cardboard boomtown, empty quart bottles randomly strewn everywhere, except on the southeast quadrant, where bottles formed strict geometric crop patterns in Serge's "quart-bottle garden." Serge sat down at the fire. The other guys scooted closer to him. Serge began handing out money. "How do you make so much?" asked Toledo Tom. "Why do you just give it away to us?" asked Saratoga Sam. "Why don't you have a nickname?" asked Night Train O'Donnell. "I'm a simple man, with simple needs," said Serge. "I'm on an Eastern ascetic journey right now, trying to shed material wants." "How did you get to be homeless?" asked Whooping Cough Willie. "Oh, I'm not homeless," said Serge. "I'm camping." They laughed and passed a bottle. "No, really. I love camping, ever since I was a kid. I used to go to the state parks, but cities are much more dangerous and fun." "But your beard ...?" "Your smelly clothes ...?" "Begging on street corners ...?" "That's for the cops. If you're a fugitive and want the police to leave you alone -- if you want everyone to leave you alone -- go homeless-style. No eye contact, nothing. It's like being invisible. Even if you get in some kind of scrape, you're too much trouble to be worth the paperwork. They just tell you to move along or drive you to the city limits, not even fingerprints." "You're hiding from the cops?" asked Tom. "Ever since I escaped from Chattahoochee." "You escaped from Chattahoochee?" Sam said with alarm. "A few times." "Isn't that where they keep the crazy people?" asked Willie. "Oh, like you guys are a group photo of solid mental health," said Serge. "What were you in for?" asked Tom. "I killed a bunch of vagrants." They began crab-walking backward from Serge. "That was a joke! I was kidding! Jesus!" They slid forward. "Of course, how do you really know when someone from Chattahoochee is kidding?" They stood up. "I was kidding that time," said Serge. They sat back down. "But do you really know for sure?" They took off running in crooked directions. "Guys! It was a joke! I thought if anyone could appreciate irony ... !" Serge stood and made a megaphone with his hands ... Cadillac Beach A Novel . Copyright © by Tim Dorsey. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Cadillac Beach: A Novel by Tim Dorsey All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
