The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) (15 page)

But something about Mantilla bothered Boff. On the surfac
e, he seemed like a pretty decent guy. He had helped Rafael defect and gotten him a promoter and a trainer. When he’d been asked to look into Judge Morant, he’d offered to do so without hesitation. He was also apparently there for Gina when she needed a shoulder to cry on, as her numerous calls to him seemed to indicate. So, Boff asked himself, what’s not to like? Maybe it was the cynic in him that felt something was just off about the guy. He’d learned over the years to be wary of people who seemed too good to be true.

To get a better read on Mantilla, he called a lawyer friend who worked a lot of cases in the Kings County Courthouse, which was near the restaurant. Dave Galloway’s secretary told him the lawyer had a case before a jury today at
Kings Count
y.
Boff headed for the courthouse.

Entering the courtroom, Boff selected a bench near the back and waited. From what he could gather after listening to the prosecutor grilling a witness,
Galloway’s client was accused of selling body parts from cadavers he had obtained illegally from a Brooklyn funeral home.

When the judge called a recess for the day, Boff went down the aisle and waited by the defense table while
Galloway talked to his client. Galloway was a stocky, mahogany-complexioned man about thirty pounds over his playing weight. He and Boff had been teammates on the Kean College basketball team.

Seeing Boff,
Galloway broke into a smile. “Hey, man! I heard you moved back to the Bronx. I’m still waiting for your call.”

“I know, Dave. I’m sorry. With all the moving and taking care of my clients, I’ve been busy as hell.”

“You up for a beer?”

Boff didn’t normally drink during the day, but he made an exception for his old teammate.
Galloway took him to an Irish pub nearby, and after taking a seat at the bar, ordered a pint of Guinness for himself and a mug of Bud Light for Boff.

“Sounds like you’ve got a ghoulish client, Dave.”

“Yeah. Primo scuzzball. The assistant DA is alleging my client worked a deal with a funeral home owner to sell body parts. He’s accused of carving up bodies without families’ permission or medical tests and sometimes selling diseased organs for implants and other procedures.”

“Are you going to win the case?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. The assistant DA is young, ambitious, and a bit overeager. He rushed this case to court and left enough holes in it for me drive through for a slam dunk.”

“You sound like you have some remorse,” Boff said. “That’s out of character.”

“Frank, I don’t mind defending people who kill other people. That’s been going on since the beginning of time. But desecrating the dead just seems especially vile.”

“Be careful. You might be developing a conscience.”

Galloway shrugged. “Maybe I always had one. I guess in the past I was always able to shove my conscience aside and lose myself in the challenge of winning a case. But since my wife had our twins, it’s becoming harder to move from this world to my family’s world. Does it ever bother you like that?”

“Not yet. Anyway, what I wanted to ask you is have you eaten at a restaurant near this courthouse called Giancarlo’s.”

“Sure. Everybody who works this court goes there.”

“Ever meet the owner, Alberto Mantilla?”

Galloway took another sip from his foamy mug before answering. “Let’s just say I’ve had some dealings with him.”

“Did you
hear any scuttlebutt about him that goes against the grain of his squeaky clean image?”

Galloway
glanced around before speaking. “I once had a client who was involved in a fist fight with Mantilla in the bar at Giancarlo’s. Mantilla suffered a broken nose and got an ugly cut over his right eye, which required cosmetic surgery. The cops couldn’t pin down who’d started the thing, so they cited them both for breach of peace and left it at that.  Mantilla then sued my client for medical expenses and punitive damages. I didn’t like our chances in court because Mantilla had a solid reputation as a good guy and my client had a history of violence. So before we went to court, I hired your pal, Pete Wallachi, to investigate Mantilla to see if he had any skeletons in his closet.”

“And did he?”

The lawyer nodded. “Pete dug up some pretty interesting stuff. When I confronted Mantilla with what Pete had found out, he dropped the suit. Guess he didn’t want his dirty linen aired.”

“What kind of things?”

“I’ve forgotten most of it, but the guy got into all kinds of trouble when he was younger. He was apparently one nasty kid. Pete can tell you more. Who’re you defending, by the way?”

“I’m not. My wife has me on a third straight mission for truth, justice, and the American way.”

Galloway looked amused. “You’d better be careful, Frank, or the next thing you know, you’ll be taking a job with the D.A.’s office.”

“I’d work as a janitor before I’d stoop that low.”

Boff met private investigator Pete Wallachi at the Nathan’s Famous on
Myrtle Avenue in Williamsburg. Wallachi had grown up in Coney Island, where the first Nathan’s was opened in nineteen-sixteen, and had a soft spot for their dogs. They each ordered three with sauerkraut, plus crinkle cut fries topped with cheese and bacon. Although Wallachi was a fitness freak, Nathan’s was the one bad habit he had never been able to break. 

“How’s business?” Boff asked.

“Hired my eighth investigator today. An ex-Fibbie. Normally I’d never even look at a fed, but this guy had a good reputation in cybercrime. I need someone in that area because I get a lot of business from corporations worried about being ripped off. With hackers like your friend Billy, I don’t blame them.”

Boff had first met Wallachi when they were part of a team hired by the owner of a securities firm accused of fraud. They had worked well together and dug up enough holes in the prosecutor’s case to win an acquittal.

“I brought Mantilla’s file,” Wallachi said. Quickly finishing the dog he was working on, he wiped his hands on a paper napkin and pulled a thick folder out of his briefcase.

“This is a copy,” he said. “Shred it when you’re done.”

Seeing the size of the file, Boff raised his eyebrows. “That’s a pretty hefty file, Pete. Can you give me the CliffsNotes version now? I’ll read this later.”

“Sure. But I’m curious about something. Aren’t you the guy who defends killers? Not hunts them down?”

“My wife’s been forcing me to do pro bono work. Finding Oquendo’s killer is part of her latest attempt to reform me.”

Wallachi smiled. “Man, I never thought I’d live to see the day that Frank Boff did pro bono work.”

“Neither did I.”

“Okay, here’s what I have. Alberto
and his family got out of Cuba on a fishing boat and settled in Miami. His father had been a financier in Havana and did well enough in Miami to eventually open his own bank. The father wanted Alberto to follow in his footsteps, so he enrolled him at an elite prep school. But it turned out Alberto wasn’t quite as industrious as his old man. Fact is, he was a fuckup. After the kid got bounced out of school for cheating on exams, daddy put him into another elite school. This time, Alberto got booted for being caught with two prozies in his dorm room.”

“Paid for with daddy’s allowance.”

Wallachi nodded. “By now, daddy was more than a little disgusted. So he decided to put the kid in a tough military school that still practiced corporal punishment. This time, when Alberto stole money from his roommate, they didn’t throw him out. A couple of upperclassmen from the football team were sent to visit him in the middle of the night. After they kicked the crap out of him, the kid saw the light, settled down, got decent grades, and graduated. It seemed like he was back on track.”

“I’m guessing there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“Yup. The kid’s grades were not good enough to get into an Ivy League school, so the father made a big endowment to a small private college with a highly-regarded finance program. Away from the harsh discipline of the military school, it didn’t take long before Alberto reverted to his old ways.”

Wallachi picked up another hot dog, squeezed a heavy dose o
f mustard on top, and started on it while he continued his narrative.

“
The college had a nice wooded campus a few miles from a small city in a northern state that had fallen on hard times. Mantilla spent more time partying at bars in town than in the classroom. He met a lot of pretty townies in those bars. The girls were out of work and hurting for cash. This is where Alberto’s financial genes finally kicked in, although not in a way his father would’ve hoped for. Alberto talked three of the best-looking townies into being part of a prozie ring he started on campus. The cash-strapped girls were only too glad to take half of the fee he charged. One-fifty an hour.”

Boff whistled as he speared a cheese fry with a two-pronged fork. “Sounds a little steep for college students.”

“Normally, yeah. But most of these kids came from money. They could afford it. The students who didn’t have rich parents couldn’t handle the fee, so Alberto, out of the goodness of his heart, offered them a group rate. Two guys could share one girl at two hundred an hour.”

“Still sounds a bit steep.”

“Not to mention creepy. After one of his girls experienced rough treatment from a student, Alberto hired the hockey team’s goalie to be his muscle. Everything went smoothly for a while. Alberto was able to sock away some good money. But, as usual, trouble finally found its way to his doorstep. One of the girls got pregnant.”

“Oops.”

“Yeah, oops. The girl’s parents went ballistic. They demanded she tell them who the father was. When she said she didn’t know, they pressed her harder. Finally she broke down and told them about what she’d been doing at the college.”

“I imagine this didn’t end well for Alberto.”

“Correct. The girl’s father went to the cops, who arranged a sting with the campus police. Alberto pleaded out, got probation and a stiff fine and was booted out of school. Which was only the beginning of his problems. The tabloids jumped all over the story: student from a respected banking family runs a prozie ring on an elite college campus. His hometown
Miami Herald
saw it on their AP wire and played the scandal for all it was worth. Which I’m sure embarrassed his father in the Cuban community. The long and short of it was daddy washed his hands of the kid and cut off a trust fund he had set up for him.”

Boff started his third dog. “How’d he wind up on his feet here?” he asked.

“After getting kicked out of college, Alberto went to live with a friend in New York, where he waited tables for a few years. And hung out at clubs. At one of the clubs he met and bedded down an older gal who owned a boutique advertising agency. Alberto moved in with her. For a couple years he handled the firm’s finances.” Wallachi smiled. “I’m sure you can guess what comes next.”

“But….”

“And once again it was woman trouble. While living with the older gal, Alberto started an affair with a stripper from Scores. The advertising lady eventually got suspicious and hired a private investigator, who gave her proof that Alberto was cheating.”

“So she tossed him out on his ass,” Boff said.

“Correct again. Now this is where background info on Alberto gets fuzzy. He seemed to disappear for several months, and then he turned up in Brooklyn as manager of Giancarlo’s Restaurant. Without any prior experience in the field, I might add.”

Boff put his dog down. “Manager? I thought he owned the joint.”

“No way,” Wallachi said. “Alberto didn’t have remotely enough cash to buy it. He just runs it.”

“Did you find out who the owner really is? My guess would be some woman who has the hots for him.”

Wallachi shook his head. “That’s where I ran into a wall. All I dug up was that the restaurant was owned by a shell corporation. Whoever set it up knew their stuff.”

Boff grinned. “You should’ve asked Billy for help.”

“In hindsight, yeah. But I guess my ego was too big in those days to go that route. Anyway, Alberto didn’t want what I’d dug up getting out—especially in a restaurant where many of his patrons were judges, lawyers, and cops.”

“So he dropped the suit.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Boff laughed. “Me? I would’ve never gotten into a fix like that in the first place. I’m much too smart.”

Wallachi nodded and finished his last dog.

After polishing off his own last dog, Boff wiped his hands with a napkin, grabbed the file, and stood up. “You’ve been a big help, Pete. I’ll show the file to Billy and see what he can add to it.”

“If Billy finds out anything more about the owner, let me know, okay? I’m curious.”

“Will do. So how’s your new wife? What’s this, the third or the fourth? I lose track.”

“Third. She’s the best of the lot, too. Cooks great food. Never complains about anything. And lets me do what I want in bed.”

“Sounds like you found your perfect mate. Only one better would be a sexy android.”