The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) (28 page)

Before going to see Bruno, Boff went to Wright’s place. After he told the information broker what he was planning to do, all Wright could do was shake his head. “Frank, you’re way out there with this. Would it matter if I said you shouldn’t be doing this?”

“Not a chance. Now bring up the
New York Post
website for me. I want to see something.”

Wright found the site and clicked on it.

“Go to Page Six.”

As Wright brought up the
Post
’s gossip/scoop page, Boff leaned toward the screen and pointed to an article. “Click on this one. Then print it out for me.”

After reading the item, Wright looked up at Boff and made a face. “You do know that if this backfires, you could wind up in the
East River.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Wright handed the printout to Boff, who folded it, slipped into a pocket, and left the shop.

As he was driving to Benvenuti’s home, he called Damiano. “Go to the
Post
website,” he told her. “Read Page Six. I think you’ll be pleased. I told you I’d take care of you.”

What’d you do?

“Just read it.”

When Boff was shown into Benvenuti’s den by one of his men, he found the mob boss sitting in an easy chair, drinking red wine, and watching a Yankees’ game on his big flat screen TV.

“Siddown, Frank.” Boff sat on an easy chair near the mobster, who said, “The Yanks look very deep and focused this year. Do you follow baseball?”

Boff shook his head. “I couldn’t name three players on that team. On the rare occasion that I read the tabloids, the only thing I look at is the crime section.”

Grabbing an empty glass from a coffee table, Benvenuti filled it with wine from a Fiore’s label-free bottle, handed it to his guest, then clicked glasses with him.

“
Salude!
”

After taking a sip, he set his glass down, hit the mute button on the game, and turned his attention to Boff. “So, Frank, what can I do for you?”

“You said to come to you first if I found out Emilio was involved in the escort service.”

Benvenuti frowned. “And here you are. I gather he is.”

“Yes. I spoke with him earlier today. He said he had nothing to do with the murders. That was all Alicia.”

“How the hell did my son get himself mixed up with that
nutcase?”

“They were lovers. Technically, they still are—or at least were until today. But when Alicia found out Emilio was involved with another woman, she went into a rage.”

“How do you know?”

“I was there when she did it. Here. Listen to this.” Taking out his recorder, Boff hit play.

“I’ll kill that cheating bastard! I’ll rip his nuts off!”

“Careful now
. I don’t think you want to be saying something like that, considering who Emilio’s father is.”

“
You know what? I don’t give a shit about his fat-ass father. Bruno’s over the hill.

At that point, Boff quickly clicked the recording off. “There’s more, Bruno, but there’s no need to play it.”

Benvenuti’s jaw muscles were twitching. “Lemme hear it all.”

When I was dating that old fart a couple years ago, he couldn’t even get it up. I had to suck him until my lips were raw before his pencil dick stood up straight. Then he’d cum so fast I barely could work up a sweat.
The mobster’s eyes grew dark. He balled up one of his fists so hard the knuckles turned white. “Do you think she’s capable of trying to hit Emilio?”

Boff nodded. “Yes, I do. I believe she’s
already
had six people killed, including her own brother. And there’s something else you should know. While I was in her office, two investigators for the D.A. delivered an envelope to her.”

He pulled the folded
Post
printout out of his pocket, carefully unfolded it, and handed it to Benvenuti. The mob boss read it out loud:

“Whispering in the wind: Alicia Celina, the beautiful and sexy owner of the popular Italian restaurant Giancarlo’s is going to be called into the D.A.’s office tomorrow for questioning. And it won’t be about those shapely legs she’s always flashing at the bar. We’re told the D.A., working on information supplied by detective Vic Damiano of the 77
th
, wants to talk to her about an elite escort service and several murders that might be connected to it.” Grimacing, he looked up at Boff. “How deep is Emilio involved in this service?”

“There’s no paper tying him to it. He bought in using the two hundred grand you loaned him. Everything he made is in an off-shore account under another name.”

“So…Alicia is the only one who knows he’s involved besides you.”

Well, there were a couple more, but I don’t think they’re going to be ratting Emilio out. They’re dead.”

Benvenuti looked away for a minute as he apparently considered the ramifications of what he’d just heard and read. Then he turned back to Boff. “Do you know how much of a case they have against her?”

“It’s circumstantial, Bruno. But there’re an awful lot of dots. It wouldn’t take much digging around on the D.A.’s part to connect those dots and get an indictment.” Boff set his glass down on the coffee table and leaned closer. “Bruno, I’ve done everything I can to protect Emilio. But if they flip Alicia, she might finger him for the murders. That’s what my main concern is. And I’m also worried that if they indict Emilio for murder and running an escort service, they might—”

“—automatically assume I was involved too. Then they’ll tap my phones, do a full-court press on my businesses, and try to slap a RICO on me.” The mobster paused to take another hit on his wine. “And if there’s no money coming in, my own people will turn on me.”

With a sigh, he turned off the Yankee game. Then he walked over to the window and stood there, staring out in silence for several minutes. Boff just sat quietly. When Benvenuti turned around, his face was set hard, his eyes cold.

“Frank, can you make a copy of that recording and messenger it to me?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks for coming by. I’ll walk you out.”

At the front door, he hugged Boff. “Frank, my friend, I’ll take care of this.”

Boff didn’t need to ask what Bruno was going to do. He already knew. He left the house with a bounce in his step.

At the end of another grueling morning session at the gym, Cullen grabbed a clean towel and walked over to where Boff was leaning against his favorite wall.

“What’ve you been up to?” the boxer asked as he toweled off. “I leave messages on your cell, you don’t return my calls.”

“That’s because I have now entered a phase of my operation that could be very dangerous. I don’t want to put you or Mikey at risk.”

“So what exactly did you do?”

“Set justice in motion.”

“Your kind? Or the court’s?”

“Get Mikey. We’ll take a ride, and I’ll fill you in.”

Boff drove to the
Brooklyn Museum, where he parked in a garage. He didn’t say anything beyond small talk until the three of them were seated in the pavilion. “Guys—”

“Before you begin,” Cullen said, “I wanted to mention I saw Dina again. We went to the Met. I mean, it wasn’t like a real date. Just sorta strictly as friends.”

“Well,” Boff said, “put that friendship on hold. You have to stop seeing Dina for awhile.”

Cullen frowned. “Why?”

“Anybody associated with the escort service could be in for trouble because of what I’ve done.”

“You put Dina at risk?”

“Not necessarily. But I want you to tell her she needs to quit right away.”

“Again, why?”

“The service is going down.”

And then he laid it all out for them, including what he had set in motion with Bruno for Alicia. When he was done, Bellucci blew out a sigh. “Man, even for you,” he said, “that’s cold.”

“Six people. Mikey, six people have been murdered. Now
that’s
cold.”

Cullen said, “I guess I don’t have to ask why you didn’t let the D.A. handle it.”

Boff hardly smiled. “You know how little respect I have for the justice system.”

“I’m also betting,” Cullen continued, “that even if you thought the D.A. could get a conviction, you’d prefer to do it this way.”

To which Boff did not reply.

“So now what?” Cullen persisted. “So we wait?”

“Yup.”

“And when it goes down, this’ll all be over?”

“Perhaps.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There might be a loose end to tie up,” Boff said.

“Like what?”

He took out his digital recorder. “This is a conversation I had with Emilio.” He hit play.

I have reason to believe you
’re partners with Alicia in the escort service. I also believe Alicia contracted to have Rafael, Marla, her rapist/murder, Alberto Mantilla, and two bent cops killed. I’m pretty sure you weren’t involved with that, correct?

I argued vehemently against the killing
s. It wasn’t what I signed up for. But she listens to no one.

How did she find the
contractor?

As she said on your tape,
Frank, she had an affair once with my old man. He introduced her to some of his mob friends. I guess he wanted to show her off. Whatever. In any case, she met plenty of guys who’d do murder for hire.

Boff stopped the recording. “When Emilio said Alicia met his father’s mob friends, that raised a red flag for me. But I didn’t know then what it was. This morning I remembered a conversation I had with Bruno at my mother’s place about Alicia. He told me he’d had an affair with her a few years back. And because the affair started less than a month after his wife died, he felt ashamed about it. Then I asked him what Emilio thought about it. He said Emilio never knew because he didn’t bring Alicia to the house. He always stayed with her in a suite at the Four Seasons, and they got all their meals from room service. Bruno was afraid his mob friends would see them at a restaurant and tell Emilio.”

Boff rewound the recorder.

How did she fi
nd the contractor?

As she said on your tape,
Frank, she had an affair once with my old man. He introduced her to some of his mob friends. I guess he wanted to show her off. Whatever. In any case, she met plenty of guys who’d do murder for hire.

Boff hit the stop button again.

Cullen understood what the loose end was now. “Emilio lied to you,” he said.

Boff nodded. “I believe Alicia ordered the murders, and Emilio, who undoubtedly knows plenty of mobsters, contracted a hit man or two.”

“But if you go after Emilio,” Cullen said, “won’t his father retaliate?”

“I have something up my sleeve.”

“Which you won’t tell us, right?”

“Don’t you like surprises?”

Alicia had to work late at the restaurant that night because some hotshot young lawyer had just won a big case at the courthouse, and the legal eagle was throwing an impromptu party to celebrate. The lawyer had commandeered half a dozen tables in the back of the restaurant. The double magnum Dom Perignon was flowing freely, along with Royal Salute 21, a variety of top shelf single malts, and Grey Goose. They were loud and boisterous, drank like frat kids, and wiped out the kitchen’s supply of steak and lobster.

Although the restaurant normally closed at
one a.m., the party was still going strong, so Alicia let them stay until two, when she finally chased them out. The hotshot lawyer had called a car service, so there was a line of Lincolns out front. The host was the last to go and naturally tried to hit on her. It took ten minutes of rejection before the jerk got the point and left.

When he was gone, Alicia walked over to the bar, sat down, and asked Bingo to make her a sour apple martini.

“Some crowd,” Bingo said, putting the cocktail down in front of her. He poured some Johnny Black neat into a glass for himself.

“Bunch of assholes,” Alicia grumbled.

“They went through most of my premium booze.”

“I’ll order more tomorrow.”

Alicia liked Bingo because he knew when to listen, didn’t make small talk with her, and had a real passion for his work. Bingo was the kind of no-nonsense, rock-solid man she had always hoped to meet. After so many years of looking for the right guy, however, she’d given up. She had come to realize that men were like their pricks: impetuous and easily aroused. They always seemed to mistake lust for love. The only man she had ever really loved was her father. He was the perfect guy and always treated her like a princess. But now…now she had lost even him. That hurt more than having her trust fund cut off. Without Dad, who would she have to love and be loved back by?

After two martinis, she let Bingo go home. When the bartender was gone, she went into her office to gather her things. Leaving her office, she was startled to see two men standing in the middle of the restaurant. One was a powerfully-built guy who looked like hired muscle. The other was a stub of a kid in his twenties, who barely came up to the thug’s waist. The little guy was carrying a black bag.

Alicia sensed danger. “We’re closed, gentleman,” she said, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice.

“We’d like to have a word with you,” the big guy said.

“Come back tomorrow during business hours.”

“This can’t wait until then. We have a message for you.” He took a recorder out of his pants pocket and turned it on. Alicia was stunned to hear her own voice.

“You know what?
I don’t give a shit. Bruno’s over the hill. When I was dating that old fart a couple years ago he couldn’t even get it up. I had to suck him until my lips were raw before his pencil dick stood up straight. Then he’d cum so fast I barely could work up a sweat.”

The color drained from Alicia’s face. Reaching into her pocketbook, she pulled out a knife and held it up. “Don’t come near me.”

The thug merely laughed as he slid a gun out of his shoulder holster. He put his forefinger through the trigger guard and let the pistol dangle. “Lose the knife.”

It clattered to the floor. “What…what do you want from me?” she asked. Her voice was shaky. “If it’s cash, there isn’t much. We do most of our business with plastic. But you’re welcome to all I have.”

The smaller visitor, who hadn’t said a word, now spoke. “Turn around and head back to your office. We’ll be right behind you.”

Even though the kid had a whinny, nasal voice, Alicia recognized something in his eyes she had seen in other men. A cold, metallic edge.

She had no choice. She didn’t think they were here to rob her, so perhaps they were going to rape her, slap her around a little, and then leave. She’d had worse done to her. In her top desk drawer, she had a .22 magnum mini-revolver. If she could get to it, she’d pump these assholes full of holes.

But as soon as she stepped into her office, the big guy grabbed her in a bear hug from behind and lifted her two feet off the ground.

“Hey! Let the fuck go!”

The little guy walked over to Alicia’s desk and started opening drawers. When he found her mini-revolver, he pocketed it. Alicia tried to get free, but the thug was too strong. She watched as the little guy swept one arm across her desk, sending everything flying to the floor.

“Bring her here,” he said.

Alicia suddenly snapped her head back, banging it hard into the thug’s nose. A karate guy she had dated once taught her that. She heard the nose crack, but it didn’t seem to faze the thug. He body-slammed her onto the bare desktop so hard she started to black out.

“Keep her awake!” the midget said.

In response, the thug slapped her face so hard it felt like he’d broken her cheek. Though the pain kept her from passing out, she felt dizzy and nauseated. She watched as the little guy opened his black bag, pulled out a roll of duct tape, and tossed it to his partner.

She tried to sit up, but the thug smacked her back down. Blood from his broken nose dripped on her dress as he ripped off a long piece of duct tape and wrapped it tight around her ankles. After that, he grabbed both her hands roughly and taped the wrists together.

Unable to move, Alicia went into a full panic. “Please! Please! Don’t hurt me! I was only joking when I said that about Bruno!”

At that, the little guy snarled. “Well, Bruno didn’t think it was funny.”

Just as Alicia started to say something, the big guy slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Then the little guy opened his black bag again and brought out a switchblade knife. Seeing the knife, Alicia wiggled wildly against her restraints.

With a smile on his face, the little guy pushed the knife’s release. Out popped a gleaming, nine-inch blade. Staring straight at Alicia with that menacing smile, he slid the knife edge slowly along the palm of one of his hands, raising a thin line of blood.

The big guy grinned. “Man, you sure keep that thing sharp.”

“It can cut stuff razors can’t.”

Walking over to Alicia, he grabbed her hands, and before she even knew what he was doing, he had sliced off one of her middle fingers. Alicia screamed under the tape and started to faint again.

“Don’t let her pass out.”

The thug slapped her awake. The knife-wielding midget held Alicia’s bloody finger up to admire it.

“Ahhh, yesss….” he sighed. “I really like the plum nail polish. I’ve never had one that color before.”

Then, as Alicia watched, he reached into the black bag and brought out a jar filled with liquid. There were a dozen or more fingers floating in it.

Alicia’s body suddenly began shaking violently. Her bladder emptied.

After dropping Alicia’s bloody finger into his souvenir jar, the midget screwed the lid on carefully and tucked it into the bag. Then he walked closer to her. Holding the blade an inch in front of her face, he leaned close to one of her ears and whispered:

“Where would you like me to begin?”