The Payback Game (21 page)

“How do you propose doing that?”

From the park, Boff drove to the garage in Brooklyn where Galvani was stowing the church SUV. After parking across the street from the facility, he waited on the sidewalk for Schlosberg to show up. When the DEA agent arrived in a Chevy Equinox, Boff walked over and climbed into the front seat. In the back were another agent and a large German shepherd.

“Frank Boff, this is Tom Haskins,” Schlosberg said. “The dog’s name is Ollie. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. Marty, you’re sure the mutt can detect where drugs have once been?”

Haskins answered. “Yes, we’re sure. Marijuana gives off an odor, as I’m sure you know from your days as an agent. Marijuana as potent as Quebec Gold has an even stronger smell. And the smell stays wherever it’s been stored for days after. From what Marty told me, this was a recent incident.”

“Yes it was,” Boff said. “But how does Fido distinguish between cocaine and marijuana?”

“I’ve worked with Ollie a lot. He gets much more worked up when he finds marijuana than he does by coke or heroin.” Haskins smiled at the dog. “You’re our marijuana expert, right, Ollie?”

The dog responded with a bark. Haskins rewarded him with a kiss on the snout.

Schlosberg said, “Frank, where’s the church SUV located?”

“Second floor.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Schlosberg drove his Equinox into the garage and went up the ramp to the second floor.

“Turn left here,” Boff said.

The agent drove along the second floor until Boff pointed ahead. “That’s it. The blue SUV.”

Schlosberg stopped beside the vehicle. “Sonlight Christian Reformed Church,” he read aloud. “Is there really such a church in Massena?”

Boff shook his head. “No. It’s all bogus.” He turned to Haskins. “Tom, are you and Fido ready?”

“Whenever you are. But you might want to consider using his correct name, you know.”

With a shrug, Boff got out the car, followed by Haskins and Ollie. The dog stretched his front legs and yawned after being cramped in the back seat.

“Does
Ollie need to know where the drugs were kept?” Boff asked.

Haskins shook his head. “No. If they were anywhere in this vehicle, Ollie will find the location.” He gave the dog a command and it began sniffing around. Mere seconds later, it dropped to its stomach, crawled under the rear of the car, and then began barking up a storm.

“Back out, Ollie,” Haskins commanded.

When the dog complied, he was ve
ry agitated, barking and jumping wildly.

“Is that a marijuana reaction?” Boff asked.

“Yes. And that definitely was Quebec Gold. He doesn’t get
this
worked up over regular grass.”

“Very impressive,” Boff said. “There’s a false compartment under the SUV where the drugs were kept. Good work, Doggie! Let’s go.”

Back in his own car, Boff called his drug dealer pal.

“Pedro, there’s something I want to discuss with you. But not over the phone. Where’s a good spot to meet?”

Well, m
y place sure ain’t it. Last thing I need is for the neighbors to see a big white dude walking into my crib, a dude who looks like a cop.

“Where, then?”

Brooklyn Bridge Park. There’s a stretch of grass under the span. It’s a nice sunny day, so it should be crowded.

“Where will you be?”

Don’t worry about me. I’ll find you. Forty minutes from now good?

“Fine.”

After Pedro cut the connection, Boff called Cullen. “Where are you?” he asked.

With Hannah at
the
Brooklyn Eagle
. She wanted to update her editor.

“Shit. I don’t want her telling the editor all the details of what we’re doing.”

Relax. Give me some credit. I already let her know what she could and couldn’t reveal. Just vague stuff. Enough to whet the editor’s appetite.

“Okay. What’s the address?”

Boff heard Cullen asking somebody for it.

It’s
30 Henry Street in Brooklyn Heights.

“How soon will Hannah be done?”

Hannah, how much longer will you be here?

Boff heard her say fifteen minutes. “Okay. You guys wait outside for me. I’m on my way.”

Where’re we going?

“To a picnic in the park.”

Boff found Hannah and Cullen waiting for him on the sidewalk in front of the
Eagle
. Hannah climbed into the front seat, Cullen the back.

“What park are we going to?” Hannah asked.

“Brooklyn Bridge. We’re meeting with a drug dealer that I helped beat a couple racketeering raps.”

“How’s the dealer going to help us?” she asked.

“Be patient and you’ll find out.”

Cullen tapped on Boff’s shoulder.

“Where’d you go today?” he asked.

“To meet with Schlosberg.”

“Who’s he?” Hannah asked.

“A DEA agent,” Cullen replied. “He’s a former partner of Boff’s. Schlosberg helped us catch the killers of a boxing trainer several months ago.”

“Here’s the way this goes down,” Boff said. “
Neither
of you are to ask the drug dealer any questions
whatsoever
. He wouldn’t like that. If you want, you can both take a walk around the park while I talk to him.”

“We’ll stay,” Hannah said. “I want to hear what he has to say. It’s all going to be part of my story when I write it.”

“Fine. But when you
do
write the story, under
no
circumstances are you to use the dealer’s name.”

“No problem.”

Rather than waste time riding around looking for a parking space, Boff pulled into a garage about a block and a half from the park. When they walked into the park, it was crowded, just as Pedro had predicted.

Cullen looked around. “So where’s your drug dealer?”

“Pedro didn’t say where he’d be. We just wait here until he spots us.”

A few minutes later the drug dealer and a muscular young Hispanic man walked over. In his forties, Pedro was casually dressed like most of the people in the park, wearing cut-off blue jeans, white sneakers, and a Yankees T-shirt and cap. He shook hands with Boff. “Frank, this is Hector.”

The bodyguard merely nodded, then started eyeballing their surroundings.

Narrowing his eyes as he looked at Cullen and the redhead, Pedro said, “Frank, who’re these two people?”

“Danny’s a professional boxer and Hannah’s his girlfriend.”

“They can be trusted, right?”

“They wouldn’t be here if they couldn’t be.”

“Okay. Let’s sit down.”

Everybody except Hector took a spot on the grass.

“Pedro,” Boff began, “do you know what Quebec Gold is?”

“I’ve heard of it. High potency grass, right?”

“Yes. I have reason to believe someone’s about to launch a massive operation here in
Brooklyn. I’m wondering if there’s been any talk on the street about this operation or about Quebec Gold.”

Pedro shook his head. “No. No talk about it. And you know I got good ears.”

“Could you ask some of the other big dealers if they know anything? I’m mostly interested in finding out who the distributor might be.”

“Lemme make some phone calls. You stay here.”

With Hector following close behind him, Pedro took out his cell phone and walked far enough away so they couldn’t hear him.

“You think this guy can get that information?” Cullen asked.

Boff nodded. “Pedro’s one of the most powerful drug dealers in Brooklyn. He’s been doing this for twelve years and has never done any jail time. Thanks in no small part to me. Twelve years is a long life span for a drug dealer. If the information is out there, Pedro will find it.”

Hannah had to ask, “So what kind of raps did you help your unsavory dealer pal beat?”

“Oh, the usual stuff. Drug trafficking. Extortion. Obstruction of justice. A couple of alleged murders.”

She shook her head. “How can you help defend a man like that and live with yourself?”

Boff smiled. “How? His checks didn’t bounce. Basically, Hannah, I will work for anyone who pays me. Except rapists and child molesters, out of respect for my wife.”

“And how many vile criminals have you kept out of jail? Do you keep score?”

Amused by her hostility, Boff decided to mess with her.

“Oh, dozens. Too many to count. My track record for getting acquittals for alleged murderers is especially strong. I’m proud of that. My finest moment in court was when I helped a man charged as a serial killer to go free.”

Hannah made a face. “Jesus Christ! How many people did your slimeball client kill?”

“Well, he was accused of murdering six people. Give or take a body. I forget. But the jury found my client not guilty.”

“Did he kill again after you got him off?”

“Whoever the serial killer was, yes he killed three more people. He was never caught.”

Hannah looked disgusted. “So you set this dirtbag free and then the killings resume? How’d you feel when you heard about the new murders?”

“Me? I didn’t feel anything. Like I said, my client was innocent.”

She looked away and didn’t say another word. Boff smiled to himself.

A few minutes later, Pedro returned and sat down.

“I talked to some people, Frank. They hadn’t heard anything about Quebec Gold. But one of them said something interesting. A dealer named Reggie Bassett’s been hiring a lot of muscle and adding quite a few sub-level peddlers to his food chain. Bassett’s a big dealer, but not so big that he needs to expand. So I’m thinking, if Reggie Bassett is the one who’s gonna sell this Quebec stuff, then that’d explain why he’s taking on more people.”

“Pedro, is this the Bassett who was busted for dealing and sent away for ten years?”

“Yup. He got out three years ago. Now he’s one of my biggest competitors. Although he had a major setback about six weeks ago and almost went under.”

“What happened to him?”

“Had a trailer truck loaded with H and coke coming in from Mexico. In Arizona, some local yokel cop pulled the truck over to make a routine spot check to see if there were illegal aliens in the back. When he ordered the driver to open the rear doors, the driver shot him dead and took off. The video recorder in the cop’s car caught the whole thing, including the truck’s plate number. Long story short, the Arizona state troopers busted the driver and confiscated all the drugs. Bassett was out the two million he’d paid the Mexicans and didn’t have enough cash to pay all his people for close to three weeks. Then?” Pedro snapped his fingers. “Just like that, he was back up and running full steam.”

Boff nodded. “So somebody must’ve pumped some cash into his operation.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you know who?”

“No. But Bassett has a big operation, so whoever it was, the guy had to have a sizable chunk of cash.”

“Where does this Bassett operate out of?”

“Bed-Stuy. He has a brownstone on Gates near Nostrand Avenue. He bought an empty building next to his and stationed some of his people in it for added security.” Pedro glanced at his Rolex. “Well, anyway, I gotta go.”

“Thanks for the help.”

“
De nada.
” Standing up, Pedro shook Boff’s hand and melted into the crowd with his bodyguard.

Hannah watched them disappear. “What does that information do for us?”

“It means I might have to rethink a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Let me sort it out first. Then I’ll tell you.”

On the walk back to the car, Boff thought about Reggie Bassett suddenly coming into a good deal of money. He had a pretty good idea where the drug dealer got it. If Earl Bassett was indeed embezzling cash from the nonprofit, it wasn’t a big stretch to think he’d lay off some of it on his cash-strapped brother.

After dropping Cullen and Hannah off at the boxer’s apartment, Boff headed to the gym, waited for his son to finish his workout, and then drove Steven home to Riverdale.

“How’d your session go?” he asked along the way.

“It was my best yet, Dad! I knocked a guy down who’s been fighting for two years. He hit me hard a few times, but I didn’t fall down. Ryan says the more you get in condition, the less likely you’ll go down. Coach is going to get me my first amateur fight in two months.”

Hearing this, Boff frowned. It was pretty obvious to him now that Steven was never going to quit boxing and return to basketball. Worse, if his son did well in the amateurs, then, like most boxers, he’d skip college and turn pro. Just what he needed. An uneducated fighter in the family. And unless Steven turned out to be a world-class boxer like Cullen and made a lot of money, his son’s options in life once he finished his boxing career would be limited.

Steven interrupted his father’s thoughts. “How come you’re so quiet?”

“I was just thinking about my case.”

“How’s that going?”

“Well, I thought I was chasing a fastball, when maybe I should’ve been looking for a curve.”

“Huh?”

“It means the case is coming together, but perhaps not in the way I thought it would.”

Not being interested, Steven said nothing further, so his father filled the silence the rest of the way home with a CD of Jerry Lee Lewis. Once they reached his condo building, he parked in the underground garage and then walked two blocks with Steven to a D’Agostino supermarket to get things for dinner. Jenny was making one of his favorite dishes: stuffed peppers with garlic and angel hair pasta. Inside D’Agostino’s, Boff took out the shopping list she had given him earlier in the day, put all the things she had requested into the cart, paid for the groceries, and left the store. He and Steven were carrying the bags home when a gray van approaching them slowed down.

Boff glanced at the driver
. He was a heavyset guy with thick, muscular arms and was wearing a ski hat in the summer and dark sunglasses on an overcast day. Knowing what was about to happen, Boff dropped his grocery bags and was about to yank Steven down to the sidewalk when the van’s side panel slid open and a man with a silenced handgun popped off three shots. All three bullets slammed into Boff’s chest and knocked him flat on the sidewalk. The van’s door closed as the vehicle sped away.

Stunned, Steven dropped to his knees next to his father. “Oh my God! Dad! Dad!”

Boff was wearing his Kevlar vest, but the gun must have been a powerful one. His chest felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer. He blacked out.

“Dad! Don’t die!”

Boff groaned and opened his eyes.

“You’re alive!” Steven was crying. “Don’t move. I’ll call nine-one-one.”

But as the boy started to reach for his cell phone, his father grabbed his arm. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m wearing Kevlar. Just let me catch my breath a moment.”

Spotting a man and a woman running toward him, Boff placed a hand over the bullet holes in his shirt.

“What happened, mister?” the man said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. My bum knee just gave out.”

“Do you want us to get you help?”

“No. Thanks for offering, though.”

As the couple walked away, Boff forced himself to sit up so he wouldn’t attract any more attention. Then he held out a hand to Steven. “Help me get up.”

With his son tugging him, he managed to get slowly to his feet. “Steven, did you get the van’s license plate?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I was fucking worried about you!”

Boff frowned.
His son was just a kid, not a trained op. “That’s okay, son, it’s no big deal. The plates were probably stolen anyway. Let’s put the groceries back in the bags.”

Once they had picked up everything that had fallen out of the bags, they resumed walking home.

“What was that all about?” Steven asked.

“They probably mistook me for somebody else.”

“My ass, they did! It’s this case you’re on, isn’t it?”

Boff hesitated. He tried to think up a lie, but he knew no lie was going to explain away getting shot three times.

“Yes, it’s this case,” he finally said. “And I’m going to ask you to do me a
big
favor. Don’t say a word about this to your mother. She’ll get all upset and order me to drop the case.”

“So why
don’t
you drop the case? Aren’t you scared they’ll try this again?”

Boff stopped walking and
looked directly at his son. “Let me tell you something about me, son. I may be scared. But I’m also angry. Nobody pushes me around. Not now, not ever. Any chance this scumbag had of seeing the inside of a courtroom just flew out the window.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Boff regretted the words the second they spilled out of his mouth. “Nothing, Steven. Let’s just drop it.”

They resumed walking. “I won
’t tell Mom anything, Dad. But, you know, even if I don’t tell her, she’s going to see the holes in your shirt.”

“No, she won’t. Here’s the plan. You’re going to walk in the apartment first and tell your mother I stopped at a neighbor’s apartment and will be right in. Then tell her you want to talk to her in the den about how well you did at the gym.”

“What does that accomplish?”

“While you’re keeping Mom occupied, I’ll walk in, yell that I have to take a wicked piss, hustle to the bedroom, take the shirt and vest off, slip into a new shirt, and then put the groceries in the kitchen. That way, she’ll never know I was shot at. Understand?”

“Yeah, but what if she finds the shirt later?”

“She won’t. I’ll get rid of it.”

When they got home, everything went according to plan. Boff wanted to
tape an ice bag to his sore chest, but that would’ve given him away, so he settled for four tabs of ibuprofen. After they had chatted awhile, Jenny went to the kitchen to start cooking dinner. While she was doing that, Boff called Cassidy.

“Will you be at Bailey’s tonight?”

No, I’m going to the opera. What’s up?

“How’s
ten o’clock?”

Fine.

Dinner went well except for
Sharon taking her usual shots at her father. Boff loved his daughter, but part of him was glad she was flying back to California the next day to begin her summer internship with a law firm. All this dickering with her was draining his energy and ruining Jenny’s great meal. Even though he had finally broken the ice with his son a few months ago and gotten him to call him Dad, instead of Boff, he wasn’t bothering trying to bring Sharon around. She was a much tougher nut to crack.

As they ate, he wondered if he and his daughter would ever have a relationship. The chances of that happening would get even worse once she graduated from law school and went to work as an assistant D.A. Although he would never admit it to her, it hurt his feelings that she wouldn’t treat him like a father. With that on his mind, he took a stab at a civil conversation with her. “Sharon, good luck on your new job.”

But the words did not have the desired effect. “Like you really mean it.”

“I do. Honestly.”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t need your good luck,
Boff.
Save it for one of your vile felons.”

And with that exchange, he dropped the conversation. When dinner was over, he helped Jenny load up the dishwasher, kissed her goodbye, and headed over to Bailey’s.

He found Cassidy waiting for him in a booth.

“Where’s your protégé?” Boff asked as he sat down.

“Hannah said she’d had all of you she could stand for one day. What happened?”

Boff smiled. “I did what I do best. Got under her skin.”

“How?”

“I bragged to her about some of the repulsive people I’ve helped keep out of jail.”

Cassidy wrinkled his face. “Why’d you do that?”

“I guess I didn’t like the way she was passing judgment on me.”

“Man you’re a vindictive son of a bitch.”

Boff leaned forward. “You think
that
was vindictive, Mike? Wait until you see what I do to the person behind these murders. I was shot three times in the chest in a drive-by this afternoon. When my son was with me and could’ve been hit. Luckily, I was wearing Kevlar, and he wasn’t shot.”

Alexis came over with a fresh mug of draft beer for Cassidy. “What’re you drinking, Frank?” Cassidy said.

“A draft is fine.”

After the waitress left, Cassidy said, “When did you start wearing Kevlar?”

“The day I confronted Galvani outside the precinct and accused him of being dirty.”

“What was the point of that?”

“I wanted to rattle him. And to let him know he’s not going to get away with what he’s doing.” Boff shrugged. “Probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but what the hell. I got some enjoyment out of it. I mean, if I have to risk my life hunting down a killer, I might as well have a little fun, right?”

“Whatever
floats your boat. Meanwhile, Hannah told me about what happened in upstate New York. What do you think was in those bags?”

“Quebec Gold.”

“What’s that?”

After Alexis returned and set down their drinks, Boff recounted what he’d learned from Schlosberg in the park, then told the old reporter what they’d discovered using the drug-sniffing dog.

“Well, what your DEA friend told you makes a lot of sense. But what do we do with this information?”

“Work on a plan where I can give Schlosberg the Angels and the Quebec Gold and take care of the rest in my own way.”

Cassidy smiled. “Do I need to ask what way that is?”

Boff sipped his beer and said nothing.

“How will you do it your own way without leaving your fingerprints?”

“I’m working on a few scenarios. When I come up with my endgame plan, I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, I found out from my information broker that Nicky had hired a corporate accountant to audit the nonprofit’s books.”

Cassidy looked puzzled. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Boff told him about his suspicion that Bassett was embezzling.

“Whoa!” Cassidy exclaimed. “If that’s true, it’s a serious charge.”

“My thought exactly. A charge serious enough that it would explain why Nicky was killed.”

“But we already know why he was killed. He was going to write about the dead cop.”

Boff shook his head. “It may not be that simple. If Nicky ordered an audit, he probably suspected Bassett was stealing from the nonprofit.”

The old reporter thought about that a minute, then nodded his head. “Yeah, I see where you’re going with this. You think Bassett was afraid Nicky would fire him and go to the D.A, so he paid for a hit?”

“I believe so. But we’ll need more info before we can draw that conclusion. Do you think you can get the corporate accountant who was doing the audit to meet with us?”

“What’s the guy’s name?”

“Stuart Hamilton. He works for Plante & Young.”

“Spell the names.”

Cassidy took out a pen and wrote the information on a paper napkin. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Boff smiled. He knew Cassidy would find a way to come through.

“I’m thinking, Frank, that with the knife attack on Hannah and now somebody trying to kill you, maybe it’s time I pull her off this.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind if you did. But Hannah’s got her mind set on breaking this story in the
Eagle
. I don’t think even you
could get her to stand down. She’s a pretty stubborn young woman.”

“Stubborn? That’s putting it mildly.”

“Just as long as she sticks with Danny, she should be all right. He’s developed some decent street smarts from hanging around with me.”

“You want me to tell him you said that?”

“Not on your life.”