The Payback Game (28 page)

He stopped talking and let Bassett digest what he’d said.

“What if I fight the rap in court?” Bassett said.

“Then you’ll lose. Big time. Not even I could help you beat this rap. And they don’t come any better than me.”

It was time.

“I have to use the men’s room,” he said. “I want you to sit tight until I return. I strongly suggest you don’t leave. If you do, the D.A. will have you picked up fast, and then all deals go out the window.”

Sliding out of the booth, Boff walked to the corridor that led to the men’s room and the back door. Passing the men’s room, he opened the back door, walked out into an alley, then strode to the sidewalk. There he found at least ten Hells Angels sitting in three double-parked cars.

So far, Green was following his instructions, which included not showing up on their noisy bikes and spooking Bassett. Green stepped out of the car he was driving and walked over to Boff.

“Bassett’s inside,” Boff said. “He’s agreed to testify against you and the other bikers. He’s waiting for the D.A. to show up so he can sign an agreement to rat you out. The D.A. won’t be here for another thirty minutes. Do what you have to do before then.”

Green stared hard at Boff. There was plenty of rage in his dark eyes. Suddenly the biker grabbed his shirt in his fist. Wallachi and Manny immediately jumped out of the car holding their guns.

Seeing Boff’s armed backup, Green let go of the shirt.

“Our drug operation was taken down today,” the biker said through clenched teeth. “I have a feeling you had a hand in that. So listen to me good, pal. If I find out you were involved in the raid on Reggie, I’ll come looking for you.”

Boff smiled, slipped a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to the biker.

“What the hell is this?” Green said.

“My phone numbers. Anytime you want to find me,
pal
, just give me a call.” With a nod, Boff left Green standing there and walked over to Wallachi and Manny.

“Now comes the fun part,” he said.

They watched as eight Hells Angels left their cars and walked into the bar.

Wallachi turned to Boff. “Frank, you’ve done your part. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Not yet. I want to have the pleasure of watching this go down.”

Wallachi frowned. “Well for chrissake, at least get your ass back in the car, where you’ll be less of a target.”

“Okay.”

They got into the Crown Vic and waited. In a few minutes, the Hells Angels walked out of the bar with a grim-looking Bassett sandwiched between them. They took him to Green’s car and shoved him in the back seat next to two more Hells Angels. Green got in behind the wheel and started his engine, then pulled a U-turn, as did the drivers of the other two cars. He headed up the street toward where Wallachi’s Crown Vic was parked.

“Think I should wave goodbye to Bassett?” Boff asked.

“Don’t push it, Frank.”

Just as Green was passing the Crown Vic, the biker suddenly slowed down, pointed a semi-automatic at Wallachi’s car and fired off a quick burst that shattered the windows. Then he sped away.

“Motherfucker! Wallachi yelled. “Anybody hit?”

“Just by glass,” Boff said. His face was bleeding from several tiny cuts.

Wallachi turned to check on Manny. Blood was seeping out of a wound on the upper part of the crack op’s left arm. The kid looked pretty shaken.

“How bad is it, Manny?”

“Oh, man, I don’t know,” he replied in a shaky voice. “I’ve never been shot before. It hurts like hell.”

Wallachi’s anger boiled over. “I’m going after that cocksucker!”

But as he
started to turn the wheel, Boff grabbed his arm. “Pete, if you want that guy, grab him when he’s alone. Not when he’s with a bunch of bikers. We’ll catch up to him another time. I promise you that. Meanwhile, let’s look after Manny.”

Wallachi let out a sigh of frustration and banged a fist on the steering wheel.

“Pete,” Manny said, “I need to go to a hospital.”

“We can’t do that, Manny,” Boff said. “Hospitals are required to report gunshot wounds to the cops. We don’t want them asking us questions.”

“But I need my arm taken care of.”

“And it will be. I know a doctor who’ll fix you up just fine.
Without
asking questions. He took out his phone and called Hannah.

“It’s Boff,” he said when she picked up.

Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all day! I left messages.

“Never mind that now. I’ve got Manny with a bullet wound in his arm. He needs medical attention. Can you ask your brother to do this for me?”

Yes, but you better tell me everything that happened today.

“You have my word that I will,” Boff replied. “Right now, call your brother and tell him we’re coming. And before you do, give me your brother’s address again.”

Three-twenty-two St. Marks Avenue in Crown Heights.

Boff repeated the address to Wallachi, who pulled away from the curb.

“Hannah, let’s meet with Mike at the pub around nine tonight. Bring your laptop.”

Why
?

“We raided Reggie Bassett’s place. He’s dead. All the drugs were confiscated by the DEA. What’s your newspaper’s deadline tonight?”

Midnight.

“Call your editor and tell him he might have to hold that deadline because you’re going to be filing an important story.”

My exclusive?

“Yes. The drug raid will be all over the
early evening editions of the newspapers’ websites, but nobody else will have the insider details of the whole op from start to finish. Just you. Like I promised Mike from the beginning.”

Okay, I’m on it
.
She sounded excited.

Boff hung up. Wallachi took out a handkerchief and held it behind him for Manny. “Try not to bleed too much on my upholstery,” he said.

“Thanks for the compassion.”

Boff took out a pack of Kleenex and used a few sheets to dab at the cuts on his face.

As Wallachi drove toward Crown Heights, he glanced at Boff. “Frank, what do you think the Hells Angels are gonna do with Bassett?”

Boff smiled. “Well, whatever it is, I suspect it won’t be pretty.”

“So, are you happy now?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am.” 

After examining Manny’s wound, Dr. Riley smiled. “Well, my friend, it looks like you were hit by a glass bullet.”

Manny looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

In reply, Dr. Riley spread a topical anesthetic on Manny’s wound, dabbed it with hydrogen peroxide, picked up a scalpel, and cut into the wound. Then he used tiny forceps to dig out a shard of glass. He held the bloodied glass up for Manny to see.

“Damn,” the crack op said. “And here I was thinking my boss was going to give me an investigat
or’s purple heart.”

The doctor bandaged the wound, then tended to Boff’s facial cuts. Boff tried to pay him for his services, but he wouldn’t take any money.

“You’re helping my sister’s career. That’s payment enough for me.”

After being dropped off at the gym, Boff went inside to watch his son train. When Cullen got a break, he walked over and pointed at Boff’s face.

“What happened?”

“Cut myself shaving.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Let’s go outside.”

When they were on the stairs, Cullen said, “I read about the raid in the
News
. There was no mention of Earl Bassett. What happened to him?”

Boff debated whether to tell the boxer the details of his endgame scenario. Although he took pride in what he’d done, and wanted to brag, Cullen sometimes said things to people he shouldn’t. So he took the cautionary approach.

“Let’s just say Bassett got what was coming to him.”

“Meaning you dished out your usual form of justice.”

Boff said nothing.

“Will it make the newspapers?” the boxer asked.

“I’m sure it will.”

“Let me know when it does. I have to get back inside now. Maybe someday you’ll tell me exactly what you did
.”

“
Maybe
is the right word.”

Cullen watched as Boff descended the stairs. Although he had never seen
the guy get physical with anyone, and he knew he didn’t carry a gun, he was probably one of the most deadly men around. His brain was a lethal weapon.

Boff walked into his condo carrying flowers for his wife, and her favorite Bordeaux, too.

But it wasn’t the gifts that caught Jenny’s eye. “Frank, what happened to your face?”

“I got hit by flying glass.”

“Somebody shot at you again?”

“Jenny, the case is over and I’m out of danger. What’d you make for dinner?”

“Hungarian gou
lash.”

“Where’s Steven?”

“Eating at a friend’s house.”

Dinner was delicious, as always. It was also nice for a change to enjoy a meal alone with his wife. Over dessert, he told her his work for Cassidy was over and that he intended to spend more time with her.

“How about a Broadway show and dinner?” Jenny said.

“You got it. Next week for our anniversary.”

As he shoveled in the last bite of his chocolate layer cake, Jenny said, “You seem more cheerful than usual tonight. Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Yes. I love you.”

“Nothing else?”

“That’s it.”

Jenny put her fork down on the plate. “Frank, did you do something on this case you don’t want me to know about?”

He chewed for a minute. “I can’t think of anything. Your husband weaved his magic, brought down a massive drug operation, and solved a couple murders. You should be proud of me.”

“Well, I am.
If
you did everything legally. No frontier justice this time, right?”

Since Boff never lied to his wife, he chose not to answer. “Honey, I have to give my final report to Cassidy.” He got up, quickly kissed her, and headed out the front door before she could ask him any more questions.

Arriving at the pub, Boff slid into a booth opposite Cassidy and Hannah.

“What happened to your face?” Cassidy asked.

“Someone fired a semi-automatic at Wallachi’s car. The only injuries were from flying glass.

“I thought Manny got shot,” Hannah said.

“Turned out he was just hit by a shard of glass.”

“Who shot at you guys?” When Boff didn’t reply, she frowned. “I thought you weren’t going to hide the details from me once the case was over.”

“I’ll tell you all I can,” he said. When Wendy walked over, he asked her for a bottle of Brooklyn Brown Ale.

Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “No draft, Frank?”

“Not tonight. This is a celebration. I’m trading up for the occasion.”

When his beer arrived, Boff raised the bottle in a salute. “To a job well done,” he said.

They clicked glasses.

“I read about the raid,” Cassidy said. “I’m guessing you orchestrated the whole thing.”

Boff nodded. “Anytime I have to work with law enforcement, I try to control as many things as I can. As you know, I have a very low opinion of cops and federal agents.”

“Can’t say as I agree with you,” Cassidy returned. “But I guess you’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Come on, Boff,” Hannah said, a sense of urgency in her voice. “I need to know
exactly
what went down. Things that
aren’t
in the papers. And I need to know
now
!”

“Be patient,” Boff said. “All will be revealed.”

“I can’t be patient. I have a newspaper waiting for me.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll make your deadline. I promise.”

“So, Frank,” Cassidy said, “what happened to Earl Bassett?”

“The last I saw of him, he was leaving the Brooklyn Social with some of his biker friends.”

The old reporter looked surprised at that. “You let
him get away?”

Boff smiled. “Not quite. Hannah, pull up the
Daily News
on your computer. Then go to the New York section and click on ‘Crime.’”

“All right, but then you’re going to tell me everything I need to know, right?” She worked on her computer a few minutes. “Okay, I’m on the crime section.”

“Let me see the screen,” Boff said.

She turned her computer around, and he checked headlines until he found what he was looking for. Then he clicked on the teaser headline, which directed him to another page. He read the story and smiled. Things had worked out even better than he’d imagined. He turned the computer back around to Hannah.

“Check out the story about the body the cops found in an alley.”

Cassidy got closer to Hannah so he could see her screen. The old reporter read the story out loud:

“In what was surely an act of vengeance, Brooklyn police found the horribly mutilated body of an unidentified black man in a Bushwick alley late this afternoon.”

Cassidy looked up at Boff and muttered, “Jesus.” Then he continued reading:

“Kevin Durst, a veteran detective from the 83
rd
Precinct, said the body had over fifty stab wounds, the head had been cut off, the face bashed in so badly it was unrecognizable, and the body’s finger tips and toes had been sliced off and were not found at the scene. The detective said it could take weeks to pin down who it was. ‘I’ve seen some pretty horrifying things in my twenty years on the Force,’ Durst said, ‘but this has to be the worst.’”

Hannah and Cassidy were both staring at Boff. His face was unreadable.

“Is this…
Bassett
?” Cassidy asked.

Boff said nothing.

“Jesus, Frank, even for
you
this is demented. Why’d you do it this way?”

“Do what? I wasn’t there.”

“Maybe so, but you made this happen.”

Boff sipped his beer.

When it was clear to Hannah this was all he was going to say about the body, she pointed a finger at him. “Okay, Freddie Krueger, what can I write about Earl Bassett?”

He thought carefully before answering. “You can say the
Brooklyn Eagle
has learned from law enforcement sources that Earl Bassett, brother of drug dealer Reggie Bassett, was the brains behind the whole operation. Authorities say Earl Bassett has gone missing, and that police have issued a nationwide APB.”

He paused to sip his beer before continuing. “Then describe how the operation was put together, beginning with the murders of Maloney and Doyle that were ordered by Earl Bassett, the phony raids, and the smuggling of Quebec Gold in from
Canada. Do
not,
under
any
circumstances, use my name. Give all the credit to NYPD, the DEA, and the D.A.’s office. If you absolutely need to, in certain places you can say law enforcement was assisted by a private investigator, but officials declined to name the person.”

Hannah looked puzzled. “But you made everything happen,” she said. “Don’t you want people to know?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t. If future felony clients of mine found out what I’d done, they might be wary of hiring me.”

“Have it your way,” she said. “Now fill me in on all the gaps in the story.”

While he did, Hannah took notes and occasionally asked if he was leaving something out. When he was done, she called her editor and told him he’d have her story around midnight. Then she hung up and attacked her computer keyboard.

Cassidy looked at his prodigy and smiled. “That’s my girl,” he said.

The old reporter talked with Boff about big stories he’d broken in the
News
, while Hannah typed non-stop for almost an hour. It was quarter to twelve when she finally finished. She looked hyper enough to jump out of her skin.

“Done!” she said, banging the table with her fist.

After taking a few deep breaths, she swallowed her warm beer, then went back to typing.

“Stop writing!” Cassidy said. “You don’t have time to edit the damn thing. Just send it!”

“I’m not editing. I’m sending.”

After she was done transmitting her story, she called the editor again.

“Did you get it ...?” She smiled. “Well, keep reading. It gets better as it goes on.” She hung up. “My editor said the lead was fantastic.”

“Let me see it,” Cassidy said.

He tried to look at her screen, but she closed the laptop.

“Buy it at the newsstand,” she said. “Just like everybody else.”

Cassidy laughed. “Whatever. I think celebration shots are in order.”

He waited for Hannah to object. But instead of shooting down the idea, she called Wendy over and said, “Double shots of Jameson all around. And get one for yourself.”

“What are we celebrating?” the waitress asked.

“The pen being mightier than the sword,” the redhead replied.

Wendy looked at Cassidy, who just shrugged. She turned back to Hannah. “It may have been when Mike was still writing, but not today.”

“Wendy,” Cassidy said, “don’t be so quick to sell my protégé short. Read the
Brooklyn Eagle
tomorrow. Then, after you’ve read it, tell me if you wanna repeat what you just said.”

With a shrug, the waitress left to get their shots.

“Frank,” Cassidy said, “there’s only one thing that still bothers me. Galvani got off without punishment.”

A faint smile crossed Boff’s face as he looked at the old reporter. “Mike, what was it Yogi Berra said? ‘It ain’t over till it’s over.’”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, things have a way of working out in the end.” He leaned forward. “I guarantee you
that you’ll be fully satisfied with the results of our little operation.”

Cassidy smiled, undoubtedly having a good idea what Boff meant. “Your word’s good enough for me,” he said.

When Wendy arrived with the drinks, Cassidy lifted his in a toast. “To Nicky Doyle,” he said. “Still breaking news in heaven.” Then he looked straight at Boff. “And at peace knowing no evil deed goes unpunished.”

They downed the shots and slammed the glasses on the table.

“You know, Frank,” Cassidy said, “you woulda made a helluva good cop.”

“That’s an oxymoron,” Boff replied. “There
are
no good cops.”

Cassidy laughed. “You’re some piece of work,” he said. “Now that it’s over, I wanna tell you that after my initial misgivings about hiring you, I’ve really enjoyed my time working with you. Retirement had been boring the shit out of me. This was like getting back into the game. The next time you have a righteous case, come to me and we’ll use my sources to tackle it together. How’s that?”

“You’ve got a deal,” Boff replied.

“Unlike Uncle Mike,” Hannah said, “I didn’t enjoy my experience with you.
But,
if you get another big story in Brooklyn, call me and I’ll suffer.”