The Punishing Game (22 page)

Before meeting with Damiano to see what she had dug up on the Solis-Yusef phone connection, Boff went to the gym, took his usual position against the wall by the door, and watched Cullen go through what looked like another one of McAlary’s unorthodox drills. While Cullen shadowboxed, McAlary stood fifteen feet away holding a wire basket filled with tennis balls. The trainer had a ball cocked in his hand.

“Okay, Danny,” he said, “now pick up the pace. But keep your eye on me.”

As Cullen shadowboxed, McAlary threw the tennis ball at his head, forcing him to turn his head in order not to get hit in the face. The ball sailed past him and caromed off a wall.

Cullen stood still. “Okay, why are you throwing balls at me?”

“I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“No. I slipped my head around it.”

“Like you would a punch.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the point,” McAlary said. “When you throw your hands in the ring, the other guy isn’t just standing there like a punching bag. He’s firing back. I want you to get better at moving your head. Understand?”

Just then, a muscular Hispanic kid carrying a gym bag
walked in. Boff noticed that he had a wide strip of adhesive tape over his nose. McAlary spotted him, called over Sierra, and handed the basket off to him so he could continue the drill with Cullen. Then he met the kid halfway across the room.

“Hi, Manuel,” he said. “How’s the nose?”

“It hurts. But like you said, it’s not broken.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“He couldn’t get off. He’s doin’ a double shift. But he’ll definitely be around tomorrow. He’s real excited about workin’ with you.”

McAlary pointed to the locker area. “Grab yourself a locker. Get dressed, and my assistant Angel Sierra will start you with some basics.”

Walking back to Sierra, McAlary took the basket from him and resumed throwing the balls at Cullen. After the basket was empty, McAlary made Cullen pound the truck tire with the sledgehammer, then put him in the ring with Bellucci to spar three rounds. When McAlary finally gave him a break, Cullen, who was dripping with sweat, grabbed a towel, a water bottle, and walked over to Boff.

“If somebody threw tennis balls at my head,” Boff said, “I’d throw them back.”

“That’s because you’re not a boxer.”

“No, that’s because I’m a vindictive son of a bitch.” He pushed off the wall. “I’m off.”

“Where to?”

“To meet with the lovely Ms. Damiano.”

Damiano had left another guest pass at the Botanic Garden front gate for Boff. He found the detective sitting on the bench near the lily pad pool again, this time eating a sandwich.

“Early dinner?” Boff asked. He sat down beside her.

“Late lunch. Egg salad with tomato.”

“Looks good.”

“Want a bite?”

“Sure.”

“Well, you can’t have one.”

Boff nodded. “Okay, getting down to business,” he said, “did you get a tap on Solis’ phone?”

Damiano nodded. “My man in Narcotics came through for me.”

“And I’m guessing the narcs didn’t record much of use.”

“True. To an extent,” Damiano said. She used a napkin to wipe egg salad off her chin. “Solis apparently uses some kind of code when he talks to Yusef. But at least we established that Solis and Yusef speak frequently on the phone. Every day, in fact. And sometimes two or three times a day. That’s a lot stronger connection than Solis told you he had with Yusef.”

After laying the remains of her sandwich down on a brown paper bag, Damiano turned to face Boff. “So are you ready now to unveil your theory about Solis and the money?”

“First let me tell you what I learned from Mikey.”

Boff recounted what Bellucci had told him at the pool hall.

“Well, Bellucci isn’t the greatest source,” Damiano said when Boff was done. “But it does sound like Solis might’ve let the cat out of the bag about the drug money.”

Boff nodded. “And what I’m thinking is if Biaggi was really that mad, then maybe—”

“Maybe he threatened to stop the deal.”

“Which might’ve been the reason he was killed.”

“Yes,” she said. “Although coming from Bellucci, I’ll take the info with a grain of salt. So, again, what’s your theory?”

“There was only one way I could think of how Solis could make big money fast.”

“And that is?”

“He must’ve ordered a very large shipment of drugs. Far more than he usually does.”

“Confirmation?”

Boff nodded. “From a highly reliable source.”

Damiano looked skeptical. “I know your so-called sources. Snitches. Drug dealers. Mobsters.”

“Try someone in the DEA,” he said. “Someone in a position to really know.”

Damiano thought about that a minute. “You got a plan?”

“I always do.”

“I’m all ears.”

“If we can bust Solis
and
Yusef—who’ll be with him when the package arrives—we can flip one of them….”

Damiano smiled. “And have him a drop a dime on the other mutt for icing Biaggi,” she said. “Adding murder one on top of drug trafficking would guarantee these shitbirds get life. So when’s the package coming?”

“Within two weeks. By plane.”

Damiano looked disappointed. “You couldn’t narrow the window any better?”

“Hey, my source didn’t even know. And trust me, if he doesn’t, nobody in law enforcement does.”

“Well, if that’s the best you can do,” she said, “maybe there’s something
I can do.”

“Like what?” Boff asked.

“Retired New York cops handle a lot of the security at JFK and LaGuardia. I know several of them through my father. I could ask them to increase surveillance on commercial and private planes coming in from South America.”

“No.” Boff shook his head. “The package won’t be on a plane direct from
South America. That’d be an unnecessary risk.”

“So then how?”

“They would off-load the shipment somewhere on the Gulf Coast. Likely Florida. Then they would transfer it to a private jet. That way, the manifest in New York would only show the plane’s point of origin as Florida.”

Damiano threw her hands up. “Jesus, Boff! A lot of planes from
Florida land here.”

“Yes, but….” He raised one finger. “After doing my usual brilliant research, I found out that Yusef owns a LearJet 60XR, which I’m pretty sure is what they’ll use to transfer the package to
New York from Florida.” He raised another finger. “And the smart move would be to land at one of the small airports on Long Island.”

Damiano frowned. “If they did, that wouldn’t be good for us. There are, like, ten or eleven of those on the island.”

“Yes there are,” Boff said with a smile. “Twelve to be exact.” He raised a third finger. “But only one of those airports has a hangar owned by Yusef.”

Damiano nodded this time. “I can see why you beat so many of our cases in court. So…which airport?”

“Lufker in East Moriches.”

“I’ll blanket the place with a surveillance team.”

Boff shook his head. “Don’t you think they’d have people watching for that?”

“All right, genius, you have a better idea?”

“As a matter of fact I do.” He raised a fourth finger. “In the DEA, to go undetected in a situation like that, we’d set up a surveillance point on a roof about a thousand feet away and use high-powered binoculars and a sniper scope.”

“But how will we know which plane is Yusef’s? Lear jets are popular planes.”

“If you’d let me finish,” Boff said, “I’ll tell you. Again, due to additional brilliant work on the Boffer’s part, I found out that on either side of the nose of Yusef’s jet there are painted red boxing gloves and the word ‘Knockout.’” He paused to let Damiano digest that bit of intel. “For double coverage,” he continued, “you put two discreet officers—if there is such a thing—on the ground in overalls to signal when the plane is landing.”

Damiano punched one fist into her palm. “We’ve got ’em!”

“I wouldn’t have an orgasm yet if I were you,” Boff said. “What if the shipment comes in at night? Then the painting on the nose won’t be as easy to detect. Especially if it isn’t a very well lit airport, like Lufker. If we want to hit a home run, we need the exact date the shipment is coming.”

Damiano looked deflated. “But you just said nobody knows.”

“No. If you had been listening carefully, what I said was nobody in
law enforcement
knows. But I have a hunch Devon knows. I’m sure Solis has told him when to expect a larger than usual supply of drugs, so Devon could have his gang organized and ready to move product fast.”

Damiano shook her head. “Short of waterboarding
Devon, there’s no way in hell he squeals to us.”

“Everybody’s a potential squawk, Damiano. If you know how to play them right.”

“I dunno about that. These gang guys never
rat out. It’s like a code-of-honor thing to them. They also know that if they do sing, chances are good Bloods in prison will waste them.”

Boff stood up. “Let’s head back.”

Collecting what was left of her sandwich, Damiano took two quick bites to finish it off, tossed the bag in a nearby trash can, and then walked with Boff back past the lily pool.

“Tell me, Damiano,” he said, “what’s the one thing you can always count on with people like
Devon?”

The detective thought about that as she walked and chewed. “Trouble? Breaking the law?”

“Correct. So I suggest you put a twenty-four/seven on Devon.”

Her eyes lit up. “And when anything goes down, we nail him!”

“No, not just anything,” Boff said patiently. “It has to be a felony. One where Devon would be looking at serious time. Then I guarantee you he’ll forget about honor and give up the shipment date.”

“What’s in it for him?”

“Witness protection. But only if he testifies against Biaggi’s killers in court. If Devon drops a dime on those two, it would be good insurance for us, because there’s no way to guarantee we can flip either Yusef or Solis.”

Damiano stopped walking and turned to Boff. “I can’t see
Devon fingering those two guys. He’d be good as dead if he did.”

Boff held up five fingers, then folded them into a fist. “Just get me
Devon. The Boffer will take care of the rest.”

Boff was eating a late dinner of macaroni and cheese at the coffee shop in the Brooklyn Marriott, where he was staying, when his cell phone rang.

Get over here quick!
said an agitated Cullen.

“What happened? Anybody hurt?”

None of us. But we got two dead bodies in the backyard.

“The mobsters?”

Just get here!
Cullen hung up.

Turning onto St. Mark’s Avenue, Boff saw that the police had already set up a roadblock on the one-way street. Inside the perimeter were several cop cars with lights spinning. The mobsters’ car was nowhere to be seen.

Boff double parked as close to the roadblock as he could get and walked the rest of the way to the Biaggi house. Yellow tape was blocking off the sidewalk in front of it. As Boff approached the tape, a uniformed cop held a hand up to stop him.

“I’m a private investigator.” Boff pulled out his wallet and showed the cop his license. “My client, Danny Cullen, is staying in this house.”

The cop was young and seemed unsure of what to do. “I better check if it’s all right.”

Before he could confer with one of the detectives, Cullen bounded out the front door and hustled over. “He works for me,” Cullen said. The cop shrugged and let Boff duck under the tape.

As they headed for the house, Boff said, “Give me the short version.”

“Two guys tried to break in through the back door. Your friends had apparently spotted them from the street. They shot and killed both of them before they could get in the house. Then they checked on us to see if we were all right and took off before the cops arrived.”

“Bodies still here?”

“Yes.”

Entering the house, Boff saw McAlary sitting on the couch with Michelle, Kate, and
Phoenix. They were being questioned by a pair of detectives.

Boff walked over to the couch. “You guys okay?”

McAlary looked up. “More or less,” he replied. “Michelle’s a little shaken up.”

Boff leaned down to the little girl. “What about you,
Phoenix?”

“I’m cool. It was just like on TV.”

One of the detectives pointed his pen at Boff and asked McAlary, “Who’s this guy?”

“He’s in charge of protecting us.”

The cop shook his head. “Nice work, pal.”

Boff wasn’t about to tell him that he’d actually done his job, so he let it ride. Instead, he tapped Cullen’s arm. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

They could see through the window above the sink that the small backyard was lit as bright as day by police klieg lights. Forensic cops in white protective suits were scouring the area. Standing in front of the kitchen door was a burly detective in a suit who didn’t look friendly.

Cullen walked up to him. “Can we go out back? I live here.”

The cop shook his head. “Nobody’s allowed outside, pal. Not until the techies are done processing the scene.”

Boff put on his friendliest smile. “Any law against us looking through the window, officer?”

“Be my guest.”

They looked out the window and saw the bodies of two young Hispanic men near the back door. The bodies were being photographed and searched. As they watched, a crime scene detective lifted a gun from one guy’s pocket and bagged it. Another gun was extracted from the second body.

Boff turned from the window to the cop. “Can I ask what happened?” He wanted to see if they knew.

“Two guys got shot.”

“Thanks,” Boff said. “Were they good guys or bad guys?”

“Dead guys.”

“I meant,” Boff said, smiling, “before they were dead.”

“They were trying to break into our house through the backdoor,” Cullen interjected. “Right, detective?”

In a flat, weary voice, the cop said, “I can’t tell you that.”

“I saw the damage their lock pick did,” Cullen said. “The key hole was all scratched up.”

The cop spit out a derisive laugh. “You ain’t no forensic expert, kid.”

“When it comes to picking locks, I am. A master taught me.” He winked at Boff.

Boff asked the one question he needed answered. “Do you know who shot them or how it went down?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Then let me take a wild guess,” Boff said. “They were trying to break in and were caught in the act and shot by one or two unsubs, who got away before you came.” The cop narrowed his eyes. “Since they were armed, that pretty much rules out them being burglars. And here’s an even wilder guess. They were shot first at a distance of about ten feet, then capped behind the ear.”

That caught the cop’s attention. “How do you know so much about this crime scene? Maybe you were here when it went down
. Lemme see some ID.”

The picture of innocence, Boff took out his wallet, walked over to the cop, and showed his license. “Before you get yourself all worked up, officer,” he said, “my alibi is rock solid.”

“Let’s hear it or I’ll cuff you.”

“At the time when these guys were shot, I was eating dinner at the Brooklyn Heights Marriott, where I’m a guest. Not only will the waitress, Betsy, vouch for me, but I also charged the food to my room. Meaning—as a smart officer like you would know—there’ll be a Visa slip from my dinner with my signature, time, and date on it. You want to waste your time looking into me, go right ahead.”

The detective sneered but said nothing further.

Putting his wallet away, Boff led Cullen back into the living room. “Did you recognize the stiffs?” he asked.

“No. Did you?”

“Remember when we went to Solis’ place and this young kid with an attitude pointed a gun on me?”

“Uh huh.”

“He doesn’t have an attitude anymore. And lying next to him is one of the guys who patted you down.”

When the detectives finished interviewing the McAlarys and Michele, the trainer walked over to Boff. “Now what do we do for protection?” he asked.

Boff glanced around to see if any detectives were close enough to hear. A couple were. “Let’s go into the den,” he said.

Inside the den, keeping his voice low, Boff said, “As soon as the last cop leaves, my friends will be back. In case they were spotted by a neighbor, I’ll ask my gumba pals to send two different guys in a different car.”

“Any chance that the dead guys were just trying to burgle the house?”

“I highly doubt it. It’s not even midnight, and I’m betting you had a lot of lights on. So they knew you weren’t asleep yet. Also, the burglars were carrying guns.”

“So what?”

“The majority of burglars work unarmed. That way, if they’re caught they only get nailed for B&E. If they have guns or any other weapons in their possession, it constitutes a much more serious offense, and the time they’d have to do—presuming they didn’t hire me—would be significant.”

McAlary nodded. “So they
were
after us. Damn.” He looked directly into Boff’s eyes. “When you catch these bastards, don’t kill them right away. Call me. I want to help do the honors.”

Boff feigned surprise. “Why, Ryan, what makes you think I wouldn’t turn them over to the police?”

McAlary gave him a knowing look and let the remark pass. “In the meantime,” he said, “besides the men parked out front, do you think you can get another one of the Sopranos stationed in the living room at night? He can sleep on the couch.”

“Consider it done. Right now, if Michelle is up to it, I could go for some of her delicious cake and coffee. I was interrupted before I could order dessert.”

By the time Boff left the house, all the cops were gone. He waited on the stoop until another tow truck arrived and watched it haul away a parked car. Then he waved to a couple more of his friends, who parked a Mercury Grand Marquis in the vacant space.

On the walk back to his car, Boff called his mother. “Mom, I need Solis’ cell phone number. Do you have it?”

Yes
. But why are you calling him? I thought he was mad at you.

“I have some information he’ll want to know.”

There was a pause at the other end.
Don’t be messing with Enrique, Frankie
.
He’s a dangerous man.

“I’m just trying to do him a favor, Mom.”

Like hell. The only time you help a criminal is when they’re paying you.

Boff said nothing.

Dammit, Frankie! If something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I promise.” He heard her sigh.

I really shouldn’t be giving you this.
She told him the number.

“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

Hanging up before she could scold him, he dialed the number. After three rings Solis picked up.

“It’s Boff,” he said without a greeting.

Why are you bothering me again?

“I just wanted you to know that if a couple of your young
amigos are missing, you can find them at the Kings County morgue.”

Solis said nothing.

“It’s a spacious morgue, Enrique. So there’s plenty of room for more of your people if you should decide to send some around again.”

Solis stayed silent but still didn’t hang up. Boff could hear him breathing.

“Do you have life insurance?” Boff asked.

More silence.

“I suggest you get some.”