The Punishing Game (26 page)

Cullen looked at the map again and frowned. “Yeah. But he didn’t time that route.”

“Because he’s not taking it.”

McAlary, who had listened without speaking, suddenly threw up his hands in frustration. “Jesus Mary,” he said. “Stop spinning riddles. Tell us what you think.”

Boff switched to Google Satellite, worked it down to the route Yusef had taken, and zoomed in. He touched the screen with his finger.

“
This
is what he was timing.”

After leaving the Biaggi house, Boff called Damiano and told her to expect Yusef to be on the move at seven-fifteen the next evening, the date Devon had coughed up. As usual, he declined to say why he was so sure of the time, so Damiano told him she wasn’t taking any chances that Yusef would leave earlier. She was going to stake out his office with another cop early the next morning.

Before beginning his morning workout the next day, Cullen asked Boff if he should skip his afternoon session just in case Yusef did leave earlier.

“Don’t worry about Yusef,” Boff told him. “He isn’t leaving his office until this evening. Meanwhile, I’m going out to see a friend and make sure some arrangements are properly in place.” Boff left the gym without revealing who the friend was or what the arrangements were.

As Cullen began hitting the heavy bag, he wondered what effect Yusef’s arrest would have on Jermain. Would Jermain be so upset he’d pull out of the fight? Or would Cullen’s part in his uncle’s demise fire up his venom and make him come into the ring raging mad? He hoped Jermain did fight mad. Because of his own bad temper, McAlary had drilled into Cullen time after time how an angry boxer often slips out of his game plan and makes mistakes that cost him the fight.

Cullen looked across the gym at Bellucci running on the treadmill. Mikey hadn’t spoken to him or looked at him since last night. Cullen wanted to say something to him, but the younger boxer seemed like the type who had to work out his anger before you could approach him.

As Cullen was wondering how long that would take, McAlary strode up to him and snapped his fingers in his face. “Get your mind on your boxing! Pick up the pace. Show me some angles. Let’s go, lad, you’re sleepwalking.”

Yusef hadn’t left his office
by early afternoon, and Damiano had drunk so much coffee, she was wired. Like most cops, she hated surveillance. But, she kept reminding herself, the reward for this collar would make it worthwhile.

She had picked as her driver a guy considered the best chase cop in
Brooklyn. Maybe the whole department. After “Fast Eddie” Deutsch had spent three years on the NASCAR circuit without much luck, he’d realized he wasn’t going to make a living as a race driver, so he’d applied for and joined NYPD, where he quickly earned the reputation as the one person you wanted behind the wheel in a high-speed chase.

Damiano had tried several times during the day to reach Boff on his cell phone. He wasn’t taking her calls. That meant the fucker had something up his sleeve. Where the hell was he? She vowed to herself that if he screwed her on this, she would find a way to get his license revoked.

By
six o’clock, she was practically jumping out of her skin. Maybe Devon had lied. She wouldn’t put it past the little shit. If he’d been lying, she would yank his ass out of that safe house and throw him to the wolves at the D.A.’s office.

She glanced at the building where Yusef had his office. He had gone in there at ten in the morning and not left since. With the elevators in the basement garage
covered, and her people watching the only other exit besides the front door—the service entrance—unless Yusef donned a cape and flew out the window, he wasn’t getting away from her.

In contrast to the detective, Deutsch was the picture of chill. He didn’t talk much, which was normally something she liked when she had a partner. Today was different. She was bored out of her skull.

Damiano looked at him. He seemed spaced out. “What’s going through your mind?” she asked.

“I’m replaying NASCAR races I was in,” he said. “I do it when I’m jogging, too. Helps pass the time.”

At six-thirty, while they were talking about race driving, Damiano’s cell phone rang. It was Boff.

“Where in hell are you?” she hissed into the phone.

In position and ready to move.

“You aren’t going to tell me where, right?”

That’s correct
.”

“Boff, if you screw me out of this collar—”

Relax. You still have people waiting at Lufker, right?

“
Of course.”

So you’ll be in on the bust one way or another. Although I must tell you
, my gut feeling is the package won’t be going to that airport.

“Damn you, Boff! You’re hiding something from me.”

If you say so.
He hung up.

She called right back. He didn’t pick up.

At seven-fifteen, the time Boff had told Damiano that Yusef would move, the hip-hop millionaire’s limo finally drove out of the garage. Damiano alerted all her units, then called Boff.

“He’s moving,” she told him.

I know.

“How the hell do you know if you aren’t here?”

Instinct.

“Bullshit! What’s going on?”

Well, I can tell you this. Yusef’s driver is going to take the same exact route he did last night.

“Which tells me nothing. He didn’t go anywhere last night.”

Are you sure?

“Of course I’m sure.”

No two days are ever the same.

Boff hung up. Damiano felt like throwing her phone through the windshield.

Just as Boff had said, Yusef took the identical route as the night before. And again he ignored the bridge exits and got off the FDR at the
South Street exit.

“What the fuck’s he doing?” Damiano said, thinking out loud.

The limo went past the South Street Seaport once more, but this time, instead of making a right on Old Slip and heading home, Yusef’s driver made a left just past the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

“OH, FUCK!”

“What’s wrong?” Deutsch asked.

“Look!”

Yusef’s driver had pulled onto the dock where the Wall Street Heliport is located on Pier 6.

Damiano banged her fist on the dashboard. “GO! Follow him!”

Deutsch floored the car so hard Damiano almost got whiplash. Yusef’s limo had also sped up and was heading straight for a helicopter whose rotor blades were spinning. Just as Deutsch got to within 30 feet of the limo, Yusef sprang from the car, ran to the helicopter, and jumped in. It took off fast.

“Now what?” Deutsch said, braking hard and skidding. “We shoot it down?”

“No you can’t shoot the fucking thing down!”

Getting out of the car, Damiano ran over to the limo, tapped on the driver’s window, and showed her badge. The driver rolled the window down.

“Where’s Yusef going?”

“He didn’t say.”

She leaned in closer. “Don’t fuck with me! You’re in deep shit!”

“Listen, lady. Yusef just tells me where to drive. He doesn’t confide in me about his business.”

She didn’t have time to waste with a driver. She ran back to the car, got in, and called Boff. The fucker probably knew about the helicopter! He picked right up.

“You son of a bitch! You coulda told me!”

Coulda woulda shoulda. I suggest you get your birds up fast.

“What about you?”

Boff hung up.

As these cordial conversations took place, Boff and Cullen were sitting with Marty Schlosberg and four other DEA agents in a Bell 412 helicopter at the West 34
th
Street Heliport.

“Her
birds are gonna screw everything up,” Schlosberg said.

“Relax, Marty.
By the time Damiano explains to her superior why she needs them and gets authorization, Yusef could fly to Maine if he wanted to.”

Cullen pointed to a helicopter heading their way from the lower
East Side. “That must be Yusef’s copter.”

The pilot turned to Schlosberg. “Should I take her up now?” he asked.

“No. Wait till he passes us. We won’t lose him.”

“How can you be so sure?” Cullen asked.

Schlosberg frowned at Boff. “Frank,” he said, “I agreed against regulations to bring this civilian along, but I’ll be damned if I have to answer his questions, too.”

“Marty, I told you
, he’s not a civilian. Danny’s my junior partner.”

“My ass he is!”

“Oh, lighten up. Answer the kid. He’ll give you free tickets to his fight.”

Schlosberg let out a sigh of resignation. “Okay, junior
. We won’t lose him because this baby is a souped-up command center with
radar
. Boff also thinks he knows where Yusef is going.”

“Not thinks, Marty, I
know
where he’s going. Westchester County Airport. It’s just thirty-three miles from Manhattan and it’s the least congested airport in the
New York City area
. Yusef thought he could outsmart me.” He allowed himself a smile. “The only person who outsmarts me is my wife. And that’s because she knows me so well after twenty years of marriage.
”

Schlosberg ignored the witticism. “I don’t see how you can be sure that he’s going to
Westchester,” he growled.

“Because, Marty, the airport’s flight manifest shows that Yusef’s Learjet 60XR was scheduled to arrive at seven-thirty. The jet will be in Hangar Nine.”

“Can I ask how you got to the manifest?”

“Sure. I always welcome questions.”

Schlosberg waited for Boff to answer. When he didn’t, the DEA agent told his pilot to go up.

“But don’t get close enough for them to spot you,” he said.

Boff’s phone rang. He put it on speaker so everybody could hear.

Where the fuck are you!

“Damiano. What a pleasant surprise. We’re i
n pursuit.”

Damiano could obviously hear the noise of the helicopter.
Motherfucker! You were waiting in a copter! You screwed me!

“
I would never screw a lesbian. I’m totally hetero.”

The DEA agents laughed.

Who the hell was that?
Damiano’s voice was rising with her anger.
Do you fucking have this on speaker?

“
Of course. I wouldn’t want your screaming to damage my delicate ears. By the way, did you get your birds up yet?

I’m working on it. Who are you with?

“The DEA.”

What! How could you fucking do this after we
fucking made a fucking deal, you sack of shit!

“Don’t get your balls in an uproar
,” Boff said calmly. “When we make the collar, the DEA will be sure to announce this was a joint operation with NYPD.”

Then tell me where the copter
’s gonna land. I can get people there to join the bust.

“
You’ll never make it in time. It’ll all be over in about twenty-five minutes. Just go to the Metropolitan Correctional Center. The DEA will be charging the suspects there. You can make a joint announcement with the agency. Meanwhile, you can get a solo collar on Ricci.”

Don’t throw me crumbs, you prick! Just answer me this. Why did you choose the
feds and not us?

“
Are your birds in the air?”

Damiano said nothing.

“That’s why. See you later.”

As Boff hung up, Schlosberg laughed. “You’d better get out of Dodge fast after the bust. You’re going to have one helluva pissed-off cop on your hands
. She’ll be out for your blood. Not to mention your license.”

“Marty, if I left town every time I pissed off a cop, I’d be a nomad.”

As Yusef’s helicopter approached the Westchester County Airport, Schlosberg looked at Boff and shook his head in resignation. “Frank, why are you always right?” As Boff just smiled, Schlosberg turned to his pilot. “Call the flight tower,” he said. “Let them know we’ll be making an unscheduled landing. Ask them to have a fire truck ready in case the hangar is booby-trapped to blow. I don’t want to lose all the H.”

The pilot made the call while Yusef’s helicopter was landing.

“Put her down about fifty yards from his copter,” Schlosberg ordered.

Jumping out of the helicopter, Yusef ran across the tarmac toward a hangar. Solis suddenly rushed out of the hangar. After a brief hug, they disappeared inside. As soon as they were in the hangar, Yusef’s helicopter took off.

The DEA pilot landed where Schlosberg had told him to.

Tapping Schlosberg’s arm, Boff shouted under the noise of the helicopter, “They’ll have a car with a big trunk or an SUV inside the hangar to off-load the package.”

“Really?” Schlosberg shouted back “And here I thought they’d call a taxi.”

“No need for sarcasm.”

Schlosberg turned to his men. “We’re going to fan out and approach the entrance to the hangar from different angles. Nobody runs. Look as casual as possible. Which under the circumstances is probably impossible.” Schlosberg looked at the pilot. “Boff and Junior stay inside. If they try to leave, shoot them.”

“No problem,” Boff said. “My knee still hurts, and you know I hate gun fights. By the way, Marty, if I may be so bold, I suggest that you have an agent check to see if that hangar has a rear exit.”

Schlosberg shot Boff a dirty look. “You think I’m so stupid I wasn’t going to do that?”

“No, Marty, I don’t think you’re stupid. Just a DEA agent.”

“Yeah, well, this is going down by the book. There’ll be no mistakes.”

After the agents left the helicopter, they spread out and began to walk quickly toward the front entrance of the hangar. One agent was dispatched toward the rear of the hangar.

Boff looked at Cullen. “Schlosberg has no cover. They’ll be spotted. Lucky for Marty, the Boffer has a backup plan.”

“No point in asking what it is, right?”

When the agents were within twenty feet of the hangar, shots were fired at them from inside. The agents sprinted toward the sides of the hangar and hugged the walls, guns raised.

“Guess what happens next,” Boff said.

“Yusef and Solis drive out the back entrance?”

“Perhaps. But I’m thinking of a more clever scenario.”

Suddenly Yusef’s Learjet rolled out of the hangar at a good clip and headed for the runway. The agents fired at the tires, but the jet was too fast and took off. The agents ran back to the helicopter.

“We’re fucked!” Schlosberg said, climbing on board. Breathing hard, he pointed at his pilot. “Call the office. Tell them to try and get a radar fix on that jet.”

As his pilot began radioing in, Schlosberg turned to Boff. “This kills me to ask, but do you have any tricks up your sleeve? I could use one right now. I wanted this damn bust bad.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“What is it?”

“Be patient.”

Schlosberg shook his head in disgust. “That’s your answer? Be fucking patient?” He let out a weary sigh. “You’ve got nothing. We might as well head back.”

“Marty, I think you should hang tight here for a few minutes.”

“Why?” Schlosberg was still breathing hard. “The dirtbags got away.”

“Trust me on this.”

“Okay,” the agent said. “We wait. For what, I have no fucking clue.”

A few minutes went by. “How much longer, Frank?”

“I’m guessing any minute now you’ll have an answer.”

Cullen suddenly pointed toward the hanger. “Look! There’s a black Mercedes pulling out of the back entrance!”

Schlosberg smacked a fist into his palm. “The fucking plane was a damn decoy!”

As the Mercedes sped off, Schlosberg barked orders to his pilot. “Call the flight tower! Have the Mercedes stopped at the front gate!”

“Waste of time, Marty,” Boff said. “They’re not going through the front gate.”

The pilot looked from Schlosberg to Boff and back at Schlosberg.

“How do you know?”

When Boff didn’t reply, Schlosberg told his pilot to make the call.

Just as the pilot was reaching for his cell phone, the Mercedes crashed through a small gate in the fence near the hangar.

Schlosberg threw his hands up in frustration. “Fucked again!”

“Why don’t you just go after them in the helicopter?” Cullen asked him.

“Boff, tell Junior.”

“All aircraft, Danny, are severely limited as to where they can fly over Westchester residential airspace. Basically, they have to fly in and out over Long Island Sound. Even federal aircraft.” He turned to Schlosberg. “Fortunately for you, Marty, the Boffer anticipated this scenario. Danny, look just outside that gate and tell me what you see.”

“Boff’s car! And there’s Mikey standing by it!”

“Marty, I suggest we hustle before they get too far ahead of us.”

Schlosberg and his men jumped to the tarmac. Boff moved as quickly as he could toward the gate. Cullen, who had better knees and was in better shape, slowed down and ran alongside him. 

“Hi, guys!” Bellucci said. He waved a slip of paper. “Mikey wrote down the plate number just like you told me to.”

He handed Boff the paper, then got in the driver’s seat of the car. Boff and Cullen joined him in the front seat and the DEA agents piled in back.

Cullen slapped his friend on the back. “Mikey, you saved the day.”

“I knew you guys wouldn’t cut me out.” He drove off fast in the direction the Mercedes had taken.

“Uhhh, do you have a license?” Cullen asked.

“Nah. I learned how to drive stealing cars.”

“Oh, for Christ sakes, Frank,” Schlosberg said. “Let one of my agents get behind the wheel. I’m not getting killed in a high-speed chase with a driver who has two-tone hair.”

“We’re not going in a high-speed chase, Marty.”

“Why not? And how the hell did you anticipate the decoy, anyway?”

“Well,” Boff began in a voice that sounded like he was talking to a child, “first I figured this raid could have two possible results. One, you would’ve been successful. Which you weren’t. And two, they’d send the jet out to trick you into thinking they were on it. In their place, my last choice would’ve been the airplane. They’d know it would get picked up on radar and there’d be a hundred cops and agents waiting wherever they landed. So their obvious plan was to wait a few minutes, hoping you’d leave in your helicopter. And if you didn’t, they’d bust out through the hangar’s
side entrance, knowing you couldn’t follow them in the copter. And by the way, Marty, you’re welcome.”

“Don’t expect any thanks yet,” Schlosberg retorted. “Our chances of catching them are slim. Especially with this kid driving.”

“Actually, we’ve got an excellent chance of catching them.”

“Yeah? And how’s that, oh, great wise one?”

“I happen to know exactly where they’re going.”

Schlosberg made a face. “What are you, a fucking clairvoyant?”

“No, Marty. Just a smart investigator who believes in doing a thorough job. Before I met you at the heliport, I did some research and discovered that besides his penthouse in the city, Yusef Force owns a home in a swank Westchester suburb called Scarsdale. The house is registered under Yusef’s real name, James Simms.”

“Wonderful. And this is important because….?”

“Because common sense tells us that Yusef surely knows he can’t get far in the Mercedes.”

“Why not?”

“He had to have seen my able assistant, Mikey, writing down the plate number. And for sure the gate guard did, too. So he’ll need to switch vehicles. That’s why he’s going home.”

Boff turned around and winked at his former partner, who returned that gesture with a gesticulation of his own.

“Okay, genius,” Schlosberg said. “How far is Scarsdale?”

“Fourteen miles. At this time of night, we should be there in twenty-two minutes.”

“Not twenty-three?”

“If you’ll notice, Marty, I rented a car with a
GPS. I have the best route already programmed in.”

Boff brought it up on the
GPS screen. Schlosberg leaned forward to look.

“This is the fastest way,” Boff said, pointing to the screen. “Since Yusef has his own plane and flies out of Lufker, I’m betting he doesn’t use this airport much, if at all. Meaning he won’t know the quickest way to his house. Meaning we stand a very good chance of beating him there.”

Schlosberg pulled out his cell phone. “I’m going to call the Scarsdale police and have them in position near this guy’s house.”

“Their number is nine-one-four, seven-two-two, twelve hundred,” Boff said.

“Friggin’ know-it-all.” Schlosberg punched in the numbers.

Boff turned back to Schlosberg. “When you talk to them, Marty—and this is only a suggestion—tell them they need to park in unmarked vehicles a couple blocks away from the house. If Yusef spots a lot of cars in front of his place, he won’t go to the house. Also tell them to expect that after Yusef enters his garage, he’ll come back out of it at some point in a different vehicle. So have them be ready to block off both ends of the street.”

“Any other instructions, boss?”

“If I think of any, I’ll gladly pass them on.”