The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) (19 page)

In the morning, Boff woke up with Alicia still on his mind. After calling Wright and arranging to meet with him around noon to see what he had found out about her, he drove over to the gym, leaned on the wall near the door, and thought about what cards were on the table. Three dead bodies. More likely on the way. It was apparent somebody connected with the escort service was playing hardball with anybody perceived to be a threat. Which, of course, included him.

When Cullen and Bellucci wrapped up their morning session, Boff called them over.

“You guys want to take a ride?”

“Where to?” Cullen asked.

“To see an information broker.”

“What’s that
?” Bellucci asked.

“Someone who gets information.”

Cullen laughed. “Have you
ever
answered a question straight?”

“I’m sure I have. I just can’t recall an instance right now.”

Heading to Wright’s shop in
Williamsburg, Boff told them what he’d found out from Daysi about Alicia’s connection to the restaurant. Then he told them about Mantilla’s affair with Gina.

“If Alicia’s the restaurant’s owner,” Bellucci said, “then maybe she also owns the escort service.”

Boff shook his head. “Just because she signs paychecks, Mikey, that doesn’t mean she owns the restaurant. She could be the manager.”

“Then what was Mantilla’s role?” Cullen asked.

“Alicia’s personality wouldn’t be suitable for dealing with customers. Mantilla was probably the floor manager. Anyway, before we speculate any further, let’s see what my man Billy dug up.”

Wright was working on one of his computers when they walked into is inner sanctum. Despite it being late spring and unusually hot, Boff noted with mild surprise that Wright was wearing a knit ski cap.

“Give me a minute, Frank,” the information broker said.

Boff and Bellucci sat on chairs against one wall as Cullen wandered over to a shelf containing software and studied the titles.

“I learned how to use this stuff in my investigator’s course,” he said. “
NetDetective, eDetective,
Real Time Spy,
and
Urgent Detective.”

“What do they help you do?” Bellucci asked.

“Conduct online background investigations. Search public records. Find missing persons. Things like that.”

“I bet,” Boff said, “that you couldn’t find me if I lived two blocks from you.”

“Cynic.

When Wright had finished what he was working on, he swiveled his chair around to face them. “Well, Frank, who’re your friends?” 

After Boff introduced them, Wright said, “Boxers, huh? I used to compete in the martial arts. Karate, aikido, and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.” He patted his gut. “That was a few pounds ago.” He turned to Boff. “Like my new hairdo?” He yanked off the knit cap, revealing a bald head shiny with sweat.

“Why’d you cut off your hair?” Boff
said.

“I read on a chemtrails site about the crap the government planes are dumping in the sky. It can penetrate your hair and stay there. Even after you shampoo.” He pointed at Boff. “Maybe you should consider shaving that unruly mop
off, Frank.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

Wright shrugged. “Just remember that when the stuff in the chemtrails turns your brain into mush. You’ll have only yourself to blame.”

“You’re already making my head mushy with this chemtrails garbage.”

“What’s chemtrails?” Cullen asked.

Boff groaned. “Aw, don’t ask him that.”

“They have a right to know, Frank.”

“Fine. So tell them after you tell me what you found out about Alicia.”

“No problem. But before I get to Alicia, I wanted you to know I talked to a fibbie who works in the Organized Crime Unit here in New York. He said Emilio is just as advertised. Works in banking. Has never been involved in the family business. Pays his taxes. Is hetero. And doesn’t have friends that engage in illegal activities. Unless, of course, you consider everyone on Wall Street a crook. So I guess you can forget about him.”

Boff shook his head. “Not yet. What about Alicia?”

“I couldn’t confirm right away that she owned the restaurant. It’s registered under the name ACM International.”

“Which stands for?”

“It’s a shell company in the Caymans with no office of operations. When you call the company’s phone number, you always get an answering machine. Messages are not returned.” Wright paused and smiled. “
And
the company has one other asset besides the restaurant. Guess what that is?”

“Just tell me.”

“An escort service called NY Club Cachet VIP.”

Boff smiled. “Good work, Billy.”

“Wait. I’m not done. There’s more you’re gonna love. I did an intensive search on the name Alicia Celina. There’s fifteen of them on the East Coast, including one here in New York. The Alicia Celina in New York has a rap sheet.”

“For what?”

“Get ready to cream your pants, Frank. Prostitution. And not the street variety. Apparently, a few years ago, Alicia was a high-class call girl for an elite escort service named Pleasure Island. The service was eventually busted in a NYPD sting, and Alicia got thirty hours of community service. So…I’m thinking that maybe Ms. Celina missed the good money and decided to start her own service.”

Boff shook his head. “I dunno about that. I doubt she had enough money from being a hooker to fund an escort service.”

Wright leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. “
This
Alicia Celina could. I’m pretty sure she’s got another source of income.”

“Which is?
”

“I can’t prove it yet, Frank, but I’m betting she has a nice trust fund.”

Boff looked surprised. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, besides the Alicia Celinas my search dug up, blessed Google gave me a few variations on the name. The Alicia Celina in
New York comes from a rich banking family. Her full name is.…Drum roll, please…Alicia. Celina. Mantilla. ACM International.”

As they climbed back into Boff’s Malibu, Bellucci said, “Alicia was sleeping with her brother? That’s pretty disgusting.”

“Well, it’s possible that they were only cousins,” Boff said.

“Still incest,” Bellucci said.

Before starting his car, Boff speed-dialed Pete Wallachi’s number. As it rang, he said to the boxers, “I’m going to get some more info about this gal. Hang on a minute.” Wallachi came on line. “Pete, I just found out that your late buddy, Alberto Mantilla, either has a cousin or a sister named Alicia. Did she come up in your investigation?”

It’s his sister.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Didn’t think it was relevant.

“It is now.” Boff quickly explained why. “Was there any hint of hanky panky between them when you investigated?”

Yes, but nothing I could get on record from anyone. A few people told me brother and sister were very close. As in maybe too close. Nobody came right out and said it, but it was pretty obvious what they were implying.

“Thanks, Pete. I might need your services soon.”

The Great Boffer asking for help? That’d be a first.

“The job I have in mind will require more than one operative. I’ll let you know when.”
After hanging up, Boff turned back to Cullen. “Are you ready now to put Herman J.’s lessons to work?”

“How?”

Boff started his car and pulled out into traffic. “What would you say if I asked you to book an hour with one of the Club Cachet women?”

“No fucking way. I just lost Marla. I’m not up for screwing some hooker. No matter how beautiful she might be.”

“You don’t have to have sex with her,” Boff said. “A lot of guys book a girl just to have someone to talk to. That’s what you’ll be doing. Talking.
While
you’re putting your alleged investigative skills to work.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Get information from her that could help us. I hope Herman J. taught you more than just how to use
NetDetective
and make online searches.”

“Hey, Boff,” Bellucci said. “I
f Danny isn’t up to it, I’ll do it. I have no problem having sex with a hot babe. Even if she’s a hooker.”

Boff shook his head. “Sorry, Mikey, but it has to be Danny.”

“Why me?” Cullen said.

“Because you’re going to tell her your girlfriend just got murdered.”

“What does that accomplish?”

“Gains her sympathy. And hopefully gets her to drop her guard.  You won’t let on, of course, you know Marla was a hooker for the escort service. If the gal brings it up, fine. Then you can say you knew. Above all, try and get the escort’s personal phone number.”

“And then what?”

“She becomes an asset to play when the time is right.”

“I don’t see it,” Cullen said.

“You don’t have to. Just trust me.”

“Whatever.”

At Cullen’s apartment, Boff got the website on Bellucci’s computer, clicked on the link, OUR BEAUTIFUL WOMEN, and was directed to a page where each girl was showcased. There was general info about each one, and they were posed in a provocative way with the tops of their heads cropped off. He leaned closer to the screen. “Okay, Danny, let’s pick out your date.”

Bellucci pointed to the screen. “What’s with the blue jewels next to their names?”

Boff took a moment to study the page. “They’re sapphires, Mikey. I believe they’re part of a rating system. Seven sapphires looks like the highest. Two is the lowest. Which means the more sapphires a gal has, the more it costs you.”

“Oh.”

Boff began reading profiles. After a while, he stopped on one and pointed to the screen. “This is the gal, Danny.”

Cullen leaned closer and saw the woman’s name was Dina. He looked at Boff. “Isn’t Dina…?”

“Yes. She’s one of the three girls Emilio said he’d used. But that’s not why I chose her.”

The boxer took a longer look at Dina. Like all the women, she looked pretty hot. She was dressed in a black micro-mini skirt with a red silk halter top and rated at two sapphires. “Okay,” he said, “but why her?”

“Because from what the site says about her, I don’t believe she’s as sophisticated and worldly as some of the others. That might make it easier for you to get inside her defenses.”

Bellucci took another look. “I’d get into more than her defenses,” he said.

Looking at the woman’s description, Cullen read it out loud. “Beautiful, charismatic American beauty, Dina is a complete delight to be with. Her winning personality and sparkling bronze eyes light up any occasion. Dina is a classy, cheerful, beautiful woman. Experience the refreshing invigoration of Dina’s presence.”

“You okay with her?” Boff asked.

“As long as all I have to do is talk with her. So how much is she an hour?”

“We’ll find that out when you call and make an appointment. Remember to save your credit card receipt after you pay her. I’ll give you a check for the charge and write it off on my taxes.”

Bellucci made a face. “How can you write off a hooker?”

“It’s legitimate research on a case involving a murdered call girl. Danny, dial the number.”

After Cullen gave the service a good deal of information about himself, he made an appointment for Thursday, two days away. The charge was eight hundred for the hour. The service also asked him for his work phone. He told them he was a professional boxer, gave the number at the gym, and hung up.

“When they contact Dina,” Boff said, “she’ll probably run your name through a verification company. Emilio alluded to that. They’ll especially want to know if you have a history of giving call girls problems.”

“I’ve never been with a hooker in my life,” Cullen said. “Well, technically, I guess you could say I was.”

Boff looked at Bellucci. “Mikey, you can’t be home when she comes.”

“That sure blows. I really wanted to see her.”

“She won’t want to see you.”

After leaving Cullen’s apartment, Boff drove to the Bronx to see mob boss Bruno Benvenuti, who lived in the Belmont section of the borough. Benvenuti had a three-story row house a block from Arthur Avenue, where most of the neighborhood’s Italian restaurants and delis were. As he drove down Arthur, he opened all his windows so he could catch the aroma of garlic and basil coming from the restaurants and the Mediterranean gardens. Then, before going to the mobster’s house, he stopped at a wine shop he had been to before. Although the majority of Fiore’s wine came from Italy, he knew the store’s biggest seller was a homemade red from a local basement winery.

After buying a case of the homemade red, he continued on to the mobster’s house. When he was shown into the kitchen by one of Benvenuti’s soldiers, he found the mob boss chopping up onions and garlic for a huge pot of soup he was cooking. He was wearing a white bib apron that covered his shirt and pants, and he had a black FBI cap on his head.

“Got you a present,” Boff said as he set the case down on the kitchen table. Although the box had no label or writing on it, Benvenuti immediately smiled. “Fiore’s finest,” he said. “Thank you.” After putting down his butcher knife, he wiped his hands on the apron and walked over to give Boff a hug.

“Siddown, Frank. I’ll fetch a couple glasses.” He brought over two small water glasses and slid one in front of Boff as he sat down. Then he took a bottle out of the case, popped its plastic cap, and filled the two glasses.

Boff took a small sip. “Pretty good stuff.”

“Terrific is more like it.” Benvenuti drained half his glass. “I don’t go for the fancy French and Italian wines. All they talk about is complexity and pears and blackberries and other fucking fruit you can supposedly taste in the wine. If I want fruit, I’ll buy it at the stand. This is
real wine
.” He took another swallow. “So, Frank, what besides good wine brings you to my humble abode?”

“I’m working on a case involving some murders and an elite escort service. Among those killed was a high-class call girl.” Boff paused before adding, “Emilio was listed in her client address book.”

Benvenuti shrugged. “Then he’s a chip off the old block. After my wife died, I used an escort service because I didn’t have the time or the heart to look for a replacement.”

Boff took another small sip. “My apartment was tossed by someone looking for that address book. While they were trashing the place, my son walked in and got a concussion from a gun butt. Emilio was one of the few people who knew I had the book. If he wasn’t your son, Bruno, he’d be a prime suspect. But I have a hard time believing he’d do anything to harm a friend of yours.”

“Correct.”

“The only thing keeping me from eliminating him is he told me he’s never been part of the family business. So…is it possible he didn’t realize it would be against your code to harm a friend of yours?”

Before replying, Benvenuti grabbed the wine bottle and topped off his glass and Boff’s. “It’s true Emilio didn’t join the family business,” the mobster began. “But he definitely knew what was going on.
And
he heard me say many times that friends of the family were never to be touched without my permission.”

Boff nodded. “Let me ask you something else.”

“Shoot.”

“I’m assuming Emilio took a hit when the financial industry tanked a few years back. Is it possible he thought that buying into an elite escort service that charges up to four thousand an hour would be a way of making back the cash he’d lost?”

“Is it possible? Sure. Is it likely? No. Emilio wouldn’t turn to illegal activity now after all these years of staying out of my business.”

“Bruno, let me make something clear to you. I mean no disrespect by asking you these questions. I’m doing it because I owe it to my client to explore all possibilities. I have one more thing to ask, but if you want me to stop now, I will.”

“Frank, you gotta do your job. Ask me whatcha want.”

Boff nodded. “In the last few months, did Emilio ever come to you for money?”

Benvenuti laughed. “He’s a son! All sons sponge off their old man. I bet you shell out plenty to Steven.”

“Yes, but that’s going to stop real soon. I’m going to make him earn his allowance by working for my mother on weekends. That way she’ll get more time off.”

“Good for you. It’ll teach him the value of work. Unfortunately, I spoiled my children. Although all of them except Antonio turned out fine. To answer your question, about three months ago, Emilio did ask me to loan him some money. Two hundred large. I did so without hesitation. The kid didn’t tell me what it was for, and I never asked. And even though I told him the money was a gift, he’s been paying me back.”

Boff took another sip of wine. “You said Emilio never told you what the money was for. Is it possible he bought into the escort service and didn’t want you to know?”

The mobster spread his hands. “Again, I highly doubt it.
But,
since you seem concerned, how about I talk to Emilio and ask him what he did with the money? I won’t mention you came to me about this or wondered if he’d harmed your son. He’d be insulted.”

“I understand completely. Thanks.”

Boff finished his wine and stood up. “Your soup smells great,” he said. “What is it?”

“
Pasta e faglioli
. When it’s done, I’ll send one of my boys over to your place with a container.”

“My mother loves
pasta e faglioli
.”

“Then I’ll send her some, too. Plus a loaf of Madonia Brothers semolina bread and some gorgeous Auricchio provolone that’s been hanging for a year in Cuomo’s deli.”

“Bruno, you’re the best.”

After another hug, the mobster said, “Frank, promise me one thing.”

“Sure.”

“In the very unlikely event you find out that Emilio was mixed up in this service and with the murders, come to me first.”

“You got it.”

On the drive back to Brooklyn, Boff put on a CD of Little Richard’s
Tutti Frutti
album. Listening to it, he began considering what had transpired at Benvenuti’s house. He had told the mob boss what he wanted to hear, but if it turned out that Emilio was responsible for trashing his apartment and injuring Steven, then he’d have to figure out a way to punish the kid without leaving his fingerprints. Right now, however, Alicia was still his prime target. Other than Emilio knowing he had the address book and not remembering how much he paid the escort girls, there was really nothing tangible to implicate him.