The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) (31 page)

Boff was pretty sure Emilio was going to come after him pretty soon, so now he tried to work out of his house as much as possible. While his plan was to lure Emilio into making a move on him, he wanted the attempt on his life to happen at a time and place of his own choosing. Figuring that the gym was pretty safe, he put on his new Kevlar a couple days later and drove there without calling Wallachi to tail him.

Before trudging up the stairs, he surveyed the sidewalks and parked cars for signs of Emilio or anyone else who looked suspicious. Satisfied that the gym wasn’t being watched, he climbed the stairs and went inside. As he watched Cullen work, he noticed that the boxer seemed to be going through his rigorous drills much faster than he had six weeks ago and he didn’t look tired.

“Okay, Danny,” McAlary said, “let’s do the popcorn drill.”

By now, Boff knew what this drill consisted of. McAlary would stand behind a heavy bag and hold it in position while Cullen took some preliminary shots at it. Then the trainer would shout, “Popcorn,” which was the signal for the boxer to hammer the bag with a
s many punches as fast as he could for the next three minutes. Sort of like a popcorn popper bursting kernels.

Sierra was standing near the bag now and holding
a lap counter as Cullen launched his blistering assault on the hundred-thirty pound sack. When the three minutes were up, instead of looking exhausted, Cullen danced on his toes and threw a few more punches.

“How many, Angel?” McAlary asked.

“Five hundred shots.”

“Good.”

Cullen frowned and stopped dancing. “Good? How about
great
?”

“Great is when you hit five-fifty.”

“When I hit four-fifty, you said great was five hundred.”

At that, McAlary smiled and walked away. After grabbing a towel, Cullen walked over to Boff. “I’m in the best shape of my life,” he said.

“I can’t say the same for me. It looks like Emilio is going to try and kill me.”

“Oh, man. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll have Wallachi. And Wally One-Eye.” They both smiled. “And a couple off-duty cops following me.”

“But instead of putting yourself at risk, why not just let your D.A. friend nail Emilio?”

“To a degree, I’m doing that. Carl’s working with the FBI to get an indictment.
But
it will take time.”

“Enough time for you to kill Emilio, right?”

Frowning, Boff looked around to see if anybody had heard what Cullen had said. “I would prefer you didn’t say things like that with other people nearby.”

“Okay. So…how are you going to eliminate the threat?”

“Use myself as bait. It’s my least favorite way, but I can’t come up with another scenario right now. Let’s not talk about it. Go back to your training.”

“I gather you won’t be coming to my fight.”

“I already bought front-row seats.”

Cullen looked surprised. “Don’t you think being exposed in a crowded arena would be…er…pretty risky? Why don’t you skip the fight? I’ll understand.”

Boff shook his head. “After all the time I’ve spent in this hot, smelly gym, I’m not going to let Emilio stop me from going to your championship fight.”

“Well, then do me a friggin’ favor. If you get killed in the arena, try and wait till
after
the fight. I wouldn’t want the biggest fight of my life disrupted.”

Boff smiled. “You got it, buddy. By the way, I found tape on YouTube of your opponent. Marco Diaz looks pretty tough.”

“I’ll beat him. Count on it. Not only will I win, but I’m going to knock him out.”

“I certainly hope you do. And if I live to see it, well, that’d be a nice bonus.”

***

Although Boff felt he was in control of the situation with Emilio, it frustrated him to know that all he could do was wait for the banker to make his move. On the plus side, he didn’t mind staying home because he got to see more of his wife than he usually did. And even Steven was reasonably pleasant to be around these days. More or less.

He certainly didn’t lack for things to keep him busy. A case had just dropped into his lap that promised to be a lucrative one. An orthopedic surgeon was being sued for malpractice because he had operated on a patient’s wrong knee. The surgeon claimed it wasn’t his fault because a hospital worker had scrubbed and shaved the healthy knee, not the one with the torn ligament. It looked like the kind of case that could drag on for at least two months. Even better, he had raised the price of his fee and retainer because he had a pathological dislike for doctors.

Although he had no idea when Emilio would act, he was pretty certain that if the D.A. and feds squeezed his father’s business and put Bruno’s life in jeopardy, the son would feel compelled to retaliate.

A week passed without anything happening. At the end of the week, Baumgartner called to tell him that he and the FBI were steadily cutting off the flow of money from Benvenuti’s various businesses, especially his bookmaking. From his mob contacts, Boff learned that Benvenuti’s soldiers blamed the boss’s son for the heat, and, indirectly, Bruno himself for not keeping a tighter leash on the kid.

When a couple of Benvenuti’s men bolted to the Colombos looking for work, Boff knew the end was near for Bruno. He wasn’t pleased about that because he liked the man, but if he wanted to push Emilio over the edge, this was the best way to do it. He also knew that with Bruno gone, he’d have a clear path to his son without fear of retribution.

A few days later, Baumgartner called again. Benvenuti had disappeared. He might have fled the country. Boff figured the mob boss had left the earth. Or more specifically, was six feet under it wrapped in plastic.

Two days after Benvenuti was reported missing, Boff received a call from Vinny Gorgeous.

That person we talked about? His name came to my attention again. Your name did, too.

“Did you give the green light?”

Not a chance. You’re my friend. Plus, he’s damaged goods now. It’s not smart to do business with him. He could shop somewhere else, but I doubt anybody will want to touch him. But, Frank, this doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods. This person could try to do the job himself.

“Thanks for the heads up.”

Be careful.

Boff called Wallachi. “It’s going to be soon. Come to my place and we’ll talk.”

After pouring a mug of coffee for Wallachi and another for himself, Boff carried the cups into the living room and sat in a chair facing the investigator.

“Here’s the deal, Pete. Basically, whenever I’m going out, I’ll call Emilio and let him know exactly where I’m heading.”

“Daring him to try something.”

“That’s the plan.”

“So where do me, Manny, and the two cops fit in?”

“If Emilio tries to shoot me, the cops can either arrest him, or, if I’m lucky and Emilio actually shoots me in the vest, then our boys in blue can even kill him.”

Wallachi didn’t look too pleased about that scenario. “This is the craziest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Probably.”

“Did you at least buy the new Kevlar I recommended?”

“Yes.”

“Well, unless he pops you in the head, you should be okay.”

“He’s not going to shoot me in the head. Trust me. No way am I going let him get that close to me.” Boff took a quick sip of his coffee. “Working in my favor, I’m betting Emilio has little or no practice or experience with guns. Given that, he’d have a tough time hitting a small target like my head. Which means he’d probably go for the bigger zone.”

Wallachi, who hadn’t touched his coffee, finally took a drink. He nearly spat it out. “Jesus Christ, Frank! What kind of crappy coffee do you use?”

“It’s Maxwell House. It’s cheaply priced and very tasty.”

“Cheap, yeah, for sure. But tasty? I’ve had instant coffee better than this. You got any brandy I can put in this mud?”

Boff walked over to his bar, selected a bottle of Remy XO, carried it back, and set it down on the coffee table in front of Wallachi.

“XO?” Wallachi said. “Man, I never figured a tightwad like you to spring for a bottle like this.”

“I didn’t. It was a present from a grateful felon.”

Wallachi poured some of the cognac into his coffee, tasted it again, and made another face. “Shit. This cruddy mud’s killing the cognac. Lemme have a snifter.”

Getting up again, Boff fetched a snifter from the glass case behind the bar. Wallachi poured some Remy into it, swirled it, sniffed, and drank.

“Ahhh! That’s better.” He put his snifter down. “Did I tell you this plan of yours sucks?”

“More than once.”

“Well, can you at least tell me the places you’re planning on going out to?”

“I’m not sure. The only place I definitely intend to go to is the Garden. For Danny’s fight.”

“What? Are you crazy, Frank! Do you have any idea how vulnerable you’ll be in an arena that seats over eighteen thousand people?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let Emilio dictate where I can and can’t go. I’ve bought ringside seats next to me for you, Manny, and the two cops. Hey, it should be a good fight. You’ll enjoy it.”

“Like hell we will. We’ll be too damn busy watching your ass to pay any attention to it. How many people do you think will be at this friggin’ fight?”

“Apparently quite a few. The fight takes place the day after Mexican Independence Day. Celebrations are planned all over the city for that weekend.
And
, as luck would have it, the guy Cullen’s fighting is a world champion from Mexico.”

“Oh, terrific! There’s gonna be a shitload of Mexicans flooding into the city, not to mention the three hundred thousand or so who live here.”

“Correct. I’m guessing there’ll be upwards of ten thousand people in the arena. I called one of the ticket services. They said seats are going fast.”

“How the hell do you expect me to protect you in a crowd like that?”

“The way I figure it, if Emilio shows, he’ll try to take me out with a silencer. Either entering or leaving the Garden. Inside it, his best bet would be to catch me at a refreshment stand. So if I’m hungry or thirsty, I’ll send Manny. I can’t see Emilio shooting at me in the arena. Not with thousands of people watching. Unless he has a death wish.”

“Which he might very well have. Frank, you wiped out a major source of his income, played a role in his father’s death, and now he’s facing pending charges that could put him away for life. So don’t rule out Emilio going for broke. Understand? And do me one favor. Don’t stand up during the fight. I don’t want you making yourself a six-foot five-inch target.”

***

A couple days later Baumgartner called with more news.

We’re closing in on Emilio.

“Are you at a pay phone?”

Yes. The FBI dug up his account in Barbados. They showed a picture of Emilio to bank officials, who confirmed that he was the same person who opened the account under the name Derek Jeter. The FBI and the IRS are in the process of drawing up a case as we speak.

“Good work, Carl.”

There’s more. The FBI has an undercover agent inside the Lucchese family. The agent told us Emilio had contracted several times with a family button. We picked up the button and started sweating him. He’s not being cooperative yet, but eventually we’ll get him to finger Emilio in exchange for witness protection. It’s over, Frank. In a week we’ll have Emilio behind bars. Two weeks at the latest.

“That’s great.”

There was a pause at the other end.
Frank, you sound too casual. Are you even listening to me?

“I can repeat every word you just said if you want me to.”

Dammit, Frank! Whatever you’re planning on doing, call it off!

Boff said nothing.

Emilio’s going to jail. There’s no need for you to try to get justice your own way.

More silence.

Say it, Frank! Tell me you’ll stand down!

“Look, Carl,” he finally said. “What if you arrest Emilio and he hires a hotshot defense attorney. What if he gets a couple private investigators like Frank Boff. And then he walks. I can’t take that chance.”

There are no investigators as good as you.

“Thanks for the compliment. I’ll think it over.”

Don’t fucking think it over! Just say yes!

“Talk to you later, Carl.”

As soon as Boff hung up, he called Alfano.

“I just heard one of your people is off the streets.”

Yes.

“I had nothing to do with it.”

I believe you. We have a rat in the house. I’m taking care of it.

Alfano hung up. Boff thought of calling Baumgartner back and telling him to have the FBI pull their agent, but if that happened, the mob
capo
might get suspicious of him. He’d be damned if he’d put his life at risk for a fibbie.

Sleep was elusive again that night. After lying awake in the dark for an hour, Boff quietly got out of bed, making sure not to disturb Jenny, made himself a mug of hot cocoa, and wandered into in the den. He had a choice to make and it wasn’t an easy one. On the one hand, his disdain for the justice system made him wary of letting Carl and the FBI handle Emilio. On the other hand, as much as he wanted to punish Emilio, risking his own life was not a terribly attractive alternative. There were, he figured, three ways that scenario could play out. One, Pete’s cops could catch Emilio in the act of trying to shoot him. If they arrested Emilio for attempted murder, it would give Carl a much stronger chance of convicting him on the other charges. Two, Emilio might actually succeed in shooting him in the chest or back and get killed by the cops. And three, the least attractive alternative, was that Emilio could get lucky and pop him in the head. As satisfying as it would be to watch Emilio die, there was also a case to be made that life in prison would be a slow, agonizing death for the young man. Emilio had said he’d gotten involved with the escort service because he couldn’t bear to give up his lifestyle. Life in a maximum security lockdown would be a devastating change of lifestyle.

Somewhere around three in the morning, working on his second Remy, Boff made his decision. If Baumgartner was able to indict Emilio before he tried to kill him, well, he’d be okay with that. If not, he was determined to go through with his plan.

It wasn’t perfect either way he looked at it. But it was the best he could do.