The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) (32 page)

Tired of waiting for Emilio to make his move, Boff decided the time had come to bait him. Besides, he had some loose ends to tie up with Wright and wanted to pay him for his services. Before leaving his apartment he made two calls. The first was to Wallachi, asking him to bring
Manny and his two cop friends and tail him from his condo building to Wright’s place. The second was to Emilio. He left a message telling him when and where he was going.

On the way to Wright’s shop, Boff checked his rear view mirror frequently to see if anybody besides Wallachi was tailing him. If Emilio was on the street, neither he nor Wallachi could detect him.

When Boff walked out of the computer shop after wrapping up his business with Wright, he noticed that a taxi with a passenger in back was double-parked nearby. The taxi’s door opened. Out stepped Emilio. Wallachi’s crew immediately sprang out of the Crown Vic, which was parked about twenty feet away.

Worried that their presence would discourage Emilio from trying to shoot him, Boff held up his hand to signal his team to stay put by their car.

As Emilio walked over to Boff, he glanced at Wallachi’s crew and smiled. “Scared, Frank?”

“Should I be?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

As Emilio reached into his right pants pocket, Boff grabbed the banker’s wrist. Wallachi and his team drew guns.

“Whatever’s in your pocket,” Boff said, “bring it out slowly.”

“Sure, Frank.” Emilio grinned, and with Boff still holding his wrist, he drew his hand out of his pocket. All he was holding were a pack of Marlboros and a lighter.

Boff still didn’t let go of his wrist. “Now I want you to pull out the pocket lining,” he said.

Emilio pulled out the lining. The only thing left in the pocket was some loose change that fell to the ground.

Boff let go of his wrist.

With another glance at Wallachi’s team, Emilio said, “Gee, Frank. Four guys to protect you from one little old banker?” He shook a cigarette out of his pack, lit up, and said through the smoke he blew out, “You
must
be scared.”

“Of you? Not really. What does worry me is that the indictment the D.A. is preparing for you could pull you off the street. I like my chances of getting justice better if you don’t have to go to trial.”

Emilio took a couple quick drags. Though his lips were grinning, Boff could see nothing but anger in his eyes.

“As long as I get even with you, Frank, I don’t care what happens to me. Men who don’t care anymore are the most dangerous. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“True. But as I said at the White Horse, you’re not much of a man. You’re probably more of a danger to yourself than you are to me.”

Emilio’s smile faded. After taking one more hit on his Marlboro, he flicked the butt at Boff’s chest and headed back to his taxi. Just before he got in, he turned back, made a gun with his right hand, and mouthed, “Pow!”

As the taxi drove off, Wallachi walked up to Boff. “Frank, call off this damn vendetta now! He could’ve shot you as soon as he stepped out of the cab.”

“And? He’d have to be a pretty good marksman to hit me from that distance. Especially in the head. If he’d hit me in the chest, your two cop buddies would’ve had him—dead or alive. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m really sorry he didn’t try.”

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t let him walk right up to you? How could you be so dumb? If he did have a gun in that pocket, and you didn’t grab his wrist in time, he could’ve shot you in the head from that range.”

“It wasn’t dumb, Pete. From the moment Emilio saw you and your crew, I knew he wasn’t going to shoot me.”

“And what’s the basis for that piece of wisdom?”

“Simple logic. Despite what you say about him having a death wish, I can’t see him going on a suicide mission. He’ll want to catch me by surprise and get away clean.”

Wallachi looked around. “Well, only time will tell about that. Meanwhile, what I don’t understand is why the hell he showed up here in the first place?”

Boff shrugged. “If he had street smarts, which he doesn’t, one reason could be he wanted to flush out my protection in order to see what he was up against. But I don’t think that was his intention. I think he just wanted to throw a scare into me. See me sweat. Which, as you well know, I rarely do.”

Wallachi frowned. “Is this damn fight on TV?”

“HBO.”

“Then stay home and watch it.”

“Not on your life.”

“It’s not
my life
we’re talking about here,” Wallachi shot back.

“Exactly. Which means I get to do with it whatever I want.”

The investigator shook his head. “You’re the most stubborn asshole I’ve ever known.”

Boff smiled. “I’ve been called worse.”

Wallachi motioned for Manny and the two off-duty cops to come over. The cops were in their early forties and appeared to be fit.

“Artie, Jimmy, this is Frank Boff. He used to be a DEA agent.”

Boff noted that Wallachi had conveniently not mentioned his current profession. After shaking hands, they made small talk for awhile, then Boff headed for his car, reaching inside his pocket for his trusty bomb detector as he went.

When fight night finally arrived, Boff left another message on Emilio’s mobile phone, telling him where he would be and the exact location of his seats. As he and Wallachi’s team approached the
Madison Square Garden lobby entrance, they were on high alert in case Emilio rushed them with a gun in his hand. But they got inside the lobby without seeing any sign of him.

Nearly everybody has to walk through a metal detector to enter the
arena. Wallachi held a brief conference with a Garden security guard and explained why they had guns, but it didn’t do any good. All of them, including the off-duty cops, had to surrender their weapons.

Boff frowned.
This is not good.

Boff noticed that the only people who didn’t have to go through the metal detectors were members of the media, who were wearing press credentials on lanyards around their necks. The guards checked their press IDs, then waved them around the metal detectors.

As soon as they entered the arena, Wallachi and Manny quickly positioned themselves in front of Boff, while the two cops walked behind him. As they headed down the steps to their ringside seats, his four bodyguards eyeballed the large crowd for signs of Emilio. Boff knew that even if the banker were in the arena, it would be very difficult for his bodyguards to spot him among the raucous Mexican fans of Cullen’s opponent who were waving flags and making ear-crushing noise with their plastic horns, drums, and accordions. A mariachi band was playing in the aisles of the upper-tier seats, and Boff figured there were more than a few tequila bottles being passed around. If he got killed, this rabid crowd would probably think it was part of the entertainment and cheer.

Knowing the walk to their seats would expose him to an anonymous shot from the crowd, Boff nearly held his breath until they were seated. They were still exposed, but much less so. As the fighters for the preliminary bout entered the ring, he slouched down in his seat and let out an anxious sigh.

Boff barely paid attention to the opening fight. He was too busy trying to figure out how and when Emilio would try to take him—if he was indeed in the arena. Then he recalled how everybody but the media had to go through a metal detector. If the mobster’s son wanted to bring a gun into the arena, the only way he could do it would be to secure a press credential.

Boff suddenly stood up.

“Get down for chrissake!” Wallachi said, tugging on his arm.

“I have a question. I need an answer.” Shaking loose of Wallachi’s grip, he started around the ring toward where the members of the press were seated. Wallachi and Manny stuck close behind him. Boff stopped in front of a writer who was typing furiously on his laptop. The placard on his desk read
William Trillo Pound4Pound.com.

“Sorry to disturb you, buddy,” Boff said, “but I have a question.”

Trillo looked up, a frown on his face. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of filing a report?”

“This’ll only take a second. I’m a private investigator and a good friend of Danny Cullen.”

That caught Trillo’s interest. “Can you get me into Cullen’s locker room after the fight?”

Boff smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m pretty sure I can.”

“Okay. What’s the question?”

“How could someone who’s not a member of the media get a press credential?”

“Well, all press credentials are issued by the fight promoter. They’re pretty darn stingy about handing them out. Probably the only way someone could finagle a cred would be to buy one off someone who has one.”

“Is that done?”

“Not a lot. But, yeah, it happens.”

“How much would one go for?”

“Oh, I dunno. I guess, depending on the fight, anywhere from three-fifty to a thousand.” Trillo looked at his watch. “I really have to get back to my story. I’m on an early deadline.”

“Thanks for the info, buddy. I’ll try to get you into Cullen’s locker room.”

Boff and his guards returned to their seats.
As they sat down, Wallachi poked Boff in the arm again. “You’re thinking Emilio bought himself a credential so he could bypass the metal detectors?”

Boff nodded. “It’d be the only way he could bring a gun in. Unless he had one of those plastic jobs like John Malkovich used in
In the Line of Fire
.”

“That was bogus,” Wallachi said. “There’s no known gun made entirely of plastic. The closest thing is probably the Glock Seventeen. It’s an automatic pistol. Has some plastic parts, including the grip and trigger guard. But even the Seventeen is still about eighty percent metal.”

“If Emilio
did
buy a credential,” Manny said, “then wouldn’t he be sitting in the press area where we could spot him?”

Boff shook his head. “No. Once he got past the metal detectors, I’m sure he’d remove the credential and sit in his seat in the general arena. He’d have bought one within shooting range of me.”

When it came time for Cullen’s fight, the house lights went off and spotlights were trained on the ring. Wallachi and Manny stood up to try and scan the crowd around them, but it was too dark for them to see anything beyond the first few rows of seats. Shaking their heads, they sat back down.

“Losing the house lights sucks,” Wallachi said. “It gives Emilio the perfect cover to slip into
his seat.”

A spotlight suddenly lit up the entrance that led into the arena from the locker rooms, and Boff saw Cullen step into the light. He was decked out in a black silk robe with gold trim, the same colors his father had worn. As the boxer started walking toward the ring with McAlary, Kate, and the trainer’s cut man, Davies behind him, the predominantly Mexican crowd showered him with boos and hisses.

Cullen spotted Boff and nodded to him just before he climbed into the ring. Boff had never seen the kid’s eyes so intense. After Kate slipped off his robe, Cullen threw some fast combos in the air, and then, still throwing combos, he glided around the ring to test how tight the canvas felt. It was taut, meaning it favored his foot speed, which was far better than the plodding Mexican’s.

The crowd suddenly erupted in a thunderous roar. Turning, Cullen saw the Mexican champion, Marco Diaz
,
entering the arena. He was wearing a huge sombrero and a lime green silk robe with bright red trim as he took the ring walk accompanied by his trainer and assistants, a mariachi band, and a couple guys waving a big Mexican flag. Nearly everyone in the audience stood up and cheered.

Wallachi leaned toward Boff. “I hope to hell this is a quick fight so we can get out of here fast.”

“Danny has a good track record of early knockouts.”

After the ring introductions were made by announcer Michael Buffer, the fighters were given instructions by the referee in the center of the ring. Then they touched gloves and walked to their respective corners to await the bell. Cullen kept bobbing up and down on his toes to get his blood flowing. He also stretched his mouth wide open a couple times. A tight jaw is easier to break.

As soon as the bell rang, Wallachi and his cops turned away from the ring to scan the crowd again. The spotlights hitting the ring spilled some light over the first few rows of seats, but beyond that, it was still too dark for them to see much.

As soon as the fighters reached the center of the ring, they began crowding each other and firing shots from short range. In boxing parlance, this is known as “fighting in a phone booth.” Thanks to his tight defense, Cullen seemed to be
taking a lot fewer shots than Diaz, and landing more clean ones than the Mexican. Boff, who had seen several of Cullen’s fights, quickly saw that Diaz was a big cut above his previous opponents.

For the whole three minutes of the first round, the action stayed fast and furious, up close and personal. When the round ended, the crowd stood up and cheered the non-stop action. In this level of noise, Boff knew even a gunshot would go unheard.

As the trainers and assistants went to work on their fighters, one of HBO’s roving cameramen trained the spotlight atop his camera on a section of ringside seats. In doing so, the light briefly illuminated several rows of fans, but it was a short take and didn’t give Wallachi and his men much of a chance to spot Emilio.

Knowing a gun might be pointed at him, Boff, who had been looking forward to the fight, had a hard time enjoying it.

The second round looked like a replay of the first, except that two minutes in, Cullen suddenly nailed the champion with a straight right to the chin. Diaz went down, but the blow apparently hadn’t hurt him much, because he sprang back up before the referee could count past two. The rest of the round consisted of furious brawling, and at the bell the crowd again rose and roared its approval.

Heading for his corner, Cullen glanced at Boff at the same time that a roving HBO camera spotlighted the investigator’s section of seats. That’s when Cullen saw it. Emilio was standing six rows behind Boff, his suit jacket draped over one arm. The only reason Cullen could think of why Emilio hadn’t draped the jacket over the back of his seat was because he was using it to hide a gun. Before Cullen could say a word, however, his trainer yelled at him.

“Get over here!”

As Cullen sat on his stool, the trainer lit into him. “What the hell were you looking out at the damn crowd for? Keep your focus on the ring!”

Although Cullen nodded, he glanced again at where he had spotted Emilio. Without the HBO rover’s spotlight, he couldn’t see Emilio anymore. He was trying to figure out how he could signal a warning to Boff, when the bell rang for the round three.

Still preoccupied with Boff’s safety, Cullen forgot to keep his left hand up high enough to protect his head. His opponent took quick advantage by blasting a right hook over the low hand. The punch caught Cullen flush in the face. Although he wasn’t seriously hurt by the blow, his feet had been off balance and he staggered back into the ropes before he could regain his balance.

At this point, Diaz seemed to believe he had Cullen in trouble, because he now moved in on him fast and let fly with a torrent of power shots. Cullen kept his gloves up high in front of his face to deflect most of the blows while he was shaking the cobwebs out of his head. Soon the champion seemed so overeager for the knockout that Cullen noticed he was getting sloppy with his defense. So when Diaz threw a wide, looping shot at his head—which left the whole middle of the Mexican’s body exposed—Cullen suddenly exploded out of his defensive shell and smashed a straight right hand into his face.

Now it was the champ’s turn to stagger. But unlike in the previous round, this time Diaz looked really hurt. In a flash, Cullen realized that if he could end the fight now, he might have a chance to warn Boff before it was too late.

Throwing caution to the wind, therefore, he pounced on Diaz and drove him back across the ring and into the ropes, where he launched into his popcorn drill. It was a risky move. If he couldn’t knock the champion out with his rapid-fire punches, he would have spent way too much energy this early in the fight and might not have anything left in the tank for the later rounds.

But he also knew if the fight dragged on, Boff could be dead.

Under Cullen’s relentless barrage, the champ’s legs started to wobble. In survival mode now, he tried to slip off the ropes and get away, but Cullen sprang right after him and kept hammering away. Nearly exhausted, Cullen put everything he had into a right hook to the ribs, which forced Diaz to bend over in pain. In so doing, he left himself vulnerable to an uppercut, which happened to be the best punch in Cullen’s arsenal. The challenger fired an uppercut from hell and caught the champion flush under his chin. The champ’s head jerked back and down he went, sprawled flat on his back.

While Diaz tried courageously to get up, Cullen glanced around at Boff and was gratified to see that, unlike the rest of the crowd, he had remained seated. At the count of eight, the champion managed to get to one knee, but he was too dazed to rise any further. He collapsed on his ass and was counted out.

The fight was over! Danny Cullen was a world champion!

When the referee raised Cullen’s hand in victory, Boff couldn’t resist standing up and applauding. Seeing him rise, the new champ tried to shout at him to sit back down. But he knew his voice would never be heard in this bedlam.

There was only one way.

Yanking his arm free out of the ref’s grip, Cullen charged the ropes near where Boff was sitting, slipped through them fast, and jumped down to the floor just outside the ring. Stunned by his actions, the huge crowd suddenly went silent. An arena spotlight beamed down on the boxer, and in the process illuminated all the seats closest to the ring.

Seeing Emilio raise his arm again, Cullen charged Boff and fired a hard right that caught the investigator flush in the face. Just as Boff started to fall, a muffled shot rang out. Cullen felt the bullet meant for Boff pierce his own upper left arm. He dropped to his knees in pain.

Hearing the shot, Wallachi and his men, already on their feet, followed the sound, looked behind them, and spotted Emilio. As Manny threw himself over Boff’s prostrate body to protect him, Wallachi and the two cops went for Emilio, squeezing through the small spaces between the chairs. But the mobster’s son was already pushing his way sideways toward the aisle.