Authors: Nathan Gottlieb
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Hard-Boiled, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Crime Fiction
The Payback Game (29 page)
Cassidy took out his checkbook.
“How much do I owe you?” he said.
“Mike, just pay me one hundred bucks for every day I had to put up with Hannah, and we’ll call it even.”
The redhead gave him the finger.
“How many days was that?” Cassidy said.
Boff laughed. “Too many to count. Put the checkbook away. This one’s on me.”
“You know, my friend, there’s a good man lurking somewhere inside of you.”
“So my wife tells me. She’s learned to love me for my better qualities, and she ignores what she considers my somewhat less admirable ones.” He stood up to go. “And she’s waiting up for me,” he said.
“How many years have you two been married?” Cassidy asked.
“Twenty-one next week. Each year better than the last.”
“Bring your wife over here for dinner sometime. I want to meet this remarkable woman who could put up with you all those years.”
Early the next morning, Boff called Damiano at her apartment.
“Buy a copy of the
Daily News
,” he said.
I’m reading it as we speak.
“Go to the local crime section.”
He heard pages turning.
Okay. I’m here. Why?
“Check out the story about the guy who got himself massacred in
a Bushwick alley.”
Boff waited while she read it.
Holy shit! Bassett?
“I wouldn’t know.”
Boff hung up, left his apartment, bought the
Brooklyn Eagle
at a nearby newsstand, and read Hannah’s story. He smiled. It was good. She could write her own ticket now to the
Daily News
. He took out his phone and called her.
“Congratulations on your scoop,” he said.
The other papers are scrambling to follow up! And I’ve been inundated with requests for interviews from local radio talk shows and TV shows. I turned them all down.”
“Why?”
Because one thing Uncle Mike always says to me is that a journalist makes himself the hero of the story. A reporter is only a witness.
“I’m guessing you got a job offer from the
News
.”
Yup.
Post
and
Newsday
, too. I told them I wasn’t leaving the
Eagle.
“Really? I thought your dream was to write for the
News
.”
Still is. But
even after this story, if I go there now, I’ll still get lost in the crowd. When I break enough big stories at the
Eagle
to be considered a star, then I’ll play my hand. Always deal from strength, Uncle Mike taught me. So, did you read what I wrote?
“Yes. Good job. You left a few details out. But on the whole, you got the story.”
If there were gaps in my story, it was because of things you wouldn’t tell me. Things, like, what you said to Ted Green in the bar. And who shot at Manny.
“Have a nice day, Hannah.”
He hung up. He had two more calls to make. The first was to Schlosberg. “Marty, did they make you deputy director?”
No, but I did get bumped to GS-fourteen.
“That’s a nice boost in pay. One more jump and you reach maximum.”
You know, Frank, if you’d stayed in the DEA, you’d probably be GS-
fifteen by now. Maybe even deputy director.
“The deputy director’s just another bureaucrat. The kind that sandbagged me on investigations one time too many. Do yourself a favor, Marty. Stay in the field.”
Boff’s last call was to Baumgartner. “What’s the good word, Carl?”
We got a shitload of indictments. Right after I win the trial, I’m going to throw my hat in the ring for D.A. I’ve already got the backing of the top Democrats. You sure you won’t reconsider my offer to head
my investigative team?
“Good luck in court.”
***
Galvani made a much better government witness than he did a cop. The more defense attorneys tried to shake his story and intimidate him, the more he stood his ground. The jury found everyone guilty on virtually every charge. Ted Green and the other six Hells Angels who had been involved in the op were sent away for a long vacation. Ditto the longshoremen. All of Reggie Bassett’s men who had been captured alive got stiff sentences for their roles in both the drug operation and the shootout with the police. They would likely die in prison.
As for Earl Bassett, two weeks went by and they still couldn’t ID his body. Then the 77
th
Precinct received an anonymous tip from a pay phone telling them to check the body against Earl Bassett’s dental records. Although Damiano didn’t take the call, she knew who the call had come from.
When the trial was over, Galvani was whisked away to lovely Devils Lake, North Dakota, and his new life as a UPS driver and crappie fisherman.
A few weeks later a messenger was dispatched with an envelope to the headquarters of the New York Hells Angels. Inside the envelope was a note:
You might want your brothers in Ottawa to pay a visit to Devils Lake, North Dakota. It’s only a four hour and fifteen-minute bike ride. When they find Galvani there, have them tell him he was right. Our paths did cross again
. It was signed Frank Boff.
As Boff had promised his wife, they spent more time together and went out for dinner and a Broadway show. Steven had his first amateur fight, a Golden Gloves event. Boff reluctantly agreed to attend. He asked Jenny to join him, but she said she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her son get hit. As it turned out, Steven was the one who did most of the hitting. In fact, the damn kid scored a knockout in the third round. Boff decided to take his son, McAlary, Cullen, and Bellucci out to Cheffy’s for a celebratory dinner.
Two months later, Cassidy called. He had a cold case involving a murdered cop who had left six kids behind. Cassidy offered to work the case with him, but Boff told him he wasn’t ready yet to put himself in harm’s way again. Two other cold ones also came up. Boff turned down the first. The second bothered him. The wife of a detective had been found raped and murdered. The cop had been so distraught, he’d eaten his gun. The cop had been married to his wife for thirty years. The note he left said he couldn’t bear to live without her. Boff tried to imagine someone taking Jenny from him like that. It touched a nerve. He went to see Cassidy.
This book was inspired by Frederick Boff
A novel is a team effort. I would like to thank
the members of my team: Bobby and Jessica Jones of Endless String Publishing; my editor, Barbara Ardinger, Ph.D.; William Trillo, who designed a killer book cover for me; my eagle-eyed proofreader, Keith Dixon, and my son, Alex, who keeps me going.
Special thanks to the members of my support team w
ho encourage and believe in me: Annette Jones, Craig Wexler, Jenny L. Tucker, Win Golden, Robert Johnstreet, Jochem Vandersteen, Dave D’Alessandro, Deborah Margean Anderson, Terrence McCauley, Gail Taylor, Larry Patten, Donna Rich, Jim Moran, Kathryn A. Burkett, Daniel Moses Luft, Blandina Farley, and Rhiannon Ellis.
Cover Photo:
plainpicture/bobsairport