The Punishing Game (14 page)

On Sunday, Cullen had the morning off because McAlary and his wife always went to church. Normally, he got up at seven to get ready for his workout, but today he decided to sleep till at least ten, a luxury for boxers. But in the middle of a dream about going to the White House to meet the President after he had won his world championship, he heard knocking on his door. Groaning and opening his eyes, he peered at the clock on the night stand. It was only eight o’clock. With another groan, he slid out of bed, and opened the door.

Michelle had just raised one hand to knock again. “Sorry to bother you,” she said. “But your friend Frank is here.”

“Aw, hell. Tell him I’m sleeping and to go away.”

“Okay.”

As Michelle started back down the stairs, Cullen flopped back onto the bed face first and pulled a pillow over his head. “No point trying to get back to sleep,” he muttered. “Friggin’ Boff isn’t gonna leave.”

As he fully expected, Michelle was back at his door in under two minutes. “Uh, Danny…Frank said to tell you it
’s very important.”

“He always says that.”

She looked confused. Since Cullen didn’t want to her going up and down the stairs like a yo-yo, he admitted defeat. “All right, tell him I’ll be right down.”

Like hell I
will!
Boff was going to pay for waking him. Getting out of bed again, he threw on some sweats, grabbed his wrist watch and toiletry bag, and stumbled into the bathroom. After taking his sweet time to thoroughly brush his teeth, he rinsed his mouth with Scope, then closed the toilet lid, and plopped his ass down on it. Knowing Boff hated waiting, Cullen made up his mind to sit there for ten minutes before going downstairs. He looked at his watch and started timing himself. Barely a minute had passed, however, when he heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. As Boff appeared in the bathroom door and gently pushed it open, Cullen blew out a sigh of resignation.
There’s no winning with this guy
.

Boff pointed to the toilet. “You’re supposed to lift the seat cover before you take a crap.”

Glaring, Cullen stood up. “You mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here so early when you knew I had the morning off?”

Boff smiled his friendly smile. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“Why couldn’t you have waited until later?”

“Waiting is not in my nature. Besides, didn’t you ever hear the expression
the early bird gets the worm?”

“Yeah. But I got
you
. I would’ve preferred the worm.” Cullen crossed his arms. “Just tell me what you came to tell me and then leave. I’d like to go back to bed.”

Boff shook his head. “I never conduct business in the bathroom. It seems inappropriate.”

“
Nothing
is inappropriate for you.”

Boff smiled. “Be that as it may, let’s go downstairs. Michelle is making a pot of coffee for us.”

Cullen sighed again and followed Boff down the stairs into the living room, where they sat at opposite ends of the couch. Michelle walked in from the kitchen with a coffee pot, creamer, two spoons, and two mugs.

“You like it cream, no sugar, right, Frank?”

“You’re an angel.”

Michelle smiled, then filled their mugs, and waited for further conversation. When neither man said anything, she left.

“Okay,” Cullen said. “Let’s hear it.”

Boff poured a dollop of cream in his coffee, stirred, took a sip, and started to put it on the coffee table, but then sipped again before speaking. “Something’s troubling me,” he said.

“That’s an understatement. You’re the most troubled person I’ve ever known.”

After sipping his coffee once more, Boff decided to add a bit more cream, which he stirred in. Then he sipped again and put the cup down.

“That woman makes a fine cup of coffee,” he said. “I’ll have to find out what brand she uses. Anyway, what’s troubling me is that everything points to Yusef and maybe Ricci conspiring to have you killed.”

“So? Why is that a problem for you?”

“Did you ever watch reruns of
Father Knows Best
?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, yeah. On Nickelodeon.”

“Didn’t it bother you that Father always knew best?”

“No. It’s a friggin’ TV show.”

Boff spread his hands. “Exactly my point.”

“What point?”

“That life is simple only on TV.”

“What does that have to do with Yusef and Ricci?”

“Yusef trying to kill you to help his nephew is too simple. It’s almost like an episode of
Father Knows Best.
”

Frowning, Cullen picked up his coffee and took a sip. “And?”

Boff said, “I think we should consider the possibility that Biaggi was the real target.”

Cullen nearly spit out his coffee. “What! You’ve got be fucking kidding! You flew all the way from Vegas on the theory that I was the one they were trying to kill, and now you’re changing your mind?”

“Not exactly. Just exploring other possibilities.”

Cullen stood up. “I’m not going to listen to any more of this crap. Yusef is the one we have to nail. I was the target.” He started toward the stairs and his bed.

“Before you go,” Boff said, “ask yourself this: why would tightwad Frank Boff want to complicate and prolong an investigation for which he’s not even getting paid?”

At this, Cullen made a sour face. “Well, that’d certainly be out of character for you.” He sat back down. “Okay, why Biaggi? You already concluded he was well-liked and had no enemies.”

Boff nodded. “Yes. But that was before Ricci told us about his so-called minor falling out with Nino. One that resulted in him skipping the funeral and burial of a longtime close friend. As stubborn and vindictive as I am, even I wouldn’t miss a friend’s funeral for a
minor
reason.”

Cullen thought about this for a minute. “Okay,” he admitted, “that’s a good point. So you think the falling out was more serious? And…and Ricci had Biaggi killed over whatever had happened?”

Boff held up his hands like a traffic cop in heavy traffic. “Whoa, slow down. I’m not ready to conclude that. All I’m saying is that if Ricci
did
have Biaggi killed, then their falling out must’ve been about something a lot more important. You don’t put a contract out on a friend without the stakes being high. And make no mistake about it, this was a well-organized hit.”

Cullen shook his head. “What are you talking about? Drive-bys don’t take much planning.”

“This one did. On a hunch, I took a second look at the shooting. Something felt off. Then it hit me. McAlary didn’t get shot at all, a bullet only grazed your head, and yet Biaggi took three in the head closely spaced together. The odds on an AK-47 being that accurate are very long.”

“Maybe it was just luck.”

Boff shook his head. “When it comes to murder, I don’t put much stock in luck. I believe there was a second shooter in the car. One with a handgun.”

“And you can prove that?”

“I think so,” Boff said. “I’m going to have Damiano get me the ballistics report.”

“Why?”

“I want to see if the bullets that hit Biaggi match the ones the cops dug out of the pavement.”

“Don’t you think the cops already did that?”

Boff shook his head. “Nope. They made a quick judgment that it was a drive-by. I’m betting they didn’t even bother to look at the ballistics from the autopsy report.” He paused to let Cullen consider what he’d just said. “I also want you to keep in mind that if Ricci did do it,” he added, “we still can’t throw out Yusef as a possible accomplice. Or even the mastermind.”

“Why Yusef?”

“Well, for starters he and Ricci appear to be joined at the hip. Their friendship goes all the way back to a juvenile detention center. And they’re partners in a promotional company. Is that enough?”

“I guess. So now what? We try to find out what the falling out was about?”

Without answering, Boff got up, left the living room, and returned a couple minutes later with Michelle, who sat on a chair near the couch.

“Michelle,” Boff began, “I know Nino had no enemies to speak of. But his split with Sonny Ricci troubles me. Do you know what caused it?”

Michelle suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I know this is going to sound strange,” she finally said, “but Nino didn’t confide in me about business. He always said he wanted to leave everything at the gym when he was home.”

Boff nodded like he understood. “Did you know he wasn’t speaking to Ricci?”

“Yes. But not because Nino told me. Sonny used to call here several times a week. He came over for dinner a lot, too. But about four months ago, he stopped calling and didn’t come by anymore. I assumed they’d had a problem, but I never asked Nino about it. I think because I didn’t want to know. I grew up in a house full of turmoil. I wanted things with Nino and me to be perfect. And it was until….”

“Is there someone else Nino confided in about business?” Boff asked as gently as possible.

Michelle hesitated. “Well, yes. Nino and I were only married four years. Before that, he was married to a woman for fifteen years. After they divorced, he insisted they stay friends. With most divorces, that never works. But Nino apparently made a go of it. He didn’t hide the fact that he had dinner with his ex a couple times a month and spoke frequently with her on the phone. He said they were just best friends, nothing more. Me, I didn’t like it much. I mean, what wife would? But I trusted Nino.”

She stood up. “I have some work to do in the kitchen. I hope I was of help?”

“You were,” Boff said. “Before you go, can you tell me where I can find his ex?”

Michelle had told Boff that Nino’s former wife, Janine, had been a kickboxer when they met at a victory party in New York. During their marriage, Janine had studied several other martial arts and held black belts in most. Now she ran a martial arts school in Park Slope.

The school was sandwiched between a bodega and a bagel shop on
Flatbush Avenue. Boff found a parking space close by, and he and Cullen walked to the school, which was easily identifiable by the sign over the door.
MARTIAL ARTS ACADEMY.
The front windows had been painted over with black paint and martial arts symbols. Boff knocked on the door, which was opened a minute later by an attractive woman in her forties wearing a white karate uniform secured with a black belt. The visitors could see youngsters sparring behind her.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Janine. Can I help you?”

“Nice to meet you,” Boff said. “My name’s Frank M. Boff. I’m a private investigator looking into the murder of Nino Biaggi. Michelle told me where to find you.” He pointed to Cullen. “This is Danny Cullen, a boxer trained by Ryan McAlary.”

Janine smiled. “Ryan’s a good man. Please come in. I’m almost finished with my class. Then we can talk.”

She left them standing just inside the door and went back to work with her students. There were no chairs to sit on, so Boff and Cullen leaned against one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and watched the children.

“Why do they have to grunt and shout so much?” Boff asked.

“Not sure,” Cullen said. “But I think it increases their adrenaline.”

“Did I ever tell you I once studied martial arts?”

Cullen looked skeptical. “That’s pretty hard to believe.”

“I was in the DEA at the time. One year, some of our agents were involved in a couple questionable lethal shootings. The agency got rapped hard in the media and the bubbleheads in Congress gave us a lot of heat, too, so our director, in his infinite wisdom, thought we needed to learn less deadly alternatives to guns. We all had to take two months of training in martial arts. Which of course was a complete waste of time and taxpayer money. Every drug dealer or smuggler I’ve ever encountered carries some kind of gun. Although once I actually did track down a Haitian pusher who tried that karate crap on me.” The memory made him smile.

“Did your training come in handy?”

“Are you fucking kidding? When that guy charged me screaming like these kids here, only louder, I shot him in the balls. To me, that showed great restraint. Unfortunately, the director didn’t see it that way. I was suspended for a month.”

As the class came to an end, the students lined up and bowed to their sensei, then disappeared behind a partition in the back. Janine walked back to her visitors.

“How is Ryan?” she asked Cullen. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

Cullen smiled. “Ryan is Ryan. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Janine smiled back at him. “I understand perfectly.” 

“But Nino’s death has really thrown him for a loop.”

Janine’s face saddened. She drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Me, too. We remained very close after our divorce. He was a wonderful man.”

Boff leaned forward off the mirror. “Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?” he asked.

“Sure.” She sat down on the floor, crossed her legs yoga style, then waved with one hand, inviting them to share the floor. Cullen sat, but couldn’t do the leg cross thing, so he settled for leaning back against the mirrored wall.

Boff remained standing. Pointing to his left knee, he said, “I busted this baby while playing college basketball. If I sat on the floor, it’d take a forklift to get me up again.”

“I’ve got just the thing for you,” Janine said. She rose effortlessly, disappeared behind the partition in the back, and returned with two cinderblocks and a short plank of wood. After setting the cement blocks about a yard apart, she placed the plank over them.

“I can break three of these with my hand,” she said. “But one is strong enough to hold your weight.”

Boff looked skeptical. He sat ever so slowly on the board, half-expecting it to collapse and deposit him on his ass.

Janine’s students, who were dressed in street clothes now, came out from behind the partition, walked across the room to her, bowed, and then went out the front door.

“So, Mr. Boff, how can I help you?” she asked.

He still wasn’t sure about his makeshift seat, but he answered her question. “I was wondering if you could tell me about Nino’s state of mind in the weeks leading up to the shooting. Did he seem nervous or jumpy? Did he say anything that might’ve made you think his life could be in danger?”

Janine took her time before replying. “I thought the police said Nino was the accidental victim of a gang war. Mr. Boff, do you think otherwise?”

“Without going into detail,” he said, “there’s evidence that this was a staged shootout. At first I thought Danny was the target—again for reasons I don’t need to go into. Now I have a feeling it could’ve been Nino who was the target of a planned assassination. And Sonny Ricci might’ve been involved.”

At the mention of Ricci, Janine’s face darkened. “I detest Sonny,” she said with more than a little feeling. “If he had anything to do with Nino’s death, I’ll punish him in my own way.”

Cullen noticed Janine had balled up her fists. “Why don’t you like Ricci?” he asked.

Janine forcibly relaxed her hands. “You know what Nino did for Sonny, right?” she said.

Cullen nodded. “He was the first fighter willing to sign with Ricci’s new promotional company. Nino’s trilogy with Ryan brought Ricci a lot of new fighters.”

“There’s much more Nino did for Sonny,” Janine said in a tight voice, “but there’s no need to go into that. Suffice it to say, Sonny owed him.”

Boff cut in. “Michelle told me Nino and Sonny had a falling out,” he said. “Do you know what caused it?”

“It involved Nino’s dream of building a state-of-the-art gym in a Red Hook warehouse,” she said. “Nino didn’t advertise it, but he was a very ambitious man. He grew up poor in the projects and never forgot what it was like to go without food. Or to see his parents worrying about not being able to pay rent or buy groceries. Nino’s experiences as a kid made him want the kind of things he’d only dreamed of in the projects. Things he saw Sonny had. The limos Sonny rents. His condo on the
Upper East Side. Summer home in the Hamptons.” Her face became hard again. So did her voice. “Things that Sonny
never
would’ve had if Nino hadn’t signed with him. That really bothered Nino, you know? He wanted his share of the good life, too.”

One of the young students came back in. “I forgot my lock, sensei.” The boy hustled into the back area to retrieve it, then bowed again before leaving.

When they were alone again, Janine continued. “Nino went to Sonny’s office and asked for a loan as a down payment on the warehouse. It wasn’t near the docks or the main area of gentrification, so the price was reasonable for the space. And Sonny flat-out turned him down. The bastard fed Nino some song and dance about the timing not being right. That two of his older champions had retired and a couple of his top fighters lost key bouts and fell out of contention. True, to an extent. But Nino knew damn well Sonny had plenty of money socked away. And his hip-hop pal, Yusef Force, was loaded.”

“I’m guessing they had a big argument,” Boff said.

“Oh, worse than an argument, Mr. Boff. It happened in Sonny’s office. With his whole staff looking on. When Sonny turned Nino down, Nino called him every name in the book. Big, brave Sonny responded by hitting Nino in the chest with a chair. Then the chicken-shit ran around the office, trying to keep Nino from getting at him.” She gave out a bitter laugh. “Nino corralled Sonny in about a minute, then whacked him hard enough that the chicken-shit hit the floor.”

Cullen leaned forward “So did Ricci get up and retaliate?”

“Oh, yeah, the fucker retaliated all right. But not with his fists like a real man. Mr. Macho called building security. Four guards arrived and escorted Nino out of the building.”

“I imagine,” Boff said, “Nino didn’t go quietly.”

She shook her head. “Actually, Nino had too much class to make a scene. He left without a word. The end result was they stopped talking.”

“When was this?
” Boff asked.

“Oh, about four months ago.”

“And they never talked again?”

“Well,” she said, “this is what is strange. Around six weeks before Nino was killed, they started speaking again. I was certainly surprised by that. I asked Nino who had made the first move, and he said he did. But he made a point of telling me he never apologized for hitting Sonny and didn’t want to be his friend anymore. He said it was strictly a business thing.”

That caught Boff’s interest. “Did Nino say what kind of business?”

She shook her head. “No. And, you know? That was strange, too. Nino
always
told me everything happening in his life. Even stuff going on between him and Michelle. I didn’t press him, though, because he wouldn’t have liked that. All I can tell you is that whatever the business deal was, Nino was pretty excited about it. Then about six days before he was killed, Nino’s mood swung again. He was
really
angry at Ricci. But he wouldn’t talk to me about it. And…well, and that was the last time I saw Nino alive.” She let her spine collapse a little and sighed, then sat up erect again. “What do you think it all means, Mr. Boff?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he said, “but you’ve been very helpful. I know this was difficult for you.”

Janine nodded. She turned to Cullen. “So, Danny, are you any good at fighting?”

He smiled at her. “I have a title elimination bout coming up in the Garden. Why don’t you come and see for yourself.”

“Maybe I will.” She rose effortlessly to her feet again, then gave Cullen a hand.

“Just let me know,” he told her,
“and “I’ll leave tickets for you.”

As the two men shook hands with her and started for the door, Boff thought of something and turned back.

“One thing puzzles me,” he said. “Nino wasn’t a champion, but I’m told he was very popular with the fans and the networks. I’m sure that any number of established promoters would’ve loved to have grabbed him when he became a free agent. Why did he sign with an upstart like Ricci? Did they meet socially? Did they have a mutual boxing friend?”

Janine sighed. “Oh, it was much simpler than that, Mr. Boff. They had some shared history.

“What was that?”

“Nino and Sonny were bunkmates at the same juvenile detention center.”