The Punishing Game (24 page)

“Unfortunately,” Boff said, his voice dripping with sympathy, “those places no longer exist for you.
The last guy I put in Witness Protection when I was with the DEA got a choice of five locations.”

“What were they?”
Devon asked, sounding mildly interested.

“Elk Run,
Iowa. Three Forks, Montana. Hidden Valley, Indiana. Radium Spring, New Mexico. And South Bend, Nebraska.”

Devon
frowned and shook his head. “Forget it, man. I can’t live in no hick town. What kind of bumfuck places are those?”

“Places,” Boff said, “where nobody who wants to find you would think of looking for you.”

“Motherfucker! I’d be better off in prison. You’re screwing me.”

“We’ll be back with your statement,” Damiano said, heading for the door again, Boff right behind her.

“Hey, Boff,” Devon called after him. “Which place did that dude in the DEA choose?”

“
South Bend. He was a big fan of college football. Especially the Fighting Irish. What a shock it was for him to find out that Notre Dame is in South Bend, Indiana. Not South Bend, Nebraska.” Boff shook his head. “See what happens when you’re not educated?”

After Devon signed the confession, Damiano called the Brooklyn D.A., who sent four of his investigators to the precinct. They dressed Devon in a cop uniform and drove him to a safe house.

As Damiano and Boff left the precinct, she said, “Good work, Boff. You really know how to communicate with scumbags.”

“One of the perks of my job.”

“I’m going to put in the paper work for this and then get the captain’s approval for surveillance on the hangar,” she said. “We’re so close I can almost taste it.”

“Smell it, maybe. Not quite taste it.”

“You have doubts? We have the day the shipment arrives and where.”

“As you just mentioned,” Boff said patiently, “I have a talent for knowing how scumbags think. Most of them aren’t the brightest bulbs in the chandelier, but some of them do have good street smarts. Yusef falls into the street smarts category. And because of that, I don’t believe a guy like him would shit in his own nest.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if I were Yusef, I wouldn’t bring a big shipment of drugs into my own hangar at an airport where I’m known. Then we also have to consider the Boff Factor.”

Damiano groaned. “Which is?
”

“Yusef has undoubtedly asked around about me. He knows I questioned Solis about murdering Biaggi. Also about a business deal they might’ve had going. Yusef would worry that I might put two and two together. Find out about the drug shipment and that he has his own jet and hangar.”

“You give him too much credit.”

“Maybe so,” Boff said. “But if I don’t, and his plane lands somewhere else, we’re going to lose the shipment and a collar.”

Damiano let out a frustrated sigh. “Shit,” she said. “And everything was so neat and tidy.”

“Detective, things in my world are rarely neat and tidy.”

Apparently conceding Boff’s line of thinking, she said, “So assuming he might take the drugs elsewhere, how the hell do we find out where? And do it by Friday?”

Boff was already two steps ahead of her. “First, just in case it does turn out to be neat and tidy—and it very well might—put surveillance on the hangar two days before the shipment is due to arrive.”

“And if it doesn’t land at Lufker?”

Boff smiled. “Then Yusef will take us to it.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Simple. When you start surveillance on Lufker, also put a twenty-four/seven on Yusef. Where ever he goes, you follow. He’ll lead us right to the drug shipment when it arrives.”

Damiano leaned back against a parked car. “Okay, genius. What makes you so confident Yusef will go to the drop site himself?”

“It’s pure street logic,” Boff said. “First, Yusef will want to be on the scene to make sure nothing goes wrong. Second—and more to the point—Yusef and Solis may be bosom buddies, but when it comes to drugs and big money, Yusef would know his pal is not above screwing him.”

“Well, for now, I’ll agree with that,” Damiano said. “What about putting surveillance on Solis and Ricci, too?”

“Not both of them. Just Solis. While Ricci is undoubtedly involved, I don’t think Yusef and Solis would take him along when the package comes in. They know Ricci is a loose cannon with a bad temper and tends to act impulsively. That would be a liability to the operation. So I suggest you ignore Ricci for now and put a team on Solis’ bookmaking headquarters. He’s there every day. He lives on the top floors.”

“Okay, that sounds like a plan.” She pushed off the parked car. “Meanwhile, tell me something. That story you told Devon about the wit ending up in the wrong South Bend. Did you make that up or is there really a South Bend, Nebraska?”

He smiled and raised one hand in a Scout’s oath. “The whole thing is true. When the dimwit found out that the Fighting Irish weren’t there, he raised a stink and asked to be relocated to a town where there was a college football team. The DEA refused his request, so he quit the program.”

“Does this story have a happy ending?”

“Well, for you and others in law enforcement, I would say yes. For him?” Boff shook his head. “The bad guys found him three months later at a
Boise State football game and fed him to a tree limb shredder.” He shook his head again. “End of story. I gotta split now.”

As Boff turned to go, Damiano grabbed his arm. “Look,” she said, “this isn’t easy for me to say. But…you’re not as big of an asshole as I thought.”

Boff smiled. “I guess that’s a compliment, Victoria. Same applies to you. More or less.”

“One last question. Will you tell me now the real reason you changed sides when you left the DEA?”

Boff hesitated. That was a subject he didn’t like talking about, but after today’s op, Damiano had probably earned the truth. “You really want to know?”

“Yes. And don’t tell me it was because the money was better.”

Boff looked off for a moment before turning back to face her.

“I had worked my ass off for almost a year on a case involving a prominent
Houston surgeon. My team had proof that the good doctor was moonlighting as an importer of high grade cocaine, which he peddled to his rich friends and important politicos. We were ready to make the bust when….” The bitter feelings over what had happened came back to him as if it were yesterday. “When our SAC called us off.”

“Why?”

“Come on, Damiano. The rest you can guess. The doctor found out we were getting close, so he went to see his good friend the governor of Texas. The governor made some phone calls.” Boff was quiet for a minute. “And that was the end of our case. A ton of manpower hours down the drain. That kind of crap happens every day in law enforcement, and you know it. A good law enforcement officer doesn’t just battle bad guys. He or she is up against department bureaucrats with their own agendas. Against powerful politicians. Against people rich enough to override the rules. The whole system is corrupt.” He turned away. “After Texas,” he threw back over his shoulder as he started walking away, “I started seeing things differently.”

From the precinct, Boff drove to the gym and picked up Cullen. Bellucci wanted to tag along, but Boff said no. Three times. The younger boxer was still sulking as Cullen got in the front seat of Boff’s rental.

“Why couldn’t Mikey come?” Cullen asked as they drove away.

“We’re going to meet with Alphonso at his house. I don’t want it to seem like we’re ganging up on the good borough president.”

Cullen looked puzzled. “What are we going to ask Alphonso about now?”

“There are some loose ends I’d like to tie up.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

Twenty minutes later, Boff turned onto Biaggi’s street and began looking for a parking space. A half block past Biaggi’s brownstone, Cullen pointed straight ahead. “There’s a space! Grab it!”

Boff sped up, but a car coming from the opposite direction did a wild U-turn and maneuvered into the spot.

“Aw, shit!” Cullen said. “That’s probably the last space for a square mile.”

“Have no fear, the Boffer is here.”

As Boff pulled up near the car and double-parked, a short, fat man in his forties smoking a cigar got out.

“Watch this,” Boff said. He stepped out of the rental and signaled Cullen to follow him. “Let me handle it.”

Boff walked over the cigar smoker, who looked warily at him. At six-foot five, Boff towered over the guy. Flipping open his wallet, Boff slid out his old DEA badge, let the cigar smoker get a glimpse of it, then quickly put it away.

“Excuse me, sir,” Boff said. “I don’t think you want to park here.”

“Why not?” the fat man said. “It’s a perfectly legit space.”

“Yes, it is. But I think you should know that we have reason to believe that the brownstone behind you—don’t turn and look at it—is headquarters for a major drug dealer.”

“Really?”

“In a few moments,” Boff continued, “a raid is going to go down. Guns are likely to be fired as we approach the building. Some bullets will hit the street. If you value your car, I wouldn’t park it here. Find a space as far from this house as possible before it’s too late.”

The man impulsively turned to look at the house.

“I said don’t do that!”

“Sorry, sir.”

Boff leaned down and gave him a menacing look. “Some of these guys are murderers. If they suspect we’re on to them, they might start firing at us right now.”

At this, the fat man panicked and tossed his cigar away. “Oh, shit! Lemme outta here! Thanks for the heads up, sir.” He jumped into his car, pulled out of the space, and sped off.

Cullen walked over. “I thought you never break the law,” he said.

“I don’t.”

“Isn’t impersonating a DEA agent a federal crime?”

“It certainly is.”

“Then….?”

“Did you hear me identify myself as an agent?”

“No. But you showed him the badge.”

“Who says I did?”

“He would,” Cullen said.

“Then he’d be mistaken. I showed him my investigator’s license. You’d corroborate that.”

“What if I didn’t?”

“Then I’d have my Italian friends pay you a visit. Let’s park.”

In contrast to their first visit, Biaggi didn’t look pleased to see them when he opened the door. Boff figured that, like Solis, the borough president had been warned.

“I really don’t have much time to do this,” Biaggi said. “Follow me into the kitchen.”

This time, as Boff and Cullen sat down at the butcher block table, Biaggi didn’t offer them anything to drink. He also remained standing.

“I have to meet with the mayor’s senior adviser in less than an hour,” he told them. “So let’s keep this short.”

“No problem,” Boff said. He stared at Biaggi a few moments before getting to the point. “I have reason to believe that the warehouse Nino was looking at for his gym is still in play. So I’m curious about something. Since your brother is dead, why are you still going ahead with your plans for the warehouse?”

Biaggi looked surprised. He started to open his mouth, but then closed it again.

“Is there something about what I just said that you didn’t understand, Mr. Biaggi?”

Biaggi’s shoulders suddenly seemed to sag, his face grew pale. The borough president walked over to the counter near the refrigerator, picked up an unlabeled bottle of red wine, poured some into small water glass, drank off half in one long gulp, then took a can of Diet Coke out of the refrigerator and brought it to the table along with the wine bottle, his own glass, and an empty one.

Boff didn’t say a word. He wasn’t going to make this easy for Biaggi.

After setting the Coke down in front of Cullen, Biaggi poured another glass of wine and slid it toward Boff. Neither of his guests made a move to touch their drinks.

“This is a delicate situation for me,” Biaggi said is a soft voice.

“I’m sure it is,” Boff said.

Biaggi took a smaller pull on his wine. “It’s important that I not be perceived in the wrong way.”

“What’s the right way?”

Biaggi started to lift his glass again, then put it down. “To fulfill Nino’s dream, I’m going to build the gym and name it after my brother as a memorial.”

Boff smiled. “That’s really touching,” he said. “What about the two factories and the three warehouses you’ll also be buying near it? Are you planning to rename the street
Nino Biaggi Plaza?”

Biaggi hesitated. “What makes you think there’s more to this deal than just the gym?”

“One of my many talents is reading people,” Boff replied. “For instance, that real estate agent you sent me to lied when she said the two factories aren’t listed with her agency. I looked on the Sisco & Palermo website. Their agency is indeed handling them.”

“I’m sure Annie just forgot—”

Boff cut him off. “Also, she said potential condo buyers were put off because the nearest subway station to Red Hook is a fifteen-minute walk and bus service is limited. That wasn’t even close to accurate. IKEA runs a water taxi to and from Red Hook to Manhattan, and the city is already in the process of adding a lot more buses.”

The borough president said nothing. He just looked down at his hands.

“In Palermo’s line of work,” Boff continued, “she would know all that. But she conveniently neglected to tell me. I’m betting she’s brokering your whole deal.”

Biaggi drained his wine and quickly refilled the glass.

Boff leaned forward. “Ricci, Yusef Force, and Enrique Solis are partners with you on the project. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s crazy,” Biaggi said in a weak voice.

Boff leaned even closer. “I’m sorry. Was that a yes or a no?”

Before Biaggi could say anything, Cullen interrupted: “Do you deny taking money from your partners in order to bribe members of the community board into rezoning the area?”

Biaggi looked like he had been slapped in the face. “I won’t answer such a question from a boxer!” he said.

“I understand perfectly.” Boff’s voice was dripping with sympathy. He leaned back. “Danny gets a little rambunctious. So let me ask you this: do you deny taking money from your partners in order to bribe members of the community board? I checked with the city clerk’s office, by the way. The area is now zoned for mixed use.”

Just then a woman with her hair up in curlers walked in. “Al,” she said, “why aren’t you getting ready? We have to be at the DiAngelos’ for dinner in an hour.” She didn’t even glance at Boff and Cullen.

Biaggi gave her a stony look. “I’m almost done here.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you boys alone so you can finish your business.” After taking a bottle of cranberry juice from the refrigerator and a liter of Stoli from the freezer, she left.

“Mr. Biaggi,” Cullen said, “correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you tell us when we arrived that you had a meeting with the mayor’s senior adviser?”

Biaggi said nothing.

“What I’m really curious about,” Boff said, “is how Nino felt about drug money being used to purchase the land.”

Biaggi shook his head. When he finally spoke, it was a near whisper. “He wasn’t told. Neither was I at first. Yusef said he had a couple Wall Street guys with money to invest in property. There was no way Nino would’ve gone along with the deal if he knew drug money was involved. And without my brother’s approval, I would’ve pulled out.”

“But Nino found out about the drug money from Solis,” Boff said.

Biaggi nodded. He looked like a beaten man. “Nino wanted me to call off the whole deal.”

Boff nodded, too. “But you couldn’t at that point. Because you’d already taken money and bribed board members. Al, I’m guessing you were paid well for that service.” Boff swept a hand around the kitchen. “More than enough to renovate this kitchen.”

He paused to give Biaggi a chance to respond. When he didn’t, Boff said, “Did you tell Nino about the bribes?”

Biaggi took a quick gulp of wine. “At that point…well, I had to in order to explain why I couldn’t call it off. When Nino heard what I’d done, he smacked me on the face.” He grimaced. “First time my brother ever laid a hand on me. Then Nino said he was going to do whatever it took to stop the project. Even if he had to go to the newspapers.” He looked directly at Boff. “He was going to take everybody down! Including me. Nino stormed out of the house. And…and that was the last time I saw him alive.”

He wiped the tears from his eyes before draining what was left in his glass. He wasn’t finished yet. “I pleaded with Yusef not to do anything to my brother. I told him I could smooth things out if I had more time. Yusef said okay. But of course the bastard was lying.” Biaggi began sobbing. “They killed my brother and it was my fault. I’m so ashamed.”

He tried to pour more wine, but his hands trembled so badly he had to put the bottle down. He looked at Boff, then at Cullen, then at Boff again. “I suppose you’ll go public with this.” He still couldn’t hold the bottle without shaking. “My whole career, everything I’ve done for the people of
Brooklyn…it’ll all be forgotten when they send me to jail.” He looked down at his hands a moment. Then up at Boff. “Is there any way you can keep my name out of this?”

Boff shook his head. “No, I can’t see how. But you could cop a plea and avoid jail by testifying against Yusef and Solis.”

“My testimony might not be enough to convict them.”

“We’ll get corroboration from another source.”

“If you do, then I’ll testify. My career is meaningless now.”

Boff and Cullen stood up. “We won’t keep you any longer.”

Biaggi followed them to the front door. Before he opened it for them, he put a hand on Boff’s arm.

“Life is so fragile, Mr. Boff,” he said. “I have accomplished many things for myself and the people of
Brooklyn. One mistake, just
one
, and a lifetime of good deeds are wiped out and I lose my brother.”

Boff had bigger fish to fry than Biaggi, so he threw him some bait. “Look,” he said, “there are several ways this could play out. A corrupt land deal is the least important of the charges these guys will be facing. Murder one and drug trafficking will put them away for life. If I can get Damiano to go along—and that’s a big if because she’s a cop who plays by the rules—then you might fly under the radar.”

Biaggi shook his head. “Even if that should happen, I’d still resign.”

“Why?” Boff asked.

“I’m unfit to serve the people.”

“Based on your reputation, I suspect a lot of your constituents would disagree. This is not a perfect world, Mr. Biaggi. We’ve all done some questionable things in our lives. A person does the best they can. So before you entertain any ideas about resigning, give that some thought.”

The door closed softly behind them.