The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery)

by Nathan Gottlieb

  “We could go to the Met. If you don’t like paintings, it has all kinds of other neat things.” She hesitated. “Can I have your phone number, too? Sometimes I get a little down after a date. It’d be nice to have someone like you to talk to.”

  This was more than he expected. “Sure.” He took one of his boxing business cards out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  “The first number is the gym. Second is my apartment. The last one is my mobile. It’s better to call me at home or on the mobile, because my trainer gets annoyed if I get calls at the gym. But if it’s important, you can reach me there.”

  Smiling, Dina put the card in her purse, stood up, kissed him again, and left, closing the door softly behind her.

  Chapter 40

  When Boff arrived at his mother’s apartment for what she said was going to be a small dinner party, Benvenuti, two of his bodyguards, and Nicholas the little knife artist were already there. As his mother shouted from the kitchen, “I’m almost done, Frankie,” he took the only vacant seat, a chair facing the mobster.

  Benvenuti leaned forward. “Frank, I gotta tell ya, your mother’s a sweetheart.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  On the coffee table were a platter with a variety of cheeses and crackers and another platter piled high with raw vegetables, plus a sour cream with chives dip. Picking up a carrot stick, Boff nodded to the two bodyguards. He had met them a few years ago when he’d helped to defend Benvenuti on a racketeering charge. If you could get past what they did for a living, they had seemed like okay guys. Then he nodded at Nicholas, who was using a switchblade knife to slice the wedge of cheese on his plate into paper-thin pieces.

  Benvenuti noticed what his nephew was doing and frowned. “Nicholas, don’t play with the food. Eat it.”

  The runt slid a small, plastic container labeled rotor oil out of his pocket. After squeezing a few drops on the blade, he carefully cleaned it with a napkin, closed the knife, and put it back in his pocket, along with the rotor oil.

  “Frank,” Benvenuti said, “I had a chance to talk with Emilio today.”

  “What did he do with the money you loaned him?”

  “He said he made long term investments in stocks he felt would eventually take off.”

  Just then, Thelma walked in from the kitchen wiping her wet hands on her apron. “Bruno,” she said, “did you introduce my Frankie to your men?”

  “Mom, I already know them.”

  “Carlo and Michael have been watching the store for me since your apartment was broken into,” she told him. “So I decided to invite them and Bruno for dinner.” She looked at Benvenuti. “Bruno loves my Jewish cooking, right?” The mobster smiled and nodded. “And since Bruno doesn’t go anywhere without Nicholas, I asked him, too. Now, let’s all go into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and eat the best Jewish dinner this side of Katz’s Deli.”

  Thelma had cooked a matzo ball soup for a first course. After that, she served gefilte fish with red horseradish, followed by potato latkes with applesauce, and liver knishes.

  “Bruno, when my Frankie was a kid, my husband and I never told him we took numbers and the football sheets.”

  “How come?” Benvenuti said. “My boys knew about my business when they were old enough to be told.”

  Thelma smiled. “Frankie was too much of a goodie-goodie.”

  Boff looked taken aback. “I was not!”

  “Of course you were. You were a Cub Scout and a Boy Scout leader. Captain of the basketball team. And vice president of your senior class.”

  The list made Benvenuti laugh. “When I was in school,” he said, “kids like that we called faggots—pardon my French.” He forked a piece of potato latke, slid it generously through some applesauce, and shoveled it home. “Mama Boff, not even Katz’s makes latkes as good as yours.”

  “That’s because my mother was from Russia. She taught me the best way.”

  Still chewing, the mob boss looked at Boff. “You have any luck finding out who had your apartment tossed?”

  Boff nodded. “I’m pretty sure it was the woman who owns the escort service.”

  “What’s the good madam’s name?”

  “Alicia Celina.”

  “Really? You’re kiddin’. I know her. Or at least used to.”

  “How?”

  “About a month after my wife died, I used an escort service called Pleasure Island. She worked for it.”

  Hearing this, Thelma shook her fork at him. “Bruno! Shame on you! Your wife wasn’t in the ground more than a month, and you started having sex with a call girl?”

  Benvenuti had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know, I know, I felt really bad about it. It was supposed to be just a one-shot deal, but…well…I went back to her several times. After awhile, we actually fell in love. We were together about four months. I might even have married her one day, but she had a terrible temper and was so jealous, I thought she was crazy. Psychotic.” He bit into some buttered matzo and continued as he chewed. “So I finally got tired of her and her act and gave her fifty grand as a get-lost present.” He swallowed and laughed. “In the old days, I woulda given her a pair of cement shoes as a gift. Ha! Guess I’ve mellowed.”

  “Bruno,” Boff said, “what did Emilio think about your having an affair so soon after his mother died?”

  Benvenuti shook his head. “Emilio never knew because I didn’t bring her to the house. We always took a suite at the Four Seasons.”

  “Weren’t you worried that one of your friends would spot you and Alicia out for dinner and mention it to Emilio?’

  “Not at all, Frank. Because we never left the hotel. All our meals came from room service. Funny thing is…well, I still have a fond spot for her.” He shrugged. “But that being said, if she harmed your family, I’ll pay her a visit if you’d like.”

  “No, he wouldn’t!” Thelma exclaimed. “I don’t want Frankie mixed up in something like that! You understand?”

  “Yes, Mama Boff. I’m sorry I even mentioned it.”

  “Good. Now how about I show you some photos of Frankie when he was a Boy Scout? You’d love to see them, wouldn’t you.” It was not a question.

  “No, he would not,” her son said.

  Benvenuti grinned. “Yes, I would. I sure would.”

  Thelma pushed herself away from the table and stood up. “Be back in a minute,” she said. “I’ve got to look for the album.”

  As soon as she left the kitchen, Benvenuti turned to Boff and lowered his voice. “Frank, my offer on Alicia stands.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  When Thelma returned with a photo album, Boff cringed and made a show of looking at his watch.

  “Mom, I really have to go. Billy’s waiting for me.”

  “Not until I clear the plates and everybody’s had desert. I made rugelach and mandelbrodt.”

  Before bringing the desert to the table, Thelma opened the album to a page in the middle, handed it to Benvenuti, and pointed at it. “These are Frankie’s Boy Scout pictures.”

  Benvenuti broke into a wide grin. “Geez, he really did look like a faggot. What are all those patches on the shirt?”

  “Merit badges,” Thelma said as Boff cringed. “He earned them for doing good things.” She leaned over the mobster and tapped one photo. “This patch Frankie got for civil service. This one for dog care. And this one for camping.”

  “Camping?” Benvenuti said. “Where’d you pitch your tent, Frank? Central Park?”

  By this time, Nicholas was up and leaning over Benvenuti’s shoulder and looking at Boff’s scout photos. He smirked and returned to his chair.

  Thelma wasn’t finished. “Frankie still knows the Boy Scout Oath, too. Recite it for Bruno.”

  Boff frowned. “Aw, come on, Mom. Bruno doesn’t want to hear that.”

  “Sure I do.”

  “But that was a long time ago. I don’t remember the oath anymore.”

  “Like hell you don’t,” his mo
ther said. “Let’s hear it.”

  Boff knew there was no point in arguing.

  “Mom, if I do it, then can I leave the table?”

  “After you recite it, yes.”

  Blowing out a weary sigh, he said, “On my honor I—”

  “Do it the right way,” his mother said. “Stand up.”

  “Mom, why are you making me do this?”

  “Why? Because I want you to take pride in your accomplishments that don’t involve keeping criminals like my gumba Bruno out of jail.”

  With great reluctance, Boff stood up.

  “On my honor—”

  “Right hand,” Thelma said.

  He raised the hand.

  “On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country, and to obey the Scout Law…to, uh…help other people at all times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.”

  Benvenuti clapped. “I like that last part about keeping morally straight. I guess you missed the boat on that one.”

  Ignoring him, Boff leaned down and kissed his mother on the forehead. “I’m going now. Dinner was great.”

  “Wait! Let me give you some rugelach and mandelbrot for Billy.” She got up to fix a doggy bag.

  “You know, Frank,” Benvenuti said, “I actually joined the Boy Scouts. But after one week, they kicked me out for carrying a knife in my pocket.”

  “All Scouts carry knives.”

  “Not switchblades.”

  Chapter 41

  As he drove to Wright’s shop, he mulled over Benvenuti’s connection to Alicia. He didn’t believe much in coincidences. The odds of Benvenuti having been the lover of his main target were pretty high. Toss in Emilio having used three of Alicia’s girls, and it was even higher. Could Benvenuti be an owner of the service? He certainly had experience in running girls. When the mobster first rose to power, prostitution had been one of his family’s main businesses. Whether he was still in that line of work, Boff wasn’t completely sure, but what he did know was Benvenuti had scaled back considerably on his operations over the years, basically limiting his family to gambling. Or at least that’s what he said. It would not be farfetched, however, to make a case that both the mobster and his son were the brains and the brawn behind the service. The only piece that didn’t fit was that Benvenuti had volunteered that he knew Alicia. If the mobster was actually running the service and knew Boff suspected it was tied to some murders, why would he say that? He frowned. Butting heads with the powerful mob boss was not something he would relish.

  Taking out his cell phone, he looked up a number and called Vincent “Vinny Gorgeous” Alfano, a caporegime of the Lucchese crime family.

  Hey, Frankie, what’s up? The boss ain’t in trouble, is he?

  “Not that I know of. The reason I’m calling is I was wondering whether Bruno Benvenuti was still running girls.”

  No. He stopped doing that a long time ago. Why are you asking?

  “I’ve got a case dealing with an elite escort service, and I’m wondering if he’s connected with it.”

  You want me to ask around? Just to make sure?

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather you didn’t do that. The last thing I need is for Bruno to think I was checking up on him.”

  I hear you. Come around some time before I die.

  “Will do.”

  Then he called Damiano.

  “I thought you should know there’s a very slight chance that Bruno Benvenuti might be involved in the escort service,” he told her.

  That’d be bad for you. Great for me. If I nailed him, I’d get promoted to sergeant.

  “Do you know anybody in the city’s Organized Crime Control Bureau?”

  An ex-girlfriend.

  “Can you ask her if she knows if Benvenuti still runs girls?”

  No can do. She hates my guts. We didn’t have an especially pleasant breakup.

  “So bring her flowers.”

  She’d spit in my face. Bye, Boff.

  He checked his watch. It was ten forty-five. Cullen’s date would be gone by now. He called the boxer’s land line.

  “How’d it go, Danny?”

  Actually, pretty good. She was friends with Marla.

  “That is good. Did you get her phone number?”

  Yup. And she asked for mine, too.

  “Now I’m really impressed. Did you ask her who runs the escort service?”

  Yes. But she wouldn’t tell me. She got spooked, and then, just a few minutes later, she cut the date short. Where are you?

  “Driving to my information broker’s place.”

  What for?

  “I’m going to mess with Alicia’s head. See you tomorrow.”

  When Boff walked into Wright’s back room, he found his ex-DEA pal in a karate uniform performing hand tactics, elbow strikes, and kicks. Overweight as he was, Wright looked like a beached whale trying to move around on land. Boff sat on the couch and watched the whale work.

  After a few more kicks and hand tactics, the information broker called it a day. Grabbing a towel, he wiped the sweat off his face and bald head and said, “I’m a bit rusty. But it’ll all come back in a few weeks.”

  “Can I ask why after all these years, you’re suddenly taking this up again?”

  “When you brought those young boxers over, and I saw how great they looked, it made me feel old. I want to get my mojo back.”

  Boff laughed. “Why bother? You’re probably going to die from the chemtrails, anyway.”

  Shooting Boff a sour look, Wright sat down at his computer, grabbed a pint bottle of water, and drained it before putting his hands on his keyboard. After a minute of typing and clicking, he apparently found what he was looking for. He turned back around to Boff.

  “I did a little research on that divorce judge’s cases.”

  “And….?”

  “The national average for who gets the kids and house is roughly eighty-five to ninety percent in favor of the woman.”

  “And what about Morant’s cases?”

  “About seventy-five percent for the women. I called my daughter’s divorce lawyer and asked if this was unusual. He said it was. When I told him the judge’s name, he said he’d never tried a case before Morant, but he’d heard rumors. Pretty much the same things you did.”

  Boff helped himself to a can of Pepsi in the mini-fridge and sat back down. “I’ve got some news you aren’t going to like,” he said as he popped the top. “There’s a slight chance Bruno Benvenuti may be involved in the escort service.”

  “You’re right. I don’t like that.”

  After taking a tug on the soda, he told Wright about Benvenuti’s old affair with Alicia.

  “Why would he tell you he knew her if he was involved with the escort service? That makes no sense.”

  “I agree. But as much as I don’t believe in coincidences, this may be one.”

  “Let’s hope so. In the meantime I had some fun with the escort service’s website. Come and take a look.”

  Boff rolled a chair over and looked at the computer screen.

  Wright pointed. “I hacked into the Club Cachet website. I was able to do this because it had a flaw in its programmed dynamic script. Don’t ask me to explain. Once I got in through a backdoor, I was able to discover the webmaster’s password. That essentially allowed me to do anything I wanted to the site.”

  He typed in some commands, then he pointed to the screen again. “Here’s the Club Cachet website as it usually looks. See where it says OUR BEAUTIFUL GIRLS in blue? I click on that link and—voilà, it takes me to a page displaying all the lovely ladies. Okay, now let’s return to the home page.”

  Wright typed more commands. “This time, when we click on OUR BEAUTIFUL GIRLS, instead of luscious babes, we get—”

  Boff leaned closer and smiled. “Male escorts in bikini briefs. My guess is that Club Cachet’s clients will not be amused.”

  “You better believe it.”

  “How
long will it take before the webmaster finds out what’s been done and can fix it?”

  “Could be fifteen minutes. Could be two hours. Depends on the webmaster. The main thing is we’re going to catch their attention. And they won’t know if the hacker is some pimply high school geek or the FBI.”

  Boff smiled. “Good. That’ll rattle them. Do one other thing for me, Billy. Can you work up a dossier on Alicia? One that includes a copy of her rap sheet and her connection to Pleasure Island.”

  “I can do even better.” He began typing again. “I’ll get you a printout of the Pleasure Island site.”

  “How can you do that? It undoubtedly was taken down after the bust.”

  “True. But when a scandal like that breaks, bloggers jump all over it and cut and paste parts of the site onto their web pages. Lemme see if I can find it…. First, I’ll Google ‘Pleasure Island scandal’…ahh…here we go. The Huffington Post ran with it.” He clicked on the link.

  “But where are the girls?” Boff asked. “All I see is the Huffington Post headline and the story about the bust.”

  “Hold your horses, my friend. Watch. Now I scroll down and…there it is. A duplicate of the Pleasure Island site.”

  Boff studied the site a minute. “It looks very similar to Club Cachet’s website,” he said. “Sexy women. Short descriptions. The tops of their heads cropped out. Okay. Now let’s see if we can find Alicia. I imagine she wouldn’t have used her real name. So let’s check for something like Cuban Beauty.”

  As they started reading about the girls, Wright suddenly tapped a finger on the screen. “Here she is,” he said. “This’s our gal.” He started reading out loud. “‘Josephina is a fiery Cuban model with an uncompromising zest for novel experiences.’” He moved his cursor to the right of the picture. “Over here, it tells you our fiery Cuban’s height, weight, hair color, and eye color.”

  Boff read the description. “Yeah, that sounds like her. Good work, Billy. Besides putting this in the dossier, can you include a printout of her current business? And I don’t mean the restaurant.”

  “Technically, Frank, her name’s not listed as owner of the escort service.”