“Jesus Christ, Boff! Why’d you take out Alicia like this?”
I didn’t. I wasn’t there.
“But you set this in motion.”
I hadn’t the slightest idea this was the way it was going to go down. All Bruno told me was he’d take care of it. I’m as surprised as you.
“So what do you have planned for Emilio? Something similar?”
Let’s not talk about this on the phone.
After Boff cut the connection, Cullen walked back to Bellucci. “Man, I’m glad Boff didn’t involve me in this.”
“Me, too.”
After paying for the newspaper, Cullen dumped it in a nearby trash can, then the two boxers continued jogging. At the gym, the first thing they saw was McAlary sitting on the top steps reading the News. He looked up as they started climbing the stairs.
“Is this the woman who had Rafael shot?”
“Yeah,” Cullen replied. “She also had Marla killed. Among several others.”
McAlary set the paper down on the step. “This is Boff’s work, isn’t it?”
Cullen said nothing.
“Danny, I hope to God you weren’t involved.”
“I wasn’t. And that’s no lie!”
“Okay. Let’s get to work.”
Chapter 58
Wright was winding up a session with Chana when Boff walked in. Without even glancing up, Chana worked five more minutes on Wright, then quickly packed up her things. She kept her eyes averted as she left the room.
“I got a hand job!” Wright announced the minute the door closed. “I knew if I stuck with it, I’d score.”
“Congratulations. How much did it cost you?”
“Another fifty on top of her regular fee. But it was worth it.”
“You could’ve gone down to the West Side docks and gotten a prozie to whack you off for twenty.”
“I’ve never paid for sex.”
“You just did.”
“It was part of my healing therapy.”
“Whatever.”
Wright sat down at his desk, picked up the Daily News, and pointed to the front page. “Your handiwork, I assume?”
Boff did not reply. He had called Wright earlier with another assignment. He wanted him to find out how many murders there had been in the five boroughs during the past four years in which the victim had been killed by a car bomb.
“What’d you come up with on the car bomb thing?” he asked.
“Besides the current one, I found three others.”
“Did the vics have anything in common?”
“Well, it didn’t appear so at first. But after some digging and a few phone calls, I discovered all three victims were gamblers. Each one had borrowed money from a mob loan shark and hadn’t paid it back.”
“Which mob? Bruno’s?”
“The Lucchese family.”
“Good work.”
Wright leaned back in his chair. “Please tell me you’re not going to mess with the Luccheses now, too. I mean, Christ, you’re already walking on thin ice with Bruno.”
“We’ll see how things play out.”
Even though Boff felt sure Emilio was the one who had contracted the hits, he wanted more convincing evidence before he messed with the son of Bruno Benvenuti. For that reason, he drove across the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. From the bridge it was a short ride to Teaneck, an affluent town in Bergen County, just six miles away. In Teaneck, he parked in the driveway of a two-story brick colonial with a slate roof, tall shade trees, and flowering shrubs. It looked like a typical family home on a nice suburban street…except for the surveillance camera attached to a tree, two more on either end of the porch, and two over the garage. Walking up to the front door, he pressed a button on the intercom.
Who is it? a raspy voice asked.
“Boff.”
The door buzzed and he walked in.
“Frank, I’m in the den,” the raspy voice called out.
When he entered the den, he found eighty-year-old Vincent “Vinny Gorgeous” Alfano sitting on a leather chair with his stocking feet up on an ottoman. Vinny Gorgeous didn’t look so gorgeous now, with his once-cherubic face turned gaunt and all of his thick, wavy hair gone. Chemotherapy for stomach cancer had not been kind to Alfano.
The old Lucchese capo was staring through a sliding glass door at a flowering garden drenched in sun. “I sit here for hours at a time, Frank,” he said without looking up. “On my good days, I can work the garden for a little while.”
He gestured with one hand for Boff to sit on a chair nearby. Boff noted the black silk robe tied tightly around his host’s ravaged body and fur-lined leather slippers on his feet. He was sipping tea from a clear glass mug.
“You want something to drink?” Alfano asked. “I can get one of my men to bring you coffee or a soda. No hard liquor or beer, though. My Jewish Nazi doctor doesn’t even let me keep any in the house. He says if I drink, it’ll kill me. I said to him, ‘Since I’m dying anyway, what’s the difference?’ and he said to me, ‘Six months, compared to two.’”
Alfano’s laughter was overcome by a coughing fit. Grabbing a handful of Kleenex, he spit a wad of bloody phlegm into the tissues. After dropping the tissues into a nearby waste basket that was almost filled to the top with red-stained Kleenex, he lowered his voice.
“Frank, I keep a bottle of Chivas in my wall safe for special occasions. Screw that Jew boy. You want some?”
“I’m good, Vinny. But thanks.”
After Alfano stared at the sunny garden a little longer, he turned his attention back to Boff. “You know, Frank, I was just thinking the other day that if it weren’t for you I’d be dying in some ratty prison hospital. Instead of my own home, where I’ve lived my entire adult life, raised three kids, and loved three wives. It seems only natural that I die here.”
Eight years earlier, Alfano had hired Boff when he was on trial for a variety of racketeering charges. The case against the mobster had been built around a witness who had been in and out of prison for most of his life. Boff had helped Alfano’s lawyers shred the witness’s credibility in court and planted enough reasonable doubt so that even though he’d been facing a life sentence, Alfano walked.
“Tell me what I can do for you, Frank.”
Boff knew he couldn’t ask a direct question because Alfano was one of those old-time mobsters who still believed in stuff like omerta. He had to be circumspect. “Vinny, if somebody outside your family contracted with one of your men, would you know about it?”
In reply, Alfano grabbed a nearby pad and pen, wrote something on it, then set the pad and pen down on a small table between them. Boff looked down at what Alfano had written: Yes. They would have to okay a hit with me.
Boff took the pad and wrote, Are you bugged?
I’m pretty sure.
I’m not after anyone in your family. I just want to know who put a contract out.
Now Alfano spoke aloud. “Frank, you know I can’t tell you that.”
“Of course. So let’s play it this way.” Boff picked up the pad again and wrote, Do you know who Emilio Benvenuti is? He handed the pad and pen to Alfano.
Alfano hesitated a minute before he wrote, Bruno’s son. Some kind of banker.
Has his name been mentioned to you in the past two weeks?
Alfano took a sip of his tea and stared out at the garden again for a minute before saying, “Yes.”
“More than one time?”
Alfano frowned and wrote, I don’t want no trouble with Bruno.
Neither do I.
The old man managed to get up off the chair and shuffle over to a desk, where he opened a drawer, took out several vials of pills and shook some out. He poured Pellegrino sparkling water into a glass and washed them down. Then he gingerly eased himself back into his chair. “My whole life, I never took a pill of any kind,” he said. “Not even an aspirin. Now? I’m being kept alive by these damn pills.” He wearily shook his head. “This is no way to d
ie.”
After a few minutes of silence, he laid a cold, gnarled hand over Boff’s and looked him straight in the eyes.
“Frank, the answer to your last question is…yes. More than one time.”
Chapter 59
After leaving the mobster’s house, Boff drove back across the bridge and headed downtown on the West Side Highway toward Bowery Park and a meeting he had scheduled with Carl Baumgartner, the assistant D.A. Baumgartner was sitting on a park bench and gazing across the Hudson River at the Jersey City waterfront. Once an eyesore, the waterfront had undergone a renaissance and now featured numerous high-rise condo buildings, parks, and restaurants.
Joining him on the bench, he said, “Are you making any progress with the judge?”
“Yes.”
He took out his recorder and tapped on it with a finger. “What you are about to hear is for your ears only. You cannot have a copy of this and you won’t be able to use it as evidence.”
“Why not?”
“Because it might put me in danger.” He hit play. “This is me talking with Emilio Benvenuti.”
I have reason to believe you are partners with Alicia in the escort service. I also believe Alicia contracted for hits on Rafael, Marla, her rapist/murder, Alberto Mantilla, and two bent cops killed. I’m pretty sure you weren’t involved with that, correct?
I argued vehemently against the killings. It wasn’t what I signed up for. But she listens to no one.
How did she find the contractor?
As she said on your tape, Frank, she had an affair with my old man He introduced her to some of his mob friends. I guess he wanted to show her off. Whatever. In any case, she met plenty of guys who’d do murder for hire.
When Boff stopped the recording, Baumgartner frowned. “Jesus, Frank, that’s important stuff. You’ve got Benvenuti’s son admitting he was aware of Alicia’s plans to commit murder and did nothing to stop her. That makes him an accessory.”
“I think I can do even better.”
He rewound the tape a bit and then hit play again.
“How did she find the contractor?”
“As she said on your tape, Frank, she had an affair with my old man. He introduced her to some of his mob friends. I guess he wanted to show her off. Whatever. In any case, she met plenty of guys who’d do murder for hire.”
He stopped the recorder again. “During a little dinner my mother made for me, Benvenuti, and his men, Bruno told me he and Alicia had conducted their affair in a hotel suite and never left it. He said he didn’t want to risk one of his men seeing him with her and telling Emilio.” He paused to let the prosecutor digest what he’d heard. “Benvenuti never introduced Alicia to any of his mob friends.”
The assistant D.A. thought about that a minute, then smiled. “So the kid was lying to you.”
“Take it a step further, Carl.”
“So…if the girl didn’t contract the killing…then…Emilio probably did. That makes sense. I’m sure Emilio has plenty of mob contacts.”
Boff nodded. “Yes. And I have it from an extremely reliable source that Emilio did in fact contract for all the hits with one of the mob families.”
“The obvious question, then, is do you think Bruno was involved?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure. But, the kid’s a banker. He knows zilch about running girls.”
“Whereas the old man’s got plenty of experience in that line of work.”
“Exactly.”
“So…you want me to…?”
“Start building your case against Emilio. Check his phone records. And Alicia’s, too. In addition to being partners with her in the escort service, they were also lovers. I also want you to get Emilio’s financial records. See if he was spending more than he should’ve been based on his earnings as a banker.”
“Uh huh. And if he was…?”
“Emilio told me the money he made from the escort service was deposited in a Barbados bank under the name Derek Jeter. So, as much as I dislike the FBI—”
“You want me to call in the fibbies for help on that.”
“I do. Barbados is out of your jurisdiction. But once you nail that down, you’ll be close to getting an indictment on Emilio. In the meantime, I want you to do two favors for me. One, bring Emilio in for questioning. And, two, leak this one to the Daily News so we can keep both tabloids running with the story.”
Baumgartner narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want me to bring him in for questioning?”
“To rattle his cage.”
The prosecutor studied Boff’s face for a moment. “You know, Frank, you have the same look in your eyes now that you did in high school when you’d been flagrantly fouled on the court and were planning to retaliate.”
When Boff said nothing to that, the assistant D.A. continued. “Calling Alicia Celina in for questioning is what probably got her killed. Is that what you’re trying to do to Emilio? Get him whacked, too?”
Ignoring the question, Boff pressed forward with his agenda. “I also want you to put the squeeze on all of Bruno’s businesses. Stop the inflow of money to him.”
“You know what that might do, right? Make Bruno vulnerable to a palace revolt. Is that also part of your master plan?”
“No, Carl. It’s just the logical thing to do. If the kid was involved, chances are Bruno was, too. It makes sense to put pressure on Bruno.”
Baumgartner looked over at the waterfront a moment. “You know, Jersey City may have changed….” He turned back to Boff. “But the guy I played basketball with sure hasn’t. This is a dangerous game you’re playing.”
Boff spread his hands. “I can handle it.”
“You better hope so.”
“So are we straight here on how to proceed?”
“Yeah, Frank. I’ve got my marching orders. I call Emilio in and start a full-court press against Bruno.”
“Good.”
Despite himself, the prosecutor laughed. “Frank, you’ve been hanging out with criminals so long, you’ve begun to think like one.”
“Not true. Most criminals are morons. I’m a helluva lot smarter than them.”
Chapter 60
As soon as Boff got home, he walked into the kitchen, where his wife was busy cooking on the stove.
“Sit down, honey,” he said.
Jenny turned from the pot she was stirring. “Is this going to be more bad news?”
He pulled out a kitchen chair for her and one for himself. After lowering the heat on the pot, Jenny sat down.
“Jenny,” he began, “I want you to know where all my important papers are. Most are in the apartment, some are in a safety deposit box. I’ll give you the key for the box.”
She let out a weary sigh. “So your life is in danger again.”
“Well, it could be.”
“This is the third time in less than two years your life has been threatened. Frank, when is this going to end?”
“Yes, it is the third time in less than two years. And do you know why? All three instances came as a result of me either taking on a pro bono case at your request or returning a favor I owed a cop. The common thread is that I’ve been working against the scumbags, not for them.”
“Don’t you go laying this on me, Frank Boff! You don’t have to do pro bono work. Just tell me you don’t want to, and I’ll never ask you again.”
He shook his head. “If I did, I’d be disappointing you. Which is something I never want to do.”
“Well, you know I’ve asked you to do pro bono for your own good. But of course you don’t see it that way.” She frowned and shook her head. “You’ll never get into heaven with me if you keep getting all these criminals acquitted.”
“I know, honey. I know. What can I say?”
“That you’ll stop defending criminals you know are guilty. Which of course you won’t. As far as this case is concerned, at least promise me you’ll hire someone to watch out for you.”
He nodded. “When the time comes, I’ll call in
Pete Wallachi.”
“And you’ll wear your Kevlar vest, right?”
“Yes.”
Jenny got up, went to the refrigerator, took out a container of orange juice from the refrigerator and a bottle of Stolichnaya from the freezer. With her back to him, she put ice in a glass, mixed the vodka with the juice, took a quick hit, and then whipped around.
“Okay, tell me where the damn papers are!”
After dinner, Boff took a cab to meet with Wallachi in front of the Barnes & Noble on the Upper West Side. On the way, he thought about the position he had placed himself in. Carl was right, of course. This was a dangerous game he was playing. Besides, he didn’t feel good about dragging Bruno into this. And he hated what the likely outcome would be for his friend. Was he going too far this time? Then he thought about the bomb under his car. If he hadn’t had the detector, Jenny would be a widow now and his kids fatherless. It was Emilio who had crossed way over the line, and he had no compunctions about joining him there. Cullen said he did things like this because he was a vindictive sonofabitch. Boff smiled in spite of himself. Well, to an extent that was true. But it was not that simple. The judicial system was a complete joke. Seventy percent of the indicted felons he helped get acquitted were guilty as sin. Bottom line, he didn’t want to take a chance on Emilio finding a high-powered lawyer and walking.
Wallachi was drinking a cup of Starbucks coffee in front of the bookstore when Boff arrived. The investigator handed a second cup of coffee to him.
“Let’s take a walk,” Boff said as he pulled the lid off the coffee and threw it into the gutter. As they headed north on Broadway, he explained to Wallachi the scenario he had set in motion. His friend said nothing until he was done.
“So what is you want from me?” Wallachi finally asked.
“Do you have any cop friends?”
“A few. Why?”
“When the time is right, I’m going to need two reliable guys who are willing to do some moonlighting for you.”
The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) Page 28