The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery)

by Nathan Gottlieb

  As soon as the bell rang, Wallachi and his cops turned away from the ring to scan the crowd again. The spotlights hitting the ring spilled some light over the first few rows of seats, but beyond that, it was still too dark for them to see much.

  As soon as the fighters reached the center of the ring, they began crowding each other and firing shots from short range. In boxing parlance, this is known as “fighting in a phone booth.” Thanks to his tight defense, Cullen seemed to be taking a lot fewer shots than Diaz, and landing more clean ones than the Mexican. Boff, who had seen several of Cullen’s fights, quickly saw that Diaz was a big cut above his previous opponents.

  For the whole three minutes of the first round, the action stayed fast and furious, up close and personal. When the round ended, the crowd stood up and cheered the non-stop action. In this level of noise, Boff knew even a gunshot would go unheard.

  As the trainers and assistants went to work on their fighters, one of HBO’s roving cameramen trained the spotlight atop his camera on a section of ringside seats. In doing so, the light briefly illuminated several rows of fans, but it was a short take and didn’t give Wallachi and his men much of a chance to spot Emilio.

  Knowing a gun might be pointed at him, Boff, who had been looking forward to the fight, had a hard time enjoying it.

  The second round looked like a replay of the first, except that two minutes in, Cullen suddenly nailed the champion with a straight right to the chin. Diaz went down, but the blow apparently hadn’t hurt him much, because he sprang back up before the referee could count past two. The rest of the round consisted of furious brawling, and at the bell the crowd again rose and roared its approval.

  Heading for his corner, Cullen glanced at Boff at the same time that a roving HBO camera spotlighted the investigator’s section of seats. That’s when Cullen saw it. Emilio was standing six rows behind Boff, his suit jacket draped over one arm. The only reason Cullen could think of why Emilio hadn’t draped the jacket over the back of his seat was because he was using it to hide a gun. Before Cullen could say a word, however, his trainer yelled at him.

  “Get over here!”

  As Cullen sat on his stool, the trainer lit into him. “What the hell were you looking out at the damn crowd for? Keep your focus on the ring!”

  Although Cullen nodded, he glanced again at where he had spotted Emilio. Without the HBO rover’s spotlight, he couldn’t see Emilio anymore. He was trying to figure out how he could signal a warning to Boff, when the bell rang for the round three.

  Still preoccupied with Boff’s safety, Cullen forgot to keep his left hand up high enough to protect his head. His opponent took quick advantage by blasting a right hook over the low hand. The punch caught Cullen flush in the face. Although he wasn’t seriously hurt by the blow, his feet had been off balance and he staggered back into the ropes before he could regain his balance.

  At this point, Diaz seemed to believe he had Cullen in trouble, because he now moved in on him fast and let fly with a torrent of power shots. Cullen kept his gloves up high in front of his face to deflect most of the blows while he was shaking the cobwebs out of his head. Soon the champion seemed so overeager for the knockout that Cullen noticed he was getting sloppy with his defense. So when Diaz threw a wide, looping shot at his head—which left the whole middle of the Mexican’s body exposed—Cullen suddenly exploded out of his defensive shell and smashed a straight right hand into his face.

  Now it was the champ’s turn to stagger. But unlike in the previous round, this time Diaz looked really hurt. In a flash, Cullen realized that if he could end the fight now, he might have a chance to warn Boff before it was too late.

  Throwing caution to the wind, therefore, he pounced on Diaz and drove him back across the ring and into the ropes, where he launched into his popcorn drill. It was a risky move. If he couldn’t knock the champion out with his rapid-fire punches, he would have spent way too much energy this early in the fight and might not have anything left in the tank for the later rounds.

  But he also knew if the fight dragged on, Boff could be dead.

  Under Cullen’s relentless barrage, the champ’s legs started to wobble. In survival mode now, he tried to slip off the ropes and get away, but Cullen sprang right after him and kept hammering away. Nearly exhausted, Cullen put everything he had into a right hook to the ribs, which forced Diaz to bend over in pain. In so doing, he left himself vulnerable to an uppercut, which happened to be the best punch in Cullen’s arsenal. The challenger fired an uppercut from hell and caught the champion flush under his chin. The champ’s head jerked back and down he went, sprawled flat on his back.

  While Diaz tried courageously to get up, Cullen glanced around at Boff and was gratified to see that, unlike the rest of the crowd, he had remained seated. At the count of eight, the champion managed to get to one knee, but he was too dazed to rise any further. He collapsed on his ass and was counted out.

  The fight was over! Danny Cullen was a world champion!

  When the referee raised Cullen’s hand in victory, Boff couldn’t resist standing up and applauding. Seeing him rise, the new champ tried to shout at him to sit back down. But he knew his voice would never be heard in this bedlam.

  There was only one way.

  Yanking his arm free out of the ref’s grip, Cullen charged the ropes near where Boff was sitting, slipped through them fast, and jumped down to the floor just outside the ring. Stunned by his actions, the huge crowd suddenly went silent. An arena spotlight beamed down on the boxer, and in the process illuminated all the seats closest to the ring.

  Seeing Emilio raise his arm again, Cullen charged Boff and fired a hard right that caught the investigator flush in the face. Just as Boff started to fall, a muffled shot rang out. Cullen felt the bullet meant for Boff pierce his own upper left arm. He dropped to his knees in pain.

  Hearing the shot, Wallachi and his men, already on their feet, followed the sound, looked behind them, and spotted Emilio. As Manny threw himself over Boff’s prostrate body to protect him, Wallachi and the two cops went for Emilio, squeezing through the small spaces between the chairs. But the mobster’s son was already pushing his way sideways toward the aisle.

  Just as Emilio reached the stairs, Cullen’s adrenalin overrode the pain in his arm. The path to the aisle steps was unobstructed. The new champion jumped up and raced after Emilio. Wallachi’s two cops held up their badges and joined the chase. Cullen, who was a lot faster than Emilio, quickly closed in on him. He kicked out and caught the banker behind a knee. Emilio fell down. As his gun hand hit the stairs, the weapon skidded loose. Before he could reach out and pull it back, Cullen kicked the weapon further away. Then he planted a knee so hard on his back that the banker grunted. He was totally immobilized.

  This gave the cops time to move in and corral Emilio. One looped plastic restraint cuffs over his hands and pulled the locking mechanism. The other grabbed Emilio’s gun with a handkerchief and pocketed it.

  All of the roving HBO cameramen had of course rushed over to catch this crazy, unheard-of, post-fight action. Within seconds, Boff had pushed Manny off his back and gotten up in time to see Cullen get on Emilio. Now, as the two cops roughly pulled the would-be assassin to his feet, the crowd, which had been shocked into silence, erupted in a thunderous cheer for Cullen’s post-fight heroics. As the cops started pulling Emilio up the stairs, the crowd switched from cheering for Cullen to booing the villain. Cups of beer rained down from the upper rows, splattering both Emilio and the officers.

  At the same time, security guards hustled over to Cullen. Forming a protective shell around him, they moved him quickly down the aisle stairs and into the tunnel leading to the safety of the locker rooms. McAlary and Kate climbed out the ring and rushed to join them, but guards at the tunnel blocked them from entering.

  Wallachi turned to Boff. “Jesus, Frank, the fucking kid saved your life.”

  Boff shook his head. “That would only be true if Emilio had been able to shoot
me in the head. My plan worked to perfection.”

  “Frank, your plan sucked.”

  Immensely relieved to still be alive, Boff smiled. “Yeah, well maybe it did,” he conceded. “But the bottom line is the plan had the desired result.”

  A much less desirable result for Boff was that now Cullen and Bellucci would never stop ribbing him about the way he crumbled after a single punch. And, yeah, also the fact that the damn kid had probably saved his life.

  Now he owed him.

  As cameramen and photographers rushed over to Boff, Wallachi punched Boff in the arm. “Hey, Frank, how about thanking Manny? He gave up his body to protect you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Manny said. “I was just doing my job.”

  Boff smiled at the crack op. “I wasn’t intending to.”

  Chapter 66

  When McAlary and Kate finally got clearance from security to go into the locker room, they found Cullen sitting on a bench having the wound in his arm cleaned and stitched up by the ring physician, a bull of a man in his forties with a bald head. The championship belt Cullen had just won was draped over the bench next to him. As his trainer and manager walked over, the boxer looked up and smiled.

  “Hey, guys. The doc says my arm’s gonna be okay.”

  McAlary seemed unimpressed. He turned to the physician. “You mean, okay as in okay for him to work as a clerk at Home Depot? Or okay to fight?”

  The doctor smiled. “Your boxer was very lucky, Mr. McAlary. The bullet passed right through the fleshy part of his upper left arm. And it doesn’t appear to have nicked any bone or ligaments, though we’ll have to do an MRI to be sure. At best, he has muscle damage that could take a few months to heal.”

  “But he’ll be able to fight again, right?”

  “If he sticks to his therapy, yes, he should.”

  Kate stepped forward. “Danny will do the necessary work,” she said. “Count on it.”

  McAlary collapsed on the bench beside Cullen. “In all my years around boxing,” he muttered loud enough for the room to hear his words, “in all my years, I’ve never seen anything like that. I thought you’d lost your mind when you jumped out of the ring.”

  Kate joined her husband on the bench. “Danny, how did you know the guy had a gun?” she asked.

  Exhausted from the wild night, Cullen just shook his head. “Can we, like, talk about that later? Right now, you know, I’d really like to be congratulated. And not for having saved Boff’s miserable ass.”

  McAlary broke into a smile. “You did good, Danny boy! How does it feel to be a champion?”

  “Man, it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. Only thing I know for sure is there’s a lot more to do. I want to win a title in a second and a third division, too. Just like my father did.” As it suddenly started to hit him that he was indeed a world champion, he looked up toward heaven. “Dad,” he said, “were you watching?”

  McAlary’s smile went from ear to ear. “If he was,” he said, “he’d surely be proud of you. Although I must say I wasn’t too pleased about you throwing so many damn punches that early in the fight.”

  “Ryan,” Cullen was almost too tired to talk, “I did that because I wanted to end the fight before Emilio shot Boff. And speaking of the Boffer, what happened with him?”

  “The police took him for questioning. That bloke owes you a big debt of gratitude.”

  Cullen laughed. “I’ll be fortunate if he even gives me a little thank-you.”

  “Meanwhile,” Kate said, “the media’s going to run wild with this. Boxer pummels champion! Leaps into crowd to save a friend! Takes a bullet! And then corrals the bad guy! You can’t buy publicity like that. It’ll go national. I’m sure HBO’s already given a feed to the local TV stations and ESPN. Danny, you’re an instant star.”

  Cullen hadn’t even thought about headlines and stardom. “You really think so?”

  “Damn right,” Kate replied. “An HBO official already told me they’re gonna offer you a four-fight contract with a signing bonus. And I’m gonna milk them for every dollar I can get, thanks to that wild exhibition of courage you gave.”

  “And recklessness,” McAlary added. “Don’t forget that. Recklessness. The damn kid almost got himself killed.”

  “Oh lighten up, Ryan,” his wife said. “It’s over, Danny’s safe, and we have this—”

  Reaching past her boxer’s legs, she grabbed the gold and leather championship belt and held it up. Cullen felt himself swelling with pride. It was the same belt his father had worn for so many years. The same belt he himself had carried at age eight when he first accompanied his dad on the ring walk. The magnitude of what he had done—both in the ring and outside it—suddenly slammed into him, even though his excitement was tempered a second later by his knowledge that if the bullet had been a few inches to the right, he’d probably be dead.

  ***

  Boff was released by the NYPD an hour later. He left the precinct with Wallachi and Manny and called Jenny to tell her he was okay and on his way home. When he tried Cullen’s cell, the voicemail message said the boxer’s mailbox was full. Ditto for his home phone. Boff figured that between friends and the media, Danny would be unavailable until late in the night. He’d have to listen to the news reports to find out what damage the bullet had done.

  Wallachi was driving when Boff’s cell phone rang.

  Did you ever get shot with BBs gun? said the raspy voice of Vinny Gorgeous.

  “Can’t say as I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Well, this is a warning. Watch out for BBs gun.

  Alfano hung up.

  “Who was that?” Wallachi asked.

  “My wife again.”

  On the drive uptown, Boff tried to figure out what Alfano had meant about BBs gun. He couldn’t make any sense of it. The only thing he knew was that Alfano wouldn’t have warned him for nothing. Did Emilio find a backup button, or maybe more than one? BBs could refer to buttons. He suddenly had a bad feeling that this might not yet be over.

  Wallachi pulled up at Boff’s apartment building, left Manny in the car, and escorted his friend through the front door into the lobby. They stood there a moment, just looking at each other.

  “Helluva night, huh.” Wallachi suddenly looked worn out.

  Boff nodded. “Thanks for all your help, Pete.”

  “Hey, you’re paying. I’d have done the same for any client.”

  Boff lightly punched his buddy’s arm and smiled. He knew Wallachi had gone the extra mile for him.

  The minute he came through the front door, Jenny and Steven rushed him. His wife hugged him, then stepped back to get a better look at him. “Frank, you’re sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m fine, honey. Just my pride is wounded.” He rubbed his chin. “The damn kid punched me out in front of thousands of people. Never mind the millions watching on TV. I’ll never live this down.”

  Jenny shook her head. “That damn kid, Frank Boff, saved your damn life. And I bet you haven’t even thanked him yet.”

  “I tried to. But the mailboxes on his cell and home phone are both full.”

  “Dad,” Stephen couldn’t wait any longer, “Dad, we saw the whole thing on HBO and then on CNN! That was way cool! Sharon called from college. She said the TV stations in L.A. all showed clips of it, too. The other girls on her floor in the dorm all came into her room to watch replays on SportsCenter. Sharon says she’s a rock star now. You helped catch a killer, Dad. You’re, like, totally famous!”

  “Son, I was already famous. I’ve won a lot of high-profile trials.”

  “I believe the word you meant was infamous.”

  Boff smiled. This was the first time his kids had ever been proud of him. He turned back to Jenny. “I’m starving, honey. Is there anything to eat?”

  “Oh, I might be able to dig something up. Follow me, big guy.”

  Entering the kitchen, Boff broke into a smile. On the kitchen table were a huge platter of assorted cold cuts, two loaves of cr
usty Italian bread, bowls of macaroni and potato salads, and a chilled box of his favorite Almaden Chablis.

  “Think this will hold you?” she asked.

  After giving his wife a big kiss, he sat down and dove in. Almost getting killed had made him tremendously hungry.

  Chapter 67

  Boff was watching one of the late late-night TV talk shows when Cullen finally called.

  Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. He sounded drunk. Been doing a little celebrating.

  “How’s the arm?”

  I’ll be able to make my first title defense in about seven or eight months. Danny fucking Cullen, super fucking middleweight champion of the world! Cullen belched loudly. So when are you going to thank me?

  “For what? I saved your life in Vegas. This was just payback. Now we’re even.”

  I figured you’d see it that way. Actually, it’s you I should thank. By saving your fat ass, I’m now a national celebrity. They want me on the Today Show Monday morning and Anderson Cooper that night.

  “Does this mean your publicity agent won’t let you have a humble celebratory lunch with me and the very few friends you have at Cheffy’s tomorrow afternoon?”

  I think I can manage to get free. Someone shouted Cullen’s name in the background. I gotta go. There’s a bottle of champagne waiting for me.

  ***

  Before Boff left for Cheffy’s the next day, he wondered if he should ask Wallachi to tail him to the restaurant. But without something more specific about Alfano’s message, he decided it would be a waste of time. Not to mention money. He thought about calling Alfano back for an explanation, but he knew if the capo had wanted to spell it out, he would have.

  As a precaution, however, he wore his Kevlar.

  When he arrived at the restaurant, Cullen and Bellucci were already sitting at a long table. Cullen’s arm was in a sling, and he looked hung over. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. As Boff took a seat, Cheffy—who now had the words WORLD CHAMP stenciled across his apron—walked out of the kitchen carrying another platter with appetizers to join the huge platters that were already on the table.