This keeps getting worse. Despite what Cassidy had said, Boff didn’t think this twenty-something reporter from a small Brooklyn paper would be of much use. But then again, he conceded, if she worked crime and the courts in Brooklyn, it was possible—however remote—that she might have some worthwhile sources.
“Okay,” Boff said. “I guess that’s fine with me.”
Hannah smiled. So did Cullen. He was glad to see Boff taking the case. He wanted to get to know the pretty redhead better.
Cassidy slipped a pen out of his shirt pocket, opened his checkbook, and said, “That retainer was five large. Right?”
“Correct.”
After writing out the check, Cassidy handed it to Boff, then looked at the redhead and said, “Hannah, take Danny to the bar. I want to discuss something alone with Mr. Boff here.”
She frowned. “Why can’t I stay?”
“Because I said so. That’s why.”
“This sucks.”
“I’m sure to you it does,” Cassidy told her. “Be that as it may, get your butt over to the bar now with Danny.”
“I’ll go, but I’m not happy.”
“Here’s a news flash, young lady,” Cassidy said. “I wasn’t put on this earth to make you happy.”
The old reporter slid out of the booth so she could get by him, and Boff did the same for Cullen. When they were seated at the bar and out of hearing, Cassidy lowered his voice.
“Hannah is relentless and fearless. Which in some ways is good. And in other ways? Not so good. I’ll throw in an extra hundred a day if you keep an eye on her. If you think she’s exposing herself to risk at any time, I want you to tell me.”
At that, Boff frowned. Cullen was also relentless and fearless, and those qualities had nearly gotten them both killed on more than one occasion. The extra money just wasn’t worth the aggravation and potential danger.
He held up a hand. “It’s generous of you to offer the additional money, but—”
“Don’t say no, Boff. If you do this for me, I’ll owe you a favor. And I’m sure you’re aware that I’ve got the best sources in the city.” The old reporter pointed his checkbook at Boff. “Here’s the deal. I’ll give you access to all my sources on this case. And any others you get in the future, providing they don’t include defending cop killers.”
Boff took a few minutes to weigh the frustration of dealing with Hannah against the benefits of Cassidy’s offer. Even in retirement, the old columnist was probably wired to the city better than anybody. Cassidy had access to assets even he didn’t have.
With great reluctance, Boff said, “Okay, Cassidy. We have a deal.”
The old reporter grinned. “Now you can call me Mike.”
Chapter 4
“I thought you were through finding killers,” Cullen said on the drive back to Brooklyn.
“So did I.”
“Shit happens, huh?”
Boff frowned. “In your so-called investigative class, did they teach you anything about the value of assets?”
“Sure.”
“Well, you don’t find them growing on trees or in the yellow pages. Cassidy has more sources in this town than anybody. Quick example: I’ve never spoken to him in my life, and I’m quite sure we don’t have any friends in common. I only give my cell number to a select group of people. So how’d he get it?”
“I dunno. You tell me.”
“It doesn’t matter how. Fact is, he did. Look, I don’t particularly want to work this case, but Cassidy offered to be an asset for most of my future cases if I do him a favor.”
“What favor?”
“He wants me to keep an eye on the redhead. If she gets in over her head and is at risk, he wants me to alert him.”
Knowing what Boff’s reaction would be, Cullen took a deep breath and said, “I’d like to work this case with you.”
Boff shook his head. “Give me one good reason why I’d want your help this time. There’re no boxers involved in the case.”
“That may be so. But consider this. While I’m sure you won’t admit it, Hannah has sources in Brooklyn you don’t have.”
“Again, why would I need you?”
“Well, the way I figure it, you might have a hard time getting help from her because of what you do for a living. I, on the other hand, am a world champion boxer and don’t have questionable morals like you do. I could get close to her and gain her confidence. She might even allow me to bridge the gap to you. I’ll just make up a lot of crap about your alleged better side, the one your wife loves, but I fail to see.”
Boff knew Cullen was feeding him a line of bullshit. He also knew if he turned him down, the kid would pester the hell out of him until he relented.
“Let’s make a pit stop,” Boff said. “Then we’ll talk about you and this case.”
After parking near a Dunkin’ Donuts, they walked inside and Boff ordered two Bavarian Kreme donuts, plus coffee. Cullen, who had to watch his weight between fights, ordered just coffee.
“If I let you tag along,” Boff said when they were seated at a table, “you’d better deliver on Hannah. Or I’ll get rid of you.”
“No problem. Women open up to me.”
“So tell me, Romeo, where do you think we should start with this case?”
Cullen gave this some thought before saying, “With the dead cop.”
Boff was impressed, but he wasn’t going to admit it. Instead, he played Devil’s Advocate. “Why the dead cop? I was hired to find out who killed Doyle. Shouldn’t I start with the reporter?”
“Why? Because the reason Doyle was killed was that he was investigating the cop’s murder. So we need to find out what the cop was into that got him killed. Then, if we discover who killed the cop, chances are the same person murdered Doyle.”
Boff bit into a donut. “So far, so good, Sherlock. Now comes the tough part. What’s the single most important thing we know about the dead cop at this point?”
Drawing a blank on that question, Cullen frowned. He knew that with Boff, there was only one right answer. If you didn’t know it and guessed wrong, Boff would rag on you forever. He stayed on safe ground.
“Hmmm. I’m…not sure.”
“Well, venture a guess,” Boff said.
“For chrissake, stop quizzing me and just tell me the friggin’ answer.”
Boff pointed his donut at Cullen and said, “The manner in which he was killed. A drug-induced heart attack tells us a few things.” He held up one finger. “First, that the doer didn’t want anybody asking questions about the cop’s death. If the police thought one of their own had been whacked, they’d have launched a major investigation.” He raised a second finger. “Two, we can also assume the cop represented a significant threat to someone.”
Cullen felt stung because he hadn’t thought of that. “Okay, genius,” he said, “then tell me why Doyle wasn’t also killed with a needle? Wouldn’t the killer worry Doyle’s newspaper would assign a ton of reporters to the case?”
Boff finished eating his first donut before he replied. “I doubt that a full-court press from a newsroom would have scared the bad guy much. Newsrooms today aren’t what they were in Cassidy’s day. They’re filled with journalism-school types who’re as clueless about street smarts as you are.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cullen watched longingly as Boff bit into his second Bavarian Kreme. Some filling squirted out and landed on the table. Boff scooped it up with a finger and sucked the finger clean.
Watching him do this, Cullen could only shake his head. “That friggin’ table is probably loaded with bacteria.”
“So? I haven’t been sick or seen a doctor in fifteen years. My immune system is superb.”
Boff was about to take another bite on his donut, when something popped into his head. Putting his donut down, he wiped his hands on a napkin and then took out his phone.
“Who’re you calling?”
“Cassidy. I sh
ould’ve asked him something.”
He dialed and put it on speaker so Sherlock could hear.
“Mike, this is Boff. I’ve got a question for you.”
Shoot.
“If Nicky was doing an investigation, he’d keep notes, right?”
Correct.
“Was his computer at the office checked for those notes?”
Yes. But they found nothing about the case. I knew that before they even did it. Nicky and I were old school. We never put notes into a computer.”
“Why’s that?”
We were afraid that when we left the office, somebody might check our computers to find out what we were working on, and then try to worm in on the story. You know, like Bernstein did in Watergate. Or worse, steal the story. We always kept our notes on real paper. Pads.
“Did you tell the cops that?”
You bet.
“Did they look for the notes at his place?”
They reluctantly agreed to. But it was too late. The day after Nicky was killed, somebody tossed his apartment. Whatever Nicky might’ve had down on paper, was taken.
“Didn’t the cops find it suspicious that the apartment was ransacked?”
I said that to them. They told me some burglar probably read that Nicky had been killed, looked up his address, and broke into his apartment to search for valuables. The cops I spoke to said that’s a fairly common occurrence nowadays. Like I told you before, some cops are very good. Others? Not so good.
“I understand. While I’ve got you, Mike, can you give me Hannah’s cell number?”
It’s seven-one-eight, six-eight-eight, zero-niner-two-eight.
Boff wrote the number down on a napkin, thanked Cassidy, and hung up. Then he programmed the redhead’s number into his phone.
“What’re you going to ask Hannah?” Cullen said.
“I’d like to speak with the dead cop’s partner. Given my reputation with cops, I’m sure the detective wouldn’t give me the time of day. But sweet, young Hannah Riley might have better luck scoring an interview for me.”
Boff glanced at his watch. It was close to dinner time. “I’ve got to get home,” he said. “Where can I drop you?”
“At the gym. Ryan wasn’t happy with my work this morning. He wants me back for a second session.”
After wrapping his half-eaten second donut in a napkin, Boff got up and headed for the door, Cullen right behind him.
Before they got into his car, Cullen said, “Give me Hannah’s number. I’ll call and tell her you want to meet with her.”
“I can do that myself.”
“Perhaps. But like I said before, I think she’ll be more receptive to me.”
With a shrug, he told Sherlock the number. Cullen programmed it into his cell.
As they climbed into the car, Boff pointed a finger at the boxer and said, “Make sure you don’t hit on her.”
Looking as innocent as the day he was born, Cullen replied, “Me? I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing.”
Chapter 5
Hannah called Boff just as he was finishing his breakfast with his family. His daughter Sharon was home from UCLA on summer break.
Cullen said you wanted to see me.
“Yes, Hannah. Do you know where Biaggi’s gym is on Nostrand?”
Uh huh.
“Meet me there in an hour.”
Why?
“You’ll have to show up to find out.”
Boff put away his phone.
“Who was that?” Jenny asked.
Sharon answered for him. “It was probably one of his criminal friends.”
Boff pointed a forkful of home fries at his daughter. “Actually,” he said, “it was a reporter for the Brooklyn Eagle.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Hey, Dad,” Steven said. “Did the reporter want to interview you?”
Sharon shot her brother a dirty look. “I still can’t believe you’re calling him ‘Dad’ now,” she said.
“That’s what he is,” Steven replied. “Our father. Maybe it’s time you started calling him Dad, too.”
She spit out a laugh. “You should live so long, little brother.”
At this point, Jenny frowned and stepped in. “Sharon, that’s enough.”
Nobody said anything for a few minutes until Boff broke the silence. Putting his fork on his plate, he looked at his wife. “Honey, I was going to wait until after breakfast to tell you something, but I guess this is as good of a time as any to get it over with.” He hesitated, knowing the news wouldn’t please his wife. “I’ve been hired to find a killer.”
Jenny dropped her fork. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “Not again! I thought you weren’t going to take any more of those dangerous jobs.”
“I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. But Mike Cassidy hired me to work the case. It was hard to turn down a guy like that.”
She looked surprised. “Cassidy? Really?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s Mike Cassidy?” Steven asked.
“A retired star columnist who used to write for the Daily News.”
Sharon put her fork down, too, and said, “Boff, I don’t get it. Why would Cassidy want you, of all people, to find a killer? You defend killers. You know nothing about hunting them down.”
As her father gave her an amused look but didn’t reply, Steven jumped in for him. “For your information, big sister,” he said, “Dad is very good at finding killers the cops can’t. In fact, he’s done it a bunch of times.”
“Whatever.” She resumed eating.
“Frank,” Jenny said, “I’m surprised Cassidy hired you. I mean, considering his reputation as a friend of cops.”
“He thinks I can do a better job than the cops.”
“Not that I really care, but what’s this case about?”
“A buddy of Cassidy’s was murdered. No clues. No leads. The case is going cold.”
She let out a sigh of frustration. “Look, Frank,” she said, “I understand turning him down would’ve been hard. But Cassidy or no Cassidy, I’m really not happy you took this job. Now I’ll have to worry about you again until it’s over.”
Boff didn’t want to get into the subject of wifely worry, so he said nothing and concentrated on using a heavily-buttered piece of white toast to mop up what was left of his gooey egg yolk. Then he looked at his son and switched the subject.
“So, Steven, are you ready to quit boxing yet?”
“Nope. Disappointed?”
Boff shrugged and wolfed down the soppy bread. “Finish your waffles. Then I’ll drive you to the gym for your daily beating.”
At the same time, Jenny gave her daughter a significant look. “Sharon, have you told your father yet what you’ve decided to major in?”
Sharon fixed the steely-blue eyes she had inherited from her father on him. “Pre-law, Boff. I intend to work for a D.A. or a federal prosecutor after I get my law degree.”
Her father couldn’t help but smile. “Can I ask why you chose that for a major?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
He said nothing. Of course he knew the reason. To spite him. His daughter was well aware of his disdain for lawyers and the judicial system. And now he was going to have a lawyer in his family.
“You know, Boff,” she added, “one day we might get a chance to go head-to-head in court.”
Her father smiled. “Well, my lovely daughter, if we do, I’ll make you look like an idiot. You’ll never be a match for the great Boffer.”
Jenny sighed again, this time loud enough to stop conversation. “Sharon is only home for another week before she goes back to L.A. to start her intern job. Can’t we eat a single meal without the two of you going at it?”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Sharon said, “but Boff just brings out the worst in me.”
Finished with her breakfast, Sharon stood up. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting a couple friends at the Guggenheim.”
To Boff’s relief, after kissing her mother, Sharon
took off, too.
On the drive to the gym he turned down the volume on a Big Bopper CD so he could talk with his son.
“I don’t get your fascination with boxing,” he said. “Explain it to me.”
“I dunno. I just like hitting people.”
“Hmmm. As far as I can see, the only person getting hit is you.”
“That’ll change. I’m learning fast. Another thing that keeps me going is the way Ryan’s trying to break me. Something inside of me refuses to let him do it. Can you understand that?”
Boff nodded. “Yes, I can. In that regard, you’re a chip off the old block.”
Steven playfully punched his father in the arm. “I sparred a couple of times with Mikey Bellucci. That was way cool. He’s, like, undefeated and a top prospect.”
“I’m guessing he kicked the crap out of you.”
“Yeah, but I nailed him in the nuts on purpose. That slowed him down. I also connected on a couple of rabbit punches before he knocked me on my ass.”
“I gather you don’t have much respect for the rules.”
“Another trait I inherited from you.”
When they arrived at the gym, Boff saw Hannah sitting on the bottom step. A sunshower had just broken out, and rain was pelting the overheated streets and sidewalks, turning them steamy. He found a parking space close to the gym, then he and Steven got out of the car and walked quickly over to the redhead.
“Hannah, this is my son, Steven. He’s allegedly a fighter.”
She smiled and shook his hand.
“I gotta go, Dad,” Steven said. “Nice meeting you, Hannah.”
As his son hurried up the stairs, Boff said, “Let’s go inside, too, before we get soaked.”
Once in the gym, Boff leaned against the wall by the door while he caught his breath from the climb.
Hannah was looking around at the young boxers. “Okay, I’m here,” she said. “What is it you want to talk about?”
Boff easily picked up the hostility in her voice. Cullen was right. She didn’t much care for him. “I want to meet with Maloney’s partner,” he said. “I was hoping you could arrange it.”
“Don’t bother. I already interviewed the guy. He’s a detective named Eddie Galvani. Got a reputation as a good cop. So did Maloney.”
The Payback Game Page 3