“You eat lunch yet?” he asked.
No.
“See you at Nathan’s in an hour. You can bring Manny.”
How’d the raid go?
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
Boff arrived at the restaurant early. Even though he had eaten four eggs and waffles for breakfast, the morning op had left him ravenously hungry. To tide himself over until Wallachi arrived, he ordered a bowl of chili. Twenty minutes later, as he was slurping down the last of the chili, Wallachi and Manny showed up.
“So tell me about the raid,” Wallachi said.
“Let’s get the food first,” Boff said.
After all three of them ordered corn dogs plus fries with bacon and ranch dressing, they carried their food back to the table and sat down.
“So,” Wallachi said, “I gather the raid was a success.”
“As good as it gets, Pete. We took down the Quebec Gold operation without losing any of our people. There were a few wrinkles here and there, but, by and large, it was a slam dunk.”
“And Reggie Bassett?”
“In a body bag.”
Wallachi took a moment to squeeze some Nathan’s mustard on his corn dog. “So, all that’s left for you to do is take care of Earl, right?”
“Correct.”
“When’s it going down?”
“Today at four.”
“I guess there’s no point in me asking what you’ve got planned for Earl.”
“Actually,” Boff replied, “I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m going to do.”
Wallachi looked surprised. Then, after a minute, he nodded like he understood. “You want backup.”
“Correct again. Just you and Manny. It almost certainly won’t be necessary, but what the hell. My anniversary is next week. I’d hate to disappoint Jenny by not celebrating with her.”
Manny’s face beamed. “You actually want me to go along?”
Boff nodded. “The last time you and Pete were my bodyguards, when the shot was fired at me, you dove on top of me and shielded my body. So, while it pains me deeply to say this, maybe it’s time I cut you a little slack.”
The crack op grinned from ear-to-ear. “Man, that means a lot to me.”
Boff shrugged. Then Wallachi pointed his corn dog at him. “So tell me about this op you have planned.”
Wallachi followed Boff back to the gym, where he parked his Malibu and climbed into the Crown Vic.
Checking his watch, Wallachi said, “We’ve got plenty of time, Frank. Do you mind if we stop at my office? We got a call today from a potential client who said he’d only meet with the boss.”
“No problem, Pete.”
While Wallachi and Manny were in their office, Boff walked to a nearby Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee and a couple glazed donuts. An hour later, Wallachi and Manny left the building and walked over to where Boff was leaning against the Crown Vic.
“How’d it go, Pete?”
“Good. The client is a high-powered attorney in a three-lawyer partnership. He suspects the other two partners are stealing from him.”
“Sounds like a lucrative op for you.”
“You better know it. Beaucoup hours.”
At a quarter to four, they arrived at Brooklyn Social in Carroll Gardens. Boff instructed Wallachi to park his car a few doors down from the bar.
“I’m going inside alone,” he said.
“You think that’s wise?”
“I don’t expect any trouble from Bassett. But be ready in case things go south.”
He walked into the bar and looked around. It was, as Cassidy had said, a quiet, dimly lit joint. Sinatra was crooning on the juke box for a few old geezers who were sitting at the bar, hunched over shots and mugs of draft beers.
After making sure the back door Cassidy had mentioned was really there, and operational, Boff walked to the bar, ordered a beer, and took it to a booth. There was no guarantee that Bassett would show, but he figured the guy had to at least be too curious and worried not to come and hear what he had to say.
At five minutes after four, Earl Bassett walked in, strode over to the bar, and ordered a Manhattan straight-up. He carried the drink over to the booth where Boff was sitting and slid in. The look he gave Boff was one of pure hatred. A look, Boff figured, undoubtedly fueled by the killing of his brother and the takedown of his drug operation.
After taking a big hit on his cocktail, Bassett said, “Okay, so what was so important that I had to interrupt a busy day to come down here?”
“No friendly hello?” Boff said.
“Just get to the point.”
Boff nodded. “Let’s start with Nicky Doyle. Do you know why Doyle ordered an audit on the charity’s books?”
“Not a clue,” Bassett replied.
“Well, then let me fill you in.”
Boff noticed that when Bassett sipped his drink again, his hand was trembling enough to spill some of the whisky on the table.
“The books were cooked,” Boff said. “You were stealing money from the nonprofit, which explains why Doyle’s camp wasn’t built in time for the summer.”
“That’s bullshit! I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Where’s your evidence? Lemme see it!”
Boff just smiled and said nothing.
Bassett took a deep breath. “The only people,” he said in a more controlled voice, “who’ve ever seen those books have been me, Nicky, and the accountant he hired. So basically, Boff, you don’t have shit on me.”
“What if I speak to the accountant?”
At this, Bassett shook his head. “He won’t talk to you. The accountant isn’t allowed to tell anyone what he found in his audit except Nicky. And Nicky’s dead. Besides, the guy wasn’t even done with his audit when I dismissed him.” He paused to take another sip of his Manhattan. Beads of sweat were forming on his upper lip. “I don’t know what kind of bogus crap you think you’ve got on me,” he said, “but I’m guessing you’re here on a fishing expedition.”
“I’ve already hooked the fish I was after,” Boff replied. “So why don’t we let the audit sit for now.”
Bassett glanced at his watch, then back at Boff. “If you have nothing further to tell me, then I’m out of here.” He started to stand up.
“Sit your ass back down,” Boff said.
“Give me one goddamn reason why I should waste another minute with you.”
“I’ll give you two reasons. Massena and Quebec Gold.”
That caught Bassett off guard. His shoulders slumped, and he sat back down, looking grim and deflated.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Boff said. “I know you’ve been funneling money from the nonprofit into the Quebec Gold operation. You were running the whole show from the beginning, using the Hells Angels and a bent cop named Galvani to smuggle the drugs in from Canada. Your brother Reggie was handling distribution.”
Bassett’s jaws were twitching, but he said nothing.
Boff continued. “By now, I’m sure you know law enforcement shut down your operation earlier today. And that your brother is no longer with us.”
Still Bassett said nothing.
“So, given what I know—and can prove, my friend—let’s add in the rest of the charges you’ll be facing when you’re indicted. Not only did you have a cop named Maloney killed, but you also put out a hit out on Doyle. And you had someone shoot me three times when my son was with me.” Boff leaned forward. “I’ve dealt with plenty of slimy felons,” he said in a low voice, “but you’re the worst of all.”
Bassett sucked down the rest of his Manhattan. “I’m getting another drink,” he said.
Boff watched him head to the bar. Everything was going according to his plan.
When Bassett returned with a new drink and sat down, he said in a tight voice, “You don’t have an ounce of proof to back up your wild allegations.”
Boff just smiled.
“Nothing you say makes sense.” Bassett’s voice was getting shaky. “F
irst of all, I’m a businessman. Not a drug peddler. Second, Nicky was a close friend. And, third, I’ve never even heard of this dead cop, Patrick Maloney, or this Eddie Galvani.”
Hearing that, Boff couldn’t help but grin. “How do you know the first names of those two cops?” he asked.
“You…you just told me.”
“No. I never mentioned first names.”
Bassett lifted his drink to his mouth, but his hand was trembling so badly, he spilled more than he drank.
Now he’ll shift into damage control, Boff thought.
“Frank, where are you going with this?” he said in as casual a voice as he could muster.
Boff said nothing.
Bassett forced a smile. “Jesus, Frank. It doesn’t have to be this way between us. You know? I could pay you—”
“I don’t want any of your blood money,” Boff snapped back. He leaned forward again. “I want you. And I’m going to get you. You want to know where I’m going with this? Well, here’s where. In about forty minutes, an assistant D.A. is going to join us. He has a written confession he wants you to sign. After you sign it and testify for the prosecution against everybody else involved in this op—including the Hells Angels—the D.A. is going to put you into the Witness Protection Program.” Boff leaned back and cast steely eyes on Bassett. “Personally, I was dead-set against letting a scumbag like you walk. But the D.A. insisted.”
He stopped talking and let Bassett digest what he’d said.
“What if I fight the rap in court?” Bassett said.
“Then you’ll lose. Big time. Not even I could help you beat this rap. And they don’t come any better than me.”
It was time.
“I have to use the men’s room,” he said. “I want you to sit tight until I return. I strongly suggest you don’t leave. If you do, the D.A. will have you picked up fast, and then all deals go out the window.”
Sliding out of the booth, Boff walked to the corridor that led to the men’s room and the back door. Passing the men’s room, he opened the back door, walked out into an alley, then strode to the sidewalk. There he found at least ten Hells Angels sitting in three double-parked cars.
So far, Green was following his instructions, which included not showing up on their noisy bikes and spooking Bassett. Green stepped out of the car he was driving and walked over to Boff.
“Bassett’s inside,” Boff said. “He’s agreed to testify against you and the other bikers. He’s waiting for the D.A. to show up so he can sign an agreement to rat you out. The D.A. won’t be here for another thirty minutes. Do what you have to do before then.”
Green stared hard at Boff. There was plenty of rage in his dark eyes. Suddenly the biker grabbed his shirt in his fist. Wallachi and Manny immediately jumped out of the car holding their guns.
Seeing Boff’s armed backup, Green let go of the shirt.
“Our drug operation was taken down today,” the biker said through clenched teeth. “I have a feeling you had a hand in that. So listen to me good, pal. If I find out you were involved in the raid on Reggie, I’ll come looking for you.”
Boff smiled, slipped a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to the biker.
“What the hell is this?” Green said.
“My phone numbers. Anytime you want to find me, pal, just give me a call.” With a nod, Boff left Green standing there and walked over to Wallachi and Manny.
“Now comes the fun part,” he said.
They watched as eight Hells Angels left their cars and walked into the bar.
Wallachi turned to Boff. “Frank, you’ve done your part. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Not yet. I want to have the pleasure of watching this go down.”
Wallachi frowned. “Well for chrissake, at least get your ass back in the car, where you’ll be less of a target.”
“Okay.”
They got into the Crown Vic and waited. In a few minutes, the Hells Angels walked out of the bar with a grim-looking Bassett sandwiched between them. They took him to Green’s car and shoved him in the back seat next to two more Hells Angels. Green got in behind the wheel and started his engine, then pulled a U-turn, as did the drivers of the other two cars. He headed up the street toward where Wallachi’s Crown Vic was parked.
“Think I should wave goodbye to Bassett?” Boff asked.
“Don’t push it, Frank.”
Just as Green was passing the Crown Vic, the biker suddenly slowed down, pointed a semi-automatic at Wallachi’s car and fired off a quick burst that shattered the windows. Then he sped away.
“Motherfucker! Wallachi yelled. “Anybody hit?”
“Just by glass,” Boff said. His face was bleeding from several tiny cuts.
Wallachi turned to check on Manny. Blood was seeping out of a wound on the upper part of the crack op’s left arm. The kid looked pretty shaken.
“How bad is it, Manny?”
“Oh, man, I don’t know,” he replied in a shaky voice. “I’ve never been shot before. It hurts like hell.”
Wallachi’s anger boiled over. “I’m going after that cocksucker!”
But as he started to turn the wheel, Boff grabbed his arm. “Pete, if you want that guy, grab him when he’s alone. Not when he’s with a bunch of bikers. We’ll catch up to him another time. I promise you that. Meanwhile, let’s look after Manny.”
Wallachi let out a sigh of frustration and banged a fist on the steering wheel.
“Pete,” Manny said, “I need to go to a hospital.”
“We can’t do that, Manny,” Boff said. “Hospitals are required to report gunshot wounds to the cops. We don’t want them asking us questions.”
“But I need my arm taken care of.”
“And it will be. I know a doctor who’ll fix you up just fine. Without asking questions. He took out his phone and called Hannah.
“It’s Boff,” he said when she picked up.
Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all day! I left messages.
“Never mind that now. I’ve got Manny with a bullet wound in his arm. He needs medical attention. Can you ask your brother to do this for me?”
Yes, but you better tell me everything that happened today.
“You have my word that I will,” Boff replied. “Right now, call your brother and tell him we’re coming. And before you do, give me your brother’s address again.”
Three-twenty-two St. Marks Avenue in Crown Heights.
Boff repeated the address to Wallachi, who pulled away from the curb.
“Hannah, let’s meet with Mike at the pub around nine tonight. Bring your laptop.”
Why?
“We raided Reggie Bassett’s place. He’s dead. All the drugs were confiscated by the DEA. What’s your newspaper’s deadline tonight?”
Midnight.
“Call your editor and tell him he might have to hold that deadline because you’re going to be filing an important story.”
My exclusive?
“Yes. The drug raid will be all over the early evening editions of the newspapers’ websites, but nobody else will have the insider details of the whole op from start to finish. Just you. Like I promised Mike from the beginning.”
Okay, I’m on it. She sounded excited.
Boff hung up. Wallachi took out a handkerchief and held it behind him for Manny. “Try not to bleed too much on my upholstery,” he said.
“Thanks for the compassion.”
Boff took out a pack of Kleenex and used a few sheets to dab at the cuts on his face.
As Wallachi drove toward Crown Heights, he glanced at Boff. “Frank, what do you think the Hells Angels are gonna do with Bassett?”
Boff smiled. “Well, whatever it is, I suspect it won’t be pretty.”
“So, are you happy now?”
“You bet your sweet ass I am.”
Chapter 49
After examining Manny’s wound, Dr. Riley smiled. “Well, my friend, it looks like you w
ere hit by a glass bullet.”
Manny looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
In reply, Dr. Riley spread a topical anesthetic on Manny’s wound, dabbed it with hydrogen peroxide, picked up a scalpel, and cut into the wound. Then he used tiny forceps to dig out a shard of glass. He held the bloodied glass up for Manny to see.
“Damn,” the crack op said. “And here I was thinking my boss was going to give me an investigator’s purple heart.”
The doctor bandaged the wound, then tended to Boff’s facial cuts. Boff tried to pay him for his services, but he wouldn’t take any money.
“You’re helping my sister’s career. That’s payment enough for me.”
After being dropped off at the gym, Boff went inside to watch his son train. When Cullen got a break, he walked over and pointed at Boff’s face.
“What happened?”
“Cut myself shaving.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Let’s go outside.”
When they were on the stairs, Cullen said, “I read about the raid in the News. There was no mention of Earl Bassett. What happened to him?”
Boff debated whether to tell the boxer the details of his endgame scenario. Although he took pride in what he’d done, and wanted to brag, Cullen sometimes said things to people he shouldn’t. So he took the cautionary approach.
“Let’s just say Bassett got what was coming to him.”
“Meaning you dished out your usual form of justice.”
Boff said nothing.
“Will it make the newspapers?” the boxer asked.
“I’m sure it will.”
“Let me know when it does. I have to get back inside now. Maybe someday you’ll tell me exactly what you did.”
“Maybe is the right word.”
Cullen watched as Boff descended the stairs. Although he had never seen the guy get physical with anyone, and he knew he didn’t carry a gun, he was probably one of the most deadly men around. His brain was a lethal weapon.
Boff walked into his condo carrying flowers for his wife, and her favorite Bordeaux, too.
But it wasn’t the gifts that caught Jenny’s eye. “Frank, what happened to your face?”
The Payback Game Page 29