The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery)

by Nathan Gottlieb

“In this case,” Cullen replied, “you can do what Kate says.”

  Ignoring good advice, the Cuban stepped into the street and put a hand up to hail a cab.

  Kate turned to her husband. “Ryan, stop him!”

  McAlary walked over to Rafael. “Listen to me, son. Don’t do this. If you defy Kate and me, then I won’t train you anymore.”

  The boxer let out a scornful laugh. “Sure you will. I’m going to be a great champion. Make you lots of money.”

  “A dead fighter can’t earn anybody anything.”

  A taxi suddenly darted out of traffic and pulled over alongside Rafael. As the boxer opened the back door, Cullen hustled up to him. “I’ll go with you.”

  But when Cullen tried to get in the cab, Rafael shoved him away hard.

  “I don’t need an escort.”

  Rafael Oquendo, the legendary champion, climbed into the taxi, slammed the door behind him, and was gone.

  Chapter 3

  The naked man sitting up in bed was reading John Grisham’s The Runaway Jury. In his mid-fifties, he had a bald head, a pot belly, and spindly legs. Although he wasn’t touching himself, his cock stood up as straight as a flag pole.

  Hearing the bathroom door open, he put the paperback down on the night table and smiled at the beautiful woman from the Plaza as she walked out dressed in a girl’s prep school uniform: a blue cotton dress with pleats down the front, small white buttons on the Peter Pan collar and sleeves, and a bow to keep the collar closed. She had hitched the dress up high to expose her creamy thighs.

  “Your penis is standing up,” she said in a soft, girlish voice. “It scares me.”

  “Don’t be afraid, sweetie. It gets like that when I’m anticipating seeing my little girl. Come here and sit down by Daddy.”

  Although the woman sat on the edge of the bed, she kept her back rigid and straight and her knees primly closed. Reaching over to her, the man tucked one hand between the yielding silky thighs and ran it along the inside of one.

  “You have such beautiful skin,” he said.

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  Now his hand moved higher. He reached her panties. Gently, he slipped under the panties, softly massaged her vagina until it got wet, then inserted his finger inside it.

  “Ooh,” the woman said. “That feels good.”

  “I’m glad, sweetie.”

  “I love you so much, Daddy.”

  The man removed his wet finger and brought it up to her lips. “This is love juice,” he said. “Would you like to taste it?”

  “Yes, please, Daddy.”

  Opening her mouth, she sucked on his finger like a lollipop. At the same time, Daddy used his free hand to cup a breast through her clothing, and massage it until he felt her nipple harden.

  “That feels good, too,” she said.

  “Why don’t you get undressed, sweetie, and join Daddy in bed? Then we can do more nice things.”

  Standing up, the woman slowly began to remove her clothing, folding and placing each piece neatly on a nearby chair. Naked now except for her silk panties, she started to remove them, then stopped and pulled them back up.

  “Should I take them off too, Daddy?” she asked in a near whisper.

  “Yes. You’ll have more fun without them.”

  Sliding off her panties, she heard his intake of breath at the sight of her fully-naked body. Shyly covering her breasts, she slid quickly under the covers and pulled them up to her neck. The man turned off the bedside lamp.

  They were still deep into sex when the phone rang.

  “Let it ring, Daddy.”

  “I can’t, little darling. I’m expecting an important phone call.”

  Reaching over her to turn the light back on, he slid out of bed, saying, “I’ll take it in the kitchen.”

  “Don’t be long, Daddy! I get scared when I’m alone.”

  “I’ll be right back. Play with your peeper, and you won’t feel scared.”

  The man left the bedroom and walked down the corridor to the kitchen. It was far enough away that the woman could only hear the muffled sound of his voice. Lying on her back, she stared up at the ceiling, looking consummately bored.

  Suddenly she heard the man shout into the phone: “What the hell do you mean he wants me to take less? This is a big fucking case! Silverstein stands to lose a lot of money here! You tell that bastard twenty thousand is the price! I won’t take a penny less!”

  The woman heard the phone slam down. She didn’t want him to know she had heard what he said, so she rolled onto her side, began sucking demurely on her thumb, and pretended to be sleeping.

  When the man returned and climbed back into bed, he gently nudged her awake. “My little girl fell asleep.”

  Rubbing the “sleep” out of her eyes, she turned and hugged him tightly, laying her head against his chest.

  “I’m so glad you’re back,” she said. “What time is it? It must be past my bedtime.”

  The man reached over her to the night table, picked up his Rolex, checked the time, and then frowned. “It’s ten o’clock,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “Uh oh! I’d better go to my room before Mommy comes home.”

  Sitting up, she kissed the man chastely on the cheek, then climbed out of bed, gathered her clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom. While she was in there dressing, the man masturbated furiously until he ejaculated on his belly.

  A few minutes later, she came back out. The schoolgirl had morphed into an elegant woman wearing a black, Yves Saint Laurent silk bustier. Tucking her schoolgirl clothes into a Clava leather overnight bag, she walked over to the bed and kissed the man chastely on his forehead.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, “would you be free next week on Thursday night? Same time?”

  She nodded. “Sounds good, judge.”

  Chapter 4

  It was two hours after they had left the arena, and Ryan McAlary was still pacing his living room when Kate walked in from the kitchen with a couple mugs of coffee.

  “What time is it?” he said.

  “Ten minutes later than the last time you asked me. Try not to think the worst.”

  “He should’ve been home long ago,” the trainer said.

  “Maybe he got delayed.”

  McAlary frowned. “Then why didn’t he call and tell us?”

  “I don’t know why, Ryan. Maybe he was used to doing whatever he wanted in Cuba. Try his iPhone again.”

  “What’s the bloody point? I left four messages already.”

  “Just do it.”

  Letting out a sigh of frustration, he dialed the boxer’s cell phone, listened to it ring four times, got voicemail, and hung up without leaving another message.

  “When he gets home,” he muttered, “I’m going to tell him either he listens to me and you from now on or I’ll make good on my threat to not train him. I’ve got enough headaches training Danny.”

  “Keep your voice down,” she said. “Gina and her daughter are sleeping. Last thing we need is for her to come down here and get hysterical.”

  “She should be here. It’s her husband.”

  “I agree. But she was really angry with him. She wasn’t going to sit up and wait. Let’s just leave her alone.”

  A half hour later, McAlary’s phone rang. Expecting it to be Rafael, he pounced on it. “Where in hell are you?”

  It was Cullen who replied. Uh, I’m home.

  “Aw, hell, I thought it was Rafael.”

  I was just calling to see if he got back yet. I gather he hasn’t.

  “No. I’m gonna hang up now. I want to keep this line clear in case he calls.”

  I’ll jog right over.

  McAlary hung up and sat down on the couch next to his wife. “I shoulda argued harder with that damn Cuban,” he muttered. “This is all my fault.”

  “No, Ryan, no, it isn’t. Short of hitting him over the head with a hammer, he was going to do as he pleased.”

  After they passed several minutes i
n tense silence, they heard a knock on the front door. McAlary jumped up, rushed to the door, and swung it open. In walked a sweaty Cullen.

  “Damn,” McAlary said, “I thought it was Rafael.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m glad you came. Now I have someone to bitch to besides Kate.”

  “I got the phone number for Rafael’s promoter, Gary Shaw,” Cullen said. “I’ll call him.”

  He pulled out his phone and dialed. After four rings, somebody sounding sleepy picked up.

  “Gary, this is Danny Cullen. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  I’m a promoter. I don’t have time to sleep. What’s up?

  “I’m with Ryan and Kate. We’re worried about Rafael. When did you finish your meeting with him?”

  I don’t understand.

  “Rafael said you asked to see him after the fight.”

  Not true. I would never take a fighter away from his family after his debut. From the Garden I went straight to my house. Didn’t he come home?

  “No. He took a taxi somewhere. We haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

  Now you’ve got me worried. Danny, do me a favor. Call me when he gets in. No matter what time of night.

  “Will do. Bye.”

  McAlary tugged on Cullen’s arm. “What’d he say?”

  “That he never asked Rafael to meet with him tonight.”

  “Damn,” Kate said. “Maybe we should call the police.”

  Her husband shook his head. “If we do, it’ll make all the tabloids. I don’t want that kind of publicity. Let’s wait another half hour. If he doesn’t come home or call by then, that’s when we’ll bring in the cops.”

  Just as Kate was returning from the kitchen with a cup of coffee for Cullen and a towel to wipe his sweaty face, there was another knock on the door. McAlary again hustled to the door and yanked it open. Instead of Rafael, to his dismay he saw a police woman he knew, Detective Victoria Damiano, along with two uniformed cops.

  Damiano stepped in. “Ryan, we’ve got bad news.”

  As McAlary’s shoulders sagged, Kate rushed over, grabbed his hand, and squeezed it tight.

  “Is it about Rafael?” she said in a trembling voice.

  The detective nodded. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but…he’s dead.”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus!” Kate exclaimed. “What happened?”

  “I need to speak with Mrs. Oquendo first. Can I come in?”

  She was already in, so the McAlarys stepped aside to let the two cops walk in. The trainer softly closed the door behind them. In her mid-thirties, Damiano was tall, slender, and pretty in a tomboyish way.

  “This is horrible,” Kate said. “So terrible. How…how…did he die?”

  Leaving the two uniforms by the door, the detective walked over to McAlary. “He was shot,” she said.

  “Oh, no! No, no, no!”

  “Vic,” Kate said, “are you sure it was Rafael?”

  When the detective nodded, McAlary pulled himself together as much as he could. “Who shot him?” he asked. “And…and where did it happen?”

  Damiano frowned. “Ryan, I really have to talk with the wife first. That’s procedure.”

  “Tell hell with that!” McAlary said. “I want to know now!”

  Still clutching her husband’s hand, Kate pulled him gently away. “Ryan, let Vic do her job.” She looked at the detective. “I’ll get Gina for you.”

  After composing herself, Kate started up the stairs to the second floor. At the same time, Cullen looked at the trainer, at a loss for what to say. Five months ago, when the Cuban and his family had arrived in Brooklyn from Miami, the McAlarys had put them up in a guest room. The couple’s seven-year-old daughter, Amelia, shared a room with Ryan and Kate’s little girl, Phoenix.

  Cullen turned to the detective. “Vic, you want some coffee?”

  “I’m fine, Danny, thanks.”

  With the two uniformed cops still standing by the front door, nobody said a word while they waited for Kate to bring Gina down. They appeared in a few minutes. Gina was wearing a blue silk robe and had her hair up in curlers. As they started down the steps, she spotted the uniforms and her knees seemed to buckle. Kate grabbed her arm to keep her from falling.

  As soon as they reached the living room, Damiano took out a pad and a pen and walked over to Gina. “Mrs. Oquendo,” she said, “I’m Detective Damiano.”

  “Is Rafael in trouble?”

  “Let’s sit down and we’ll talk.” She led Gina over to the couch and sat down with her. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Oquendo. But your husband is dead.”

  Gina gasped. Her body began to tremble. But Cullen noticed that she didn’t start crying or get hysterical, which he found strange.

  “What…what…happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “He was murdered, ma’am.”

  Gina sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Where was he found? Was he alone?”

  “He was lying on the sidewalk in front of a church not far from here,” Damiano said. “A cab driver saw his body when he let off a passenger.”

  Gina began shaking her head. “No! That’s not possible! A sidewalk? Rafael never walks. He always takes taxis. So…so…you must be mistaken. It has to be somebody else.”

  Damiano shook her head. “He had a wallet with a picture ID, Mrs. Oquendo. And these two officers recognized him from the Daily News sports section.”

  The boxer’s wife stayed in denial. “My husband can’t be dead! Don’t you understand? He’s a great fighter.”

  The detective nodded. “I understand,” she said. “But, unfortunately, it’s true. Your husband was shot. And, uh, evidence indicates he was killed somewhere else and left in front of the church.”

  Gina turned to McAlary. “Tell her she’s mistaken!”

  The trainer shook his head. “Sorry,” was all he could think of to say.

  Kate walked over, sat down on the couch, and hugged Gina.

  “What do I do now?” the new widow said. “How do I tell my daughter? What about the funeral?”

  “Gina, honey, don’t you worry about that,” McAlary said. “I’ll take care of the funeral arrangements. And you and Amelia can stay here for as long as you’d like.” He glanced at Kate, who nodded.

  “Oh…but we’d be a burden.”

  “Not at all,” the trainer said. “Kate likes the company of another woman. She’s always around boxers.”

  Gina turned back to Damiano. “Do you know who killed him, detective?” she said in a suddenly more composed voice.

  “No. That’s all the information I have currently.”

  “But you’ll tell me when you get more, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Gina looked back at Kate. “I need to lie down. I feel sick.”

  “I’ll take you upstairs.”

  As soon as they were gone, McAlary walked over to Damiano. “Give it to me straight,” he said.

  As she got up off the couch, the detective turned to the uniformed cops. “You guys can go now. I’ll handle this.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  After the patrolmen were gone, Damiano addressed McAlary. “Ryan…that boxer was executed.”

  “Executed? What the hell do you mean executed?”

  “He was shot at close range. Once in the forehead. Then behind both ears.”

  Stunned, the trainer’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “And, Ryan, there was…uh, a note pinned to the body.”

  “Note? What’d it say?”

  The detective frowned. “I can’t tell you that,” she said.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because it’s evidence. If you repeated what the note said to anybody, I could get in big trouble.”

  Struggling to keep his composure, McAlary said in a tight voice, “Detective, you know me well enough by now not to have said that. Let me see the note.”

 
; After a minute’s hesitation, she reached into her trouser pocket, pulled out a plastic evidence bag with a piece of paper in it, and read out loud what was written on it. “‘From now on, this is what happens to Cuban boxers who defect.’” She glanced at McAlary before looking back at the note. “‘And…his trainer will suffer the same fate the next time he works with a Cuban defector.’”

  McAlary’s pale Irish face reddened. “Sons of bitches!”

  Damiano put the evidence bag back in her pocket. “Ryan, I’m going to put a police presence outside your gym and this house. I’m worried they might change their minds and come after you next.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got my own way of dealing with shit like this.” Taking out his wallet, he slid a business card from it, and walked over to the phone.

  “Who’re you calling?” she asked.

  “Boff.”

  Chapter 5

  Frank Boff was sitting up in bed eating Nestles chocolate chip cookies out of a bag and drinking milk when his phone rang. His wife, Jenny, who had been asleep, woke up.

  “Frank, who do you think that is?” she asked.

  “Not a clue.”

  Before picking up the phone, he activated its recording device, then said, “Frank Boff.”

  This is McAlary. Sorry to bother you this late. Something has happened.

  “Tell me about it, Ryan.”

  As Boff listened, his tall teenage son, Steven, walked in, looking groggy and annoyed. “What’s going on, Boff?” the boy said. “Now you’ve got your scumbag clients calling in the middle of the night and waking me up?”

  “Steven!” Jenny said. “How many times have I told you not to use that word?”

  “Sorry, Mom. What...criminal is Boff talking to?”

  “It’s not a criminal,” his mother replied. “It’s Ryan McAlary. Danny’s trainer.”

  Both Steven and his sister Sharon had been calling their father Boff instead of Dad since they were kids. Their father figured it was their way of getting back at him for all the flak they took in school when he was helping to defend a particularly notorious felon.

  “Ryan, are the police still there?” Boff was asking.