The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery)

by Nathan Gottlieb

  “Yeah, yeah. Why’re you ragging on him so much?”

  “Why? I worked with young nitwits like him in the DEA. They caused me nothing but trouble. And one almost got me killed.”

  “Manny’s a good kid. Give him a break. He’ll learn.”

  Boff shrugged. “Hey, it’s your money.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Manny returned to the car carrying a brown bag. In addition to the coffees and pecan sticky buns, he had gotten himself a bran muffin and a paper plate to eat it on.

  “Frank,” Wallachi said, “this gal could stay all night.”

  “We’ll leave at two. If she’s still there, chances are good she’s sleeping over.”

  “I’ve got to cut now,” Cullen said. “McAlary calls sometimes and does a bed check.”

  At one-thirty the Lincoln returned. A few minutes later, Emilio, wearing a blue silk bathrobe and no socks, came out of the building with Alicia. They stopped on the top of the stoop. As they kissed passionately for a few moments, Manny snapped off more shots. Then Alicia went down the stairs and stepped into the Town Car.

  “You want to follow her, Frank?” Wallachi asked.

  “What for?”

  “Maybe she’s got another lover. She does have experience in balancing multiple sex dates.”

  Boff let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve seen more than I wanted to see. Let’s call it a night.”

  Chapter 44

  Boff had trouble sleeping that night. Maybe, he told himself as he tossed and turned, it was just another coincidence that Emilio was Alicia’s lover, but that was pushing it. The obvious conclusion, one he sure as hell didn’t want to make, was that since Emilio had used the escort service and couldn’t remember what he’d paid for the call girls, it was probably because he was a co-owner.

  When morning finally came, he needed three cups of coffee before he could even function. After driving to the gym and dragging his tired ass up the two flights of stairs, he was surprised to see that Cullen wasn’t there. Neither was McAlary.

  He walked over to Bellucci, who was running on the treadmill. “Where’re Danny and Ryan?”

  “Working out in the IKEA parking lot.”

  “Doing laps?”

  “No. I’ll be done with my session in ten minutes. Then we can drive there.”

  The IKEA was located on a large plot of land along the Erie Basin waterfront in Red Hook. As Boff pulled into the parking lot, he saw Cullen and McAlary in an empty corner performing what looked like another one of the trainer’s weird drills: McAlary was behind the wheel of a pickup truck that had a long pole attached to a steel rack on the roof of the cab and extending past the rear of the truck. Hanging from the end of the pole was a heavy boxing bag. As the truck moved slowly in reverse, Cullen kept punching the bag as he backpedaled.

  Boff drove over and parked nearby. “What does this do for Danny?” he asked the trainer.

  McAlary looked out the window at him. “Well, see, there’s a lot of times in the ring that you’re forced to back away from your opponent. Most boxers have a hard time throwing punches while they’re moving backwards. This drill forces you to get used to punching in retreat.”

  “What happens if Danny trips?”

  “He gets run over.”

  Half an hour later, after Cullen finished the drill, McAlary made him do laps around the huge lot for twenty minutes. With his morning session complete at last, Cullen got into Boff’s car, toweled off the sweat, pulled off his soaking wet T-shirt, and used some deodorant before slipping into a fresh T-shirt.

  Boff had a less strenuous task in mind for his friend, but before telling him what it was, he took him and Bellucci to Cheffy’s for lunch. After their food arrived, he got down to business.

  “Danny, I want you to call the gal you had over from the escort service. I need to meet her.”

  Cullen made a face. “Man, I don’t see her wanting to meet you,” he said. “She seemed pretty freaked out just being with me.”

  “Tell her,” Boff said patiently, “that I’m a private investigator trying to hunt down her friend Marla’s killer. If this gal cared as much about your girlfriend as she told you she did, then I’m sure she’ll talk with me.”

  Cullen shrugged. “I’ll give her a call when we finish eating. But I’m not guaranteeing any results.”

  Bellucci looked up from his rapidly-disappearing jerk chicken. “Meanwhile,” he said, “if Benvenuti’s son is involved with the service, that rules out you two cowboys pulling off your frontier justice again.”

  “Not necessarily,” Boff said. “Perhaps there’s a way to do what I want to without leaving fingerprints.”

  “And what’s that?” Bellucci asked.

  “I’m working on a plan.” He turned to Cullen again. “But first we need to speak with your escort.”

  Boff and Cullen found Dina sitting in the pavilion in front of the Brooklyn Museum and gazing at the tall fountains. It was six o’clock, and the museum was just closing. Some of the people leaving the building walked over to the pavilion and sat down near her.

  As Boff and Cullen approached her, the boxer could see right away by the look on her face that she was wary of the tall man accompanying him. He put on his friendliest smile and said, “Dina, this is Frank Boff. The investigator I told you about.” They sat on either side of her.

  “Danny,” she said in a quiet voice, “I really don’t want to be doing this.”

  He touched her arm lightly. “I know. That’s why I really appreciate it that you came.”

  Dina turned to Boff. “What is it you think I can help you with?”

  “I need some info about your escort service,” he replied. “First off, let me tell you that I believe the service is owned by Alicia Celina and Emilio Benvenuti.”

  At this, Dina frowned and turned to Cullen. “Danny, I don’t think I should say anything. I’m sorry.”

  As she started to stand, the boxer gently restrained her arm. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “But the police have closed Marla’s case. Without Boff’s help, whoever was responsible for Marla’s death is going to be walking around free, without a care in the world. Don’t you think she deserves justice?”

  Dina looked off a minute as she thought about what Cullen had said. Then she let out a sigh, sat back down, and turned to Boff. “Anything I tell you, you have to keep it to yourself,” she told him. “I don’t want…I don’t want to be in any danger. Especially after what happened to Marla.”

  “Give me a buck,” Boff said.

  “What for?”

  “A retainer. That way, by law, I’m bound to keep anything you say to me confidential.”

  Opening her purse, Dina pulled out her wallet, poked through the money inside, then frowned and looked at Boff.

  “I don’t have a single. Will you take quarters?”

  “Quarters are fine. I can use them to frustrate parking meters.”

  “Frustrate meters?”

  “Long story.”

  Dina picked through her change, found four quarters, and handed them to Boff, who slid them into a pants pocket.

  “So,” he began, “was I right when I said Emilio and Alicia own the service?”

  “Truth is, I don’t really know. I mean, Alicia is definitely involved in the service, but I couldn’t say for sure that she owns it. If Emilio has a role, I’ve never seen any evidence of it.”

  Boff nodded, then plowed on. “Emilio told us about a date he had with you. Did he pay you for your visit?”

  “No. But he gave me a good tip.”

  “Why didn’t you charge him?”

  “Mr. Mantilla called me before I saw him and said he didn’t have to pay me.”

  “So,” Cullen interjected, “Mantilla was involved in the service?”

  “Well, I think only at the beginning. What I heard from one of the girls was that Mr. Mantilla had banking experience, so he was the one who set up the service’s off-shore account. He also set up accounts for all the g
irls so we wouldn’t have to pay taxes. Other than that….” She shrugged. “I never really got the impression he was involved in the day-to-day operations.”

  Boff’s next question surprised her. “Did you know Rafael Oquendo? The Cuban boxer who was killed?”

  “Uh…Yes. I did. I met Rafael once at a club called Devil’s Own. He was with Melanie. She’s one of the other girls in the service. She told me later that Rafael was allowed to hang out with the girls because he had recruited most of the escorts in Miami.” She gave a half-smile. “Marla and I were the only ones from Jersey.”

  Boff softened his voice. “Can I ask how you got involved with the service?”

  She nodded. “Well, it was sort of by accident, Mr. Boff. Marla and I met Rafael separately at clubs here in New York. At the time, I was waiting tables by day, taking singing classes at night. Money was a big struggle for me. So when Rafael offered me a job with the service and told me what I could earn, I agreed to do it. As for Marla? She never told me why she joined. But I kinda figured that, like me, it was just about the money.”

  “I understand,” Boff said. “Another thing I’m curious about is whether you might have any idea why Rafael was killed.”

  As Dina hesitated, he wondered if she was getting ready to bolt. But instead of taking off, she said, “Well, I can guess. Rafael was always trying to get the girls to break the rules and sleep with him. One night, he took Laurie out. She’s our seven-sapphire girl. And, well, the next day, Laurie’s face was banged up pretty bad. Laurie won’t be able to earn any money for the service for at least five or six months. She had to have plastic surgery to repair the damage. At the price customers had to pay for Laurie—four thousand an hour—her absence is going to cost the service a ton of money. Alicia was really, really pissed about that.”

  Boff ventured another question. “Can you tell me why was Mantilla murdered?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know and can’t even guess,” she said as she looked at her watch, then at Cullen. “Danny, I have things to do. I really should be going.”

  “One final question before you go,” Boff said.

  She frowned. “Okay. One more.”

  “Do you know anyone—perhaps a girl in your line of work—who could seduce Emilio for me?”

  “Why would you want to do that?” she asked.

  “It’s better that you don’t know.”

  Dina thought about Boff’s request for a minute, then nodded. “Actually, yes. I have a friend who’d be perfect for what you’re asking. Her name is Hazuki. She told me that back in Japan she worked for a few years as a professional seducer.”

  “A professional seducer?” Boff looked puzzled. “You mean as a call girl, right?”

  “Not exactly. Hazuki was employed by an investigative company as a seducer.”

  “Is that legal?” Cullen said. “To get paid to…uh…seduce some guy?”

  For the first time in their tension-filled conversation, Dina smiled. “Yes, Danny. Hazuki said there are many investigative companies in Japan that employ seducers.”

  “But isn’t getting paid for sex in Japan prostitution?”

  “Technically, Hazuki didn’t get paid for sex. The firm gave her a weekly salary. She even paid taxes on it. So when she got a guy to go to bed with her, he didn’t have to pay her.”

  Boff was still puzzled. “Why’d a company need a professional seducer?” he asked.

  Dina looked impatiently at her watch and frowned again. “What Hazuki told me was, let’s say a woman has a husband who’s cheating on her. The wife goes to the investigative company and asks them to catch the hubby in the act. Rather than follow him around and wait for him to cheat on her again, they speed things up by sending out a seducer. Hazuki said she’d pretend to ‘accidentally’ meet the guy. Then, when she eventually lures him into an affair, a team of investigators that’s been following them around takes pictures.”

  “How did they get evidence that the guy actually went to bed with your friend?”

  “The company gave her a miniature camera in a pack of cigarettes. So when they had sex, she’d just put her cigarettes down on the night table facing the bed.”

  This brought a smile to Boff’s face. “And what does Hazuki do now?” he asked.

  “She’s modeling.”

  “And do you think she’d help us?”

  Dina shrugged. “I dunno. I mean, I can ask her. She’s always short on money and borrowing from me. Yes, she might be interested. How much would you pay her?”

  “Four hundred a day,” Boff said off the top of his head. Then he added what he was sure would sway the Japanese gal: “Plus a thousand-dollar bonus if she’s successful.”

  “Okay, Mr. Boff. I’ll let Hazuki know of your interest.” She stood up. “Now I really have to split.”

  Before she was two steps away, Cullen said, “How about you and I go inside the museum the next time I see you?”

  At that, Dina turned back and smiled. “Danny, I’d really like to do that.”

  She quickly kissed him on the cheek and then took off.

  Chapter 45

  Just before dinnertime that night, Wright called Boff to say he would have the dossier on Alicia a bit later. Jenny had gone to Schaller & Weber, the famous German butcher on East 86th Street, and had bought knockwurst, bauernwurst, imported sauerkraut, German potato salad, and the shop’s own brand of pickles and mustard.

  After dinner, Boff took the elevator down to the building’s garage, got in his car, and was about to turn on the ignition when he realized he hadn’t used the bomb detector. He debated a moment whether to bother. For over a year now, he had been using the device and had never gotten anything but a green light. Still, he said to himself, getting out of the car was a lot less inconvenient then having your ass blown to kingdom come.

  With a weary sigh, therefore, he stepped outside the car and turned on the device. His heart leapt in his chest. The light was blinking red. The device’s screen told him there was something attached to the bottom of the engine block. He trotted over to an elevator, which was about sixty feet away, let his racing heart slow down, then called Davie Akers in Las Vegas.

  Akers was Jenny’s cousin and a former member of both the NYPD and Las Vegas bomb squads. He had retired after losing an arm and an eye in a blast that had made flesh confetti out of his partner. Now he ran the spy shop in Vegas where Boff had bought his bomb detector and various other paraphernalia.

  Hey, Frank. How’s life in the Big Apple?

  “Nothing exciting. Unless you count the IED that’s under my car right now.”

  You’re kidding? Thank god you had my detector.

  “Actually, I almost forgot to use it. I almost turned on the ignition.”

  Oh man, if you had, they’d be picking up pieces of you for days.

  “I don’t even want to think about that. You got any buddies left in the bomb squad here?”

  A few. Why?

  “Well, obviously, I need this device removed. But I don’t want NYPD coming here in an official capacity and asking me a lot of questions I don’t want to answer.”

  So…you want me to send over a couple guys on a moonlighting detail, right?

  “Right. That’s exactly what I had in mind. And I’ll make it plenty worth their while. Can you do it?”

  Let me make some phone calls. I’ll get back to you. And make sure you don’t go near that car again.

  “No problem.”

  While Boff stood there, waiting, a couple of men walked out of the elevator and headed for their cars. For no logical reason, Boff held his breath as each man started his car. Fifteen minutes later, Akers called back.

  Two of my friends’ll be there. Give me your address and where your car is.

  Boff fed him the info.

  They should be there in about twenty minutes.

  “You’re a good man, Davie. I owe you big time.”

  That’s right, you do. So have Jenny cook one of her awesome cide
r-braised pork roasts and ship it to me. My wife will go nuts. She loves it.

  “You got it.”

  Boff hustled out of the garage on foot, went to his bank, and used his debit card to draw out his daily limit of one thousand dollars. Then he returned to the garage and waited by the elevator again. About ten minutes later, a SUV with civilian plates showed up. Two men got out of the car and walked over to him.

  “You Frank Boff?” a short, wiry Hispanic asked.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Ray Quintana. My partner here is Jake Glover. Which one’s your car?”

  Boff pointed. “The Malibu. Where’s your bomb suits?”

  “In the back of the car,” Quintana said. “Only Jake will be wearing one.”

  “Why just him?”

  “We’ve got a remote device called a PAN Disrupter. We can disarm the bomb remotely from a safe distance. But first one of us has to position the PAN by the car. Jake won a coin toss for the honors.”

  Glover opened the rear door of the SUV, brought out a simple-looking device with a hollow tube secured to a frame, set it down on the ground, and started putting on his bomb suit.

  “How does that thing work?” Boff asked Quintana.

  “It fires a blank twelve-gauge shotgun shell. We load it and aim it at the bomb, then Jake comes back here out of range and remotely discharges the shell. Ideally, the projectile disables the bomb. Well, ninety-five percent of the time it does.”

  “And the other five percent?”

  Quintana smiled. “You’ll need a new car. But from the looks of yours, you’re due for one, anyway.”

  Boff frowned. If the damn car blew up, Jenny would be hell to deal with. Glover wheeled the device over to the car, cranked it down low, and lined it up with the bomb.

  “Davie told me you could be trusted to not let anyone know we did this,” Quintana said. “We’d get fired if the Department found out.”

  “I’ve never broken a confidence in twenty years as a DEA agent and investigator.”

  “Also, in the highly unlikely event your car does blow up, my partner and I will tear ass out of here before the boys in blue arrive.”