The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery)

by Nathan Gottlieb

  “Frank, if he takes her to Devil’s Own after dinner, we’ll have to call your friend Hazuki and tell her to stand down.”

  Boff shook his head. “No, we won’t need to do that. She’s a professional. She’ll know.”

  At ten o’clock, Emilio and Alicia finally left the restaurant. They were holding hands, and after a long kiss on the sidewalk, Emilio hailed a cab, opened the backdoor to let Alicia climb in. But when the taxi pulled away, he was still standing on the curb.

  “Looks like we caught a break,” Wallachi said.

  Boff nodded. “Now let’s hope we catch another and he goes to Devil’s Own. It’s not far from here, so there’s a good chance he might make a pit stop.”

  Stepping into the street, Emilio grabbed another taxi. Wallachi followed it down 7th Avenue and onto 14th Street.

  “Devil’s Own is on this street,” Boff said.

  Going past 8th and 9th Avenues, the cab stopped in front of the club. Emilio left the taxi, shook hands with one of the guards out front, and disappeared inside.

  After Wallachi had double parked behind a limo, Manny tapped Boff on the shoulder. “Is your call girl in place?” he asked. “Maybe you should phone her and find out.”

  “She’ll be there. And I told you, she’s not a call girl. She’s a professional seducer.”

  “Same thing, right?”

  “No, it isn’t. If she goes to bed with Emilio at some point, she won’t charge him. That’s not prostitution. I paid her to seduce him.”

  The crack op shrugged. “Well, she’s still getting money to pork some guy.”

  Wallachi broke in. “Frank, how’s she planning on meeting him?”

  “She didn’t say. I didn’t ask. The girl knows her stuff.”

  As the night dragged on, and there was no sign of Emilio or Hazuki, Manny began complaining. “When’re they coming out? When the hell do you think something’s gonna happen?”

  “They’ll come out when they come out,” Wallachi replied.

  At midnight, Emilio left Devil’s Own alone.

  “Where’s the girl?” Manny asked. “Guess she struck out.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Boff corrected him. “In Japan, professional seducers are trained not to leave with a guy on the first meeting. All they do is make first contact.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Hazuki walked out the front door.

  “There she is,” Boff said.

  The crack op’s interest immediately perked up. “Wow! That’s Playboy centerfold material! What a body! If I were Emilio, no way would I leave the club without her.”

  Boff had to admit that Hazuki did look pretty sizzling in a low-cut black dress that showed off all her curves and her world-class legs.

  “Hey, Boff,” the crack op said, “how about I pay you to have her seduce me?”

  Wallachi let out a sigh. “Shut up, Manny, or I’ll have you neutered.”

  Boff had told Hazuki what Wallachi’s car looked like, so she made a beeline for it. Manny jumped out and held the backdoor open for her.

  “Hi. I’m Manny.”

  Not acknowledging him, she stepped into the back seat. Manny hustled around to the other side, slid in, then held up the bagel bag.

  “You want a bagel, miss? We’ve got one left. And plenty of cream cheese, too.”

  Hazuki didn’t even look at him.

  Boff turned around to her. “How’d it go?” he asked.

  “Very well, Mr. Boff.”

  “Obviously you met him.”

  Hazuki nodded. “Yes. He was walking by the bar, so I got up, pretended to stumble, and splashed some of my cosmopolitan onto his shirt sleeve. Then I apologized profusely and offered to pay his cleaning bill. He laughed and said it was no big deal. So I asked him if I could at least buy him a drink. He accepted.”

  “What did you tell him about yourself?” Boff asked.

  “The truth. That I’m a model and live with a female roommate.”

  Manny chuckled. “I guess you left out the part about being a call girl.”

  Hazuki shot him a frosty look before turning back to Boff. “The target asked me if I would have dinner with him tomorrow. I told him I couldn’t because I was booked for a night shoot with a big designer.”

  “Are you?” Boff asked.

  “No. But it’s not proper form for a seducer to seem too eager. We arranged to go out the night after tomorrow.”

  “Were you surprised he asked you for a date?”

  “Of course not. Why?”

  “Well, he does have a beautiful girlfriend.”

  “You obviously don’t know much about good-looking young men with lots of money,” she said. “He saw me, he wanted me. I was something to collect. In all the time I worked in Japan, I never had a man turn me down out of concern for a wife or a girlfriend.”

  “Looking like you do,” Manny chimed in, “I can see why.”

  Still no response. “Take me home now, please,” she said and told Wallachi her address. When he dropped her off at an eight-story pre-war building on West 88th Street, he waited until she was safely inside her building before pulling away.

  “She’s a cold one, Frank,” Wallachi said.

  “I bet I could warm her up,” Manny said.

  Wallachi glanced in the rear view mirror and gave his crack op a sour look. “Manny, do you know why men give their penises names?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Because they don’t want a complete stranger running their life.”

  The crack op laughed. “That’s a good one.”

  “What do you call yours?”

  “Uh, do I have to tell?”

  “If you want to keep your job, you do.”

  “Wally One-Eye.”

  Wallachi looked at Boff. They both cracked up.

  “Where’d you get that name?” Boff asked.

  “Uh, you know, the uh...hole you piss through and cum through.”

  “Do me a favor,” Wallachi said, still laughing. “Keep Wally’s one eye shut for the rest of this surveillance job. Understood?”

  “I’ll try, Pete. But I don’t always have control over him. It’s like he has a mind of his own.” Manny looked down at his crotch and wagged a finger at it. “From now on, Wally, you’re going to listen to me. Understood?” Looking up again, he leaned forward toward the front seat. “Pete, I’m not sure he got the message.”

  “Slap him around a little. That’ll get his attention.”

  “Yeah, and hurt me more than him.”

  “That’s the point.”

  Chapter 49

  In order to give Alicia’s father plenty of time to read the dossier that he had FedExed the day before, Boff waited until two in the afternoon before calling the Miami bank the man owned. He told the assistant manager that Mr. Mantilla had been named as a reference in a business deal he was putting together and he just wanted to confirm some things. After a moment, he was put through to the bank owner.

  Javier Mantilla. How may I help you?

  “Hi. My name is Phillip Roth. I own a bar in Brooklyn Heights. An Alicia Celina wants to buy into my business. She used you as a reference.”

  Javier Mantilla did not respond.

  “I’m checking to see if you’ll vouch for her,” Boff said. “And also to find out what the nature of your relationship is.”

  After several moments of silence, Mantilla finally spoke. She used to be my daughter. I wouldn’t under any circumstances take her on as a partner. She’s a liar with low morals.

  Boff smiled as the connection went dead.

  Boff’s next task was to drive to his mother’s candy store to work a shift for her so she could do her errands. Entering the store, he grabbed a Good & Plenty from the candy case and slipped on his apron.

  “Where’re you off to today, Mom?”

  “An early dinner. Then Phantom of the Opera.”

  “But, Mom, you’ve seen that show ten times already.”

  “Bernie never has.”

&n
bsp; “Who’s Bernie?”

  Before answering, Thelma took a pocket mirror out of her purse and starting putting on a muted red lipstick. “Bernie’s the guy I’m dating.”

  “Really? You never told me.”

  “Because I wasn’t sure if it was just a fling or if it would last.”

  Boff went behind the counter, picked up a rag and wet it, then wiped down the counter. “Who is he?”

  “A retired cop.”

  He made a face. “Mom, that means he’s probably a loser. Where’d you meet this flatfoot?”

  “Online.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. We met on a website called Senior Singles.”

  “Geez, Mom. In case you didn’t know, dating on the Internet can be dangerous.”

  Thelma waved it off. “Not to worry. I called the precinct he’d been with before he retired. They gave me a number for his former partner, also retired. The partner told me Bernie was a great guy.”

  Boff shook his head. “Christ. You took a cop’s word for it? Mom, partners always cover each other’s ass. Let me do a background check on him.”

  Ignoring the offer, Thelma merely said, “I have to change into my dress.” She walked into the store’s back room.

  “How old is this flatfoot?” Boff shouted.

  “Eighty.”

  “Gee, that’s getting up there. Does he still have all his marbles?”

  “Yes. And everything else about him works, too.”

  “You’re sleeping with him?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to meet this character. I’ve got some questions to ask him.”

  Thelma returned from the back room wearing a printed, tie-waist dress. “Don’t even bother,” she said. “Bernie won’t answer any questions from you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s a former homicide detective. When I told him what you did for a living, he asked around about you. He said he couldn’t believe a morally-challenged…uh…guy like you had such a sweet mother. Isn’t that a wonderful thing to say?”

  “No, it is not! The guy hasn’t even met me, and already he’s passing judgment? Didn’t you tell him about all the pro bono work I’m doing now?”

  Thelma laughed. “Sure I told him. And do you know what he said? That you’re just doing it because you feel guilty about all the criminals you’ve kept out of jail.”

  “That’s BS, and you know it.”

  “Chill, Frankie. All cops hate you. Why are you upset because another one does?”

  “Because this one’s dating my mother.”

  He turned as the doorbell jingled. Two teenage girls walked in the store and stopped to check out his mother. “You look great, Mama Boff,” one of them said.

  “Thanks, Angela.”

  “Where ya going?”

  “I’ve got a date.”

  “Cool!”

  The girls sat at the counter and ordered ice cream cones. Boff scooped up the ice cream as fast as he could so he could continue his conversation with his mother. Seeing the cones that he thrust at them, the girls frowned.

  “Mama Boff,” Angela said, “your son makes skimpy cones. Tell him to do it like you do.”

  “Double scoops, Frankie. Big ones.”

  “You got it,” he said.

  Now the girls looked satisfied. They paid him and left with their cones.

  “You know, Mom, I don’t think I like your boyfriend.”

  “Now who’s passing blind judgment?”

  The bell on the door jingled again. This time, in walked a ramrod-straight man with short silver hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. Boff guessed this was the famous Bernie. He had to admit, though, that not only was the ex-cop reasonably handsome, but he also didn’t look a day over sixty.

  After Thelma kissed her beau, he turned from her to stare at her son. “Is that him?” he asked in a voice well south of friendly.

  Thelma wrapped an arm around his waist and turned to Boff. “Frankie, this is Bernie. Isn’t he hot?”

  Boff held out his hand. Bernie just let it dangle there.

  “I don’t like what you do for a living,” the retired cop said.

  Boff smiled. Ah, a hostile cop. Now I’m in familiar territory. “That makes us even, Bernie. I have a very low opinion of cops. They rank fifth on my list of the lowest life forms on earth. Behind lawyers, doctors, FBI agents, and priests.”

  At this, Thelma exploded. “Frankie! Don’t you dare say something stupid like that to Bernie! Apologize now!”

  “Why should I? I meant every word I said.”

  After shooting dagger eyes at her son, she hooked her arm through her boyfriend’s. “Come on, Bernie, let’s go.”

  As they headed out the door, Boff shouted, “Nice meeting you, Bernie!”

  Thelma slammed the door behind them.

  A half hour later, into the store walked a man around Boff’s age. He was wearing a loose-fitting suit and a nondescript tie.

  “Frank, you look good behind the counter,” he said as he took a stool. “You should quit your day job and do this full-time. Then my life and every other assistant D.A.’s in the city would be a helluva lot easier.”

  Boff smiled. “Come on, Carl. You don’t like doing battle in court with a worthy opponent?”

  “Not when I lose.”

  Boff used his apron to wipe some ice cream off his hands before shaking with his friend. “You want a soda?”

  “Can you whip up one of those egg creams your mom makes?”

  “I certainly can.”

  As Boff began making the egg cream, Carl said, “Ya know, I bet I’m the only one in the justice department who’ll give you the time of day.”

  “That, Carl, is because the other D.A.s never played basketball with me on my high school team and never got to know the real me.”

  “True. I certainly did get to know the real you. Which is why it doesn’t surprise me you defend felons the same way you used to defend opposing forwards. No offense, Frank, but you were the dirtiest player I’ve ever been on a court with.”

  Boff placed one hand over his heart. “Aw, Carl. That hurt.”

  The assistant D.A. laughed. “How could it? You don’t have a conscience. Or a heart.”

  Finished with the egg cream, Boff slid it over to his former teammate, then pointed a finger at his friend. “Remind me, Carl. Who helped you lose your cherry?”

  “Yeah, yeah, that was you. Never mind I got crabs from the girl.”

  Boff shrugged. “I guess I should have vetted her better.”

  Carl slipped a straw out of a straw holder, stripped off the paper wrapping, and stuck it in his egg cream. “You know, Frank, I always wondered how come you didn’t do it with that girl, too. I’m betting you knew damn well she had crabs.”

  “I didn’t sleep with her because I was dating Jenny. And as you well know, I’ve never cheated on her in all the years I’ve been with her.”

  Carl finally picked up his glass, took a long sip on his egg cream. “Good. Not your mother’s. But passable. Anyway, what is it you wanted to talk about that required me to come all the way to the Bronx from Brooklyn?”

  “You’d rather I would’ve walked into your office?”

  “No. I can’t be seen with you.”

  After pouring himself a Coke, Boff pulled over a stool that was behind the counter, sat on it, and said, “You know anything about a Brooklyn judge named Morant?”

  The assistant D.A. thought a minute. “Name sounds familiar. Divorce court, right?”

  “Correct. I have reason to believe he’s on the take. And it’s also likely this judge played a role in the rape and murder of a beautiful young woman in a Crown Heights alley recently.”

  Carl nodded. “I know that one. The cops shot and killed the doer before he could escape.” He took another quick sip on his egg cream. “How’re you tying this judge to the murdered woman?”

  �
��I’m almost certain she was killed because she overhead him talking about a bribe. And, Carl, that whole rape/murder scene was rigged. It was a setup.”

  “How you figure that?”

  “I believe a contractor paid the killer to take the woman down. And the contractor also paid two cops to be on the scene to kill the rapist. That way, the woman’s murder would look like an open-and-shut case.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To make sure Homicide wrote it off and wouldn’t bother to look closely at the vic’s life. And by the way, Carl, those two cops were the same ones found a few days ago resting peacefully in their patrol car. Pumped full of holes.”

  Carl raised his eyebrows. “No shit? What the hell did this girl have to hide?”

  “She worked for an elite escort service. Judge Morant was one of her clients. The hooker was in bed with the judge when his phone rang. He took the call in the kitchen so she couldn’t hear, but in the middle of his conversation, he apparently got angry and raised his voice loud enough for her to catch every word. A few days later, she did something that made Morant realize she’d heard what he said.”

  “And what exactly did this judge say that led to the hooker’s murder?”

  Boff repeated what Morant had shouted about Silverstein and the money. Then, “This morning, Carl, I checked Morant’s docket. Silverstein’s case comes up in two weeks. I also heard scuttlebutt that this might not be the first time this judge took a bribe.”

  Carl slid his glass to Boff. “Put a little more syrup in, would you?”

  He squirted some in. After the assistant D.A. swirled it around with a long spoon, he said, “I gather you think I should put a tap on the judge’s phone.”

  Boff put both forearms on the counter and leaned forward. “Bringing down a corrupt judge will look good on your resume when you run for D.A. And while you’re working on the tap, I suggest you assign one of your investigators to sit in Morant’s courtroom to see if Silverstein deserved to win based on the evidence.”

  “Frank, I’m not sure I can get a tap with just the information you gave me. How do you know the judge was the hooker’s client?”

  “Because he was listed in her address book. Along with all her other johns. Including a lot of stockbrokers. And a state senator.”