The Payback Game

by Nathan Gottlieb

  “How’d it go, Manny?” Boff asked.

  “Good. I did exactly as you asked.”

  “That’s a first,” Wallachi muttered.

  “Pete, park by the bar,” Boff said. He reached in his pocket and took out the snapshot Stephanie O’Connor had given him of Maloney and Galvani at a precinct picnic. “Be right back,” he said. “Manny, get a fix on the cop’s car with your BlackBerry and keep watching where he goes.”

  In the bar, Boff took a stool. The bartender, who fit the magazine description of the beatific, Beatnik-looking owner, Sunny, walked over.

  “What can I get you, friend?” Sunny asked.

  “Draft of light beer.”

  When Sunny returned with a mug of beer, Boff made his voice sound as casual as possible and said, “I was supposed to meet someone here. I hope I didn’t miss him.”

  Taking out the snapshot, Boff held it up so Sunny could see and tapped a finger on Galvani. “This is him. Eddie Galvani. You see him today by any chance?”

  “Sorry, pal. He just left a few minutes ago with a couple longshoremen. And by the way, that cop’s last name isn’t Galvani. It’s Gagliardi.”

  Without skipping a beat, Boff said, “Yeah, yeah, I know. Eddie uses that name whenever he’s in bars out of his neighborhood. He’s more than a little paranoid. I’m surprised he told you he was a cop.”

  “He didn’t. The longshoremen did. They’re in here all the time. They work a few blocks away at the main terminal. Tony Monetti and Dino Laterza.”

  “I’ll give Eddie a call. Maybe they stopped somewhere else and I can catch up to him.”

  Boff drained half his beer and put a five down. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, buddy. What’s your name?”

  “Ryan McAlary.”

  “Well, Ryan, the other guy in the photo? He used to come in here with Gagliardi and drink with these two longshoremen, too. But I haven’t seen him in awhile. His name’s Patrick King. ”

  Chapter 16

  After Boff left the bar, he wrote down the longshoremen’s names on a pad. Climbing into the Crown Vic, he said, “Pete, Galvani apparently meets these two guys at this bar often. They’re longshoremen.” He looked at his pad. “Tony Monetti and Dino Laterza. What I found especially interesting is the bartender knows Galvani as Eddie Gagliardi.”

  “Yeah, that is interesting,” Wallachi said. “I mean, why use a phony name at a bar unless you’re up to something?”

  “There’s more,” Boff said. “We can also connect the dead cop to the longshoremen. I showed the bartender a picture Maloney’s ex-wife gave me of him and Galvani. I only pointed to Galvani and asked if he’d been in the bar. The bartender volunteered that Maloney used to come in with his partner and drink with these longshoremen. Maloney was using the name Patrick King.”

  “This is promising.”

  “Even more promising,” Boff said, “is that when I had Wright check out Maloney’s telephone calls, we found out he made several to phone booths in Red Hook.”

  “Phone booths? No shit. I’m sure these longshoremen have cell phones. The only reason he wouldn’t call them on their cells was—”

  “—so his phone records wouldn’t link him to them.”

  Boff turned to Manny. “Where’s Galvani now?”

  The crack op looked at his Blackberry. “He went a few blocks, stopped for a minute at the docks, and then drove off.”

  Boff nodded. “Dropped them back at work and is probably going home. Keep tracking him, anyway, while we head back to the gym.”

  “Smuggling!” Hannah blurted out. “I bet Galvani and Maloney used the longshoremen to help smuggle stuff into Brooklyn for the Hells Angels.”

  Boff turned to the redhead. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Drugs? Guns?”

  Boff shook his head. “I’m sure the bikers have plenty of places in the city to buy drugs and guns. Without risking problems with port security.”

  Hannah frowned. “So what connects the dots? Between the two cops, the Hells Angels, and the longshoremen?”

  “There might not be a three-way connection here,” Boff replied. “We’ll need more information. Meanwhile, call Mike and tell him I want to meet with him at the pub around nine tonight.”

  “Boff,” Manny said, “it looks like Galvani’s heading to Crown Heights.”

  Ten minutes later, the Blackberry showed that the cop had turned onto the street where he lived and parked. There was no further movement on the car.

  “Okay, Manny, you can stop tracking him. Pete, another productive day.”

  ***

  That night, when Boff showed up at the pub with Cullen, Cassidy and the redhead were waiting for them in a booth.

  As he and Cullen slid into the booth opposite them, Boff pointed to Cassidy’s mug. “I see you’re back to draft beer,” he said.

  “What can I say? Hard to believe that back in the day, the only time I drank beer was if it was in a highly-toxic boilermaker. Pabst Blue Ribbon and Fleischmann’s rye. I’d still be drinking that jet fuel if my doctor hadn’t ordered me off alcohol three years ago. You better believe I fought him tooth and nail on that. Eventually, we settled on a compromise. Me drinking just beer.”

  When Alexis walked over, Boff ordered a draft beer for himself and a Diet Coke for Cullen. Then he got down to business. “Mike, I assume Hannah filled you in on today’s surveillance.”

  “Yes. That was a good work. What’s with Wallachi dragging this numbnut Manny along?”

  “Pete says to train him. The real reason is Manny’s his brother-in-law. Pete’s wife is Manny’s older sister.”

  Cassidy nodded. “And the wife probably made him hire her little brother. That’s why I divorced both of my wives. Women are too controlling.”

  “Not mine,” Boff said with a smile. “But then Jenny’s a one-in-a-million wife.” He leaned forward. “What do you make of the longshoreman connection?”

  “Not sure. They could just be friends.”

  “I don’t think so. If they were simply friends, why did Galvani and Maloney use phony last names at the bar? And why did Maloney’s phone records indicate he made calls to pay phones in Red Hook. I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more involved here. I’m betting it’s not legal, either.”

  “Well, if you mean criminal in nature,” the old reporter said, “the most usual thing on the docks is union corruption and smuggling. But there hasn’t been much of either in quite a few years.”

  “Uncle Mike,” Hannah said, “my hunch is Galvani and Patrick were using the longshoremen to smuggle something in for the Hells Angels.”

  “Like what?” Cassidy said.

  “Well, I figured drugs or guns, but Boff disagreed.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, young lady, but I agree with Frank.”

  Boff said, “Mike, I’d like to check these longshoremen out more closely. Do you have any good sources on the docks?”

  Cassidy took a hit on his beer and set it down. “Yes, quite a few. In 2004, I did a series of stories on the fading importance of the local docks. The Brooklyn longshoremen took a liking to me because I was publicizing their plight and calling on the city to build a facility in Red Hook for cruise ships to dock at. I’m not saying it was my columns that did the trick, but Carnival Cruise Lines eventually bought into the idea. So Red Hook got its big ships, and the longshoremen threw me a party at Peter Luger’s Steak House.”

  “Do you know any union officials still in office?”

  “Yeah. A guy high up the food chain. Jan Roszak. I met him in the late Eighties at Sunny’s Bar. Back then he was a low-ranking union official. Now, he’s number two or three guy in New York. You want me to set you up with him?”

  “That’d be great.”

  Hannah looked at Cassidy. “Uncle Mike, what about the Hells Angels’ connection to Galvani?”

  Cassidy thought about that a minute. “Well, one thing you need to keep foremost in your mind is that Galvani’s a cop. So if the
Hells Angels have some kind of a scam going on, why would they need a cop? The thing that…” He paused as Alexis came over with a tray of drinks, set them down on the table, and left. “The thing that pops out at me,” he continued, “is that a cop has a badge. So let’s say the Hells Angels are transporting something like drugs or guns in a vehicle. Having a cop as the driver is the smart move. If the car gets stopped by police, Galvani flashes his badge, and they don’t do a search.”

  “Even with Hells Angels in the car?” Cullen asked.

  “They wouldn’t be in the car,” Boff said. “They’d use friends who weren’t in the club.”

  “Staying strictly with the badge angle now,” Cassidy said, “here’s one possibility. Maybe the Hells Angels have put together some kind of robbery team that’s targeting jewelry stores or houses. For something like that, the smart move would be to use Galvani as their getaway driver.” He paused to take another hit on his beer. “This is probably not worth bringing up, but there’s another possibility. I only mention it because it’s happened before.”

  “What’s that?” Hannah asked.

  “Well, a few years back, a cop was indicted for his role in a series of phony drug raids. The guys in the cop’s crew were construction workers. The cop was supplying them with raid jackets with the NYPD insignia, plus counterfeit badges, bullet-proof vests, handcuffs, and police-style radios.”

  “I remember that one,” Boff said. “Their lawyer actually tried to hire me. But I was already working on a big case and couldn’t spare the time. As I recall, the cop was using informants to alert him when a new dealer opened shop. Then the cop and his crew would stage a phony raid, confiscate the drugs and whatever money was around, and leave the pusher and his men cuffed in the apartment. It was neat and clean, and they sure as hell didn’t have to worry about the drug dealer filing a complaint with the Department.”

  Cassidy nodded. “And as you know from your time in the DEA,” he said, “the key to pulling a drug raid is having plenty of snitches on the street. Now these two cops spent five years in Narcotics. I’m sure they knew plenty of them.”

  Hannah sounded excited by the idea. “So you think that’s what Galvani and Maloney were doing?”

  Boff held up a hand. “Whoa. It’s way too early to say something like that. But, I agree with Mike that these two cops had access to plenty of informants.”

  “And for crew,” Hannah said, warming even more to the idea, “Galvani and Maloney used the longshoremen.”

  When she looked at Boff for reaction, he yawned and leaned back in the booth. “Look, Hannah, this is all wild speculation,” he said. “Don’t get too worked up about it.”

  “Boff’s right,” Cassidy said. “We should concentrate on what we know for sure.”

  “And what exactly is that?” Hannah asked, sounding annoyed that her idea was being rebuffed.

  “One,” Cassidy replied, “is that Maloney was into something that got him murdered. Two, Galvani has access to the Hells Angels. Three, he and Maloney were using phony names at Sunny’s when they met with the longshoremen. Even with all that information, though, it’s still a major leap to conclude they were pulling off something like phony raids.”

  Cullen chipped in with his two cents’ worth. “Even if this raid angle was true,” he said, “where would the Hells Angels fit in?”

  Hannah gave him a look. “The cop sells the drugs from the phony raid to the bikers.”

  Boff shook his head. “No. As I told you before, if the Hells Angels want drugs, they know where to buy them. Without involving cops.”

  She wouldn’t let it go. “I think we should just forget about the bikers for now and focus on Uncle Mike’s raid angle. What do we have to lose?”

  “Time,” Boff said, stifling another yawn.

  She looked at Cassidy. “Uncle Mike…?”

  “Frank’s running the op,” he said. “Whatever he decides to do is fine with me.” He looked at Boff. “But, Frank, you’ve got to admit it’s an intriguing scenario.”

  Boff looked off a minute while he thought about it. Then he turned back to Cassidy. “Intriguing, yes, but it sounds like a sidetrack to me.” He thought some more, then said, “So here’s what I suggest. It’s probably a complete waste of time, but…well…let’s take a look into this raid idea. Then, if it doesn’t pan out—which I’m pretty certain it won’t—we’ll move on.” He looked at the redhead. “How’s that, Hannah?”

  “Fine.”

  “So, Frank,” Cassidy said, “where do you start with something like this?”

  Boff thought some more before replying. “The first thing we need to do is try and find out if there’ve actually been any phony raids in Brooklyn during the past year. If there haven’t, then there’s no need for us to waste any more time on the idea.”

  “There might be a way I can get that information,” Hannah said. “The snitch who told Nicky about the dead cop might know something. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Meanwhile, Mike,” Boff said, “how soon can you set me up with the union official?”

  “I’ll call him tonight and try and hook you up for tomorrow.” Cassidy cracked his knuckles and let out a weary sigh. “Man, this case has more ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ than anything I can recall working on. It’s giving me a headache. I bet a good shot of Jameson will clear my mind.

  The old reporter turned toward the bar and signaled with his hand until he caught the bartender’s attention. “Sean, get me a double shot of Jameson, straight up. Put it in a rocks glass. My hands aren’t as steady as they use to be.”

  Hannah waved her hand. “Sean, cancel that order,” she said. She looked at Cassidy. “Uncle Mike, I’m not going to let you drink the hard stuff. Not after what the doctor said about your liver.”

  “I don’t need you controlling me, young lady.”

  She gave him a harder look. “Yes, you do.”

  At that, the old reporter frowned and threw his hands up in resignation. “Okay, okay, don’t start lecturing me.” He turned to Sean, who was still looking at him. “Cancel the Jameson. My corrections officer won’t allow it.” After giving Hannah a dirty look, he took a long hit on his mug of beer.

  “Mike, one last thing,” Boff said. “Do you know who’s in charge of Nicky’s nonprofit?”

  “A guy named Earl Monroe Bassett. Earl was born the day the Knicks won their second championship. His old man was a big Knicks fan and named him after Earl ‘the Pearl’ Monroe, his favorite player. Why the interest in Bassett?”

  “Just covering all bases. You said Nicky was upset with Bassett that the camp hadn’t been built. I’d like to meet with the guy. Not at his office, though. Get him to come here.”

  “I’ll do it,” Cassidy said, “but I don’t understand why you want to speak with him.”

  “Just a hunch. Something’s percolating in the back of my brilliant brain. As Danny can tell you, my hunches often pan out.”

  “Okay,” Cassidy said, “I’ll invite him over here for a few drinks and let you know when he’s coming.”

  Boff nodded. “When you speak with him, just tell him you’d like to talk about the nonprofit. Don’t mention anything about me. I’ll walk in after he arrives and you’ll call me over.”

  “Why do you want to play it that way?”

  “If Bassett thinks a private investigator asked to see him, he might feel uneasy and clam up.”

  Cassidy shrugged. “Like I said, this is your op. Anything else?”

  Boff smiled. “Not at this time.”

  Chapter 17

  Even the Great Boffer couldn’t be in two places at the same time, so he sent Cullen with Hannah as protection when she met with Doyle’s informant. Cassidy, meanwhile, had arranged for him to meet with the union official in the late afternoon. Since Boff didn’t need Wallachi right now, he put a temporary hold on the surveillance.

  Hannah and Cullen were sitting on the grass next to a tree in the far end of the IKEA parking lot in Red Hook, waiting for the
informant, when they saw a straggly-looking guy in his late twenties heading their way.

  “Is this the snitch?” Cullen asked.

  “Yes. His name is Rashid.”

  The informant walked over and sat down by the tree, but with his back to them, apparently so his face wouldn’t be visible to anyone in the parking lot. “Hannah,” he began, “this was supposed to be just you and me. Why’d you bring this dude with you?”

  “It wasn’t my choice. He was sent along to protect me. Like, I really need it, right?”

  “I’m not comfortable with this,” the snitch replied. “How do I know I can trust him?”

  “You know who Mike Cassidy is, right?” the redhead said.

  “Sure. Nicky introduced me to him. I helped Cassidy on a story. He’s a stand-up guy.”

  “Well, Mike trusts him, so he’s cool. Okay? This is Danny Cullen, a world champion boxer.”

  This caught Rashid’s interest enough for him to turn and look at Cullen’s face. After a minute of scrutiny, his eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, man! I know you! You’re that crazy boxer on HBO! That was bad when you jumped out of the ring after winning the title and saved some big dude from taking a bullet. Gimme five, brother.”

  Cullen slapped his palm.

  “I boxed in some amateur tournaments, you know,” Rashid said. “Back when I was in high school. Then I got my ass kicked outta school ’n’ had to get me a job. I wanted to get back into boxing again, but the drugs found me. Hey, Danny, can you get me tickets to the fights? I go to small fight shows in clubs once in a while, but I’ve never been to a fight at the Garden.”

  “Give me your full name,” Cullen said. “I’ll have tickets left for you at the gate.”

  Rashid shook his head. “Sorry, champ. I don’t give my last name out. For security reasons. You know? If you get tickets, give ’em to Hannah. She knows where to find me.”

  “Okay.”

  The redhead was looking impatient with the small talk about boxing. “What I need to know is—”