The Payback Game

by Nathan Gottlieb

  The informant held up one hand. “Show me the green first before we talk. I like you and all, girl, but I’m a businessman. This be my job.”

  With a nod, Hannah took her wallet out of her big bag and handed him two twenties, the same amount Nicky had paid his informants. After tucking the cash in his pocket, Rashid turned his face away from the parking lot again. “Okay, girl, fire away.”

  “I was wondering,” she said, “if you’d heard anything about phony police raids on drug dealers.”

  “What exactly do you mean by phony raids?”

  “Guys in NYPD jackets bust a dealer, make off with his stash and his money, and don’t report it.”

  “You mean, like, they keep everything for themselves?”

  “Exactly.”

  The informant took his time before answering. “What you gotta understand about the street, girl, is there’s always some kinda talk. Some of it’s reliable. A lot of it’s bullshit. Just guys bragging about their so-called exploits. Or making up information in order to get paid. So, yeah, like, I heard about these phony raids from a dude named Derrick. He’s an informant for narcs in Brooklyn South. Derrick didn’t tell me no specifics, though.”

  “Did he sound believable?” Hannah said.

  Rashid shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno. Hard to tell with guys in my line of work. One of the tools of our trade is lying. About the only thing I definitely know for fact is there’ve been narcs who’ve kept some of the stash and the money from a raid before turning the rest in. Usually they give the drugs to their snitches as a reward. This guy Derrick, well, I’m not sure I’d put much stock in him.”

  “Can you arrange for me to meet with him, anyway?” Hannah asked.

  “I’ll try. He’s a crackhead, so I gotta catch him in the right mood. So do you. Better bring the champ along for protection. And plenty of green.”

  “Thanks, Rashid.”

  “No problem. Nicky liked you a lot. I’m down with you, girl.” Looking around, he stood up and said, “I’ll get back to you after I talk to Derrick. Now, like, let me clear the lot before you leave. Dig?”

  “Sure.”

  They watched as Rashid weaved his way quickly between cars, head bent low. When he was gone, Hannah and Cullen stood up, too.

  “Well, it’s a start,” she said. “At least he’s heard something about phony raids.”

  As they began walking back through the lot, Hannah glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to eat something,” she said. “My blood sugar’s low. You want to stop for lunch?”

  “Sure. My treat.”

  “Dutch.”

  “Whatever.”

  As they cleared the lot, she said, “Where do you want to go eat?”

  “Ever hear of Cheffy’s? It’s a Jamaican restaurant in Crown Heights.”

  The redhead nodded. “I’ve eaten there a few times. The food’s really good. Let’s grab a taxi.”

  As soon as Cheffy spotted them walking in, he left the kitchen and walked over. Cullen noticed that the cook, who was his biggest fan, had stenciled the words “WORLD CHAMP” across the top of his white apron, and replaced his black eye patch with one that had red boxing gloves on it.

  “Hey champ!” the chef said. “Where’s Mikey?”

  “Working out.”

  “How’s your arm?”

  “Almost there.”

  “Good!”

  The cook turned to the redhead. “You look kinda familiar.”

  “My name’s Hannah. I come in from time to time. I love your food.”

  Cheffy shook her hand. “You two lucked out. I just finished cooking a fresh pot of cow-foot and pigeon peas soup.”

  Hannah forced a smile. “I’m sure it’s terrific, but I’m a vegetarian. How about vegetable patties for a starter? And I do eat fish. What do you recommend?”

  “Pan-fried escovitch fish! I went to the market this morning and got some real nice porgies.”

  “Sounds great!” she said.

  “I’ll take the soup and jerk chicken,” Cullen said.

  After Cheffy left to prepare the orders, Cullen put on his best smile for Hannah. “So, is this, like, a date?” he said.

  “In your dreams. I told you before that I don’t go out with boxers.”

  He frowned. “You know, just because I’m a boxer, that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I was an honors student in high school. I could’ve gone to a lot of colleges. But I wanted to write about boxing and didn’t want to wait four years to do it. So I hooked on at the Las Vegas Review-Journal. The only reason they hired me was because my father’s in the Hall of Fame. But I quickly showed them I was a good writer. Good enough that when I was only twenty, the editor gave me the boxing beat. I got to travel around the country to all the big fights.”

  “Sounds like you had a good job. But why’d you quit the newspaper for something like boxing?”

  “Rage.”

  The redhead waited for further explanation. When none came, she said, “Rage? Care to elaborate?”

  “Well…my best friend, Julio Babbas, was a middleweight champion who got murdered. I was sipping beers with him in his den when he was killed.” Cullen looked off a minute, recalling the horror of that night.

  “How did it happen?” Hannah asked in a softer voice.

  He turned back. “Some guy…some guy suddenly stepped out from behind the curtains and shot Julio once in the forehead. He was dressed all in black and had a ski mask covering his face. Before I could react, the killer opened the sliding glass door and disappeared into the night.” He shook his head. “It happened so fast, for a moment I thought it was some kind of illusion. But…but then I looked at Julio’s face. There was a bullet in the center of his forehead and blood was flowing out.

  “Oh, my God! How horrible!”

  Cullen nodded. “Yeah. I was so angry about losing my best friend like that, I ended up getting into bar fights and alienating all my other friends. The rage…well, it was eating me up and wouldn’t go away. So I decided to ask McAlary to train me. Hitting people in the ring got out most of the anger.”

  A waitress brought out Cullen’s soup and Hannah’s vegetable patties, then returned to the kitchen.

  “Did they ever find the person who killed your friend?”

  The boxer shook his head. “Cops couldn’t. Boff and I did. That’s when I first met him. I was conducting my own investigation into Julio’s murder when Boff was hired by my friend’s widow to find the killer.” Recalling his first experience with the investigator, he could only shake his head. “Man, Boff was the most annoying person I’d ever met.”

  Hannah laughed. “I understand perfectly.”

  Cullen sipped some soup, then put the spoon down and said, “As much as I disliked Boff, though, I eventually decided it was best to team up with him.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, I was running into walls and getting nowhere. And then Boff…well…he has this weird way of sucking you into his world. Whether you want to or not.”

  The redhead cut off a piece of patty and put it in her mouth. “So how’d you two guys find the killer?”

  “Actually, it was killers.”

  “Did they get the death penalty?”

  A small smile creased Cullen’s face. “In a way.”

  “In a way? What way?”

  “Just what it sounds like. In a way.”

  Having learned from Boff how to be elusive, he slurped in a spoonful of his soup, then looked up and said, “This tastes great.”

  “Answer the question. What did you mean by, ‘in a way’?”

  “If you want an answer to that,” he said, “then you gotta go out with me on a real date.”

  Now it was Hannah’s time to clam up. She cut off another piece of patty, ate it, and asked nothing further about the killers.

  Chapter 18

  At four o’clock that afternoon, Boff met with the union official in Sunny’s bar. They took an isolated table in the back near where a band had stow
ed its instruments. Jan Roszak, who was in his mid-fifties, looked like an aging boxer with a crooked nose, more than a few scars, and hooded eyes. Boff figured that working with roughnecks on the docks was probably as dangerous as boxing.

  “What’re you drinking, Mr. Boff?”

  “It’s Frank. A mug of draft would be fine.”

  Roszak walked to the bar, ordered the draft plus a bottle of Michelob for himself, then returned with the drinks.

  “How’s Mike doing these days?” the union official asked. “I haven’t seen him in these parts for a while.”

  “Apparently he has some liver problems and drinks only beer. Otherwise, he seems fine. His clubhouse is Bailey’s Corner Pub on 85th and York.”

  Roszak nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know the place. Good neighborhood bar, as I recall.” After taking a hit on his Michelob, he said, “So, Frank, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’m hoping you could give me the low-down on a couple longshoremen who work here in Red Hook.”

  “What’re their names?”

  “Tony Monetti and Dino Laterza.”

  Roszak took another tug on his beer before answering. “They’re hard working guys,” he said in a flat voice.

  Boff sensed the union official was uncomfortable talking to a stranger about two of his men, so he said, “Jan, I want you to know that everything you say to me is strictly confidential. Give me a buck as a retainer. Then I’m bound by law not to reveal anything you tell me.”

  With a shrug, Roszak took out his billfold, peeled off a single, handed it to Boff, then leaned forward and lowered his voice a couple notches. “Yeah, well, there’ve been rumors about these two guys. Apparently they might be living a bit above their means.”

  Boff took a sip of his beer. “In what way?”

  “Well, for starters, I’m told they both have pricey condos. They also own expensive rides. Monetti drives a new Chevy Camaro. Laterza owns a one-year-old Beamer. Two months ago, they went on vacation to Acapulco together and stayed at a resort hotel.” Roszak lowered his voice another notch. “Guys who’ve hung around with them after work say they’re both free spenders and dress really nice.” The union official spread his hands. “Does that mean they’re corrupt?” He shrugged. “I couldn’t say that, not just based on the money they spend. I mean, it’s possible they can afford all of that stuff on a longshoreman’s salary. But if you wanted to live like they do, you’d have to be careful with your money. Which these guys apparently aren’t.”

  “How much are they making?”

  “I’d have to look it up, but I can give you a ballpark figure. Guys on the job, say, oh, five to nine years, average about a hundred and thirty grand. These two guys only have two years in, though, so I’d say off the top of my head that each one makes in the neighborhood of seventy, maybe seventy-five grand, tops. Depending on how much OT they get. I guess if you factor in that neither of them is married or has kids, it’s possible everything they spend is legit.”

  Boff nodded. “Let me ask you this, Jan. Have any of your other longshoremen ever reported to you that these guys might be doing some questionable things?”

  Roszak shook his head. “No, no, Frank. If they were, I would’ve heard. Trust me. I run a tight ship here. In the old days? Corruption was a way of life on the docks. But that era is long gone.”

  Boff nodded again. “So what’s your gut feeling about them?”

  The union official took his time before answering. “Something’s up with these two. Do I have proof?” He shook his head. “But when you’ve been a union official for as long as I have, you get a second sense about people. Maybe it’s the way they carry themselves. I mean, most guys on the piers are fairly humble men. The hard work beats any arrogance you might have out of you. These two? They have attitude.” He drained his beer. “Another, Frank?”

  “I’m good.”

  When the union official returned and sat down with a new bottle of Michelob, Boff handed him the photo of Galvani and Maloney taken at the precinct picnic.

  “What’s this?” Roszak asked.

  “Two cops. I was wondering if you’ve ever seen them in Sunny’s.”

  Roszak studied the photo a few minutes, then looked up and tapped a finger on Maloney. “This one sorta looks familiar.” He looked at the photo some more. “I think…I think I’ve seen this guy in here. A cop, huh?”

  “Detective in the 71st Precinct.”

  The union official studied the photo another minute, then looked up and nodded. “Yeah. This is the Maloney kid. First name’s Patrick. Reason I know is his old man, James, worked thirty years on this dock. As I recall, James had hoped his son would follow him onto the job, but the kid was hell-bent on being a cop. He came to Sunny’s with his old man once in awhile to drink with him and some of the longshoremen.”

  “Would the father talk to me?” Boff asked.

  Roszak shook his head. “Not likely.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, you see, Mr. Boff, uh, Frank, a few months ago, James failed to avoid the bight and had to retire.”

  “Avoid the bight?”

  “Sorry. An old longshoreman term. It means workers should steer clear of loops of wire or rope in the cargo rigging. In today’s world, the term also applies to other perils. Like, when you’re working around any kind of cargo-handling equipment, you gotta be aware of your surroundings at all times. You also have to make sure the equipment operator knows exactly where you are.”

  “So what happened to the father?”

  “Maybe his mind was on something else, because he wandered into the path of a fork lift. His left leg was smashed so bad he almost lost it. He retired on disability.” Roszak looked off a moment, lost in thought. Then he turned back to Boff.

  “You know, Frank, now that I think of it, I seem to remember that right before James got hurt, I was out for a few brews with him, and he seemed uncharacteristically uptight. So I asked him if anything was bothering him. He told me he was worried about his son.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No. He said he didn’t want to talk about it. I got the feeling the kid might’ve been in some kind of trouble.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Why? James was the kind of guy who took everything in stride. Nothing seemed to bother him. Whatever was up with his son, though, he was letting it get to him.”

  “Do you know where I can find the father?”

  “He moved to Jacksonville.”

  “You have a phone number for him?”

  “I wish I did. But I don’t. A while back I tried to get his phone number to check on how he was handling retirement. I was told nobody on the docks had his number, nor had anybody heard from him. My guess is he has an unlisted number. Or just a cell.”

  Boff leaned forward. “Jan, why would a guy with longtime friends on the docks, suddenly cut off all contact with them?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure, Frank. One reason could be he felt it’d be too painful talking to friends he’d known for decades.”

  “Painful? In what way?”

  “Well, when a man does able-bodied work for thirty years and then suddenly has trouble just walking, sometimes he tries to distance himself from his past and move on. I’ve seen it happen a few times. I think that’s why James didn’t give anybody his number. When I visited him at the hospital after the accident, he was really depressed. Wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Now, I ain’t no shrink, you know? But it was almost like he was ashamed he’d gotten hurt.”

  “You said he moved to Jacksonville. How do you know that?”

  “I checked to see where the union was sending his retirement and disability checks.”

  “I gather he didn’t give the union a phone number, either.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Roszak checked his watch. “Frank, I gotta take off. My daughter wants me to baby-sit. Their regular sitter called in sick. I hope I was of some help.”

  “You were. Th
anks a lot.”

  “Say hello to Mike for me. Tell him to leave his comfort zone and come down here and have a few brewskies with me. I mean, I suppose I could hump it up to 85th Street, but I’d rather the two of us drink here, where we first met. It’d bring back some good memories.”

  After polishing off the rest of his bottle, the union official stood up, took a business card out of his wallet, and handed it to Boff. “Frank, if you find out these two guys are in any kind of trouble, I’d really appreciate a heads-up. I don’t want no bad apples on my pier.”

  “You got it.”

  Outside the bar, Boff called Cullen. “How’d it go with the informant?”

  He said there’d been some talk on the street about phony raids. He only had one source for it, though. Another snitch named Derrick. And he wasn’t sure this other informant was reliable. But Hannah asked her snitch if he could arrange for me and her to talk with Derrick. That’s all I have to report. What about you and the union official?

  “His gut feeling was something was off with these two guys. Nothing he could pin down, though. But he did help me make a connection between the two cops and the longshoremen. Maloney’s father was a longtime dock worker here. The son came to Sunny’s with his old man sometimes. I imagine the bar’s where Maloney met these two longshoremen. When you set up a meeting with the other informant, I want to go along.”

  Don’t you think having a private investigator with us would spook this guy?

  “As you well know, I have a long history of getting snitches to reveal things. The key is simple. For good money, they’ll tell you anything. How much did Hannah pay the informant?”

  Forty bucks. She said that’s what Doyle gave him.

  “The Boffer will flash a Benjamin at this snitch. Then watch how quickly he opens up to me.”

  I hope so. Meanwhile, Hannah and I went on a lunch date.

  “Really?”

  Well, not exactly a date, you know. But I can tell she’s warming up to me.

  “You mean the way you thought Damiano was warming up to you until you found out she was a lesbian?”

  Cullen cut the connection.