The Payback Game

by Nathan Gottlieb

  Cullen was having lunch with Hannah at Cheffy’s the next day when her cell phone rang. She recognized the caller ID number as Rashid’s and put it on speaker.

  “This is Hannah.”

  It’s me, Rashid. Did that numbnut Derrick give you anything you could use?

  “More or less. We have to check out some things he said.”

  Well, the dude just called me. Said he has important new info for you and wants to meet.

  “Did he say what it was?”

  No.

  “Where?”

  Same place as last time. One o’clock this afternoon. Do me a favor. Don’t pay him if you think he’s feeding you bullshit.

  “I won’t. Thanks, Rashid.”

  When she hung up, Cullen said, “Should we call Boff?”

  “Where is he?”

  “In Riverdale. He took his wife out for lunch.”

  “Forget him. He’ll never get there in time. Let’s finish eating and get a move on it. Oh, I need to stop at an ATM to get a hundred dollars for the snitch.”

  When Cullen and Hannah arrived, the platform was largely deserted again, though they both noticed a couple men standing about ten yards past the spot where they’d met with Derrick the first time. Both men were wearing jeans and pale blue shirts with Midas Muffler logos.

  This time, Derrick didn’t show up right away. Five minutes passed.

  “I’m not going to wait here forever,” Hannah said.

  Cullen nodded. “Let’s give him a few more minutes and then split.”

  “Fine.”

  Hearing her cell phone ringing, Hannah took it out of her canvas bag, looked at the caller ID, and put it back in the bag without answering.

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she said.

  “Who broke up with whom?”

  “I’ve never been dumped.”

  Cullen spit out a laugh. “Probably because if you think the guy is about to ditch you, you bail out first to keep your record intact.”

  “You know nothing about me.”

  “That’s a perfect reason for you to go out with me on a date. So I can learn more.”

  The redhead didn’t bother to reply.

  A couple minutes later, a Q train pulled into the station and a few people got off. Everybody on the platform boarded the train except the two men in the Midas Muffler shirts.

  “Why didn’t those two guys get on the train?” Cullen muttered just loud enough for Hannah to hear him.

  “They’re probably waiting for the B train. It’s the other line that comes through this station.”

  He glanced at the men. Both were well built. He suddenly had a bad feeling about them. Especially since Derrick still hadn’t showed.

  “Hannah, we should leave now. I think we’re being set up.”

  “Set up for what?”

  Before he could answer, the two men turned toward them and started walking over. Cullen knew he could outrun these guys, but doubted Hannah could.

  “Hannah, step back a few feet and move to the side.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it!”

  After she did, Cullen spread his legs and braced for trouble. Sure enough, the two men pulled knives and slowly moved in on them.

  “Listen, guys,” Cullen said, keeping his voice calm, “if you want our money, that’s fine. There’s no need for the blades.”

  “Is that so?” said the taller of the two. “You’ve been sticking your noses into other people’s business. You need to be taught a lesson.”

  The taller guy headed straight for Cullen, the other one targeted Hannah. As he approached her, she swung her big handbag and whacked him in his face. The bag obviously had some heavy things in it because the blow bloodied the attacker’s nose and temporarily drove him back several steps.

  The guy heading for Cullen was slashing his knife back and forth in the air. As soon the attacker was close enough, Cullen used his fast hand speed to grab the guy’s wrist and twisted it hard enough to tear a ligament. With a painful scream, the attacker dropped his knife and clutched his hand. Cullen kicked the knife off the platform onto the tracks.

  Hannah’s attacker had already started moving in again. This time, when she swung her handbag at his face, he was ready for it. He grabbed the strap and yanked it hard. Hannah wisely let the bag go. With no resistance, momentum caused the attacker to stumble backwards and fall on his ass.

  Cullen finished off his own guy with a two-punch combo to the head that dropped him to the platform, out cold. The other one was getting up and coming back at Hannah, slashing his knife toward her face. Leaning back reflexively, she only took a glancing blow on her cheek, which started bleeding. Before the guy could slash her again, Cullen charged him and fired a vicious right hook to his body. It probably cracked a rib or two. Crying out in pain, the attacker doubled over, leaving him wide open for the best punch in the boxer’s arsenal, an uppercut. The blow caught the guy under his chin and snapped his head back. A follow-up right hook to the temple sent him down, out cold like his partner.

  As Cullen kicked the second knife off the platform, he looked at Hannah. “You okay?”

  “No! The fucker slashed my face! I hope I don’t get a scar.”

  No stranger to cuts, the boxer stepped closer to check out the knife wound. “I don’t think you will,” he said. “It looks like it’s just a surface cut.”

  She took a handkerchief out of her bag and pressed it to her cheek. “Should we call the cops?”

  He shook his head. “No. They’ll ask us questions we might not want to answer. Let’s get the hell off this platform before these two assholes wake up.”

  They jogged into the station and then back out onto the street, where Cullen flagged a taxi. As they climbed into the backseat, Hannah said to the driver, “Crown Heights! Three twenty-two St. Marks Avenue. Get a move on it!”

  The cabbie, who was wearing a turban, got a very slow “move on it,” pulling into traffic at a snail’s pace. Driving away, he glanced in his rearview mirror at Hannah, still holding her by now-bloodied handkerchief to her face.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “Just drive,” she replied. “And can you go a little faster?”

  The cabbie shook his head. “No speeding. Already have two tickets. Need license to feed big family. Five children. Wife. And pain-in-the-ass mother-in-law.”

  Hannah took out her phone and speed-dialed.

  “This is Hannah Riley. Please tell my brother I need to see him immediately. It’s an emergency. I’m on my way there now.”

  After she hung up, Cullen said, “Why’d you call your brother?”

  “He’s a doctor.”

  Hannah looked down at the boxer’s hands. His knuckles were bloody and bruised.

  “I’ll have him look at your hands, too. I hope you didn’t break anything.”

  “Me, too. I don’t think I did, though. They’re just a little sore.”

  “That was pretty cool what you did to those guys. Thanks for saving me.”

  “Does this act of courage buy me a date?”

  “No, but maybe I’ll come to your next fight.”

  He shrugged. “Sooner or later you’ll change your mind. I’m a boxer. Losing is never an option.”

  Taking out his phone, he called Boff and explained what had happened. “Okay, hold on.” He looked at Hannah. “Boff wants the address of your brother’s office.”

  She told him, Cullen relayed the address to Boff, and hung up.

  Chapter 23

  Hannah’s brother had an office on the first floor of a three-story brownstone. When their cab arrived, Boff was already there leaning against his double-parked car. Cullen slid out first, then Hannah, still pressing her blood-stained handkerchief to her cheek.

  “What took you guys so long?” Boff asked.

  “The friggin’ driver,” Hannah said. “He refused to go over the speed limit.”

  Boff pointed to her face. “How bad is the cut?”

&
nbsp; “Danny says it’s just a flesh wound.”

  Boff looked at Cullen’s hands. “McAlary’s going to go bonkers when he sees your knuckles.”

  “No shit.”

  Hannah pushed between them and headed for the brownstone’s steps. “Let’s cut the chit-chat and get inside,” she said.

  As they started up the stairs, another taxi pulled up fast. Out jumped Cassidy. “Let me get a look at your face!” he said.

  When Hannah removed the handkerchief, Cassidy grimaced. “Damn,” he said. “Well, if it’s any comfort, I’ve seen a lot worse.”

  “How’d you find us?”

  “Boff called me. Let’s go see your brother. After he fixes you up, I want all the details. Somebody’s going to pay for doing this to you.”

  Even though there were a couple of people in the waiting room, the receptionist showed them right into the doctor’s inner office. Thomas Riley was in his late thirties, tall and fit, with short red hair and green eyes. “Get on the examining table,” he said.

  Hannah hopped on.

  “Now take the handkerchief away.”

  After studying her wound a few minutes, he said, “Sis, you got lucky. The knife didn’t go in deep.”

  Cassidy stepped forward. “Then she won’t have a scar, right?”

  “No, she won’t, Mike.” He turned back to Hannah. “First, I’m going to clean the wound. Then I’ll decrease the flow of blood. After that, I’ll apply a suture. I’m going to use vicryl stitches that’ll dissolve in your skin after a few days. That way, you won’t have to come back to me to have them removed.”

  “Good. You know how much I hate seeing doctors.”

  Her brother gave Cassidy a wry smile. “One of the many traits you inherited from your Uncle Mike.”

  After he finished with his sister, Dr. Riley pointed at Cullen. “You’re next, my friend.”

  “His name’s Danny Cullen,” Hannah said. “He’s a world champion boxer.”

  Her brother looked surprised. “Really? I’m impressed. What weight division?”

  “Super middleweight,” Cullen replied.

  “I boxed for awhile in college. As an amateur.” He looked at his sister. “Hannah, I thought you hated boxing.”

  “I do.”

  “Then what’re you doing hanging around with the champ here?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  After examining Cullen’s knuckles, the doctor said, “I don’t think you broke them. The swelling would be a lot worse if you did. But if you want, I could send you for X-rays.”

  “No thanks,” Cullen replied. “Just clean ’em up. Bandages would be nice. I’ll be fine.”

  After the doctor finished bandaging Cullen’s knuckles, he turned back to his sister. “So, Hannah…can I ask how you got that cut on your face?”

  “Sure you can ask, Thomas,” she said, but then just gave him a mysterious smile and offered no details.

  Frowning, Dr. Riley turned to Cassidy for help. “Mike?”

  “If she doesn’t want to tell you, Thomas, I’m not gonna.”

  The doctor shook his head. “She’s as pig-headed as you are.”

  “Worse,” Cassidy said with a note of pride.

  Back outside the brownstone, the old reporter stepped off the curb and hailed a cab. Getting in with Cullen and Hannah, he told the driver to take them to the Crown Hill Bistro on Nostrand Avenue.

  “I’ll follow you in my car,” Boff said.

  A few minutes later, as they entered the bar, Boff surveyed the joint. It was dimly lit, the air smelled stale, and it was hot. He glanced above the bar, where an ancient-looking air conditioner was mounted. The thing was making strange noises and sure as hell wasn’t cooling the place off. There were only a few men who looked like old timers at the bar, huddled over their beers and shots. None of them even glanced up at the new customers.

  “When I was still at the News,” Cassidy said, “I used to come in this joint from time to time to get blasted. This is a serious, drinking-man’s bar. There’s no waitress. We gotta grab our own drinks at the bar. Then we can take them to one of those ratty-looking booths.”

  The bartender was a skinny old man sitting on a stool cracking open peanut shells from a bowl he was holding. Seeing the new customers, he frowned, set the bowl aside, and walked slowly toward them. He had a noticeable limp.

  They all ordered draft beers and Boff also asked for a basket of steak fries. The bartender’s hand shook when he held each mug under a spout of Bud. He was slow as molasses.

  After they had their beers and were seated in a booth, Cassidy looked at Hannah. “Okay, now. Let’s hear what happened.”

  She recounted how they’d been set up by the snitch and attacked by the two men.

  When she was done, Cassidy looked at Cullen. “Son, I owe you big time,” he said. “That was a brave thing to do.”

  “Well, I didn’t really have much choice,” the boxer said. “They were going to cut me, too.”

  “I don’t think their intention was to kill either of you,” Boff said. “They probably just wanted to draw a little blood to scare you off. If they were going to kill someone, they’d have come after me. Without me, you have zero chance of exposing them.”

  “That may be so,” Cassidy said. “But I’m still impressed by what Danny did. Frank, you earned your bonus money today.”

  “What bonus money?” Cullen said. “Boff didn’t do anything.”

  The old reporter smiled. “That’s between him and me.”

  Turning to his protégé, Cassidy’s face took on a hard set. “Hannah, I want you to call Nicky’s informant and ask him for this dirtbag’s address. I’m going to send a few friends of mine to have a little chat with the snitch.”

  Boff knew who Cassidy would send. Mob pals. He didn’t want that to happen. At least not yet. “Mike, I know how you feel about this guy, but he might be more valuable to us if you waited until I visit him first. It’d be nice to know who asked him to set up Hannah and Danny. After that?” He shrugged. “Do with him as you will.”

  “Okay, Frank. I’ll let you have first crack.”

  Boff looked at the bar and frowned. The old man was sitting on his stool again, cracking peanuts. The steak fries he had ordered were nowhere in sight. Sliding out of the booth, he walked over to the bar.

  “Where’s my basket of steak fries?”

  “Hold your horses.” The bartender set his peanut bowl aside, got off the stool, and limped slowly into a back room. Several minutes later he came out again. Instead of a basket of steak fries, he was carrying a plastic Pathmark bag with frozen crinkle cut fries pictured on it. Boff watched with growing disgust as he picked up a pair of scissors and snipped the bag open. Then he dumped several frost-covered fries into a less-than-clean-looking glass bowl, limped over to the microwave, slid the bowl in, and set the timer.

  “Takes three minutes to nuke ’em. I’ll holler over when they’re done.”

  Boff made a face. Frozen fries? What the fuck? Shaking his head, he returned to the booth and slid back in.

  Hannah looked at him. “Who do you think sent these guys to attack us?”

  “The most likely answer is Galvani and the longshoremen.”

  “But how would they have known I’ve been on their trail?”

  “Well, you did tell Galvani you believed Maloney was murdered. Perhaps Derrick is snitching for him.”

  “Frank,” Cassidy interjected, “these mutts have crossed over the line with me. I made some more inquiries about you. A funny thing happened to the killers you found on your other three cases. Most of them never saw the inside of a jail. Apparently fate conspired against them and they died before they could be arrested.”

  “Fate can be like that.”

  A sly smile creased the old reporter’s face. “Reason I bring this up is, when you do nail these guys, I’d appreciate it if you brought me and some of friends along to help you assist them on their final journey.”

  Boff just s
miled and sipped his beer.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Frank. Just remember what I said.”

  “I have an excellent memory.”

  “Fries!” the bartender shouted. He set the nuked bowl down on the bar with trembling hands, slid over a nearby salt shaker, then reached under the bar and brought up four paper plates and a plastic squeeze bottle that appeared to have something that was dark and red in it. Presumably ketchup.

  Returning to the bar, Boff stared at the bowl of mushy-looking fries. “Kitchen closed today?”

  “Sonny, the kitchen’s been closed since Jimmy Carter was president.” The old man smiled a toothless grin. “I got me some fond memories of Mr. Carter. I voted for him on account of he was a peanut farmer. I eat a lot of peanuts, you know?” He held up his bowl of peanuts as proof and showed his gums again.

  “Thanks for sharing that.” Boff picked up the bowl, plates, salt shaker, and plastic squeeze bottle, and returned to the booth.

  When Cassidy saw the fries, he made a face. “What kinda crap is that?”

  “Allegedly french fries.” He picked up the plastic container and squeezed a reddish-brown liquid on a plate.

  Cassidy laughed. “Man, I wouldn’t be caught dead eating that shit.”

  Boff shrugged. “Normally I wouldn’t, either. But I’m hungry. What can I say?”

  After heavily-salting the alleged fries, he picked up a few, dipped them in the mud-colored sauce, and stuffed them home. He saw they were all staring at him, waiting for his reaction.

  “So?” Cassidy said. “What do they taste like?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Cassidy shook his head and turned his attention to Hannah. Laying one hand on top of hers, he said, “You’re not going to like what I’m about to say, young lady. But just try and listen before you lose that famous temper of yours.”

  She yanked her hand away. “If you’re going to tell me to stop pursuing this story because it’s too dangerous, don’t even waste your time!”

  Cassidy shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. It’s been your story from the get-go. However, you’re going to have to make some changes in your personal life.”

  Hannah wrinkled her face. “Changes? Like what?”