The Punishing Game (21 page)

After Boff parked in an hourly space, they struck out for the United Airlines terminal entrance, where two men who looked like thugs headed straight at them.

“Uh oh,” McAlary said. “Trouble.”

“Relax, Ryan,” Boff said. “These are more friends of mine.”

He stepped forward to greet them. One man was heavyset with shoulders as wide as a doorway. The other was skinny and had an ugly red scar running down his forehead, across the bridge of his nose, and ending just below his right eye.

“These fine gentlemen,” Boff said to the McAlarys, “are going to make sure we get your daughter safely into the car. Then they’re going to escort us back to the house. The big man here is Fat Tony. His skin-and-bones partner is the aptly named Lean Lenny. Mobsters are clever with aliases.”

Bellucci laughed out loud, which apparently ticked off Fat Tony, who said, “What’s Bad Hairdo find so funny?”

“Don’t mind him,” Boff said. “Mikey thinks everything’s funny. He even laughs at funerals.”

“So do I,” Fat Tony replied. “Especially if the guy they’re burying is a piece of garbage I put in the box.”

Kate turned to Boff. “Phoenix’s plane is due any minute,” she said. “Can we cut the small talk and go inside?”

With Lean Lenny in front, Fat Tony bringing up the rear, they walked through the terminal to the security point and waited there. The mobsters quickly went into scan mode, looking around for possible threats. About ten minutes after the arrival of
Phoenix’s flight was announced, a little girl the spitting image of Kate came into view holding hands with a female flight attendant. When Kate waved, Phoenix broke free of the flight attendant, ran down the corridor, and leaped into her mother’s arms.

“I missed you, Mummy.”

“And what about your da?” McAlary implored.

Phoenix
shook her head. “Nah,” she said, then pulled out of her mother’s arms, leaped on her father, and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek before breaking free. The flight attendant, who had a broad smile on her face, came over to them.

“You have a wonderful daughter,” she said. “She’s so curious about everything. And feisty! Some jerk sitting next to her was typing non-stop on his computer until
Phoenix….Well, I won’t repeat what she said. She made me promise.”

McAlary wagged a finger at his daughter. “You didn’t cuss, did you?”

Phoenix winked at her da. “I’m not allowed to, remember?”

Her da gave her a wry look.

“We had an empty seat in first class,” the attendant said, “so we brought her up front to get away from the guy. What an appetite for such a small girl!” 

“They had cheese and crackers and fruit and ice cream!”
Phoenix said in one breath.

Kate stepped forward to the woman. “Thank you for taking such good care of her,” she said.

“It was my pleasure, really.”

After giving
Phoenix a kiss, the flight attendant moved on. Phoenix looked at Bellucci and wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got funny hair.”

“Mind your business,” McAlary said. “His name’s Mikey Bellucci. And he’s a very talented boxer.”

Phoenix looked dubious. As they started to walk to the baggage claim area, Phoenix suddenly threw a perfect hook into Cullen’s stomach. It got his attention.

“Hey, what’s that for?” he asked.

The little girl folded her arms defiantly across her chest. “You haven’t said a word to me since I landed.”

“How could I? You haven’t stopped yapping.”

Cocking her arm, she was about to throw another punch when her father grabbed her.

“Enough,” he said. “Mind your manners, young lady.”

Phoenix stuck her tongue out at Cullen, but kept walking with the others. As they were approaching the stairs leading down to the baggage carousels, she finally looked up at Boff.

“Hi, Boff. So what are you doing here?”

“My wife sent me on a mission.”

“What kind?”

“A secret one.”

Phoenix
studied the two mobsters. “Who’re you guys?” she asked.

They looked at Boff for help.

“Private investigators who’re working with me,” Boff said.

They walked down the stairs.

“Are they as good as you, Boff?”

“Nobody’s as good as me,
Phoenix.”

After dropping the McAlarys off at the Biaggi house, Boff thanked his mob tail and drove off with Cullen and Bellucci.

“Man,” said Bellucci, “I thought I talked a lot. That kid put me to shame.” He tapped Boff on the shoulder. “Danny told me about the drug money angle you’re working on. Nino didn’t truck in drugs. He would never have gone for any deal involving drugs.”

“But they might not have told him,” Boff said.

“I understand that,” Bellucci said. “But what if he found out somehow and threatened to call off the deal? That could be why they killed him.”

Boff glanced in the mirror at the boxer. “How would Nino have found out?” he asked.

“I think the drug guy might’ve told him.”

“Why do you say that?”

Bellucci suddenly grabbed Boff’s shoulder. “Pull over here,” he said, pointing at a pool hall.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Shrugging, Boff cut into a parking space on Nostrand Avenue near the pool hall, put his car in neutral, and turned around to Bellucci. “Now what?” he said.

“Let’s go into the pool hall,” Bellucci said. “I want to win back the five bucks you conned me out of at Cheffy’s. You shoot pool, Boff?”

As pool halls go, this was a pretty shabby one. Lights that were too bright illuminated worn-out carpeting, drab walls with paint peeling in places, and ten tables whose Kelly green tops were badly faded. Only two of the tables were occupied.

Bellucci walked over to a gray-haired man sitting on a stool behind a counter by the cash register. The guy was reading
The National Enquirer,
whose front page headline was
:
SCIENTOLOGY DARKEST SECRETS REVEALED
.
The clerk put his paper down.

“We want a table,” Bellucci said.

“How many people you got playing,” the clerk asked.

Bellucci made a face. “How many you see in front of you, pal?”

“Don’t get wise with me, sonny. How many?”

“You wanna a head count?” Bellucci said. “Fine.” Bellucci tapped his own chest. “One.” He pointed to Boff. “Two.” Then to Cullen. “Three. Do you need help adding the numbers?”

“Look, wise guy,” the clerk said, his face turning red, “I’m
supposed
to ask. It gets hard keeping track of everybody who’s on the tables.”

“Everybody?” Bellucci waved his hand around the room. “You got a total of four people in this dump.”

At this point, Cullen stepped forward before Bellucci got them all thrown out. “Chill, Mikey.” He gently pushed Bellucci aside, then took out his wallet.

“What’s your hourly rate?”

“Four bucks an hour…
per
person.”

Taking out a ten dollar bill and two singles, Cullen dropped them on the counter. “We’re only gonna play one hour.”

The clerk scooped up the money, counted it very carefully (with a glance at Bellucci), then spoke. “Table eight. Second table from the back, left side.” Then he picked up his newspaper and went back to his story.

Bellucci looked like he was going to take one more parting shot at the guy, so Cullen grabbed his arm and led him away toward their table.

“Mikey,” he asked, “was that necessary?”

Bellucci shrugged. “The guy rubbed me the wrong way. What can I say?”

As they reached their table, Boff decided it was time to get down to business. “Mikey, so why do you think the drug guy, as you call him, told Nino?”

Without answering, Bellucci slapped a five dollar bill down on the table and then turned to Boff. “First let’s see your five.”

“Play with Danny,” Boff said. “I haven’t shot pool in years. I’m too rusty.”

“Cover my bet or Mikey’s not talking about Nino.”

“That’d be a novelty, you not talking.” Shrugging, Boff took out his wallet, slid out a five, and laid it on top of Bellucci’s bet. “I hate pissing away money, but you drive a hard bargain.”

“Stripes and solids?”

“Whatever,” Boff replied.

Bellucci walked over to the rack and scrutinized each cue stick for at least a minute before picking one he liked. He took the stick over to the table and rolled it back and forth across it.

“Considering what a shithole this place is,” he said, “the table actually plays pretty fair. If I’da known we were coming here, though, I woulda brought my Predator Air Cue Stick. Nobody beats Mikey at pool!” He gave the stick another roll.

As Bellucci carefully chalked his cue tip, Boff grabbed the first stick off the rack without examining it. After finishing with the chalk, Bellucci tossed it to Boff, who made a couple perfunctory twists on the tip of his stick, then set the chalk down on the table rim.

“You break,” Bellucci said.

“I’m lousy at breaking. You do it.”

Cullen had been studying Boff’s eyes. What he saw in them made him pull out a ten dollar bill. “I’ve got ten on Boff,” he said, and slapped it down on top of the two fives. “You wanna match, Mikey?”

Bellucci frowned. “Danny, I can’t believe you doubt Mikey. Put it away. I don’t want your money.”

Boff nodded. “Mikey’s right. You shouldn’t bet on me. This is going to be a massacre.”

Cullen shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “My bet stands firm,” he said.

Bellucci shrugged. “Fine. Then I’ll take your money just to teach you it’s not smart to bet against Mikey Bellucci in pool. Even with a bruised wrist.” He extracted a ten from his wallet, laid it on the pile, scooped it all up, and set it down on the table rim. After racking the balls, he stepped back from the table and pointed his stick at Boff. “Break.”

With
an indifferent shrug, Boff stuck his stick at the cue ball and pushed his arm forward. The ball skipped off the side of the tip, missing the balls completely. “Told you I sucked,” he said.

Bellucci retrieved the cue ball and set it back down in front of Boff. “Try it again. But first….” He took out his wallet and put another five down. “It’s only fair that Mikey gives you two-to-one odds. I’m not a hustler. You win, you get ten, Mikey, only five. Deal?”

Boff sighed. “Look, play with Danny. I hate embarrassing myself.”

Bellucci put another five down. “
Three
to one.”

Boff gave his head a melancholy shake. “Why don’t you throw a twenty on the pile while you’re at it? For all the difference it would make?”

Bellucci started to dig into his wallet for the twenty, then hesitated. He looked first at Boff, who was the picture of innocence, then at Cullen, who was trying not to smile.

“Oh, man,” the young boxer finally said, “you’re suckering me.
Again
. Aren’t you? You’re gonna run the table, then you’ll tell me some bullshit story about how you were working a DEA case involving a pool hall and had to play every day for six months before you made the bust.”

Boff feigned surprise. “
Me
? Sucker
you
?”

Bellucci grabbed the money. “Bet’s off.” He handed Cullen back his ten, Boff his five and tucked the rest back in his wallet. “We’ll play for fun.” He looked at Boff again. “Break.”

This time Boff’s cue ball hit the rack, but was wide and only harmlessly knocked off the last two balls on the right.

Bellucci studied Boff’s face carefully. “I know how this con works,” he said. “You purposely look bad so Mikey makes his bet again.” He shook his head. “No way, pal. Mikey’s too smart for that.”

As Boff backed away from the table, Bellucci went to work, sinking five balls before finally missing the sixth. “If I had my Predator stick, I wouldn’t have missed that.”

Boff took another shot. He didn’t come close to sinking anything.

Still eying Boff’s face and looking for a tell, Bellucci moved to the table, quickly knocked down his last two balls, then called the eight ball right side pocket and banked it in.

Boff spread his hands. “Looks like you blew a chance at getting back your five,” he said. “I told you I’m lousy at pool.” He tossed his stick to Cullen. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get another chance sometime.”

Bellucci looked annoyed with himself for a minute, then burst out laughing. “Oh, man,” he said, “Mikey outsmarted his self, didn’t he?”

Boff nodded. “Yup. Now tell me about the drug guy.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this when you were talking with Damiano at Cheffy’s. I guess I was too zoned in on my tamarind chicken. I’m something of a gourmand, you know.”

“I think you meant gourmet,” Boff said.

“Whatever. Anyway, about a week before Nino was killed, I went to one of Sonny’s boxing shows with Coach and a couple guys from the gym.” Bellucci chalked his stick again while Cullen racked the balls. “My buddy was fighting that night, and Coach was thinking of training him. During one of the early fights, this Latino dude, who looked like he had money from the way he dressed and the bling he wore, walked over to Nino and asked him to step out in the corridor.”

Bellucci noticed Cullen was done racking. “You can break, Danny.” Then he turned back to Boff. “Mikey was worried the guy might have a knife or something, so I waited till Coach and the dude were out in the corridor, then I hustled up the aisle and stood by a back wall so they couldn’t see me. But close enough to help Nino if the dude tried something.”

Cullen sank one ball on the break and banked in another before missing. Still talking to Boff, Bellucci started cleaning the table.

“So the Latino said to Coach, ‘I know how you feel about me. But I’m glad to hear you’re on board.’” He sized up the two balls remaining on the table before choosing one and sinking it. “Nino didn’t know what the dude was talking about and said so. The dude said, ‘In Red Hook.’ Then Nino suddenly sounded really angry. ‘You’re financing this fucking thing?’ he said.”

Bellucci sank his last ball and turned back to Boff.

“Just like that, the Latino dude suddenly clammed up. Like maybe he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Nino asked him to answer the question twice more before the dude finally said, ‘Look, I’ve got to pick up my old lady for dinner. I’ve got nothing to say. Talk to Sonny.’ Then he walked out.”

Bellucci stopped talking long enough to call the eight ball right corner pocket and kiss it in.

“Then what happened?” Boff prodded.

“Nino came storming back into the arena. He walked right up to Ricci and said something to him. Then the two of them went out into the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms. They both looked angry. They were pointing fingers at each other. I knew they were fighting, but I was too far away to hear what they said. When Coach came back to our seats, he said we were leaving. No explanation why. On the drive home, he never said a word, and we didn’t ask him about what had happened.” 

Bellucci sat on the edge of the table before continuing his story. “After we picked up Ryan’s little motor-mouth kid, I just remembered what that corrections officer upstate said. About how Solis had been the fourth member of the Little Mafia. So I got to thinking that maybe the Latino dude I saw might’ve been him.”

“What did the guy look like?” Boff asked.

“Good-looking. Well built. Maybe in his forties.”

“Bald head and one gold earring?” Boff asked.

“Yeah. That was him.”

Boff laid a hand on Bellucci’s shoulder. “Mikey, that was a big help. And just to show you how grateful I am, I’m going to let you have that chance to win your five bucks back.” Taking out his wallet again, he put a five on the table rim. Bellucci quickly covered the bet.

“Losers break,” Bellucci said. He started racking for Boff. “Mikey’s a fair guy, so he has to call every shot. You don’t.”

Boff shrugged, slapped some chalk on the stick, and lined up the cue ball. This time when his arm shot forward he hit the lead ball dead-on, sending the balls exploding around the table. Two solids sank. “Beginner’s luck,” was all he said. Then, barely taking time to study the table, he began sinking balls effortlessly.

Bellucci looked at Cullen, who was grinning. “Oh, man, you knew he was a pool shark, didn’t you.”

“No. No, I didn’t.”

“Then why were you so eager to bet against Mikey?”

“Because Boff had this look in his eye that I’ve seen before.”

“Eye of the tiger?”

“More like eye of the mother in
Aliens
.”

Bellucci looked over at Boff as he finished running the table and then sank the eight ball. Despite himself, he broke out laughing.

“Son of a gun! You did it again.”