The Punishing Game (9 page)

Solis sat up. He seemed uncomfortable with the question. “I don’t know, man. I mean, anybody is capable of anything. You know that better than most. I don’t hang around with Yusef, so I couldn’t really say. Maybe you should talk to your lawyer friend, Dave Galloway. He helped Yusef beat a couple lawsuits.”

Boff looked surprised. “How did you know Galloway was a friend of mine?”

“Like I said, Frank, I asked around about you.”

Boff stood up. “Thanks for the info. If you ever need my help—”

Solis laughed. “Nothing personal, Frank, but I hope I never require your services.
Comprende
?”

“I understand completely,” Boff said. “But just in case.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. “Take one of these.” He handed the card to Solis, turned to go, then stopped. “One last thing. Did you really teach my mother how to use a shotgun?”

Solis laughed. “Yeah, man. Mama Boff’s pretty handy with it, too. Who knows, one day I might use her services.”

Boff put on a weak smile. “That was a joke, right?”

“Yeah, Frank, it was. Lighten up. Don’t you worry about Mama Boff. I got her back. I can’t live without my egg creams.”

Boff looked anything but reassured as he and Cullen left the brownstone.

Leaving Solis’ building with Cullen and heading for his rental car, Boff looked at Ortiz and winked, then waved at the kid, who took a quick step toward him but didn’t advance any further. Once in his car, Boff called Galloway’s office and was told the lawyer was in court downtown.

As Boff drove, Cullen thought over what Solis had told them. “So,” he said, “you think Yusef Force tried to have me killed to make sure his nephew would get a shot at the title?”

Boff shook his head. “It’s too early to say something like that. We need to know more about Yusef. First thing I want to find out is if he has any history of violence.”

“It’s hard to imagine someone shooting me over a fight.”

“It’s my experience that people sometimes commit murder for the craziest of reasons. Trust me. I’ve defended many of them. And don’t forget that Devon asked me if I liked hip-hop. I’m sure he knows I’m not into that kind of music. He said it for a reason. I believe it was to point me toward Yusef.”

Cullen looked out the window. “Where’re we going?”

“To a place filled with fond memories.”

After parking his car in a large outdoor lot on the corner of Pearl Street and Peck Slip in lower Manhattan, Boff led Cullen west on Pearl. The street was crowded with male and female suits. One woman rushing by accidentally banged her briefcase into Boff’s left knee and didn’t even stop. Boff looked at her back with a frown, then bent down to rub his knee.

“You okay?” Cullen asked.

“More or less.”

Keeping a careful eye out for other heat-seeking briefcase missiles, Boff resumed weaving through pedestrian traffic, Cullen still beside him. Soon he pointed to a tall building a block away. “There it is, Danny,” he said. “My old home away from home. The
U.S. District Courthouse. Scene of some of my greatest triumphs. Last time I was here, I was defending the Candy Czars.”

At this point, he spotted a curbside Sabrett cart and made a beeline for it. He bought a hotdog with chili, sauerkraut, and chopped raw onions.

“I would have bought you one,” Boff said as they reentered the sidewalk traffic, “but I know you’re too big of a snob to eat food from a street vendor.”

Cullen shook his head. “How can you eat something reeking of exhaust fumes? It’s probably been sitting in the same dirty water for days, loaded with bacteria.”

Boff took a big bite. “Yum, yum.”

“So who were the Candy Czars?” Cullen asked.

“Are you interested?”

“Not really, but you’re going to tell me anyway. So get on with it.”

Boff took another healthy chomp on the dog. Chili dribbled down his chin. He wiped it off with one finger, licked it clean, and then spoke through a mouthful of condiments. “You know those kids who come up to you on the street trying to sell you candy bars?” Cullen nodded. “Well, the Candy Czars ran a nationwide chain of these pint-size vendors. First time I met them, I was shown into a large office where two four-hundred-pound brothers sat behind desks eating chocolate from massive glass bowls. They were consuming it in inhuman portions. It was sickening to watch. Even for me.”

Cullen smiled. “That’s saying something. What crime did the fatsos commit? Poison candy?”

As he stuffed the last of the dog into his mouth, Boff shook his head. “The Czars did something a bit more sinister.”

“Like what?”

“A rival started cutting into the Czars’ grip on the industry, so the fatsos—as you called them—allegedly paid someone to tie up the rival in his bed and set the bed on fire. Five days later the rival died from burns over eighty percent of his body.”

“They killed someone over friggin’ candy bars?”

“Son, it was a multi-million dollar business.” Boff stopped walking. “Ah, here we are.”

Entering the building through a security door, they emptied their pockets in a wire basket and passed through a metal detector. Cullen made it through, but Boff buzzed.

“Step over here, sir,” an officer said.

Boff turned to Cullen. “This happens to me all the time.”

“It’s probably the metal in your brain,” Cullen said.

The cop ran a hand-held detector down Boff’s body until it buzzed by his left knee.

“Roll up your pants, sir.”

As Boff complied, he said to Cullen, “Metal screws. I had major knee surgery in college.”

The cop ran the detector over Boff’s bare knee. It buzzed. “Okay,” he said, “you can go on.”

After they had collected their stuff from the wire basket, Boff led Cullen down a corridor toward the courtroom.

“Why did you need knee surgery in college?” Cullen asked.

“Blew the knee out in my senior year while playing basketball. I was a star on the
Kean College varsity in Jersey.”

Cullen looked skeptical. “I find it hard to imagine you were coordinated enough to play basketball.”

Boff smiled smugly. “Actually, my friend, even losing most of my senior year after surgery, I still set the Kean career record for most rebounds. I also set Division III records for most rebounds.
And
I had feelers from the Knicks to come to their summer camp as a free agent. But in those days if you had knee surgery, you were never the same.”

Cullen still was dubious. “It’s hard to see you as part of a team.”

“What can I say? I was still idealistic back then. Worse than you are today. They even named me captain because I was so committed to the team.” He glanced at a couple doors and kept walking. “The lawyer we’re going to see was our team’s point guard and best defender. Dave went from defending the other teams’ best players to defending society’s worst criminals. Go figure.”

As they approached the courtroom, a man wearing a dark pinstripe suit headed their way.

Boff’s face lit up. “Ronnie Burk! It’s great to see you again.”

“Fuck you, Boff.” Burk spit on the floor but missed Boff’s foot. He kept walking.

“Who was
that
?” Cullen asked.

“An assistant D.A.”

“I gather you crushed one of his cases.”

“Actually, it was three straight. Burk was going to run for D.A. and had his party’s backing. But after the third case that I helped whip him on, the
Daily News
did a number on him. The paper ran a large front page picture of Burk at the prosecution table with his hands covering his face after the jury returned a not guilty verdict. Someone on the copy desk who must’ve been a Springsteen fan wrote the headline.” He paused and smiled.
“
BORN TO LOSE.
”

As Boff opened the doors to the courtroom, exceptionally cold air hit them. Cullen tugged Boff’s arm. “Why’s it like an icebox in here?” he asked.

“Judges don’t like to sweat.”

Boff chose a bench toward the back, where they sat down and listened while the prosecutor questioned a witness. After several minutes, Boff had a pretty good grasp of what
Galloway’s client was accused of. “Extortion,” he whispered to Cullen. “The mutt had apparently been sleeping with a rich, elderly woman and was bleeding her dry.”

After the witness was excused, the judge called a recess. Boff waited until most of the spectators had filed out, then led Cullen down the aisle toward the defense table. A stocky, mahogany-complexioned man turned, saw them coming, and broke into a smile.

“Chairman of the Boards!” the lawyer said. “What a pleasant surprise….At least I think it is.”

“I’m glad you’re happy to see me, Dave. Not many people are.” Boff pointed to Cullen. “This young man is Danny Cullen.”

“What’s he accused of?” Galloway said.

“Oh, Danny’s not a felon. He’s a professional boxer. A pretty good one, too. Or so he says. Let’s go for coffee.”

Galloway
took them to a coffee shop two blocks from the courthouse. As they headed for a booth in the back, a man sitting at the counter turned and shot Boff a look filled with pure venom.

“Who was that guy who looked at you funny?” Cullen asked.

Boff waited until they were seated in the last booth in the back before replying. “A judge,” he said. “He ran the most biased trial I ever saw, yet I still helped the defendant get an acquittal. I don’t know for sure if the judge took a bribe, but he looked pretty pissed about the verdict.”

A waitress with pencils behind both ears brought a coffee pot to their booth and quickly filled their cups. After taking their orders, she left for the kitchen.

Galloway looked at Cullen. “Did the Boffer here ever tell you how he got his nickname in college?”

“No, but I gather it was because he rebounded a lot.”

Galloway pointed to Boff. “We nicknamed this guy Chairman of the Boards because no matter what bounced off the backboard, Frank grabbed it. He was like a human vacuum cleaner. Of course, what Frank probably didn’t mention was one reason he got so many rebounds. Because he was a very dirty player. And quite good at hiding his fouls from the refs.”

“I’m absolutely shocked,” Cullen said.

“I made all-conference three times,” Galloway said. “But only because Frank fed me the lion’s share of his offensive rebounds. He never said why he favored me, because I was far from the best shooter on the team, but I suspect he knew I’d miss more than I made. Which would give him more chances to pad his rebounding stats. Right, Frank?”

Boff nodded. “Guilty as charged. Another reason was that Dave wrote term papers for me and helped me cheat on exams. I wasn’t a great student. My genius only came out later in life.”

Galloway looked at his watch. “Court resumes in forty-five minutes,” he said. “So what can I do for you, buddy?”

Boff put his coffee cup down. “Somebody staged a shootout between the Bloods and the Jamaican Posse. Danny and two trainers got caught in the middle. One trainer was killed, and Danny narrowly missed taking one in the head. The cops, of course, took the lazy way out. They’re calling the incident a drive-by shooting between gangs. They said the trainer was just collateral damage. I don’t for a minute believe that. I’m pretty certain someone used the drive-by as a cover to try and kill Danny.”

Galloway smiled. “You’ve always did have a very low opinion of cops.”

“And you didn’t?”

Galloway laughed. “Yeah, sure. Anyway, I don’t see how I can be of use to you.”

Boff picked his coffee back up, sipped, then put it back down. “I’ll get to that in a minute. First, you need to know that I’m looking for the contractor who set this little charade up.”

Galloway looked surprised at that. “Really? Aren’t you the guy who defends killers? Not hunts them down?”

“Without going into details, let’s just say my wife put me up to this.”

Galloway appeared amused. “Wait’ll I tell the boys. Frank Boff working the righteous side of the street again. That’ll get some laughs.”

Boff frowned. “Dave, for old time’s sake, would you not do that? I was a legend here on the Dark Side. I wouldn’t want my reputation tarnished.”

“Sure, Frank. Sure, no problem. But, again, what do you want from me?”

Boff leaned forward. “I’m told you’ve represented Yusef Force in a couple lawsuits.”

“What’s Yusef got to do with this?”

In response, Boff explained the theory he was working on. When he was done,
Galloway shook his head. “I don’t see it,” he said. “Don’t let Yusef’s moniker mislead you. He only works with rappers who avoid all that gangsta crap. That being said, can I say for sure that Yusef is against violence?” Galloway shook his head again. “It’s entirely possible that the only reason Yusef doesn’t sign gangstas is because he knows parents today are more likely to give kids money for rap if it isn’t violent.”

“How’d Yusef first make his money? Was it clean?”

“As far as I know.”

The waitress arrived, balancing three full plates on one arm, a
BLT with cheese fries for Boff, a buttered bagel for Galloway, and a hamburger without a bun, plus a side of low-fat cottage cheese for Cullen. She set them down, smiled, and walked to another table.

Boff glanced at Cullen’s plate. “How can you eat a burger without bread?”

Cullen spanked a ketchup bottle over his burger. “I have to make weight, remember?”

Galloway
studied the boxer’s face a minute. “Say, do you happen to be related to the great fighter Dan Cullen?”

Cullen nodded as he sliced off a piece of hamburger with his fork. “He was my dad.”

“Wow. I’m impressed. Your father was a tremendous boxer, a real warrior. I was a big fan of his. I hope you do as well.”

“He might,” Boff said, “but only if I can keep him alive. That’s why I need the
CliffsNotes version of how Yusef Force became a hip-hop mogul.”

After shaking salt over his buttered bagel,
Galloway took a bite, chewed for a minute, and swallowed. “Okay, here’s what I know. James Simms got his start as a DJ at a New York club. He worked with the club’s owner to bring in local talent and form groups. When Simms was prominently featured on several hit records, he changed his name to Yusef Force and quickly gained a reputation as a top mix-tape DJ. Legend has it that on one release he edited two hundred hip-hop records into a single sixty-minute mix.”