The Payback Game (17 page)

Boff had just finished taking a shower the next morning and was getting dressed when Wallachi called with an update on the SUV.

Frank, somebody picked up the church vehicle. My op said it was a kid around twenty wearing baggy pants, a heavy metal T-shirt, and sneakers with the laces undone. Hardly looked like the type to be part of a church that spells ‘sunlight’ S-O-N.

“The kid was probably just hired to pick up the car and drive it somewhere. Let me know where he drops it off.”

Twenty minutes later, Wallachi called back.

The kid just parked it in a garage on
Sterling Place near Nostrand in Brooklyn Heights. After that, he walked out of the garage and disappeared into a subway station down the street. I told my guy to stay on the garage to see if anyone picks it up.

“Negative, Pete. Whoever owns the vehicle might not use it right away. It could sit there for days. I don’t want your op wasting his time—not to mention my money. Just tell him to sit tight until you and I get there. I have a way of keeping an eye on that SUV without stationing an op there.”

How?

“I have a special
GPS tracker from MobileGuardian. Not only can you track the vehicle, but the device has an online alert which tells you when the car has been started and then sends an email to your computer and any mobile device you own.”

  And you can track it like that?

“Sure. All you do is log onto their website and stay on it at all times.”

How much did that baby cost you?

“Don’t ask. Its tracking and location functionality is powered by the same Global Positioning System the government uses. It’s perfect for a situation like this.”

How soon can you
get here to the garage?

“Depending on traffic, maybe forty minutes.

When Boff reached the garage, he immediately spotted Wallachi’s Crown Vic parked nearby. He parked his own car, walked over to Wallachi’s, and climbed into the front seat. In the backseat were Manny and Wallachi’s other op.

“Frank Boff, the new face in the back is Louie Bunevich.
A
nother Polack like me.”

Boff nodded. “Where’s the vehicle, Louie?”

“Second level.”

Boff handed Manny a slip of paper. “I want you to go to a website called MobileGuardian. This is my user name and password. Log on and change my email address to yours, both on your Blackberry and your home computer. I’ve already registered the SUV’s plate on the site, so all we have to do is attach the
GPS device that triggers the alert.”

“I’m on it,” Manny said.

“And, Manny, it’s important that you keep logged in
at all times
on the BlackBerry and your PC. We don’t know when they’ll pick the vehicle up, but once the SUV’s engine is started, you’ll get an immediate email telling you. When that happens, you let me know and keep tracking the SUV.”

“Frank,” Wallachi said, “what if they come for it at three in the morning?”

“Even if they do, when Manny wakes up in the morning, we’ll still have its new location.” Boff turned to the other op. “Louie, show me where the vehicle’s parked.”

Leaving the car, Boff and Louie walked inside the garage, found the SUV, and attached the MobileGuardian device.

Back inside the Crown Vic, Boff looked at his watch. “Okay, Pete, it’s eleven o’clock. Let’s resume surveillance on Galvani at three. We’ll need food, so bring along a couple bags of bagels. I’ll stop at a bakery near my apartment where they have great éclairs.”

“Do you have to bring Hannah along?” Manny asked.

“See you later,” Boff said. He went back to his own car.

***

Cullen didn’t like leaving Hannah alone and unprotected while he and Bellucci were working out, so he took a shot and talked her into coming to the gym with them for the morning session.

It hadn’t been an easy sell.

“Not a chance,” she muttered from behind her closed door.

“Listen, I can understand that you hate boxing,” he began. “A lot of people are turned off by the violence and the blood. But the gym isn’t like that. It’s probably more interesting than most fights. Why not check it out? What else do you have to do before we start tailing Galvani again? And as a bonus, Mikey and I will take you to lunch. Anyplace you want.”

With more prodding, Hannah eventually consented to go.

Once inside the gym, Cullen grabbed a folding chair and positioned it by the door so she could pop out for fresh air when the heat and the smell got too much for her.

“Why don’t you have air conditioning?” she asked.

“Boxers have to sweat off pounds in order to make the official weight limit for a fight. The heat helps you do that.”

While running on the treadmill, Cullen kept an eye on her. She had her head buried in a book. Eventually, though, curiosity got the best of her. She closed her book and checked out what was going on at the gym.

Cullen wondered what she made of the fighters performing McAlary’s unorthodox drills. Bellucci was in the ring sparring with another guy, but h
is roommate wasn’t wearing gloves. Only his sparring mate had them on. Bellucci also wasn’t throwing punches, just moving his upper body and feet to avoid getting hit. One of the other boxers was using a sledgehammer to pound the truck tire. Another guy was shadowboxing while McAlary threw tennis balls at his head. When Cullen got a break, he walked over to her.

“See anything interesting?” he asked.

“I don’t know if I’d call it
interesting
, but it certainly was
weird
. Why doesn’t your roommate have boxing gloves on?”

“It’s a defensive drill designed to help you to avoid punches by moving your body.”

“And the truck tire? Do you really get something out of hitting it with that big hammer?”

Cullen nodded. “That hammer weighs twenty pounds. By the time I’ve given the tire fifteen good whacks or so, my arms feel like lead.”

“What good does that do you? And what’s up with the boxer who’s getting tennis balls thrown at his head?”

“To answer your first question, hitting the tire with the hammer adds strength in a natural way. Maybe a better way than lifting weights. As for the tennis ball drill, well, you see, when you’re throwing punches in the ring, your opponent isn’t going to just stand there and let you hit him like he’s a punching bag. He’ll be firing counter shots back at you. The tennis ball drill forces you to move your head while
you’re punching to avoid those counter shots.”

“I have to admit this is nothing like I thought it would be. It seems like a strange way to train.”

“It is, I guess. But the drills help make us better boxers. That’s all that counts. Mikey and I will be done in another half hour. Did you decide where you want to go for lunch?”

Hannah chose a vegan restaurant in Park Slope called
The V Spot. When Cullen opened the menu and saw what was offered, he groaned.

“Did you bring me here as punishment?”

“You exposed me to boxing,” she replied. “Now I’m going to introduce you to vegan food. Don’t pass judgment until you’ve tried it.”

They sat on the backyard patio at a glass-top table. The redhead ordered pumpkin seed-crusted lentil patties, which came with roasted garlic mashed potatoes and a salad. Bellucci said, “I’m going to throw caution to the wind and order kale tostadas. Whatever kale is.” Cullen, who was not an adventurous eater, figured they couldn’t poison him if he ordered the large house salad
.

After the food arrived, Bellucci jumped on a tostada, took a bite, and then nodded his approval.
“This is pretty good,” he said. He pointed at Hannah’s plate. “Can I try a piece of your patties?”

She broke off a wedge with her fork and put it on Bellucci’s plate. He ate it right away. “This is
really
good,” he said. “I’m definitely going to order the patties the next time I come here.”

Hannah looked across the table. “So, Danny, how’s your salad?”

Cullen shrugged. “Tastes like salad. I’m not going to eat the red onions and this funky-looking white stuff, though. What is it?”

“That’s the tofu,” Hannah replied. “It’s got lots of protein.”

“Then you can eat it.”

With a shrug, she picked the tofu out of his salad with her fork and put it on her plate.

“Hannah,” Bellucci said, “I’ve been wondering about something. How come, with your two fancy college degrees, you’re working at a little paper like the
Brooklyn Eagle
?”

The redhead put her fork down. “I could’ve hooked on with one of the big city dailies, but they would’ve just had me doing research for veteran reporters most of the time.
Occasionally
they might let me write boring stories about things like farmers’ markets and community board meetings. The
Eagle
, on the other hand, was so thrilled to get someone out of the Columbia School of Journalism that they gave me what I wanted. The crime and court beat. What I’m hoping to do is break a string of splashy stories for the
Eagle
. Then I’m sure I can land a job with some substance to it at the
News
or maybe even the
Times
.”

Her cell phone rang. She put it on speaker so she could use both hands to eat, and set it down near her plate.

“Hi, Uncle Mike. What’s the latest and greatest?”

I’m looking for Boff. I’ve been calling his cell, but he doesn’t answer. Is he with you?

“No.”

Cullen leaned closer to the phone. “Mike, Boff’s in court,” he said. “He’s working on the defense team for a surgeon in a malpractice case. What’s up?”

I got to thinking about Maloney’s father retiring on disability to Jacksonville and not having a listed phone number. So I asked my friend in the union for the address they send his retirement and disability checks to. Then I called a New York cop I knew who’d moved to Jacksonville after he retired. I gave him the father’s address and asked him to pay Maloney a visit. Long story short, the ex-cop got me Maloney’s cell number.

“When you called the father,” Hannah said, “did he have anything useful to say?”

He pretty much confirmed what my union contact told Boff. That before he moved to Florida, his son seemed troubled by something. I asked him what it was, and he told me Patrick had come over for dinner one night and his face looked pretty banged up. All his son would tell him is that he had a run-in with a Hells Angel. The son said the Hells Angel looked worse. Then the kid dropped the subject.

“What’s that tell us?” Hannah said.

It might be an indication that Maloney was mixed up with the Angels. Although it’s also possible he just had a brawl with one of them at a bar. But considering that Galvani was Maloney’s partner, I’m inclined to think there’s a connection.

“Did you tell the father you believe his son was murdered?”

No, I didn’t think there was anything to gain by doing that. Why upset the guy? Meanwhile, where are you? It sounds like you’re eating.

“The V Spot.”

What kinda joint is that?

“Vegan.”

Come again?

“A strictly vegetarian restaurant.”

And Cullen’s eating that crap, too?

“Yup,” she said. “I’m having pumpkin seed-crusted lentil patties. I could bring an order back to you if you want.”

Sure. I could feed it to Bailey’s dog. That mutt eats any kind of garbage. Danny, do me a favor. Call Boff when he gets out of court and tell him what Maloney’s father said to me about the kid’s fight with a Hells Angel.

After lunch they walked back to the gym. Bellucci went inside to get ready for his afternoon workout. Hannah and Cullen waited outside on the steps for Boff, Wallachi, and the crack op.

“When your shoulder’s normal,” Hannah said, “do you work out twice a day like Bellucci?”

“Yup.”

“When do you have time for fun?”

Cullen shrugged. “Training
is
fun.”

“Okay. But what do you do for kicks
after
you’ve finished your second session?”

“Not much, really. I’m usually too tired to go anywhere. So I make dinner or order takeout and watch a movie.”

“Sounds boring.”

He shrugged. “To you it does. Not to me. I love boxing. It’s all I really want to do.”

“No girlfriends, lover boy?”

He shrugged again. “I’ve had a few. Not too often, though. I just don’t have the time. The last one I had, a few months ago, turned out to be living a double life. Law school student at Columbia
and
high class hooker.”

Hannah looked surprised. “Really? Did you pay her?”

“No, I didn’t pay her.” He looked insulted. “I didn’t even know she worked for an escort service until after she was dead.”

“How’d she die?”

He looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

***

Wallachi tailed Galvani from the precinct straight to Sunny’s bar, where he parked and went inside. A few minutes later, Monetti and Laterza showed up on foot and also walked into the bar. A few minutes after that, the longshoremen came back out with Galvani and got into his Mustang and drove to a U-Haul rental and storage facility on Flatbush Avenue. When Galvani drove into the lot, Wallachi pulled over down the street.

“Frank, what do you make of this?”

Boff gave it some thought. “Well…my best guess? If they have raid jackets, bullet-proof vests, handcuffs, and police-style radios—not to mention safe guns—I can’t see them leaving that kind of stuff in an insecure garage with the SUV. Nor would they keep it at their apartments. They wouldn’t want evidence on their own premises. A secure storage facility would be the perfect place. Presumably rented with false ID. Unless you have a better idea?” 

“No, that makes sense. It also means we may be going on a raid.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Fifteen minutes passed before the red Mustang came back out. Wallachi tailed it all the way to a remote warehouse and factory district in Red Hook. Galvani finally turned onto a street where there weren’t any pedestrians and m
ost of the buildings were boarded up.

Not wanting to risk being seen, Wallachi didn’t make the turn. Instead, he pulled over on the corner. From there, they watched as the detective drove down the block and stopped in front of a squat, two-story, red brick building. All of its windows were boarded up. There was a wide, boarded-up portal on the right side of the building.

After Galvani parked his Mustang, he and the longshoreman got out of the car. Wallachi turned to Boff. “This looks like it, Frank.”

“It’s not exactly a garage,” Hannah chipped in.

“Maybe it is,” Boff said.

“What do you mean?”

“Manny,” Boff said, “use your zoom lens to focus on that portal.”

Taking out his camera, Manny attached his big lens and zoomed in.

“Now hand it to me,” Boff said. When he had the camera, he zoomed in even closer and studied the portal. “There appear to be three hinges on one side that are relatively new-looking. There’s also a doorknob with two padlocks. The doorknob and those locks also look new.”

“Maybe,” Wallachi said, “they converted the portal into a makeshift garage door.”

Galvani walked over to the portal and took something out of his pocket. Boff trained his camera lens on him. “It looks like he has a key in his hand….Yup. He just unlocked the two padlocks.”

He handed the camera back to Manny. “Start shooting.”

As Boff and his crew watched, Galvani swung the portal door open. Then the cop and the longshoremen walked to his Mustang, and each of them pulled a large black trash bag out of the trunk. They carried the bags through the portal and closed the door behind them.

“I’m betting,” Boff said, “that they picked up those bags at the U-Haul facility and they contain raid paraphernalia.” He turned back to the crack op. “Manny, did you get all that?”

“Sure did.”

“When they come back out—hopefully in the SUV—make sure you get a clear shot of the car leaving the garage.”

Fifteen minutes later, the garage door swung open again. Out came a white SUV. There was something printed on the side of it.

“Manny, what’s that lettering say?” Boff asked.

“NYPD on the front side door. The backseat door has Courtesy, Professionalism, and Respect on it.”    

“Bingo!” Wallachi said.

After the SUV came to a stop on the street, Galvani stepped out of the driver’s side. Now he was wearing a raid jacket. He walked over to his Mustang, got in, and drove it into the garage, then walked back out and locked the door behind him. He went back to the SUV and got behind the wheel.

Boff tapped Wallachi’s arm. “Pete, if he comes this way, drive straight ahead.”

But the SUV took off in the opposite direction. As Wallachi started to turn onto the street to follow, Boff reached over and grabbed the wheel.

“Let’s wait. Give them get a good head start. We can’t take a chance in this low traffic area of him spotting us. We can use the
GPS to keep tabs on where they’re going.”

With a nod, Wallachi kept his car well behind the SUV. Once it reached
Brownsville, Boff felt there was enough traffic to risk getting closer.

“Close the gap to about a block,” he said.

The SUV eventually turned onto a street lined with tenements and pulled over and double parked in front of a three-story, row house. Wallachi stopped a half block away on the opposite side of the street.

“Get pictures of this, Manny,” Boff said.

When the cop and the longshoremen stepped out of the SUV, they were holding their handguns. The dock workers were also wearing raid jackets like Galvani’s. Manny snapped pictures as they jogged to the front door of the building.

“Describe what you’re seeing as you take the shots.”

“Galvani just used the handle of his gun to break the glass on the door…. Now he’s reaching inside the broken window to unlock it…. They just disappeared inside the building.”

“I’m assuming,” Boff said, “that we’re close enough for you to get good, clear shots.”

“Yup.”

“When they come back out of the building, here’s what I want you to do. Zoom in
just enough so you can frame the three of them and the NYPD vehicle together. Take a few shots like that. Then zoom in closer and get faces. Say, from the chest up. When they leave the building, they’ll be carrying either a suitcase or a duffle bag containing stolen drugs and probably cash. Most likely, they’ll stow the bag in the back of the SUV. I want you to shoot that whole sequence. After they close the car’s rear door and move away from it, zoom in on the license plate and shoot it.”

“How soon will they be coming out?” Manny asked.

“Depends on whether they encounter resistance,” Boff replied. “Even if they do, they’ll want to get out of there as fast as possible in case a patrol car spots them and causes problems.”

The so-called raid must have gone without a hitch. Less than ten minutes after they went inside the building, they hustled back out. Galvani was carrying a large green duffle bag, which he dumped in the back of the SUV. Then the three men got in the vehicle.

As Wallachi followed them back to the garage in Red Hook, Boff told Manny to make sure he shot everything that happened.

They watched as Monetti stepped out of the SUV, walked over and unlocked the garage door, then swung it open and disappeared inside. Moments later, he backed the Mustang out of the garage and parked it on the street, after which Galvani drove the SUV into the garage. The longshoremen went in, and they closed the door behind them.