Free The Punishing Game by Nathan Gottlieb Page B

living?”
    “They resent it. And me.”
    “And you would’ve felt the same way about Dooley and me.”
    “No. No, I wouldn’t have.”
    “Sure you would. You were a Cub Scout and a Boy Scout leader, captain of your basketball team, vice president of your senior class.” She reached over and pinched his cheek. “You were such a mensch. Trust me. You woulda been angry with us. Then when you graduated college and were old enough to be told, you went into the DEA. Dooley didn’t think his federal agent son would like what we were doing.”
    Before Boff could react, the bell jingled and the door opened. In walked a thin, elderly, Hispanic woman using a cane. Thelma’s eyes brightened. She stood up and put a hand on her son’s shoulder.
    “Aida, look who’s here! My son, Frankie!”
    The old woman crossed the floor and gave him the once over. “Your mother always talks about you,” she said. “But you don’t look anything like I thought.”
    “What did you think I’d look like?”
    “Mean and tough. Like the guys on the Sopranos . You look like a mailman.”
    Thelma chuckled.
    “Well, it’s nice to meet you anyway,” Aida said. Then she turned to Thelma and handed her a slip of paper and a ten dollar bill. Folding them together, Thelma put them in her apron pouch.
    “I changed my number,” Aida said. “My luck, the old one comes in today.”
    “Frankie, give Aida one of your business cards.”
    “Why?”
    “She might need your help one day.”
    Boff looked amused. “Aida, are you planning on robbing a bank?”
    She shook her head. “Not me! My son Jorge robs grocery stores once in a while. I worry he might get caught.”
    Not so amused now, Boff handed her a card from his wallet. Slipping it into the large black purse hanging from her arm, she said, “Nice meeting you, Frankie. You’ve got a wonderful mother.” Then she turned and shuffled out of the store.
    Boff watched, then turned back to his mother. “Mom, if you really take numbers for Solis, you might be able to do a favor for me.”
    “Ask it.”
    “Do you know anybody who can introduce me to him?”
    “Sure.” She walked behind the counter, picked up the phone, and dialed.
    “Enrique? Thelma Boff. I need a favor. My son Frankie is here from Las Vegas. He’d like to meet you. Frankie’s a private investigator. You ever get in trouble, he’s the best there is. Ask around about him. … Thanks, Enrique.” She hung up the phone.
    Boff was staring at her in disbelief.
    “He comes in for my egg creams,” she said. “Nobody makes egg creams anymore.”
    “Boy, next thing I know you’ll be telling me you keep a shotgun behind the counter.”
    “Remington. Pump-action.”
    “Oh, no, you don’t.”
    “Oh, yes, I do! Enrique bought it for me and taught me how to use it. He worries I might get held up one day.”
    Boff threw his hands up. “Jesus Christ, Mom. You’ll wind up shooting your foot off.”
    “Chill, Frankie. Enrique taught me good.” She poked him in the chest. “What an old fart you’re becoming in middle age.” Then she picked up a piece of paper from the counter by the register, wrote something down, and handed it to him.
    “This is the address for Enrique’s bookmaking operation. It’s in the basement of a three-story brownstone. Enrique converted the top three floors into a triplex. That’s where he lives. His brother Fernando takes care of the building where he moves his drugs.”
    Boff pocketed the paper, stood up, and kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s have dinner when I get a break in the case.”
    Thelma’s face lit up. “I’d love to! We could go to Katz’s Deli. I haven’t had a good pastrami sandwich in years.”
    “You got it.” As he turned to go, his mother said, “You be careful, son. I’m worried about you.”
     

Chapter 14
     
    Walking into the precinct, looking dog-tired and defeated, Monetti and Colligan noticed somebody new sitting behind Captain Burgess’s desk.
    Monetti