The Payback Game Read Free

investigative reporter New York has ever seen. He worked for the Daily News until he retired.”
    “ So what does he want with you? They indict him for something?”
    “He didn’t say.”
    “But you’ll meet with him anyway.”
    “Sure. If only out of curiosity.”
    “My workout’s done in ten minutes. Wait and I’ll go with you.”
     

Chapter 3
     
    On the drive from Brooklyn into Manhattan, Boff turned down the volume on a Buddy Holly and the Crickets CD and gave Cullen the CliffsNotes version of the retired reporter’s career.
    “Cassidy started out as a copy boy at the News . Worked his way up into covering the crime beat, and eventually became the paper’s lead columnist. He was known as a guy who wore out shoe leather rather than working the phone.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “It means, my uneducated friend, the man got off his ass and pounded the streets looking for stories. Legend has it that he found his best sources in bars frequented by cops and firemen. He also had good contacts inside the various mobs. Several of Cassidy’s columns won awards, including one he wrote the day the first Space Shuttle was launched. I think it was 1981.”
    “What’d he write?”
    Before replying, Boff used his signal to make a right turn onto 1 st Avenue and head uptown.
    “Instead of going to Florida,” Boff continued, “and get ting spoon-fed quotes from NASA flaks, Cassidy rode the 42 nd Street Shuttle back and forth from Times Square to Grand Central Station.”
    “Why’d he do that?”
    “If you’ll let me finish, I’ll tell you. The gist of it was that Cassidy interviewed the train driver about whether he’d rather pilot the Space Shuttle or the shuttle he was running. It’s called thinking outside the box, Danny, and he did it better than anyone.”
     
    After finding a space a few doors away from Bailey’s Pub, Boff and Cullen stepped out of the car and walked to the bar. Knowing what the retired reporter looked like from his column picture, Boff spotted him sitting at the bar talking to a pretty young woman with long, unruly red hair. Boff also noted that Bailey’s looked like a typical neighborhood hangout, with low milky sconces, a dark tin ceiling, and an old brass-studded bar.
    Seeing Boff approach ing him, Cassidy slid off his chair and nodded. “Let’s take a booth.”
    Cassidy and the redhead sat on one side of the booth, Boff and Cullen on the other. In his mid-seventies, Cassidy was a heavy-set man with jowls, a thick nose, and dark, deep-set eyes. He nodded at the young woman next to him. “This is Hannah Riley. Granddaughter of one of my best friends. She covers crime and the courts for the Brooklyn Eagle.”
    Boff put a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “And this young man is—”
    “—Danny Cullen,” Cassidy said. “I still follow boxing. Danny, you’re quite the hotshot now ever since you jumped out of the ring after winning your championship fight and saved Boff’s worthless ass.”
    Thinking Cassidy was joking, Boff smiled, but when the retired reporter shook hands with Cullen and didn’t offer to shake his hand, he realized the guy had meant what he said. That was when he got the feeling this wasn’t going to be the most pleasant of conversations.
    “Danny,” Cassidy continued, “I often did columns on the big fights at the Garden. Especially when your father was fighting. Your old man was a helluva boxer . Tough as they come.”
    It was time to steer the conversation away from boxing. “Cassidy,” Boff said, “can I ask how you knew it was me when I walked in?”
    “First, because this is a neighborhood joint and I know everybody who comes here. Second, you were defending a killer several years ago who had murdered the son of a decorated cop I was close with.”
    Boff nodded. “Yeah. I remember that case. My client proved to be innocent.”
    “My ass , he was!” Cassidy snapped. “You and that sleazeball defense lawyer, Galloway, did an end run around the