Read Online The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) by Nathan Gottlieb - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nathan Gottlieb
Ads: Link
abrupt departure was answer enough.
As he finished his coffee and put away his pad and pen, he added up the things he had learned from the wife. The guy hit women. He had a bad temper and a macho personality. Taken together, those were the kind of things that could’ve made someone mad enough to want to kill him. He suspected the boxer’s wife might’ve felt that way herself many times. Damiano was right. He shouldn’t cross the wife off the suspect list.
On his way to the gym, Boff heard from DEA agent Schlosberg, who said his CIA source was not aware of any Cuban gang operating for Raul Castro in the States. Coupled with the things his friend Armando Perez had told him, Boff decided he was ready to drop that angle and look elsewhere for a motive. After giving a parking meter a case of blue balls, he climbed the gym stairs, walked inside, and took his customary spot, leaning against the wall closest to the door. He waited for McAlary to take a break so he could ask him for Gina’s phone number.
At the moment, the trainer looked like he was about to put Cullen through another of his unorthodox drills. He pointed to a beer keg standing upright in front of his boxer. “Go ahead now, Danny.”
Frowning, Cullen squatted, grabbed hold of the keg with both arms, lifted it to his chest with a grunt, and then slowly raised it overhead until his arms were fully extended. Then he reversed the process, set the keg down, and paused a moment to catch his breath.
“No stopping!” the trainer said. “Give me ten more reps!”
Boff watched as Cullen did as told. From the way the boxer was straining hard to do the drill, Boff figured the keg must be full. After nine reps, Cullen could barely get the barrel over his head and was unable to fully extend his arms.
“I can’t do it!” he said.
“Keep trying!”
The veins in his neck bulging as he tried one more time to get his arms fully extended, Cullen made it only half way.
“Can’t!” he gasped, then dropped the keg down hard on the floor, which caused it to bounce and start rolling straight at McAlary. The trainer slammed a foot against it to stop it. He glared at his fighter, who was bent over gasping for breath.
“Tired?”
Cullen didn’t even look at him. “Of course I’m fucking tired.”
“Too bad. Now go do the sled.”
“No way! Screw that! I need a break first.”
McAlary smiled. “A break ? Tell me, lad, what happens in the ring when your body feels like it does now? Does the ref give you a… break ?”
When Cullen said nothing, the trainer pointed across the gym to a small bobsled. “Go ahead now, Danny. Play Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer and pull the sled.”
Inhaling, then letting out a heavy sigh, Cullen obeyed. The bobsled was sitting next to stacked weights. He lifted a two-hundred pound weight and set it down on the bed of the sled, grabbed another one the same size, and put it on top of the first one.
“Now give me four laps,” McAlary said.
Cullen started to open his mouth to bitch, but thought better of it. “If I keep complaining,” he muttered, too low to be heard across the gym, “the friggin’ guy’ll just make me do additional laps.”
So he grabbed the thick rope knotted to a hole in the sled’s front, slung it over his shoulder, and started hauling the heavy rig toward the ring. Reaching the ring, he began circling it with the sled. After four slow, grueling laps, he dropped the rope, plopped down on the apron of the ring, gasping for breath.
With a sly smile on his face, McAlary walked over. “Tired, son?”
Cullen figured if he said yes, the trainer would only make him do something equally back-breaking. So he tried to outfox him. “Nope! I’m just fine.”
“Good boy. Then give me fifteen whacks on the truck tire. After that, I’ll be kind enough to grant you a… break .”
Cullen groaned. There was no winning with this guy. Walking over to the huge truck tire, he picked up the sledgehammer, raised
As he finished his coffee and put away his pad and pen, he added up the things he had learned from the wife. The guy hit women. He had a bad temper and a macho personality. Taken together, those were the kind of things that could’ve made someone mad enough to want to kill him. He suspected the boxer’s wife might’ve felt that way herself many times. Damiano was right. He shouldn’t cross the wife off the suspect list.
On his way to the gym, Boff heard from DEA agent Schlosberg, who said his CIA source was not aware of any Cuban gang operating for Raul Castro in the States. Coupled with the things his friend Armando Perez had told him, Boff decided he was ready to drop that angle and look elsewhere for a motive. After giving a parking meter a case of blue balls, he climbed the gym stairs, walked inside, and took his customary spot, leaning against the wall closest to the door. He waited for McAlary to take a break so he could ask him for Gina’s phone number.
At the moment, the trainer looked like he was about to put Cullen through another of his unorthodox drills. He pointed to a beer keg standing upright in front of his boxer. “Go ahead now, Danny.”
Frowning, Cullen squatted, grabbed hold of the keg with both arms, lifted it to his chest with a grunt, and then slowly raised it overhead until his arms were fully extended. Then he reversed the process, set the keg down, and paused a moment to catch his breath.
“No stopping!” the trainer said. “Give me ten more reps!”
Boff watched as Cullen did as told. From the way the boxer was straining hard to do the drill, Boff figured the keg must be full. After nine reps, Cullen could barely get the barrel over his head and was unable to fully extend his arms.
“I can’t do it!” he said.
“Keep trying!”
The veins in his neck bulging as he tried one more time to get his arms fully extended, Cullen made it only half way.
“Can’t!” he gasped, then dropped the keg down hard on the floor, which caused it to bounce and start rolling straight at McAlary. The trainer slammed a foot against it to stop it. He glared at his fighter, who was bent over gasping for breath.
“Tired?”
Cullen didn’t even look at him. “Of course I’m fucking tired.”
“Too bad. Now go do the sled.”
“No way! Screw that! I need a break first.”
McAlary smiled. “A break ? Tell me, lad, what happens in the ring when your body feels like it does now? Does the ref give you a… break ?”
When Cullen said nothing, the trainer pointed across the gym to a small bobsled. “Go ahead now, Danny. Play Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer and pull the sled.”
Inhaling, then letting out a heavy sigh, Cullen obeyed. The bobsled was sitting next to stacked weights. He lifted a two-hundred pound weight and set it down on the bed of the sled, grabbed another one the same size, and put it on top of the first one.
“Now give me four laps,” McAlary said.
Cullen started to open his mouth to bitch, but thought better of it. “If I keep complaining,” he muttered, too low to be heard across the gym, “the friggin’ guy’ll just make me do additional laps.”
So he grabbed the thick rope knotted to a hole in the sled’s front, slung it over his shoulder, and started hauling the heavy rig toward the ring. Reaching the ring, he began circling it with the sled. After four slow, grueling laps, he dropped the rope, plopped down on the apron of the ring, gasping for breath.
With a sly smile on his face, McAlary walked over. “Tired, son?”
Cullen figured if he said yes, the trainer would only make him do something equally back-breaking. So he tried to outfox him. “Nope! I’m just fine.”
“Good boy. Then give me fifteen whacks on the truck tire. After that, I’ll be kind enough to grant you a… break .”
Cullen groaned. There was no winning with this guy. Walking over to the huge truck tire, he picked up the sledgehammer, raised
Similar Books
