The Punishing Game by Nathan Gottlieb

were trying to kill my friend. I think you know that.”
    Andre folded his arms defiantly across his chest.
    “I brought you guys a present,” Boff said, still in a friendly voice. “Let me get it from my car.” He walked over to his car trunk. The second he opened it, the gang members whipped out their guns and pointed them at him. Boff held his hands up in mock surrender. “Relax, guys, I got you a treat.” With the guns still trained on him, he reached into the trunk and pulled out a case of Red Stripe beer.
    “Hot summer day,” he said. “I thought you guys might be thirsty.”
    Andre put his gun away. The others followed suit. Then the gang leader pointed to a heavy-set kid. “Patrick, fetch dem beers.”
    Patrick waddled over to Boff, relieved him of the case, and disappeared inside the clubhouse with it.
    “You know,” said Boff, “I was very impressed just now with how fast you guys pulled your guns on me. From the accounts I’ve read about the drive-by, I would’ve thought you were slow on the trigger. The Bloods’ car was pretty much out of range before you were even able to fire back.”
    He winked at Cullen to make sure he’d digested that.
    Andre shrugged. “You think I gonna talk to you cause you done brung us beer?” he said.
    Boff plowed on. “As I understand it, you haven’t had problems with the Bloods before, right?”
    The Jamaican hesitated. “So?”
    “What’d you do to piss them off?”
    Andre looked surprised. “Nuthin’, mon. We be down wit’ de Bloods. Have this big party planned wit’ dem in a warehouse next month. DJ, MC, lots of chicks.”
    Boff shook his head. “I gather that’s been cancelled.”
    The Jamaican looked puzzled. “No. Why?”
    “Even after they shot at you?” Andre frowned. “Gotcha,” Boff said with a smile. “Why don’t we talk straight, mon ? You knew they weren’t shooting at you. That’s why you didn’t fire back until they were safely out of range.”
    A Dodge Charger suddenly pulled up behind Boff’s Honda. Out stepped Detective Damiano.
    “What the hell are you doing here, Boff?” she asked.
    Boff turned to her. “No hello? No nice to see you? You can’t still be mad at me after all these years.”
    “Wanna bet? That was my first case as a detective. You almost ended my career before it began. My supervisor said you made me look like a rank amateur in court.”
    Boff threw his hands out. “Well, you were. What can I say? I’m sure by now you’re a seasoned detective and a more worthy opponent.” He turned back to the Jamaicans. “Thanks for the heads-up, guys. You were a tremendous help.”
    As Boff began to open his car door, Damiano slammed it shut. Then she whipped out her pad and pen.
    “Tell me what they just told you,” she said.
    Boff smiled. “Gee, I’d love to, detective, but it’s privileged information.”
    He tried to reach for his door handle again.
    Damiano shoved him away from the car. “Don’t fuck with me, Boff,” she said. “I’m conducting a murder investigation. I can haul you in for obstruction of justice.”
    Boff smiled. “Look at me, Damiano. I’m Frank Boff. Not Joe Dipshit. You know and I know that I’m not going to be going anywhere with you. Now if you don’t mind, I have to take these young men to lunch. I promised.” 
    Damiano turned to Cullen. “What did they tell him?”
    Cullen shrugged. “Like Boff said, ma’am , it’s privileged information. Maybe if you have lunch with me, I might fill you in.”
    Boff got behind the wheel of his rental. When Damiano didn’t respond, Cullen and Bellucci got into the back seat.
    Damiano looked beyond pissed. She tapped hard on Boff’s window with her fist. He rolled it down.
    “If you interfere with my case, I’ll be crawling up your ass.”
    “Thanks for the offer, detective, but I’ve already had my enema this month. You have a nice day.” 
    Boff waved at Damiano as he drove off, then slid in a CD and turned the volume up high.