Rogue Mobster : The Untold Story of Mark Silverman The New England Mafia [1 ed.] 9781467526654, 9780984233380

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THE UNTOLD STORY OF MARK SILVERMAN AND THE NEW ENGLAND MAFIA

by Mark Silverman With Scott M. Deitche

strategic media books, llc

Copyright 2012 by Mark Silverman and Scott M. Deitche All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast. Requests for permission should be directed to [email protected], or mailed to Permissions, Strategic Media Inc., 782 Wofford St., Rock Hill Sc 29730.

13-digit ISBN 978-1-4675-2665-4 10-digit ISBM 1-4675-2665-7

acknowledgments

A huge thanks and show of appreciation to Elizabeth Place, who helped Mark put his thoughts onto paper and fashioned the original structure of the book. Without Liz’s editorial assistance, the book would never have made it this far. Scott wants to thank Rick Warner; the always entertaining Real Deal crew; his family (and their patience); Jesse DeGeorge; and Ron Chepesiuk. Mark would like to put the shout out to the Hill.

Note

on

Sources

A majority of this book is the first person experiences of Mark Silverman. In some cases supplemental material was used to verify stories and to give background on the overall history of organized crime in New England. Sources include: The Boston Herald, The Boston Globe, The New York Times, assorted court records, investigative reports from the Boston FBI field office and Massachusetts State Police, researcher Rick Warner, mob historian Allan May, My Life in the Mafia by Vincent Teresa, Underboss by Peter Maas, and Black Mass by Dick Lehr and Gerald O’Neill.

Ta b l e

of

Acknowledgments Note on Sources Introduction Prologue

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Chapters The Hit A Little History Prodigy The Scali Cap Legends of The Hill Behind Bars Making Plans Renegades Rising Paul D Earning The Willow Incident Double Agent Moving Marijuana Working The Angle Turning Points Barry Getting Made

Contents

3 5 9 11

11 17 31 41 55 66 76 82 90 106 122 130 140 157 165 175 183 187

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Joe D. Judas in The Crew Turf A Period of Transition Maria Billy A The Hit Mucka Pulling Away Bobby The Rizzo Crew Business As Usual The Beginning of The End

193 203 213 221 227 235 247 255 261 271 275 281 287

Epilogue

295

Introd uctio n

The New England underworld had a rough year in2011. On January 20, 2011, the FBI coordinated the largest ever sweep of Mafia suspects in the country. Over 120 alleged mobsters and associates were taken in, encompassing a dozen different cases involving Mafia families in the Northeast. One of the coups was the arrest of the now-retired boss of the New England Mafia, Louis “Baby Shacks” Manocchio. Shacks led the New England Mafia from his headquarters in Providence, since the Boston faction of the family had faced numerous takedowns from state and federal police. Manocchio’s retirement brought the power base back to Boston, but the North End mob was still battling ghosts from a decade before. Just under a month after the historic sweep, federal authorities closed in on a Boston mobster that had been on the run from the law since 1994, Enrico Ponzo. Back then, Ponzo was facing a drug indictment. He skipped town and headed west. He changed his name to Jeffrey John Shaw and was living on a small ranch in Marsing, Idaho, worlds away from the streets of Boston. On February 7, 2011, federal agents, acting on a tip, arrested Ponzo as he drove up to his home. But the biggest catch for law enforcement came on June 22, 2011, when federal authorities, acting on a tip, finally nabbed James “Whitey” Bulger, in Santa Monica, California. Bulger had been there for over a decade with his girlfriend, Catherine Greig. He was number one on the FBI’s Top Ten Wanted list.

Sightings of the elusive Irish mob boss had taken agents around the world. Some speculated that he was dead. Others thought that because Bulger had knowledge of the pervasive corruption in the FBI’s Boston office that the feds simply didn’t want to find him. And when they did arrest him and Greig they found an arsenal of guns, and $800,000 in cash. Bulger may have been long removed from the criminal underworld in New England, but he obviously had the street smarts and connections to live a comfortable life on the run. The Bulger and Ponzo arrests were parts of the final chapter of an underworld saga that had played out on the streets of Boston and Rhode Island since the late 1980s. Those events also helped Louis Manocchio ascend to the top spot in Rhode Island. The saga was a war for control of the New England Mafia, with the backdrop of Whitey Bulger and his Winter Hill Gang, a corrupt FBI department, and the shifting allegiances of mobsters looking to stay ahead of the law. Mark Silverman was coming up in the New England underworld during these days. Mark got to see the Boston mob wars of the ‘90s from both sides. He was with a renegade faction that was challenging the traditional Mafia, which he terms LCN (La Cosa Nostra) and he was with the renegade faction. His ties to the Winter Hill gang, starting from childhood, also brought an element to the story that’s so typical of the New England underworld.

Prologue

The Hit

December 1998 - Somerville, Massachusetts

“

It’s a trap. They’ll kill you.” Maria panicked. I could feel her small frame shaking through the phone. My instinct was to be with her, to hold her. I imagined the horrified look that I had seen on her face a hundred times before. It erased her beauty and unnerved me like no other threat. “It’s business,” I said as calmly as I could. “We expected this.” “This is your choice. You don’t have to go!” She screamed into the phone. Maria’s voice made my skin crawl. My head throbbed. She was right. I hated second-guessing my own decisions. I never second-guessed myself. Something was very wrong. “We knew Bobby was getting out of jail. He’s out and now I have to take care of it,” I argued. “Please don’t go. If you love us, if you ever cared anything about me you won’t go.” Maria’s anger turned to tears. “You know I’m through with Bobby. I want to be with you.” It was tearing me up inside. She had every right to feel desperate. I was walking into a death trap and I was gonna lose the one true love of my life. Years of pent up rage and guilt shot

T h e H it

through my mind. I was determined to protect myself at any cost, for Maria. All the loyalty I had pledged to the mob I now wanted to give to Maria. “Are you there?” Maria’s voice shocked me back to the moment. “It’s not about you. I’m the only one who can make this right. I love you and if I don’t come back you have to know this was the best time of my life.” “You are my entire life and I love you.” She was sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn’t take hearing anymore. Another call was coming through. “I gotta go baby.” I answered the other call but didn’t say anything. I knew who it was. “Don’t go to the restaurant in Medford. I’m goin’ to Charlestown to meet Johnny. We’ll be on Lower Broadway in Somerville in ten.” Bobby Rennell’s voice sounded strange to me. It all but confirmed my suspicions: I knew something was wrong. Meeting at a restaurant would have been safe. Meeting on the fly never is. It’s just business, I thought. I had worked out the peace in worse situations, and I could do it again this time. I’d been laying low for a while, trying to build a normal life with Maria. She was a beautiful woman. She’d captured my heart and made me feel like a father to her daughter. We tried to walk away from everything, but a lifetime in the mob wasn’t something I could just turn my back on. I got made the hard way in ’95 and I was proud of what I’d done. I’d risked my life and played a renegade Boston mob faction out of loyalty to La Cosa Nostra, during a vicious internal mob war that decimated the Patriarca crime family. For awhile, I didn’t know which side I was on. I was a businessman on the street and it was just business for me. It was all going through my head; my life raced before my eyes. 12

T h e H it

The Patriarca family, the true New England Mafia, had always found it difficult to swallow my Jewish last name. They had broken tradition and opened the books for my membership. It had never been done before. Lots of what I did had never been done before. On the way to Somerville, I realized that I wasn’t strapped– I didn’t have a piece. I didn’t really think I’d need one. Bobby and I had been the closest of friends; way back in the day I’d risked my own life to save his ass. I’d stood up for him to the renegade mob boss, Paul DeCologero, even though it wasn’t the right thing to do. We had holidays at each other’s houses and we always looked out for each other. He used to say, “Whether you’re right or wrong, I still got your back.” Looking back, I don’t know if not having a gun was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking then. I’d gotten too cocky to follow my instincts. One of the first things you learn on the street is that changing a meeting spot is the first sign of a set up. I drove on, but I had an uneasy combination of premonition and flashback. Bobby and I had been friends since the beginning; we’d hung together through the worst of the war. It was a friendship that had passed a lot of tests. All I could think was, “What about now?” I had always been loyal to La Cosa Nostra and the Winter Hill Gang, Boston’s Irish crime clan. I had played a dangerous game with the enemy renegade faction, dealing with them one day, shaking them down the next. I’d tried to bring Bobby into the LCN fold. But my mistake was trying to turn him while he was in prison. When he talked my cover was blown. His loyalty was to DeCologero and the rogue faction of the Patriarca Family, and to prove it he would have to be willing to kill me. Things had come to a head. 13

T h e H it

Driving down Lower Broadway, I spotted Bobby and Johnny in a car I’d never seen before. I immediately sensed a huge problem. I knew Johnny always drove a green Lincoln Continental. Why show up in a modified LTD? I hesitated before I jumped out of my car and into the backseat of theirs. Johnny was driving and Bobby was in the passenger seat. Nobody said a word! I had a bad feeling in my gut as the doors closed. My heart sunk when I noticed there were no door handles on the inside of the car. My suspicions were right, there was no escaping! Realizing what they had in store for me, I reached inside my pocket and grabbed my knife. I hid it in my right hand. Bobby broke the silence and asked me why I screwed Johnny over such a measly amount of money. I couldn’t believe he asked me that. Bobby gave me the impression that he had already straightened out that problem. I didn’t know for sure, but I had a feeling where the conversation was headed. After minutes of tense talk, Bobby accused me of betraying Paul. “You did this to yourself, Mark. You screwed Paul, you’re fucking my girl and you showed your true colors. You’re with them and you always have been. I know about the shake downs. I know everything.” He was breathing hard and red in the face. He was losing it and I was going to let him. “When you betrayed them, you fucked yourself because you fucked me.” Bobby screamed at me showing me his state of panic. It was clear in an instant that this was personal and he was out of control. I wasn’t going to let them use the car as a makeshift coffin. I made a plan. Joey began to plead with Bobby to calm down so we could take a ride and talk. If we left the parking spot, my life would be in their hands. I knew the drill too well. They would lead me to a secluded spot and abandon the car with my 14

T h e H it

body still in it. Another member of the hit squad would follow them and pick them up after they killed me. I was in control now. Bobby couldn’t contain his emotions. He was making this personal, not business. I challenged Bobby, “Yeah I fucked Maria.” He lost all of his self-control and threw caution to the wind. At that very moment I clenched my jaw, waiting for him to punch me. He turned in a split second and hit me hard. Before I could react he reached over the seat and smashed me again in my ribs. “After everything I’ve done for you, you treat me like a piece of shit.” Bobby cried as he hit me again. “How could you do this to me? I’m gonna kill you.” I pulled my knife and swung it hard at Johnny, grazing his neck. Bobby immediately went to his aid and tried to knock the knife away, breaking my pinky finger. This was the opportunity I needed. This wasn’t their original plan. I knew that Bobby had jumped the gun. There were too many people around for them to have planned to kill me right there. As the knife fell to the floor, Johnny reached his hand under the seat and grabbed a piece. My only exit was through the front seat passenger door, which was blocked by Bobby’s 250 pounds of muscle. I jumped over the seat pushing Bobby down on top of Johnny. As I made a break for the door, I could feel Bobby’s massive hand grabbing at the back of my shirt. I fought him off and opened the passenger door. I fell face first on the sidewalk. As I got up to run I could hear Bobby calling my name. He was pleading with me to come back. His cries sounded like a man who just realized his life was over because he’d fucked up bad. It wasn’t about me anymore. He botched the hit. I just kept running and thinking: how could he have been so stupid? 15

one

A Little History

By the time of the attempt on my life, it was clear that my career had hit a wall - a pending RICO indictment will do that. For most guys, the ‘wall’ is death, prison, or selling vinyl siding in Florida, but there are other ways out. Looking back, I can say that somehow I climbed the wall. I saw a future on the other side and I took it. But “the life” had been a hell of a ride while it lasted. Throughout the late ‘80s through the ‘90s (and even into the new century) the New England Mafia was wracked by a civil war. This has happened in all the families across the US, ever since the 1800s. Some guys don’t like taking orders from the bosses and they think they can run the operation better, so they start a war among the ranks. In the late 1980s in New England, it was a strong renegade faction that started a war against the long-standing, powerful Patriarca family. And I was there for a lot of it. I grew up in it, I lived through it and - and so far- I’ve beaten it! You have every right to judge me but don’t question me because this is the truth. By the way, because I owe my life to some stand-up guys (on the right and the wrong side of the law), some names have been changed. First, I need to give you a little history leading up to the war.

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

When most people think Mob, they think New York. The five New York families still influence mob territories across the country, including New England. The New York mob families are structured in pyramids of power with soldiers at the bottom and bosses at the top. The good guy vs.wiseguy, like the Giuliani vs. Gotti relationship, is the norm with law enforcement on one side and Italian mobsters on the other. And then there are the dirty cops and politicians that blur the good guy / bad lines. And while “bad guys parading as good guys” are everywhere, New England is in a unique class of corruption. Things are less structured here in Boston. Here in the metropolitan center of New England it’s a regular Irish stew of Italian meatballs, dirty politicians, and crooked FBI agents. During the ‘80s, we had the interesting ménage-a-trios of FBI Agent John Connolly, Massachusetts politico Billy Bulger and his brother mob boss Whitey Bulger all working together like our forefathers had planned it that way. The real distinction in New England hasn’t been so much about what side of law you’re on, but who are the “players” and who are the “played?” The one thing you need to keep in mind is that the New England Mafia, more commonly known as the Patriarca family, has always been in a tug of war between Providence and Boston, the two seats of power. Depending on where the boss was from, all the decisions would flow from there, sometime to the detriment of the other city. It led to some major rivalries, and in some way contributed to the breakdown of the whole operation in the early ‘90s. Western Massachusetts was the territory of the New York-based Genovese family, while Connecticut had Patriarca, Genovese, and Gambinos operating. But Rhode Island, eastern Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine were strictly Patriarca family territory. 18

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

New England Mafia Legend says that you have to be Italian to be made in the Mafia. I know different, but you’ll have to read on to learn about that. Italians in Boston first settled into the North End, Boston’s oldest residential neighborhood. Before the Italians landed, it was the center of Irish immigration, and then it was a mostly Jewish neighborhood. By the early 1900s Italians started moving in, and it maintains its Italian character to this day. In Providence, the Italian immigrants settled mainly into the neighborhood known as Federal Hill. There are various names floated about as the head of the New England Mafia in the early part of the 20th century. One name that is often mentioned is Frank Morelli. Morelli was a New York-based gangster who moved to Providence in 1917 and set up operations with his brother Joseph. Morelli was allegedly behind the infamous Slater and Mirill Shoe Company Robbery that led to the hanging of Niccolo Sacco and Bartolomeo Venzetti. Sacco and Venzetti were allegedly Morelli soldiers according to mob turncoat Vinnie Teresa. After Boston and Providence merged, Morelli faded from the picture and died in the mid-1950s. Another early Mafia name in Boston was Gaspar Messina, who came over from Sicily and started some businesses in the North End. He was a low-key guy who avoided the spotlight, like most of the old-timers. According to mob historian Richard Warner, “During his tenure as the New England leader, Messina’s name never received any press coverage. He is mentioned in the accounts of two known Mob leaders, Joseph Bonanno, a New York boss from 1931 to 1968, and Nick Gentile, a sort of Mr. Fix-it, and member at different times of different crime families, before fleeing a drug charge in 1937. However, some of 19

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

his men were mentioned in newspapers during this time period. In 1929, following the killing of Broadway gangster Frankie Marlow, several Boston men were picked up for questioning. One was Michael “Mickey the Wiseguy” Rocco and another was Phil Buccola.” Fillipo “Phillip” Buccola (or Bruccola, as some documents spell it) was Messina’s replacement as the boss in the local Mafia. Buccola was a former fight promoter who immigrated to Boston from Sicily in 1920. Some sources indicate that Buccola became boss as early as 1924, while others say that Lucky Luciano named him boss in 1932. And there was some who thought that Joseph Lombardo was the boss. Richard Warner stated “Willie Fopiano, who was involved with Boston organized crime from the 1960s to the 1980s, claimed that Buccola formed the Boston Mafia around 1930 with the assistance of Lombardo, Cucchiara, and others. He claims that Buccola was the boss, Lombardo the underboss, Cucchiara the consigliere, and for the capos, Henry Selvitella and Tony “the Canadian” Sandrelli. A 1936 report also names the leaders as Buccola and Lombardo, along with Daniel J. Carroll, a former police officer turned fight manager and bootlegger. Another informer who was a Mafia associate and never a member, Vincent Charles Teresa, claimed that New England was ruled by a council of mob bosses, and that the chairman of the council was Joseph Lombardo. Under his leadership, there were several sub-bosses, such as Frank “Butsey” Morelli of Providence, Rhode Island, Phil Buccola of East Boston, “Big Nose” Sam Cufari of Springfield, Massachusetts, Anthony Santonello of South End of Boston, Mickey Rocco, who worked for Lombardo, and Joseph ‘Don Peppino’ Modica.” 20

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

Buccola’s Italians were not the only gang around. One of the predominant organized crime groups in the city was the Gustin gang led by Frankie Gustin (Wallace) a former boxer who amassed over 35 arrests in his criminal career. His gang was based out of South Boston and active in bootlegging, which brought them into conflict with the rising Italian syndicate. On the afternoon of December 22, 1931, Gustin and two of his henchmen, Barney Walsh and Timothy Coffey, were going to a meeting with mobster Joe Lombardo. Lombardo owned an importing company but had extensive interests in speakeasies across Boston. There was reportedly a beef between Gustin and Lombardo about one of the speakeasies. When the Irish gangsters entered Lombardo’s office they were met with gunfire. Gustin stumbled down the hall to a law office where he gave the secretary a sight to remember as he died on the floor in front of her. Walsh tried to run but was killed. Coffey survived. Lombardo was held for probable cause after he reappeared following Gustin’s murder. He fled town to let things cool off. Two of his henchmen, Frank Cucchiara and Salvatore Congemi, were held as well. Coffey refused to testify against Lombardo and no charges were filed. The Gustin gang was effectively out of the picture. The Italians continued their stranglehold on the North End and East Boston while the Irish kept South Boston and Charlestown. The other neighborhoods and surrounding towns were up for grabs. Lombardo became Buccola’s consigliere, but the underboss position was reserved for Raymond Patriarca Sr., who was born on March 17, 1908 in Worcester. His parents moved the family to Providence when he was three years old. He became known as a strong-arm enforcer and guarded liquor shipments 21

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

during Prohibition. Unfortunately, his reckless nature got him into trouble. He had 28 arrests for a variety of crimes: hijacking, gambling, auto theft, armed robbery, adultery (no doubt a relic blue law at the time), white slavery, conspiracy, and violation of the Mann Act which prohibited interstate transporting of women for reasons of prostitution. He pretty much covered it all. Patriarca gained notoriety when he was sentenced to five years in Charlestown State Prison in September of 1938. By December of that year he walked out with a pardon, courtesy of a Father Fagin, a respected man of the cloth. Only there wasn’t any Father Fagin as all the newspapers were quick to point out. The ensuing uproar caused a political firestorm. A state politician who supported the pardon, Daniel H. Coakley, was impeached and Patriarca had to serve out the remainder of his sentence. That event gave Raymond the underworld respect that would support him the rest of his life. According to Patriarca he was a legitimate businessman, working as a salesman; a manager of Louie’s Restaurant in Providence; a bellboy; a professional bettor on horses; owner of Sherwood Manufacturing Company, an apparel manufacturer; a mortgage broker; and owner of a vending company. But to the underworld, Patriarca’s low profile enabled him to guide the New England Mafia out of the shadows of the Irish gangs and into a fairly sizable entity. Patriarca worked his way up to capo, though it’s not known when he was formally ‘made’ into the crime family. A pivotal event in New England Mafia family history occurred on April 27, 1952. Over 80 crime figures from across New England attended a party in Johnstown, Rhode Island, to celebrate the ascension of Raymond Patriarca to boss of the New England family, which became known in law enforcement and 22

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

media circles as the Patriarca family. Former boss Phillip Buccola had decided to retire to Italy where he owned a prosperous chicken operation. He would stay there until his death at the age of 101 in 1987. Patriarca’s desire to remain under the radar failed to stem the tide of publicity that dogged him throughout the 1960s. The McClellan Commission hearings in 1963 gave an unprecedented look into organized crime across the country. And one of the families profiled was the New England Mafia. The Irish groups didn’t seem to generate as much interest, but a nicely presented flowchart listed the Rhode Island and Boston Mafia factions. At the top was Phillip Buccola, who had by then retired to Italy. Below him was the boss, Patriarca and under him was Gennaro J. “Jerry” Angiulo, underboss of the crime family. Other names like Henry Tamelo, Larry Zannino, and even old Joe Lombardo were on the charts. Frank Cucchiara’s name appeared near the top of the heap. Cucchiara was the New England representative at the ill-fated 1957 Apalachin meeting at the estate of upstate New York mobster Joe “the Barber” Barbara. Cucchiara had close ties to prominent New York Mafioso, and reportedly arrived to the meeting with Bonanno family bigwig Natale Evola, and Gambino mobsters Carmine “The Doc” Lombardozzi and Joseph Riccobono. Interestingly, many of Cucchiara’s arrests were from upstate New York where he ran stills during Prohibition. Patriarca’s reign as boss was significant in that it moved the headquarters of the New England Family out of Boston’s North End to the predominantly Italian Federal Hill area of Providence. He held court from his “office” at National Cigarette Service on Atwells Avenue for remainder of his criminal career. Under Patriarca’s leadership, the family’s influence extended throughout New England and into New York State. The Patriarca’s also 23

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

established businesses in South Florida, where wise guys from across the country set up shop, because it was an “open” territory not controlled by any one family. The New England Mafia prospered for 30 years under Raymond Patriarca’s rule, even when it was revealed that the FBI had planted a bug inside Patriarca’s cigarette company offices. Patriarca’s partner in the company was Phillip Carozza. He also employed Louis “The Fox” Taglianetti. The cigarette service was adjacent to Patriarca’s other business, the Coin-O-Matic Vending Company. The vending machine business was big in mob circles. It was a cash business and besides being a lucrative source of legitimate income, it served as a useful place to “wash” money from the rackets. Mobsters from St. Louis to New York to Tampa had a hand in candy machines, cigarette machines, jukeboxes, and later, video games. The Patriarca bug was in place from 1962 to 1965 and offered up a wealth of information that made headlines across New England. Investigators heard talk about hidden interests in race tracks, illegal gambling, gang wars, and Patriarca’s role in the Bonanno Crime Family war in Brooklyn. It made a lot of newspaper reporters happy, and it gave Patriarca some unwanted attention when national news weeklies like Life started reporting on the New England family. In typical media overkill, stories came out about how this ‘news’ would mean the end of the New England Mafia. They, of course, were wrong. The Bonanno conversations revealed the influence that Patriarca had in the National Commission, the ruling body of the American Mafia which oversaw operations and made decisions regarding disputes between and within crime families. Patriarca was called to New York on numerous occasions to sit in on meetings with members of the Bonanno family, led by Joe 24

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

Bonanno. Joe was in the midst of an inter-family war. Patriarca told a Bonanno mobster that Joe Zerilli from Detroit led the charge to expel Bonanno from the Commission. The Commission further stated that any Bonanno soldier who did not come to them and distance themselves from Joe Bonanno would not be considered “with” the rest of the New York families. Patriarca stated that he believed Joe Bonanno’s greed was the cause of the war and that it had led to his downfall with the Commission. While Patriarca was running his own family from Providence, Patriarca’s number two guy, Gennaro “Jerry” Angiulo, who was based out of the North End, was given a free hand to run the Boston faction. It was rumored that Jerry handed a bag full of cash, $50,000, and a promise of at least $100,000 of yearly tribute payments to Raymond Patriarca in exchange for protection from local gangsters who tried to shake him down. In other words, he didn’t “make his bones” by killing anyone, which used to be the only way you could be formally inducted into the Mafia. That rule was observed less and less as the talent pool shrunk because of pressure from law enforcement and demographic shifts. With Patriarca’s backing, Angiulo expanded the mob’s business in Boston, stepping up gambling operations and loan sharking. Unlike other cities where the mob understood that dead men couldn’t pay, Angiulo’s men thought nothing of taking out the late payers. Angiulo and his brothers ran a close-knit operation, but like so many other mobsters they tended to talk… a lot. The FBI bugged their office at 98 Prince Street in the North End. After a couple years of listening to talk about gambling, murder, and loan sharking, the Feds arrested Jerry and his brothers 25

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

The next couple years were tough on the New England Mafia. On July 7, 1984, Raymond Patriarca died of natural causes. Jerry and his two brothers were convicted under federal RICO charges on February 26, 1986. The family was, for lack of a better term, rudderless. Defections, deaths, arrests, and some major bruised egos were building up to a mob war. The main event that ignited the war was the FBI’s secret recording of a Mafia induction ceremony in Medford, Mass in October of 1989. The mishap was attributed to the ineptitude of Raymond Patriarca’s son who inherited the leadership of the family. Later it was disclosed that one of the mobsters present, Angelo “Sonny” Mercurio (who died in February of 2007), had tipped off the Feds, enabling them to tape the entire ceremony. The tapes unequivocally proved the existence of the secret society known as the Mafia. The Patriarca family had hit an all time low, and it was the beginning of the end of the Junior Patriarca’s reign as New England Godfather and the unraveling of the rest of the family that had been held together under absolute leadership for 30 years. The Irish Mob The Irish are a whole different story. Boston was one of the major epicenters of the great Irish emigration to America. The Irish and Italians shared a long history in their respective “old” countries of having to protect the working poor and the helpless against corrupt political systems. So called criminals were often the only protection against powerful governments. The good guy / bad guy lines were often blurred in the old countries. Irish gangs flourished in the city at the beginning of the 20th century. Irish gangs were, in a lot of ways, less organized than the Mafia, but by no means less deadly. The smaller gangs 26

A L ittl e H i s t o r y

were constantly fighting for turf and respect. The North End of Boston, famous for the Italian influence there, was actually at one time completely Irish. Then the Irish started moving out of the city and into the surrounding towns like Somerville and Charlestown. And when they relocated, the gangs followed. There were groups like the Mullin gang, who eventually merged with the Winter Hill Gang in Somerville. They carried out a lot of street-level crimes in their own neighborhoods. And there wasn’t a clear cut leader. The strict hierarchal system that defined the Italian Mafia couldn’t be applied to the Irish crime groups. They were more fluid, ready to merge with one another at a moment’s notice if it fit their mission to make more money. By the post-war years, the Irish gangs died out in a lot of cities. It was because of the flight from the urban core to the suburbs. But the Boston ethnic stew stayed relatively unchanged, so Irish organized crime in the Boston area held on for a long time. It was centered in the blue collar working class neighborhoods like South Boston and Charlestown. It was there, among other hard-working Irish, that the crime groups were able to operate with minimal police interference and attention from the media. Protected by a code of silence, evident in neighborhoods like Charlestown, the Irish gangsters started to morph into a more organized type of criminal. Even among criminal elements it is usually violence that tends to steer the ship off course. And one of the biggest mob wars in US organized crime history started between two Irish gangs. In the ‘60s the local Irish mob was in the midst of a street war between the Somerville Winter Hill Gang, led by James (Buddy) Mclean opposed by Charlestown and the McLaughlin crew. The Winter Hill Gang, important to this story as you’ll later read, was based out of the Winter Hill area of Somerville, 27

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one of those typical working class neighborhoods with two and three- family row houses squeezed between bars and shops. At the top of the “Hill” is the Winter Hill Bakery, a famous landmark in the area. Buddy McLean, who formed the gang, was a tough-as-nails Irish gangster and union guy. . The FBI pegged the start of the McLaughlin/McLean war as April 5, 1964, when William Sheridan was killed in Roxbury. But in The Grim Reapers, author Ed Reid took the start of the war back to August of 1961, when Charlestown gangster, Edward “Punchy” McLaughlin inexplicably tried to bite the ear off a girlfriend of James J. “Buddy” McLean. I believe that it was TJ English, Irish mob expert, who got the story right. It was in 1961, over Labor Day weekend when Georgie McLaughlin grabbed the breast of a Winter Hill gang member’s girlfriend. Since everyone had been drinking that day, the usual posturing escalated into a serious beat down of McLaughlin by the Winter Hill gang members. On October 31, 1961, Bernie “Bones” McLaughlin, brother of Punchy, was walking out of a lunch counter in Charlestown. Bones was known as a bad-ass loan shark who would take a lead pipe to longshoremen who fell behind on their payments. Bones called for a cab. While waiting for the approaching taxi, a man walked up behind him and drove buckshot from an automatic shotgun through the Irish hood’s head. Legend is that while Bones was dying on the street, longshoremen walked over his body and spit on him. The three-year discrepancy notwithstanding, the resulting gangland war claimed over 60 lives by 1969. Raymond Patriarca Sr. eventually threw his support behind the Winter Hill Gang and although Mclean was killed, they ultimately defeated the 28

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Charlestown crew. This cemented a formidable criminal relationship that would seem to have benefited the Mafia as well as the Irish, but in reality, it helped the Winter Hill guys a lot more. By the time the ‘70s rolled around, Howie Winter had taken control of the gang and set up shop at Marshall Street Motors in Somerville. Stevie (The Rifleman) Flemmi and James (Whitey) Bulger, who both supported Winter in the war as soldiers, quickly gained prominence in the Winter Hill gang. In 1975 Bulger was enticed to sign on as an FBI informant by John Connolly, an up-and-coming young agent in the Boston office. He also happened to be Bulger’s childhood acquaintance from the South Boston housing projects. In 1979, Howie Winter and the entire hierarchy were indicted on a massive multi-million dollar horserace fixing scam. The only two guys who weren’t named in the indictment were Bulger and Flemmi. Bulger used the opportunity to seize control of a portion of the gang and move it to South Boston. The Irish gang had a cozy relationship with the Italian Mafia and underboss Jerry Angiulo. Although they weren’t partners, the gang paid rent to Jerry and they formed a cooperative working relationship. By ’79, Howie Winter was stewing in prison but still owed Jerry $250,000. Bulger stepped in and assumed the debt in exchange for leadership of the gang. Whitey’s day was dawning in the Boston underworld. My life in that scene was still a few years away.

29

Two

Prodigy

I

t’s 1979, Jimmy Carter was in the White House, Howie Winter’s empire was crumbling, and I was nine years old, sitting on the floor in our living room in Medford, Massachusetts, watching the news and waiting for dinner, when my brother started screaming. “That’s Dad, that’s Dad.” My brother was jumping up and down like a lunatic, pointing at the television. My mother ran into the room. “No it’s not, get in the kitchen.” Her panicked state immediately convinced us that it was him. She stopped and stared at the TV. A reporter stuck a microphone in his face. “No comment.” His lawyer said, pushing the reporter away. “No comment.” The reporter went on to say that my father had been indicted on multiple counts of bank fraud. My mother cried, my brother was silent but I was feeling a little cynical. The bastard had been horrible to my mother. It wasn’t the first time I realized that things weren’t kosher in the Silverman house. I’m half Sicilian, one quarter Portuguese and one quarter Jewish—it was my father’s Jewish name I ended up with, although I wouldn’t know a matzo ball from a moth

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ball. My dad left us when I was around five and it was a good thing. He’d always worked hard and tried to make a go of things, but business pressures always got to him. He had no time for us. He had the brains to make it but not the patience. The mob kept offering him quick fixes to his business problems and he took them. From the time he was a kid, he’d been drawn to mobsters. He had a successful alarm company, but had to cover payroll with shy money, which eventually pushed him into the bank fraud scheme. At one point, my dad owned the famous Somerville bar, Pal Joey’s, located on Broadway, the main drag through town. The street was lined with bars and clubs. Joey’s was a successful business, but he was an easy target for shakedowns (it’s a Portuguese social club now). It was rumored that Pal Joey’s was named for Joey McDonald. My father decided to keep the name when he bought it. It was there that Winter Hill mobster, Joe Donahue (Crazy Joe D), befriended him. Joe kept the shakedowns at bay, and tried to protect my dad, but a dirty cop from the alcohol and beverage commission finally took him down when my father refused to pay extortion money. It was at Pal Joey’s that he met his second wife, who just happened to be sister-in-law to Howie Winter. For you sociologist types who fixate on whether criminal behavior results from nature or nurture; as you will see in my case, I got a full dose of both. Everywhere I turned I was rubbing elbows with gangsters. I not only lived in the Winter Hill neighborhood, just a few blocks from their Marshall Street Motors headquarters, it also ran in my blood. My dad’s four cousins, who he was raised with, were mobbed up career criminals. All of them did time, either for robbery, murder, swag schemes, or drug dealing. Two of them are still inside serving out their life 32

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sentences for murder. The other two have since passed away. On my mother’s side, my grandfather, who had once worked for the city and had close ties to Tip O’Neill, ended up a soldier in the Patriarca Crime Family; something I didn’t learn until my own induction ceremony. At the time of my father’s arrest, my mother had already remarried—to another mobbed up guy. We’ll call him Johnny Zappatti. So Johnny and his brother, who was a leg breaker for the mob, owned a liquidation warehouse in Somerville where they housed mostly “swag” merchandise (that means “stolen” for you under-educated.) Ironically, my father once sold him an alarm system and the place got robbed. Of course Johnny suspected it was an inside job, but my father says Johnny should have spent more money for a better system! One time my brother and I paid a visit to the warehouse, uninvited as usual. We went up into a crawl space near the merchandise bins to play around. My brother elbowed me in the ribs and put his finger to his mouth to shut me up. We slouched down behind a tall bin of clothes. Heavy shoes scraped their way across the concrete floor heading directly towards us. We held our breath until a phone rang in the office and the footsteps retreated. “Hello.” It was our stepfather who answered the phone. “Mario, I told you I’ll have it when my guy comes back to town and...”The guy on the other end of the line must have cut him off. “I don’t know.” Johnny sounded nervous. “I’ll let you know when..” My brother grabbed my hand and mouthed: “Let’s go.” I put up my finger to tell him just a minute. I moved around the bins just far enough to see Johnny through the office door. 33

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“He’s got a piece,” I mouthed to my brother and held my hand up like a gun. I could see the holster above his belt. “I TOLD you Mario, I’ll have the money when he gets in town.” More silence. “I’m not saying it again, I’ll call you.” He slammed the receiver down and shut the door to the office. We were out of there. Later that night, we continued our eavesdropping at home. Hiding behind a closet door, we listened to our stepfather’s version of the day. “Gloria, I’ve got to tell you something. Don’t overreact on me—please.” Our stepfather sounded nervous. “I’m ok. Go ahead.” She paused. “Is everything alright?” “There’s an enforcer from Winter Hill whose been hanging around the store.” This is not good. I thought. I wish I could have seen the look on my Mother’s face. Johnny continued. “I’m just telling you because I need to carry a gun.” “I don’t want to hear anything else,” my mother said. As I learned later, my stepfather vouched for his business partner who borrowed a hundred thousand from Howie Winter to invest in a Hollywood screenplay by Ernest Tidyman - with Ernest Borgnine supposed to play the lead. Anyway, things went south when Johnny’s partner took off with the money leaving him holding the bag. He managed to talk his way out of it, but the FBI was breathing down his neck and eventually indicted him as part of a major RICO case. He pled guilty to some small charges in exchange for a two-year sentence. He served his time in federal prison in Pennsylvania. When he got out, he convinced my mother to move us to Puerto Rico where he had a new business venture. 34

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As much as my brother and I feared leaving the only surroundings we had ever known, we felt we owed it to our mother to go with her. We lived in an upscale section of San Juan known as The Condado and attended a private school that catered to American students. My stepfather had a friend who owned an exclusive guest house on the island of Vieques called La Casa Del Frances. We flew out there whenever we had time off from school. We met a lot of famous people including Clint Eastwood, who was staying on the island while filming the movie, “Heartbreak Ridge.” My brother and I worked on the production set and eventually appeared as extras in the movie. By 1983, my mother and Johnny called it quits and we moved back to Medford. She found a good job but she worked long hours. As typical teenagers, my brother and I took full advantage of our unsupervised time. We ran with local punks and terrorized our neighborhood. The only family we respected was the Limones. We knew that the father, who was in prison, was notorious gangster Peter Limone and we were always hanging around trying to eavesdrop or see something. “What are you doing?” I asked an older kid from the neighborhood who was hanging around outside the Limones’ house. “I’m waiting for Mrs. Limone to get home. We’re going to shovel her walk.” “Is she going to pay you?” “No. I don’t want her money. Don’t you know who her husband is? “Sure.” I didn’t at the time, but this was always my selfassured style. “No you don’t. It’s Peter Limone, the gangster. He’s doing 30 for Teddy Deegan’s murder.” “I knew that.” No I didn’t. “Why’d he murder the guy?” 35

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“Deegan went nuts one night at the Ebb Tide and pulled a gun on some important guys and then Patriarca put out a hit on him. Mr. Limone didn’t do it, he just took the fall. He was fingered by that Portuguese guy Barboza and the Feds. They got Barboza to finger a lot of guys.” “How do you know so much?” “I keep my ears open. Now move along kid.” He tried to shove me out of the way, but I took my sweet time. It was the best house on the block. The men that went in and out were always well dressed and they looked important to me. At 13, I idolized those guys. I also knew from all the stories that there were plenty of dirty cops in our neighborhood. Learning right from wrong in Medford wasn’t so clear-cut. Mob boss Jerry Angiulo also lived in Medford along with a host of other underworld figures. Medford was ground zero for mobster training. Just outside of Boston, Medford is a series of neighborhoods with row houses, clean streets, and hard working people. It’s mainly Italians and can be a very close-knit kind of place. In fact, the whole necklace of small cities surrounding Boston: Somerville, Everett, Revere, and Medford, were the real streets where the mob’s main earners lived and where the scores were hatched. Obviously the city of Boston had its share of wise guys. You had the North End crew, right in the heart of Boston, and the Winter Hill gang’s South Boston group, plus guys in Charlestown and East Boston. The early ‘80s were heydays for the Boston mob. Whitey Bulger and Stevie “Rifleman” Flemmi had FBI agents John ‘Zip’ Connolly, John Morris, and H. Paul Rico in their pocket. Whitey and Stevie ruled unabated. Together they raked up at least a dozen (alleged) murders from Boston to Florida to Oklahoma. Bulger went international in ’84 with involvement in a botched 36

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gun running scheme for the Irish Republican Army. Remember, the Patriarca Crime Family was still in control of New England and in New York; the Luccheses had fallen out of favor with the other New York families and started backing a renegade faction to challenge the LCN in Boston. This move by the Luccheses wreaked havoc from New York throughout New England. The ground swell had started. 1984 wasn’t quite so exciting for my brother and me as we found ourselves enrolled at Matignon Catholic High School. It was culture shock. The toughest thing was leaving our friends— that and having to wear a suit and tie to school every day. Always quick to spot an opportunity, I took advantage of the situation and started hustling the rich kids. By sophomore year, I was dealing drugs. My reputation preceded me wherever I went, and although I maintained my grades and became a baseball star, the kids and the faculty knew who I was. It was a strange year. I was dealing drugs and pulling off petty crimes and at the same time playing varsity baseball and attracting the attention of college recruiters. Sports and my first real girlfriend were a relief from the pressures of the street. Ironically, it was my first girlfriend who inadvertently led me to the guys who led me to “the life.” Jenny was from Somerville and her best friend Diedre had a brother, Kevin, who was involved with the Winter Hill Gang. I’m telling you, my life was a gangster fun house hall of mirrors. ”The life” was everywhere I turned, and I welcomed it. Diedre’s brother Kevin and I became fast friends. Kevin ran the streets of Somerville along with “muscle” Bobby Rennell. Hanging out at Kevin’s house there was never a dull moment.

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I was there one day when Kevin came home in a rage. Ignoring me, he headed straight for his bedroom and jumped on the phone. “The guy owes me and if he doesn’t pay up, I’m gonna hurt him,” Kevin screamed as I listened from out of sight. “You tell that motherfucka to stop ducking me.” Kevin slammed the receiver down on the phone. I jumped when the front door opened and then slammed shut. “I could hear you from the street.” It was Bobby. “Just calm down and we’ll take care of it.” Kevin and Bobby left together. I ran to the window in time to see Kevin get into the trunk of a car with a baseball bat. A couple of hours later, the cops showed up at the door telling his mother that they had a warrant for his arrest. It turned out that the reason Kevin got into the trunk of the car was because the guy he had the problem with agreed to meet Bobby. Of course Bobby assured him that he would come alone. When he offered to show the guy something in the trunk, Kevin Things were good for awhile. I had a girlfriend, baseball was going well, Kevin looked out for me, and I was driving a sports car (financed by a successful drug trade). I even had the school principal in my pocket. The principal saved me more than once, warning me about impending drug busts in the school. I was a baseball star, so I brought some notoriety to his school and he took some pity on me because I was from Medford. Things were, of course, too good to be true and it was a Spanish teacher who eventually rained on my parade. With my exposure to the language in Puerto Rico, I thought the class was in the bag. Unfortunately, Jenny and I were in the same 38

Prodigy

advanced Spanish class together and I spent most of my time goofing around. On my way to class one day, I was called to the principal’s office. “Mark, please come in.” Principal Kelly tried to sound pleasant. “Is something wrong?” I asked. “Sit down.” “I don’t want to sit down. What’s wrong?” “Your Spanish teacher is going to fail you for the first semester. You won’t be able to play ball. I’ve tried to talk her out of it but ….” He moved to stop me, but I was on my way out the door. I stormed downstairs to my Spanish class. I threw open the door and glared at the bitch. “You fucking cunt.” I yelled at her. She was visibly scared and it felt great. I got right in her face. I could see she was nervous and the kids in the classroom knew they were going to get a show. I screamed again. “You fuckin’ fat cunt, how could you do this to me?” She stood up to me. “You had it coming. Get out of my classroom before I call the cops.” I started to walk away but thought better of it. Before I reached the door, I stopped and hurled my hardcover Spanish book straight at her head. The principal called me a couple of days later to tell me that he had saved me from expulsion, but the faculty demanded to speak to my mother. I didn’t care. I barely showed up for school during my last semester. I graduated, again with the help of the principal and I got into Suffolk University. But by then, drug dealing was far more attractive than school anyway. I hooked up with a coke dealer from South Medford named Eddie Insogna - who worked for Anthony Barry—who in turn worked for Vinny Arcieri, who 39

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controlled mob business in the city of Medford. I made the right connections from the start. The first time that Eddie included me in on a meeting with Vinny and Anthony, there was no going back. I decided it was time to give up college classes and go all in. Choosing the street was the easiest thing I ever did.

40

Three

The Scali Cap

“

Mark.” My mother called me into the kitchen. “What’s wrong Ma? I don’t have time.” I started snapping my fingers at her. “I’m going out.” “Sit down.” As usual her sweetness turned serious when I turned on the attitude. She didn’t put up with my crap. Not for a minute. “Your grandfather died.” She didn’t miss a beat. “Your father’s father.” “How do you know?” “Jimmy called me this morning.” “How does your brother know?” “He reads the paper for Christ’s sake – WHO CARES? Your grandfather is dead. His funeral is next week. If you want to go, then go.” “Will my father be there?” I looked at my mother and she looked back at me like I was nuts. She put my grandfather’s obituary on the table in front of me. “Of course he is going to be there.” I knew this wasn’t easy for her so I held my tongue. The man who hadn’t been mentioned in our house for 14 years was now literally sitting on the table in front of me in black-and-white.

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Morris (Red) Silverman died Saturday at the age of 73 of complications from heart surgery. He leaves behind two sons, William Silverman and Earl Silverman along with two grandsons, Mark and William Silverman Jr. and a granddaughter, Stephanie. Funeral services will be at the Goodrich Funeral Home in Lynn, Massachusetts on Tuesday … I hadn’t seen my father since I was seven years old. My mother, despite her resentment, never stood in the way of my brother and me finding him. We just never took it seriously. Now he had found us. By the day of the wake I had decided to go, but I felt bad about it like I was betraying my mother. My brother would have nothing to do with it. I was too curious not to go. I had questions, and like always, I had to see what was on the other side, “what’s next?” It took forever to get to the funeral home. When I got there, I looked around but I didn’t see anybody who looked familiar. It was a sea of black suits, long faces and whimpering women. What in the hell am I doing here? Is everybody staring at me? I was uncomfortable. I tried not to stare but I examined every face. This was my flesh and blood and I didn’t know anybody only my dead grandfather. What an introduction. How fucked up is this? My thoughts were racing. Then a man in the second row turned just enough for me to see his profile. It was the man I’d seen on TV a hundred years ago - but older. It was him. He was sitting next to a younger woman who I assumed was his wife. Something washed over me as I got closer. He turned

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and saw me. One good look at him and the rage and disappointment that haunted me for years faded. I felt bad for him. I slipped into the row behind him and waited for the right moment. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Do you know who I am?” “You’re my son,” he replied. *** At the age of 20, I really thought I had the world on a string. I was staying at my Mother’s house in the Riverside section of Medford. It wasn’t anything fancy but I was comfortable in Medford surrounded by all the guys who I had grown up with. I was living high, having fun, and building a lucrative drug trade. I had some good contacts in the business that helped me expand my customer base, most notably Joe ( Joey Legs), who was few years older than me. Legs was a tough guy, a real ball breaker who loved to chase skirts and then brag about his sexual escapades. He was your typical Italian thug and he was always trying to outdo me when it came to woman. I got plenty of action but I didn’t kiss and tell. He and I were like brothers and stayed loyal to each other for years. His younger brother Dave was best friends with my older brother Billy. Joe and I were the perfect fit for each other. I could handle myself and had my share of fights growing up, but he stepped in for back up whenever I needed it. Like any other twosome in the underworld, he had the muscle and I had the brains. It was Joey who vouched for me with our suppliers. Drug dealing suited me just fine. I was disciplined. I stayed clean. I had perfect instincts about who I should and shouldn’t do business with. There were no credit checks in my business, but I always got a pretty good idea how much people could handle. I sure as hell wasn’t going to extend credit to some 43

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asshole who I knew couldn’t pay. It wasn’t worth busting heads for a couple of hundred dollars. The only time I got violent was if someone blatantly disrespected me. At that point I would just forget about the money and write them off after handing them a beating. Violence brings heat and even back then I knew it wasn’t a good thing. I was making big money but what I learned pretty quickly was that the sweet smell of success attracts attention from all the wrong people. And I became a target long before I was aware of it. Even though I worked for a crew, I was at the bottom of the totem pole and basically had to protect myself. Most guys at my level were wide open for shakedowns from other crews. Ma’s Bar in Malden was a typical neighborhood place in a working class area outside of Boston. Because Medford was a dry town with no bars to operate out of, the South Medford crew moved into Malden. My suppliers worked directly for Anthony Barry. I was from the Riverside section of Medford. As small a detail as that may seem, I was considered somewhat of an outsider. At the time, Anthony was only in his mid-twenties, three or four years older than me, but he was a rising star in the New England underworld. Supposedly, he never made a wrong move. In the course of doing business, I’d hear guys talk about Anthony with reverence, but I only knew him from playing tackle football when we were kids. We used to play on opposite sides. It was the Riverside boys against him and the South Medford crew. Even back then we had a rivalry going. Ma’s served a large lunch crowd and at night the place was transformed into a club with a lounge area and pool table in another room. Like most neighborhood bars, there were regular customers who hung around day and night. There weren’t many outsiders because the place was well known for its drug trade. 44

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Outsiders were a red flag to the regulars who looked out for the drug dealers and the mobsters. Boston was known for its code of silence. I think it was an old Irish thing. From what I had always known of the Irish, they hate “rats” more than anything in this world. I remember a story from when I was a kid, about a man who was stabbed to death and dragged outside a bar in Charlestown. There were 29 witnesses, yet when the cops investigated, nobody saw a thing. The bars in the area all had similar stories. The folklore didn’t really bother me because I felt better knowing that I could get away with almost anything if it happened inside the joint. On a Friday night in the winter of 1990 my good luck ran out. I was hanging out at the bar making deals and flirting with the girls when a few guys walked through the door. I noticed the place getting real quiet, people were whispering. It’s them? I knew immediately from one glance. Eddie Insogna, an associate of Anthony Barry’s, warned me about a Charlestown crew that was coming around the bar. They wore pea coats and blue jeans and black bucks – like longshoreman right off the docks. These guys were scary – movie set, fucking Hollywood central casting scary. I got a very uneasy feeling in my stomach. They headed directly for me. Ok, where are my fucking friends when I need them? Thoughts of self preservation were racing through my head. “Can I join yah?” The leader grunted in a deep distinct Boston accent. I looked at him just long enough to take in his very ugly and very fresh facial scars. One of them looked like a bloody worm that had planted itself on his cheek. I moved my chair so he could sit. He motioned his two henchmen away and they headed into the crowd. 45

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“So how’s business?” He leaned into me trying to make me nervous. His breath made me sick. “Business is fine.” I leaned back in my chair and saw his friends follow a guy into the bathroom. “What’s up here?” I refused to let this guy see me nervous, and he was looking really pissed off that I wasn’t intimidated. “Look, if you want to keep doin’ business in this bar - you are gonna pay rent to me.” He gave me a fierce look and leaned in again. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? I had a lot to say but I held my tongue. “Why don’t you clear your head …and throw some cold water on your face in the bathroom …I’ll see you next Friday and you’ll have $300 for me.” He wasn’t getting the reaction he expected. He put his arm around me and said: “Have a good night.” He turned and met up with his crew. They were in an obvious rush to get out. I couldn’t wait for them to leave. I went straight for the bathroom. “Help me …” Someone whispered from the stalls. I turned the corner towards the voice and slipped in a pool of blood. I barely recognized a man that I’d seen earlier. He lay motionless and bloody, curled up on the dirty floor. He saw me and tried to raise a hand towards me. Blood oozed from his body. He must have been stabbed twenty times. I was horrified and mesmerized. I froze. It was Charlestown retaliation. Stuck like a pig and left to die. Message received. I ran out to the bartender. “Get some help.” The bartender gave me a blank look. I grabbed him by the shirt. “Get some help. Now!” I ran out of the bar into the alley. In the darkness I was able to breathe again. I started looking for my car. I don’t know how I found it, but when I did, I got in and drove for hours. I had to clear my head. That man on the floor could be me. I grew up 46

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in a tough neighborhood and thought I had seen it all before, but what I’d seen that night was horrifying. The thought of the guy begging for his life on a dirty bathroom floor really got me thinking. It kept replaying in my head. But as much as I worried about my own safety, nobody was going to shake me down. I had to step up one way or another or I would be made an example of. I had seen guys like that before, paying out of their asses because they didn’t have the balls to stand up for themselves. It wasn’t gonna happen to me. I ended up at my father’s house the next day. When my father answered the door, I could tell he sensed something was wrong. In the short time that we had become reacquainted, he’d got to know me pretty well. My father was no gangster, but he had a lot of important friends who I hoped could help me out. I sat down in the kitchen and told my father the story as calmly as I could. “… And if I don’t start paying rent next Friday … that could be me.” Then we stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. He paced back and forth and ran his hands through his hair. His wife came into the kitchen. I was hoping she was going to start cooking. I was very hungry and very uncomfortable. “Will you go next door and see if Joe’s car is in the driveway?” “Sure.” She shot me a look of concern. She went next door to see if Joe Donahue, Howie Winter’s long time associate and acting Winter Hill boss, was home. This was like going to confession and having the Priest call the Pope in to take over the job. Seconds later she returned. “He’ll be right over.” She went back upstairs. Just like that she summoned Joe D. Wow. I guess my Dad really does know people. The doorbell rang and Joe Donahue was standing outside on my father’s porch. 47

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“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” My father glared at me. My dad’s wife appeared on the stairs again. She came down and sat next to me at the table. In a very comforting voice, she said. “Joe will do anything for your father. And for you, too. Don’t worry.” At that moment, I remembered that she was Howie Winter’s sister-in-law. Maybe she knew what she was talking about. “Mark.” My father appeared at the door, hands across his chest, no expression on his face. “Joe wants to see you right away.” I didn’t respond. I just walked to the front door in a daze. Joe was standing outside waiting for me. We stepped into the dark, away from the house. “How ya doing pal? Do you want to tell me what happened?” Once again, I told the events of the night. “… and I’m supposed to start paying rent next Friday.” “What’s the guy’s name?” “Patrick …:” Joe cut me off. “That’s all I need to know.” He smiled at me. “I have to see him about some other business. I’ll straighten it out.” I choked on my own words. “Are you sure?” I couldn’t believe what he was saying. I held my hand out to him. Joe shook my hand. “You have a good time next Friday night.” And he walked away. “Thanks Joe.” There was nothing else to say. By the time Friday night came around, I was anxious to get to the bar, although I was still a little nervous because I wasn’t sure if Joe had already spoken to the guy. I got there at about 10:00 p.m. and the place was filled to capacity. I looked around, but I didn’t see the Charlestown crew. I got a drink at the bar and sat down at a table with a bunch of friends. As the clock ticked away I was getting more and more anxious. I couldn’t 48

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sit still. Finally at about 11:30 Patrick walked in minus the two guys who had walked out of the bathroom the week before. He was with another guy I didn’t recognize. They stood at the door, gave the place a once over and spotted me. I locked eyes with him and he and a friend headed my way. I was jumpy but I was determined not to show it. His friend motioned to the other guys at my table to move. They stumbled all over themselves getting out of his way. “You want a drink?” “Sure.” He was acting like a different person. He sat down across from me and motioned to his friend to go to the bar. I didn’t say a word. He got a twisted smirk on his face that actually made him look human. “It seems that last week was a case of mistaken identity. I apologize. I didn’t know your father was a personal friend of Joe’s.” He almost smiled and started making small talk. I don’t remember what we talked about. What I do remember is feeling a sense of power that expanded every cell in my body. “…so, why don’t we go for a drink at The Purple Shamrock?” “Sure.” I snapped back into reality. “I have to wait for my girlfriend but we’ll meet you there.” And just like that it was all taken care of. I walked out of the bar that night feeling bigger and more powerful than I’d ever imagined I could be. Look at me everybody. I’m with The Winter Hill gang. I met up with my new girlfriend. She was a nut, a real party girl, all fun and no inhibitions. She was thrilled to hear that we were going downtown. The Shamrock is an upscale place in the Quincy Market section of Boston. I’d been there before but not under these circumstances. The crowd was a strange mix of Irish mobsters and Yuppie partygoers, all looking for a good time. She 49

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was impressed that we cut the line using Patrick’s name. I got her settled at the bar and went looking for Patrick. By the time I got back to her, she was visibly upset. “What’s wrong?” She didn’t say a word, but I persisted. “What’s wrong?” “Don’t worry about it, let’s enjoy ourselves.” Seconds later, the guy next to her practically fell in her lap and spilled his drink all over her. In an instant I figured out what was bothering my girl. Without hesitation I tapped the guy on the shoulder. “Why don’t you apologize to her?” I was not in a patient mood but I didn’t want a scene. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself ?” The guy started laughing. What a fucking punk! I was stunned. I stepped back and threw a punch with all my might. It was like hitting a baseball on the sweet part of the bat and watching the ball fly. He fell sprawled out like a house of cards. I hovered over him and starting kicking him. In seconds Patrick was next to me matching kick for kick. Then he put his hand across my chest. “Enough, before the cops come.” Patrick then turned to the crowd. “Ok, everybody, it’s all taken care of – no need to call the cops.” Patrick motioned to the approaching bouncers to drag the guy out. We stayed and partied all night long. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. *** A natural rivalry has always existed between the Italians in North and East Boston and the Irish Winter Hill Gangs of Southie and Somerville. From my limited view from the street, I could see the usual tensions ratcheting up. Little did I know at the time, but I was witnessing the beginning of the bloody Boston mob war of the ‘90s. 50

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One night in the spring I was having dinner at my father’s house. We were hanging around out front talking when Joe D pulled into his driveway next door. He waved hello and motioned to my dad to send me over. Without hesitation I excused myself. Joe D was running the Winter Hill Gang at that point, like the generation before him, he kept a low profile. He lived in a modest two-family house with his second wife and his three kids, one of whom had a nice job with the State courtesy of Joe and his political connections. They were also raising his wife’s grandson Erik. He was about five years younger than me and was already developing a reputation as a serious kid although a heavy drug user. As much as Joe loved him, he couldn’t tolerate the drug use. It was a sign of weakness. “Joe, the phone is for you.” His wife called him into the kitchen. “Excuse me Mark. Have a seat in the living room. I won’t be long.” I sat down and his wife brought me something to drink. Joe D came back in the room with something under his arm. “I’m having some problems with my uncles. They’re getting old. Joe Mc is back and forth from Florida and can’t keep an eye on things so Leo is handling it. I’m helping out as much as I can but I got my own shit going on. I can’t be in two places at once. My Uncle Leo lives across the street. He’s Joe’s right arm and carries the same reputation. Now listen, they might be old, but they haven’t lost their instincts.” He was talking to me like family. “They need some help. Can you be around for them? You know, drive and make pick-ups.” Before I could answer his question, he handed me a black Kangol Scali Cap. “Here, you take this.” He smiled at me. He knew what it meant to me. “I think you’ll look good in it.” 51

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“I’ll never let you down Joe.” I accepted his gesture and put on the hat. *** Not a lot of people know about the back-story of Joe D and the Winter Hill Gang Somerville faction. Joe D’s uncles, the McDonald brothers, Leo and Joe, were Winter Hill legends but they were definitely getting on in years ( Joe McDonald died in 1997, Leo in 1995). In 1990, the Gang was split between Southie and Somerville and Joe D was acting Somerville boss for his uncle Joe McDonald who had retired to Florida. The boss before him was Howie Winter. Howie was one of the first people I knew that suspected they had a major rat in their operation, out of the South Boston faction – James “Whitey” Bulger. It all started with horse racing. The Patriarca family’s sphere of influence in horse racing started way back in the 1950s. Some mob guys on the street speculated that Patriarca owned a piece of about half the horses that ran in New England. Raymond Patriarca had connections at Scarborough Downs in southern Maine. Patriarca was also believed to have had a financial interest in the Berkshire Downs Race Track in Hancock, Massachusetts. In 1963, the track lost over $140,000, giving Patriarca a lot of headaches. He was heard on wiretaps griping to his underlings about the management at the track. It was revealed that Patriarca had a partner, Harry “Doc” Sagansky. Sagansky was one of the biggest bookmakers in Boston right up until his death at age 99 in 1997. The Bonanno Crime Family also had some race track interests with Patriarca, but since boss Joe Bonanno was persona non grata at that time, Raymond Sr. told his guys to stay away from any dealings with the Bonannos. There were ties with the Gambinos through horse fixer, Bobby Byrne, who later turned state’s evidence. Not content 52

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with relying on the legitimate outcome of a race, the fixers employed by the mob would routinely bribe jockeys, furnish drugs to them, drug horses, blackmail owners and jockeys, and do just about anything they could to get their horse to win. The Winter Hill Gang got in on the action as well. They employed the services of Fat Tony Ciulla. Ciulla was a Boston native and was employed by Howie Winter to make sure that favorites lost and that long shots won. Winter Hill gangsters would bet win, place, show, exactas, and trifectas on the longshots. But Ciulla got busted in New Jersey and was sentenced to 4-6 in state prison. He started talking to the New Jersey cops, who brought in the FBI. He ratted out Howie Winter and the whole gang, including Bulger and Flemmi. When their FBI handlers found out about this, they went to the prosecutor and worked out a deal to drop Bulger and Flemmi from the indictment to protect their status as informants. Joey McDonald, Howie Winter, Whitey Bulger, Stephen Flemmi, John and James Martorano, and James Sims were among the top guys indicted in 1979. Bulger and Flemmi were named as unindicted co-conspirators, which raised some red flags back then. According to the book Black Mass, by Dick Lehr and Gerald O’Neill, Bulger and Flemmi were tipped off by FBI agent John Connolly about the upcoming indictments and warned both Joe McDonald, who was already a fugitive, and John Martorano, who fled town. The Somerville crew was crippled. Howie Winter stayed the boss of the gang while in prison, but he appointed Whitey Bulger as the acting boss. Whitey assumed the WHG (Winter Hill Gang) debt to Jerry Angiulo of $250,000. Howie told Angiulo that Whitey was paying the debt and the Winter Hill gang would be two separate crews, Southie and Somerville. In 53

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my opinion that when Howie let Whitey pay off Howie’s debt to Jerry Angiulo it was because he figured that Whitey was the reason he got caught. The Somerville guys could never prove he was a rat, but since I was a little kid I always heard Whitey referred to as “Whitey the Rat”. Whitey really became like the devil because no cop could catch him and no wise guy wanted a war with him. But he also knew better than to interfere in Somerville or with the McDonald brothers. With the separation of the WHG, Joe McDonald took the Somerville position of acting boss until he went to prison. Throughout the 80’s Somerville and Southie were friendly but not partners. By the time Howie got out of jail in 85-86 he stepped back in as boss with Joe McDonald in prison. By 1990 Howie was back in jail and Joe McDonald was more of a figurehead boss, designed to take the heat away from Joe ( Joe D) Donahue who was really the man running things. Joe D started as an enforcer for his uncles in the ‘70s. He used to help out the Southie crew at the time when Bulger was boss. One day he squared off in a fight with Brian Halloran; who was an enforcer for Whitey at the time, right outside Triple O’s (Whitey’s bar). Joe beat his head in. Brian wanted a rematch, so Joe did it again. Southie respected and feared Crazy Joe. And Joe handled Southie in a diplomatic manner to keep the peace, but he hated them. Joe’s uncle, Leo McDonald, was a long time trusted member of the gang. It was rumored that Leo served a long stretch in prison for a murder his brother had actually committed. So that’s Joe D’s story.

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Four

Legends of The Hill

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t felt real good to have been recognized by the legends of The Hill, and I was a kid fueled by the hunger for knowledge. I wanted to earn respect and learn from the old school masters. The first time I was asked to drive Leo McDonald around I was at the pickup spot at least two hours early. Leo needed a favor from the registry of motor vehicles, and as it turned out, so did I. I’d temporarily lost my license, so I needed to get some new identification while I waited out the suspension. He planned on driving until he could get my favor done. He came out of his house and spotted me waiting on my father’s front porch, and he motioned that he would pull the car out and come over and pick me up. I was real nervous because this guy was a well-respected and solid old timer, not to mention a stone cold killer! He must have been in his mid-seventies. I didn’t know what to expect, but he pulled out of the driveway without so much as looking and a car screeching down the street just missed hitting him. He was driving an older model Lincoln Town Car that was the size of a boat. The near miss didn’t even faze him as he continued out of the driveway and down a couple of houses where I was standing.

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As I got into his car I asked, “Did you even see that other car?” I was very matter of fact about it but I couldn’t believe I said it. I didn’t want to challenge him but come on. He turned towards me and gave me a glare as if to say “shut the fuck up”. I thought the best thing to do would be to just hold my tongue. We continued down Marshall Street and came to the end right before The Paddock Restaurant, a Winter Hill hangout. Joe McDonald bought out the previous owner by sending a guy into the place to hand over a bag full of cash in exchange for ownership. As the story goes, the man handed the old owner the bag and said, “Make sure you deposit this cash in the Winter Hill Bank at the top of Marshall Street on Broadway in Somerville.” The old owner held the cash in his hands, afraid to walk out the door. He thought he was gonna get clipped! He only had a five-minute walk ahead of him, but he wasn’t too confident he would make it. This shows the respect and fear surrounding Joe McDonald. He gave the guy a fair deal and his only request was that he brings it to the Winter Hill Gang-controlled bank so they could make the transaction look good on paper. An old timer knows how to keep his money clean and away from direct involvement in one of his business ventures. The Paddock was on the left hand corner on Medford Street, a main street with lots of cars passing by. That day, as Leo began his right turn onto Medford Street, the back end of the car clipped the rear bumper of a car parked on the corner. I held on for dear life as he straightened the car out and then bam, into the sides of two more parked cars. I was frantic and grabbed Leo’s arm, demanding he pull over and let me drive. At this point he

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had no problem moving over and letting me jump behind the wheel. For this latest damage he needed another favor from his connection inside the registry. The minute I took the wheel he said, “Hey kid, step on it. We gotta make a stop at my friend’s body shop first.” He was definitely on the verge of losing his marbles due to his age. But he was still sly as a fox. He knew the game and played it well, and I was his starry-eyed young pupil. We spent the rest of the day talking like a boy does with his own grandfather. I learned so much that day, especially when we met up with his brother Joe at King Arthur’s strip club which was a Winter Hill Gang-controlled joint in Chelsea, Mass. We sat at a table inside the joint for what seemed like hours. I listened to them discuss business and watched as they got treated like movie stars. I mean it was first class treatment all the way and it seemed that everybody we stopped to talk to needed a favor from theses two old timers. I drove them around until about 9 o’clock that night. I must have met 20 people and got introduced as “their guy” with every one of them. Joe McDonald told me stories about his genuine hatred for Whitey Bulger. He told me to never do business in Whitey’s neighborhood, that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I got the impression that Joe was telling me that Whitey Bulger was a rat. He never said the words, but he made it clear that he always came out smelling like a rose whenever he fell in shit. He also didn’t like his former boss Howie Winter who he claimed was close to Whitey and his partner Stevie (The Rifleman) Flemmi. Because of that, and for a lot of other reasons, Joe never trusted Howie. Things went along okay but I was getting anxious to get away from the McDonalds and start my own crew. Sure, they had taken me in and treated me as if I were their grandson and 57

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introduced me to the who’s who of the Irish Mob. Sure, they would always be in my corner. But the more time passed the more I would hint to Leo that I wanted to go out on my own. I gave him my word that I would never go after any of their rackets. It was hard for me to tell him, so I kept collecting him and his brother’s envelopes. I think deep down the McDonald brothers were concerned about me and maybe weren’t sure if I was ready for the big leagues, but they never stood in my way. By now my girlfriend Jenny and I were living together in a nice apartment in Malden. Her best friend, Kevin’s sister Deidre, was her roommate. It wasn’t long before Bobby Rennell (you’ll remember him from the prologue) was finishing up a year long state prison sentence on his way back to the streets. Only now Kevin had already built his own crew and there wasn’t enough room for Bobby. The next thing that happened showed me just what type of a guy Bobby was. His first task was to send a message to Kevin letting him know he would have the last laugh. Jenny and I had a night out on the town together and decided to call it quits. We left a nightclub in Boston and headed straight home to our apartment. As we walked through the door, Jenny put her finger to her mouth to let me know to stay quiet and just listen. We approached Deirdre’s bedroom door and we could hear a man’s voice. We both looked at each other and shook our heads as to who the mystery guy was. Since we were baffled, we just minded our own business and had a glass of wine together while we watched television on the living room coach. I was half asleep when Deidre’s door opened and a man came out to use the bathroom. I didn’t see a thing, but Jenny got an eyeful. She knew who it was.

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As soon as he got back in Diedre’s room, Jenny pulled me into our bedroom. I really wasn’t in the mood for a game but she acted like a little kid who couldn’t contain herself. “Do you know who that was?” “I want to go to bed, just tell me.” “You swear you won’t tell anybody?” “Swear. Who is he?” “Bobby. Bobby Rennell.” I couldn’t sleep. I had to see this guy. I had heard so many stories about him on the street. Bobby was considered a force within the Boston mob. He was a former member of legendary Patriarca soldier Ronnie (The Pig) Cassesso’s crew. He was every bit the enforcer that Ronnie was but didn’t have the ability to lead a crew and eventually wound up with Vinnie Arcieri after Ronnie died in prison. Make no mistake about it, Bobby was a one-man wrecking crew and he wasn’t shy about it. His job was simple. He was the guy who protected the leader of a crew, a guy you could send to hell and back to get the job done. Bobby was a man who made even the baddest of men shake in their boots like little boys. Bobby had schooled Kevin and turned him into a mobster. Kevin was a good student and had great instincts. He was a dangerous wise guy. I was there during Kevin’s rise to power. I knew what he was capable of. He was just as lethal with his hands as he was with a gun and he wasn’t afraid to use them. Bobby even brought Kevin into Vinnie’s crew, which opened doors for him. Now things between them had come to a head. It happens every day on the street. Everybody wants to be the boss of their own crew and eventually they leave the guy who brought them in. It was no different with the McDonald crew and me. Kevin was always smarter than Bobby and made the 59

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right move at the right time. While Bobby was in prison Kevin became a highly respected leader of his own crew. He wasn’t about to give up his new position. You can probably imagine how Bobby felt. I couldn’t stand it. I had to get a look at Bobby up close and personal. At that very moment I heard Deirdre’s bedroom door open, I could tell it was Bobby’s footsteps. I leaped out of the bed and headed for the kitchen to grab a beer. As I opened the refrigerator and turned around I almost fell backwards when I saw him. He was a monster - blonde and massively built with a very scary psychotic look about him. He was sprawled out on the couch like he owned the place. Before I could say anything, he stared at me with piercing blue eyes and said in a deep thuggish voice, “You must be Mark, Jenny’s boyfriend.” I nodded my head, yes. He continued, “I heard a lot about you.” I responded, “I hope you only heard the good things.” Stay cool Mark. I took a breath. “Your reputation precedes you. I know who you are.” We made small talk and he asked for another beer. I didn’t want to butt into his personal life, so I waited for him to bring up the situation regarding sleeping with Kevin’s sister. He told me that he called Kevin’s house collect from prison and his sister answered the phone. They developed feelings for each other. He told me how she took care of him with anything he needed while he was in prison. I felt as if he really hadn’t intended to just get back at Kevin. It kind of just happened, but he could never justify it to Kevin. Fucking a wise guy’s sister or girl is a sign of total disrespect and it can get you killed. I told him I wouldn’t 60

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say a thing to Kevin. That night changed my life forever. We learned a lot about each other, and it was clear we were meant to be in business together. The next day I went about my business as usual and went to meet Leo. By this time, Leo was sending me out on my own to make his stops and pick up his cash. I had only made a couple of stops when I picked up an envelope stuffed with $10,000 cash from a guy who was paying back his shy. Bobby Rennell paged me and told me that he wanted to get together. I told him I had to finish a couple of things and meet with Leo then we planned to meet on Marshall Street. When I pulled up to meet Leo he was standing outside of his house talking to one of the neighbors. It was a warm spring day and most people were outside enjoying the weather. I got out of my car and waited for Leo to get rid of the guy he was talking to I saw Bobby coming down the street. Leo turned toward me and saw Bobby. As Bobby got closer I noticed the disapproving look that Leo was giving me. I had never mentioned anything about Bobby and me hooking up. I couldn’t understand what the look meant, but it bothered me. I felt as if he was disappointed, but he didn’t say anything. I went ahead and introduced them. It was obvious that they knew each other, but there was some sort of tension between them. They shook hands without saying more than hello to each other. I felt as if I should speed things up a little, so I handed Leo the envelope. He thanked me and said goodbye to Bobby and me. As he turned to walk away the envelope came fluttering out of his pocket. I swear to God it felt like it took minutes for it to land on the ground with me and Bobby watching. Leo didn’t once turn his head or give any hint that he knew he lost the envelope, he just kept walking. It 61

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was all in terrible slow motion and the look on Bobby’s face told me that he was going to snatch up the envelope. He looked at me like “what do you care, he won’t know.” I grabbed the envelope. “I’ll be right back.” By the time I picked it up Leo had made it all the way into the backdoor of his house, so I chased him down and knocked on the door. Leo opened the door and I handed him the envelope and told him “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were losing your mind. You gotta be more careful.” He paused for a second and said, “So do you my friend.” It was an old timer teaching me a lesson about who my friends really were and who to watch out for. I also showed him where my loyalty would always be. I gave him a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Leo didn’t say another word. Deep down I always felt as though I had my own security blanket being a part of the Winter Hill Gang. I saw for myself just how much Leo cared for me. I think he knew there weren’t gonna be many more tomorrows for us. Only a short time after the dropped-envelope incident, Bobby and I were out in full force looking to take first, and deal with the consequences later. We moved into Medford and demanded tribute wherever we went. We were ruffling a lot of feathers, but everybody knew about Bobby Rennell. He was the type of guy who told the other bad guys what to do. They didn’t have the balls to tell him off. The Bobby/Kevin thing had turned very bad. Bobby was pissed off about Kevin Hardy moving on without him. They had been like brothers and I saw just how hurt Bobby was. Bobby

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felt as if Kevin would always owe him for all the connections he gave him. Bobby let me know under no uncertain terms that he was never going to forget the bad blood between them. A few years earlier, Bobby and Kevin, along with Anthony Cataldo, were collecting money and earning for Vinnie, when he asked them to take the show on the road, and collect a substantial amount of money from a Boston club owner. Anthony Cataldo owned a tow truck and waste-carting business. He was a Medford guy around 30 years old. He was basically a mobbed up businessman who sometimes got his hands dirty. When they got there, the wrong person got in their way. Anthony pulled his gun out first and aimed it at the guy. At the same time the guy ordered Anthony to drop his gun. As Anthony flinched, the man reacted and fired a shot that struck him in the upper torso. As he fell to the ground Bobby and Kevin took cover until the dust settled. The guy who shot Anthony turned out to be an off-duty Boston police officer. Because he was in plain clothes, Anthony didn’t respond when he ordered him to drop his weapon. They weren’t even out of Boston before the cops snatched them all up. Bobby, who was out on bail for an unrelated violent charge, pleaded guilty right away. He got a 10-year state prison term. Under the old law Bobby chose to serve a year and put the remaining time under a suspended sentence. That meant he served one year with a 6-to10-year jail term hanging over his head if he got in any trouble while on parole. That decision would later come back to haunt him. The remaining two guys, Kevin and Anthony took the case to court and wound up proving the guy never identified himself as a police officer, therefore everything was justified. The judge had no choice but to drop the serious charges and let them walk away.

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Bobby felt as if he took the heat off them by pleading guilty and just doing his time. In other words, the cops had a scapegoat and so did Kevin. Bobby took the fall. So now Kevin was making a point of staying away from Bobby. He was also almost through with me. I stopped by Kevin’s house unannounced to find out if he had a beef with me. When I got there he wouldn’t speak to me. I’m glad his sister was home because I felt disrespected by Kevin’s actions. He just stayed in the other room and left before I did. It really bothered me and Deirdre told me to give her some time until her brother could cool off and then she’d talk to him. True to her word she came back and told me that Kevin was just in a bad mood and didn’t even realize it was me. As lame as I thought the excuse was, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. A week later, over Sunday dinner, Kevin could no longer keep his feelings about Bobby and me quiet. According to his sister, he was really suspicious and accused her of as he put it “fucking his best friend”. She didn’t know what to do. He was calling me a “no good backstabbing, son of a bitch” and he would see to it that he got us. I guess he was mad that Bobby and I got together. A couple of weeks passed before Jenny and I came home to our apartment only to find Bobby waiting to talk to me. He told the girls that we needed to take a ride together and we wouldn’t be back for awhile. I could tell he had bad news. We drove for a little while making small talk, but I kept pressuring him to tell me what was on his mind. He finally said, “Did you stay at the apartment Thursday night? “ I jumped in and said, “No I stayed at my mother’s house for a couple of days because Jenny and I were beefing.” 64

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Not knowing what would come out of his mouth next, I prepared myself for the worst. Bobby finally said “I wanted to sleep over there, but Kevin’s car was parked there all night long.” Those words shot through me like a bullet to the heart. I was fucking pissed and it took the rest of the night for Bobby to calm me down. It was clear to me just how fine a line it can be between friendship and business within the mob. Kevin got back at me the same way Bobby had gotten to him. The pain I felt, knowing another guy, who I considered a friend, had fucked my girl, would stay with me forever. It was worse than any beating I had ever taken and he knew it. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Jenny, so I went back to the apartment to get my clothes while she was at work. I didn’t take her phone calls. The pain of the breakup haunted me and I was afraid that people would look at me differently. I finally got the nerve up to go and talk to Joe D. “Someday I will get to this fucking mutt one way or another.” “You think with your head and not your heart.” He commended me for not reacting with anger or vengeance. He had taught me the importance of reacting with a clear head. The old timers used to just smile and walk away knowing damn well they would get their revenge when the time was right. As difficult as that concept was for a young, volatile guy like me I knew it was the only way. I was seeing for myself the treachery involved with mobsters. One way or another they send a message. I thought going after another guy’s girl was as low as it could get and it stuck in my mind. I also realized the mental anguish it causes.

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Fi v e

Behind Bars

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ne night in early 1992 I was going about my business as usual. At the time I was using Patrick and his connections as part of my drug business, though I still used other suppliers. Never put all your eggs in one basket. The more trusted sources you have, the smoother things get. Usually after a major bust the drug game goes through a drought, and you can’t find anything. Patrick had warned me about the Organized Crime Task Force. He told me to be careful and to start using a runner that he would supply. I called Patrick from a payphone and made arrangements to meet his runner. Patrick was careful and made sure he never talked directly on the phone. We used to have three predetermined meeting spots for transactions. If the meeting was at one of those spots he would say on the phone for me to meet him at the 99 restaurant in Charlestown. If anybody was listening, they would think we were really going to meet there, but I knew to go to the other end of Charlestown far away from the 99. The cops aren’t stupid, but we had a lot of success with this method. As I drove away from the meeting spot after picking up the drugs, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. I made my way back to Medford where my plan was to drop off the package

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at a safe house. I had a kid who used to hold my drugs so I wouldn’t have them anywhere close to me. Everything was going according to schedule, except one of my better customers kept calling me asking for his order. I had a rule against meeting my guys right after I made a pick up. I needed time to clean myself off in case any cops were on to me. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I agreed to drop off the bulk of the cocaine and break off 14 grams (a half-ounce) and deliver it to my guy. When I got to the safe house, my friend was hanging out with one of his friends who I barely knew. He asked me if I could give the kid a ride home on my way out. I agreed to, but I also made sure he knew that I was transporting drugs in the car. As we pulled away from the house onto Central Avenue in Medford I noticed an undercover Crown Victoria detective car following me. I kept driving but I knew the cops would pull me over and search me and the car. I slipped the package to the kid in the passenger seat making sure not to make any blatant movements that might attract the attention of the cop driving behind me. As I pulled onto Riverside Avenue the cop made his signal for me to pull over. I pulled onto a dead end street just off Riverside and three undercover cars swarmed down in me. I stopped and turned off the ignition just like the cop ordered. He held a gun on me. He was nervous and I knew if I didn’t obey him he just might shoot me. I knew the guy and we didn’t like each other. He was a Medford detective assigned to the Organized Crime Task Force - my arch nemesis. I could see his jubilation. He thought he’d got the mother lode. He came over to the driver’s side window while his partner approached the passenger side. “Going for a ride tonight Mark?” I said, “Yeah I am, Brian.” 67

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He didn’t like how I addressed him by his first name. He was an arrogant son of a bitch. He pointed the flashlight inside the car and said, “Tell me right now if I’m gonna find anything that shouldn’t be here.” “I have nothing to hide.” I figured the kid had stashed the package down his pants. Boy was I wrong. “Okay then get out of the car and sit down on the sidewalk while we search your car.” Within minutes the detective came over to us and showed us the package. With a big smile on his face he placed us both under arrest. I was beside myself because the kid put the package underneath his seat. It was the first place they looked. I wanted to rip his head off for being so stupid. The satisfaction the cops got from busting me made me sick. I hated them and now they had me dead to rights. I waited for the paddy wagon to arrive to transport us to the police station and wait for bail. I was shocked when the detective volunteered to drive the kid to the station. Why couldn’t he transport us together? It immediately dawned on me that they wanted to work on the kid and get him to rat on me. Just like the cop said. “I know this is yours Mark. This kid was just along for the ride.” I didn’t open my mouth, but I was thinking,: Is this kid who I barely know gonna stand up for me or bury me? I got to the station and they booked me. I headed toward my cell. Just then I heard the detective call me over. Handcuffed and shoeless after booking, I turned and walked over to him. He said, “This kid says the drugs are yours.” I didn’t say anything. “Why don’t you just tell me where you got it from?” I looked him in the eye and said, “I’ll talk to my lawyer.” 68

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He took me to the phone in the booking room and told me I could make one phone call. I called my father. Dad didn’t say too much. He agreed to come down and bail me out. When he got there, he was told that I would be transported to Somerville District Court to go before the judge and ask for bail. I spent the weekend in the Medford police station. The kid made bail the same night. At the bail hearing the kid pleaded “not guilty” and told the judge that he would obtain his own counsel. I was shackled inside the box in the courtroom, so I couldn’t get near the kid. My lawyer arrived and came down to the holding tank in the basement of the courthouse where I was held with several other guys waiting their turn in front of the judge. He told me the kid got himself a top notch criminal defense attorney and it was unlikely he would rat me out. I told him to make sure. I used my father’s attorney. He was quite a character who mostly represented mobsters and call girls. He loved to drink and run his mouth about how powerful he was, and how many major cases he had won. Most of the Winter Hill guys had used him and he had always done the right thing by them, but his big mouth got some guys pissed. I mean this guy was a wannabe gangster posing as a lawyer. We would become very close throughout the years. When our case got called on the docket the clerk of courts read off the charges: conspiracy to violate a controlled substance, possession with intent to distribute a class B substance, and manufacturing of a controlled substance. These charges were hyped up, but I was facing an indictment and a possible ten-year prison term. I pleaded not guilty and was transported to the Middlesex County Jail. 69

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This was my first time in prison, and although I wasn’t sentenced, it was like I was already guilty. I had to go to prison while I waited for the outcome of the case or until I got a 58a, which is a mandatory bail hearing within 60 days. I’ll never forget my first day inside. The jail was in the same building as the Middlesex Superior Court. The jail occupied the 16th to 20th floors and rooftop. I got processed on the 16th floor. They made me strip naked and take a shower. After that they issued me two tee shirts, two pair of socks and underwear, and a gray jumpsuit with “Middlesex Inmate” stamped on the back. They gave me sheets but no pillow. I had to bend over and lift up my balls while a corrections officer checked my asshole for any contraband. I felt degraded. After processing, I was led upstairs into a dorm called New Man where I had to stay until a cell opened up. There were about ten other guys already there and I didn’t know any of them. I didn’t have any problems and I stayed in New Man for a few days until I was led to my cell on the 18th floor, B side. There were 15 cells on each tier. I started out in cell number 1. Outside the cells there was a shower, two pay phones and three picnic style tables where guys could sit and play cards. The television was at the end of cell 15 all the way down the tier. This is when reality set in. I knew a couple of guys from the neighborhood and one of them gave me some food, sneakers, and a hot pot. Canteen was on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I had missed it. Canteen is when inmates can buy food, cigarettes, toiletries, pens and paper and some clothes like sweatshirts or sneakers. I adjusted pretty well to prison life. It felt good getting taken care of. It really wasn’t much different than the street except there is nowhere to hide in prison. Your enemies walk right next 70

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to you and there’s always a corrections officer who can be bought to look the other way. The only escape is within your cell. I started out in a single man cell about 6’ by 9’ with a sink attached to the toilet and a little metal shelf to store my personal belongings. My bed was a metal frame with a thin mattress, attached to the wall. It was really humiliating to go to the bathroom with people walking by your cell and looking at you, but I got used to it. I even managed to find a pillow. I just walked by some guy’s cell and took it. He didn’t see a thing. A typical day was getting up at 7 am and going to the chow hall until 7:20. After chow we would go back to our cells until 10 am. From 10-11:30 we were out of our cells and talking or playing cards or reading the newspaper. I would usually have coffee with a few guys in my unit. At noon we would go back to chow until 12:20 and then back to our cells until 2. From 2-to-3 we could go to the gym or the library. We were out of our cells until 4 pm and I would usually start preparing marinara sauce in my hot pot. My friends and I took turns cooking, alternating days. We all looked forward to the evening when we would feast on pasta. At 5 pm it was back to chow until 5:20 and back to the cells until 6. From 6-to-10 we were all out of cells watching television or shooting the shit or playing cards. I would always call my girl around this time. She used to come and visit me a couple of times a week. The visits were behind a partition so I couldn’t touch her. They allowed contact visits every three weeks where we could kiss and hug and whatever else we could get away with. I remember Howie Winter telling me to “make the best of the time - don’t let it get the best of you.” I really understood what he meant because I kept to myself, and the chosen few I 71

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ran around with. I also went to the library and researched the laws pertaining to my case. I had a good relationship with the Spanish and the Blacks and I wasn’t a troublemaker. I got my bail hearing after about 45 days and my lawyer convinced the judge to release me on $10,000 cash bond. It felt good getting back on the street, but I was hearing some things I didn’t like. Whenever a guy gets busted people get nervous that he will rat them out. I heard some rumors that really bothered me. I was a stand up guy. It got to the point where my lawyer needed to help me out. It was a known fact that my attorney didn’t represent rats. He suggested we go to the Baltimore Post, a social club in Somerville, and meet with a mobster by the name of Billy Winn. My lawyer had successfully defended him in a labor racketeering case. Billy was a Winter Hill gang member and controlled the theatrical union along with Frank Salemme Jr. Winn was old school, a well respected mobster, so my lawyer figured if we could convince him that I wasn’t gonna rat, then the message would get to the right people. I was a little nervous to say the least. I had never been to a mob social club before, but I agreed with my lawyer that it was necessary to clear my name. The place was really dark and feeling somber. There was a pool table and a small bar just off the front door where the old timers were drinking and having a good time away from their wives. The place was small, probably holding 100 people max. It was the perfect little mob headquarters. My lawyer and I took a seat as we waited for Billy to pull himself away from a conversation he was having with a younger guy I didn’t recognize. Billy was probably in his 60s at the time, but he was still physically intimidating and talked in a low matter-of -fact tone. I couldn’t help but notice how solid his hands were and what good of shape he was in for an old-timer. 72

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When we noticed he was free, we decided to walk over to him. He and my lawyer exchanged pleasantries and whispered back and forth to each other just out my hearing range. After a couple of minutes he finally introduced us. Billy looked me in the eyes and said, “I know this guy right here doesn’t represent no rats. If anybody has something to say about it, you tell him to come down here and I’ll straighten him out.” He also said something that even today I will never understand. He said “The Winter Hill Gang doesn’t exist.” I took it to mean that he was telling me that his word goes to the Italians. He was a Winter Hill gangster, but earned for the Italian LCN. I was a bit surprised at how far he was willing to go to help a guy out that he just met. I know it was because of my lawyer, but it still felt good to have a powerful guy like that willing to help me. “Thanks.” I replied. “Stay and have a drink with me.” He said. “Sure.” “Mark, you leave us alone for a few minutes.” I made eye contact with him and nodded. I went to the bar and had a drink while I waited. All in all, it turned out to be a good experience. I was confident that the entire Winter Hill Gang knew I would stand up, and it would eliminate any other doubts from the street. When they talked people listened. I stayed on the street while I waited for my case to make its way through the courts. My attorney kept getting continuances until he could get the case before the right judge. My lawyer was heavily connected in Middlesex County, and had even represented a former Somerville judge in a case where the judge had refused to issue a restraining order. The woman asking for the order had been threatened and severely beaten by her estranged 73

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husband. After the woman lost in court her husband shot her several times and left her for dead. The public was outraged and the judge was in danger of getting disbarred. My attorney successfully defended him. It seemed like everybody owed my lawyer a favor. We finally got our day in court. The kid showed up carrying his college book bag. Of course, the judge realized the kid wasn’t a criminal. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The judge took mercy on us: no verdict, no convictions, and only two years probation. We’d had 2 ½ years in the house of corrections hanging over our heads. Instead it was just a slap on the wrist. I saw for myself just how much difference it makes when you have a top attorney. I was coming up rapidly in the underworld. Some guys referred to me as a rising star. I was just a kid in my early 20s playing the game well enough to impress the guys that had more time in the mob than I had years on this earth. I also had a mob lawyer who knew how to play the game and wasn’t afraid to go the extra mile. I was on a natural high and the power was overwhelming. It was a lot for me to handle, the key to success. It is hard to humble yourself when you know how powerful you really are. It winds up destroying nine out of ten wise guys. They actually believe they are invincible! Before we got the case bounced out of Somerville court and over to Cambridge, my lawyer joked, “I hope you packed a toothbrush.” He was letting me know the uncertainty I was facing. The charges could have warranted a lengthy state prison sentence. He wasn’t sure he could pull it off and I had to prepare for the worst. Massachusetts was one of the states that were hard on drug offenders. They were making examples of a lot of guys on drug sentences. Most guys on the street were convinced I 74

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was solid. Bobby Rennell stood firmly in my corner during the entire trial and we were ready to make a move to take over the local rackets. When he told people something, it didn’t matter whether they believed him or not. They went along with him. Regardless of the fact that I was certain to do some time, I didn’t suddenly decide to get a job at the grocery store. I was a gangster. Sooner or later jail time comes with that life. Guys that stayed out of the can were the guys that I truly admired. It’s hard to commit crimes while under the watchful eye of law enforcement. If I was going away, I wanted to have some things set up for when I got out. I trusted Bobby completely to keep things going while I was inside. He never once swayed when it came to rumors about me.

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wanted to get things moving quickly in case I was going away. Bobby suggested we go to a restaurant in Everett, the next city over from Medford, to see a local mobster. Bobby lived with his girlfriend in a three-decker apartment house a few streets away in Everett. The Everett mobster was a long time associate of Stevie (The Rifleman) Flemmi who was partners with James (Whitey) Bulger. He was in his late forties and knew the game well, but above all else, he was an earner. He moved a lot of coke and his numbers racket was a moneymaker. He was a prime target for a shakedown. Bobby wasn’t concerned about taking a shot at one of Flemmi’s guys, but I was a little reluctant. Bulger and Flemmi were well known for protecting their earners and had no problem getting rid of their enemies. I mean, Bobby and I were very capable, but this was our first big league shakedown. It wasn’t the wisest move trying to shake down a guy backed by Southie, but we were young and cocky. We got to his restaurant early in the afternoon. It was a small neighborhood bar-and-lounge type place with a small kitchen. The place was practically empty except for a few guys hanging

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around at the bar. We took a seat at the bar and had a couple of drinks while we waited to approach the mobster. He was busy in the kitchen, and didn’t even know we were there. Finally, Bobby told the bartender to tell him we wanted to speak to his boss. A couple of minutes later, I saw a guy I had assumed was the mobster walking out of the kitchen towards us. I never met him before, but he and Bobby had some history together. He walked behind the bar and over in our direction. He actually seemed happy to see Bobby because he came right over and shook his hand and gave him a warm greeting. Bobby introduced me to him. Bobby wasn’t the type of guy who made small talk, so he got right to the point. He said: “I know you’re doing well for yourself and you should really do the right thing and take care of us.” The guy was a little confused or just playing stupid because he said, “Why is Stevie sending you looking for more?” Bobby in a serious, almost threatening voice said: “We got nothing to do with him.” By now the guy is definitely not confused anymore. “What do you mean I gotta pay you now instead of Stevie? I don’t think he’s gonna like that.” “No” Bobby said, “You pay us and you pay Stevie and you keep your mouth shut about it around him.” “Fine, whatever it takes to get you out of my place.” “We’ll be by every Friday to pick up our piece.” Bobby never said how much. It’s always up to the other guy how much he thinks is fair without being insulting. I shook his hand and told him I’d be seeing him. Things were going well with our new business arrangement and the Everett wise guy paid on time, but I could tell he was pissed off about having to pay us and Flemmi. It was 77

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only natural for him to keep breaking his balls about protection. When mobsters shake people down, it’s to protect them against other mobsters who may try and shake them down. It’s up to the individual how to protect them. I used to go by and see the Everett mobster every Friday to pick up the envelope and sometimes Bobby went with me. On this particular day, I went by the restaurant to see him by myself. It was business as usual, I got there and sat at the bar and had a drink. I was caught up in the conversation when I heard the Everett mobster calling my name from the kitchen. I excused myself and headed to the kitchen to see what he wanted. I assumed he had something to speak to me about in private because he usually just slid the envelope underneath the napkin that my drink was on. “Hey Mark, I was wondering if you would be interested in making some extra money.” “Are you gonna up your weekly payment to me?” He sneered. “No, I was going to see if you wanted to move some coke. My guy is giving me a good deal on a bigger load and I can’t move all of it myself. I heard you know people and could get this stuff off my hands.” The story sounded convincing, but I thought it was strange for him to offer me drugs. Most guys never get directly involved with drugs. They use runners or collect rent from the dealers so they don’t have to get their hands dirty. I had just taken a pinch and I was a little reluctant to walk out of there with a large order. Besides, I had my own action with my own people. He was persistent, even showing me the stuff so I could sample it. I wet my finger and put it into the bag and then on my tongue. The stuff was very good; it got my tongue instantly numb. As tempted as I was to take it right there and then on credit, I 78

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had to protect myself against a set up. This deal was too good to be true. I told him I was interested, but I wanted to check with Bobby. He insisted I just take it and pay him the next week. Finally I told him I’d be back the next day to pick it up. I could tell he was aggravated, but I came up with a plan. I went to a pay phone to call Bobby who was home getting ready for a night out with the boys and me. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Listen, I’ll be coming by with a package but first I have some things to do. I gotta go to the liquor store.” What I really needed was time to case the entire area around the restaurant to check for anything suspicious like an undercover detective car. I had to be sure nobody was watching. Also I wanted to kill some time before I got back to the restaurant unannounced. I wanted to catch the Everett mobster napping in case it was a set up. I drove around for an hour then I went back to the restaurant. I saw the look on his face the minute I walked in. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you ready?” His face read like a guy who had something to hide. He was shocked to see me come back so soon. “Let’s put things off, ok. How about in the morning?” “Now or never.” I stared him down. “What the problem?” I wasn’t about to take no for an answer. If he wasn’t up to anything strange he would have no problem with giving me the stuff. “Ok, ok.” He was nervous as hell. “Put in a take-out order,” I said. I wanted it to appear as though I was leaving the place with food like a normal customer would do. As I left, I didn’t notice anything unusual. I made the short ride over to Bobby’s house and he was already on the back porch waiting for me. I ran up the back stairs to a third-floor 79

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apartment we used as a safe house for drugs. We went back downstairs to Bobby’s apartment and I drank a beer while I waited for him. It couldn’t have been more than 10 or 15 minutes before he finished up and we grabbed a six-pack to take with us for the ride into Boston to a lounge in the North End. As we got into my car, I was still drinking a beer. I didn’t think much of it because we didn’t have anything illegal in the car. Bobby was drinking one too. As I pulled out of his driveway and headed down the street, I saw a brown station wagon sticking out of a driveway, effectively blocking my path. I beeped the horn for him to move, but he wouldn’t. In the blink of an eye there were three or four more cars surrounding us. We knew it was the cops. Bobby screamed at me “I told you to keep that beer low!” I looked at him like he had two heads and said, “You really think this is a DWI stop?” Two guys approached the vehicle flashing their badges. There was no doubt about it, they were FBI. The other cars were local Everett narcotics detectives. The agent on the passenger side grabbed Bobby and walked with him while the other agent grabbed me and walked me in the opposite direction. The guy talked like he had known me his entire life. He was a complete gentleman. He told me to sit down on the curb and wait while the detectives searched my car. The cop was joking around with me and appeared confident that he had caught me holding the bag. I was also very confident because I knew I had nothing to hide. A short time later a detective walked over to me holding a baseball bat he found in my car. He stood right in front of me and pointed his finger towards Bobby and said “Hey, Mark what do you need a baseball bat for when you got him?” 80

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We both started laughing and he told me a story about how his son had a fight with Bobby and lost. Bobby broke his jaw. The kid was a professional boxer. Even the cops knew about his reputation. When it was all said and done they had no choice but to let us go. The Feds knew they were too late. They’d missed their opportunity. If they had stopped me on the way to Bobby’s they would have had me. The incident was a serious wake-up call and it weighed heavily on my mind. Bobby and I retraced all our steps and examined every possible scenario. I was convinced it was retaliation from Southie. They figured it was easier to have us busted and sent to prison than have us clipped. Although nobody knew for sure about Bulger and Flemmi’s informant status with the Feds, I trusted the word of the McDonald brothers. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Even though we didn’t get busted we got the message. We stopped shaking down the Everett mob guy. It really wasn’t worth going to war with Southie.

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n late 1992 Vinny Arcieri was trying to make a move of his own against the Patriarca Family. Remember: he was on the inside. He had a dangerous crew with guys from Somerville and Medford, most notably Lonnie Hilson. Lonnie was a very capable and volatile wise guy; a real tough guy who controlled most of the Medford rackets for the mob. Arcieri owned a restaurant in East Boston called The Winner’s Circle and answered to Vincent “The Animal” Ferrara, a captain under Frank Salemme. At that time, the Patriarca Family was in the midst of an internal power struggle. J.R. Russo, the consigliere of the family, along with his stepbrother and capo regime Robert Carozza and Vincent Ferrara, all from East Boston, were waging a street war against the boss of the family, Frank (Cadillac) Salemme and his loyalists. Arcieri refused to pay the Salemmes any longer, therefore swearing his allegiance to the dissident East Boston faction of the family. Most family problems arise as a result of greed and the envy of power. The rules are derived from the literal meaning of La Cosa Nostra or This Thing of Ours. It doesn’t mean This Thing of Mine! New England had been under absolute leadership for

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30 years. The old don of the family, Raymond Patriarca Sr., held a seat on the national commission in New York. He actually had major influence in decision-making within and around the New York Five. He possessed the stern leadership abilities that are necessary to build a powerful organization. He had the ability to keep his underlings in check. In other words, he carried out discipline. Nobody likes being second fiddle or being the second best earner. For some guys that’s just not enough. I could never understand those guys. Now in a matter of two years most family members saw a changing of the guard. They honored the administration, never questioning it. Nobody liked the fact that nepotism rules within the Mafia. Some rules do need to be changed, but that’s not my decision to make. I am a loyal soldier. I follow the rules of the organization whether I like them or not. Nobody likes to hear the word ‘no’, but sometimes you have to be told. Guys need to be humbled along the way. The ego is very powerful. It’s psychological. If guys can’t keep that part of their mind in check, it can be their worst enemy. The ego “makes the blind man see.” The feds play mind games with the best of them. That’s how they win most of the time. They give the mobster just enough rope so they can hang themselves. Their ego becomes their noose! The family was fuming when they got the news that Ray Jr. was the new sanctioned boss of the Patriarca Family. One New England newspaper reporter stated: “Ray Jr. couldn’t run a brownie troop.” But as the rule went, his position entitled to him to succeed his dad. The Gambinos had the same problem when John Gotti Jr. took over for his dad after the old man received a life sentence. The majority of the family disliked the decision. It got to the point where Gambino family faction led by Jimmy 83

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Brown was becoming their own family-within-a-family. John Sr. couldn’t allow that to happen, even if he was serving a life term in prison! It eventually got straightened out. He covered his son’s play for him. He knew that John Jr. was even less polished than he’d been, but his ego wouldn’t allow him to leave the godfather position to anybody not named Gotti. He was confident that he could be Junior’s puppet master. John Jr. had to obey his father. In other words John Gotti Sr. was still the boss. John Gotti Jr. was the acting boss on the street. Another rule that doesn’t appeal to most members of a crime family is that the godfather keeps his title until he dies. They knew better after the first Gambino power play. When Gotti Sr. and his men moved on Big Paul Castellano and his under boss Tommy Biloti, Raymond Jr. kept his father’s under boss in the same position. His under boss was Nicky Bianco. Nicky was an old school tough guy, but not the leadership type. He was the street gangster, just like John Gotti Sr. As I said before; some guys are better number twos in life. Nicky often kept company with Rhode Island faction capo William (Wild Billy) Grasso. It was total Rhode Island domination. Boston had every right to dispute that arrangement. In some ways I can understand their position. But the rules are the rules. I could never condone their position. As a 19-year old hothead coming up in the Winter Hill Gang, I didn’t concern myself with the Italian Mafia. I also knew better than to rock the boat. The only member of the administration was the number three guy in the pecking order: consigliere Joe “JR” Russo. He wasn’t a North End guy; he came from East Boston. They were out of their element. The Boston faction had

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operated for decades with the family under boss stationed in the North End. The Boston faction had operated in the North End. It’s where the under boss had always operated the Boston crew. Ray Patriarca Jr. started hoarding the family operations from Rhode Island. He was obsessed with keeping Boston away from any of the other territories. They called him the “snake of snakes.” Some of Ray Jr.’s soldiers were telling him that he better stop doing business the way he was doing it, but he would just tell them to shut up. Once Boston was convinced that Ray was keeping the lion’s share of the Connecticut proceeds for himself, it was just a matter of time. The bad blood was everywhere throughout the family. Ray was like a deer stuck in the headlights. He needed to come up with a solution to buy some time. He was going to break away from Boston when the time was right. Just like the Gambino situation, Ray Jr. needed to get the right support within his own family. In 1989 he gave his blessing for a “making” ceremony between Rhode Island and Boston. He was going to “make” four new soldiers, baptizing them into the family. The ceremony was even going to take place in Boston. (Medford) The new inductees on that day were Vincent Federico, Carmen Tortora, and Richard Floramo, all from the Boston faction. The one inductee from Rhode Island was Robert DeLuca. Ray was trying to show Boston that he would give them three new soldiers. All he was wanted was one: Robert DeLuca. Even choosing DeLuca would come back to haunt him. The ceremony was set to take place at a house on Guild Street in Medford. The FBI had an informant by the name of Angelo

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(Sonny) Mercurio who knew all about the ceremony, but the feds had an opportunity.. They wanted to record an actual Mafia induction ritual. It had never been done. The secret society of the mafia was known, but the feds had never managed to obtain absolute proof of its existence. The only way to accomplish that feat would be to watch and listen to an actual induction ceremony. Then they could hear it all. That ceremony could prove everything. Once they had that Ray Jr.’s house began to crumble. The East Boston guys wanted to clip Ray Jr. so Vinny went to J. R. Russo and they both went to see John Gotti in New York. Gotti said “no,” but recording of the ceremony sealed Ray Jr.’s fate. He was demoted to a soldier, and was eventually indicted along with most of the hierarchy of the family. After Ray Jr. was knocked down, Frank Salemme rose up to a leadership position. But the renegades weren’t happy about this either and wanted to make an all out move for power. To do so, they were going to have to challenge the Salemme leadership in New England. Back in Rhode Island and Connecticut, Grasso told everyone within earshot to stop consulting with the Boston faction about anything. Some Rhode Island soldiers were upset. That wasn’t how it worked. If they need to see or do anything in Boston, they should have been able to reach out for J.R. Russo. This new way of doing business did not sit right with the old school guys who truly believed in the concept of the Mafia. It’s a family! Don’t be selfish! Follow the rules, like them or not!! The renegade leaders sought permission once again from John Gotti to clip the boss of the family. This time around Gotti was much more supportive. He said: “Frank Salemme, who the hell knows him?” In other words, he was telling them to do what they had to do. By this time, Gotti was already in the 86

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process of becoming the dominant boss in the Northeast. If he could manage to take the New England family away from the Genovese, it would be huge! He needed to eventually get Philadelphia and New England under Gambino leadership. Gotti needed to stay one step ahead of the powerful Genovese family. Especially knowing that the car bomb that killed his under boss was really meant for him! Gotti also needed to stay in a position of maximum deniability, completely insulated, while he orchestrated his power play. It was rumored that the Lucchese Family had lost its seat on the Commission for one year. I do not know the reason or if it’s 100% fact, but I do know that they handled the Boston renegade crew from New York. Gotti chose them for a reason. It was rumored throughout the Mob that the Gambinos and the Luccheses were on the verge of war. In reality, they were backing each other up. The FBI had surveillance pictures with John Gotti and Sammy Gravano meeting with Vic Amuso and Anthony Casso on several occasions. The boldest move any mob crew can attempt is taking out their sanctioned boss and under boss simultaneously. It’s like the saying goes “If you cut off the tail eventually the head will fall”. The renegades had permission and strong outside support. They also did very well in their recruiting process. They had many wolves in sheep’s clothing within the folds of the family already. If the rogue mafia was to ever happen, they would need to already occupy most of the top territories. The street generals had most of their spies already hidden. What’s the sense of over taking a Mob family without having knowledge of their main territories? If they don’t know what the family already has operating, they need to find out. The clock was ticking. They 87

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needed to keep recruiting soldiers who wouldn’t pick up a gun for Salemme. The renegade crew was almost ready to act. The stage was set for a full-scale war. The whole family was on alert for anything out of the ordinary. Most guys weren’t found at their usual haunts. They weren’t exactly hiding either. They had enough time to choose sides before the fighting started. In June of 1989 William Grasso’s body was found on the eastern side of the Connecticut River with two in the head. It was the renegade strike that did him in, but the meaning was two-fold. The fact that his body was on the eastern side of the river was the message. That was where the Patriarca family controlled. He got greedy and held out on his own family. That month Frank Salemme was lured to a pancake house on Route 1 in Saugus, Massachusetts. He was led to believe it was to handle a sit-down to broker some peace within the family. He showed up in a black BMW with a suitcase filled with $12,000 cash. As he exited the car he was approached by two gunmen on foot. Two others acted as lookouts making sure the coast was clear. The two hitters managed to strike him two times before he ducked into the restaurant to take cover. As the story goes, at that point he realized that a woman and her child would be in harm’s way, if he stayed inside. He actually went back out and took another bullet. The hit team couldn’t waste any more time chasing him so they got the hell out of Dodge. But there were too many witnesses! A couple of hours later, the cops stopped a rental car matching the description of the car at the scene. Inside were Enrico Ponzo and Gigi Portalla. Inside their car the cops found the same gun used in the shooting. The rental car linked back to 88

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a Patriarca soldier by the name of Frank Imbruglia. Witnesses saw four people inside the car at the scene of the attempted hit. Two shooters remained at large.

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ack to Lonnie Hilson who controlled the Medford rackets for Vinny–Lonnie was close with Vinny Arcieri, but also with Frank Salemme. It put him in a good position. It wasn’t long before Frank Salemme decided to use Vinny as an example of what would happen to any soldier who aligned himself with the dissident faction. One night in 1992, Lonnie Hilson, Vinny’s best friend and most trusted associate, decided to help Vinny close up the restaurant and escort him home. I don’t know all the details, but as Vinny made his way out of the car toward his driveway a man approached from behind and fired a bullet into the back of his head, killing him instantly. The man was rumored to be Richie Gillis, a Salemme hit man. The message was simply stated: “Pay or die!” It’s always your best friend who does you in. He’s the guy who can get closest to you without arousing suspicion. He has your trust. I learned early on in the mob you really don’t have any friends. Never assume because you pal around with a guy every day that he’s your best friend. Everybody has a price. For the right amount a guy will do almost anything. It’s all about power and greed.

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The fallout from Vinny’s murder really hit home. His crew broke up and a few of the higher-up associates went out on their own. In Medford, Lonnie Hilson continued to control most of the gambling and drugs for the Salemme faction while Anthony Barry and Joey Mongiello were making their move for the renegade East Boston faction. In Somerville, Kevin Hardy and Bobby Rennell were done with each other, so Bobby hooked up with me and Kevin continued as an independent. The situation was getting serious, with three separate crews all fighting for the same thing. We all wanted to take Vinny’s spot and run the Medford/Somerville crew. The territory was wide open. Like most things you can’t do it alone. I knew that while I would be able to make some headway on my own, I needed good backup in case I ran into a problem. I also knew that Bobby and I would be a force to be reckoned with. It was our chance to get a piece of the Medford scene for ourselves and take advantage of my Winter Hill connections. It was my time for a big move up the ladder. I met up with Bobby Rennell one night and laid it all out on the table. “Look, I know that we both want the same thing and I think it’s useless for us to fight over it.” “Why should I go with you and not Anthony Barry or someone else?” Bobby asked. He had a good point. “Well I think my record speaks for itself,” I said. “Plus, you know I’m not going to let anyone move in on us. We are stronger together than any other guys in town. There’s no question there. This is the right thing to do. It’s the smart thing to do.” “Okay.” Bobby and I drank to our new partnership and we were off and running. Medford became our little playground, but with the renegade/LCN war heating up and the competition in town, we 91

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knew that things could turn bad at any time, and for two young hot headed independents, there could be trouble. If we were going to succeed in our goal of seizing control of the rackets we had to choose a side. Although Bobby and I were strong together, we knew we had to align ourselves with one of the warring factions of the Patriarca Family. Guys on both sides wanted us. We arranged a meeting with Joey Mongiello and Anthony Barry and they had the balls to ask us to come with them. We weren’t gonna ask theirs or anybody else’s permission to operate—we would do the “side choosing.” We left the meeting on good terms, but we were well aware of their reputations. They weren’t about to sit back and do nothing while Bobby and I ran amuck. We did tell them we would do our best not to ruffle any feathers. In other words, we would try and stay away from their interests. It sounds good and it was the right thing to do, but we could never keep our word. We were always on the lookout for them. It helps to know where your enemies are and what they are doing. It’s like they say in The Godfather: “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer”. It was mid-1993 when I arranged a meeting with Frank Salemme Jr. through Billy Winn. I stopped by to see him at The Baltimore Post, the bar in Somerville. He told me to give him a day or two and he would get back to me. I considered it a big favor and I wasn’t sure if I was out of my league asking Billy for such a thing. Billy didn’t even give it a second thought. He got back to me in a couple of days. He had some guy from the Post page me. I returned the call and was told to go to a club in Boston called The Channel. I was a little nervous to say the least. I mean, I knew Frankie from hanging out at Stephanie’s nightclub in 92

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Somerville and I respected him, but this was a different story. I planned on asking his permission to operate. I wanted to run my own Medford crew as an associate. The Channel was a popular nightclub in the South Boston area that hosted popular rock and roll bands. The place was right on the water and probably held 1,000 to 1,500 people. It was Frank Jr.’s headquarters and there weren’t many outsiders allowed inside the joint during the day when Frank held sway over the most powerful crew of the Patriarca Family. I got there early in the afternoon and the staff was getting the place ready for the evening entertainment. Frankie was sitting at the bar with his nose in some paperwork. I pulled up a stool at the other end of the bar a few seats away from him. I didn’t want to sneak up on him, so I waited for him to see me. By now I was ordering a drink and making a little commotion over the fact that they didn’t have my brand of beer. I wasn’t out of line. I just refused the drink and told the bartender I wanted to see Frankie. The guy must have said something to him because, as he waved me over, I heard him tell the guy to go to the liquor store and buy the brand of beer that I preferred. That’s just the kind of guy he was. He made me feel very comfortable by that gesture. He told me to wait for the guy to get back with the beer and to relax for a few minutes before we talked. I think there were too many ears around him for his liking. I obliged without hesitation. I saw what he meant. There were guys setting up the stage for a concert and they were well within range to hear us. Besides, the Feds probably had the place wired for sound. After about 15 minutes he motioned me over to a table off to the side. He gave me the signal to code my conversation. He started by asking, “You got a problem coming your way?” 93

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I said, “No, I want to make sure I don’t have one. Can I count on you if a problem arises in the future?” Salemme Jr. replied, “You don’t even have to ask that. Those guys are snatching up the ones my father don’t want anyway.” He meant the East Boston renegade crew. “I have no intentions of giving them a quarter.” He laughed. “Why would you? They won’t be a problem much longer.” “It’s good to hear that. You know I have contacts in Somerville that can vouch for me if your Dad or anyone else needs reassurance.” “No need.” I thanked him and stayed for a few more beers and just shot the shit. I was more than satisfied he would remain true to his word. He didn’t even ask for anything in return. I was now an associate of the Patriarca Crime Family—an associate, NOT a member. It’s a life-and-death difference between the two. An associate might have a foot in the door and many friends to back him up, but he does not have the full protection of being a made member. Also, a made member may have full protection, but they also carry all the responsibilities that membership brings—like having to put the finger on somebody when directed to. Now I could go to him with any problem. I really had intentions of remaining loyal. After all, I was close to the Winter Hill Gang and LCN. By the age of 23, I was living high on the hog. I had a decent size crew and the right protection. I was making serious money. I was riding a tremendous power trip and I always had a pretty girl on my arm. I also had balls and brains, a rare combination and a valuable street commodity. I thought I was untouchable. I had avoided the Feds and the local task force who were always 94

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breathing down my neck. I wasn’t even too concerned with the other crews because I didn’t need them for anything. But with power comes jealousy and unwanted attention. It isn’t enough to play the game better than everybody else—you have to watch out for the other guys at all times. Everybody wants to show you who is the boss or who has the juice. And I was about to learn that there are certain guys you just shouldn’t cross. I dealt with some high profile drug dealers from South Boston. Bobby Rennell had his own stack of problems and was laying low. I didn’t see much of him but we were still in contact. I didn’t see anything wrong with doing business in Southie, considering my relationship with the Winter Hill Gang. The Somerville crew had always told me to stay away from Bulger and Flemmi, but I never took it that seriously. One day I returned a call from my pager back to a phone number in South Boston. It was the middle man they used to do their leg work. He sounded strange and asked me to come alone and meet the other guys whom he represented at Castle Island in South Boston. Most guys who knew the score believed that the interference from the wind and planes going in and out of Logan Airport made it impossible for the Feds to listen to conversations. Castle Island was a small outlet of a beach in South Boston with a castle-like structure taking up most of the area. I didn’t think much of it, and I agreed to the meeting. When I got there, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. I mean I’d never dealt directly with these people; I’d always used a runner. I knew them and somewhat trusted them only because we’d never had a problem. When I got there, I felt as if I had been followed, but I didn’t take it seriously because we weren’t gonna make a transaction. 95

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This was strictly a meeting. I wanted to know what was so important that they needed me to come out in person. The main guy, whom I’ll call Tommy, was sitting on the public benches looking over the water and immediately asked me to take a walk and talk with him. We kept moving from bench to bench to insure nobody was listening. He told me that one of his sources from inside the police department gave him solid information that my runner was a rat. He said the Feds flipped him and put him right back out onto the street to avoid any suspicion of his informant status. I told him straight out I didn’t believe it. He told me the information was solid, and if I wanted to continue doing business with them, I had to meet with him myself. I was a little confused to say the least, but like a fool I agreed to deal directly with Tommy. My greed definitely got the best of me. I knew I was just as dangerous as the next guy. These guys were making me a lot of money, so I took a chance. It didn’t benefit them to take a shipment and run with it because they were making consistent money doing business the right way. I kept them pretty busy. I should have looked for a deeper motive, but I wanted to keep our relationship in good standing. The Somerville crew had been telling me that our business relationship was on good terms. As a kid, it’s tough to avoid becoming greedy, and in the Mob it’s all about becoming a big earner. Guys become expendable when they stop earning. The McDonald Crew had cautioned me about greed. “It will become your downfall.” Within a few days I got a phone call. It was their middleman asking me something strange. He wanted to double his normal order and pay on delivery. I always kept these guys at $15,000 just to be safe. But he wanted $30,000 worth of product. I was very suspicious. I told him to come to Somerville, if they wanted 96

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to get it done. If he came to Somerville it would be done on my turf and I could cover all bases. In Southie they had the upper hand. He did everything he could to convince me to come to their city. He tried to ease my mind by making the meet at a restaurant in the middle of South Boston. For some reason I confirmed. To this day I don’t know why. I told him I would give them as much as I could get my hands on. I never committed to an exact price. The meeting was set for the following day. It was scheduled for mid-morning, and I wasn’t about to go alone. So I took an associate with me. As we began the drive from Somerville to Southie, I had $22,000 worth of product in the trunk along with a brand new nine-millimeter semi automatic handgun. It was my weapon of choice because it was clean. In other words, it hadn’t been used in any murders and couldn’t be traced back to me. We were both a little uneasy. “You want to just forget this and go back?” “No, it’s ok. Keep going.” We crossed over the Broadway Bridge and into Southie. “We are being followed.” “Shit.” I got an instant chill all the way down my spine. There was no doubt about it we were being followed. “There’s another one.” He was being very cool about the two cars trailing us. What could we do? If we tried to run they were ready for it. They weren’t allowing me the chance to pull over and grab my piece out of my trunk. We had no choice but to continue to the restaurant. I’ll never forget the feeling I got pulling up. There was a group of guys surrounding the place, waiting for us. They were trying to stay out of sight, but it was obvious to the trained eye. The restaurant was small with tables

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and chairs outside underneath a huge umbrella. It mostly served deli sandwiches. The joint was deserted except for the carefully placed guys who were obviously there for a reason. As I eased my way into a parking space, I saw Tommy walking out the front door and towards our car. He was cool as could be. “I’m glad you guys made it. Come on in and have something to eat. Just leave the car where it is. Come on I’m buying.” We both walked into the restaurant. My friend took a seat at the table and ordered a sandwich. I motioned to the girl behind the counter that I didn’t want anything. There was something very strange about her. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes. Before I could even sit down, he told me to walk outside with him so we could get the package out of the trunk. He was making small talk the entire way to keep me at ease, but I was far from feeling good. I was trying to come up with a plan to get out of it, but there really wasn’t any way to avoid the trap I was sure I had walked into. As I opened the trunk and leaned down to pull out the duffle bag I felt a huge blow to the side of my head. Tommy cracked me with his gun and screamed, “I’ll take that now!” “You motherless piece of Southie shit!” I yelled, holding the side of my head, now throbbing. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll shoot you on the spot. Now come back inside, someone wants to see you.” When I got back inside I didn’t see my friend. All I saw was the girl who was still looking straight down acting like she didn’t see a thing. As we walked toward the basement stairs, I could hear voices down below. By now I’m thinking they are gonna kill me, but with a gun at my back what could I do? We walked down about seven or eight stairs into a dimly lit storage area for the restaurant. Off to the side was a smaller room with a chair 98

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in the middle, completely lined in plastic. There were two guys inside waiting for us, as Tommy cracked me again with the gun. I can’t really describe my emotions, but I was relatively calm as I prepared to die. I think I was more angry than nervous, even though I was completely at their mercy. Tommy ordered me to sit down, as he and the other guys kept beating me with their fists and the gun. I was numb with pain, but I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut. I was calling them pieces of shit and I told them “If I walk out of here I’m gonna come for all of you one-by-one.” The more I said, the more they hit me. One guy was begging me to shut up. As the blood poured out of my head and mouth, I heard footsteps coming towards us. I could barely keep my head up. I was seeing stars and by now I was begging them to just kill me. All of a sudden I felt a hand grab my hair and pull my head up. Barely conscious I looked up and there he was, the devil himself, James (Whitey) Bulger. With my bloody hair firmly in his hand he slapped me in the mouth and demanded, “Do you know who I am?” “Jimmy Bulger.” I called him Jimmy—he could have killed me for that alone. He said, “That’s right!” He slapped me again and said, “Do you know where you are?” I just nodded my head “yes.” He said, “Yeah that’s right you’re in my backyard. Nobody shits where I eat. You got that!” He began pacing back and forth until suddenly he grabbed a knife he had on his person and stuck it into the wall. I was making my peace with God and preparing to die. I sat there motionless for what seemed like hours. Nobody in the room dared utter a word. 99

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Bulger glanced over in my direction with a sadistic grin on his face. I didn’t even look back at him. I was sure he was about to kill me because he asked Tommy to give him his piece. Given the pain I was feeling, he would have done me a favor by killing me, but instead he put the gun an inch away from my mouth and whispered in a deadly snarl, “Get the fuck out here, and if you ever show your face in Southie again, you’re a dead man!” They all turned around and walked up the stairs as I got myself together. I don’t know how I did it, but I made it up the stairs. I didn’t see my friend or the guys. I assumed they were outside. As I walked toward the door, the girl almost fainted when she saw what I looked like. She came running around the counter and grabbed my hand and said: “Oh my god, I didn’t know they were gonna go this far! Your hands are cold; you better get to a hospital.” I was disgusted because obviously she knew something was gonna happen because she was Tommy’s girlfriend. I knocked her hand off of my arm and said, “I’m gonna light you and your restaurant on fire, I’m letting you know ahead of time, you dirty whore.” She looked me right in the eyes and said, “Do yourself a favor and forget this ever happened.” I walked away. “Don’t count on it”. I made my way to my car and the three guys minus Bulger were standing out front to make sure I got in it. As I started the engine, I still couldn’t see my friend so I pulled the car right up onto the curb and sat on the horn. Within seconds he came running out without even a scratch on his face. He looked at me without saying a word. I gunned the engine and drove my car straight at the guys, knocking over the umbrella in the process. 100

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But they managed to get away. I wasn’t sure, but I was convinced he had something to do with it. I was in no condition to do anything about it and I just kept driving back to Somerville. Ashamed and embarrassed, I got up the courage to go and see Joe D. I hadn’t even been to the hospital yet. I was so furious; I wanted revenge on them, something worse than anything they ever saw. When he answered the door, he was stunned to see me standing there in that condition. I couldn’t stay calm long enough to get the words out of my mouth. I managed to tell him what happened. He got more and more heated the further I went into details. Finally Joe D couldn’t contain his anger any longer. “What the hell were you doing over there to begin with? How many times have me and my uncles told you to stay away from there?” I interrupted by screaming back at him. “I’m gonna get every last one of them with or without you!!” He said, “No you’re not. Now you listen to me, and you listen good. I will go over there and see what I can do. In the meantime, you are to do nothing about this. It’s your fault. You don’t walk into his neighborhood and set up shop. You should know better. You’re lucky he let you go.” As he turned around to walk away he said, “Remember don’t do anything about this yet. You better smarten up!” I turned and put my tail between my legs. I knew he was right. I was lucky to walk away alive. I had no business stepping on Bulger’s toes. He gave me a scare that I would never forget. I’ve been around a lot of really tough guys over the years, and while some of them impressed me, none of them really scared me. Not that I’m some master fighter or anything, it’s just the way I am. But Bulger scared me. He still does. To this day I can still see those eyes. They were the eyes of the devil. 101

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While I waited for Joe D to get back to me, I reached out to Howie Winter to let him know what happened. He was serving time in Raybrook Federal Prison in upstate New York. I didn’t expect him to do much from inside and he got back to me by saying he would take care of it when he got out. By this time, Bobby Rennell was also serving time again. He was being held without bail on a parole violation. I told him what happened and he was very upset and somewhat concerned about me because he was preparing to serve out the remainder of his six-to-ten year prison term. He was my best muscle and I was gonna be on my own. We both had concerns about what the future would hold. I was sure that my enemies would come for me now that Bobby was gone. He said it was always on his mind and he hoped I would be alright. He also said he would never turn his back on me. Joe got back to me in a few days. He asked Bulger for a sitdown and told me he was able to recover $5,000 of the money, and if he barked loud enough he might be able to get a little more, “but don’t count on it.” Bulger took me for over $20,000. As a condition of getting the money back, Joe had to assure them that we wouldn’t retaliate. The returned money was a sign of good faith. I had to sit back and take it. Bulger didn’t have to do it. I suspect it was a sign of good faith to keep the peace with Somerville. And the part about me retaliating? That would have been my bonehead move of the century. The fact that Joe D went to bat for me showed how much he thought of me. It also humbled me in a way. I had to watch what I was doing around them. There were only so many screw-ups you’d be able to get away with before they would turn their back on you. I didn’t want to lose Joe D as a mentor, and most of all I didn’t want to disappoint him. Less than two weeks later an 102

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article appeared in the local newspaper. It made mention of the fact that a restaurant in South Boston had gone up in flames. It went on to say that they believed the fire began when a Molotov cocktail had been thrown through the window. And it was under investigation. He asked me if I learned my lesson. I told him I did, but I couldn’t forget about what happened. That’s just the way I was at that stage of my life. I had a reputation for making good on my threats. I wanted to put each and every guy involved in the robbery in his own separate body bag. I came up during the cowboy generation. John Gotti was the role model for every young street thug with dreams of becoming a wise guy. Gone were the old school ways of handling things. A cowboy knows one way to handle a problem and that’s through violence. The old school guys were great managers and had different ways of handling things. They would just walk away knowing they would get to you one way or another. Reluctantly I thanked Joe and told him I would forget the whole thing ever happened. Bobby called me from prison while he waited for his surrender hearing (a hearing granted if a parolee is arrested). Of course the calls were made collect with a brief recording from an operator that identified the inmate placing the call. I could either accept or refuse the charges. He’d been away less than 60 days when he received his first hearing at the Malden District court. He had to go through all the motions and pretrial hearings before he presented his case. On this particular date he was going for a pretrial conference. I didn’t think much of it because it was early in the trial stages and I figured the DA would seek additional charges. Things were looking bleak for him. I was going about my business as usual when all of sudden the phone rang again. It was Bobby and it wasn’t a collect call. 103

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He had managed to walk out of the courthouse without being seen. How could they let this happen? He escaped. I went to pick him up and get him out of there as fast as I could because he was now a fugitive from justice. I took him back to my apartment in Medford where I lived with Joey Legs. I had never seen Bobby as helpless as he was. There wasn’t much I could do for him. He needed to come up with a plan, if he wanted to go on the lam. I hid him out for a couple of weeks before he reached out for Paul DeCologero. Paul had just been released from prison after serving a 10-year sentence for drug trafficking. Paul was known as a big earner. He continued to control his crew and generate serious money the entire time he was away. The Feds seized a drug shipment worth over a million dollars on its way up to Boston from Florida. Paul managed to pay back his supplier who was out the money. Most guys would have just tried to write it off, but he was a stand up guy. He was firmly in control and looking to make a play for the top spot in the New England Mafia. He had aligned himself with the East Boston rogue faction of the Patriarca Family.

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didn’t know Paul, but he and Bobby had a long history. They had been friends for quite awhile, and even did some time together. Bobby held Paul in the highest regard and told me stories about him. I also knew some of his crew members who all had good things to say about him. I was a little reluctant, to say the least, but Paul was the one guy who was capable of filling the power void in Boston. With most of the Angiulo regime serving time in prison, leadership was up for grabs. A former U.S. Marine, he had their motto slogan tattooed on his arm “death before dishonor”. Those words fit him perfectly. He was the one guy whom I knew would never become a rat. He wasn’t afraid to do time. He was one of the few guys who truly believed in the life and all that came with it, good and bad. I told Bobby that I would stand behind him and his decision to join forces with him. We went to a restaurant in Somerville to meet with Paul. He was sitting at a table with a member of his crew whom I didn’t know. Bobby and I sat down at a table and the introductions were made. I had never seen Bobby so confused. He was the kind of guy who never let anybody see him sweat, but I could tell he was nervous. Going on the lam is no fun and most guys can’t handle it. Paul really was the only guy who could help because he made

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arrangements for Bobby to go down to New Jersey under the protection of the Lucchese Family, which would enable him to earn some money while on the lam. It would also get him away from Boston and the cops who were searching for him. We were both satisfied with the result of the meeting. Although I was with La Cosa Nostra, I wasn’t a member. I wanted to keep my options open and do what was best for me. Paul talked a big game and told me to come and see him any time and we could talk business. Bobby vouched for me, which opened the door should I ever decide to work with him. With Bobby on the lam, I had no choice but to go about my business as usual. Even though Paul left the door open for me to come along with his crew, I chose to focus on my own business. I was hanging out at a lounge in Somerville called Dapper Dan’s. In the same complex as the Assembly Square Mall, it catered to mall shoppers during the day, but at night it was a popular hangout for people from the surrounding cities. I used it for a place to drink and to handle business meetings. On one particular night in 1994, I was at Dapper’s with some of my friends drinking and having a good time when Paul DeCologero walked in. He was with his childhood friend and crew member Tommy Reagan. Tommy was a big guy probably 6’ 2”, 220 pounds and roughly in his early 40s. He had a reputation as a loose cannon with a massive coke habit. He was your typical cowboy. I had never met him before. I happened to be sitting at a table with Bobby Rennell’s and Kevin Hardy’s girlfriends. Even though Bobby and Kevin weren’t friends anymore, their girls were as close as could be. They even shared an apartment together in Somerville. These were two girls who were considered to be off limits to anybody. They were knockouts: two hot blondes in their early 20s. 107

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When Paul noticed us, he came walking over and asked if he and Tommy could join us. I obliged and they took a seat. After the introductions were made, we all stayed and had drinks and a lot of laughs. I explained our situation to Paul. Bobby asked me to stay in contact with his girlfriend while he was gone. Any messages I needed to get to him could go through her. “Let’s go to Foxwoods. I want to hit the tables,” Paul insisted, talking about the casino in Connecticut. It was almost closing time and the casino was a long drive from Somerville. “Sorry, I’ve got plans.” Tommy stood up to leave. “Me, too.” Said Kevin’s girl, Gia. I tried to beg off. “Look Paul, I’m really not up for it, and I got Jimmy with me.” “We are going Jimmy; come with us.” Paul was not taking no for an answer. Kara, Bobby Rennell’s girl and I, were finishing up our drinks while we waited for Paul’s driver to bring his car up to the front door to pick us up. A few minutes later, we saw his Cadillac pull up and come to a stop. For some reason he didn’t want his driver to come with us. Paul jumped into the driver’s seat with Kara in the front and Jimmy and me in the back. It was late and I didn’t feel like going. I never had much luck at casinos and I really didn’t want to throw my money away. The only reason I agreed to go was out of respect for Paul. The ride seemed endless. We finally got there after about an hour and a half ride and the place was jumping. I mean it was packed with people. We couldn’t even find an empty blackjack table. As time passed, Jimmy and I managed to find a table, while Paul and Kara headed for the craps. Looking back now, I wish I’d never found

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that table because in 30 minutes I lost all my money. I didn’t have credit cards or a bank account, so I couldn’t access any more cash on the spot. I was cursing my decision as I walked away from the table to search for Paul. I wanted to leave. I walked the entire casino looking for him when I found him at the craps table. He was doing alright for himself and had no intentions of leaving. I kept asking him to leave and he kept telling me to relax. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and gave me $500 to leave him alone. He gave it to me like he was throwing away 20 bucks. He had so much money, it didn’t matter to him. Paul was a big spender and loved to throw money around. I bugged him two more times for more cash. The more I aggravated him, the more money he gave me. I wound up having a good time and that’s when I decided to join the renegade crew. That night Paul and I really hit it off. I thought we could have a good future together. A couple of weeks passed when at four in the morning I got a phone call from Bobby. He was calling me from South Station in Boston. He had taken a train back to Boston from New Jersey. I could tell something was drastically wrong because he hadn’t been gone that long. What could he have possibly done to be coming back so soon? When I got there, he was standing outside the train station waiting for me. He got into the car and began to tell me the story. He’d run out of money and had to rob one of the Lucchese guys of some drugs and money. He was really sweating because he knew the family would try to kill him if he stayed. Also Paul was going be very mad for disrespecting him. By robbing a Lucchese wise guy he was robbing Paul. The Luccheses were standing behind Paul and they did a lot of business together. I never knew who Paul’s contacts were, but I think 109

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they may have been higher-ups in the family. What a mess. I told Bobby I couldn’t help him and he better get in touch with Paul. Bobby chose to avoid everybody and continue his life on the run. Only this time he was staying with a relative in the suburbs of Massachusetts. Bobby managed to stay out of sight; that is until I needed him to help me take care of a problem with Eddie Insogna who went to Anthony Barry for help. The problem was a territorial dispute that we both claimed belonged to each other. It was time to sit down and either work it out or take the next step. I wanted to flex my muscle so I took Bobby with me. We agreed to meet at Ma’s bar. We got there before Eddie and Anthony but within minutes, the two of them came strolling in. I thought it was gonna be a bad situation, but they were all smiles when they joined us. As I looked up. I saw my arch enemy detective Dave Montana from the Medford police department. Even though the bar is in Malden, Montana was part of a multi-city Federal organized crime task force, so he had Federal jurisdiction. He walked in quickly and barely even looked in our direction. He immediately gave the place a once over and headed back out the door. Nobody really took it seriously, but I knew something wasn’t right. Then Eddie tells me he’d put my normal order of coke inside my car, but he never says where. He just tells me I’ll find it. I guessed it wasn’t much of a problem after all, and we worked it out, so Bobby and I decided to go about our business. As we got into my car we saw an unmarked police cruiser roaring up behind us. We both knew right away who it was because, as always, there were another three or four State police vehicles following him. I kept driving. I was still living with Joey Legs on Wicklow Avenue in Medford, and my apartment was 110

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only a stone’s throw away from the bar. I’d made it all the way to the front of my house when a state trooper told me to turn off the engine and step out of the car. At the same time, Montana approached the passenger side and told Bobby to put his hands up because he was under arrest as a fugitive from justice. The next minute I’m sitting on the curb while the cops are tearing my car apart while conducting their search. I’m just waiting for them to find the stuff and place me under arrest with Bobby. It seemed like an eternity, but the cops finally walked away from the car empty handed. I was in a state of shock. I couldn’t believe they didn’t find the stuff. I was able to walk away without incident. It was the last time Bobby and I would ever be together on the street. He was off to start serving a 6-to-10 year prison sentence. Reality sunk in and I had to prepare for life without Bobby. My enemies would surely put me to the test. It was time to step up to the plate and I wasn’t going to look back. The first thing I did was move from Medford over to a luxury condo in Malden called the Granada Highlands. This place catered to wise guys and other major players in the drug business. I figured I would be an easy target if I continued to rest my head on a pillow in Medford. I wasn’t going to make it easy for anyone to attack. Bobby and I had done a lot of damage and I had to clean up the mess on my own. There were a lot of guys looking to make a name for themselves at my expense. I also had to put the condo in somebody’s name other than mine. I’d got close with a friend of Jenny’s, my ex-girlfriend, and we continued our relationship after the break up. The only problem was that she was locked into a lease agreement at her apartment in Everett. Her roommate there was a kid who wouldn’t let her walk away from the lease. It was time for me to 111

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pay him a visit and convince him otherwise. I was out on the town with some other friends having some drinks and enjoying ourselves. This girl invited my friend, Michael, and I back to her place for a nightcap. I had actually set them up on a date. The only reason I wanted to accompany them was because I needed to take care of this problem with her roommate. We got to her house real late probably three or four in the morning and her roommate was fast asleep in his bedroom with the door closed. I didn’t waste any time. I walked up to the door and began pounding my fist into it, but the kid wouldn’t answer. The door was locked so I kicked it open. The kid jumped up out of bed. I didn’t even realize it but he had a baby pit bull dog with him. I lunged at his throat with my hand and at the same time the dog is trying to bite me. Here I am, I got the kid by the throat and the dog has a chunk of my pant leg in his mouth. It was total chaos. “Go get the lease!” I screamed. He managed to sputter out, “I don’t know where it is.” “I’m gonna help you find it right now!” I dragged him by his throat over to his dresser and stuffed his face into the top drawer as I yelled for him to find the fucking thing. He begged me to stop. In return he would get the lease. I let him go and within an instant he was crossing her name off. I walked out of his room and joined Michael and the girl. They heard what was going on and suggested I leave and they would make sure he didn’t call the cops. Moving day finally arrived. My father and some of my friends helped me move. We spent an entire Saturday getting my furniture into the apartment. We all took a breather and hung around for a few beers. As I walked them outside, I thanked them and turned to walk away when I saw Paul DeCologero pull up in his 112

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blue El Dorado Cadillac. I was shocked. Wise guys never tell people where they live and the Granada Highlands was a huge complex with several high-rise buildings. I had one of the larger condos in one of the cabana style buildings that had two floors and probably 12 units. They were tougher to get because they were more expensive and bigger than the high-rise units. My place was separated from Paul’s by only one apartment. I couldn’t believe it. Even harder to believe was the fact that the apartment next door to me that separated me and Paul belonged to Sal Vitale, a Revere gangster loyal to the Salemme faction, who I knew very well. I’d dated his sister and Sal and I became good friends. Paul and I made plans to hang out at his apartment together so we could talk. He explained the situation in New England and how it was a mess. Paul said that Salemme wasn’t capable of running the Mafia. He was too close with the Southie rats. He hated the Irish Winter Hill Gang and felt as if they should be kept away from the Italian crew. He also said that Bulger was a rat. Paul gave us a little background on how New York was backing each side. As powerful as New England used to be, since the death of Raymond Patriarca Sr., the New York families wielded more influence in the affairs of New England. It was all about power. New York had ten times as many guys and that much more influence. By trying hard to influence what went on just a few hours north of them, it enabled the New York families to use areas like Connecticut to make money without any interference from a powerful boss. It all came down to who they thought they could control. During the early years of the renegade war, John Gotti was firmly in control of the Gambino family in New York. Even though he went to prison in 1992, Gotti pegged his son to run 113

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the family. Then after his son was pinched, Gotti’s brother Peter took over (though he’s in prison now). Back in 1985, John swayed three of the other four NY families into coming along with him after he whacked Gambino boss Paul (Big Paul) Castellano. The only family that stood in his way was the Genovese family. Their boss, Vincent (Chin) Gigante, was old school and believed in the enforcement of the rules of La Cosa Nostra. He would never approve of anybody whacking a boss. Although Gotti had great influence with the other families, especially the Bonannos and Luccheses, he couldn’t sway Chin. Gigante attempted to execute Gotti by blowing up his car, but failed when his underboss, Frank DeCicco, started the engine and was killed by the blast. Although Chin failed in his retribution, he was somewhat satisfied with killing a ranking member of the Gambinos. The situation didn’t sit well with Gotti, but he backed off for awhile. The Genovese family had always held influence and backed up the Patriarca Family while operating in the Springfield area of Massachusetts. For many years, the main guy in Springfield was Salvatore “Big Nose Sam”Cufari. After he died in the 1970’s, Francesco “Skyball” Scibelli took over. He ran huge gambling operations with his brothers Anthony C. “Turk” Scibelli and Albert A. “Baba” Scibelli. When Skyball died at age 87 in 2000, Al Bruno took over. Bruno was gunned down in November of 2003 as part of a power play to take over the Springfield rackets. The Genovese guys felt comfortable with Frank Salemme as the New England boss and didn’t stand in his way. In other words, the Genovese sanctioned Salemme as their recognized New England boss. He was hands off to everybody unless they got permission from Chin Gigante, and that would be highly unlikely. John Gotti didn’t feel the same way and had a genuine 114

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dislike for Salemme. He was heard saying: “Salemme, who the hell is he?” Gotti had aspirations to take over everything and be the boss of bosses. People say he wasn’t a good boss, but he had ambition and balls. Unfortunately he also had a big mouth. In the end that mouth cost him. Like Gotti, the boss and underboss of the Lucchese Family, Vic Amuso and Anthony (Gas Pipe) Casso, didn’t want Salemme in the top spot. They favored the old regime with Raymond Patriarca Jr. as boss and Vincent (The Animal) Ferarra as a captain. During the renegade war, the Lucchese family was actually backing the renegades. In some ways, it was a war between the Genovese and Luccheses. That information has never been made public. Only those in the middle knew what was going on. *** It wasn’t long before Anthony Barry seized the opportunity to make a move against me. He and Joey Mongiello were making a lot of noise in the city and Anthony had allegedly murdered a small time mob associate from Waltham who was attempting to move in on some of the gambling rackets in the city. The kid’s name was Gary Macarelli, and as the story goes, he made a real bad move that would later cost him his life. The papers said it was a gambling debt but that’s bullshit. Macarelli arranged a drive-by shooting on Anthony, but as he aimed the gun at him, it jammed. Anthony was on the steps of a social club in Medford and had plenty of time to react because Gary’s gun wouldn’t discharge. Within a couple of weeks Macarelli was ambushed as he left his house to enter his 115

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car. He was killed instantly. People suspected that Anthony had sent a message for anyone who thought they could operate in Medford. Those were my feelings too. After the Macarelli hit, I got a frantic phone call from one of my associates in South Medford asking to talk to me in person. By the tone of his voice I could tell there was a problem. We arranged a meeting outside of Medford at a bar in Malden, which I used as my “headquarters”. I had a hidden interest in the joint and used it as a place to meet people, especially when I was starting out the night. Some friends of mine owned the place. It was a real nice place that the Boston Bruins hockey players used as a hangout. It was good sized, with a dance floor and disc jockey, and it served food: your typical sports bar attracting plenty of pretty women. It was well known as a mob joint. I had several guys who worked the place and kicked upstairs to me. I got a piece of anything that went on there. My associate, Brian, got there before me, and when I walked in, he was pacing back and forth. I couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or just nervous. His first words were, “Please don’t be mad at me after I tell you what happened.” I said, “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll hear you out.” “One of my customers ripped me off real good.” Of course I did most of my business on credit so the robbery was aimed at me. I would be out the money. I didn’t react because I wanted to hear the whole story. He told me that the kid and a friend of his pulled up in a car and as he handed him the marijuana and began to drive away without paying they told him that “Anthony Barry said this is his turf and for [me] to back off.” 116

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I pounded my fist repeatedly on the table, and then got up to take a walk and cool off. He knew me pretty well and gave me my space, but I finally came back to the table and joined him. He didn’t know what to do. I assured him that it wasn’t his fault and I would absorb half the damage. In other words, I cut the bill in half. He asked my permission to go after the kid who robbed him. I told him to sit tight and continue his business carefully until I could take care of things. I let him know that this incident was over his head and needed to be handled a certain way. He didn’t want to hear that answer because he took the attack as a personal slap in the face, even though it was meant as a message for me. I had to figure out the best course of action. I couldn’t let Anthony Barry or anybody else treat me with such disrespect. Anthony had flexed his muscle and taken his shot at me. The first thing I needed to do was ask Paul DeCologero for a sit down. Anthony had no idea that I was with Paul, but I knew he was, because Paul had cautioned me about moving into the Medford rackets. He told me that Anthony represented his interests in south Medford, but the territory was big enough to split into two sections. I caught up to Paul and explained what happened. He wasn’t the least bit surprised. He told me to relax and not take any action until he could arrange the sit down. I reluctantly agreed to sit back and wait, but I couldn’t allow this type of action to fall by the wayside. Anthony had succeeded in renting space inside of my head. Since he made the first move I knew he would be expecting retaliation. I began carrying a piece on me at all times while I searched for Anthony. I wanted to settle the score my own way. I was going about my search when I stopped by a car dealership in the Riverside section of Medford to see a friend who managed the place. I had a business/friendship relationship 117

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with some of the staff. I also used it as another place to insulate myself from the law. I would use their phones or borrow some cars off the lot to disguise myself if I needed to clean myself off from the heat. The car dealership was next to Hormel Stadium, which was next to the Mystic River. Anthony used the area as a meeting spot. It was very secluded. He would take his dog with him and let him run around the grassy area surrounding the stadium. It was also a convenient place to dump someone in the river. People knew there was a good chance if you went to see Anthony over there you may not come back. While leaving the dealership I saw Anthony drive by. He spotted me and gave me a wave. I thought he was signaling me to follow him. I also took it as an insult because of his arrogance. How could he be so callous to send me a message and then wave to me? I didn’t care because it was the perfect opportunity for me. Catching him by surprise, I was fairly confident that he wouldn’t be packing. For the most part wise guys don’t carry their guns unless they are going to do something specific. The only other time is during a street war, but considering the circumstances I was willing to take my chances. I pulled out and got right behind him as we drove down the winding road towards the river. I was cautious. After all, I had a gun and a lot of marijuana I was in the process of dropping off at a safe house. My head was spinning in so many different directions because I was willing to shoot him and dump him in the river, if necessary. This was the perfect opportunity to rid myself of a major headache. Anthony pulled into a spot next to a baseball field that was really secluded. I pulled next to him and jumped out of my car. He acted as if nothing was wrong and asked, “What’s up?” 118

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I said, “I thought you waved me to follow you.” He said, “No, I was just saying hello.” I wasn’t buying his story so I made my move. I reached into my trunk and grabbed a large amount of marijuana and stuck it into a duffle bag and threw it at him. I said, “If you want a piece of my action, you take it from me and not one of my guys. But you get it once and only once.” He understood exactly what I meant because he put his hands up and said “No, it doesn’t have to be like that, I’ll pay for them.” He reached into his pocket and grabbed a few grand that he had with him and told me he would get the rest of it to me by week’s end. In other words he wanted to do business the right way and use me as his supplier. I was shocked at his decision to play nice with me. He knew if he took the stuff without paying for it I was going to leave him where he stood. Before week’s end, Paul got back to me and told me to meet him at a gym he had recently bought in Woburn, Mass. Paul bought out the previous owner and used the gym as his headquarters. It was the perfect meeting spot. People came and went all the time so nothing would be too suspicious if the law was watching. It was also the next town over from where he grew up in Burlington. Paul owned lots of real estate in the area and had a piece of the local business owners. He named the gym “Paulie’s Boys” after him and his crew. He bought all new state of the art equipment. The downstairs was where the free weights were and the upstairs had the cardio stuff and two big offices. Also upstairs was a room with an oven where he made protein muffins that he distributed to the other gyms and vendors. Paul had the ability to make money both ways, legal and illegal. He was an astute businessman who was always looking to earn. 119

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When I got there I noticed Paul and Anthony were sitting at the juice bar on the first floor directly to the left of the front door. I pulled up a stool next to Paul and gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek as a sign of respect. Even as renegades, we treated each other as made men would. He got right down to business and said, “You can’t open two pizza shops on the same street corner. Why don’t you guys work it out and be friends? You have to look at the big picture; you guys are on the same team.” He was right about everything he said because Anthony and I would be much stronger together than as rivals, and Medford was big enough to split in half and avoid stepping on each other’s toes. I looked at Anthony and he extended his hand to mine. We shook hands. It was the beginning of a love/hate relationship. It seemed like the logical choice for both of us- at the time Having passed my first test without Bobby, I felt like Paul had made the right decision. I also proved my ability and willingness to step up to the plate against anybody who stood in my way. Anthony and I could be very dangerous together, if we played on the same team. Although Paul seemed happy with both of us working for him, he also had to be thinking about the flip side. We could become a threat to him because we were very strong and influential. With the current situation in the Patriarca Family, guys were trying to make moves to usurp the power within the family. The stage was set.

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n 1994 I really got into bookmaking. Now the conventional wisdom is that bookmaking is the mob’s bread and butter. To some extent that’s true. The desire to bet on a sporting event is always there, so it’s an easy way to make money. I mean, look at how much action goes legally through Vegas, yet there’s still so much that gets bet on illegally. And what about the lottery? Millions of dollars each week get bet on a game of chance you have almost no chance of winning. At least with a ball game it’s 50/50. Bookmaking in Boston involved a hodgepodge of Jewish, Irish, Italian, Portuguese, and Black bookies, all plying their trades in their respective ethnic communities. But the ultimate backers behind them were either the Irish gangs or the Mafia. The independent bookies would kick money up the ladder or use certain layoff offices exclusively, giving some of their profits to the mob-backed operations. In my bookmaking operation, I was pretty open to any bets. Some guys specialized in certain sports, but I took bets on baseball, basketball, even horse racing. Except from Suffolk Downs. We never took action from there. It had a reputation for not being on the up and up.

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I had agents who went out and got customers. I wasn’t real privy to where they got their customers, but a fly knows where to land. When word gets out about a certain bookie, the clients come to you. Each agent handled around 10-15 clients. They would get a 25% cut of their action. I had a pretty good reputation, so I was always full in terms of the number of people I could take on. The same went for how much I could cover in bets. I tried to make sure I didn’t overextend myself. That’s one sure way to get into trouble. When I got swarmed with action, I did what everyone else was doing. In order to insure myself against any major losses, I had a few places that I would lay off bets. Basically a lay-off means that if I get bets that are heavily favoring one team, I can “lay off ” those bets with another bookie to balance mine out so I don’t take a serious bath on a game. My main lay-off was in the North End. I laid off to the North End, and they laid off to New York. I also used one in Philly and once in a great while Costa Rica. You want to get equal action on the favorite and underdog for each game. I did take a bath a few times. It’s inevitable. Before cell phones were common, bets would come in person-to-person or via landlines, but that was real risky. I’d have to keep written records; you couldn’t keep all the action in your head or you’d eventually fuck it up. I’d keep records, but on Monday morning, when we would do our slips for the previous week (Sunday was the end of the week for us), you would burn any written records of the previous week’s bets. A lot of the agents had sheets, which were a rundown of every game and the spreads I gave them. My main lay-off office in the North End would give me the spreads. I think they got their spreads from Vegas. In turn, I gave those numbers to my agents. We all had to be on the same page because the spread was always moving. You needed to be on top of the latest changes. 123

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I tried to make sure I kept out “ringers,” guys who would win four, five, even six weeks in a row. You didn’t want that or you’d lose your shirt. Now they might come back, because a guy, who’s hot for one season, may be stone cold for the next two or three. That’s money that’s just flowing back into your pocket. It’s kind of like having money on the street. You could care less if the guy ever pays you back all the way; you just want to keep him on the hook for a long time. Loan sharking was an integral part of bookmaking because when the bettors ran out of cash, they were still dying to make bets, so in steps the loan shark. You would lend money at an exorbitant interest rate (though nowhere near what some of these legal car title places charge nowadays). A lot of these gamblers couldn’t go to a bank, or didn’t want their spouses to find out what they were doing. Most of the time you didn’t have to strong-arm anyone to pay you back. In theory you wanted a perfect mix of hardcore gamblers who were trustworthy enough to pay when he lost or when he owed on a loan. When they didn’t pay up, threatening to break legs usually worked. That was not something I usually did. As I said before, when they got into business with me, they knew what they were getting into, so there was no excuse for missing a payment. For a short time, I operated an after hours club in Somerville. It was the kind of place where you brought your own bottle and you could play cards all night long. It was a great place to wind down after a night out on the town or going after a score. I didn’t keep all my operations there, because those kind of after-hours clubs sometimes attract attention from local cops looking to bust up a place. Sure enough, one night when I wasn’t there, the cops came in and raided the place. They asked questions, hauled out booze and made everyone leave. They found a couple joints 124

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on some people, but nothing in the club. I didn’t want to take any chances, so I closed up shop. After that, I had my office in a couple of other under-the-radar places in Somerville. The cops eventually find out who’s booking in town. It’s not that big a place and the vice squad generally knows the bettors. But we were never busted for bookmaking. I don’t know why, but the cops never bothered us for that. Maybe because we were moving drugs and they wanted the bigger bust. All I know is that I never paid off a cop or knew of anyone that was greasing palms. I guess it was just pure luck. Sometimes the cops do these huge bookmaking busts just for the newspapers, especially around Super Bowl time. And sometimes guys get busted for bookmaking just so the police can hold them while the Feds finish putting together bigger charges. That’s a game they like to play. While bookmaking almost exclusively filled the coffers of some families, Boston was heavily into drugs. I mean the big myth is that the Mob doesn’t deal drugs. They just keep it under the radar. But, as you can probably guess, many of the guys on the street level, especially in the outlying suburbs, were heavily into not only financing drug shipments, but in dealing them. Of course you could also just go out and shake down drug dealers. What were they going to do? Call the police? Drugs were a big moneymaker for me, but unlike bookmaking there were some heavy penalties for dealing drugs, which led to a host of other problems. People were more apt to snitch. You were more liable to get fucked over by a supplier or a buyer. And you were more likely to draw the attention of law enforcement. But the rewards were huge. You could cut up coke and make ten times what you bought it for, if not more. The fast money was a big draw. But making money in the Mob is, in many ways, like investing for your retirement. You don’t just want to own one mutual 125

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fund or one stock. You need to diversify. You need to have various streams of money flowing in at all times. See, no one is going to make it on just one earn. That’s why mobsters do several thingsbooking, drugs, stolen property. If one is slow, you can rely on the other one and vice versa. If you have four or five steady earns coming in you’ll do alright. You can’t rely on one thing. It was all about scores and scams. And the scams were a big bone of contention between the groups. If one group’s scam encroached on the other groups, there was hell to pay. I stayed away from this stuff. It was small potatoes and I didn’t like taking advantage of weak or stupid civilians. One of the big moneymaking scams, especially in the late 90’s, was the “Big Carrot”. This may be a Massachusetts original. It was started by this guy from Somerville, Bobby O, back in the late 1960’s. He ran it for over 30 years, before he brought Brian Porreca into the scene. Brian and Bobby showed me the ropes. The term “Big Carrot” comes from the fact that you dangle a big carrot in front of some mark or donkey, and then swindle his money. It’s a basic con. There were a few ways that it could work. They liked to target new businesses, like a bar or restaurant. They’d get the number from the phone book, and check it against a list of companies they already scammed so they didn’t do one twice. They would call up the bar and ask for the owner or manager, knowing that the place got UPS deliveries, but also counting on the fact that most owners and managers had no clue who their delivery guy was. They would feel like they should know, but that just made them embarrassed to admit that they didn’t. So the scammer starts out: “Hey this is Jim, the UPS driver.” “Oh yeah, Jim how’s it going?” the owner would say. “Great.” Then the scammer would get into the spiel. “Look my brother works for Best Buy and he got his hands on this 126

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great deal. He has a dozen laptops that retail for $3,000. They are liquidating them and he wants to get rid of them for $1,000 apiece.” “Wow. That does sound like a good deal. Where can I pick them up?” “I’ll have him call you back and make the arrangements,” he’d say. So now he gets an accomplice to call the owner back pretending to be “Jim’s brother.” He sets up a meeting in the parking lot of a Best Buy. He also tells the owner to bring cash for the computer. Now it gets creative. He had already gone into the Best Buy and either swiped, or had an inside guy get black receipts with the Best Buy logo. Then he would type up phony receipts showing that the bar owner paid $1,000 apiece for these computers. This would make it seem legit. So there’s the set up at the Best Buy, with a car waiting. A guy approaches the bar owner in the parking lot. “Hey man, how’s it going? Did you bring the cash?” “Yeah I did. Do I need to go in the store?” “No. It’s better if I go in and pick it up. If you pay me I’ll give you this receipt. Just give it to Sal at the loading dock and he’ll help you load the items into your car. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.” So the bar owner, thinking he’s gotten one over on us by only paying $1,000 for a $3,000 laptop, drives behind the store. He winds up ordering 5-10 of them at that price. He wants to play middle man to his own friends and make the extra money. He still thinks he’s giving his friends a wonderful deal at say $2,000 per laptop. The scammer walks into Best Buy and walks right back out. He jumps into a waiting car and takes off, cash in pocket, with the bar owner waiting like a moron at the loading dock. 127

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Alternately they would sometimes target certain people and get their phone numbers and call them at work. This was better than calling them at home. They would meet us the next day and do the same thing. They moved a lot of electronics, usually around Christmas. The scam was one you could do over and over again. You had to change the locations sporadically. People got suspicious, especially the local cops. The scams were featured on every local news programs. Eventually the cops set up a task force around the primary pick-up spots. Sometimes I got involved in scams just so I had the law focused on me, and not where the real action was happening. I’d show my face now and then and took a couple of pinches. It kept their eyes away from the other rackets I had going. The good thing was that because of the nature of the scams, you had to get pinched three times before you’d see any real time. It was worth the risk. There are a variety of versions of the scam. Some guys drive around in vans with electronic equipment in the back. The stuff is in expensive-looking boxes, but is usually cheap knockoffs or broken items. They pull up to an area with people and start hawking, or drive into a strip mall, and start getting the people to come out to the van to look at the merchandise. This always gets them going. They get caught up in both your enthusiasm and their desire for a good deal. It was stupid shit and I kept my crew away from it as much as possible. We played in the big leagues with guys who had access to serious money. The money was pouring in on a consistent basis. I had crews in Florida and all the way up to Canada. Once the Feds got involved we had to take the show on the road to let things cool off in our own back yards. I’d go on a couple of road trips to keep an eye on the guys. I also liked to call back some of 128

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the guys we had taken and tell them that my brother got a big shipment of air conditioners. Maybe he’d be interested in buying say five to ten, so he and his friends can cool off. Then there were shakedowns. Wise guys have some restaurants and/or clubs and bars that they use as part of their businesses. Sometimes we buy into them too. Let’s say that some guy who bets with you or you know from the neighborhood has tax problems and needs some cash to fix them. Maybe he can’t get money from a bank, or he wants cash quick. So he comes to a guy like me and asks for the help. At that point, I become a silent partner. It’s that easy. Then there’s the old protection racket. Let’s say a place like Joe’s Bar is being shaken down by a group of mobsters. In this case, the joint needs $2 million for renovations so they need to borrow $900,000. The guys they get the money from are now silent partners. They loaned the money and took their piece. These are examples of shakedowns. There’s a million ways to shakedown a person or establishment. I’ll give another example. Let’s say a mobster wants to shake down Good Times Bar and Grill in Somerville. He goes to the owner and puts one or more of his guys on the joint’s payroll. These ghost employees never work at the place. They are mobsters getting their piece of the shakedown. Everything looks good for tax purposes. It even gives the mobster proof of employment since he may have the owner use his own name as one of the joint’s new employees.

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n January 10, 1995, Frank Salemme, along with Whitey Bulger and Steve Flemmi, were indicted in a huge racketeering bust, along with Winter Hill member George Kaufman, and Salemme loyalists John Martorano, Robert DeLuca, and Frank Salemme Jr. It was the biggest blow against the New England family in years. Interestingly, the charges didn’t go down the totem pole as far as some people thought. I figured the Feds were still making cases against some of the Mafia members and renegades who were part of the war. Why waste little guys in such a big-name indictment like the Salemme-Bulger-Flemmi one? Whitey and Salemme skipped town. Whitey was tipped off by former FBI agent John Connolly, who at that time was retired but still had sources in law enforcement. One of them let him know that they were making a move on Whitey. As a show of thanks for all the years Whitey was feeding him information, Connolly tipped him off. Whitey did it the right way. He planted cash in a dozens of different places around the country and Europe. While Whitey did it the right way, Salemme decided to go the lazy route. Instead of hightailing it to someplace obscure, he settled down in West Palm Beach. Palm Beach and Broward counties are wise guy central. I mean it would have been the

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same as if he packed up and moved to Brooklyn. I still don’t understand why he didn’t either go underground or go overseas. It was no surprise when he was picked up in August of 1995 and brought back to Boston to stand trial. It wasn’t the only bad luck Salemme had that year. Frank Salemme Jr. had gotten sick and was no longer capable of running his crew. He was diagnosed with lymphoma. He finally passed away in early 1995. A mobster by the name of Robert (Bobby) Luisi Jr. from the North End had taken over his crew, after his father and brother were killed in a brazen shooting. Also two associates were killed in the massacre and there was only one survivor. Luisi stepped up and came around full force. Although Bobby Luisi Jr. didn’t involve himself with his father’s crew, it benefited him. His father had been making a lot of enemies on his turf in the North End. Right in the middle of the North End he’d given a made guy a beating with a lead pipe over a real estate deal gone south. He had broken away from the traditional mob and set up his own independent crew opposite the LCN wise guys. They’d used the North End as their headquarters since the beginning. Luisi was able to pick up the leftovers of his father’s business. He had a huge crew with guys from all over. He was the soldier responsible for fighting the street war against the renegades. It was his crew along with Carmen DiNunzio and the Rosetti brothers. They stood on the front line and did the day-to-day battle on the street. At the time I was hanging around with Paul and the rogue faction of the Patriarca Family, so it didn’t really affect me. Still,

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I was cautious of Luisi and La Cosa Nostra. With Frank Salemme Jr. out of the picture, I had no use for them. I wasn’t even sure if my associate status would still be recognized. I continued my operation and my cowboy style of taking whatever I felt was mine. I also kept doing business with Anthony Barry and stayed close to Joe D. I never even told Joe about my relationship with DeCologero because I knew he wouldn’t approve. I wanted to do what was best for me and only me. I was doing okay with Paul and the renegades and I figured Joe would back off, leaving me to my business. *** Paul DeCologero and I were really becoming close friends, as well as business partners. We spent most Friday nights partying at the hottest Boston clubs, most notably The Roxy. The place catered to all types of people, but the dress code required men to wear sport coats and shoes. There was a $20 cover charge and the drinks were expensive. One night, Paul and I, along with Tim and Paul’s nephew (a kid from Burlington who acted as Paul’s right arm) were planning a night at the club. When the time came for us to go, I was too hung over to get out of bed. Paul always stopped by on the way to his apartment, but I was hoping he would forget this one time. I told my roommate to tell him I wasn’t home, but somehow it didn’t work. Before I knew it, I Paul was standing over me bugging me to go. We talked for a few minutes and I told him I was eating dry toast and drinking lots of water because I had a vicious hangover. He didn’t want to take no for an answer. I figured I had the perfect excuse when I told him that all my suits were at the dry cleaners, so I had nothing to wear. 132

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He said, “Let’s go by my mother’s house and you can wear one of my suits.” I finally gave in and agreed to go out with him. Paul gave me a couple of hours to get ready. He came over at around 9’o clock, and we left together and headed for his mother’s house, in Burlington. We decided to take my car because we felt it would be safer. With the war going strong, Paul was the biggest target for the Salemme faction. Everybody was on full alert and packing guns. There were groups of shooters on both sides dispatched on any given night to kill any members of the rival crews. The body count was already rising, and I didn’t want to be seen in Paul’s car. It was a shitty night weather-wise, cold and snowing. We made the ride from Malden to Burlington in roughly 20 minutes. I parked in the driveway and we walked up the stairs on the side of the house. The house was large with two floors and a finished basement apartment. It was in a quiet neighborhood and across the street from a wooded area with lots of shrubbery. We went downstairs to Paul’s old room where he left most of his clothes and other personal belongings. Although he had other addresses he always kept his room at his mother’s. When he opened up the closet I was stunned at how many suits he had. There must have been 30 suits that were all neatly packed together on separate coat hangers. I was like a kid in a candy store as I browsed through his collection. I decided on a light-colored suit that matched my shoes and I picked out the perfect tie. As I finished getting dressed, we headed up the stairs and toward the side door that we entered when we came in. Halfway up the stairs, Paul started talking about the Salemme crew and how they had shooters that were hot on his trail. After all, Paul was the ideal target for them to all but eliminate the renegades. Besides him, the Mafia wanted to hit Vincent (Gigi) 133

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Portalla and Enrico Ponzo. Ponzo didn’t stick around long after the attempted hit on Salemme. Instead he high tailed it out of town. Portalla ran an East Boston crew that was loyal to DeCologero and the original renegade crew headed by Russo, Carozza, and Vincent (The Animal) Ferrara, all of East Boston. As we were starting to leave, Paul said “Be careful walking out the door, there may be guys positioned in the bushes outside of the house. And besides it’s slippery from the snow.” Just as the words came out of his mouth, I took a tumble right down the stairs banging off each step on the way down until I landed flat on my ass at the bottom. As I sat there for a minute, Paul looked at me like I was nuts or something and just shook his head. I was embarrassed. I had nothing to say because the fall managed to rip the pants and dirty the entire suit I had just borrowed from him. He couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and we went back inside the house where I put on another one of his suits. He jokingly said “You think you’ll be alright this time.” I didn’t even respond. We finally made our way to my car and continued on to the club where we would eventually meet up with Tim and Paul’s nephew. On the ride to the club, Paul and I talked about the war. He explained the situation regarding former New England mob boss Raymond Patriarca Jr., and how Paul and his crew were trying to build a war chest and earn money to back up Raymond upon his release from prison, which was coming up. The Genovese Family (and Russo and Ferrara) had forced Raymond Jr. to step down under threat of death. The only reason they let him live was out of respect for his father. An FBI informant said that Raymond Jr. had tears in his 134

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eyes as he begged for his life. He was criticized for exposing the Mafia when his ineptitude allowed the Feds to secretly record a Mafia induction ceremony on tape for the first time in history. His own driver Sonny Mercurio, the guy wearing a wire for the Feds, actually turned down the volume on a television set so the Feds could get a better feed. That and his inability to successfully run the family like his father had led to his humiliation and demotion to soldier. It was his turn to get his revenge and regain leadership of the family. Paul was confident that he had all the right pieces in place. He even had the Lucchese family backing the renegades. I’ve always heard that, as long as the Patriarca Family has been around, they have always needed to have the blessing of the majority of the New York families in order to sanction the placement of the boss. With the Luccheses, I actually thought Paul had a legitimate shot at overthrowing the Salemme crew. Paul had a dangerous crew with a number of shooters at his beck and call. He also had Gigi Portalla, who came to him for protection as his man on the street. Gigi was a capable wise guy and wasn’t afraid to shoot anybody at any time. The only problem was that Paul knew that New York would never accept a guy like him. Gigi was a cowboy who was just as unpredictable as he was dangerous. If they were successful they would have the ability to make their own members. They would also have to be sanctioned by John Gotti and The Gambino family. Although Paul never said it, I knew that once Gigi had exhausted his usefulness to him he would have to be eliminated. Gigi was the perfect fall guy because he was the target of every branch of law enforcement and the perfect guy to take the heat off the real boss, Paul DeCologero. 135

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Paul discussed getting me a button (officially inducting me into the Mafia) when we finished off the Salemme crew. Even though I was only half Sicilian, Paul assured me that I would become a member. It was my chance at the big time. I hadn’t thought I could ever become a member of La Cosa Nostra because even though my mother was 100% Italian, I still carried my father’s Jewish last name. Even though I deserved it, I was sure I would never amount to anything except associate status and that wasn’t good enough for me. *** The day I had dreaded finally arrived. Paul pulled me aside and asked me to prove my loyalty to him by robbing an associate of LCN by the name of Alfred (Fat Al) Sapochetti. If I robbed LCN, then Paul would know where my loyalty was. Al and his partner ran a club in Somerville called The Willow Jazz Club. The Willow was a well-known place for both jazz aficionados and wise guys. A lot of people in the neighborhood weren’t too keen on it, but alternately a lot of great jazz musicians made The Willow a stop on their tour. It had an interesting mix of residents, students, jazz hipsters, and wise guys. Fat Al and his partner also controlled a vast drug enterprise, a thriving bookmaking and shylock business. They also did business with Joe D and the Winter Hill Gang. Because they operated in Somerville, Joe D got paid tribute. Joe had introduced me to Al, and I had done some business with him at the Willow. Paul knew about my history and knew I could get close to them without raising too much suspicion. I couldn’t even sleep at night because I knew that, if I pulled it off, there would be no going back to La Cosa Nostra; Joe D would become my enemy. It would be difficult for me to stay in Medford if I robbed Al. 136

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I would lose so much, but I still decided to do it. My plan was to steal a kilo of cocaine from a hiding spot in the club I knew about. I had done my homework and figured out where they kept the stuff. It was time to make my move. One night I drove over to Somerville with a buddy and we both went in the club. My friend was there to keep an eye out for anybody coming in my direction. He would signal me by tapping his foot on the floor if somebody was approaching. I didn’t want to be noticed so I kept my head down and didn’t talk to anyone. There were a lot of people inside the joint and I tried to blend in. I needed to get away from everybody and sneak downstairs to the storage facility in the basement. That’s where Al had his hiding place. I saw my opening and took it as I made my way downstairs. I was about to grab the stuff from a shelf just below the ceiling and make my way up the stairs. As I looked up, I thought the coast was clear; that is, until I saw Tommy Caruso pointing a gun at me. Tommy was Al’s top muscle and it was rumored that he would torture his victims before he finished them off with a gunshot to the head. He was like a pit bull, 5”6 and 200 pounds of muscle. I was stunned to see him standing there and I said “What, are you gonna shoot yourself with that thing?” He didn’t crack a smile. “Let’s go. Upstairs.” He motioned with the gun. “Up to the jazz room. Al’s there.” “You gonna shoot yourself ?” “Just get moving and you’ll find out soon enough.” So I walked upstairs to the jazz room. It was a room that was used for the entertainment and was empty when there wasn’t a live band playing. 137

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The room was empty - not a good sign for me. “Sit the fuck down.” Tommy said. I didn’t know what they had in store for me and it brought back memories of the incident I had in South Boston with Whitey Bulger. Minutes passed when I overheard Fat Al on the telephone with somebody saying, “We don’t know whether to kiss him or kill him.” I was pretty confident that I knew who was on the other end of the line. It wasn’t long after Al ended the phone call that my worst fear was about to come true. The door to the room got pushed open with the force of mule kick. My eyes nearly popped out my head when I saw Joe D come through the door. I had never seen him that mad before, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he meant business. He was literally foaming at the mouth! He told Al and Tommy to leave us alone and he would handle it. He gave me a look and yelled “Come over here, I want to talk to you!” I didn’t know what to think so I got up and walked towards him. Before I could even react he punched me square in the jaw as he screamed, “Go ahead and hit me back, I know you want to. You better choose your side right now! Come on, if you’re my enemy then hit me back! Who the hell do you think you are? What kind of bullshit is this?” The force of his punch didn’t even move me, but it still hurt like hell. It took everything I had not to show him how much it hurt. He had never put his hands on me before and I immediately understood his message. He was not only telling me that he would become my enemy if I chose to become a renegade, he was gonna show me himself. Joe would be the one that killed me if I betrayed them. If I hit him back I would be challenging him to see who kills who. I would also be raising my hands to a boss. If I stand there and take 138

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the punch, he’ll see that his son got the message and knows better for the future just what side he should choose. As much as I was hurt by what I thought he was doing to me, I couldn’t go against him. How could you hurt somebody who’s that dear to you? When he realized that I wasn’t going to fight back he calmed down and whispered to me, “You better make this look good when we walk through that door, because those guys want to kill you.” My life would forever change as we walked out the door, and I saw my father sitting at the bar waiting for us. I realized that Joe brought my father with him to show the other guys that they would keep me in line and take care of the problem their own way. By the look in my father’s eyes and the fact that he came out to try and help me in the middle of the night, I knew just how worried he was about me. As embarrassing as the situation was, I realized that Joe had saved my life and treated me like he would his own flesh and blood. It was like a father teaching his son a lesson. My father later told me that Joe D told him that he’d have to slap me around a little. My father just said, “Do you what you have to do, But please don’t let them kill him.” I understood why Joe was opening the door for me by making the right introductions. He trained me well enough to know I had the ability to walk through the open door on my own. I just needed someone to open it for me. That’s what it’s all about in the mob is getting the right protection and loyalty from the crew you’re with. It’s the difference between life and death. Joe used to tell me as a kid “You’re only as smart as the people you surround yourself with.” He also told me how many crews are worth getting into. He and I both knew who the right guys were to stay around. From that day forward I vowed to never betray LCN again; and I would do everything I could to help them win the war. And if that included being a double agent against the renegades, so be it. 139

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ometimes you make good decisions on the fly, sometimes not. I think deciding that Paul wasn’t my ticket to big things in the local underworld may have been one of my better ones, especially when I saw how it turned out for him and his crew. Anyway, a few days after the robbery, I went and told Paul I had taken care of it. He was so happy that he didn’t even ask me for a piece of the drugs or money I had supposedly scored. Instead, he asked me to do him a favor. He told me that a professional wrestler from the WWE was coming into town and he needed a place to stay. It was perfect timing because my roommate was out of town for the weekend, so her bedroom would be empty. He told me that this wrestler and his wife were personal friends of his; he had known them a long time. Whenever the wrestler came to town Paul would show him a good time and of course supply him with his drugs. In return the wrestler acted as muscle for the crew. He wasn’t a shooter, but his 6’ 5” perfectly muscled physique would intimidate almost anybody. Paul’s nephew picked him up at the airport and drove him over to our condominium complex so he could get situated and prepare for a night out on the town with us. When he walked through the door I couldn’t believe how big he was. When we got introduced

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and shook hands he almost pulled my arm right off. This guy was not only big, but also very strong. We immediately hit it off, and Paul had asked me to take care of him with his drugs. I told him I would because he assumed I had more than enough because of the robbery and it was the least I could do for him. He didn’t waste any time before asking me for some stuff. I mean he hadn’t even taken his coat off before he was ready to party. I didn’t do drugs often, but I partied every now and then, so I joined him. I was nervous because Paul didn’t do drugs and hated drug users, and although he had some in his crew, he wasn’t very trusting towards them. It wasn’t long before Paul’s nephew stopped by and joined the party and we were going pretty strong. I was too fucked up to even go out but I knew Paul would haunt me until I said yes. After a few hours of partying Paul walked through the front door and saw us all smoking the shit and passing the pipe around. I was shocked when he asked me to hand him the pipe, but he wasn’t the least bit upset and joined the party. I finally got myself together and ready to go out. Paul asked me if I was alright to drive. I told him I was so we took my car. The wrestler could barely fit in the front seat. He looked like he was wearing my Lincoln; he took up so much room. We ended up stopping at the Roxy and every other club in town before Paul decided we should go to the North End for an after hours dinner. I couldn’t believe the balls on him, I mean the North End was LCN headquarters. It was also full of low-level wise guys and associates who guarded the neighborhood from law enforcement and outsiders. They would know if any strange people were in the neighborhood and alert the higher ups. I thought Paul was nuts, but I respected his bravado. He had balls bigger than an Irish broad’s ass. He suggested we eat at a restaurant called The Café Pompeii, which was once controlled 141

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by capo Donato (Danny) Angiulo. Donato was Gerry’s brother, but by that time they both were serving time in prison. The menu was mostly Italian dishes and it was well known for its veal and specialty calzones and pizza. It had an upstairs with two dining rooms and a downstairs that was mostly reserved seating. The line was out the door but we walked right in and got escorted to a table. I couldn’t understand how it happened, but we got taken care of; it was like Goodfellas. We got seated at a booth with Paul and me on one side and Johnny and the wrestler on the other. Paul was like a little kid because he thought of this as shoving it down LCN’s throat. In other words, he was flexing his muscle on their turf, and he knew word would get back to them about our appearance. He showed them that he wasn’t afraid and did it in their own backyard. Everything was going well until Paul spotted a group of guys sitting at another table. He immediately recognized them as members of New York’s Genovese family. They were also whispering to each other as they looked over at us. Paul nudged me and asked “Are you ready for this?” He didn’t have to say another word because I told him I had my gun in my waistband. I was ready to do whatever I had to do in order to take care of a potential problem. I mean we were in a crowded restaurant, but I still felt cornered. I wanted to get things going before they did. I always believed in making the first move rather than act as a sitting duck. I fear only what I can’t control, and I was about to take control of the situation. Even though I had made the decision to become a part of LCN, for the moment I was still a renegade. Without hesitation I leaped out of my seat and headed straight for the Genovese guys’ table. I didn’t realize it at the time but the wrestler was close behind me. 142

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I approached the table and opened my jacket just enough so they would see my gun and said, “You guys want to play tonight?” You could have cut the tension with a knife. I could see just how pissed off these guys were. Here I am walking up to the renegade’s enemy and acting like a cowboy. A few seconds passed when the wrestler told them, “I can kill any man with my bare hands.” The guys were stunned to see the display we put on and one guy responded, “Tonight’s no good, we’ll play another time when there aren’t so many people around, and you can count on it.” I couldn’t believe it. I would have done whatever it took to protect myself, but things went better than I could have imagined. Paul was also very impressed and said I had balls to do what I did. He knew I was the real deal and my reputation was earned. *** Initially, I didn’t feel right about having to betray Paul; I actually liked him. But my feelings about him began to change in the early morning hours of a Friday night, when he showed up at my apartment accompanied by his friend and crewmember, Tommy. I was in the middle of a dream when I heard Colleen call my name and tell me that Paul was there to see me. Besides being mad at the fact that he would even have the balls to come to my door at that time of the night, he also tried to blindside me by showing up with Tommy. It was disrespectful to say the least. As I walked into the living room to see them I prepared for the unexpected. Paul acted like nothing was wrong until he looked at Tommy to give him the signal to tell me what they came to say. I didn’t like Tommy and he didn’t like me. I was steaming mad as I listened to what he had to say. He said “You know, Kevin Hardy is gonna have a problem with you fucking his girl.” 143

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I said “What the fuck are you talking about?” “Kevin brings in a lot of money for us and is never even short on a dollar. He has every right to do what he needs to do to you.” Paul stopped him right then and said “He’s not saying we won’t be there if there’s a problem. e’s saying it’s bad for business. We don’t fuck our own. Whether you’re fucking her or not you have to stop before it gets out of control.” I jumped right in and said, “Yeah, that’s right. Whether I’m fucking her or not it was nobody’s business, and I’ll deal with it on my own.” Paul quickly got me off the subject and led me towards my bedroom to finish the conversation. I kept talking and told him I didn’t like the idea of Tommy telling me what I could and couldn’t do. He tried to brush it off and said, “He gets a little crazy sometimes, but he doesn’t want you and Kevin at each other’s throats. You are both our friends. Kevin’s a hothead and he’s going to blame you no matter if you did it or you didn’t.” I agreed with him, but I still never gave him or anybody else an explanation. The game was becoming increasingly dangerous, especially having to watch over my shoulder for Kevin. He and I already had some bad blood between us because of the situation with Bobby Rennell. Now he thought I’d stolen his best friend and his girl. With Paul living down the hall from me I had to be careful who was coming in and out of my apartment. Now he was accusing me of fucking Kevin’s girl. It was becoming clear that he had the hots for my roommate and I sensed she felt the same way. He finally came out and asked me if I would mind if he asked her out on a date. I had to repeat the same words I used when he first asked me about my relationship with Colleen. I told him that we were strictly friends and I didn’t have any say in her personal life. 144

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I know he thought that he was somehow getting inside of my head by going after Colleen. It was also the perfect opportunity for him to have a spy close enough to me to give him the upper hand. Paul always commented on my sexual escapades. He was shocked at the caliber of women that were passing through my bedroom. I was becoming known as a womanizer who specialized in sleeping with the other guy’s girls especially my enemies. Colleen asked me to join her and a girlfriend from East Boston for a drink and night out on the town. She told me that her girlfriend was strictly off limits to me because her fiancé was a made guy and a close friend of Bobby Luisi. She was well aware of my reputation and she’d seen with her own eyes the women I was sleeping with. Just the fact that she warned me to stay away from her made me want her more. I had never met her before, but I knew she must be very good looking, or Colleen would have never warned me to stay away. Colleen and I went to Dapper Dan’s to have a drink while we waited for her girlfriend. When we got there the place was jammed and of course a lot of my guys were coming in and out to speak with me. People who needed to know where to find me could always stop in and the chances were pretty good that I was there. It wasn’t long before I excused myself to use the phone. Even though I had a cell phone I always used public pay phones whenever I could. As I made my phone call I looked up and there she was. I knew the second I saw her that she was Colleen’s friend. She was a petite girl with blonde hair and brown eyes and a beautiful smile. I dropped the phone as I turned her way and asked “Are you Debbie”? She said “Yeah, is Colleen with you?” 145

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I told her to follow me as I left the lobby and headed back into the bar area which was separate from the restaurant. I completely understood why Colleen warned me to stay away. I was immediately attracted to her, but I knew the rules. Stay away from gangster girls! As we made our way over to Colleen the girls gave each other a hug, and Debbie showed her engagement ring to us and said, “Can you believe I’m engaged?” As she turned her ring finger in my direction I responded, “You won’t be by the end of the night.” She couldn’t believe I just came out and said that to her. I mean I didn’t even know her, but she said “You’re awfully sure of yourself.” I smiled as I felt the cold look that Colleen shot at me after my comment. That’s just how well things were going for me. It seemed like I couldn’t lose. I was scoring the best women. I couldn’t believe it myself. We stayed at Dapper’s for an hour or two before we decided to bounce around the clubs in Boston. We went to the Quincy Market section of town, a stretch of bars, restaurants and clubs. It was where the action was. We wound up hitting all the bars along the way, and Debbie and I really got to know each other. She asked me if I knew who her boyfriend was. I told her I knew all about him and I actually respected him. I didn’t tell her too much and she also chose her words carefully. Colleen was actually getting upset because Debbie and I seemed to be involved in our own conversation. We were really hitting it off. As the night ended I asked her to finish the conversation back at my condo. She obliged and I drove her to pick up her car at Dapper’s. She would follow Colleen and I back home. The second we walked through the door Colleen was ready for bed so Debbie and I made ourselves comfortable on the couch. I was so attracted to her I could hardly contain myself and I sensed that she felt 146

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the same way about me. Before the next words came out of her mouth I leaned into her and gave her a kiss. She didn’t push me away so we continued to kiss. I was in heaven, but I knew what I was doing was so wrong. What kind of man would I be if I slept with a gangster girl? Was I really that type of guy without a shred of honor? Before I had the chance to go any farther I heard a knock on my front door. As difficult as it was for me to stand up, I managed to make my way to the front door to see who it was. As I opened the door, I saw Paul standing outside all dressed up. As he looked into my apartment and saw Debbie sitting on the couch he realized I was in the middle of something. Before I could even open my mouth he said, “I have to talk to you.” “Now?” I responded a little irritated. He nodded his head and I led him into the apartment. As we passed through the living room and headed for my bedroom I introduced them. He told me she looked familiar so I told him who she was. At first I didn’t think he knew who her boyfriend was, but when I saw the smile on his face I realized he was getting the picture. He was so excited at the fact that I was fucking around with the enemy that he forgot what he came to talk to me about. As he started to walk away he said, “How do you get so much nice pussy?” I just laughed and said, “I got no idea, but I ain’t complaining.” Debbie interrupted our banter. “I really need to get going.” I agreed and I felt as if it rescued me from what we were about to do. There would be no turning back if I had slept with her and LCN would never trust me again. Even though the incident with Debbie just happened, I knew people would be talking, especially 147

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Paul. He was constantly plotting schemes to eliminate all of the soldiers in the Salemme faction of the family and once again he had a plan. Paul ordered me to kill Debbie’s boyfriend. He was willing to help me set the whole thing up. He suggested that the next time she and I were together to slip her a Mickey to make sure she was out cold for an hour or two. That would give me the time I needed to grab her keys from her pocket book and run them down the hall to Paul so he could make a duplicate of the one for her apartment. By the time she woke up I would have slipped them back into her bag and she wouldn’t know a thing. The rest of the plan was very simple. If I had her key I could go to her apartment while she worked and wait for him to come home. As soon as he walked through the door I would put two in his head and walk out as if nothing happened. I had a real problem on my hands. I knew Paul would keep pushing me to carry out the order. Even though I had done some work with the renegades, Paul wanted me to make my bones for them. I talked Paul out of whacking Debbie’s boyfriend, but I knew the only way I could really prove my loyalty to him would be to murder a rival member of LCN. I needed to bide my time until I could figure a way out of this.

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Boston’s North End

Carmine Dinunzio’s Cheese Shop in the North End

Marshall Street in Somerville

Sons of Italy Lodge in the North End

Site of the Luisi family massacre

Frank (Cadillac) Salemme

Louis “Baby Shacks” Manocchio, at his arrest in January of 2011

Ronnie (The Pig) Cassesso

Joe McDonald

Enrico (Rico) Ponzo

James Whitey Bulger

1963 chart of the New England Mafia hierarchy

Charles (Q-Ball) Quintana

Lucchese Family

Gambino’s and Luwchese’s (Boss and Underboss meeting)

Genarro (Gerry) Angiulo

Leo McDonald

The Angiulo Brothers

Alexander (Sonny Boy) Rizzo Wiliam (Billy) Bulger

Anthony (The Beav) Barry Sonny Boy Rizzo

Winter Hill in Somerville

Stevie (The Rifleman) Flemmi

1988 summary of FBI cases against the New England Mafia

Organization Chart of Mark Rosetti Crew 2010

Howie Winter

Mugshot of Whitey Bulger after his capture on June 22, 2011 Ray Patriarca Jr., former boss.

Thirteen

Moving Marijuana

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ll in all, the game was becoming increasingly more dangerous and the stakes were high. Both sides were playing for keeps, and they were on high alert for anyone who may have been trying to infiltrate their camp for the enemy. Paul was pretty sure it wouldn’t be me who betrayed him, it would be Anthony Barry. After all, how could I ever become a member? Even so Paul always tried to stay one step ahead of me. Paul was a major marijuana distributor, controlling most of the action in his area. I had a pipeline from Arizona to Las Vegas to Boston. Paul asked me if I would share my connection with him. The goal of the renegades was to build a war chest and generate as much money as possible to support Raymond Patriarca Jr. upon his release from federal prison. Paul took advantage of any opportunity to make more money to complete his task. The unwritten rule in the drug distribution business is to never reveal your source. It leaves the door wide open for people to cut your throat. Paul had the kind of money to make that happen. My main supplier was a beautiful woman who lived in New Mexico. When her husband was murdered by a group of Mexican bandits over a drug deal gone bad, she seized the opportunity to take over his business. She was in her late 20’s with blonde

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hair, crystal blue eyes and a body right out of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. Aside from her striking good looks she was a business woman and as cunning and cutthroat as any mobster I had ever worked with. Most of all, she was honorable. I approached her with the notion of doing business with Paul. She was well aware of who he was and his reputation as a drug trafficker. She also knew the sky was the limit working with a guy on his level. She assured me that she would never turn her back on me, and would not let him manipulate her for his own gain. If he could do business directly with her, it could make me expendable. I laid the offer right on the table to her that I would get a percentage on every pound of marijuana that she would supply him. She agreed. The meeting was set. Paul asked me to take her to his gym so they could meet and possibly strike a deal. I reluctantly agreed. When we got there Paul was upstairs in his office talking to a couple of guys I didn’t know. I let him know that we were there so he could wrap things up and we could get started. A few minutes passed when he called us into the office. I was purposely watching his reaction as he got his first look at her. He was blown away by her appearance. He looked at me with a smile. We exchanged pleasantries and were ready to get down to business when he requested that she strip down completely naked to make sure she wasn’t wearing a wire. I didn’t know what to think and neither did she, but she agreed. I didn’t have a sexual relationship with her and I thought that she would be mad, but she knew the game and realized that Paul needed to be careful with everybody especially outsiders. We waited patiently for her to remove her clothes. One by one she stripped off her top and then her bra. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, but I managed to sneak a peek at Paul and I knew he liked what he saw. As she stood there completely naked he told her to 158

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also remove all of her jewelry. Paul was sure not to overlook even the smallest of details. He never spoke if he didn’t have to. He talked in a very confusing code. The Feds live for conversations and most wise guys bury themselves by talking. Paul did whatever he could to get his point across without speaking. As the last piece of gold came off Paul had a piece of paper in front of him with a figure written down on it. He showed it to her and she nodded her head in approval. With that one gesture the meeting was over. I was sitting across from him and didn’t get a look at what he offered as a down payment for her to bring back the load from Arizona. As fast as Paul lifted up the piece of paper he set it on fire and let it burn into ashes. As she was getting dressed Paul and I left the office so we could talk. He wanted to make sure that I approved the deal because ultimately I would be responsible if anything happened to the money. He was willing to start off with $100,000, and if things went well it would reach the millions. Paul also agreed to loan me money for the business. The meeting went well and we were all happy with the results. It was the chance to make serious money, and at the same time, control the flow of marijuana in the greater Boston area. The first few deals went through without a hitch, but I could sense that she was nervous about something. As I waited for her to return with a huge load from Arizona, she called from Las Vegas and asked me to meet her there. I kept asking her what was wrong, but she couldn’t talk about it on the phone. My first thought was that she got pinched and was looking to set me up to save her own ass. She finally told me that something in Arizona got her scared and she wanted me to protect her. I told her to just come back to Boston and I would go with her on her next trip. It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but she planned on coming back according to schedule. 159

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A few days passed when she called me from the Four Seasons hotel, asking me to meet with her. I made the trip and when she answered the door she was all dressed up, looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her. Before I could say another word, she leaned into me and gave me a kiss. I was completely overwhelmed because I was very attracted to her. I couldn’t get her out of mind, but I had no idea she had the same feelings for me. She led me by the hand into the bedroom and dimmed the lights. The bed was covered in rose petals and the only light came from several white candles that surrounded room. As she sat me down on the bed, she stood up and slipped out of her clothes all the way down to the sexiest lingerie I had ever seen. She really went out of her way to give me the best romantic night I had ever had. Everything was so perfect and I was falling hard for her. We spent the entire weekend together at the hotel. We continued our personal as well as our business relationship for several months. I began making some of the runs back and forth with her. She was a professional drug smuggler and showed me all the tricks. She knew all the major players and they respected her. She also knew every possible route in and out of Arizona. She was good and always seemed to be one step ahead of the law. The cops in Arizona know exactly which routes to patrol. Most drug couriers never make it through the state without taking a pinch. It never made any sense to me to travel all the way through Nevada and then head east towards New England. It seemed like a lot of unnecessary driving, but we always made it through without a problem. The cops had almost every route completely sealed, except for the one we used. Besides the law, there were gangs of Mexican bandits who stole every load they could. They killed for the sake of killing. 160

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Things were going great between us. We took weekend vacations together and spoiled each other with gifts. We couldn’t stand to be apart. She was looking to get out of the business. We both agreed that it was time for a break. We made plans to spend a weekend at her parent’s house in Chicago on her way back from Arizona. She wanted me to meet them and I planned on asking her to marry me. While she was doing her thing, I went shopping for an engagement ring. I spent an entire day looking for the perfect ring when I stumbled upon a three karat perfect diamond ring in a platinum setting. I had never seen such an exquisite diamond. It was flawless! While I was tying up a few loose ends before making the trip, she called me from Las Vegas and told me that her main supplier had been busted. She wasn’t too concerned because she did business with others. The only problem was that it would take longer than usual for her to wrap things up. I tried to convince her to forget about it and just head to Chicago as planned, but she wasn’t hearing me. She took her business seriously. She finally convinced me, and headed to her house in New Mexico for a couple of days while she waited. I went about my business and offered to meet up with her in New Mexico so I could go with her to Arizona before traveling up to Chicago. She told me that if she brought me along to meet with the other dealer it would spook him and he might back out of the deal. The Mexican dealers think every white man is a cop. They won’t do business with them. I understood her position, so I backed off and waited for her phone call. A couple days passed and I hadn’t heard anything. I was nervous. She never went more than a day without calling me, if only to just say hello. I kept calling her house, but I couldn’t get an answer. It was the same with her cell phone. I waited another 161

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day, still nothing. By now I knew something was wrong. Finally I called her parents’ house. Her mother answered. Something was wrong. I could tell by her tone. Finally, she said that her daughter had been murdered. I was shocked into silence. Her next door neighbor had found her on the floor inside her house with a bullet wound to the back of her head. Execution style. I took the news hard and slipped into total depression. Not only had I lost the woman I loved, but I also owed Paul a substantial amount of cash. At that moment the money was the furthest thing from my mind, but I knew Paul wouldn’t be happy. Luckily, I didn’t owe him any extra for this particular deal. He hadn’t had a dime in it. I spent the next few days in misery. I barely ate. I cut myself off from the outside world, as my friends and associates worried about my state of mind. I couldn’t stop second-guessing myself. The what-ifs wouldn’t go away. After a couple weeks I got up the strength to get back to business. I stopped by the gym to visit Paul to tell him what had happened. Paul was in great physical shape and a pretty good boxer in the ring. As a Marine in the Far East he’d learned the martial arts. I caught him in the middle of a workout, whaling away on the heavy bag. He already knew about the murder from mutual friends. I didn’t want to disturb him, but the minute he saw me he took a break and came over. “I was sorry to hear the sad news; she was a nice kid and didn’t deserve that. Do you know who was involved?” he asked. He seemed genuine enough. I thanked him for his compassion and told him what little I knew. Paul said he wasn’t mad about the money, and he would give me all the time I needed to pay it back. He also agreed to keep me busy to help me earn. Paul opened up his little notebook 162

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that contained all the figures of the guys that owed him money. He pointed to my figure which read $112,000. The $12,000 was my previous balance. It had nothing to do with the other. Instead of sinking deeper into depression I made the decision to hit the streets with a vengeance and earn as much as I possibly could. I needed to stay busy to keep my mind off my personal loss. I visited Bobby Rennell in the can. He was complaining that he hadn’t heard much from me. I let him know that I hadn’t abandoned him. Bobby had recently been transferred to a level 5 prison facility in Bridgewater, Mass, called Old Colony. The prison was used to house the most violent inmates. He’d had a problem in Concord when the guards found a stash of heroin mailed to him inside of a birthday card. Nobody was stupid enough to have drugs sent inside their mail. The mail was opened and examined before reaching the inmate. Somebody was trying to set him up. If found guilty, he would get additional time. He was convinced he knew who it was, but he wouldn’t tell me until he knew for sure. At the end of the prison visit I told Rennell to call me at a predetermined time, because Paul was ready to bury the hatchet. They had been friends for so long and there was a mutual amount of respect between them. Also Paul always looked at the big picture. Bobby and I were strong together even with him serving time. My enemies were aware that he wasn’t doing a life sentence and in a few short years he would be back on the street. If Paul wanted me in his crew, Bobby was with me. It didn’t make much sense for Paul to hold to a grudge. When the conversation came, they talked for only about five minutes in code, but that was all the time they needed to patch things up.

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Fourteen

Working The Angle

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he Patriarca Family was still in the midst of a war claiming lives on both sides. Everybody was careful where they hung out and who with. Guys were robbing each other and there wasn’t much trust amongst the ranks. The renegades were building strength and taking a lot of shots at the enemy. When a war is fought within a crime family, the warring factions step up. Not every crew fought the war. The ones who weren’t fighting would fall into place once there was a clear winner. The dangerous guys fought it. You better be willing to shoot your gun for the cause or you won’t be around long. Over twenty guys got clipped, and business suffered. Wars cost money because you aren’t out there earning. The longer it went, the worse it was for just about everybody. One night in March of 1994 perfectly illustrated what was happening on the streets. Salemme’s muscle guys Richard Devlin and Richard Gillis were shot outside another wise guy’s restaurant in East Boston. Renegade higher-up Anthony Ciampi later pled guilty to shooting Devlin and Gillis. Gillis actually walked away, shot in his mouth and shoulder, but Devlin was killed. Gillis was one of Salemme’s shooters; the cops thought he was responsible for renegade, Vince Arcieri’s murder. Devlin’s murder started a

Working The Angle

whole new cycle of renegade and Mafia killings. Michael Romano Jr. was killed a couple months later. Then came a series of shootings where guys weren’t killed, like when the renegades shot Joseph Cirame. It was getting insane. The cops were hardly into one investigation before another shooting took place. The papers and media were having a field day. There’s nothing they like better than a good old fashioned mob war to sell airtime or papers. Though they got most of the details right, they got the overall picture wrong. They couldn’t keep up with who the renegades were backing versus who the LCN was backing. It wasn’t until years later, at some of the key mob trials of the late 1990s, that a lot of this got sorted out. Around this time I was introduced to Gigi Portalla for the first time. I wasn’t impressed. He came across as extremely arrogant and not very bright. His drug habit was overtaking his better judgment. I especially didn’t like the fact that he and another renegade robbed the Elite Diner in East Boston, which was owned and operated by a key LCN associate named Jack. Jack was in his mid-50s and had been in the mob for most of his adult life. He had a lucrative business and was considered a top moneymaker in East Boston. He was also one of the few guys in the Eastie area who remained loyal to LCN. Jack was truly old school and I admired him. He was also a close friend. Gigi and I exchanged greetings and we walked upstairs with Paul to his office. When he opened the door there were a few guys already in there waiting for him. I didn’t recognize any of them. Later Paul told me that two of them belonged to the Lucchese Family in New York. Paul was very careful what he said inside the office and I could barely understand him a lot of the time. The meeting had been called to plan the next move for the group, which, if I understood it correctly, was to eliminate Mark and 166

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Stephen Rosetti. There had been several attempts on their lives already, including a shootout right inside the Callahan Tunnel leading into East Boston, but they always managed to escape,. Things were good with the renegades and Paul somewhat trusted me, but I had to prove myself to LCN. I had made a major mistake trying to rob Fat Al, and Joe was still a little upset with me. Not long after that I got a call from one of my guys telling me that somebody was selling drugs in my club. I had several places under my thumb with guys earning for me. The VFW post was one of them. It was in Medford and served as a major source of income. I used to hang out there during the day, taking care of business. The place catered to Veterans of Foreign Wars, and mostly old timers were members. It was a place where the guys could get away from their wives and have a few drinks. The place was huge and had two function rooms for private parties. There were a bar and pool table in the members area. Drinks were cheap and you could do whatever you wanted, within certain limits: the perfect social club. It was a typical Saturday night and the VFW function rooms were both occupied with separate parties. I got a call from one of my guys who was hanging around the joint and keeping an eye on things. He said that there were several guys we both knew from the neighborhood in one function room, and one of Robert Luisi’s associates was conducting business in the other. I said, “Are you sure?” He assured me that Luisi’s guy was selling a lot of coke to the partygoers. Although I believed him, I had to be 100% sure that somebody was doing business on my turf. Not to mention that the guy was with Bobby L. I told my friend to try and buy a package from the guy to catch him red-handed. My friend agreed and told me he’d call me right 167

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back to let me know if the transaction went through. Sure enough in a matter of minutes he called me back and told me the guy sold him something. I was pissed, but I needed to handle the problem carefully. With Bobby L. this guy had protection. I told my friend I was on my way down to the club to take care of the problem. I was trying to come up with the best possible way to handle it, and I decided I was only going to give the guy a warning, and then I would pay a visit to Luisi. When I got there, the party was jumping and everybody was fucked up one way or another. I was getting mad thinking about the money that my guy could have been making if the other guy wasn’t there. I also felt a little disrespected. My friend saw me saying my hellos as I walked through the party and he finally made his way over to me. I told him to point out the guy who was selling the shit. He pointed over to a crowd standing off to the side talking amongst themselves. I grabbed his arm and made him lead me over to the Luisi guy. I knew him and we didn’t care much for each other. He thought he could do whatever he wanted in the city of Medford. He was an earner and my biggest competitor in the drug trade. As we approached I shook his hand and said, “I hope you’re not doing any business down here.” He said, “What, do you think I need this place to make money?” I responded, “So you’re telling me that you’re not doing anything in here.” He said “No I ain’t doing anything.” I called my friend over and asked him, “Where did you get the stuff from?” He pointed at the guy and said, “I got it off him.” The guy was shocked that I caught him in a lie and he said, “I’m with Luisi, I’ll do what I want.” 168

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I said, “What did you say?” He screamed, “Fuck you! I’m with Luisi!” Just as the words came out of his mouth I punched him square in the face and began pummeling him on the ground. I got on top of him and put my knife to his throat and told him, “If you ever disrespect me again I’ll cut your throat.” He got the message. His friends were stunned. They got up and walked out the door. I knew I shouldn’t have gone as far as I did, but I still had that cowboy instinct. I felt like I needed to constantly prove myself and do whatever was necessary to protect what I thought was mine. The guy disrespected me in my own place and I couldn’t sit back and take it. I reacted with force. Now I had to answer for it. I had a real problem. The guy really was with Luisi. And he wasn’t going to be happy with the way I handled it. It was only a matter of time before things between us would come to a head. A couple of days later, I was hanging out at Cais, the new place in Malden Square owned by Steven Caizo, when Luisi’s cousin Anthony approached me. He told me that Bobby L. wanted to see me at Ottaviano’s Restaurant. I tried to feel him out to see where I stood, but he told me that he didn’t know why he wanted to see me. I told him to tell Luisi that I would try and get down to the restaurant and see him when I could. I didn’t know just what to do, but I needed to face the music. I never told Anthony exactly when I would go and see Luisi because I wanted to catch him by surprise. I decided to take a ride by Ottaviano’s and take a peak. It was a small place with tables and chairs outside where the wise guys used to sit and bullshit with each other. I figured my chances of finding the place empty were good if the outside tables weren’t occupied. I pulled my car over onto a side street next to the place and parked it. I took the short 169

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walk to the front door and made my entrance. I was stunned when I saw all the guys who were hanging around the joint. I knew a lot of them and didn’t get along with a couple of them. There on the turf of Patriarca capo Carmen DiNunzio, I was a little nervous. He and Bobby Luisi owned the restaurant together, and at any given moment there could be 8-to-10 guys hanging out in the joint. I was outnumbered. I made eye contact with Carmen. As he worked, his 300-pound frame seemed to take up nearly half the kitchen. He signaled me to take a seat and he would come over when he had a free minute. I heard whispers, and could feel the heads turning. I knew they didn’t trust me. I was a threat to them just as they were to me. I felt uncomfortable. Though I had a gun in my waistband, there were too many people around. A few minutes passed then Carmen made his way over to me. Even his walk to the table seemed like an eternity. It was like this: Every henchman and thug inside the joint is glaring at me. They hate me. Especially the ones from the Willow. Carmen asked me if I wanted anything to eat and mentioned how good the chicken parmesan was. I told him I wasn’t hungry. I asked him where Luisi was. He responded, “He should be right back.” We continued making small talk until he finally asked, “What are you doing with that kid from Burlington?” He was making mention of the fact that I was with Paul DeCologero and his crew. I chose my words carefully and responded, “He’s helping out a friend of mine with something and he helps me out sometimes.” I wanted to let him know that I was indeed with Paul, but I also would keep an open mind. He had to be assured of why I was at his restaurant and that when Luisi returned to speak with me; I wasn’t setting him up for an ambush. I knew Carmen was semi-convinced I was on the level because deep down he was 170

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banking on me becoming their spy against Paul. Carmen was a powerful guy whose influence stretched almost anywhere in the Boston area, but he was also a gentleman. Even though I was on the other side he treated me with respect. He shook his head and acted as if he understood exactly what I was implying. Just then he pointed to the door so I would see Luisi pulling up in his Lincoln. Carmen got up, shook my hand, and excused himself. He knew I was capable and a huge earner. Even with a mob war going on the game still revolved around money and what one guy could do for the other guy. I was well aware of the fact that Carmen and Bobby would much rather have me on their side than against them. They also knew the clout I carried with Paul and the renegades. I was on a decision-making level with them. I also knew most of what they were doing at any given time. I wasn’t privy to everything, but I could certainly find out what La Cosa Nostra needed to know to win the war and eliminate them. Even though I wasn’t 100% safe in their restaurant I was valuable and in high demand so I was pretty confident they wouldn’t do anything stupid. I felt a huge wave of relief as Carmen walked away, but it didn’t make me any more sure of my future. I had disrespected Luisi twice now. He knew what Carmen knew about me and Paul. He knew my reputation. Now I come into his joint unannounced and alone. I was bracing for his reaction when he walked through the front door. Was I right about why each side wanted me for themselves? I’d been banking on that when I’d decided to walk through the front door. If I wanted to walk back out that door alive I would have to have his trust. I said to myself, “I hope he got laid last night.” When he spotted me, he seemed a little surprised, but I got the feeling he didn’t suspect anything out of the ordinary. 171

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He immediately told me he’d be right back to speak with me. I thought it was a good sign until I saw him walk behind the counter and pull Carmen aside. I was thinking the obvious. He wants to know if Carmen has already felt me out before he takes the chance of talking with me. If any of their crew had bad opinions of me before, they had to at least respect me now. When Luisi came out of the kitchen, he motioned for me to get up and walk outside with him. After all, we both had to assume that the Feds wired the restaurant. As we made our way out the door and began walking, I noticed three of the guys from the place walking behind us: bodyguards. I hoped that they were there to make sure that I didn’t have guys waiting in ambush. I even whispered to Luisi, “You never know when you’re gonna walk into trouble.” He smiled and responded, “At least I’m ready for it.” We both understood each other. I was a capable guy and a huge threat to them. I was also a friend of Paul’s, so I didn’t blame him for being cautious around me. After walking far enough away from the restaurant, I got right down to business. I said, “I had a problem with one of your guys.” He didn’t say a word and let me finish saying what I had to say. I continued, “It’s why I came to you before you heard it from someone else first. You have my word that it wasn’t personal. Your guy got out of line and disrespected me in my own place. I took care of it and I think he got the message. He shouldn’t have been down that place doing business and we both know it.” Luisi interjected, “He’s done that more than once now and he’s already been warned. He’s family, but he knows right from wrong.” I jumped in to say, “It’s already done and I think he learned his lesson. You know I wouldn’t take a shot at you for no reason.” 172

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I was sure he was on the level, but it’s disrespectful for a wise guy to side with anyone other than family. I wasn’t a member, so by right I shouldn’t get the decision. The other should get it whether he is right or wrong. That’s how the Mafia works when you’re not a member. Whether you’re related by blood or by membership, you’re considered family. He thought for a second before he said, “I ain’t gonna hold that against you.” I smiled and told him thanks. But part of me was waiting for that bullet in the back of my head. We continued walking and talking as we circled the block and made our way back to the joint. I told him to just remind the kid to stay away from my area and everything would be fine. I also told him that I had no intentions of stepping on his toes. I think he believed me because he said, “You’re a gentleman, but you should know better than to be around Paul DeCologero. The kid’s a cowboy and nobody is gonna back him up. We’re gonna eventually get rid of him and Gigi. You should think about what the right thing to do is.” I was getting the message loud and clear that he would much rather have me with him than against him. Deep down I knew he was right. “Joe really thinks the world of you,” he added. ”He’s like your surrogate father. You should really think about what you’re gonna do.” As we approached the front door of the restaurant, Carmen was standing out front talking to someone. We stopped just shy of him and I extended my hand. As I turned to Carmen, Luisi said, “We tell people you’re with us.” I responded by saying “Maybe someday I will be with you.” 173

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I was referring to the fact that I would become a part of their crew if they made me a member. With Paul he was willing to overlook the fact that I wasn’t a full-blooded Sicilian. If they wanted me for themselves then they would have to prove it to me. It felt real good having their respect, especially after the stunt I pulled at the Willow, and I knew that’s what he was saying when he said that they told people I was with them. In other words, he was saying that it saved my ass with Fat Al and his crew. As I turned and started walking towards my car Luisi pointed to the scali cap that Joe had given me. “You’re the only guy that ever looked good wearing one of them,” he yelled. I smiled and looked back at them. They were both smiling too. It was meant as a compliment. These guys didn’t like the Irish mobsters even though they were considered part of LCN.

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fter I leaving the meeting with Carmen and Bobby Luisi, I was a mental wreck. I drove aimlessly, worrying over the most dangerous decision of my life: Which side would I choose? It was a hard choice,and involved other questions, like: Where does my heart really belong? I’d been taken in by the Winter Hill Gang gamily of bosses at an impressionable age. They’d treated me like I was their own blood. I didn’t know anything else in my life. It was obvious where I would be safer. By 1995, Paul and Gigi were in complete control of the renegades in Boston and Robert Luisi and Jackie Salemme were feeling the heat. I ran into Luisi and Jackie at a restaurant in Woburn called J.C. Hillary’s. I was there having a drink with Joey Legs while I waited for somebody. I noticed Luisi and Jackie sitting at a table off to the right of the bar. They were laughing, joking and having a good time, and they looked like mobsters. They really stood out. Jackie was Cadillac Frank’s brother and, according to the Feds, the acting boss of the Patriarca family, but sI was still a little standoffish. I had never met him before. I decided to tell the waitress to send them over a drink and let them know where it came from. At the same time she told me that Luisi and Jackie

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had sent us over a drink. That really put me at ease so I walked over to their table to thank them. They asked us to have a seat. I introduced Joey to Luisi and he introduced me to Jackie. He said, “I want you to meet my uncle.” In mob terms he was referring to Jackie as the boss. I shook his hand and then I introduced him to Joey. What Luisi did next really took me by surprise. He leaned over to Jackie and said “The kid gets confused sometimes and doesn’t know what side he’s on, but he’s a good earner and a gentleman. He’s gonna come around and see for himself what happens.” Jackie took it all in and knew that Luisi was also saying something about Paul, “That kid is no good, he got no class and he’s a problem that won’t be around much longer.” I understood and nodded my head in approval. “Whatever you need, Jackie, I’ll be willing to help you out,” I said. “Good, I’m glad to hear that.” “I’m always keeping my options open, especially with things the way they are.” He leaned in close to me. “We’re gonna tell people you’re with us.” “Someday maybe I will be.” He nodded his head in agreement. I knew I would have to prove my loyalty to them before they would even consider me. We got off the subject and hung around for another hour or so. When I got up finally to leave, Joe and I said our goodbyes and I told Luisi I would stop by the restaurant and talk with him later on in the week. I shook Jackie’s hand and told him it was a pleasure and I’d be in touch with Luisi. He nodded his head and said, “Enjoy the rest of the night, fellas.” It didn’t really all sink in until the next day when I realized I had made a deal with the boss of the family to give up 176

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information on Paul and the renegades. I hadn’t thought much of it when I told them, but it was now loud and clear. What a dangerous game I’d got myself into. I thought I had lost my mind, but on the other hand, I was ready to prove myself once and for all. Wiseguys only care about themselves. As selfish as this sounds, I couldn’t make a truer statement. I was no different back then. I wanted what was best for me. I also didn’t want to fight a war that could only bring me down. One way or another, whether you die or take a hard pinch, in war, you don’t prosper. It was all too clear to me just how each faction saw me. I was one of the few guys that could get inside both factions. I was like a piece of gold to both of them. The only real shot either side had of winning was if they could infiltrate the enemy’s camp and know what they were doing before they did it. Nobody likes a war. The longer it goes on the more damage is done. Each side was hoping for the edge to end it. The war was getting ugly with the body count rising. Paul thought he had the world by the balls, and I agreed that he was a legitimate threat. The LCN guys all talked a big game about how Paul didn’t have a shot, but I could see how much space he was renting inside their heads, especially with Robert Luisi. Luisi was having his own problems within the family. It was rumored that he didn’t get the respect he deserved and wasn’t recognized in Rhode Island as a made member. He was playing a huge role in defending LCN against the renegades. Times were tough. Everybody was more concerned with killing the enemy wise guys than earning a living. It’s tough to earn during wartime. When a war is fought within a crime family, the warring factions step up. Not every crew fought the war. Those were the ones that “would fall into place once the 177

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renegades took over.” The guys that were dangerous actually did the fighting. You better be willing to get your hands dirty. Wars cost money. Hunting trips and laying low both cut into earning. The longer it went, the more we suffered. I got called to a meeting at Paul’s gym in Burlington, renegade headquarters. Paul was constantly surrounded by his men. The place was like a fortress. Guys would come and go while Paul held court, giving orders through his immediate family, especially his nephew, Johnny. Johnny and I didn’t like each other. I always felt like he was talking bad about me to Paul. I didn’t like being around him, but it’s the way Paul wanted it to be. Meanwhile I was still visiting Bobby Rennell in prison and I continued taking care of him financially. Even though Rennell didn’t take a pinch for me I still did whatever I could to help him. The thing with him is “it’s never enough.” Whatever I gave him he always felt as if he deserved more. The way I saw things, he was lucky I did anything at all for him. Most guys don’t get much from their friends on the street and sometimes they get nothing. I know he was hearing all sorts of stories about me from other guys doing time. Whether they get transferred from other facilities or come right from the street, guys always have stories to tell. Don’t get me wrong, some guys had good things to say, but for the most part I had a lot of enemies. Rennell did stand behind me, and wouldn’t let guys talk shit about me, but I realized he was keeping tabs on me, storing everything in his memory bank. I noticed his attitude was changing and although he tried to hide his emotions I was sure he was becoming jealous. Rennell thought that I needed him in my crew to stay strong and protected. He was

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wrong. I was making my way on my own. But he had introduced me to some guys that helped me earn, and he figured I owed him from the extra money I made with his connections. On the other hand I had my own action with people I never told him about. I never forgot the example that Leo McDonald had made with the dropped envelope. He let me see for myself just what kind of guy Bobby Rennell was. I heard several stories about his tendency to be all about himself, and even turn his back on his crew. I never fully trusted him, and was careful about what I let him know. I was the boss whether he accepted it or not. He kept pestering me to bring Kevin (Mucka) McCormack into my crew. He was confident that if we worked together we could make more money, and, of course, take better care of him. On the flip side Rennell could use him to keep tabs on me. I had been taking care of him as best I could. His prison canteen was always full. I even paid his girlfriend’s tuition for nursing school. Rennell. had been hearing rumors of my association with Luisi and LCN. When he asked me about it I told him I was just rocking Luisi to sleep. In other words I led him to believe that I was playing Luisi. I didn’t trust Bobby enough to let him in on my secret. He had a long history with Paul. Now that they were back on good terms it wasn’t the time to try and persuade him to come along with LCN. It made perfect sense for him to find out for himself where I stood. So I set up a meeting with McCormack. My first thought was that Bobby wanted Mucka to keep an eye on me and give him reports. Still I agreed to meet with him because I had heard a lot of good things about the kid. Mucka and I began spending a lot of time together taking care of business during the day and hitting the clubs at night. I was leading the life of a vampire, up all night long and asleep during the day. I was going out at least 179

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5 nights a week. By now my bookmaking operation was thriving. I had lay off offices in New York and offshore in Costa Rica. I had agents from several crews working for me, now including Mucka. The more time we spent together the more I could see that he had his act together. I had high hopes for him. Mucka was roughly the same age as me. He’d grown up in Malden right next door to Medford. He was an Irish kid with red hair and a medium build. He didn’t look like much as far as intimidation goes, but he had a big reputation. He especially liked to stab people. He had recently beaten a case involving a brutal stabbing outside of a Malden bar. He was guilty as sin. The bank camera across the street had recorded some of it, but the guy survived, and testified at trial that he couldn’t positively identify Mucka. The judge had no other option than to give him an acquittal. Besides being dangerous he was very well liked. He also controlled dangerous crew. Mucka’s game was drugs and prostitution. He ran escort services and sold a lot of cocaine in the area. He was a huge earner. Mucka and his crew used a bar in Malden called Cremone’s as their hangout. The place was a restaurant as well as a lounge, catering to all types. The owner had influence with the local politicians, and Mucka was friend of his. The owner was aware of who Mucka was and what he did for a living. He even introduced him to some heavy hitters in the statehouse. I looked at it as an opportunity to connect with a new business associate and expand my reach into the Malden rackets. From the second I met Mucka I could tell that he was a no-nonsense kind of guy. Business came before anything else and he was very smart. On weekends he and I became constant companions. We would meet at Cremone’s or he and some guys would come to Cais to meet with me. The end result was a night 180

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full of the clubs and parties. As we become involved in business, we also became pretty close friends. Still I kept my guard up because of Rennell. He was a highly-sought-after enforcer who Mucka and other independents would love to have on their side. Though Mucka was basically an independent, he did some business with the DeCologero crew. He kept it very low key. Whenever I needed to get the low down on another mobster I went to Joe D. I put a lot of faith in whatever he said. He and I were still close and I visited him on a regular basis. Joe was the glue that held most of the crews together. He and the Italian mafia shared many rackets together. And he got a piece of their action. Joe told me the kid was alright and I should get together with him. My life was a charade just like the next guy. No matter who I ran around with or considered a friend, I never let my guard down, and I was very careful what I showed them. The mob is all about earning. I had to rely on my street hustle to earn a good living. It’s like any other business, except it’s recessionproof. Wise guys can’t afford to sit back and relax. Our lives are a constant hustle. There are a lot of guys all chasing the same dollar and only the strong survive.

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Barry

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hings had been relatively quiet when I got a phone call from Anthony Barry. I knew he was mad about my relationship with Mucka and a couple of other things. He was particularly upset that I was doing so well with my booking office. He felt as though I was taking away a lot of his action which in turn lightened his pockets. Even though we did occasional business together with drugs I was a huge threat to him. Anthony would love to get me out of his way. He asked me to meet him at a secluded spot in North Medford. He didn’t say what he wanted and I was very suspicious to say the least. Anthony never did anything in North Medford, and he sounded strange on the phone. I didn’t agree to the meet. Instead I told him I would get back to him in couple of hours. I decided to have a talk with Joe D before I got back to Anthony. I stopped by his house and found him relaxing in a chair on the front porch. I walked up the stairs and sat down in the chair that was next to him. “What’s up with you?” he asked, picking up on my uneasiness. “Nothin’. It’s just I have to meet Anthony Barry later.” “Where are you meeting him?” “He picked this out of the way lot in North Medford. Honestly, that’s got me a little concerned.”

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He looked right into my eyes. “Do not meet him in that spot. Do not.” “Yeah, I was unsure of whether I should or not.” “Tell you what you do. You call Anthony back right now and you get him to meet you at The Paddock. And don’t tell him that I’m going to join you.” I was a little shocked that Joe D was putting himself out there for me. “You are?” “Yeah, but don’t say anything to him. I don’t trust that kid at all. I want to make sure he’s on the up and up about this meeting. It doesn’t sound good that he wants you to go to North Medford. If he’s serious, he’ll come to Winter Hill.” Joe respected Anthony and knew just how dangerous he was. They were friendly, but Joe did not trust him. So I called Anthony and told him to meet me at the restaurant or we wouldn’t be meeting at all. He was a little surprised that I changed the meeting spot, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with it. It was hard to get a read on him. Anthony was the type of guy who never revealed much. It didn’t matter if you were his worst enemy or his best friend. He was a sociopath, incapable of feeling guilt or remorse, a stone cold killer who enjoyed his work. He was very meticulous and had the patience to wait for his moment—a master manipulator. I always had to be on top of my game with him. Joe and I made the short walk over to the restaurant together. We took seats at the bar and ordered a couple of drinks. It wasn’t long before Jimmy Wakely spotted us and came over to say hello. Jimmy owned the place, and he and Joe had been friends since childhood. I always got along well with him and his son, David, who managed the joint. I excused myself to use the men’s room and when I got back to my seat I saw Anthony walking through the front door. 184

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As he made his way over to us he smiled at Joe D and jokingly said “What are you doing with this fucking nut?” Joe smiled back and said “We’re just having a drink. Why don’t you join us?” Anthony gave him a hug and took a seat. He told him he couldn’t stay long and that he had to speak to me. Joe just nodded his head and began making small talk with him. After a few minutes Anthony asked me if I was ready to leave. He suggested we take a ride together. I didn’t have a problem going for a ride. Anthony got the message loud and clear. Joe didn’t even have to say a word. The fact that Joe accompanied me to the meeting showed that he and the Winter Hill Gang were standing behind me. Anthony and I got into his Lincoln Town Car and pulled away from the restaurant and headed towards Medford. The first thing he said to me was “I hear you’re the biggest earner in the city.” I just smiled and said “Yeah, so what?” He continued “You got some guys betting with you that owe me money. I shut them off and I suggest you do the same.” I asked him to give me their names and I would personally see to it that he got his money. He said “I’ll handle that myself, I’m asking you to stop taking their action until they pay up.” I told him I would have never taken their bets if I had known. He continued “This is why we should work together; we control all the gambling in the area so naturally we have a lot of the same customers.” I paused for a minute and asked “What type of arrangement did you have in mind?” He smiled, “Use my office as a lay off and in return I’ll give you a 50% make on my action.” 185

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In other words it’s like an insurance policy, I would give him a certain amount of bets every week and he would bankroll it and pay me 50% on the losing bets. It was the same arrangement I had with New York and Costa Rica, but I still agreed to work with him. It was a good way to keep the peace between us and I had enough action to spread around. It killed him to know that I was making money and he couldn’t do a thing about it. As much as Anthony would have loved to eliminate me, he knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. He saw the problems it would create. I had all the right people with me and I was respected. Anthony was a powerful guy, but he wasn’t respected. A couple of weeks later a story was all over town that a man who had been beating the local bookmakers was in the hospital, listed in critical condition. Supposedly a man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt entered an apartment complex in Medford and rang the doorbell of the victim. After a couple of minutes he turned and walked away towards his car thinking that the man wasn’t home. Before he made it to his car a man approached him and said “I didn’t want to answer the door because I heard Anthony Barry was looking for me.” The man in black responded, “I don’t know he is.” Then he allegedly pulled out a crow bar and repeatedly smashed the man over the head. The beating lasted a couple of minutes until the guy’s body crumpled in a pool of blood. With that Anthony sent a message to every deadbeat gambler in the city. Whether the hooded man was really Anthony or a guy he sent, the word went out that Anthony Barry was not a guy to fuck around with, especially if you owed him money. It increased his profile in the underworld as well. But at this point, I had other things on my plate that were more important than Barry. 186

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Getting Made

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s dangerous as it was for me to show my face around LCN, I still had to stay in contact with them. I was giving them tidbits of info on what Paul and his guys were doing, where they were dealing, etc. If Paul or Gigi found out, I would be killed. Paul was looking for information on Jackie Salemme’s whereabouts. Not content with taking out the lower rung soldiers, Paul was convinced if he took out Jackie, the rest of LCN would fall into line. One day in 1995, I got called to a meeting with Robert Luisi and Jackie Salemme at a coffee shop in Cambridge. It was a good place to meet because Cambridge isn’t considered to be mob territory. When I got there they were seated at a table facing the front door so they could see who was coming and going. I sat down with them and ordered a coffee. I had no idea what they wanted to speak to me about. I was a little paranoid considering the game I was playing. “Hey, Mark, have a seat.” I sat down nervously, trying to see from their expressions which way the meeting would go. “Mark, I’ve been hearing that Paul has been sending some guys around to clip me,” Jackie started.

G e tti n g M a d e

“Paul told me that, Jackie. He said he was going to get some guys to follow you around, and take you out when they had a chance.” “You know,” he said, sitting back in his chair, “I did notice a few more cars behind me recently. I figured they were cops or Feds, but they could have been Paul’s guys.” As the conversation continued I couldn’t help but notice that an old man was standing directly outside the place almost staring at us. It got to the point where Luisi asked me what was wrong. When I told him about the old guy he brushed it off like it was no big deal. “Look Mark” Luisi said. “We appreciate what you’ve been doing for us. We know it takes a lot for you to be doing what you are doing. I know that you have the respect and backing of Joe D, and we know what you’ve done for us. I want to take you out tonight for some drinks. You up for it?” “Yeah, absolutely.” “Great. Meet me at The Willow at six. Oh and one more thing. Dress nice.” With that the meeting was over and after saying my goodbyes I got up to leave. As I walked outside I got a good look at the old guy, and I couldn‘t believe my eyes. It was my maternal grandfather. I walked up and gave him a hug “Great to see you. What are you doing here?” He looked at me and asked, “Did everything go alright?” I said, “What?” “Did you get what you wanted?” he asked. At that very moment it dawned on me that he was there for a reason. He knew something I didn’t. I couldn’t even get words out of my mouth before my grandfather told me he had to get going, but as he turned to walk away he said, “Make sure you’re dressed up tonight.” Finally it all made sense. I was going to become a made member of the Mafia. I was completely overwhelmed. I can’t recall ever 188

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hearing about anybody becoming a member who didn’t have an Italian last name. Even though the Salemmes were half Irish they carried their father’s Italian last name. I could never understand that concept because we all come from our mother’s womb. My mother is 100% Sicilian which makes me half Sicilian. My grandparents on my mother’s side came over from Siracusa, Sicily and barely spoke English. My head was spinning in a lot of different directions. On the one hand I was thrilled at having the opportunity to become a member of the Mafia, but on the other, I would become a huge target for law enforcement. The Feds pursue the Mafia because it brings headlines and assures the public that the government is doing its job to keep them safe. Politicians get elected and cops get promotions every time they bust the Mafia. I would now be wearing a huge bulls-eye on my back. I would have to be even more careful. I showed up on time at the Willow. I noticed Robert Luisi standing outside talking with Neil Mazza and Fat Al Sapochetti. Robert saw me and asked if I was ready to take a ride with him. I told him I would prefer to have a drink before we left. I was a little nervous. About 15 minutes later we left the bar and headed to a house in Revere where the ceremony was going to take place. It was a modest house amongst several similar row houses. We entered through a side door which led to a downstairs with a finished basement that was set up with card tables and a bar. There were four men sitting around playing cards and having some drinks. When they saw us an old man got up and asked me if I knew any of the men that were present in the room. I told him that I didn’t. He then asked if I knew why I was there. I also responded that I didn’t. At that point the other gentlemen who were present stood 189

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up and gathered around a table that contained a sword, a candle, and a card with the image of a saint with a sewing pin on top. The ceremony was about to begin. The old man began by explaining that I was about to enter a secret organization that had originated in Sicily with its roots going back hundreds of years. He explained that I would enter into it alive and the only way out was through death. He asked if I understood. I said that I did. He asked me if I wanted to become a part of it. I said yes. He asked me if I swore to never betray the secrets of this society and obey the code of omerta. I answered yes. He then asked if any of the men in the room or any high ranking member asked me to kill for this organization, would I do so. I answered yes. At that point a man standing next to me asked me to extend the hand that my trigger finger was on. I did so. The old timer took the pin and held it over the burning candle until it was hot. He pricked the top of my finger enough to draw blood. He smeared the blood onto the paper with the image of the saint and lit it on fire in my hands which were cupped together. He told me to repeat: “As this card burns in my hand so will my soul if I should ever betray the secrets of this organization, I enter it alive and get out when I die.” As the paper burned out in my hands the ceremony was over. The old man gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and explained that this was the proper respect to show any other members that I met that were part of the organization. There was no turning back. I was now a made member of the Mafia. On the drive back to The Willow, I was told that the old man who was in charge of the ceremony was Sonny Boy Rizzo, one of the top guys in the family. He also told me that one of the other men there was the family consigliere. Rizzo and a couple other top guys in the family were under indictment at the 190

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time and out on bond. With their impending trials, Salemme’s problems, Bulger on the lam, and guys dropping left and right, they felt they needed more help in getting rid of the renegades. That’s the main reason they brought me in at that time. It was the pragmatic move. Back at the Willow we were joined by Luisi’s Somerville crew. His cousin and a couple of other guys from the North End were also there, and the real party was about to begin. We were all seated at a table drinking, laughing and having a good time when the song “My Way” by Frank Sinatra began playing on the jukebox. Robert tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to stand up with him. He put his arm around me and began singing along with the song. I thought I had it all. I was only 25 years old and at the top of my chosen profession. I watched some guys who barely hung on to the bottom rung of the Mafia. I couldn’t see myself in that position. These guys were eking out a living with small bookmaking offices or hustling swag merchandise. Most had been around a lot longer than me and would never amount to anything. I realize this claim of being made is going to be hard for some people to swallow. In fact, I figure a lot of the people (except those who really know) will question. Why would a guy with a Jewish last name get inducted into the Mafia? An internal war can turn everything on its head. If you really think about it, that rule about the only guys that can earn a button being 100% Italian, or having a father that’s 100% Italian, is ancient. It never should have lasted as long as it did. How many non-Italians caused LCN a problem because they knew they would never get their button? They would never be fully respected. As the times changed so did the mob, but it took a while before most families loosened the strings on membership. First, 191

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they had to be able to trace both of your parents back to Italy, and then it was changed. If your father was 100% Italian and carried an Italian name, it didn’t matter where your mother’s family came from. Believe me when I tell you, there are other made guys in New York that don’t have an Italian last name and some like John Gotti Jr., who aren’t 100% Italian– not many of them, but the Feds have seen it before. I’m not claiming to be a boss or anyone of importance. I’m just what I say I am. But that’s the way things turned out. They needed an insider into the renegades. Because of my unique family background, I was the perfect guy for them. And if they inducted me, so much the better. This would give them insurance about me running my mouth off to Paul about LCN’s plans. I also needed to cover my own ass. It wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary to get caught in the cross hairs and wind up getting hit by your own people, if I weren’t a full fledged member of the mafia. I spent the majority of my time around the top renegade leaders who carried the biggest targets on their backs. The only way I would’ve ever agreed to become a spy for LCN is if I got my button. Would I have been made if there wasn’t a war going on? Probably not. I’ll admit that. It was a ‘making’ of convenience. Would it happen again? No, I doubt it. There are probably guys who don’t recognize me as made. Why should I care? I did back then, but at this point in my life, it doesn’t make a difference to me. As you’ll see, it wasn’t a get out of jail free card. In some ways it made me more of a target. If Paul and the renegades found out I was made, I was definitely done. Quite frankly I probably could have accomplished all the things I did without it. It opened some doors and gave me avenues of respect, but so did my connections to Winter Hill and the renegades. 192

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Joe D.

I

was at my Father’s house, when I sensed trouble. I realized Joe D must be home because his Lincoln was parked in his driveway. There I was, with Paul on his way over to see me, and Joe was there, right next door. Most wise guys are always watching the outside even when they’re home. They all hope to see trouble before it’s too late especially in their own neighborhoods. I felt like a deer trapped in the headlights. Paul had several ties to Somerville guys and even co-owned a bar called Deco’s (short for DeCologero’s) in the Ball Square neighborhood. It was directly across the street from the Willow Jazz club. Joe knew Paul and vice versa. You can probably imagine how these two, leaders on opposite sides of a war, felt about each other. Joe would think I was spitting in his face, especially after he saved my life at The Willow. In return I’d given him my word, without saying it outright, that I was on his side. He gave me the chance to put my hands on him and fight back. He hadn’t wanted any doubts about where my heart was. Now here I was bringing an enemy right into his own backyard. I was nervous; there would be no convincing Joe. He was gonna see for himself. I gave him no choice! Paul pulled up in

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front of my father’s house. I walked off the front porch and got into the car. Tommy was driving. I sat in the backseat and Paul turned to me. “Look at him sitting on his porch watching us.” I didn’t have to look to know that Joe was watching the whole thing unfold. Paul continued, “He’ll see for himself what happens.” I interrupted, “He’s by himself, and there are three of us.” Paul got my meaning. I’m not saying he was scared, but that told him a lot. Joe was outnumbered and alone, but ready for action. Paul shook his head as if to say: “Fuck him, we’ll see him another time.” Paul had only come there to collect money from me, but it was on Joe’s turf. Paul was ready to take on the world. I was just like him. He was gonna see that for himself, if didn’t know the truth already. As Paul’s car pulled away, Joe disappeared into his house. I sat on the porch and put my head down. I didn’t know what to think. Had Joe spoken to Carmen and Bobby since my visit with them? They told people I was with them. I also showed Joe I was with them when I let him discipline me in front of his own crew. I never fought back against him. Fat Al had called Joe when he was making the decision whether to kill me. Joe had introduced me to Fat Al and Bobby Luisi. Now I had disrespected him. With me and Fat Al it had come down to: “We don’t know whether to kiss him or kill him.” Fat Al had said that to Joe about me when he’d called him about me. They hadn’t known what side I was on, and Al had left it up to Joe. The robbery could only tell them one thing: I was a renegade, but Joe showed his crew that he wanted to find out for sure before he killed me. Fat Al gave Joe that option. 194

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Joe saw I wasn’t gonna fight back. That’s when he put his arm around me and said, “You better make this look good when we walk back out there.”He showed his crew that he was in charge, and he would take care of his own problems. It would have killed Joe to have had to clip me. Still, it comes with being a mobster. What did Joe think now? I didn’t know, but it probably wasn’t good for me. I looked over at his house and I saw him backing out of his driveway. As he turned and headed down the street he stopped right in front of my dad’s house. He motioned for me to get into his car and take a ride. I sensed right away that he wasn’t mad, but something wasn’t right. As I got into his car he turned to me and smiled. “You’re a good kid. You always learn from your mistakes.” That’s when I was sure he had spoken to Carmen and Bobby. He knew they wanted me to stay inside the renegade camp. In return they were already telling people I was with them. They were showing me their loyalty and protecting one of their own at the same time. I was sure they meant what they said. I was also confident that I could beat the odds and become a made guy if I could prove myself worthy. They all but told me that I looked good enough to them, Irish gangster or not. It still hadn’t been made clear to me why Joe wanted me to go with them. Though I was an independent, my heart always belonged with the McDonald crew. When I walked away from Leo and told him I was going out on my own, he didn’t stand in my way. Instead he wanted me to see for myself just how big a mistake I was making. Bobby Rennell walked right into Leo’s trap when he wanted us to keep the envelope. I picked it up and brought it back to him. 195

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When I told him he should be more careful, he said, “So should you, my friend.” It’s like he was telling me what was gonna happen even before I left him and hooked up with Bobby Rennell. I hadn’t been sharp enough to know any better. I was leaving the only guys that ever really cared for me. I wasn’t going out on my own. He let me go. Bobby Rennell was a Somerville guy, but he wasn’t with the McDonalds. That should have shown me right away how big of a mistake I was making. I always questioned any Somerville guy if they weren’t with the WHG. I questioned their hearts. Rennell was always a renegade. We each let the other think what we wanted him to think. Leo McDonald didn’t trust Bobby Rennell. Joe D didn’t like him either. They certainly didn’t trust him. They liked me though. I was with them since I was a kid. They let me make my own mistakes. They also never turned their backs on me. After all the wrong moves I made against them, they were still in my corner. But what about now? Had they seen enough of my act? I was really confused because, even though I was well aware of the importance of becoming a made guy, my heart was with Joe and the WHG. I didn’t see what he was really doing for me by opening doors with LCN. As I’ve said I was good enough to walk through those doors. I thought Joe would think what his uncles thought when I left them the first time. At the same time, I felt as if Joe had been pushing me away from his crew. Why didn’t they want me anymore? The entire time I was out on my own, I saw Joe and his uncles at least three times a week. I always conferred with them when I needed advice. They never held a grudge. As much as I had hurt them over the years, they never turned their backs on me. They knew I would have to learn from my own mistakes. There was no way to tell a young cowboy like me anything. I wouldn’t have listened. I thought 196

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I could take on the world just like I had always done. When Bulger used me to send the McDonald crew a message, Joe got a sit-down and got some of the robbery money back for me. The McDonalds always warned me about Southie: “Don’t step on Bulger’s toes. He’s not with us and he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” As I said before, they had a suspicion that Bulger had real heavy hitters—Feds—backing his action. Joe and his brother were always suspicious of Bulger. They told me again and again how dangerous it would be for me to go against him. They also told me they weren’t with the Southie faction. The only reason Bulger let me live that day was so he could send the Somerville guys a clear message. He sent me back to them half dead. The Somerville crew didn’t like it. Joe went to Southie to straighten it out. They obviously took him seriously because they gave him back some money that was already spent—a peace offering– but the example had already been made. Joe’s presence in Southie told them he was ready to go to war with them to protect me. One of their own! I had to sit back and take it, but I realized how lucky I was to have the Somerville WHG on my side. I represented them. In return they protected me. They’d been introducing me as their guy to the who’s who of the Irish ever since I was a kid. Prior to my attempted robbery of Fat Al, he had taken a hit from a Charlestown crew. They got him pretty good. I don’t know the exact amount, but it was enough for Fat Al to go to his boss and ask for help. After all, he was paying Frankie Salemme three grand per week, and only paying Joe D two grand. As confident as Al was that Frankie would be there for him, he soon realized the truth. Frankie didn’t do a thing for him. 197

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I always wondered if Joe was really behind the robbery. After all, it came from Charlestown, and Frankie didn’t get involved to help one of his own. He didn’t even agree to meet with Fat Al. Joe had showed me first hand at how far his reach stretched into Charlestown when he’d helped me out. It was a Charlestown crew that wanted to shake me down. Joe took care of it. They backed off. Most good bosses will show their underlings why it’s a good idea to pay protection. I figured Joe had to show Al what would happen if he decided to just pay the Salemme regime. Al was a Somerville guy so I always questioned his heart. Why wasn’t he strictly with the WHG? He learned the hard way and paid LCN and WHG tribute money to operate in Somerville. Joe couldn’t sit back and lose his end. Salemme always favored the Irish, and it was unlikely that he would step on Joe’s toes. Most guys know only what they are told. Or what they’re fortunate enough to see for themselves. I saw more than most. I’d been with bosses since I was a kid. When you hang out with bosses, eventually you think like a boss even if you don’t have the title. I thought like a boss. I wouldn’t put up with anyone below me questioning me. The top guys don’t owe explanations. The guys below should never question authority. They don’t have the rank. That was the background that day as I sat in Joe’s car talking with him. As Joe and I continued our conversation I noticed how bad he looked. I asked him, “Are you alright?” He brushed me off, saying, “Al doesn’t think I handled the situation with you the right way.” I knew what he was saying. I also knew he was right. By not killing me, it sent Joe’s crew a bad message. It also showed 198

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weakness. I was wrong to do what I did, but Joe took my side over his own crew. I couldn’t help but feel responsible for making Joe look bad. I turned to him and asked, “Are you sure about that?” “Yeah, I’m sure. He missed a payment this week. It’s the second time he’s done that to me.” I said, “What’s his boss think about that?” Joe smiled and said, “It’s not what he thinks that matters when it happens in my own back yard.” Point taken. He and Frankie were on the same side, but territory separated the business aspect of their relationship. There was no doubt about it, Frankie was in bed with Irish. Joe controlled Somerville. He also had the full blessing from the boss of LCN. And he had the Townies (Charlestown) at his beck and call. As he continued driving, I apologized for what I’d done. He gave me a look and said, “You did what you had to do.” He realized that Fat Al would have never gone along with it if we staged the robbery. It had to look natural, but still it came back to haunt Joe. It may have cost him the Willow Crew. I couldn’t believe he understood why I had to target Fat Al’s crew. I also realized that Joe didn’t do what he had to do. He’d handled the problem with me the wrong way. Although I was responsible for the robbery, the consequences were supposed to be two-fold. It showed the renegades my loyalty while showing Joe how I was feeling about him. But I’d been so wrong to ever think that Joe was trying to get rid of me. He knew the renegades would kill me if I got caught playing my game. I had to go after some LCN targets. The next thing would change my life forever. It was my destiny. 199

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We kept driving and talking when he turned to me and said, “You’ve grown up a lot.” I interrupted and asked him again “Are you alright?” “You don’t look like you normally do.” Again he brushed me off and said, “You can’t tell anyone who you talk to.” I thought I understood his meaning, but I wasn’t sure so I asked him to explain. He said, “You’re only as smart as the people you surround yourself with.” That’s why Joe couldn’t tell Fat Al what I was really doing when I robbed him. That made Joe look bad with them. He figured he was showing them his control by disciplining me. When Joe saw I would never hit him back, he let me live. He saw for himself where my heart was. Joe brought my father down to the Willow with him.. My father and I would have never made it out of the Willow alive if I had decided to even raise my hands to Joe. When I saw my father sitting at the bar I realized that Joe had all of his bases covered. No matter which decision I made? He had to put me to the test to find out for sure, but Joe knew why I did the robbery. Fat Al and his boys didn’t. I felt bad knowing that, while my actions had benefited me, they could wind up costing Joe. There might have a better way to show the renegades my loyalty, but that was only one of my reasons. Joe never knew my other reason because, in fact, he wasn’t turning his back on me. So even though I’d really put his back up against the wall, he was still willing to risk the consequences of sparing my life. That was the guy who was driving me around right after seeing me pay off Paul. It got real quiet between us as we headed back home. Neither of us had much to say until I asked him a third time. “Are you alright?” 200

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He paused for what seemed like an eternity, and then looked me square in the eyes. “I have cancer.” I was speechless. It took me a moment to figure it out, and then my eyes welled up with tears. I said nothing. I was devastated. Finally he said, “That’s between you and me. I haven’t told anyone yet.” Joe was an old-school, tough-as-nails gangster who thought and acted like a gangster should. He thought it would show weakness if others knew he was sick. I still couldn’t talk until he finally said, “You can’t fall apart on me now.” I nodded, still unable to speak. “I’ll be alright,” he said. I knew what cancer was. He wasn’t gonna be alright. It might take a long time, but I knew from the way he looked. (As it was, Joe hung on until 2004.) But I had to stay strong. Joe needed me to keep it all together. We were almost back home and I couldn’t help getting even more pissed off remembering Paul’s words to me earlier in the day. Joe D was a renegade target. Paul had been letting me know that eventually they were gonna take care of Joe the hard way. They were on different sides of the war. By the time we pulled up to Joe’s house I managed to get myself together. I had to be the one to protect Joe now. If cancer didn’t get him first, the renegades would. There was also a chance that the Willow Crew could wind up turning against him. Either way he was in trouble, and I’d caused most of that trouble. Right there in the car I could see the disease was wearing him down. I couldn’t stop cancer and, just like Joe, I feared only what I couldn’t control. Cancer was out of anyone’s control. I could stop the renegades though. 201

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Before he pulled his car into his driveway he stopped to let me out. As I was about to get out I turned to him, smirking, and said, “I never trusted Fat Al, did you know that?” He looked at me silently as if to say, “Of course I knew that.” He still wasn’t getting it. I had to make things much more clear to him no matter how he took it. I said, “He’s got no backbone.” As I was about to shut the door and exit the car I said, “He’s gonna learn someday.” As much as Joe respected my words, I wasn’t sure if he was taking my threats seriously. I also couldn’t tell if he wanted me to get involved in a situation that didn’t concern me. I wanted Joe to know that if Al had a problem with him, then he had a problem with me too. I left the car and walked away.

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Judas in The Crew

I

wasn’t sure who it was but there was definitely a Judas in my crew. I changed my sports book routine to Tuesday nights rather than Wednesdays so I could keep things as normal as possible. I wasn’t about to stop earning because of my problems. Right around this time I had been visiting Bobby Rennell in the can. He and I were very close and he had never done anything to hurt me. He actually supported me on most of my moves, even the girl aspect. He was a big reason why Kevin Hardy kept his distance, even after word got out that I had allegedly slept with his girl. On the way up to prison, I had some time to think and it dawned on me. Bobby was the guy who had introduced me to Paul DeCologero, and he was privy to almost everything I had going on. I was taking care of his girl and doing the right thing by him personally and with canteen money. One thing I’d heard about Bobby was that he had a tendency to turn on his own people. That had stuck in my head. I remembered Leo McDonald’s dropped envelope, and Joe D’s warnings. I was good friends with Bobby Rennell’s brother-in-law Billy Falter. He was one guy who learned from his mistakes. He’d served a long jail term when he was a kid and had come out vowing to never go back. Almost all of his friends were wise guys

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or mobbed up, but he never got involved with that side of their lives, even though they asked him more than once. He was one of the toughest guys I’ve ever met. Though he knocked out more than his share of guys after his release, some as favors to his friends, he didn’t cross the line. When he got released from prison he met a girl and wound up getting married. He did what he had to do, and I still respect him. One night I had a problem with another Charlestown crew. Once again it happened at Ma’s Bar. Billy F used to hang around with Eddie Insogna and Spez, who used the bar as their headquarters. At the time I was doing things with them. Joe D handled the first Charlestown problem for me, but nobody saw this one coming. Eddie and Spez were the targets of the Charlestown guys so they went after anybody who had ties to them and they did it on their turf. I was vulnerable back then and Billy looked out for me whenever he was around. A bunch of us were hanging out at the bar when we noticed a couple of dangerous Charlestown thugs enter the place. These guys didn’t listen to anybody and did as they wanted. I was sitting at a table with Joey Legs, Eddie and Billy when I happened to get up to use the men’s room. I didn’t notice I had been followed by the Townies. My back was turned so I couldn’t keep an eye on the door, but I heard footsteps. As I turned around and looked up I saw the two thugs standing in front of me. Before they could say anything I saw Billy walk in. He came over and stood beside me. He got right into the thugs’ faces and said, “Whatever you guys think you’re gonna do isn’t a good idea.” I was shocked when I saw how nervous they were, but I never expected to hear what they said next. They said, “We weren’t gonna do anything. We just wanted to ask him to sell us something.” 204

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Billy said, “He don’t have anything, so ask somebody else.” Without another word they turned and left the bar. He and I walked out together. I turned and thanked him, but he acted like I didn’t have anything to thank him for. That’s just how he is. I started bringing it up to him once, but before I actually got into it he laughed and said, “Oh, you mean the time I saved your ass.” I laughed to. Afterwards he said, “You’re capable of saving your own ass now.” I laughed and said, “Yeah, I’ve grown up a lot since then.” I’ll never forget that story or him. He’s married with kids so we don’t see much of each other anymore. As I continued my drive to the prison to see Bobby, I eliminated almost all the guys who could have known about my new Tuesday routine. I had it narrowed down to two guys. Bobby was the main suspect. He and Paul were very close. Bobby saved Paul’s life once when they were in prison together. It was obvious to me who had his loyalty. I decided to put him to the test. I already knew how mad he was at what I was doing. By this time Anthony Barry and I were in business together, and then there was my relationship with Bobby Luisi. I had been laying the groundwork to see if I could make Bobby choose LCN over Paul and the renegades. It would be a tough sell with Bobby. It made perfect sense that he would be feeding them information to prove his loyalty. He wouldn’t go too far while inside. That’s why the renegades hadn’t come to my bar to clip me that night. They were making their point. On my last visit Bobby had joked with me, saying, “I know you’ve been fuckin’ Kara.” 205

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My jaw had dropped and I’d said, “I can’t believe you would accuse me of that.” Bobby said, “Relax, I’m only breaking your balls. I know you wouldn’t do that to me.” I jumped in,” Whether you’re breaking them or not, it hurts. I take good care of her so you don’t have to worry while doing your time. I would never cross my own people.” He said, “Will you relax, I know what you do for me. Why do you think I still take care of your problems, even while doing my time?” “It works both ways,” I said. Whether he was joking or not, he could tell how upset I was. I knew him well and had the feeling he suspected it. He’d wanted to see my reaction. He ended that conversation by repeating something he’d always said to me: “I don’t know why I like you so much.” I joked as I was leaving, “I don’t think I like you anymore.” He knew I was joking so he didn’t take it serious, but I was playing his game now. Now I got to the prison after an hour-long drive. He was doing his time at Old Colony Correctional Facility in Bridgewater. It was a Level 5 prison where they kept the problematic inmates, guys who got into fights or caused other problems. I filled out the inmate request form, got searched, and then waited for him in the visiting room. It was a prison that allowed the inmates to sit beside their visitors—no glass. He gave me a smile when he spotted me, and walked over to where I was sitting. I tried to sit as far from the guards as possible. While I waited, I couldn’t rid myself of all the hurt I was feeling. Bobby and I weren’t just friends, we were like brothers. We’d taken on the world together, going to hell and back. He 206

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was there for me and I was there for him every time. I’d always felt like I was responsible for getting Bobby caught and sent to prison. That had been when Bobby was on the lam, and he’d come out of hiding to stand by my side, then Detective Montana had seen Bobby and me at a bar. Montana had busted Bobby, while his men searched my car for coke. . That night as I’d watched Bobby getting handcuffed, he’d looked at me and smiled. I gave him a wave and told him to call me when he got settled. I was heartbroken. Now, there in the prison, when Bobby finally sat down beside me we hugged and started talking. It killed me inside to have to put him to the test, but I knew all about that side of the mob. It’s always your best friend that does it to you. I told him the story of what happened on a Tuesday night at Cais. He already knew bits and pieces, but he hadn’t heard it from me yet. I told him very few specifics, just enough for him to know I had spotted the wrong guys. I was alone and extremely vulnerable. How would they know I would be there on a Tuesday night? Why were they there? It was as if they knew my routine almost as well as I did. He said “You were there by yourself, nobody was around if there was a problem?” I didn’t even respond to his question. As I’d planned, I asked him to help me figure out who could have betrayed me. I wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t come up with the answer. We threw some names back and forth, but none of them were serious possibilities. When the hour-long visit was about to expire, I gave him the bait. I had to see for myself where his heart really was! I knew Paul DeCologero always kept tabs on me as best he could. But somebody had 207

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to be feeding him specific information if the guys who showed up at Cais that night were really members of his crew as I had suspected? I smelled trouble! The ride home from the prison was pure hell. Now I knew. I was really hurting inside, but hurt or not, I had to prepare to take on my best friend and top muscle. As much as everybody had pursued Bobby Rennell to ask him for his services, up to now he had never swayed. He was with me no matter what or who came his way. I thought back to a time when I’d spent a night at my father’s house on Winter Hill in Somerville. It was one of those times when I couldn’t rest my head in one spot for too long, when I was traveling between safe houses. One night at about 2 AM something woke me up. I heard stones bouncing off my bedroom window. I got up and peeked down. There was Rennell throwing pebbles, trying to get me up without waking the rest of house. I told him I would be down in a minute. I’d already gotten to know him pretty well, and when I got outside I could see something was wrong. He asked if we could take a ride and talk. I obliged and we started driving around aimlessly. We talked a lot. As I was about to turn for home he said, “You don’t even know how much I hurt inside.” It was something he’d said before, and when I heard it I realized how bad he was feeling. I looked and saw tears in his eyes. This was a guy who often seemed incapable of experiencing human emotions. He was a one-man wrecking crew. I had never seen a man feared as much as he was, and the caliber of guys that feared him made it even more impressive. Bobby was built like a Greek god, and more than one guy was convinced that Bobby would fight God if he had to, and probably win. We would walk into mob joints together, and by 208

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the end of the night he would have twice as much money as he came with. People went out of their way to please him. Bobby was in a league of his own. That night in the car I hadn’t wanted to force him to share his hurt with me so I’d said: “I know you’re hurting, but I’m here for you whether you tell me about it or not.” He thought about it for a while. Finally he asked, “Will you stay with me tonight, I don’t want to leave you?” I wanted to break the tension and make him smile so I said: “You know the guest room is taken, you would have to sleep in my bed and you won’t fit.” He laughed and said, “Don’t worry about it, I like women.” But I agreed to let him stay. That night he’d been a time bomb, and if he’d gone off, the damage wouldn’t be repaired. He’d finally told me the one thing that hurt him the most in his life and I couldn’t imagine his pain. I’ll never reveal what he told me, but I certainly wasn’t ready for it. I could tell how much better he felt by finally getting it off his chest and he was sure that I would hold his secret dear to me. After seeing him that day at the prison the drive home seemed endless. My instincts were rarely wrong. I was sure he was the one who betrayed me. That was when I asked myself, “Is this mob life really worth all of this pain?” I didn’t dwell on it. Bobby still had well over a year left on his sentence. I was sure he wouldn’t let anything happen to me, or reveal his true intentions until he came home. He knew all about keeping his friends close and his enemies closer. Just as I had to test him, he had to follow suit with me. That incident was a test. It was one act of loyalty for Paul to see for himself. 209

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At that point I was living at The Granada Highlands in Malden. Things were good for a while and Paul and I were close, but I knew he wouldn’t be capable of trusting me 100%. It would have been too dangerous. There were times when I would say to myself, “This guy doesn’t trust you.” When we were living that close he watched my every move. I didn’t like any of it. The only people Paul could ever fully trust were family. His crew had several family members. What he kept from me, he gave to them. I didn’t kid myself for long. Things were changing. I was the one that got Paul and Bobby back together again. Not only that, but I stood up for Bobby and saved his life. It could have gotten me killed. Now I knew I had made a huge mistake. It was business as usual after that. I am the type of guy that learns from my mistakes. I changed the day of my sports book routine. I couldn’t be too careful. As much as I was sure of Bobby’s plan, I wasn’t in a very forgiving business. The Mob doesn’t forgive! One false move could cost me my life, so I couldn’t rely solely on instincts. I was sure that Paul wouldn’t move on me for the kill until Bobby got out of prison. It would also be the true test of Bobby’s loyalty: kill his best friend on the orders of his boss. One Wednesday night in the wintertime I was on my way to Cais to handle my business. It was just like any other night and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I was putting my own plans into motion in case I was wrong and Paul was going to jump the gun and have me killed. As I arrived at the bar, everything looked good. Nobody would be able to spot the guys I had positioned inside the place. Most of them came from areas that weren’t mobbed up. My plans that night were to hang out there with a girl I had recently 210

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started dating. I had been waiting patiently for Bobby to take the bait, but so far he hadn’t bit. I enjoyed the quiet nights. But, there weren’t very many of those in my life My girl and I shared some drinks and laughs. I had just returned from the men’s room when I saw a man walk through the front door by himself. I knew him. His name was Kevin Meuse, one of Paul’s assassins. He was originally from Charlestown, although he’d spent most of his life in the can for murder. Upon his release from prison, it was rumored that he’d murdered a 19-year-old girl for Paul. I don’t fear too many guys, but my stomach got an uneasy feeling whenever I was around him. It didn’t make sense to me. I was sure that Paul wouldn’t have me clipped until Rennell got out of prison. Then I decided Paul must be spying on me. He wanted to know who was in the place. He was looking for links to LCN guys to confirm that I’d betrayed him. He’d sent Kevin Meuse to do the job. He was also showing me his power. He wanted me to consider the consequences if I did indeed betray him. He wasn’t sure what I was doing yet. Kevin gave the place the once over, but didn’t approach me right away. He wanted to have access to the whole joint so he could see everybody for himself. Once he was satisfied he entered the men’s room at the other end of the place. He came out acting like he was my friend. He shook my hand and made some small talk before he let me know why he’d come. “Our friend from the burbs wants to see you tomorrow at his place,” he said. ”He’s been trying to get in touch with you, so he asked me to give you the message”. I told him I’d make it a point to see Paul, but I’d had no idea that he was trying to get a hold of me. After Kevin had relayed the message, he stayed with me for a drink and then left 211

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for the night. I was very happy with the results, but how did he know I would be there on a Wednesday night? I was at the bars and clubs from Thursday to Sunday. I had changed my booking routine back to Wednesday nights. It was rare to find me bopping around any other day. Everybody knew that. I was never a big drinker and after four nights of clubbing, I needed the extra time to recuperate. I still didn’t know for sure, but I was almost convinced of Bobby’s betrayal. I was confident of the guys I had around the place. They wouldn’t tell anyone. But Paul was very meticulous and knew better than to act on hunches. He would need to be sure of his enemies before he would hand out his own form of justice. I had to stay one step ahead of him and all my other foes at all times if I wanted to stay alive. The pressure was overwhelming. When I realized Paul DeCologero felt he smelled a rat with me, I came up with a plan. I started recruiting guys from other parts of Massachusetts that could earn for me. I wanted to expand my crew and at the same time do it away from the mobbed up cities. My army had to consist of guys that weren’t part of LCN or The Renegades. I had some big problems around me, so I wanted to be sure of their loyalty and not have them known on either side of the war. One of the guys was Manny from Methuen, roughly 25 miles north of Boston. He was known as a major player in the drug business and had a decent crew with him. We hit it off at our first meeting. Manny was interested in getting himself mobbed up and expanding his business. It was an idea I thought would help me cover my bases, and keep me earning in my territory, even if Paul started causing trouble.

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Y

our territory, or turf, is where you operate. Everybody knows who you’re with because of where you operate. They also know who your friends are. They know who your friends aren’t, too. When I was on the street, if you operated in Medford, you were with Salemme. If you operated in Somerville you were with the WHG, but if you paid Salemme, you still paid the WHG. Salemme had that worked out amongst the Irish leaders. He’s gonna get his piece, but you guys are with him, so you gotta get yours. Another important thing to keep in mind is that you don’t put your hands on any other guy that’s mobbed up (paying a mobster to operate). If he steps onto your turf or operates where you do, he’s disrespected you. He’s walked onto your turf and taken food off your table. He’s really telling you he doesn’t give a fuck who you are. He’s gonna operate wherever he wants. If he’s with another crew, you have to assume he’s been told to take a shot at you because they’re gonna back him up. It’s a sign of war. Once they take from you, they already pissed on your leg. If you stand back and let him get away with that, his crew is gonna take the rest of your earn right where you operate. Most times, if a mobbed up guy disrespects your turf, he’s on his own!

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The other crew bosses respect each other’s territory and they don’t intrude. They really are with you because you’re represented by the same boss as they are. If the other guy is made or related to another crew boss by blood, you don’t touch him if you are not also a member. Once you put your hands on a made guy or blood relative of a made guy you’ve sealed your own fate. You broke the rules. He didn’t. The right thing to do with any turf problem is to order a sit-down and let the bosses (Capos) tell you who can operate where. If you forego the sit-down and put your hands on the guy that has come onto your turf, you better be sure you can handle it. You’re sending a message back to his representative by sending the guy back in rough shape. If you kill him, you’ve gone too far and taken a shot at his representative (the Made Guy). You already put your hands on the guy and sent him back where he came. His boss is gonna get the message. You’re saying, “I don’t give a fuck to whom he report.” He stepped on my toes, so I sent him back with an example to the next guy who thinks he can walk onto your turf. If it happens again, it’s a war. His boss has sent him back to stick it up your ass and he (The Boss) is coming after you. If the guy steps onto your turf, you wait for him to decide what you’re gonna do about it. His actions are gonna determine your move. If he gets out of line and talks fresh to you after you’ve given him the chance to walk away, he better know better the next time before he has those thoughts of shitting where you eat. That’s when you need to make him the example. Now he’s blatantly disrespecting you. He stepped on your toes then he’s told you to go fuck yourself. You better teach him a serious lesson. His boss has to understand. But again, if you’re not made or related by blood, the right or wrong of it doesn’t mean much. You’re not a member, he is. His boss determines that. If his boss respects you (You’re a member, 214

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or still with them as an associate) he won’t hold a grudge. If you aren’t important (not a member or top associate) his boss has to make an example of you. You disrespected him. You put your hands on a made guy. On the street everybody knows who everybody is. I know who runs each territory, so I know who’s with who. I run my own territory, so I don’t intrude on other guys. They gotta eat too. If I walk into Revere tomorrow and sell drugs or set up a booking operation with Revere customers, I’ve taken a shot at the crew boss. I know what the consequences are before I even make that move. I better make sure my boss (my capo, the guy I represent and kick my points up to) knows about the move before I do it. He better have authorized me to do it. That’s a case of starting the war for your boss. He gave you the order. You carried it out. If your boss doesn’t know about it, you disrespected him by not telling him. You also brought him into a war without his permission. You need friends when it comes to war. If you’re a crew boss, the other city’s crew bosses know who you are, even if they never met you. They know whom you represent. You have the same boss. You’re together. That doesn’t mean “together.” It means I can count on his help if I got a problem with another crew that isn’t with us. Doesn’t mean he’s gotta do it for you just because you and him are together. He will do you the favor and help you out, but you owe him a favor in the future that you can’t refuse. He helped you. He put his ass on the line and risked federal exposure to do it. You owe him big. But he made your problems go away, so it’s a good trade. Most crew bosses owe each other from the past. There are always problems with knuckleheads who test your authority—always examples to make. You can’t allow that. If you do 215

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you’re weak. You let an outsider come into your territory and take from you. You’re own crew is gonna take the rest. You’re not worthy of being with us. You’re on the shelf. You better step up the next time it happens, if they ever take you off the shelf again. Sometimes rather than go all the way, they punish you for a mistake. They let you live. You can’t operate though. Another crew is taking over your territory and it’s been sanctioned (approved by the boss). The boss sent that crew to represent him in your “old” territory. The same applies to the crew boss if he slows down with his earning, or goes dry for a long period of time. He’s on the shelf. That’s happened to a lot of old timers. They get to the point where they either can’t earn, or they’re just too inept to keep around. It happened in New England and I’m sure it happens in other places. When you’re a crew boss and you look for shakedowns, they better not be mobbed up crews. They better be independents. They’re fair game. That’s how we eat. If they ain’t paying anybody to sell drugs or operate any illegal business, you should get them to pay you. It doesn’t matter where they’re earning; they ain’t paying a crew boss. If that crew boss didn’t already get to the guy (the independent) that’s set up in his territory, it’s his loss. If he refuses to pay my shake down request (refuses the need for my protection) I better show him why that was a bad idea. Show him he needs my protection. You take from him and show him he can’t run to anybody to protect himself from you, so he better get mobbed up. He can’t go to WHG or LCN, so who’s gonna stop the shakedowns? If he accepts the shake down and agrees to pay me a percentage of his earnings, he can do what he wants. I represent him and eventually put him on record with me. The rest of the crews will know whom he’s with now. He was an independent, but now he’s protected by the crew boss. 216

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He gets the whole family’s protection because the money goes up. It gets spread around. That’s why you kick up points. You’re paying the family to use their name and they offer you full protection from your enemies. The crew boss has increased his earn and makes more money for his capo and onward and upward. That’s how it works. Nobody does anything for you unless there is something in it for them, even though you’re together (with the same boss). We never shook down regular people. This wasn’t the 1900s anymore. A lot of the early Black Hand groups made their money from preying on their own, but in this day and age people will go to the police in a heartbeat if you start trying to shake them down. That’s why you have to target people who are on the fringes or are outright career criminals. It’s easier. Chances are the guy you’re shaking down won’t press charges or testify. I’m not saying that’s always the case, but more often than not it is. People really believe the Mafia is one big happy family, and that the family loves all its members, so they all get along. Nothing could be further than the truth. Nobody knows all the members. They do know names and where they’re from, but there’s no reason for me to make friends with all the members. It doesn’t have to be done. If you need a favor from a crew boss, and you yourself are a crew boss, he will usually do it for you whether he knows you personally or not. He knows of you. He knows you share the same boss. He’s showing you respect which he should get back tenfold from you. Certain crew bosses don’t speak or interact with certain other crew bosses. You get favors from the crew bosses in your general area. If you start looking outside your area, it looks like you’re running to anybody you can find, because the others have already refused your request. Not good. 217

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Not only could I go to the crew bosses for help, I could go to all three family bosses direct and get most favors I asked for. Whatever the boss tells his underlings to do, they have to oblige him. He’s not a crew boss; he’s your overall boss. If he says you’re going, then you’re going. If you refuse his request, you’ve disrespected the boss. He has to kill you, or, in some cases, deal out harsh discipline. His underlings need to respect him. You lose respect faster than it took to gain it in the first place. Everybody knows your ranking on the street– you’re capable, serious or dangerous. Most guys don’t want trouble with other dangerous crew bosses. They’re gonna come for you. The rankings determine your respect level. If other dangerous guys respect you, they know you’re important. They won’t chance a problem with you. If a guy is serious he’s usually alright too, but a little less respected than dangerous guys. If a crew boss is just capable he’s leaving himself open to other more respected crew bosses. Sometimes territories are split or shared with multiple crew bosses. Each crew has a specific part of the territory. For example, Medford and Somerville were shared between various crews. I don’t know how it is in all the other areas the Mafia operates, but a lot of the bigger mob cities are shared because there’s enough to go around. Territories might be divided up according to geographical or ethnic boundaries, or simply where some wise guys have businesses. And there are some places where three or four crews work the same area, making sure no one’s toes get stepped on. The boss has more than one underling, whether crew boss, soldier, or associate, that operates for him. The same rules apply to the specific areas of the territory and who has them. A crew boss is at that level because he’s usually earned it. He’s skilled and knows how to play the game, just like you do. It’s assumed 218

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that he’s untouchable and is gonna be a tough opponent if you go to war with him. Those guys keep their territories a lot longer than the others. If you have an in with those guys, other guys know you’re more powerful than they are. They don’t want you as an enemy. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do about an enemy, if you know he has a work crew (Dangerous Crew Bosses). If he wants what you got, you gotta stand up to him. You just may lose though. You better be sure of your respect level and ability before you prove your ranking again to anybody who needed a reminder. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind isn’t a good thing on the street. You better be around and willing to protect your territory. It’s you or them at that point. Every mob family has internal problems. Mobsters turn on other mobsters and try to get permission to have you clipped so they can take over your territory. That happens all the time. If they have an in with the boss, he will usually have the request granted. The boss always gets nervous with certain guys. If somebody better or more trusted comes along, he will sanction the move against you. He’ll grant permission to the guy who brought his beef with you to the boss. Besides the money aspect, the mob is all about power and respect. If you have the power, you’ll have respect. If you don’t, you’re expendable. The public will never grasp this concept. The Mob kills their own for several reasons. Most times it’s because a member broke the rules, but sometimes it’s other things. The boss might not like the way the guy acts. He might hate his name. It doesn’t matter. The boss is the boss. Just as the mob protects their members, they can also turn on their members. If someone more powerful or respected than you

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convinces your boss, he will get the contract for you from your boss (protector) and you will disappear. It doesn’t always mean you did something wrong. These are just some of the reasons why I didn’t like to interact with lots of other crews. I didn’t trust them. I didn’t need to know who they were because they never had the balls to step on my toes. We did favors for each other and we were respected. You don’t move on a guy that you respect or has more respect than you (is more dangerous than you).

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one

A Period of Transition

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n 1997 there was a massive indictment of some of the top players in the renegade faction. Robert Carozza, Anthony Ciampi, Gigi Portalla, Enrico Ponzo, Michael Romano Sr., and Paul DeCologero were among the fifteen renegades swept up. Paul was arrested at his gym in Woburn (Paulie Boy’s) for trafficking in cocaine. He was held without bail in the Plymouth House of Corrections which is a half-county, half-federal holding facility. Jackie Salemme got arrested on gaming charges the year before and was held in the same facility as Paul although they were in separate units. At that point the Feds were taking their time putting together the RICO/Murder indictment against Paul and the DeCologero Crew. Paul was acquitted in that case, but the Feds caught up with him again. Basically he was off the streets starting in 1997, but he was by no means out of the picture. Even though he had some serious stuff hanging over his head, he was still in charge of his crew and the renegades. Eventually Paul was hit with the ultimate, a RICO indictment. The Feds (ATF) bided their time. That’s what they do when they sense that they can really get you:

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they make sure your “federally fucked” before they bring the case forward. With Paul in jail they could make sure their case was solid and have the time to go after his entire crew. Gigi Portalla gave the court and the cops one of the funnier moments during the renegade trial. Before he was indicted, Gigi was approached by a DEA agent at Logan airport. The guy said that Gigi had to sign some papers so the Feds could remove a tracking device they implanted in his buttocks. Of course they were just fucking with him. During the preliminary hearings for an appeal, Gigi’s lawyer brought this up in court, demanding that the government disclose what it knew about the device and if it were legal. The U.S. Attorney’s office told the press, “We can confirm that the US Drug Enforcement Administration did not implant a tracking device in defendant Vincent M. ‘Gigi Portalla’ Marino’s buttocks. We cannot speak, however, for any extraterrestrial beings. [We] hope this will finally put the matter behind us.” Around this time, Anthony Barry and I were “together” in some ways, but we had separate crews and some separate operations. We were firmly in charge of Medford. We weren’t really much in terms of leaders, but where was the real leadership? In jail. Under the circumstances we both had the same thoughts of earning large. There weren’t many guys that stood in our way, and who could they run to with both Paul and Jackie in jail? We took advantage of things, but I stayed loyal. Anthony didn’t. Instead he got fixated on how much I was making and who was with me. The ugly jealousy thing, the thing that gets so many people killed, was surfacing. Anthony and I met at a spot in the North End, which is where he was living at the time. We didn’t meet at his apartment. Instead, we used a spot down by the water where we had met 222

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before. I mentioned to him that I wanted to go up to Plymouth prison and pay a visit to Paul. I never told him why. I needed to feel out Paul and see if my instincts were right. I figured he would give some indication of his feelings towards me. I made the drive up there. When I entered the prison, my first visit was to drop off some money in his commissary. I wanted to show him some respect, especially if he didn’t know my secret. I was escorted into the visiting area, which is separated with glass partitions. We had to talk on the phone, so we had to be very careful of what we said and how we said it. I could never understand some of the things guys would talk about to each other on a bugged prison phone. And then they wonder why they got indicted for stuff while they’re still in the can. As I saw the guard escorting Paul to the visiting area, he spotted me, smiled, sat down and picked up the phone. We made some small talk and he commented on the fact that he thought I had forgotten about him. I told him I wanted to give him a chance to get settled. I finally got down to business. I told him I wanted to continue to earn with him in the marijuana side of business. I asked him to hook me up with his Florida connection and he would get his end of any business we did together. He was a little taken back by my request and kind of shook it off. He said, “Let’s see how things go.” I got the impression he wanted to take it slow with me because he wasn’t 100% on me anymore. Besides, he only had one thing on his mind…Anthony Barry. I immediately knew he was sure that Anthony was the one that betrayed him by stealing a kilo of coke from one of Paul’s guys. If I was right, it wasn’t going to be good for me either. It was no secret that Anthony and I were close and doing business together. 223

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Paul couldn’t contain his anger about Anthony. “You tell him that he’s gonna get a visit real soon and he ain’t gonna like it either.” I didn’t say a word because I wasn’t expecting that display. He was beyond pissed and was telling me to let Anthony know he was a dead man. After he calmed down, we made some more small talk about the street and other things before I felt the time to wrap things up. I smiled at him and said, “You sure you want me to relay that message?” He glared at me and slammed the phone down. He wanted that message sent. But Paul was still suspicious of me. He was using his threats against Anthony to scare me. I knew Anthony was trying to double-dip. By living in the North End, he was ingratiating himself with the Mafia, but he also showed his loyalty to Paul. He was smarter than a lot of people gave him credit for. And then there was Bobby Rennell’s position. He hated the fact that Anthony and I were together. He felt as though I wasn’t taking care of him as well as I should be. It was never enough with Bobby no matter what you did for him. He was hearing stories about my closeness to LCN. Bobby had 20 years of history with Paul, so no matter how close we may have been, or what we were doing together, I knew his true loyalty was to Paul. And even though I had the Mucka crew under me, Mucka was Bobby’s guy first, so I had to be careful. It was no secret that Mucka was visiting him in the can and throwing him some cash to take care of him. I knew Mucka’s loyalty was with Bobby. Basically I was surrounded by Paul and Bobby’s guys, so if either one got pissed enough at me to do something, it wouldn’t be difficult. 224

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Bobby also had another reason not to trust me. It had to do with his girlfriend, Maria. My past with girls was well known to him, but he still thought it was a good idea for me to watch out for her while he was in prison. It turned out to be one of the best-yet-worst things to ever happen to me.

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two

Maria

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first met Maria at my cousin Danny’s wake in the mid ‘90s. It was just a hello-and-goodbye. Maria’s uncle had married one of my cousins, so she was known to some of my family already. My father poked me in the ribs when she walked by. “That’s Maria, Bobby Rennell’s girl he was telling you about.” I gave her a quick once-over. “Not too bad. She’s pretty hot.” “Just watch it, Mark. She’s married to a regular guy and she’s going with Bobby on the side. And, of course, he has his girl.” I didn’t give her much of a thought until about a year later when Bobby asked me for a favor. He was really heating up his relationship with Maria because his live-in girlfriend, Kara, moved out. I took good care of her while Bobby was away. She stuck it out almost four years before he cut the ties. I paid to put her through nursing school, not to mention all the other financial help I gave her. So anyway, now that Kara was out of Bobby’s life, he wanted me to help Maria out with a problem. It was brave of him to do that, because my reputation with other guys’ girls was not the best. My former friend, Gary, used to say, “I trust you with my life, but not with my wife.” Of course I would never fuck anyone in my circle. But everyone else’s girl was fair game.

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Maria was going through a divorce and her husband screwed her out of most of the money she was entitled to. It was the usual bullshit. He was hiding assets and claiming he was broke. That put Maria in some financial difficulty. Bobby asked me to drop off a few grand for her. I agreed. Maria was working as an office manager for an airfreight trucking company in East Boston. Bobby told her to expect me, so I pulled up to her office in my black Lincoln Mark VIII. At the time that car was sharp and brand new. I had a connection through a Lincoln dealership in Medford. I got a bunch of wise guys great deals on cars there. It was the unofficial car dealership for my crew. As soon as I turned off the car I saw her walking through glass doors toward me. I don’t know what it was. I mean, I’d seen her at the funeral and knew who she was, but man she hit my eye in such a way. I was really attracted to her. I still can’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t the usual ‘do-‘emthen-leave- ‘em attraction. This was something different. She got into the car. “Here’s the money Bobby asked me to give you,” I said. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you since Danny’s wake.” “I’m doing good. Thanks for bringing this to me. I appreciate it.” We sat there for about 30 seconds just looking at each other. I knew that we were connecting, but, as usual, words failed. “So listen Maria, I know Bobby takes good care of you, but if you ever need anything just give me a call.” A couple weeks went by and Maria started calling me on a semi-regular basis. As great as we got along when we met, and as much as I wanted to believe that she felt the same way, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of test. I 228

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thought Bobby was trying to force my hand and make it “easy” for me to make my move on her. On the other hand, I knew that there had to be some sincerity from her towards me. The next time I saw her was the following Valentine’s Day. Rennell had asked me to pick her up some nice perfume and flowers. Like I said, we were already talking on the phone quite a bit, but I never told Rennell. I wasn’t sure if she was telling him or not. It was a quick hello with minimal face time. I was in the middle of some things and couldn’t spend the time with her that I wanted. From there the next few months were super busy for me. I was running around trying to put some scores together, and worrying about the increasing violence that was engulfing the Mob. I got another call from Rennell at the beginning of the summer. Once again he wanted me to take Maria some cash. I found her sitting by a swimming pool with her sister. I handed Maria some money. I had already given her the Valentine’s Day gift in February, so by now she was putting it all together. We’d been talking to each other on the phone, and now I was here again with money from Bobby. Maybe that Valentine’s Day gift and the money deliveries were really from me, not Rennell. I do recall one night she had been calling my cell phone, and I hadn’t answered because I was sleeping at my mother’s. When Maria realized she couldn’t get in touch with me, she’d called my mother’s. The phone call worried my mother. She hadn’t realized that this girl and I were in contact. Later on my mother came downstairs and said, “You’re playing with fire.” “It’s not what you think.”

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“Yes it is. You should cut this shit out right now. I’ve been around long enough to know how these things end up. I know how things work.” I just mumbled something under my breath, but my Mom had it pegged. She saw right away I had feelings for Maria, and that I was headed down a dangerous path. Not long after that the phone call, and our meeting by the pool, Maria, me, her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend were planning to go out to a club for drinks. The club was in Danvers next to Beverly. I figured it was far enough away from Boston for us to run into anybody. I arrived at her sister’s house where Maria had been staying since her divorce. I sat down at the kitchen table with her sister’s boyfriend and her daughter and her sister’s two boys. The kids were acting like kids do. They were making kids’ jokes about Mark and Maria sitting in tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G… you know the rest… Her sister’s boyfriend and I were having a beer while we waited for the girls to get ready. Her sister came down the stairs and said, “She’s going crazy up there trying to figure out what to wear.” She continued insinuating that Maria was taking extra time to prepare because of me. I got the hint. When I finally saw her walking down the stairs, I was stunned at how good she looked. I mean, she was a knockout. We left the house together and headed for the club in separate cars, Maria drove with me. On the ride I commented on how good she looked. I told her that I needed to take a quick ride to Somerville to see somebody before we would meet up with her sister and her boyfriend at the club. She immediately said, “Is it girl?” “As a matter of fact it is.” 230

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I didn’t have to explain myself to her, but I did it anyway. I told her I had to drop off an envelope for her to bring up to prison the next day for her boyfriend. Her name was Linda and her boyfriend was Kevin Hardy. I had written a letter to Kevin while he was serving time in USP Fairton in New Jersey. I wanted him to know that the rumors about me and his ex-girl weren’t true. I wanted to see if we could bury the hatchet, but he never wrote me back. His new girl had been telling me how she was broke since Kevin had been rounded up along with 12 others in a massive Winter Hill Gang take down in 1997. He had just started serving a 5-7 year federal sentence. Maria knew exactly what was going on because she had grown up with Kevin Hardy and Bobby Rennell. She didn’t understand why I wanted to give his girl money. Everybody on the street knew that there was real bad blood between Kevin and me. She was also well aware of our history. I went on to say, “She works at Good Times. You can come in with me and we’ll stay for a drink.” That set her mind at ease. As we walked in together, all the heads turned. Everybody knew who I was, but they really didn’t know her. We got the royal treatment and some guys went out of their way to be extra nice and accommodating for me. I could tell she liked it. She was with me. I gave Linda an envelope stuffed with cash for Kevin, left after a drink or two, and headed up to Danvers. When we got to the club, it was jammed. It was two floors with tables, a bar and a dance floor upstairs, and two bars on the first floor. We got a table upstairs and we all sat together. We were drinking and having a good time when Maria saw two guys standing together at the bar across from where we were sitting. 231

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They looked out of place in Danvers, like Boston mobsters. I couldn’t really see them well enough to make a positive ID, but I did notice them glancing at us. I said to Maria, “I’ll be right back.” She grabbed the bottom of my shirt as I got up and said, “What are you gonna do?” I said, “Don’t worry, I think I know them.” She was still reluctant to let me go. I went anyway. They turned out to be wise guys from Somerville, and they knew Bobby Rennell and Maria. They bought me a drink, and I talked with them for a little while, but I was sure they would get word back to Rennell. Maria watched us the entire time. Finally she came over. I hadn’t wanted her to. It painted the wrong picture. She recognized them, and saw right away why I was upset. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but I really didn’t want Bobby to know about Maria and me just yet. He wouldn’t understand his girl and me out at a club with her sister and her sister’s boyfriend. Maria and I hadn’t done anything yet, and I couldn’t be sure of her loyalty. I didn’t like the situation. Later we all went downstairs. As the girls danced, the boyfriend and I stood at the bar. There was a guy selling roses. I bought one. Maria was still dancing. Not long after that a slow song came on so I grabbed Maria by the hand and gave her the rose and danced with her. As the song played we got closer and closer. I wanted to kiss her, but with so many eyes on us it would send the wrong message. There was no doubt about it. We were falling for each other. Once Maria and I were together, it posed an obvious problem with Bobby. I knew that he would hear about it. I wasn’t as scared for myself as I was for her. Pretty soon it was clear 232

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that he knew. Bobby would leak things to her that she wouldn’t understand, testing to see if they got back to me. It was his way of letting us know. This next move still bothers me. He called Maria at her sister’s house in Beverly. While they were on the phone, I walked through the front door. I heard her say to Bobby, “Mark just got here to my sister’s house.” She looked over at me and smiled. I idled around while she talked to him. It was all small talk, and then she called me over to the phone. “Hey how are you doing, Bobby?” I asked. “Good, considering. Thanks for keeping an eye on Maria for me. I appreciate it.” “Yeah, no problem,” I said. He sounded tired, but I noticed something else in his voice. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I hung up and noticed Maria was nervous. “What’s up?” “Something Bobby told me on the phone, and I don’t know what it exactly means, but I think it has something to do with you.” “Did he threaten me?” I asked. “While I was talking to him about you, he said, ’When I get out, I’m gonna shake down Joe D and his crew.’ I don’t know who Joe D is, but because of when and how he said it I think it has something to do with you.” “Yeah it does. But it’s nothing big. I’ll take care of it.” Maria had no clue what was really going on between me and Bobby. He’d chosen his words carefully and given her a great test. If she got that message back to me, I would know he was serious, and that he was going renegade for sure. He knew Joe’s 233

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relationship with me, and he knew Joe didn’t like him. Maria had told me what Bobby was planning. I played stupid. I wasn’t sure how far Maria would go or if she was in on Bobby’s plan to play me. I had to be very careful. Bobby got out a little while later, but I kept my distance. I still saw Maria on the sly, but I was increasingly leery of seeing Bobby or any of the other renegades.

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ne of the first times I met Billy Angelesco was at Cai’s. He was one of the those guys that was always around, and while he wasn’t really close to me in terms of working together, I’d had a few run-ins with him. That night at the Cai’s I was out with some of my friends. One of them was Joey Legs, who has been my friend since childhood. I saw Billy Angelesco and a couple of his guys walk through the door. Now Billy was a low level guy back then, but he was on the rise. He’d started out doing small things for Anthony Barry. Billy wanted to impress Anthony enough to get further into his good graces. I got along with Billy, but I never wanted him in my crew. Billy and I used to box together at Boston Sport boxing club. We would usually go there together for sessions with our trainer. Afterwards we would have dinner together. I always had bad vibes with him that I could never explain, but it made me keep him at arm’s length. One day I was in the locker room at the club when I looked up and saw him walk in. Right away I noticed his face. It was banged up pretty good and he had a shiner.

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I walked up to him. “Hey, Billy, how’s it going? What’s up with the eye?” “I got into a fistfight with Mikey.” Mikey was a North Medford guy. Mikey wasn’t a mobster, but he was a well known tough guy who I was friendly with. After Billy told me the story, I asked him: “Do you want me to take care of it?” I was a little taken back by his body language and the way he answered. “No, I can take care of him myself.” I said, “You already tried that and look what that got you!” He didn’t like it. On the night at Cai’s Billy saw Joey Legs and suddenly there was obvious tension. I didn’t know it then, but afterwards I found out that Billy had slept with Joey’s girl. Right at that moment I turned to Joey and said, “Is everything alright?” He didn’t answer me but the look on his face explained everything. Joey was seething. Billy feared Legs. A lot of guys did. Joey was a very tough guy in great physical shape. Joey sprung up and got right in Billy’s face. “You better stay the fuck away from me or you’ll have a serious problem.” I put my hand on Joey’s chest to back him off and calm him down. The last thing I wanted was any type of problem in my bar. I was on probation with five years to serve if I violated it. I told Joey to go back over to our table and relax. Reluctantly he agreed. As he walked away I told Billy, “Give him some time to cool down and then come over to our table and make things right with him. I’ll be there to make sure there won’t be a problem.” I got the feeling that Billy thought I was out to set him up. Everybody knew how close Joey and I were and how far back 236

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we went together. Obviously I got his back, not Billy’s. As the night progressed I was all around the place talking to everybody. I couldn’t stay with Joey every minute. That was fine with Joey. He was flirting with every broad in the place, and didn’t care where I was. I ran into a friend that I hadn’t seen in a while, a professional boxer, and one of the toughest guys I’ve ever met in my life. He and I were very close, and now we began talking. We were catching up on news when I saw something out of the corner of my eye: Billy running straight at Joey with some weapon in his hand; it looked like a blackjack. I was too far away from Joey to warn him. Of course, his back was turned. That’s why Billy was moving in on him. He got to him pretty good. There was blood everywhere. I couldn’t see Joey through the pandemonium, but I knew it couldn’t be good. I did see Billy running out the back door. That’s when I realized that Joey was on the floor. I pulled Joey up. He was dazed and almost completely out of it. The manager called an ambulance. I walked Joey outside to wait for the paramedics. The whole time we waited he cursed Billy out. When the ambulance arrived, Joey didn’t want to go; he convinced the paramedics to leave him alone. He had a gash on his head that needed several stitches, but he didn’t want medical help. He was tough and stubborn. During this time, my old friend Billy F came out, and I asked him to drive Joey back to our apartment. I said I would be there later. I had one last piece of business to attend to before I could leave for the night. I saw Anthony Barry walk into the bathroom. I waited until he was in there, and then walked in behind him. I was fuckin’ pissed off, and I wanted him to know it. 237

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He was standing at the urinal when I told him, “I just want you to know that I ain’t gonna forget this. Billy disrespected Legs and he did it in my place.” Anthony finished his business, turned to me and said, “Joey Legs disrespected himself, and he should have made the first move. He had it coming!” I said, “I don’t see it like that, and again I won’t forget about it.” He just looked at me and didn’t say another word. We both left the bathroom and went our separate ways. A few days after that incident, Legs and I recruited a friend of Billy’s to set him up for us. Obviously Billy wouldn’t meet with me or him. We wanted our revenge and I can’t get into details, but I’m sure you can figure it out. We waited a few weeks, then the guy we had the “in” with did exactly what we wanted, and convinced Billy to meet with him. We’d planned exactly what we wanted to do. I got a phone call from a mutual friend of Billy and me by the name of M. He asked to speak with me in person. M was another well known tough guy and was considered to be very dangerous. I agreed to speak with him, so we made the arrangements to meet at his apartment in Malden. When I got there he gave me a hug and we exchanged pleasantries. He got to the point, saying, “I heard what happened with Billy and Joey.” “Who did you hear that from?” “Billy came by himself and told me the story,” he said. “What did he say happened?” “Billy told me that he was convinced you and Joey were setting him up. He figured you guys were going to have a go at

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him on account of what he did with Joey’s girlfriend. He got nervous so he made the move while you were far away and Joey wasn’t expecting it.” I asked him “Where does Beav (Anthony Barry) factor into it?” M said, “He wasn’t involved, but you know how Billy is dying to impress him.” I just laughed. “He’ll get his real soon.” M then said, “You know Billy won’t meet with that kid. You know the one I’m talking about.” I played stupid and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What kid?” M knew I was playing dumb, but I didn’t want to let on to him what he assumed to be the truth. At that point I ended the meeting and we said our goodbyes. As I turned to leave I said, “I hope you’re really my friend.” He mumbled nervously, “Yeah, of course I am. Why would you ask that?” I knew M wasn’t talking shit so I told Joey to forget about our plan, but just to make sure we called our set-up kid and see what he said. At first we couldn’t get a hold of the kid. He’d dropped out of sight, which showed me a lot. But we persisted. It took a couple of days before I had to send another person to find the kid and hear it for myself. They made contact and the go-between told me, “The kid got nervous when Billy reneged on their meet, and he was afraid to tell you about it. It really isn’t his fault because I know for a fact that Billy did agree to meet with him the first time.” I believed him and told him to let the kid know that I wasn’t mad, but in the future he shouldn’t duck my calls. I didn’t blame the kid. Billy was smelling a rat. As much as we pursued him we couldn’t get close enough to him, so we let it go for the time being. 239

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A few months later Billy’s cousin and top guy, Christian Petrillo came by my bar to see me. His visit had nothing to do with Billy. He was a big earner in all areas for Billy, but he did the Big Carrot scams with Brian Porreca. Porreca was a lunatic ex-professional boxer from Medford who had been charged with several violent crimes over the years and has been a suspect in several unsolved murders. My first impression of Christian’s visit to my bar was that it might be to lay the groundwork for Billy and his guys to make a move on me. That crew was strong and Billy was finally under Anthony Barry at the time. Christian played the part and attempted to make me believe that he was my friend. He told me, “Brian was out one night with a gun hunting for you, but I talked him out of it.” I said, “Wow, you’d do that for me?” But what I thought was, “What’s this kid think? I’m an idiot?” I played along with his game until he finally left. Then came the curve ball. Not long after the incident my car, a brand new Lincoln Continental, was stolen. I loved that car. The color was called white opal, and it changed colors when the sun went down. I had never seen anything like that before. I knew it was an inside job because I was missing a set of car keys. I got a phone call from the police telling me they found the vehicle and it had been used in an armed robbery. I really don’t even remember the name of the town where it happened. It was far away, at least two hours from Boston. The cop told me I would have to speak to a couple of detectives before they would release the car to me. I didn’t know what to do. I told the cop that I had nothing to do with the robbery, and if they wanted to speak with me, they would have to come to me. The detective called me and told me I had to come to 240

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the station for the talk. I asked him whom they arrested for the crime and he told me. It was Brendan Porreca (Brian’s son) and Jeff Angelesco (Billy’s cousin). At that point I refused to go, and asked, “Am I a suspect in the robbery?” He didn’t respond and I figured out his motives. He wanted me to go to the station because they were going to hold me on suspicion for as long as possible. They could only hold me for 24 hours unless they had enough evidence to charge me. I told him to expect a call from my lawyer before I would consider walking into his trap. The obvious scenario was that Billy Angelesco set up the robbery to frame me. The cop told me that Brendan and Jeff were spotted leaving the scene of the robbery and that led to a high-speed chase. Obviously they hadn’t planned on that. They’d probably figured on leaving the scene in my car, then driving just far enough away to pick up the other car they had stashed. They would leave my car there as the only evidence. They wanted to frame me but it didn’t work. Instead Jeff and Brendan took the rap. Not long after the robbery, Maria got a visit at work. One of my cousins (you believe that?) and Christian, showed up. She didn’t think too much of it at first because of her relationship with my cousin, but then she saw what happened next. Christian kept saying, “What are you doing with Mark? You would look so much better with Billy Angelesco.” “Fuck off ” she told him. “C’mon Maria. Mark is done. You know that. Billy’s gonna be big. You should get together with him.” Maria turned to my cousin, “You’re standing there and listening to this about your own cousin?” He stood there stone-faced. 241

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Maria grabbed a pair of scissors. “Get the fuck out of here before I stab you both.” “No need for that,” said Christian backing away. When I found out I saw red. It was dangerous for me. Billy’s crew was tied in close with Anthony Barry. At this point, Anthony Barry was building his crew in an attempt to play both sides against the middle. I knew that crew would never attempt to stir shit up with me if Anthony Barry wasn’t calling the shots. I had a big problem headed my way, but I didn’t hide. I did keep my top guys around me, but people could find me. Not long after that incident I targeted Christian’s girl for my payback. I would send them a message. I wanted to show them how to actually pull it off with the enemy’s girl. Within days I reached out for her friend and invited them to my bar for drinks. The friend was very receptive and agreed to come there with a few of her girlfriends, including the target. The girl asked me if I knew her boyfriend, Christian. I told her I knew who he was, but nobody else did. She didn’t get it at first, so I made it much clearer. I said, “He doesn’t run in my circle because I won’t let him, but I’m sure somebody knows him.” I didn’t want to blatantly disrespect her boyfriend, but I wanted her to know his status. She was starting to get it when she asked, “Who are you?” I just laughed and said, “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend that question, and I’ll come back later and join you girls for a drink.” I was sure that her girlfriend (my friend) would peak her curiosity and open the door for me. It worked. By the end of the night she was sitting on my lap right inside the place. It was perfect. Christian would hear about it. His girlfriend had walked right into the trap and adding to Christian’s shame. All I had to do was wait for word to get out. 242

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Not long after that incident with Christian’s girl I was approached by an associate of mine by the name of Jimmy. He wasn’t having much luck finding me until he got word to another guy who got the message to me. I met with Jimmy at a spot in South Medford. Because he went through so much trouble to get word to me, I knew it was important that I see him. He told me that Christian approached him in regards to me, but he didn’t know much more. He and I both agreed it wasn’t good. In this case I’d made a huge mistake underestimating my opponent. I took for granted that very few people outside of my inner circle knew my routine, so I was doing business as usual. I would go to Cai’s alone to pick up the week’s betting slips from one of my sports agents. He would gather all of the slips from the other agents and pass them off to me so I could grade them and figure out the week’s numbers. One particular night I did notice a lot more patrons than usual when I came in. I didn’t know everybody that came and went, but I knew which faces didn’t fit. That night one of the bouncers commented on the same thing. He pulled me to the side and said, “Hey Mark, something ain’t right here.” “What’s going on?” “There are a lot of unfamiliar faces here tonight. And I don’t just mean new people. I mean people who really don’t belong.” Sure enough within five minutes of my arrival I noticed Christian walk through the door by himself. It was very strange for him to show up at my bar all by himself. I didn’t give him the respect to even approach him. Instead I waited for the inevitable.

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I needed as much time as I could to figure out how many guys he had positioned inside. It was impossible to determine, but I did my best to see where each guy was standing. I walked towards the corner. I wanted my back to the wall so I could see everybody. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he made his approach. The only reason he would even have the balls to make that move by himself was because he thought I saw him come in alone. He thought I didn’t know about the crew. I gotta give that crew some credit. They had me dead to rights. I was pretty much alone. My friend Wayne was there too, but there had to be at least 10 of them so it wouldn’t make much difference. As he walked towards me, I didn’t grab my knife. He was alone. As we began talking I could see how out of character he was. He was very cocky. I didn’t like his attitude so before I let him go any further I yelled: “If you got a fucking problem with me, why don’t you take care of it like a man?” He answered with a sneer. I said, “Why don’t you and I go outside to the alley and handle it the right way. I don’t want a problem inside this place and I know you’re not alone. Do you really need all that back up to handle your own problem, Christian?” “Mark,” he replied, “I don’t have a problem with you at all. I’ve known you for a long time. It’s not like that.” I was starting to lose my temper, so I got in his face and said, “I’m standing right here and I’m gonna ask you one last time. Do you want to go outside and settle this?” “I don’t want any trouble, Mark.” Finally I shouted, “You got the upper hand on me tonight, but if you do the wrong thing I’m gonna come back and find you and chop your fucking head off.” 244

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I could tell he was uncertain. He had to make a tough decision and he knew what the consequences could be if he got the courage up to make his move on me. Finally he said, “I swear on my son’s life, I just wanted to talk to you.” At that point I wanted to just get it over with. So I turned to walk away. As soon as my back was turned, I felt a blow to my head and heard glass smashing on the ground at my feet. I was dazed and I could feel the blood oozing down my face, but I was still on my feet. The blood was in my eyes and I couldn’t see much of anything so I covered up as best I could. He threw a couple of punches at me. By that point, I felt the crowd gathering, but I couldn’t make out any faces. Suddenly, I felt a hand grab me by the back of my shirt and pull me outside. It was Wayne. He was trying to get me out of harm’s way. He kept saying, “You gotta get out of here, there’s at least ten of them.” I still couldn’t see much. As Wayne walked me towards my car, we were expecting the rest of that crew to come outside and continue the attack. I took my shirt off to wipe the blood from my eyes. As we reached my car, I went completely out of control. I grabbed a baseball bat that I kept in the backseat and headed for the front door. I was ready to go back inside and start swinging the bat at anybody and everybody that I didn’t recognize, but Wayne and I stopped in our tracks. We saw three cars screeching out of the back parking lot of the bar. They were obviously in a big hurry to get out of there. It was useless to go back inside. They were all gone. I couldn’t think of anything other than getting my revenge on Christian. The next day I had some time to try and figure 245

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it all out. I was convinced there was a leak in my inner circle. There was no other explanation of how that crew knew about my routine on Tuesday nights. I’m a very private person, and I never tell anybody more than I have to, especially intricate details of my operation. I had to be even more careful until I figured out who betrayed me and why. It was a very dangerous time in my life. I was sure that Paul would eventually confirm his suspicions. That crew put their cards on the table by making that move against me. I also had problems with guys in that crew that weren’t related to the war, and they were about to get worse.

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y the time Paul DeCologero was acquitted in the first renegade trial, I knew that he and his crew had figured out what I was—or should I say, what I wasn’t. I wasn’t a renegade, but I was still unsure where guys like Mucka stood. The renegades had lost a lot of men, and it was uncertain whether or not the renegade faction would go on in its current form. I went about my business as usual. I mean if Paul and his guys wanted to come get me, let them. I wasn’t going to hide like a scared little kid. I tried not to have an ego about the whole thing; I just had an ‘I don’t give a shit” attitude. My thought was: if you have a beef with me, deal with me. I wasn’t going to run away. A part of why I could keep that attitude was that I had the backing of a couple key guys in LCN, and WHG in Somerville. They saved my ass a number of times, and I always returned the favor. It was believed that I had done more than my share of “work”. My reputation was earned. And I was tested more times than an FDA drug. I knew that the LCN and WHG wouldn’t make a move against me, unlike the renegades who were always untrustworthy. I mean, sure there are guys everywhere who would stab you for a chance to get ahead, but with the renegades there

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was a greater chance that once they were done with you they’d toss you aside. This was especially true of someone like me, who tended not to fall in line behind guys like Paul. I was nervous that some little motherfucker would try to make a name for himself with the renegades. I heard about suspicious guys on my property. The guard at the front gate would always alert me. I duked him every now and then. I needed eyes on the complex where I lived at all times. I knew when they were hunting for me at my own house. I was tired of all the shit that went along with the war. I wanted to end it so badly. I had guys in my own backyard that wanted me gone. The body count was rising. There were over a dozen unsolved homicides. One night in December I got a call from Bobby Rennell. He was now out of prison. He wanted to meet. I called Maria to tell her I was going out. She was scared for me. I told her that I needed to go. I drove over to Somerville without a gun, because I didn’t think I would need it. Bobby and I had been through a lot together, and even though he had grown close to Paul and his crew, I thought I could still trust him as a lifelong friend. When I got over to Lower Broadway, I saw him and his friend Joey in a car. I pulled mine over to the side of the road, parked, and got out to get into their car. I got in the backseat and things turned. Bobby started screaming at me. “You did this to yourself Mark. You screwed Paul, you’re fucking my girl and you showed your true colors. You’re with them and you always have been. I know about the shake downs. I know everything.” It was clear this was personal, and he was out of control. I got belligerent, saying I was with Maria and there was nothing he could do about it. Bobby responded with a hard punch to my head and one to my side. 248

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“After everything I’ve done for you, you treat me like a piece of shit. How could you do this to me? I’m gonna kill you.” I pulled my knife and swung it hard at Joey, grazing his neck. Bobby immediately went to his aid and tried to knock the knife away, breaking my pinky finger as he tried to stop me. This was the opportunity that I needed. This wasn’t their original plan. I knew that Bobby had jumped the gun. There were too many people around for them to have planned to kill me right there. As the knife fell to the floor, Joey reached his hand under the seat and grabbed a piece. My only exit was through the front seat passenger door, which was blocked by Bobby’s 250 pounds of muscle. I jumped over the seat pushing Bobby down on top of Joey. As I made a break for the door, I could feel Bobby’s massive hand grabbing at the back of my shirt. Somehow I slipped through and opened the passenger door. I fell face first on the sidewalk. As I got up to run I could hear Bobby calling my name, he was pleading with me to come back. The look on his face read was that of a guy who’d just realized just how bad he fucked up. He’d botched the hit. I glared back at him with disgust and disbelief. How could he have done this? What the hell was going on? Was Bobby doing this by himself because of Maria? No, this was Paul all the way. Bobby had made up his mind to go after me. He’d take care of his issue with me and Maria, while Paul would get rid of the guy who’d been feeding information to the LCN about him and the renegades. As soon as I turned around, ready to run for my life, I saw another car coming straight at me. I knew the car and the sonof-a-bitch in it: Kevin “Mucka” McCormack. He was there to make sure everything went as planned. He was part of the hit 249

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team. The second he saw me get out of the car he panicked, it wasn’t supposed to have gone like this. They botched it. I ran for my life, but a tall fence trapped me. Just as I jumped to catch the top of the fence, Mucka clipped me. The blow sent me sailing over it, head first to the sidewalk. It was a bad day for visits from old friends. I lay still, in excruciating pain. Minutes passed. Then came a familiar voice. “Are you alright Mark?” It was a cop’s voice, one that I knew. His name was Turner. He was assigned to a special division of the Somerville police department that investigated organized crime. “You have to get to the hospital.” He looked at me with a mixture of disgust and pity. “I’m fine.” I said. For a moment I hated the guy, but then I realized he was trying to save my life. “Just get in the car.” He stared me down. “NOW!” No matter what I felt about the cop, I wasn’t in any shape to argue. He just watched me as I dragged myself into the police cruiser. I prayed that no one was watching. I was glad to be alive. “Take me to my father’s house.” I hung over the backseat and coughed up blood. “Mark, just tell me what happened.” “A couple of black guys jumped me. Put that in your report.” He knew what I was saying. “Mark, it’s time to talk. Tell me what happened and I can get you the protection you need. There’s a price on your head. If you stay on the street you’re a dead man and you know it.” “You understand, I can’t tell you what really happened. I have to take care of this myself.”

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He looked back at me, then back at the road. “You have to do the right thing and let us help you.” He handed me his phone number and drove on without saying another word. At the end of the ride I broke the silence. “Don’t expect a call from me,” I said. “But thanks.” I pulled myself out of the cruiser, and made my way into my father’s house. I decided to lay low for a while. I found a safe house with my cousin outside the city. Word of the attempted hit on me was on the streets in no time and spread at the speed of light. Every bad guy and every cop expected retaliation. They were waiting for my next move. I think that Bobby’s main reason for trying to kill me was that he was making amends to Paul and showing his loyalty. It dated back to when Bobby went down to New Jersey to hide with those Lucchese guys and robbed them. Bobby was looking to stay in Paul’s good graces. The fact that I was with Maria certainly didn’t help. I mean, on some level I could understand that. If I was away in prison and he got together with my girlfriend, I would probably feel the same way. I’d hoped he would realize that he and Maria were already drifting apart before he went away. It’s not like I went to Maria with the intention of taking her from Bobby. He wanted to use Maria all along to test my loyalty. But, we both fell for each other. It just happened. You can’t plan for things like that. You can’t plan anything when women come into the picture. You’ll find a lot of wise guy beefs are not tied up in business, but rather, over a girlfriend, or wife, or even mistress. It just happens that way. A few weeks after I almost got clipped, I got a call from Anthony Barry. We agreed to meet in the parking lot of a restaurant in Stoneham. When I got there, I saw Anthony and his partner 251

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in crime Brian Cahill standing outside of Anthony’s black Lincoln Navigator. Brian had just been released from prison after serving time for murder. I barely knew him, although I was well aware of his reputation as a stone cold killer. “Bobby Rennell got shot.” Anthony challenged me with his tone. He was obviously thrilled with the turn of events. “Everybody knows the bad blood between you and Bobby. People are already saying that you were behind it. What are you gonna do? This is gonna bring too much heat to all of us. The cops will be looking to break your balls for this.” I interrupted. “It’s my problem. You don’t have to worry about it.” “Did you do it?” I didn’t answer. “Did you do it?” “Why the fuck are you asking me that?” I yelled, not even giving him the courtesy of an answer. Instead, I turned my back and walked away. I wasn’t going to talk to him, or anybody else. I needed time off. Finally I had the time and space to think. My thoughts weren’t about revenge or getting back on the street or what my next move would be. I thought about Maria. I thought about how sick I was of this life. I suffered from guilt and for the first time, I was torn between the mob and the strange possibility of being a family man. Eventually I called Maria and urged her to move on with her life and leave me. Instead, she found me and we moved in together. Most women would have run away as fast as they could to get away from a guy in my shoes, but not her. She knew how

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dangerous it would be if we stayed together, but she disregarded her own safety to stick by my side. As guilty as I felt for bringing her into my world, I couldn’t walk away from her. We spent the next few months together, trying to make a life for ourselves. Maria tried to avoid the subject of the Mob until one morning she started pushing me. “Why don’t you get out for good? Where has it gotten you?” “Don’t start on me, please. I didn’t want to tell you, but Bobby Rennell called Anthony Barry. He tried to convince him that I was a rat and said I did it; he said I shot him.” “What are you going to do? You have to go the cops and ask for their help. I’ll stay with you. We can do this together.” “What’s wrong with you?” I was losing my temper. “I’m no rat. I live my life by the sword and that’s how I’ll die. I took the oath, and I will not betray the life.” “That life is going to get you killed.” Even though she came from the same streets that I did, she didn’t understand the life. She really thought I could just walk away I needed to get my head straight. As much as I hated what Maria was saying, I knew she was right.

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ot long after the attempted hit on me, a guy by the name of George Mortimer was released from prison. He was serving five years. Mortimer was one of Anthony Barry’s top guys. The day George was released Anthony picked him up at the prison and drove him back home. George had been one of Anthony’s key guys before and during his time away so naturally I figured things wouldn’t change, but Anthony approached me and asked if I would take George with me and my crew. The first thought that entered my mind was, This must be my lucky day. Why do I deserve this gesture of good will? Anthony told me, “You should put a cap on him of $5,000, and if he fucks up I’ll pay it, but if you let him get deeper, you’re on your own.” WTF? Now I’m really scratching my head, and I’m thinking the obvious. Anthony needs to know what I have if he’s gonna take it over from me. So he wants George to get close enough to me to learn my operations. George is a top guy, so he’s gonna be with me a lot and he’s gonna see a lot. I want to turn the tables on Anthony, and play him to my advantage. With Paul DeCologero serving time, I was sure that Anthony Barry would

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try and fill the void on the street. He wanted to become the leader of the renegades. He was stepping up and making his own power play. So I agreed to take George on, and let him handle one of my bookmaking offices. I spent a lot of time with him to let him see that the grass was probably greener with me, and naturally I started testing his loyalty. He passed every test and soon was telling people, “Fuck Anthony Barry. I’m with Mark.” I treated the guy better than Anthony ever did. I put a lot of time and effort into grooming him, and he quickly became a top muscle guy who came with me everywhere. In April of 1999, four months after the attempted hit on me, George called Bobby Rennell at the Hacienda Restaurant in Somerville and asked him to take a ride with him. When George arrived at the restaurant, Bobby Rennell jumped into the passenger seat of his white van and they left together. They drove further into Somerville, where, on a deserted stretch of road George suddenly stopped the van and got out. At that point a gunman approached and fired several shots, hitting Bobby four times. The gunman figured he was dead and he was almost right. But Bobby Rennell was a survivor. He managed to drive himself to the Somerville hospital where he collapsed. He was in real bad shape. Within two weeks he was transferred to Mass General. He survived. Mortimer skipped town. I haven’t seen him since. Rennell was still in the hospital on April 18, 1999, when my phone rang at six in the morning. Maria answered groggily. It was my mother. “Maria, turn on the news,” she said. I was already up getting dressed, but I could hear my mother’s voice on the phone even from the other side of the room.. 256

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Maria grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The anchor was saying: “Last night alleged mobster, Kevin ‘Mucka’ McCormack, was shot in the back of the head execution-style while sitting behind the wheel of his car outside the Malden Restaurant, Cremone’s. McCormack was pronounced dead at the scene. Three other passengers were shot but all three are expected to live.” The anchor went on to describe the murder scene. One of the other people shot was Brian Porreca. It was believed to be Mob-related. No shit it was Mob-related—more spilled blood. Maria stared at me. I saw the doubt in her eyes. I was speechless. Mucka’s murder came four months after he had tried to run me down during the botched hit on my life, and two weeks after the assassination attempt on Rennell. I would be the prime suspect. No one had a better motive, or the power to get it done, and the cops knew it. Even if the cops didn’t get me, I knew there would be more bloodshed! The first thing I said to Maria was, “I had nothing to do with it.” “What are you going to do?” she asked me. “You don’t need to be going out there all cowboy, gunning for more guys.” “No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m gonna let the chips fall wherever they may. I’m just going to keep on living this life here.” “This is getting too scary. When is this stuff going to be over? How many more guys are going to die? What about you?” I walked over and tried to put my arm around her, but she shrugged me off. She was justifiably upset. She was convinced that I shot Rennell and then executed Mucka. I went into the kitchen to get a drink. I sat down and thought about the Mucka killing. It all hit me then. I mean, I knew when Mucka tried to clip me that Paul had orchestrated 257

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the move while sitting inside of a federal prison cell, but now I thought Anthony Barry was part of it. I knew my game was up. I’m sure Anthony didn’t expect Porreca to live through it all. It wound up saving my ass and coming back on him to ruin his life. It was no secret that Porreca and I had been gunning for each other. During two visits to Plymouth prison to see Paul, I saw the signs. The next time I saw him was when he knew my secret. My instincts had never been wrong. I was positive he would make the move. Rennell had been hit two weeks before that. I was living with his girlfriend. Word was out. There was bad blood with us and one of us had to move on the other. Bobby and Mucka had already moved on me. Anthony Barry knew that. It was a no-brainer that the cops would link both hits to me. That was probably Anthony’s game plan. It made sense. The next day, the cops picked up Brian Cahill. They had evidence and eyewitness testimony. But Brian Porreca wasn’t the most credible of witnesses. Word was they were on the hunt for Barry, but he was in hiding. The police were staking out all his hideouts. Five days after they picked up Cahill, a cruiser spotted Barry in his Yukon heading towards his uncle’s house. They brought in the whole cavalry, helicopters and all, and surrounded the house. Barry came out with his hands up. The cops arrested his girlfriend too, because she was helping him hide. Barry and Cahill were indicted for murder, intent to murder, assault and battery with a dangerous weapon, and possession of a firearm. Barry’s girlfriend was charged as an accessory after the fact. Bail was denied and they were remanded to custody pending the trial. They knew that might be a year or more. While Barry sat in jail, awaiting trial, the cops kept looking at the case, hoping that, with Barry out of commission, people 258

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might come forward with information. A lot of cases are made that way. They worked all the angles to see if there were any suspects they’d missed—like me. One day a cop I knew came up to me and said that it would be in my best interests to go see O’Malley, the state police homicide detective investigating the Mucka murder. He was located in the Cambridge Superior Courthouse. I drove over to see him. I knew what I was going to say because I knew he was convinced I had exacted my revenge. I figured it was just a way to test the waters. “Hey Mark, how are things with you?” He extended his hand. “Not too bad, so what’s going on?” I said, sitting down in a seat directly across from him. “I’m hoping you can clear up some stuff about Kevin McCormack’s murder. I’m sure you heard about it.” “Yeah, I heard. Too bad. He was a nice guy.” O’Malley laughed. “Yeah, a nice guy who tried to kill you a couple months ago. I know more than you think I do” “So you know I didn’t do it.” “I figured you for a spy for Barry. But I got it wrong. You’re out for yourself.” “You know that’s the way I operate.” “The guys who willingly walk through my front door usually have something to hide.” “I have nothing to hide, “I said rising out of my seat to cut the meeting short. “That’s not the story I’m hearing” “Maybe you’re listening to the wrong people? “I don’t think that’s the case.” “Mark, listen, I’m here if you ever want to talk.” He gave me his business card and we parted. I don’t know what I was 259

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thinking afterwards. I mean I was already out, but events were conspiring to pull me back. It was going to be a no-win situation. I felt it. But at least I thought I’d headed off any investigation into me concerning the Mucka murder. I didn’t want the State Police nosing around, but it was inevitable. Barry and Cahill went on trial about a year after the Mucka murder. Brian Porreca was the star witness for the prosecution. Porreca was a perfect example of why these two weren’t supposed to let anyone live. Even though Porreca had been struck with two bullets, he survived. Porreca felt he had no choice. The whole shooting had screwed him up. Testifying didn’t help. Not long after the trial Porreca was found dead in a Vegas hotel room, a bunch of cash still on him. I’d never really liked the guy, but whatever. There had been conflicting reports about the shooters from witnesses to the Mucka murder. Some people said Billy Angelesco was the killer. They’d heard him brag about it. But the evidence pointed towards Barry and Cahill, and the jury came back with a guilty verdict. Both were sentenced to life. In a way I was happy Barry was off the street. If he were out things between us would have eventually erupted. But another part of me was upset. I mean, I’d been friendly with the guy for years before this whole thing with the renegade war came to a head. You see what I mean about how things are in this life, especially when there’s a war going on?

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ince I’d met Maria, I’d been slowly backing out of the action. The treachery was too much. I didn’t want the Mob life anymore. I’d seen brothers fuck their own brothers to get ahead in this war. I was numb, tired, burnt out, and I didn’t want to go to jail. I knew the Feds weren’t far behind. I got word that the indictments against Paul and his guys were coming down, and, even though I was no longer a renegade, I was sure that I would be part of it. I had to keep my options open. By 1999 Maria and I decided to get out of Dodge. We moved to Danvers, about 45 minutes outside of Boston. Not long after, we’d moved into our new apartment Maria received a letter . It was from Kevin Hardy. I didn’t know what to expect, especially since I hadn’t heard anything back from him since the night Maria and I stopped at the bar in Somerville and gave his girl the envelope stuffed with cash. I was sure Kevin believed I had slept with his former girl. The rumors were spreading like wild fire. Even Maria knew about the bad blood. She heard the rumors. She never fully trusted me. It reached the point where Kevin couldn’t stand it anymore either. It was almost like people were trying to instigate him to move on me. I wouldn’t have blamed him either. Although I never read the

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letter, Maria told me that Kevin instructed her to meet with one of his guys at a social club in Somerville. I wasn’t sure what to think? But Maria and Kevin had a long history together. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t use her to get back at me so I told her to go ahead with the meet. When Maria returned, she was in a complete state of shock as she handed me an envelope filled with cash. Things on the street were getting interesting. Bobby Luisi got hooked up with the Bruno-Scarfo family under Joey Merlino. Based in Philly, Merlino was looking to expand the family’s reach into New England and enlisted Luisi to help him out. After a war with the Sicilian boss, John Stanfa, Merlino had come out on top. Stanfa and his crew were taken down in a big racketeering sweep. Feds bugged his lawyer’s office and caught all kinds of incriminating conversations. All this went on at the same time as the LCN-renegade war in Boston. I had met Merlino a couple times in social situations. I was surprised to see news stories saying that Luisi was a made guy in Philly but not New England. I knew him as being made in New England as well. What happened was that Merlino came in and offered to make Luisi a capo with his own territory and crew. He was sanctioned by Joey Merlino to run the Boston rackets. With Boston still reeling from the war, who was going to say no? I eventually met up with Luisi at a bar where we hooked up with Merlino and a couple of his guys. He made overtures to me to come aboard and be part of Philly. But why would I leave New England? I’d just spent the last few years giving info back and forth between the renegades and the LCN, straddling both sides of the war. There was no way I was going there. Philly was getting $10,000 per month from Luisi. That was a tough nut to carry, considering 262

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the circumstances in Boston. Plus Philly was a lightning rod for the Feds. Joey Merlino was a popular wise guy. I saw a piece on him on CBS News one night. He was like John Gotti revisited. All the people in the streets of South Philly were coming up and shaking his hand, like he was a movie star. Those kinds of guys are good for two things: the media and the cops. The media will plaster their picture across every paper and news story, while the cops turn all their resources to taking them down. And so it happened with Luisi. In June of ‘99 the Feds came down with a sweeping indictment of Merlino and his crew, and Bobby Luisi was taken down as well. While in prison, he converted to the Jewish faith. He shaved his head and began carrying his bible everywhere he went. He even claimed he was getting visits from God. He also decided to cooperate with the feds. The government claimed he was giving them information he thought would bolster his own status in the underworld. Nobody could understand why he would offer information on anything that wasn’t directly related to the Merlino case. People were convinced that he had a nervous breakdown and completely lost his sanity. The Feds feared that if called to testify at trial he would tell the jury that he saw visions of God. They finally deemed him a non-credible witness and hung him out to dry. He pled out to some reduced charges which included some of the work he did for LCN during the renegade war. He received a 20-year federal prison term. A few of his cronies from Boston eventually took the stand for the prosecution. But the Feds had bigger cooperating witnesses in Philly. Including the Philly boss himself, Ralph Natale, and cop-turned-gangster, Ron Previte, who both testified against Merlino and his guys. It was like that all over. I wanted to keep out of the line of fire from both gangsters and the law. Maria and I didn’t go back 263

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to the old neighborhood that often, but one day we were pulling up to the Winter Hill Bakery in Somerville. We got out of the car and were walking towards the bakery when I heard a voice from behind me. “You should be dead by now.” It was Joe D. Maria and I turned around and we almost didn’t recognize him. By this time the cancer was bad. He’d fought it hard, but now I saw what it was doing to him. I told him, “I knew you were there before I took the corner.” “Bullshit.” He laughed. “You keeping out of things?” “Yeah, remember how I told you things were getting bad. I had to get away.” Joe motioned for me to come closer. “Just remember, I gave you the opportunity to live a normal life, but you wouldn’t have any part of it. Be smart.” We hugged; he gave Maria a kiss on the cheek and walked off. I was really trying to keep my hands clean, but I still had that itch. It was one of the problems between Maria and me. I couldn’t be myself. I was having a hard time settling down. I mean, once you have that life in you, it’s always in you. After the Mucka murder I thought I’d had enough and was making an effort to keep on the straight and narrow. Maria and I were getting along, but I could sense she felt my uneasiness. I wanted to leave for her sake, I really did. I mean, look what she’d put up with already. But I couldn’t stay away from lawbreaking for long, and I went on a particularly unsophisticated crime spree, stealing a car from a Saab dealership in Watertown. I had been doing business with a crew that specialized in stealing cars and shipping them overseas for huge profits. I never changed my game plan in my criminal life. I knew the state police were all over me 264

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for much more serious crimes including murders. I wanted to divert their attention. One day I decided to get my own hands dirty and steal one of the cars myself. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize the inside guy we had working at the car dealership had been caught and decided to cooperate. He had been supplying us with the titles and keys to brand new cars they were selling at the dealership. All we had to do was walk onto the lot and pick up the cars. It wasn’t long before the state police were all over our operation. They had one of our chop shops in Charlestown wired for sound. And they had surveillance on me. As I was spotted by an undercover detective leaving the dealership in a stolen Saab. I put my pedal to the metal and took off like a bat out of hell. Before I knew it there were five or six state police cars chasing me. My plan was to lose the cops and abandon the car in Somerville. I took the police on a high speed chase through 4 cities before I made the mistake of not obeying a detail cop who was on the lookout for me. He was alerted that I was headed in his direction. He jumped right into the middle of the street and had his gun pointed at my car. He was ordering me to stop. Instead of obeying him and ending the chase, I put my head down and gunned it. The cop jumped out of my way as I kept driving. I thought I was home free because I managed to lose the cops for almost five minutes. Thinking back I should’ve just dumped the car right then and there. But I figured I could make it to my final destination. As I made it into Somerville, they were waiting for me. They had me completely boxed in. As I finally pulled over the state police had their guns drawn on me and ordered me out of the vehicle. Less than two weeks before the high speed chase, I had been arrested on the Big Carrot scams in Cambridge. I made bail and was released while I waited for the trial. 265

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At my arraignment in Waltham district court, because of my criminal record, and the fact that the charges included assault on a police officer, the judge put a $50,000 bail on me. I was transported and held at the Middlesex County jail. I was there for a couple of days before I had to go before the Cambridge judge. After the arrest my bail was revoked because the Cambridge case was still open. The judge didn’t want to hear anything from me, and revoked the Waltham bail. I had to stay in prison until I could get another hearing to plead for bail in 90 days. It was ridiculous. The charges weren’t all that serious, and most of the other things on my arrest sheet were dismissed or dropped down to misdemeanors. But the judge dropped the hammer on me, and I sat in a cell for three months. Though Maria wasn’t happy, she visited me every time she was allowed. Eventually I pled guilty to the Cambridge case and received a suspended sentence, and then the Waltham bail was reduced to $10,000 cash. Later I heard O’Malley put in a word as well. I guess he thought it would soften me up for him. After three months I walked out of jail. The trial was set, two years down the line. Part of the condition of my release was that I needed to show I had gainful employment. I wasn’t exactly thrilled, but with the way things had been going, it made sense to at least make the effort to go straight. It would show O’Malley and others that I could walk a straight line. I knew my name was on a couple of upcoming indictments. Keeping them thinking I’m on the straight and narrow could help me down the line when the indictments came down. I got a job at an AT&T store in Burlington, Paul DeCologero’s home town. It was quite a bold move considering the fact that I was sure Paul wasn’t through with me yet. They had botched the first attempt on my life. And people were convinced that I 266

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had sent a clear cut message back to Paul by sending Rennell to the hospital and Mucka to his final resting place. Even though Paul was in prison most of his crew was still on the street. Now I show up in his own backyard under the guise of a regular flag saluting citizen. I was doing sales, the usual 9-5 bullshit. I was holding the mobster life at arm’s length, but I was still playing the game. It wasn’t long before I was back on the Mafia’s radar screen. Word eventually got out that I was still active. My time in prison had kept me out of sight and out of mind for awhile but now I was back. Then, as I’d figured, the two worlds collided. One afternoon two guys in matching suits came into AT&T. “Mark, we’re with the FBI. We have a moral obligation to inform you that there has been a threat on your life. We heard through a wiretap, that there’s a price on your head and we think it’s a very credible threat.” I just looked at them and quipped, “You should have told me this a year ago.” I kept looking blankly at them. If they were expecting me to jump into their arms and beg for their protection they were wrong. They turned and left and I called Maria right away. She picked up. “There might be some problems.” I said. “What’s going on? She asked nervously. I told her all about the agents’ visit. “Is it Paul?” “Of course. Who else? He wants to finish me off.” Maria stood by me after the attempted hit, and we’d tried to escape. Now it was starting all over. She knew that there was a

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good chance I’d go back in because of the threat. All her hopes and dreams for our future were falling. Her voice cracked a little as she said: “What are you going to do?” “I don’t know yet.” “Mark…” her voice trailed off. “Listen I can’t talk about this now. We’ll talk later.” As I hung up a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. Maria was important to me. Though I knew she’d have some strong opinions, I was hardheaded. When someone wants to kill me, I get incensed. Paul tried once and I certainly wasn’t going to give him a second chance. Some people might wonder why I didn’t just skip town, move out west and start a new life with Maria. I just couldn’t. You have to understand I grew up around those streets. That was part of my fiber, part of who I was. I couldn’t just pack up and leave, especially because of DeCologero’s threat. It wasn’t going to happen. Besides, how did I really know there was a threat? The FBI might be trying to scare me into cooperating. I was just beginning to get paranoid when who should start coming around to AT&T but one of Paul’s top guys, Tino. When I saw him walk in I immediately thought to myself, “What the fuck is this?” I knew right then Paul was making a move. Tino and I weren’t particularly good friends. He was loyal to Paul. I thought: These motherless fucks will never ever leave me alone. Now I knew the FBI wasn’t bullshitting. I worried about Maria’s safety and mine too. There was only one thing to do: go at Paul. I couldn’t sit and wait for him to get me. Just as I started thinking about how I would get back at Paul, something stopped me. It was another “in-store” visit, only this time it was O’Malley and an ATF agent, John Mercer. O’Malley was quiet, letting Mercer do the talking. 268

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Mercer held some papers in his right hand. I suspected it was an indictment for either the Mucka murder, or the Rennell shooting, or maybe both. He held them up. “You know what these are, don’t you, Mark?” “I have no clue.” “It’s a RICO for Paul, you, the whole crew.” He said it with no smile, nothing. Their case had started with a cache of guns they’d found at the home of Steve DiCenso, one of Paul’s guys. His girlfriend, Aislin Silva was at the house when the ATF raided it. She was arrested and Steve told Paul and the rest of the crew that he figured she would rat them all out. Silva had knowledge of DiCenso’s activities and she knew what Paul was doing. Paul ordered her killed. They snapped her neck, then chopped her body up and buried it. It was a stupid move on the crew’s part for a number of obvious reasons. I wasn’t charged in the murder conspiracy, I had nothing to do with it. But the rest of the RICO case against me was pretty solid. At least that’s the way Mercer was making it sound. He was asking me pointed questions which led me to believe he knew a lot of what I did during my time with Paul’s crew and with LCN. If Mercer had come in with nothing I would have laughed at him. He knew that. He was playing his cards with me. “You know,” he said, “the best thing for you to do is cooperate. Now O’Malley has already been after me about this, so I’ve been prepping in case I need to go that route. If I went the street route, I had that set-up, and if I went the rat route I had that set up. I was covering all my bases, hedging all my bets.” Mercer was done and walked out of the store. O’Malley motioned for me to follow him out. I told my co-workers I was taking five and walked around outside. 269

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“You should really do the right thing, Mark,” O’Malley said. “I’m not telling you what to do, but if I were you I’d seriously consider coming with us. You got some decisions to make, kid.” After a couple more minutes of small talk I left and went home. I did have a decision to make. DeCologero’s contract on me still made me angry, but I knew I needed to stop this RICO thing before it got too far. I had a contract on me, indictments with my name on them, and the FBI was out to fuck me. How could I trust any federal agency in Boston knowing what I knew? How could I trust the street? Boston was heating up again. Robert Luisi had connected with Merlino and the Philly family. The Salemme crew had just wrapped up one war, and now they’d have to deal with Philly. I didn’t want to fight for them anymore, but I was in a corner. I had no choice. I left AT&T and went back on the street. It was just like that now-famous scene from The Godfather III, when Pacino says, “Just when I thought I was out they pull me back in.”

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ne night in the spring of 2000 Joey Legs and I were out on the town with our girls. Maria set Joey up with her girlfriend, who happened to be engaged to a local cop. We thought it would be funny to stop at a club in Peabody called The Golden Banana, a cheesy nude joint. As we walked in I heard a familiar voice calling my name. It was Bobby Rennell. Mind you, when he’d been shot in 1999 he’d told everybody on the street that the shooter had blue eyes (which I have) and that he had no doubts at all who it was: me. He’d even told that story to Maria over the phone as I’d listened on the other end. During the botched hit he’d said he knew about Maria and me. He never actually knew it for a fact because Maria had told him that she was back with her ex. She never told him about her and me. I mean, he knew because he’d heard enough from other sources, but it always hits a guy hardest when he actually sees it. It was when Bobby saw us walk into the joint together that night that he finally saw it right in front of him. Maria grabbed my arm and dug her nails into my skin. I expected the worst. As I turned, I noticed he was sitting at a table with another serious Boston wise guy. I told him I’d be over to talk to him after I went to the bathroom.

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I was really going to the bar to order a bottle of beer so I could have it with me as a weapon. I told Legs to take the girls out to the car and pull it up to the front door to wait for me. Bobby was very pissed off, but he didn’t get too out of line at first. He looked up as Legs and Maria and the cop’s girl headed for the front door. “Don’t bother leaving, Maria,” I heard him yell. “I don’t even care about you, you fucking douchebag!” Him and the Boston wise guy started laughing. I didn’t want to hear him disrespecting my girl and me, but I knew he was just trying to get me going. I almost fell for it, but I remembered how I’d survived the hit. He’d lost his temper and it wound up costing him dearly. This time I didn’t let him see me sweat. I walked over to their table, beer in hand. “Do you remember what happened the last time you and I had a problem?” He just smiled. “I don’t know for sure, but maybe the shooter let you live that day. The next time you might not be so lucky.” His jaw about hit the floor. I could see the Boston wise guy shuffling nervously in his seat. I leaned in a little closer. “Are we gonna have a problem tonight?”” He didn’t say a word so, as I left, I told him, “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” One aside to the story: Joey Legs wound up fucking the cop’s girl that night and he kept seeing her for about a month afterwards. A couple years later I was driving through Medford. At

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the time my license had been revoked for 5 years, and I already had two pinches for driving on a suspended license. I saw lights in my rearview mirror and figured this was it. I was screwed. The cop got out of his vehicle and came over to me. “Get out of the car.” “What for officer?” “I’m arresting you.” “For what?” He said, “Because you’re a criminal.” I responded, “I’d be doing life if cops could arrest me for that.” He said, “I know you don’t have a license so get out of the car and put your hands behind your back.” I got out of the car and turned around. As he cuffed me he says “I know you know my girlfriend, Anita.” I said “Yeah, you know she lives on my street.” Just then it dawned on me who he was. He says, “You fucked her and I wish I could kill you rather than arrest you.” I mouthed off to him, “John, you’re a big guy, why don’t you take the cuffs off me and we’ll settle this.” He said, “Stay here, I’m gonna search the vehicle.” When he finished the search and came up empty he said, “You think you’re gonna get away with fucking my girl?” “It wasn’t me. You’re a cop, so can’t you do your job and find out who really fucked her?” My point to him was that I knew better than to fuck a cop’s girl. It would have been suicide. Every cop in Massachusetts would have had a hard on for me. He took me down to the station and booked me. I ended up pleading

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guilty to driving on a revoked license, and received an 18-month suspended sentence. I don’t know if he ever found out that it was Joey Legs who was with his girlfriend.

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fter that I went through a whole lot of shit in a very short time. Anthony Barry turned on me. Even in prison, he was a threat. My name was all over the place and there were some potential indictments. Then of course, there was Paul’s upcoming indictment and his obvious desire to see me taken out. I just wanted to live in relative peace with Maria, but I expected the worst. When the Feds finally started actively pursuing me at my job, I knew I had a big problem. The street knew nothing of my whereabouts. I had cut ties with everybody associated with the Mob. I was out of the game and planning my next move. What would you have done? I went back out on the street. Although it had been a while, it didn’t take long for me to fall in with the crowd. In late 2000, I ran into a guy by the name of Anthony Ciccone. Anthony C lived in Medford and did his business on the North End; I had known him for years. He had a small problem on his hands and asked if I could help him out. A Medford crew had approached him with a threat concerning a drug deal gone bad. They were holding him responsible. “Can you help me out?” he asked me. “I’d really appreciate it.”

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I thought about it. This was the opportunity to get back into the scene. I had been out for a long time and it would be difficult to show my face around again. But if I could help Anthony C out with this problem, it would smooth over any doubts about me coming back on the street. I had the perfect new driver who could take me into the North End. That part of Boston is an interesting place. With its winding streets and brick buildings the North End can be a little claustrophobic. Even with all the gentrification and yuppies it’s still the epicenter of Boston’s Italian community. The North End guys were different than mobsters from East Boston, Medford, etc. The North End was where the Boston faction of the Patriarca family held court, and in those years when the power swung to Boston, it came out of here. Even when Providence was in the driver’s seat, there was no denying the North End aura. I rarely went up into the North End, but if I were going in, I wanted to make a good impression. My driver drove a brand new Mercedes. He’d grown up in the North End and had direct dealings with some of the guys who would now see my face again. He would cool down their suspicions. By making my presence felt in the North End, I was sure word would travel fast. I was out of my element there. The natives’ first reaction was just as I expected: “What’s he doing over here? Keep an eye on him at all times!” For the first couple of weeks I didn’t make any moves. I said my hellos and kept everything normal, keeping everybody on their toes. Anthony Rizzo was a powerful capo, headquartered out of the North End. At close to 300 pounds he was not the smallest guy in the world. He reminded me of the movie caricature of the typical fat wise guy. He’d sat out part of the war because he’d gone into prison for securities violations in the mid-‘90s. 276

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Rizzo owned a North End restaurant called Amici’s. He also owned racehorses. He operated out of the Son’s of Italy Club on Endicott Street. A young Italian guy, Paolo Tizzano, was Anthony Rizzo’s top lieutenant. People spoke through him to get word to Anthony. Paolo and I immediately hit it off because his godson was part of a crew of mostly East Boston guys that I’d worked with on occasion. I heard that Paolo initially wanted to take them for himself but he wasn’t a member. Anthony had recently proposed Paolo for membership, but that hadn’t happened yet, so Rizzo told Paolo that by right they belonged to me. It was funny because I had not even met Rizzo. Finally by pure luck Paolo approached Anthony C, myself and two Eastie guys who were now in my crew, and told us that Rizzo was looking for a good size sports book that could use him as a layoff. In return he would give them a 25% make on the action. It was perfect. I could throw him some of my action and work myself into asking him to deal with me on the drug side of business. Booking isn’t a serious crime, so I knew if I started that way I could build some trust to make it look normal to Anthony. After a week had gone by, I purposely threw Rizzo (through Paolo) some losing action so I would have to pay him a decent amount of money the first time around. I would show him I was honorable and paid my debts on time. So now I was officially reporting to a capo in the North End. It was a change for me: the first time I was reporting directly to a capo. Now I was Rizzo’s guy, but coming from the Medford/ Somerville area, I was viewed as an outsider, even though the fact that I was made opened the door for me to join up with Rizzo. I had the feeling that he was testing me out in the beginning, trying to get an idea of what I was about. 277

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The next morning, Anthony C called me and asked to get together. He came by my house to pick me up. It was unusual because we weren’t supposed to get together until the following day, but it certainly didn’t surprise me. I was certain that Paolo would go through him for some verification on me in the Medford area. I anticipated his next move even before he set it up in his own mind and before Paolo gave him the order. He asked me if I could supply him with some coke after I got it from Rizzo. If a federal informant gets caught dealing drugs while under their direction, the penalty is severe and the case is out the window. There are two sure-fire methods that wise guys use to test a guy’s status and make sure he’s not an informant. The first is to have him actually use drugs in front of them and the other is to have him supply the wise guy with drugs. Either way, if the guy is bad they’ll know for sure and the Feds can’t use him against them. Now I glared at Anthony and said “What’s the matter with Ricky Sarro”? (Bobby Luisi’s former drug guy who was the lone survivor in the 99 restaurant massacre of 95) He was shocked when I said that. I went on, “I already cleared it with Ricky, I gave him my word that he could keep you for himself and I wouldn’t step on his toes. He had you first so by right he should be able to keep you. Do yourself a favor and don’t make an asshole out of me and try to do anything with me behind his back! I don’t break my word for anybody and you know it.” During my time hanging with Rizzo’s crew, I got a message from a third party who represented Anthony “Spucky” Spagnola. He told one of the East Boston guys in my crew “Mark, is the only guy in the North End with balls.” He wanted to meet me at the Purple Shamrock, a nightclub in Boston. Spucky was adding more pieces to his crew. He was having a feud with two old-line 278

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mobsters: Dee-Dee Gioacchini and Freddy Simone. At the start of the first renegade war, both had been under Raymond Patriarca, Jr. When Freddy Simone came home after serving fifteen years, Spuck had supposedly been doing business with his guys. He’d kept doing it, even though Freddy and Dee Dee were now home. Bad blood had reached its boiling point between them. I didn’t show up to the meeting. I mean, what good would it do to start another war? There’d been so much bloodshed over the past fifteen years that it made no sense. Spucky, Simone, and Gioacchini tried to get Providence to intervene and smooth things over, but the war never got off the ground because the Feds swooped in. They’d been following this event for a couple years.

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really started working the deals with the Rizzo crew in mid-2002. We had a successful booking business, and Anthony was eager to let me into the drug stuff they had going on. Coke and marijuana were the main drugs they were into, but Oxycontin was becoming a huge sell as well. The market for prescription drugs was taking off. I mean you had everyone from the street junkie to Rush Limbaugh getting hooked on the stuff. It was powerful. I stayed clear of any of that. The last thing I needed at this point was to trip up. Any sign of weakness and it would be over for me. Rizzo had some favorite places to meet and discuss business. One day he called me up and said, “Meet at the place people are dying to go to.” I knew he meant Langone’s Funeral Home on Commercial Street in the North End. When I got there, I was surprised to find that he was actually attending a funeral, so I waited outside. “Hey Mark,” he said walking towards me, arms outstretched. “Hey, Anthony. You get a look at this week’s sheets?” I was referring to our betting sheets. “Yeah. Looks good. Listen, there’s a load of pot coming in. A big one. You want in?” “I don’t know if I can right now.”

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“That’s fine.” He waved his hand through the air. “I have other customers.” ‘What about the coke?” I asked. “I only trust one guy, the guy I talked about before. I’m getting itchy about this stuff. The sentences are way too stiff if you get caught. We should stick with the oxy, but I can get you some.” “Set it up for me?” “You got it.” We parted ways. As far as I knew everything was going fine. The next day we talked again. My driver took me back into Boston and we saw Rizzo outside the funeral home. He signaled for us to wait there. A couple minutes later, a young guy got into the backseat of our car. “You want me to circle the block?” I said. “That’s fine,” he said. He seemed a little nervous. It was obvious he hadn’t done this often. I handed him the money and he handed me a paper bag. I opened it up and saw white rock-like powder in the package. It looked like a good sample. We dropped the courier off back in front of Langone’s and took off. As we were driving back to Medford, Rizzo called my cell. “I wasn’t lying about the quality” he bragged. “No, you weren’t” “I’ll get you the whole order. And let’s knock ‘em dead this weekend.” He was referring to our betting operation. Things were going well, considering how long I had been off the street. It was weird, in a sense, dealing with a new set of players, but they welcomed me with open arms and that’s about all I could have asked for. Coming out of the renegade/LCN war as one of the few survivors definitely put me up in the eyes of Rizzo and his crew. I think that was one of the major reasons he respected me so much. 282

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But things started to change. I soon got the feeling that Rizzo and his crew were distancing themselves from me, and I still don’t know why. My business with them was drying up. That actually wasn’t that bad. I was grateful to be back out on the street earning, but by this point I knew my future wasn’t there. I wanted to invest more time into some legit businesses I was setting up. By this point Maria and I had finally called it quits. She had given me an ultimatum “You’re gonna wind up dead or in jail for the rest of your life if you get back into the game” “I got no other choice, don’t you get it”? “I don’t care, if you walk out that door, it’s over” We had been through so much together, but it was time for me to move on with my life. I left our apartment and moved back to my mother’s house in Medford. One night in November I brought this girl I was seeing to Paolo’s restaurant, Massamino’s. It’s a great Italian restaurant in the North End. The food is amazing. Paolo didn’t own it, but he worked there, and Rizzo supposedly had a piece of it. I had told Paolo earlier that week that I was bringing this girl there. Usually Paolo would take care of me—get me a good table, a good bottle of wine, etc. When we arrived, the hostess said that we weren’t expected. Not a big deal, Paolo could have forgotten. So the owner saw me and brought the girl and me over to a table. Paolo was there, but he avoided us. This got my radar up. He didn’t come by our table or acknowledge I was there. After we finished our dinner we headed over to the Florentine for drinks. We were sitting at the bar talking, and I, of course, had a good view of the door to see who was coming and going.

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I saw a well-dressed guy walk inside and stop at the bar for a minute and speak to the bartender. For some reason, it was strange to me. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was intuition. The guy left and I turned to my date. “Check your watch.” “Why?” she asked. “I think that guy who just left is going to be coming back with a few of his friends. I’m not getting a good vibe for some reason.” “You’re just paranoid.” She laughed, as she threw back her hair and took a sip of wine. She really had no idea of what could be going on. About fifteen minutes later, he returned with four other guys. I didn’t recognize any of them, but they really looked the part. They stayed at the other end of the bar. I was convinced they were talking about me. I couldn’t help but feel paranoid, especially with all the things that had happened over the last couple years. I was getting heated and I didn’t have a piece on me, just a knife. Once all five of them were there, it didn’t take long for them to make the next move. They motioned for the bartender to come over. He picked up the bar phone and turned his back to us while he spoke to somebody. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but the situation earlier that night at Massamino’s was beginning to make sense to me. The guys eventually stood at the bar within hearing range of me and the girl. I was disgusted that they would even do this in front of a girl I was with. A real man doesn’t do that in front of a lady. Anyway, when the bartender got off the phone, I asked him for another round of drinks for me and the girl. As he turned his back, I said very loudly “My loyalty doesn’t lie in the North End. It lies in Somerville.”

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I was mad, and I wanted him and the guys to hear me loud and clear. The most thuggish guy in the crew ‘accidentally’ bumped into me as he made his way to the men’s room. I said nothing. I waited a minute and got up. “Where are you going?” the girl asked, grabbing my wrist. “I have to go to the bathroom. Why?” “Mark. Please don’t do anything.” “What am I gonna do?” “That guy walked in there.” “Nothing will happen.” I flashed a smile and went to see the guy. I went into the bathroom and he was at the urinal. I came behind the guy and got into his ear. I said, “I’ll leave you wherever you fall and walk out of here.” He didn’t even turn his head. “Sorry I bumped into you.” I backed away. Before I left I said, “I’m not a fool, so don’t insult my intelligence. I know why you and your boys are here.” As I made my way back to the bar, he passed me and smiled. He went back to his crew. They left about five minutes later. I’d parked at a parking garage near Massimino’s and we’d walked to the Florentine. We had quite a walk ahead of us to make it back to our car. The girl was shaking in her boots. I tried to keep her calm and said, “Don’t worry. Nothing’s gonna happen.” She tightened her grip on my hand. I wasn’t helping much. We walked out of the Florentine and I noticed a couple of the guys sitting in a black BMW alongside the restaurant. They stayed for a couple seconds and drove off. I made sure that I walked on the outside next to the street and kept her on the inside so if there was a problem, it would be with me. I shielded her as best I could. 285

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As we turned to the first corner I said to her “I bet we’re gonna see that BMW around this corner.” What happened? The BMW drove by us. It was dark and the windows were tinted, so I couldn’t tell how many of them they were. She was in shock, but confident that I was calling their moves before they made them. We got to the parking garage safely and left the North End. Had there not been people around it, it might have been a different outcome. But I was pretty sure they were undercover feds. Obviously things were over with me and Rizzo’s crew. I wasn’t sure if they would all be able to figure out that I knew what was going on, so I decided to take myself out of the picture without any fanfare. There was no need to stir up any trouble. I needed to keep my profile low, head up and ears open. I don’t know if they would have come back after me, but after a few months they lost their chance. On the morning of December 19, 2002, over 130 police from a bunch of different local, state, and federal agencies, swept up Rizzo and his entire crew. They took guns, cash, coke, and pot. It made huge headlines in the papers and the evening news. Rizzo and his guys had been tracked for over a year by electronic surveillance, wiretaps, and street level intelligence, according to the reports. This left another big vacuum in the North End power structure. Grand juries indicted Rizzo on two counts of trafficking in cocaine over 100 grams and four counts of trafficking in cocaine over 28 grams. He was also indicted on one count of each of trafficking in Oxycontin over 14 grams, drug violation in a school zone, possession of marijuana with intent to distribute, conspiracy to traffic in cocaine, conspiracy to traffic in marijuana, conspiracy to distribute marijuana, conspiracy to possess a firearm, managing a gaming enterprise and use of a telephone for gaming. Rizzo ended up dying before he even went to trial. 286

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y the time the dust had settled after the Rizzo crew’s demise in 2002, the entire New England Mafia was reeling. The Massachusetts attorney general, Tom Reilly, announced that he believed “We dismantled their entire operation”. He was praising law enforcement because they had set a precedent. It was the first time since the Bulger scandal that the state and feds (DEA) worked an organized crime case together. He boasted to the public during a press conference that the bust was largely the result of GPS tracking. He revealed that it was the first time they had used this new investigative weapon against the mafia. There were bugs in our cars that recorded our conversations and tracking devices that monitored our every movement. In other words they were able to keep constant surveillance on us by simply sitting behind a computer and tracking our movements in real time all the way down to a precise street corner. It was deja vu all over again because I was never formally charged in the Rizzo case. The government knew I was still useful to them. But the clock was ticking. How much longer would they leave me on the street? It got to the point where I truly understood the government’s game plan. They were creating a situation where people would think that I was working for

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them. They were turning me into another Whitey Bulger, except I wasn’t willing to give them anything. They knew all it would take is for the right person to convince themselves that I was playing for Team America and my life would be over. Eventually, if I wasn’t killed on the street, the government would be my only option to stay alive. They were banking on it. They were shaping the entire the landscape. Guys on the street were shaking their heads and the rumors were circulating. It broke my heart when Joe D paid a visit to my dad and said “Billy, everybody that’s ever been around your son has gone down, all except him”? For the first time in my life I felt like a man without a country. And I was on my own. Although Joe never turned his back on me, our relationship had changed. He was keeping me at arm’s length and I didn’t blame him. Not long after that I got a personal visit from the DEA organized crime strike force. I was going about my business as usual when I was approached by two agents who asked “Can we talk to you?” As mad as I was that they would approach me in the parking lot of a Somerville hotel, I needed to hear for myself what they wanted to tell me. I motioned for them to follow me as I entered my vehicle. I drove to a deserted location so we could meet without being spotted by anybody. The supervisory agent exited his vehicle alongside a TFA (Task Force Agent), a decorated detective from the Somerville police department. He knew me since I was kid coming up in the Winter Hill Gang. And the DEA had just brought down the Italian mafia crew I was working with in the North End. It was all starting to make perfect sense to me. We started making small talk before I got right to the point and asked “Who do you think I am?” 288

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Instead of just answering my question they decided to dance around the obvious. They knew that’s what I wanted to know! All of a sudden as if from out of nowhere the TFA agent mentioned the names of three seemingly random girls? I couldn’t believe it because I knew exactly why he mentioned those specific girls. They all led back to boyfriends who had been key players inside of the “Rogue Mafia”. Girls they believed I slept with over the course of the war! I couldn’t help but laugh and said “You left out a couple of them.” They burst out laughing and continued, “We had you in 97.” I abruptly interrupted him. “You had shit in 97! Why aint I sitting inside of a federal prison then?” The supervisory agent said “We don’t wanna bruise your ego, but something bigger came up.” They were referring to the second largest federal strike ever on the WHG that took place in 1997 and resulted in the arrest and prosecution of 13 alleged WHG members. I was never arrested or indicted during that bust. I had always suspected something wasn’t right? Their next words completely through me for a loop when the SA said: “All we ever did was keep surveillance on you because you were the only guy that could lead us everywhere we wanted to go and you didn’t even know it.” He was referring to the fact that I was working within the highest levels of the WHG, the renegades and the Mafia. I knew the jig was up, so I said “I’m no rat, even if that’s the picture you’ve already painted. I also know I’m a person of interest in several unsolved homicides and you can’t help me with that.” They ended the conversation by telling me “Mark, you’re a very smart guy and you don’t have many options.”They were right. Law enforcement had been using me for years to help them bring down guys all around me. All they needed was the 289

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one guy who could actually talk the talk and walk the walk. The one guy who’s been around the longest. The guy who never took the fall! But what about now? Had I exhausted all of my options? Would I become their next target? It was a catch 22! By the time 2005 rolled around I was operating a trucking company at Logan airport in East Boston. I was going to work every day alongside my dad who had been running the company for over 20 years. I also stayed in contact with the friends I still had inside of the mafia and Winter Hill. The guys who knew I would never cooperate with the government. It was impossible to avoid. Nobody will ever know me as “Mark, the truck driver”. I felt as though I was renting space in the feds’ heads by not taking their threats seriously. After all, the feds play mind games like no one else. I was giving them a dose of their own medicine. And I figured if I worked a square job, law enforcement would eventually back off. I was wrong. That same year the newspapers were reporting that the alleged boss of the New England Mafia, Louie (Baby Shacks) Manocchio, realized he was in charge of as they put it of a “a noxious, unhappy mafia family.” They were referring to the fact that a Mob war was brewing again in East Boston between two rival factions of the family. As I talked about in a previous chapter, they believed that longtime Patriarca members Frederick “The Neighbor” Simone and Vincent “Dee Dee” Gioacchini, who had just been released from the can, wanted their old territory back. The only person that stood in their way was the alleged capo of the crew, Antonio “Spucky” Spagnolo. Once again the state police Organized Crime Task Force and the feds knew exactly what was going on. They placed a bug inside the kitchen of Freddie Simone’s house and gathered a wealth of information. It 290

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wasn’t long before they moved in and arrested the entire Simone faction. They weren’t about to sit back and allow another Mob war to erupt. The Spagnolo faction remained on the street. Around this time I began getting stopped on a regular basis while driving my vehicle. It got to the point where I couldn’t even leave my house without being tracked. They would always tear my car apart searching for guns, other weapons or false identification documents. Although they never found anything, they would hand me a citation. Or they would arrest me on driving infractions and/or a bogus warrant. They were showing me how they actually go about making a person’s life miserable. Every time they stopped me without provocation, they were dirtying up my driving record. It reached the point where my license was eventually revoked. It’s very difficult to earn an honest living without having a valid driver’s license, especially when you operate a trucking company. I had received word directly from the state Organized Crime Task Force and from homicide that they would make sure I would never see the light of day again. I would never rule out the fact that they would find a way to link me to a homicide and make it stick to me even if they had to frame me. In the meantime they were backing me into a corner. If you can’t earn an honest living, how else can you put food on the table? They weren’t ready to let me walk away from my past. No matter how much pressure they applied, I never gave in to the feds or the state investigators. I knew I wouldn’t still have my freedom if they had enough evidence that could link me to any of the unsolved homicides. They began to come at me from every possible angle. I’m not going to lie, there were days when

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I would question my own heart. My life was fast becoming hell on earth. Some days I would ask: “how many guys would stay solid for me?” But, I made my bed and I was going to sleep in it. Guys all around New England were flipping, and there are guys right now (as of August 2011) that the papers are convinced will be the next big turncoats, with the potential to drive yet another nail in the coffin. All the guys were feeling the paranoia and pressure. I was doing house cleanings every three months. And I made it very difficult for any rat to have the right information it would take to bring me down. Guys that spent holidays at my grandparent’s house became rats. Guys that I put my own life on the line to protect became rats. Guys I considered to be friends. The very same guys I had with me since I was a kid. Every time they would relocate an alleged crew member of mine they had managed to flip, I could feel the heat. One day, while appearing at the Somerville court house on driving related charges, I realized that there were news vans stationed in the parking lot. As I was leaving court, the local reporters approached me and finally asked me the question I dreaded for so long. A female reporter asked “Are you the Whitey Bulger of your group?” I responded “I don’t know what you mean.” As she followed my driver and me to my vehicle she kept persisting. By this point in my life I had racked up a mile long rap sheet, but I had never been “sentenced” to prison time. I served two stints in prison because I was denied bail. I was never found guilty. Law enforcement knew I was the “white whale”. It seemed as if I was a protected friend of the government. Witnesses never showed up and all my cases seemed to just “go 292

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away”. Enemies and friends would disappear on a regular basis all around me. And, of course, it was rumored that I was still actively involved on the highest levels of organized crime. I try to stay out of trouble now, but it’s not easy. My driving record is a case in point. I think my license has been suspended or revoked more times than I’ve had it, and I run into cops all the time. They think I’m up to my old stuff, so I still get hassled. And over the last few years, things for the Mafia in New England have gone downhill even more. The final nail in the coffin of the DeCologero-led renegades came in mid-2006. On March 20, 2006, Paul DeCologero was convicted of the murder of the Silva girl. He was also nailed with the RICO charge. John DeCologero and Paul DeCologero Jr. were also convicted of RICO charges. The previous year, Derek Capozzi was convicted of dismembering Silva’s body and disposing of the parts. The guy, who supposedly killed her, Kevin Muise, hung himself before he went to trial. It was the end of the line for one of the last renegades. In September of 2006, Paul was sentenced to life in prison. A couple months later, police started digging for Silva’s remains near Peabody. New information had come to light. It was big news all around the Boston area, and even nationally. They found the body and identified her through dental records. In November of 2008, Operation Mobbed Up in Rhode Island took down 25 Mob guys and associates out of Providence. The reputed underboss of the Patriarca family, my old buddy Carmen “The Big Cheese” DiNunzio, was arrested for gambling offenses and some penny-ante bribing scam, twice within the space of a year. In the fall of 2009, the Big Cheese was sentenced to 6 years behind bars for the Big Dig bribery, and for shaking down some bookies. And the guy who the papers pegged as a 293

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real powerhouse in Boston, Mark Rosetti, was taken down in October of 2010 with a couple dozen members of his crew and charged with crimes ranging from gambling and extortion to home invasions. It turned out that Rosetti was also a longtime informant for the feds and was committing crimes under their watch. And 2011, as described in the beginning, was about as bad as any year for the New England mob. Most recently, the Rhode Island family took another big hit when capo Eddie Lato and Chippy Scavola were arrested in September of 2011. The hits just kept coming.

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hings on the street have changed. The talent pool hasn’t shrunk any, but the cops have gotten much better at their jobs. And for the past couple of decades, the fight is mainly with the government, and the Mob is losing. If you’re valuable enough to be of use to the cops, you have to give up something before they’ll be of use to you. It’s their game. They make the collars accordingly. They want to stir shit up amongst the ranks. They know what happens when any person goes down via Lewisburg. They create the scenery and watch the inevitable. They call the same shots as the guy they’re pursuing. They know how they want things. The guys they can use continue to prosper. The old guys who tell them to stick it up their asses are made into examples. The Feds can make things happen. They create the playing field because they developed the landscape. The wise guys that have been around know how to stay around. Most guys aren’t disciplined enough. They don’t realize that their game is only a small part of a much bigger game. There’s always jealousy inside the Mob. The whole myth of an honored society is crap. It may have existed at one time, long before I got on the scene. But truth be told, it has always been a dog-eat-dog world. It isn’t much different than corporate



America. Everyone looks to get ahead at the expense of the other guy. All the associates look to become soldiers; all the soldiers look to become capos, etc. If you see the chance to put yourself out where you will be noticed, you take it. It doesn’t matter if the guy standing in your way was your best friend or you worst enemy. I saw this happen time and time again. In the war I’ve been telling you about, just looks how many guys were set up by their friends. I never did that, but I was never put in the position where I had to. It could have happened to me just as easy. There were times when I second-guessed my decision to attend a particular meeting or meet a guy at a particular spot. I was out of the main line of fire in the war so I got out alive, but there were a lot of guys who didn’t. Most hits were the result of personal beefs and jockeying for position. I’m still working with the trucking company doing some other things above board to keep my nose clean. It’s far better than hanging out on the street corner and shaking down drug dealers, or booking out of the back of a bar. I do see guys on the street from time to time. I’m a Medford guy and can’t see leaving the area - ever. So I run into people. I’ll wave, say hi, and shake hands. But looking back, almost everyone I hung with or did business with is dead or in jail. That’s just the way it is. I played my cards right and walked away.

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THE TRAFFICANTES Godfathers from Tampa, Florida: The Mafia, The CIA and The JFK Assassination

SERGEANT SMACK The Legendary Lives and Times of Ike Atkinson, Kingpin, and His Band of Brothers

STRAIGHT FROM THE HOOD Amazing but True Gangster Tales

CHILI PIMPING IN ATLANTIC CITY The Memoir of a Small-Time Pimp

QUEENPINS Notorious Women Gangsters of the Modern Era

SCAPEGOAT The Chino Hills Murders and The Framing of Kevin Cooper

ROGUE MOBSTER The Untold Story of Mark Silverman and The New England Mafia

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Justice Denied

Bermuda’s Black Militants,The “Third Man,” and The Assassinations of a Police Chief and Governor

The Gospel According to Prissy The Gangsters of Boston Black Caesar

The Rise and Disappearance of Frank Matthews, Kingpin