Born to Kill (30 page)

The foiled robbery also proved to be an important catalyst. One week later, Alan Vinegrad, an assistant United States attorney for the Eastern District of New York, paid a visit to the ATF headquarters, where he met the various investigators assigned to the case and their star C.I., Tinh Ngo.

A federal prosecutor was key to the investigators' hopes of being able to nail the BTK by using federal RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations) statutes, a sweeping collection of laws that had grown out of the 1968 Omnibus Crime Control and Safe Streets Act. RICO turned out to be the ultimate tool in the United States government's fight against organized crime. Throughout the 1980s, the RICO statutes were used successfully against the Mafia in a number of highly publicized trials. More recently, RICO had also been used against Jamaican
posses, Latin drug cartels, and even in some notorious cases of white-collar and corporate malfeasance.

To successfully prosecute a RICO case, you needed mounds of evidence to establish an “ongoing criminal conspiracy” or “racketeering enterprise.” You also needed a federal prosecutor to champion your investigation, to shepherd it through the bureaucracy and commit the time, money, and manpower necessary to bring the case to trial.

Alan Vinegrad, just thirty-one years old, had been with the United States Attorney's office less than two years when he was handed the BTK case as a result of another, more experienced prosecutor's taking a leave of absence. Like Kumor, Vinegrad was only vaguely aware of the BTK when the case first came his way. In fact, he drew a blank until his immediate supervisor reminded him, “You know, the shootout in the cemetery. The cemetery in New Jersey.”

“Oh, yeah,” answered Vinegrad, “of course.”

Vinegrad may have been a neophyte when it came to the BTK, but in his relatively brief tenure with the U.S. Attorney's office he had acquired more than his share of expertise on the broader subject of Asian organized crime. Since joining the office in September 1989, he'd spent most of his time with the Eastern District's narcotics bureau working on a massive Chinese heroin case involving what was, at the time, the single biggest seizure of heroin in U.S. history.

That case had begun in October 1989 when an FBI-NYPD task force seized 820 pounds of China White, high-grade heroin from South-east Asia's Golden Triangle, the infamous poppy-growing region that encompasses parts of Burma, Laos, and Thailand. The heroin had been discovered inside the rubber tires of garden carts, part of a huge shipment delivered to two residences in Queens. Once in New York, the heroin could be “cut,” or diluted, and sold primarily to African-American and Dominican distributors. With an estimated street value of roughly $1 billion, the shipment represented staggering profits for the Chinese businessmen and triad members who arranged the cargo's safe passage halfway around the world.

By the time Vinegrad became involved in the case, code-named White Mare, more than forty suspects had been arrested in New York, Thailand, and Hong Kong. For more than a year, a team of prosecutors
from the Eastern District set their entire caseload aside to concentrate on various aspects of the investigation. There would be at least two trials, two sentencing hearings, four extradition cases, and dozens of plea bargainings before more than two dozen people were put behind bars on RICO charges.

With White Mare, Vinegrad had been dealing with the upper echelons of Asian organized crime; the defendants were mostly successful businessmen who smuggled dope as if it were a legitimate commodity and then buried the huge profits in real estate, restaurant chains, produce markets, and dummy bank accounts throughout Chinatown, Manhattan, and the rest of the United States. They ran the gamut from high-rolling nightclub types to reputable businessmen with solid family backgrounds, all of whom were seduced by what drug agents and economists were now calling the most profitable cash business in the world.

It didn't take Vinegrad long to realize that his current case was something else entirely. David Thai might have had pretensions of one day sitting high in an office tower atop New York or Hong Kong, but most of his BTK brothers were content with a warm place to sleep and a healthy bowl of
pho
. Throw in a silk shirt, a tailored suit, and a year's supply of stylish black sunglasses and they might even have thought they'd risen above their station. The large-scale trafficking of heroin was far removed from the sort of street-level robberies, extortions, and home invasions that had become the BTK's stock-in-trade.

Or was it? Once Vinegrad began sifting through the evidence and other data the ATF investigators were accumulating, he was struck by the ways in which the Asian underworld reinforced its iron grip. In Chinatown, disparate groups within the community's byzantine criminal structure seemed to benefit from one another's activities, whether they were directly involved in those activities or not. Certainly the young ruffians who comprised the BTK were not involved in the underworld's more lucrative rackets, which were controlled by Chinese criminal syndicates spread across the globe. But for major heroin trafficking to take place, the proper climate was required. Asian youth gangs, from the Ghost Shadows to the Flying Dragons to the BTK, were the ones who created and maintained this climate through day-to-day acts of terror and violence.

The way Vinegrad saw it, the BTK investigation presented a rare
opportunity to strike at one of the most pernicious aspects of Asian organized crime: the street-level brutality that made it possible for gangsters and racketeers at every level to ply their trade.

When Vinegrad met Tinh Ngo for the first time at the investigators' tenth-floor headquarters, it was not exactly love at first sight. Tinh was there to drop off a couple of mini-cassette tapes he had recorded the day before. Now that he was using the tape recorder on a regular basis and had become responsible for alerting the agents to major crimes the gang might be planning, the intense pressure he was under had begun to show. Tinh's weight had dipped to around one hundred and five pounds, and he seemed increasingly withdrawn and anxious.

Though physically a wreck, Tinh impressed Vinegrad with his intelligence. His command of the English language was better than average. He had an excellent memory for names and dates. Most important of all, he seemed to have an even temperament; he never lost his cool while being questioned on subjects he had probably been grilled about dozens and dozens of times in the last few months.

After speaking with Tinh, Vinegrad was more convinced than ever that much of the case would revolve around his secret recordings. The problem was, nearly all of the tapes were in Vietnamese. Not only would they have to be carefully transcribed, they would need to be sent to a language institute where they could be translated into English—a laborious process that could take weeks, even months.

“Until I see some of these transcripts,” Vinegrad told Kumor and the other investigators, “I won't really know what we have.”

“How long's that gonna take?” asked Kumor.

“Maybe I'll have something in a few weeks. We'll meet again then.”

In the meantime, the investigators had their informant out on the street, keeping a close eye on his gang brothers. On May 21, 1991, nine days after the aborted robbery in Rochester, Tinh was supposed to take part in another heist. This time the gang's target was a leather-goods store in Copiague, Long Island, forty miles outside of New York City.

David Thai had told Tinh to select two other gang members to commit the robbery with the help of Lan Tran. They were to steal cash, expensive leather jackets, and as much other merchandise as possible,
which they could later sell at reduced prices to Chinatown merchants.

The day the robbery was supposed to take place, Tinh phoned the BTK safe house in Hicksville, Long Island, where he was scheduled to meet Lan Tran and David Thai.

“Where are you?” Lan Tran asked Tinh angrily.

Tinh played dumb, his mini-recorder pressed against the earpiece on the phone. “I don't know where to meet
Anh hai
.”

Lan was exasperated. “Huh? Oh, God. I'm waiting for you.
Anh hai
just went out to the store, the store we rob, to wait for you guys.”

“Now, I can't,” Tinh replied. “The car has no gas. I thought you were coming here to Brooklyn, to get us.”

“Wow, Timmy, you say one thing and you do another. You fucking kill me…. Yesterday,
Anh hai
said he'd wait here at twelve o'clock for you guys to call.”

“Oh” was all Tinh could think to say.

Uncle Lan let loose a long, weary sigh. “And now you don't have gas to come here. And you don't have any money?”

“No,” answered Tinh, “not even one dollar. Right now I'm calling collect to
Anh hai
, to you. I can only make collect calls.”

“Wow,” replied Lan, sighing again. “You guys really kill me.”

By making himself unavailable, Tinh had successfully scrambled the robbery plans that day. But he had also run out of excuses. The following afternoon, he could stall no longer. He and two other gang members took the gang's green Buick and headed out to meet Lan Tran and David Thai in Copiague.

At least this time Tinh had been able to give the investigators some advance warning. On their way to meet Uncle Lan and
Anh hai
, Tinh and his companions were pulled over by Detective Oldham and ATF agent Don Tisdale. They told Tinh he had run a stop sign. When none of the occupants of the car was able to produce identification, they were handcuffed and taken to a nearby police station. There they were held for a few hours until the robbery plans were once again effectively derailed.

Back at ATF headquarters, the investigators slapped themselves on the back for having prevented another BTK crime. But it didn't take long for the euphoria to wane. They may have stopped the robbery and
netted more damaging evidence against the gang, but an obvious question was beginning to loom:

How much longer could they continue to make miraculous appearances just as BTK gangsters were about to go do a job before someone in the gang got wise, putting their C.I. in even more serious jeopardy than he already was?

Chapter 12

“W
ho want to betray the gang?” asked Lan Tran, glowering at his BTK brothers. “You! You want to betray the gang?” Uncle Lan pointed an accusing finger at Son.

“No, Uncle Lan. No way,” answered Son. “I don't betray the gang.”

Lan was swaying from too much beer and
ma tuy
, marijuana. He had shown up unexpectedly at the safe house on Forty-fifth Street in Sunset Park, and he was in a foul mood.

Usually, Lan Tran was remarkably even-tempered. He may have been a killer, but he was a cool-headed killer who rarely showed his emotions. Only when he had too much to drink did his mood turn dark and surly.

“What about you? You betray the gang?” Lan demanded as he staggered around the front room of the apartment, indiscriminately pointing at gang members. There were seven or eight people in the room at the time. They'd been watching TV when Lan burst in.

Minh Do, one of the gang members who'd gone on the trip to Rochester, was seated on the couch. Known as Fat Minh to most of the gang, Minh Do sank in his seat as Uncle Lan approached; he tried to avoid eye contact with
anh ba
, the Vietnamese honorific for the second highest brother after
anh hai
.

“You!?” barked Lan Tran. “Would you betray the gang?”

“No,
Anh ba
,” Minh Do replied meekly.

Lan reached out and smacked Fat Minh with an open hand. Minh tried to protect himself as Lan slapped him a few more times across the side of the head.

“You all weak now,” announced Lan, turning so that everyone in the room could hear him. “BTK used to be the toughest gang in Chinatown. Now, you new gang members, you all chicken!”

Lan Tran had been under a lot of pressure lately, and it was beginning to show. Ever since the murder of Sen Van Ta, he'd become more and more paranoid, especially as Ta's death garnered increasing attention in the mainstream newspapers.

At first, the brazen killing of Sen Van Ta had been reported as just another gang shooting in Chinatown. The NYPD neglected to mention that Ta had been cooperating with the cops in an ongoing robbery and extortion case. Later, Peg Tyre, an enterprising reporter with
Newsday
, discovered that Sen Van Ta had been murdered because, in fact, he was a cooperating government witness who'd been left unprotected. This revelation proved embarrassing to the NYPD, forcing them to give the investigation of Ta's murder high priority.

Though no one in the gang talked openly about it, everyone knew that Lan Tran had been the triggerman. And Lan Tran knew that everyone knew, which was why he had begun to exhibit more pronounced signs of paranoia.

Lan continued reeling around the room, practically stumbling over furniture, until he came face to face with Tinh Ngo, who was standing near the kitchen. Tinh met Lan's gaze head-on. Normally, the subject of betrayal would have made Tinh jumpy. But he was reasonably certain that, this time at least, Lan Tran was just blowing smoke.

Tinh had spoken with both Lan and David Thai on the phone a few days earlier, trying to explain why he and the others were stopped on the way to the robbery in Copiague. “I only drove past the stop sign
a little bit,” Tinh told David. “I don't know, I'm having really bad luck,
Anh hai
.”

David Thai was philosophical. “Yes. This is an unlucky year. It's my birth year.”

“How old are you this year, thirty-three?”

“Thirty-five. My birth year. So whatever I do, something always goes wrong. My head tries to think of big things, but …”

“I really want to help you,
Anh hai
,” Tinh butted in, “but I can't seem to help you.”

David sighed. “Everything I've done failed, you know? I can't understand it. Whatever I do fails, it just fails.”