See No Evil (16 page)

Elliot retrieved the newspaper. It was turned to page three, with a tiny two-by-two-inch article circled with blue ballpoint ink. M
AFIA
P
USHER
F
OUND
D
EAD IN
C
AR
T
RUNK
, the headline read.

“Pull over to the side of the road,” Elliot blurted.

“What?”

“Pull over to the side of the road
now
!”

Carmine did as he was told, staring as Elliot opened the car door and proceeded to vomit.

The “Mafia pusher” they were writing about was Nicky Micelli. He’d been shot three times through the head
execution
style in what was suspected to be a “drug deal gone bad.” Though he couldn’t be certain, parked there on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike that night, Elliot was pretty sure that he knew better.

T
here are bad things that run their course or go away in life. Hurricanes, tornadoes, some pestilence are like that, but one of the things that does not go away for members and associates of the Mafia are federal law enforcement agencies, or FLEAS as they are known in the world of La Cosa Nostra. In New York, the Commission investigation had been split into two divisions. One collected interviews from cooperating witnesses, some of whom, like Ralph Scopo, held positions within the families. The second involved evidence gained through electronic surveillance including videotapes and thousands of hours of audio recordings gained through
wiretaps
and bugs placed in the cars, homes, and offices of mob bosses, most prominently, Paul Castellano.

On both levels, Elliot speculated, federal investigators had pieced together a puzzle, despite the non-cooperation of Joseph Bonanno, that clearly demonstrated the existence of a leadership body called the Commission that ran the New York construction industry. One boss remarked, in context and with remarkable audio integrity, “not a yard of concrete is
poured in New York” without the Commission’s say-so. Worse for Castellano, not only did the law enforcement
agencies
have references from multiple sources, such as Ruggiero, about payoffs made through Scopo, but through bugs placed within his Todt Hill estate, agents had learned he’d become partners in S&A Concrete with “Fat Tony” Salerno of the Genovese Family, who saw to it that their company got a greater cut of the jobs!

By September 1984, Giuliani, armed with thirty volumes of evidence, believed he had nearly enough to put forward an indictment, but waited to see what additional secrets the bugs in Castellano’s home might yield about the inner workings of the five families. In particular, Rudy was interested in John Gotti, the Bergin crew capo so closely aligned with Gambino Family underboss Aniello “Neil” Dellacroce, who’d recently been diagnosed with cancer of the brain. Through it all,
possibly
through ignorance, but more likely through arrogance, Gotti remained unconcerned about Giuliani, the fallout from President Reagan’s commission on crime, and even RICO. He carried on as if he was still an ordinary soldier hijacking trucks from JFK Airport, despite the fact that within the
family
, he’d become much more than that.

Even Elliot, from his peripheral vantage point, could see that Gotti’s flamboyance could be a huge problem for “Mustache Petes” like Vincent “the Chin” Gigante, who’d already tried to assassinate him after the Bergin’s drug
connection
had been brought to light, and Castellano, who viewed him as unwelcome competition to his throne. Never was the forty-four-year-old capo’s poor judgment in better evidence than in September 1984 when Gotti became embroiled in a street fight with Romual Piecyk, a gruff
walk-in
refrigerator repairman, who soon after must have
wondered
if he, himself, wouldn’t be found hanging dead like one of the animal carcasses his refrigerators were meant to house.

The date was September 11 when Piecyk, a burly six-feet, two-inch strongman, was driving his truck through Maspeth, Queens, and came upon an empty double-parked car
belonging
to John Gotti and an associate, Frank Colletta, blocking the street. Gotti, there to visit two gambling dens under his control, was shocked to hear the blaring horn of Piecyk’s truck.

Who did this guy think he was dealing with? Colletta flew from the Cozy Corner bar, reached through the open drivers’ window, and proceeded to bash Piecyk in the face. Piecyk then got out of the truck, and a scuffle began that Gotti joined, smacking Piecyk, kicking him, then taking $325 from his pocket, assumedly a fee for the aggravation he’d caused him. Finally, once Piecyk had had enough, Gotti reached into the waistband of his pants as if ready to draw a gun and growled, “You better get the fuck out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

No question that after that incident, in their respective graves, Carlo Gambino must have muttered “
Cazu!
” and Al Capone must have sat up and said “
Bravisimo!
” such was the difference in temperament between the Sicilian and the Neapolitan branches of the Mafia. Assuming that Piecyk knew who Gotti was, and understanding that anyone who’d dare to press charges would know they were signing their own death warrant, Gotti and eight other family members including Colletta nonchalantly moved down the street to drink espresso at a local café.

In the meantime, the doltish Piecyk, who understood none of these things, called the police. A car from the 106th Precinct arrived almost immediately, manned by a rookie
officer
named Ray Doyle. Moments later, when they confronted Gotti and his associates about who had committed the assault, in a show of unity, all ten stood up. Piecyk was
insistent
, and Doyle handcuffed Gotti and Colletta.

“Do you know who I am?” Gotti asked Piecyk. Then
turning
to the cop, he said, “Look, why don’t you reach into my front pocket. You’ll find $3,000 in cash there. Why would I rob a miserable son of a bitch like this guy of $300 when I got $3,000 on me of my own?”

The logic was unconvincing to Doyle, who booked them once Piecyk pressed charges, never imagining that he had just arrested the heir apparent to Carlo Gambino’s dynasty. Within weeks, however, Piecyk was hearing and reading about the notorious John Gotti. Now realizing the predicament he’d set himself up for, Piecyk became paranoid, buying a gun and moving his pregnant wife out of their home. He cut off all communication with the Queens district attorney. After
having
sworn to the crime and identifying Gotti under oath, it just wasn’t that simple. The D.A.’s office understood that since Gotti had served two sentences for hijacking and another for the McBratney murder, these two additional felony arrests for assault and robbery could put him behind bars for years.

Enormous pressure was applied by the district attorney’s office, but Piecyk refused to testify claiming he’d received telephone threats on his life and that the brakes on his truck had been intentionally severed by Gotti’s people. When Sgt. Anthony Falco of the Queens prosecutors’ office reminded his star witness that he had no choice but to testify or be imprisoned for contempt, Piecyk made a remarkable
turnabout
. “I’m not going to testify against Mr. Gotti,” he told him. “I’m going as a witness against the government’s case on his behalf.” This move wouldn’t work, either, Falco counseled Piecyk, because in either the first or the second testimony, both given under oath, he would have perjured himself, a crime that would also earn him multiple years in prison.

When Gotti’s case did come to trial, a contrast in styles could never have been so evident. Piecyk, who failed to
appear at the Queens’ courthouse having admitted himself to a local hospital for elective shoulder surgery, was arrested and brought before the jury as a material witness. Having spent the previous night in Falco’s office crying his eyes out, Piecyk showed up with arm in a sling, wearing dark sunglasses, and chewing his fingernails. Gotti, on the other hand, with former championship wrestler and one-time Brooklyn District Attorneys’ Office superstar Bruce Cutler at his side, sat behind the defense table as nonchalant and voluble as a man watching “Monday Night Football” on TV in his living room.

Tensions were high. Already the subject of media interest, John Gotti was photogenic, even handsome, some would say, but more, tanned and dressed better than most Fortune 500 CEOs, Teflon Don was as charismatic as any movie star. From the first clapping of the gavel, the packed courtroom was abuzz with speculation about what would happen in this the first of many facedowns to come between John “Johnny Boy” Gotti and the federal government of the United States.

“Mr. Piecyk, on September 11, 1984, you were punched and kicked and then robbed in Maspeth, Queens. I ask you to look around the courtroom,” said Asst. District Attorney Kirke Bartley, gesturing around him. “Do you see the men who did this to you here today?”

“I don’t see them,” Piecyk answered looking down at his lap.

“You don’t see them here now?”

Piecyk cast a cursory glance around the room, his eyes falling if only for an instant on Gotti, whose lips were curled upward in a small, contemptuous smile that would become his media trademark. “I do not.”

Bartley stared at his star witness, stunned. Could Piecyk actually be risking his freedom by perjuring himself in front of judge, jury, and more media than a Queens courtroom had
ever seen? Bartley began making very specific inquiries
relating
to the assault itself in the hopes of untying Piecyk’s extremely knotted tongue: questions about the location, the blows that he endured, and what type of clothes his assailants may have been wearing.

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember anything about the assault at all…. I remember that I was slapped, but I don’t know by who…. I have no recollection of who may have slapped me, what they looked like, or even how they were dressed,” Piecyk finally blurted back to the exasperated
pros
ecutor
.

When the not guilty verdict was announced, Gotti stood up, hugged Bruce Cutler, received hearty handshakes from the dozens of associates, paparazzi, and well-wishers in
attendance
, then left the courtroom for a massive celebration in Ozone Park. The headline of the
New
York
Post
probably said it as well as anyone could with the three-inch high, front-page headline,
I FORGOTTI
!

Over the next three months, John Gotti, stung by Ruggiero’s heroin charges as well as Castellano’s indictments, would worry about listening devices planted at his Bergin headquarters, the possibility of an FBI rat in the family, and fatal retribution from Castellano over Angelo’s stubborn refusal to turn over government surveillance tapes to him. Yet, no matter how low-key Gotti tried to be, at heart he remained the same John Gotti who admired the taciturn Neil Dellacroce, but remained thoroughly enamored of the
high-riding
, gangster-brute, Al Capone, born in another age and predominant in another time.

On December 9, 1984, when his daughter, Vicki, married Carmine Agnello, twenty-four, proprietor of
Gambino-operated
Jamaica Auto Salvage, it was not just a wedding. It was a gala bash with more than 1,000 guests in attendance, many of
them the nation’s most notorious mobsters, with
entertainment
provided by Jay Black and the Americans, singer Connie Francis, comedians George Kirby, Pat Cooper, and “Professor” Irwin Corey.

Never to be left out when it came to business or social events with so many choice Mafia targets prominent, FBI
surveillance
teams observed every transaction from vans parked near the entrances and exits of the Marina Del Ray reception hall in the Bronx that night. Elliot’s buddy, Frank Silvio, who had a way of being anywhere that seemed like it might be fun, later surmised that within the Gambino’s inner circle, this was the moment that high school dropout and former JFK Airport hijacker John Gotti truly arrived as leader of the family. With Castellano under a raft of weighty indictments and just about to get slammed again, there were at least
thirty
tables occupied only by men, Silvio told Elliot, each of whom took turns paying their personal respects to the father of the bride.

It was almost three months later, on the night of February 26, 1985, that Elliot had the shock of his life while watching local New York reporter John Miller broadcasting the news on NBC. Complete with footage of Paul Castellano being hauled from his Todt Hill estate in handcuffs by a cadre of FBI, while Miller did a voice-over, Elliot saw the first beam in the
building
that was his life and career come crashing down.

“A Federal racketeering indictment charged nine men
yesterday
with participating in a commission that governs the five organized crime families in New York City. The
fifteen-count
indictment said the commission regulated a wide range of illegal activities that included narcotics trafficking,
loansharking,
gambling, labor racketeering, and extortion against construction companies …”

“Hanna! Hanna, come here now! You’ve got to see this!”
Elliot called out, pressing up the volume on the remote as she rushed in from the kitchen.

“What? What is it?”

“Rudolph Giuliani, the United States attorney in Manhattan, conducted a news conference in the federal office building earlier today,” the reporter continued as the picture shifted to background footage of Giuliani standing before a flip chart that diagrammed the Commission’s structure. “This case, undertaken by the federal government under newly expanded RICO statutes, charges more Mafia bosses in one indictment than ever before. Paul Castellano, boss of the Gambino Family; Anthony Salerno, boss of the Genovese Family; Gennaro Langella, boss of the Columbo Family; Anthony Corallo, boss of the Lucchese Family; and Philip Rastelli, boss of the Bonanno Family …”

Hanna started to say something, but Elliot interrupted.

“Quiet! For a minute! Just listen!”

“Besides racketeering and conspiracy, the indictment specifically cited extortion and bribery charges involving
concrete
pouring,” Miller continued, “charging that the
commission
established a club of certain construction contractors who poured concrete, controlling the allocation of
construction
jobs, designating which contractors could make
successful
bids for contracts, and obtaining payoffs from those
concrete
contractors …”