The Butcher (10 page)

T
he Perfect Storm was out hunting again. Jim Hunt and Tommy Geisel were about infiltration, surveillance, and arrests. Disguised as street thugs, they were ideal partners. At any given time, Tommy Geisel and Jim Hunt were juggling numerous cases, different bad guys, different scenarios involving various drugs and ethnic groups. Any of these cases could be deadly, and they took necessary precautions—the best of which was to strike first. Neither Jim nor Tommy would allow a bad guy to get the drop on them. Jim and Tom, however, were not about confrontation, not about being quick-draw cowboys. They were consummate con artists; they could talk the stripes off a running zebra. They, the Perfect Storm, were about gaining trust and getting bad guys to believe that they were all outlaws.

Interestingly, most bad guys who dealt with Jim and Tom took a shine to them. They never bullied anyone, never called anyone names. They were always professional and polite and would go out of their way to do what they could. They knew, in the long run, they would create a network of individuals much more inclined to help them. It wasn't so much that Jim and Tom were nice guys. They were interested in developing informers and people who would “assist rather than resist,” as Jim put it.

One of the largest, most important cases the DEA ever had was
created as a result of Jim Hunt and Tommy Geisel convincing a bad guy to cooperate. This case was called the Pizza Two. It involved the importation of heroin by Sicilians into America. It was called the Pizza Two because some of the players were the same individuals involved in the original Pizza Connection case.

Jim and Tommy's involvement in the case was spurred by one Vinnie DeMarco—who would become a direct link to Tommy Pitera. Vinnie was a maître d' at the Embassy Terrace catering hall in Brooklyn, a place where mafiosi tearfully married off their sons and daughters. Vinnie was fifty-five years old, though appeared older—the skin on his face loose and sagging.

Vinnie DeMarco's son Benny had been fronted one pound of pure heroin by one of these Sicilians. His name was Salvatore Canavo. He was a cold-blooded mafioso, cut from the hard stone of Sicily, a large heroin dealer. Canavo hung out on Bensonhurst, Brooklyn's Eighteenth Avenue; he was one of the individuals who supplied heroin to the Gambino family. Vinnie DeMarco's son Benny was not a professional dealer. He was not a hardcore bad guy, and when he tried to sell the heroin, make a few bucks on the side, he was ripped off. He now owed some seventy-five thousand dollars to Canavo.

In sheer desperation, Benny turned to his father for help. Though his father was basically a working stiff, he still knew the way of the street. He loved his son dearly, knew his son had fucked up, and was intent upon getting him out of trouble. He told Benny he would go to Canavo and tell him that he'd pay it off a little at a time, maybe two thousand dollars a month. Grateful, his son cried and held his father. With that, Vinnie DeMarco went and saw Canavo. He pled his case, said he would pay off his son's debt, swore on his dead parents' graves that he would make sure the money was paid. Canavo, cold, aloof, and reptilian, said, “Oh yeah? How about this…you owe me the money now. Your son's off the hook, but you—I want the money from you.”

Boxed into a corner, Vinnie DeMarco agreed to pay him off as soon as possible. Little by little, every week, DeMarco brought Canavo
money. Canavo kept a ledger book, and every dime he got from DeMarco, he'd deduct from the original amount. Problem was that DeMarco earned so little working at Embassy Terrace that Canavo became impatient. To help expedite paying off the debt, Canavo suggested to Vinnie DeMarco that he sell drugs. Reluctantly, DeMarco agreed. The sooner he got Canavo off his back, the better.

Initially, Canavo fronted DeMarco several ounces of heroin. Not knowing anything about the business, not knowing who wanted heroin, not knowing that the DEA had plants all over the New York tristate area, DeMarco ended up selling the drugs to a DEA informer. Before he knew it, he was under arrest. DeMarco had never been in trouble in his entire life. He was shocked and distraught and seemed to have aged ten years overnight. He cried uncontrollably in front of Jim Hunt and Tommy Geisel. When they checked his record, they realized he was a civilian, that he was a hardworking man. When they heard his story of woe, how his son had gotten him into this, how he had tried to protect Benny from Sicilian vipers, they felt bad for him. They offered him a deal.

Jim said, “All right, look…we know you aren't a bad guy. We are going to give you the opportunity to help yourself. We want you to set up Canavo. Keep buying drugs from him. We'll provide you with the money. Record him, and whatever you do to help us, we'll help you in a big way.”

This was a golden opportunity for Vinnie DeMarco. He went about the business of setting up Sicilian heroin dealer Salvatore Canavo with enthusiasm. Canavo, in turn, said he would have someone who worked for him, Paulo Rizzuto, contact him and that he would provide all the heroin Vinnie needed. With that, Vinnie called Jim Hunt and Tom Geisel and told them what happened, told them about Paulo. This is what Hunt and Geisel were always looking to do: parlay one person against another and another and another, working their way up the food chain.

Paulo came to the Embassy Terrace to meet with DeMarco. He
had a heavy Italian accent, was a “greaseball,” as DeMarco would later refer to him. Without preamble or hesitation, Paulo assured DeMarco he could get all the heroin he wanted. That same week, Jim arranged for DeMarco, Canavo, and Paulo to meet at the My Way Lounge in Brooklyn. Jim wanted to see who this Paulo character was. Jim managed to have DEA photographers take clandestine photographs of both Paulo and Canavo. Now, for the first time, they realized who Paulo Rizzuto was—he was one of the original Pizza Connection participants who had managed to get away. This added a whole new element and sense of importance to what DeMarco had initiated.

Now Paulo began to supply DeMarco with pure heroin that DEA labs told them was high-grade Sicilian dope. It seemed Paulo had an unlimited supply. One night, Paulo showed up at the restaurant with still another Sicilian, a guy named Manny. Again, DEA photographers captured his likeness, and within two days, they knew his real name and identity and criminal background. They were shocked to learn that this was none other than Emmanuel Adamita. He, too, had been a major player in the Pizza One case. He had been arrested both in the United States and Sicily and miraculously had escaped from both a Sicilian prison and an immigration prison hospital in Florida. This was a big fish, a giant white shark. This, also, was a classic example of how the DEA fought the war on drugs. They went from a small fry to a white shark.

Interestingly, Manny Adamita was directly related to Carlo Gambino's family, cousins of brothers John, Joseph, and Rosario Gambino. Adamita had also once been a driver and bodyguard for Carlo Gambino. Now, suddenly, the DEA again had a major player in their sights. Rather than jump on him, collar him, and haul him off to jail, it was decided that they'd keep working him and see where he led them.

Vinnie DeMarco continued to buy heroin from Paulo and Manny, and the case became more solid with every purchase, more solid with every day. DEA surveillance photographed Manny going into the Garage Sale café in Brooklyn, which was owned by Tony Spuvento, a
member of the Calabrian Mafia known as 'Ndrangheta. Here, Manny said that the Gambinos were looking to buy large amounts of marijuana and they had people, “good people” all over the country, looking to cop. Vinnie immediately saw an opportunity to further ingratiate himself to the DEA, to the government.

“I've got friends who've got all the grass you want,” said Vinnie. “They bring it up from Florida and the Carolinas.”

Manny was interested, and Vinnie said he would set it up. When Vinnie told Jim and Tom about this latest development, they were all ready with a plan that would further ensnarl Manny and company. The well-lubricated workings of the DEA kicked in and DeMarco was told by Jim and Tom to arrange for Manny to be brought to a hotel in Hilton Head, South Carolina, where he, Tommy, and a third DEA agent by the name of George Ellin—the head of the DEA in Charleston at the time—would be waiting for them disguised as major players in the pot business.

George Ellin was a tough-looking government agent with dark hair. He was a specialist and his specialty was endearing himself to drug dealers. He knew the walk, the talk, the culture, and he was often brought into cases in different parts of the country to convince bad guys that they could deal with him, and ultimately they would end up being brought down and sent to prison. If the DEA had a De Niro, George Ellin was he.

The DEA always has “props” ready for just such a case. They would use a confiscated speedboat that could go up to 110 miles an hour on the water and cost half a million dollars. They would use a warehouse filled with twenty thousand pounds of high-grade marijuana. These were props that could convince the most cynical of drug dealers that Tom and Jim and George were major players, the real thing—trustworthy.

Manny readily agreed to go to South Carolina. They checked into the Intercontinental Hotel. The room had a large terrace, where they had drinks. Both Jim and Tom were lounging around the pool, drink
ing and making it seem as though they were having fun, flirting with women at the pool. They took on the demeanor of carefree, wealthy pot dealers. Up on the terrace, George Ellin began his shtick, first talking about sports, the weather, fishing; it was good, he knew, to slowly work his way to the reason why everyone was there. While he was building a rapport with the Sicilian, he suddenly noticed—all an act—Jim and Tom down by the pool.

“Hey,” he called to them before turning to Vinnie and Manny. “There's my nephew Tom and his pal Jim. Good guys, really good guys. Come on, let's go down and have a drink with them.” Before Vinnie and Manny knew it, they were being shepherded downstairs by Ellin and were by the pool having drinks.

Between Jim, Tom, and George Ellin, Manny didn't have a chance. It would be just a matter of time. But the game had to be played out until the last inning, at which point the DEA would hit a home run. At the pool they drank, cracked jokes; talked about women and sports, how nice the hotel was…ogling women around the pool.

Later that night they had dinner together. Of course, they took Manny and Vinny to the finest restaurant in the area. Manny drank so much he got sick. The following morning they talked about going fishing, but Manny had a horrific hangover. Still, he wanted to take a look at their boat. He was very impressed by it. He reluctantly agreed to go fishing. This boat was certainly not cut out for fishing, but it would be a way for the agents to get Manny to drop his guard further, for them to become closer to him. There were fishing poles, bait, and lures, and in fact, they did catch fish that day. George Ellin offhandedly mentioned that they used this boat not for fishing, but they used it to transport marijuana from the outer islands to the Florida and Carolina coasts.

Manny was, again, impressed. Jim, Tom, and George Ellin were so convincing that he bought what they were laying down hook, line, and sinker. Later that night, at dinner, the conversation turned toward marijuana. Manny said he needed a taste. They told him that would
be no problem, that they understood. The following day, Manny and Vinnie headed back to New York. The trap was baited and set.

 

Back in New York, Vinnie continued to buy heroin from Manny as Manny sent queries to his counterparts throughout the country about marijuana. He was now assuring his colleagues that he could get everybody all the high-grade grass they wanted. Tom, Jim, and George wound up again meeting with Manny and DeMarco in New York. This time Manny wined and dined them in a restaurant in Little Italy and ultimately he said that he'd like Paulo to check out the grass. The agents had been expecting this; they were waiting for it. They, the Italians, were taking the bait.

Several days later, Paulo in fact came down to Tampa, Florida, and was met by Jim and Tom and taken to the secret stash house. However, before they took him there, they blindfolded him, to which he readily agreed.

“I understand,” he said. “No problem.”

Inside the warehouse, on a quiet, industrial street, which reeked with the sweet, pungent odor of sensimilla, Paulo's eyes grew wide at the sight of so much high-grade marijuana in one place. He was impressed; it was hard not to be. The screw was tightening. They talked about samples being delivered to New York. Jim readily agreed that they would give him all the samples he needed. “Whatever you need, no problem,” Jim said. They shook hands, hugged and kissed, as is the Italian way. Paulo was again blindfolded and soon was on his way back to New York, where he assured Manny that these guys were on the “up-and-up.”

It was now time for the government agents to get a sample to New York. Jim spoke to his boss Ken Feldman, who petitioned the upper echelons of the DEA to give Jim permission, because of an ongoing investigation, to bring fifty pounds of the marijuana, a bale of it, up to New York. Two first-class seats were arranged for Jim and the fifty-
pound bale on a commercial airline. With the necessary papers in hand, Jim approached the plane carrying the grass, asked for the captain, and told him what was up. The captain looked at the papers and welcomed him and the marijuana aboard. Jim placed the bale in the seat next to him. So it wouldn't be bouncing all over, he strapped it in, and then strapped himself in. Passengers' eyes widened at the sight of him sitting there next to this huge bale of high-grade marijuana. People seemed to notice it because of the smell; it filled the first-class cabin. The plane landed without a mishap. Tommy Geisel met him at the airport, and soon Sicilians and Calabrians were smoking and sampling the marijuana. It was the best pot available and everybody wanted some.

Everything was going smoothly. Jim and Tommy had their sights on a bull's-eye. Then, out of nowhere, there was a conference call in Miami between the FBI and the higher-ups in the DEA and it was decided that they were going to rush the closure of the case, shut the operation down in two weeks. Manny Adamita was far too important; they were afraid he'd get away. They felt that at this juncture, if he did disappear, it wouldn't bode well for anyone. They already had plenty on him and they wanted him brought down now.