Cullotta: The Life of a Chicago Criminal, Las Vegas Mobster and Government Witness (10 page)

They booked him. Frank and his pal were tried separately and both were found guilty. The other thief got three years. Frank’s more extensive criminal record earned him eight years for the same crime. Frank’s lawyer filed an appeal and he bonded out pending the results.

Frank fought that conviction for two years, going through a total of four lawyers. The first one, the trial lawyer who lost the case, wasn’t real good on appeals, so he hired another one. When the court rejected the appeal, the second lawyer didn’t even tell him; he heard about it from the bondsman. Next, he hired a pair of lawyers and they got a six-month stay of his sentence to file another appeal. They said he’d probably have to take the case all the way to the United States Supreme Court and try to get a reversal on a civil-rights violation. He had to come up with $1,600 to pay for transcripts and other things to get the process going.

Frank met with the lawyers again two days later. They said things were looking good, but he’d have to pay $14,000 in “guaranteed” money over the next couple of months.

“What the hell is guaranteed money?” he asked.

“That means if we win the appeal, the money is ours. If we don’t, you get the money back.”

Frank thought it over. The arrangement seemed to give the lawyers an incentive for doing a good job. But if he got his money back, it meant the appeal was lost and he’d be going to prison. In reality, though, what choice did he have? “I’ll get you the money. You get me a reversal,” he said.

The case dragged on and on. A couple of years later, Frank was in a lounge when an acquaintance gave him some good news. “Congratulations, Frankie, I see you won your appeal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s in today’s paper. They threw out your conviction.”

Frank called one of his lawyers. “What’s this I hear about my case?”

“Yeah, we’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” the lawyer said. “Your conviction has been reversed.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not. We knew you were going to win the whole time. That’s why we went for the guaranteed money. We’re in business to make money, not give it back.”

It was now obvious to Frank that there’d been more in play than the skill of his lawyers. But he didn’t really care how they’d done it or who got paid off. By the time the decision was announced, he’d invested almost $40,000 in the case, about enough money to have bought every item in the place he had been convicted of burglarizing. But it was money well spent.

By the late-1960s, Frank was an accomplished thief. Many of his scores resulted in big money. Did he have a nice nest egg set up? According to him, he didn’t. That wasn’t the way things worked in his world.

Most people might think that a successful thief like Frank had to have tons of money. Not true. There are twenty-four hours in a day and regular people work eight of them. After that, they usually have dinner, watch a little TV, and go to bed. They don’t spend a lot of money every day.

On the other hand, a thief has all 24 hours to play with. He may be on the streets 16 or 17 hours a day. Some scores take only a couple of hours and he’s got his money. And then he has got the rest of the time to spend it, often foolishly. That money can go pretty quick.

And a thief like Frank had expenses that the average guy didn’t. Unless he worked alone, the score had to be split with his crew. And if he made a lot of money, the Outfit had to be cut in. Tipsters had to be taken care of; cops had to be paid off on occasion; lawyers and bail bondsmen cost a lot of money; there were the expenses of getting fictitious registrations for the work cars, and so forth. To keep up appearances, a professional thief had to dress well, have nice legit cars, and hang out in the right places. Those costs were in addition to rent, food, and utilities. And in Frank’s case, he was pretty free with his money, taking care of family and friends. Maybe he could or should have had a lot of money, but he didn’t.

Frank spent plenty on his family. His sister had married a good provider and didn’t need financial assistance, but he felt obligated to look out for his mother and younger brother. He didn’t want them to be financially strapped in any way. He didn’t realize that his brother viewed him as a hero—kind of a Robin Hood figure— and wanted to be just like him.

Frank was driving down Grand Avenue one day when he heard a news flash that a 10-year-old boy had been shot during the robbery of a convenience store. The suspect had been arrested and identified as Joe Cullotta, Frank’s brother.

Stunned, Frank pulled into a restaurant to use the pay phone to find out where they were holding Joey. He was only inside a couple of minutes when two Italian detectives he knew came in.

“Frankie, we need to talk to you,” one of the cops said. “We arrested your brother for robbery and we’re holding him at the station. He’s really worried about how you’re going to react, so we told him we’d try to find you before you got the news somewhere else.”

“I appreciate that. I really do. But Joey’s a straight kid. What the fuck happened?”

“Why don’t you come to the station with us and we’ll explain everything on the way.”

After promising he’d keep his composure and not take his frustration out on Joey when he saw him, Frank and the detectives headed out for the station. On the way the officers told him what they knew.

“According to your brother and other witnesses, Joey and another guy, who we’re still looking for, were holding up the store when this kid who knew your brother came in and started to say hello to him. Joey panicked, grabbed the kid, and ran out of the store. As they were running, Joey’s gun went off and the bullet caught the kid in the leg. Then Joey got really scared. He tried to find you and took the kid into a bar where he thought you might be, but you weren’t there. The kid was bleeding and one of the Outfit guys in the place told Joey he had two choices: Take the kid to the hospital or kill him. He brought the boy to the hospital. We arrested him there and he and the kid gave us the whole story.”

“How about the kid? How bad is he hurt?”

“He’s going to be okay; it was just a minor wound.”

Frank thanked the detectives for coming to get him. Although they had an adversarial relationship, these particular cops were human beings and understood what Frank was going through. He tried to give them money to show his gratitude, but they wouldn’t take it.

When Frank got to see his brother, Joey started to cry. He gave Frank a lame excuse for why he’d pulled the robbery. Frank knew the story was bullshit, but Joey was still his brother. He arranged for his bail and hired a lawyer.

Frank had all he could do to keep from laughing during the initial meeting he and Joey had with the attorney. The lawyer didn’t mince his words when he addressed the younger Cullotta. “Don’t try to put yourself in the same category as your brother. He’s been stealing since the day you were born. Here you are, a Johnny-comelately, trying to be a crook, a tough guy. Well, you’re not. You’re just a dumb son-of-a-bitch.”

Afterward they discussed Joey’s case. The lawyer said that even though there’d been a shooting, it was an accident and the boy hadn’t been seriously hurt. He thought he might be able to get Joey off with probation as a first-time offender. As the attorney predicted, Joey was sentenced to five years probation.

Frank wanted Joey to get into something legit, where he could make an honest living. Joey enrolled in school to become a barber. But instead of being satisfied to cut hair in a shop with a couple of chairs, he went on to become a successful hair stylist and made a lot of money. Frank is very proud of what Joey accomplished.

Frank had always been attracted to Italian girls. He believed that they had old-fashioned values, so they’d be more devoted to their husbands than American women.

One night while he was making the rounds of the Chicago saloons, he met Marie, of Sicilian ancestry, and Frank liked her right away. She said she didn’t know how to drive, so he made a date to teach her. From there, things got serious. Frank brought her home to meet his mother and she seemed to like Marie.

One day Marie called Frank and asked him to come to her house. When he got there, he found that she and her mother were arguing. Marie packed her clothes and loaded her suitcase into Frank’s car. He took her to his house, but because he lived with his mother, she slept in a separate bedroom.

Josephine Cullotta never warmed up to Marie, though. There was something about her she couldn’t put her finger on, and she warned her son to be careful.

In spite of his mother’s reservations, Frank married Marie. She wanted a big wedding; he invited more than 200 people, rented a large banquet hall, and ordered filet mignon as the main course. The reception cost him about six grand. The party went okay, but the newlyweds got into an argument as soon as the couple got home from the reception. Frank wanted to have sex. Marie wanted to count the wedding-gift money.

“Put that stuff away until tomorrow and let’s go to bed,” he said, as Marie started to open the gift envelopes.

“No. I want to see how much is here.”

“The boost [gift money] will be there in the morning. Forget about it now and come to bed.”

“No. I’m going to count it now.”

After some heated words, the disagreement ended in a stalemate. They eventually went to bed together, but they weren’t on speaking terms. Marie didn’t get to count the boost and Frank didn’t get laid.

Frank believes the problem was that Marie was a nice girl and didn’t really know what he did for a living. As she met his friends and learned more about him, she was overwhelmed. The first time he suspected that he’d made a mistake was when he brought home a load of hot clothes to the house after he and his crew had burglarized a shop specializing in top-of-the-line women’s fashions. When they got the stuff to Frank’s garage, they put everything on racks and inventoried it. Frank’s accomplices picked out a couple of things for their wives. After they left he told Marie she could take a few items too. She started looking everything over, picking and pulling. She didn’t understand the protocol thieves followed. Frank told her to slow down, that she was taking more than she was supposed to.

He explained the way things worked. “In my business, loyalty and honesty toward your crew are crucial. We all have to depend on each other. I can’t cheat my people. I’ve got to treat them right and take care of them. You can’t take any more of the merchandise than what my crew did. That’s the way it has to be.”

Marie didn’t seem to like what she’d heard. She pouted for a while, but left the merchandise alone.

Another incident occurred after the robbery of a fur salesman. Frank and his men followed the salesman all the way to Wisconsin, waiting for a chance to rob him. About 3 a.m. the salesman finally pulled into a motel. As soon as he parked, two of the robbers jumped him, pushed him out of the driver’s seat, and got into his car. With the work car following, they drove out to a secluded area and dumped the salesman in a field. Then they transferred all the furs to their car and headed for home.

After unloading the furs in Frank’s garage, the other guys picked out a jacket each for their wives and left. Frank looked around and Marie was standing there, ready to take her share. She took two mink coats, one more than she was entitled to. This time he didn’t argue with her; he said it was okay, even though it wasn’t. When he fenced the merchandise, he paid his men extra money to make up for Marie’s excess.

The last straw came when Marie got into an argument with Frank’s brother. This was after he’d asked her to pick his clothes up from the cleaners and she hadn’t done it, so he was already mad at her. Frank started to argue with her. “Goddamn it! You didn’t even pick up my fuckin’ clothes and now you’re calling my brother names?”

Marie was defiant. “So I didn’t get your clothes. Big deal.”

One word led to another and Marie tried to slap him. Frank picked her up and threw her on top of the table. The table broke and Marie ran into the bedroom with Frank in pursuit. He swung at her, missed, and his fist went through the closet door.

When things settled down, he told Marie, “You know, this just isn’t working out. I think it would be best for both of us if we split up.”

Marie agreed. She left with her clothes—armloads of garments and furs—and the $10,000 diamond ring Frank had bought her. As she walked out the door, he wondered why he hadn’t listened to his mother.

Being a rising star in the crime arena brought Frank into the law-enforcement spotlight. He recalls that the notoriety was not only an annoyance, it carried a financial cost as well. At least once a week he was pulled over and questioned. He found that nine out of ten times, he could bribe the cops. He believed that in most cases, a little extra cash was all they were looking for anyway. Usually fifty or a hundred bucks would work. Sometimes, if he was short on money or just didn’t feel like paying, he’d give them the dodge. But then he’d have to keep out of that jurisdiction for a few days and the cops wanted even more money the next time they caught up with him. Sometimes he was locked up overnight; other times they kept him for forty-eight hours.

During one arrest Frank was in a particularly defiant mood and refused to let them take his mug shot. He told the officers to go fuck themselves, pulled down his pants, and mooned them. Reinforcements were called in and Frank was handcuffed and punched around.

“Listen you prick, you’re going to the lockup until we get that picture,” one of the cops said. “If we have to frame you for something to keep you locked up, we’ll do it.”

They got their mug shot.

Some of the cops, especially the detectives, liked to play hardball. Frank always figured the ones who gave him a beating while they had him cuffed were cowards. He had little respect for them and challenged them to take off the cuffs to see how tough they were. He felt the ones who didn’t rough you up were trouble. They were the ones who got you by using their minds, not their fists. They were the ones who would build a case against you that could put you away for years. They were the really dangerous ones.