The Butcher (8 page)

Murder is the only way to become a made man. Murder is the one thing all mob guys have in common, a secret bond. There is no statute of limitations on murder, and at any given time, anyone who kills can be culpable in the eyes of the law no matter how long after the crime. Taking that into consideration, it was easy to understand why La Cosa Nostra demanded blood on the hands of anyone who took the oath of
omertà.
If they broke their oath, if they betrayed their colleagues, they were vulnerable and culpable, more than likely dead.

When it had ultimately become time for Pitera to earn his bones, he was given a name, address, and photograph of the mark. Without reservation, he had shot to death a man on a residential Brooklyn street. He didn't know who the man was. He didn't care. He had been told to commit the murder and he did it, coldly and efficiently. He felt no remorse…no guilt. It was business. A way of life.

After Pitera committed this murder, he was one of them. Until, however, he was sworn in, he was not officially a made man. He could now work with the Bonanno crime family, was an extended part of it, though was not an official member yet. He was an official
associate.
If there were disputes involving him, the family would back him. If there were sit-downs involving him, the family would back him. Pitera was no longer a lone alpha wolf trying to satiate himself. He was now part of a clan, part of a pack of wolves that would protect him, watch his flank, and watch his back. That is, if he behaved, if he towed the line.

Bruno Whack Whack Indelicato would hasten Pitera's career considerably. After Whack Whack had committed the Galante killing, he was given his own
borgata,
and made a capo. This was a reward for a job well done. Whack Whack was now, throughout La Cosa Nostra, a superstar. He had audaciously killed Carmine Galante in broad daylight.

As stone-faced Brooklyn homicide detectives questioned all the patrons of Joe and Mary's, questioned the people on the streets, bus drivers, shop owners, cabdrivers, they kept coming up with blank stares, as though all the people of Bushwick were deaf and dumb and blind. The people of Bushwick all knew who had been killed and the last thing any of them wanted was to be involved in this murder on any level. Many had seen who had gotten out of the Mercury sedan but none would say who it was. The killing of Galante seemed, at first, like the perfect hit. But its brazen attitude rubbed the men and women of the NYPD—in high and low positions—the wrong way. The murder had been committed with such hubris, was so in-your-face, that they felt personally affronted and offended.

“How dare these guinea cocksuckers think they can do something
like this and get away with it!” was the utterance heard throughout station houses in New York. With an unusual vigor, the NYPD went looking for Galante's killers. They didn't have to look far. They soon learned that Bruno Indelicato, Russell Mauro, Dominick Sonny Black Napolitano were part of the hit team, and Galante's associates Cesare “CJ” Bonventre and Baldo Amato were in on the plan, but proving their involvement was another matter. Initially, the police believed that Sonny Red had paid to have Galante killed. This would turn out to be false.

As the cops were trying to solve the murder, the rest of the Bonanno family was preparing for war. Galante was barely in the ground before people began vying to fill the void his murder had left in the organization. Sonny Red was part of one of the factions that would soon be at war for control of the Bonanno family. Philip Rastelli, temporary head of the family, was on the other side. Lines were drawn in the sand.

Everyone had hoped the transition would be smooth, but Rastelli, then being kept in the federal house of detention, was intent upon keeping control of his position in the family and would not acquiesce to the Mafia Commission's mandates.

Born on January 31, 1918, Philip Rastelli was a stubborn man who refused to see the reasoning of not only the Mafia Commission, but most all of the Bonanno capos. Having said that, it wasn't long before they were shooting at each other, killing one another loudly and openly, and in the middle of the street.

The last thing anyone wanted now was a protracted, bloody war between different Bonanno factions. There were numerous sit-downs between Bonanno captains and other families all over Bensonhurst. Try as they might, the collective effort of La Cosa Nostra seemed to be failing and still more dark clouds filled with lightning and thunder gathered over Brooklyn, gathered over Gravesend, Bensonhurst, and Dyker Heights.

One of the more powerful men in the Bonanno family, Joe Massino, more than anyone, some say, tried to avoid war, tried to work hard for peace. But each of the Bonanno captains was strong-willed and obsti
nate and refused to walk the path of diplomacy, refused to listen to reason, even though there was more than enough to go around.

Massino, with the help of the Gambinos—John Gotti's crew—resorted to war, and hit teams brought in from Canada set up and murdered Alphonse Sonny Red Indelicato, Philip “Phil Lucky” Giaccone, and Dominick “Big Trin” Trinchera. They were buried, somewhat haphazardly, in empty lots in an undeveloped area of East New York near Queens. This was unprecedented in the history of La Cosa Nostra. Captains were akin to generals and three noted, talented generals all struck down at the same time was news—an event.

What happened after the killings was an interesting anecdote showing just how cooperative Mafia families are with each other. When it was time to get rid of these three captains, a van was driven by Joe Massino and associates to Howard Beach. There they met Gambino members Gene Gotti—John's brother—Fat Angelo Ruggerio, and John Carniglia. Carniglia was a gorilla of a man and no doubt was brought along for his digging talents. Soon inpromptu graves were dug in lots between Ozone Park and East New York and the three Bonanno captains were unceremoniously laid to rest. One of the bodies, that of Sonny Red Indelicato, was found a mere nineteen days later in a lot at 1 Ruby Street in South Ozone Park. He had on a five-thousand-dollar Cartier watch. The bodies of Dominick Trinchera and Philip Giaccone were not found until 2004.

 

It didn't take long for Bruno Whack Whack Indelicato to learn that his father had been taken out. Bruno had been very close with his dad. They were, in a sense, more like best friends than father and son. For Bruno, the loss—the methodical, treacherous murder—of his father was the most traumatic experience in his life. He was a pressure cooker about to explode, but even he, a stone-cold killer, knew he could do nothing to avenge his father's death. If he so much as lifted a finger toward retribution, he'd be dead in a New York minute.

The news of his father's death brought home the hardcore, bloody reality that Bruno himself was in danger as well; he had no doubt that hit teams were actively searching for him as well. Bruno, along with his good friend Tommy Pitera, hightailed it out of Brooklyn and barricaded himself in a secluded house way out on the edge of Long Island. Pitera had brought with him an army duffel bag filled with guns. He was dedicated and he was loyal to Bruno and he would fight to the death on Bruno's behalf. Meanwhile, word was sent out that if Bruno was willing to let go of what happened, he could continue running his
borgata
and do his business without trouble from the new regime. As a secretive, surreptitious dialogue went back and forth between Bruno and Joe Massino, Pitera methodically cleaned and oiled his guns over and over again. Ultimately, an agreement was worked out and Bruno and Pitera were welcomed back into the fold.

 

Cocaine.

Bruno Whack Whack Indelicato wound up finding solace and comfort in cocaine. It wrapped him in a warmth of numb indifference and took him to another place far removed from the mean streets of Gravesend and Bensonhurst. He traveled to Miami, and there, with different girlfriends, stayed holed up in his house for days on end, on long, protracted cocaine binges.

While Tommy Pitera empathized and sympathized with his friend's loss, he ultimately lost respect for Bruno because of his drug addiction. In the world of La Cosa Nostra, the excessive abuse of drugs and/or alcohol was tantamount to a cardinal sin, a potential death sentence. Though most all mafiosi in their thirties, forties, and early fifties dabbled in drugs, few, if any of them, were serious drug abusers. Once more, those around Bruno began to view his drug habit as a serious problem, a liability that was a one-way ticket to the grave. Theirs was a world where men had to be sharp, at the top of their games, lean
and mean and ready to strike at the bat of an eye. Drugs, everyone knew, made you stupid and unreliable.

With the changing of the guard and the new faction taking over the Bonanno family, Tommy Pitera rearranged his alliances. He came to the attention of powerful underboss Anthony Spero. Spero was a large man with dark hair, a dark complexion, good-looking in a rough way. He was respected by most everybody. It was hard not to like Spero. He was fair, smart, and exceedingly well versed in the ways of the street. Surprisingly, one of his more lucrative enterprises was fireworks. He had huge warehouses of fireworks and made four to five million dollars annually just from their sales. On Bath Avenue, every Fourth of July, Spero would put on amazing firework displays. He spent several hundred thousand dollars on fireworks to be blown up there in the streets. The cops looked the other way. Not only did he supply the fireworks for free, but he gladly provided enough food to feed all of Bensonhurst, and feed all of Bensonhurst he did. Later, John Gotti would try to co-op and copy what Spero had done, but his firework shows paled in comparison to Anthony Spero's displays of generosity and patriotism.

Not only was Anthony Spero liked by the people within the confines of the Bonanno clan, but all the captains of all the families knew him and liked him, respected him. He was particularly close to war capo Greg Scarpa, of the Colombo family. He was also close to Anthony “Gaspipe” Casso, superstar of the Lucchese family. Spero was about diplomacy, building bridges, though when murder was called for, he would readily and quickly push the button.

With the death of Sonny Red Indelicato and the loss of Bruno into a storm of cocaine, Tommy Pitera became closer to Anthony Spero. It was ultimately Anthony Spero who would cause Tommy Pitera's dream to come true. The thing that Pitera wanted more than anything in life was to be made, to get a button, to be a bona fide member of the Mafia. Everyone liked him, respected him. The murders he
had been assigned were carried out quickly and efficiently, and he kept his mouth shut about them. He was exactly what La Cosa Nostra was looking for. With the blessing of Anthony Spero, the books were opened and Tommy Pitera was nominated to be inducted into the Bonanno family. Word was sent out to all the five families in the New York tristate area; word was sent out to mafiosi across the country.

“Does anyone have any reason why Tommy Pitera shouldn't be made?” was the question asked.

No one objected. Pitera had created a good reputation for himself.

The ceremony was held in a two-story red-brick house in Bensonhurst, off Bath Avenue. Anthony Spero decided that he would place Pitera in the
borgata
of Bonanno capo Frankie Lino. Frankie Lino had Mafia in his blood. His cousin, Eddie Lino, was one of the most feared men in all the Mafia, both in Sicily and in New York. He, too, was close to John Gotti, was in the Gambino family. It was said that Eddie Lino had personally killed more people than most ten mob guys put together.

Frankie Lino was a pudgy individual with a high, broad forehead, his eyes, nose, and mouth too close to one another, as though they were rudely pushed together while he was still in his mother's womb. His marriage had been arranged for him by his parents and Vito Genovese. He attended Lafayette High School in the heart of Gravesend, Brooklyn.

By the day that Pitera was made, Frankie Lino had become all gray, his hair so naturally curly that his nickname was, appropriately enough, Curly. Consigliere Anthony Spero was there. Several men who were to be made were also present, all dressed to the nines. For them, this was being baptized, receiving Communion and confirmation. This is what they had all wanted all their lives and it was about to happen. The ceremony, created in Sicily and brought over by immigrants at the turn of the twentieth century, was simple and to the point. Tommy Pitera, repeating the Sicilian pledge of
omertà,
swore that the
Bonanno crime family would come before his own family. He swore, too, that if he violated this oath, he'd burn in hell, as the portrait of a saint now burned in his cupped hands. Pitera stood ramrod straight, his chest puffed out, his head high. He knew when he left that room, no one would ever make fun of him again. No one would ever knock his high-pitched voice. Even now, standing there, reciting
omertà,
he was speaking in this distinct falsetto voice. If it weren't so solemn and serious, it would have been outright comical to hear him talking like that—more
Saturday Night Live
than La Cosa Nostra.

With the ceremony completed, they shook hands heartily and kissed on the cheek, embracing one another. Afterward, they all went out to dinner at a popular La Cosa Nostra hangout Tommaso's on Eighty-sixth Street. There was no laughter, no patting on the back. It was a quiet, solemn dinner in which respectful toasts were made in hushed tones.

“Salud.”

“Chindon.”

“Salud.”

“Chindon.”

Thus, the dragon was born.

I
nevitably, when dealing narcotics, some people don't pay. They get caught up in the trials and tribulations of life and don't realize that the nonpayment of drugs could very well lead to a death sentence. If, it was common knowledge, you fronted an amount of drugs that were not paid for, soon everyone would be doing it; soon the dealer would be out of business. To stay in that business, people had to keep their word, people had to own up to the agreements they made. No one believed this more than Tommy Pitera. He came to view the selling of drugs as though he was selling his own respect. For him it became a very personal enterprise. If he gave you drugs and you didn't pay him back, you were stealing away his livelihood, you were stealing away the reputation he had worked hard and diligently to acquire. He took his place in the family very seriously. For him, his position in the family was something to be revered, not merely respected and spoken about in whispers.

According to those in the know, Thomas Salerno had taken several ounces of cocaine on consignment from Pitera. He paid a little late, though he paid. Pitera gave him more cocaine and, again, he paid a little later, but still paid. Pitera warned him about paying on time. Apparently, what Pitera said fell on deaf ears, for the third amount of
drugs Pitera fronted Salerno were not paid for. Pitera sent word for Salerno to come see him. He didn't come. When Pitera finally met up with Salerno, he managed to convince him to go for a car ride, which ended up with Salerno being shot in the head.

Pitera thought it would be funny to leave the dead Salerno in his car right next to Gravesend Cemetery. When the body was found by police, there was no connection to Pitera, but soon word spread on the street of exactly what had occurred and why, and people in La Cosa Nostra nodded knowingly as the police scratched their heads and wondered who committed the murder.

Like this, Tommy Pitera began killing people who were not paying for drugs on time. He not only killed those he personally had fronted drugs to, but he murdered for associates of his in the Bonanno clan. He soon became the go-to guy for murder, not only within that family but other families as well. With each murder, Pitera's reputation grew. Pitera became adept at murder, comfortable in that guise.

Now, for the most part, Pitera wore all black. He shunned daylight, came out mostly at night, and his face grew pale and waxy. His light skin juxtaposed against his black clothing gave him a vampire-like appearance. He was quiet—sullen. This further fueled the fear people had for him. This further fueled the rumors that were being passed all over Brooklyn—that Pitera was a remorseless killer; that Pitera was dismembering his victims, neatly cutting them up into six pieces and disposing of them at various burial sites.

It was said that he had cleverly discovered that land on bird sanctuaries could not be disturbed; that building and construction would not be allowed. It wouldn't take long for him to put two and two together and realize that burying a body in such a place would just about guarantee the body would not be discovered. It was also said, people in the know recently confided, that Pitera had an autopsy table in the basement of a building he controlled.

 

Pitera married a Brooklyn woman named Carol Boguski and had a male child with her. They named the boy Charles. This, however, was an ill-fated union and soon the couple separated. With the proceeds Pitera made from dealing drugs, he opened two bars: one in Cypress Gardens called Cypress Bar and Grill and another on Avenue S and West Eighth Street called the Just Us Bar. It was a residential street with few stores. More than being a moneymaking enterprise, it was a place for Pitera and his people to meet and arrange for drug sales; in reality, more a place to sell drugs than alcohol. That's not to say they sold drugs over the bar or out of the bathroom. Deals were consummated here. Agreements and handshakes were made here. The physical passing of drugs happened elsewhere.

Now, when Pitera walked into a Brooklyn restaurant frequented by mafiosi, conversation slowed. People stared and pointed. Tommy Pitera had become what he always had wanted to be: feared and respected, a man not to be taken lightly. Pitera still practiced martial arts but now it was more to keep in shape, to keep well coordinated. He was a vain man and did not want to develop a stomach or jowls. Pitera continued to read voraciously about killing human beings, war, and destruction. He acquired books on how to dismember bodies and diligently studied where to cut and slice, deepening his knowledge of how to neatly take apart a body.