Mob Star (6 page)

After the Sparks hits, a few reporters tried to talk to Gotti, but he demurred. He also declined, through his attorney, to submit voluntarily to an interview with FBI agents, because he knew “nothing about the murders.”

Gotti also declined to attend the wake of Castellano, who had declined to attend the wake of Aniello Dellacroce two weeks earlier—a miscalculation compounded by appointing Bilotti underboss.

In fact, all except blood family boycotted Castellano’s wake, which was held in the same funeral parlor as Carlo Gambino’s, located in Brooklyn, in a peculiarly named section of the Pope’s childhood borough: Gravesend.

F
OR A MURDER SUSPECT, John Gotti was a bold man in the days following the Pope’s timely demise.

He was more irritated than worried that once again NYPD detectives and FBI agents shadowed him as he moved around the dense, tense city in a chauffeured car. The chauffeur was a necessary luxury; like the rest of him, Gotti’s foot was aggressive. His motor vehicle rap sheet included several speeding beefs and a drunk-driving conviction, for which his license had been suspended.

He was not widely known in the lawful world, although he had been identified as the “new Godfather” of the “Gambino gang” in some premature newspaper handicapping in March, after Castellano’s second racketeering indictment. He was widely known in the unlawful world, where Johnny, Johnny Boy, or John all described the same explosive force, John Gotti.

As Neil Dellacroce’s health faded away, Gotti had assumed more responsibility for the Family’s “other mob,” which controlled a large gambling network. This was turning the proverbial distillery over to an alcoholic; Gotti was an astounding gambler—losses of $30,000, $40,000, $50,000 a weekend on horse racing and sports contests were common. He once won $225,000 on the Brooklyn number—an underworld lottery—and lost it in two nights of shooting craps.

Gotti’s crew included three of his six brothers and men he’d known since his teenage street-gang days. “We’re the fucking toughest guys in the fucking world,” he proclaimed in a voice as coarse as a gravel pit, as he berated someone who owed him money.

Some members of his crew were afraid of him, only partly because of stories he told about himself. One of these—about a fight with someone he later learned was a cop—revealed a man who took delight in humiliating a beaten man.

After describing how he had broken the unidentified officer’s legs, ankles, and jaw, Gotti said “I told him, ‘You want to play anymore? You want to play, you cocksucker?’ I open his mouth with my finger and put the gun in. ‘You want to play anymore?’ He can’t talk, he’s crying like a baby.”

Like Castellano, Gotti also was under federal indictment. His trial was only four months away; he faced 40 years of imprisonment if convicted. He was out on bail, a time to lay low—unless you were Johnny Boy.

 

 

The detectives and agents following Gotti were investigating a double murder and keeping watch for rumors of war. The murder of a Family boss was always cleared with the other New York bosses. Had the tradition held? Would there be revenge? Who would seek it?

The day after Sparks, they knew where to look for answers.

Gotti and many other captains had offices in what they euphemistically called social clubs. Legitimate social clubs, where friends meet to play cards or pass time, are common in many New York neighborhoods, but the Families adapted them to other purposes.

In Manhattan, the surveillants saw Gotti and Frank DeCicco at the Ravenite Social Club, an unimposing storefront that was Dellacroce’s longtime command center. They tailed DeCicco to Brooklyn, where he met his mentor and Sparks companion, James Failla, at the Veterans and Friends Social Club.

Later, they saw New Jersey Family delegates visiting Gotti at his headquarters, the Bergin Hunt and Fish Club in Ozone Park, Queens. As Gotti’s notoriety grew, an early reporting error would be institutionalized and the name of this equally unimposing storefront would be spelled as “Bergen,” even though photos of the club’s sign show Bergin is correct.

Outside the Bergin, the men watching Gotti also counted dozens of Gambino men entering and leaving. Were they readying for war, or making the peace?

On Sunday, December 22, 1985, Kenneth McCabe—then an NYPD detective for the Brooklyn District Attorney’s office—saw Gotti at the Veterans and Friends. McCabe had never seen Gotti there during hundreds of stakeouts. Gotti was accompanied by Joseph Massino, a longtime friend who had recently become acting boss of the Bonanno Family. McCabe also saw DeCicco, Failla, and several other captains, who in groups of two and three kept shuttling between the club and a nearby restaurant.

“There appeared to be a meeting at the location,” McCabe later testified. “They would go in the club, come outside, go into the restaurant, back and forth into the club … so they would not be overheard.”

On Christmas Eve, Gotti and DeCicco were back at the Ravenite. So was Andrew Rosenzweig, chief investigator of the Manhattan District Attorney’s Investigations Bureau. Gotti and DeCicco retreated to the narrow streets of Little Italy for several private talks, and at one point they walked within earshot of the unassuming, undercover Rosenzweig.

“They’ve got to come to me,” Gotti said.

The same day, from a surveillance van 100 feet away, NYPD Detective John Gurnee took photographs of two hundred men coming to see John Gotti. Outside the Ravenite, as one shiny car after another pulled up, he saw the men bypass all the others and go directly to Gotti, who they embraced and kissed on both cheeks.

Gotti was always treated deferentially at the Ravenite Social Club, but never before like this. “It was very similar to the respect accorded Aniello Dellacroce,” Detective Gurnee said.

It now seemed to McCabe, Rosenzweig, Gurnee, and all the other detectives and agents that there would be no war. Gotti was enjoying a peaceful Christmas Eve and many wiseguys—a New York term for gangsters—were rallying around his tree to wish him goodwill toward them.

 

 

Without inside information, which is not always shared by the Crime Capital’s anticrime forces, the surveillants could only speculate who the new boss would be. They didn’t know the inside details that were available; these indicated that Gotti took control of the Family on December 20. A symbolic vote would be held in a few weeks, but Gotti was boss a day after the Pope was buried.

One captain rallying around Gotti was Ralph Mosca, who also had a Queens crew. He was a Castellano man, but fond of Gotti and sailing with the prevailing wind. After meeting with him on December 20, Mosca briefed his crew, which included Dominick Lofaro, 55, a U.S. Army veteran, concrete worker, dice-game operator, numbers runner, illegal-loan collector, thief, and murderer who had spent two days in jail during his life.

“Johnny says everything’s goin’ be all right,” Mosca told Lofaro. “We won’t have to carry no guns around.”

Mosca instructed Lofaro—whom Gotti was considering for a new gambling operation—that he now must communicate with Gotti through an intermediary, a sure sign that a power shift was afoot.

A lot was afoot that Mosca didn’t know about. At the time, Lofaro was wearing two masks. He was working for Mosca and for the New York State Organized Crime Task Force; he was a perfect example of the rationale behind one of the few policies Castellano had laid down for both the Family and the other mob: no drug dealing.

The policy had nothing to do with the destruction of lives or neighborhoods and everything to do with self-interest. New York punished a drug dealer as severely as a murderer, and the Pope believed anyone arrested on a serious drug charge would be tempted to tattle on the Family if prosecutors dangled a deal with a dainty sentence. Serious was only four or more ounces of a controlled substance such as cocaine or heroin.

For men who make their living illegally, the profit in drugs was frequently too strong a lure. Many interpreted the rule this way: Don’t get
caught
dealing drugs. They dealt on the side, secretly; they called it going “off the record.” It was a gamble, and many who got caught were killed by Family antidrug police.

Dominick Lofaro had “rolled over” two years earlier after a 25-to-life heroin arrest in upstate New York. He was there to manage a gambling operation, but off the record he was making between $30,000 and $50,000 a kilo (2.2 pounds) for simply buying and reselling heroin to local dealers. He informed the arresting officers he was a “made” Gambino soldier in Ralph Mosca’s crew.

A made soldier is a formally inducted member of the Family. In a secret ceremony, the soldier promises loyalty to the Family above all else. It’s sometimes called “getting your button” or “getting straightened out.” Made men are also known as “good fellows” or “nice fellows” or “friends of ours.” Many men spend years as “associates,” waiting for the day when they’ll be deemed able money earners with the right character traits. They must be of Italian blood.

Made men are required to take a vow of noncooperation with the authorities. This is why Lofaro was so prized by the state’s Organized Crime Task Force—only a few have ever broken the vow. There could have been only one explanation for his admission when he was arrested: He wanted to deal.

“We had him turned that night,” recalled the director of the Task Force, Deputy New York Attorney General Ronald Goldstock. “He was facing big time, but we think he was more afraid he would be killed by Mosca or Castellano. Mosca was an old-timer; he would have enforced the no-drug rule.”

A body transmitter was added to Lofaro’s wardrobe. No court had to approve this action because legally, a person can secretly tape his own conversations in New York. Lofaro wore the device many months before he met John Gotti and taped him discussing an illegal gambling operation.

Lofaro’s taping of Gotti gave the Task Force what it needed—evidence of a crime—to undertake an electronic mugging that would have been illegal without a court order. It asked a judge for permission to plant a listening device—a bug—in an annex to Gotti’s Bergin Hunt and Fish Club; and in March of 1985 the bug crawled in and alighted somewhere, according to a court paper, “within two rooms located behind the red door immediately adjacent to the Nice N EZ Auto School,” which was one door down from the Bergin club.

Over the next several months, the bug—and, later, a phone tap—raised a secret window on the life of John Gotti, although none of his “overheards” could be used in the federal racketeering case pending against him and others because they were recorded after Gotti was indicted.

The Task Force’s eavesdropping order expired in October 1985. After the December murders, Ralph Mosca’s conversations with informer Dominick Lofaro were cited in an affidavit requesting approval to reinstitute surveillance. Beginning on December 27, the two rooms behind the red door next to the Nice N EZ Auto School were rebugged and the phone was retapped.

“Gotti is [now] the central figure in the Gambino Family, and seems to have decided that the Family members need not carry weapons; therefore, Gotti must necessarily have knowledge of the facts behind the killings of Castellano and Bilotti,” the affidavit said.

Only a few of the overheards on the preexecution and post-execution bugs and taps have ever been revealed. Almost all—and the affidavits supporting them—have remained secret, until now.

On December 27, 1985, the first day the reinstalled bug was in place, Gotti and a crew member referred to an article in that day’s
New York Times
attributing to law enforcement sources a theory that Bilotti was the real target of the assassination.

The unidentified man was heard describing the article as “some kind of fuckin’ off-the-wall story.” The story was later broadcast on local television. “They said that he, that ah, the hit wasn’t meant for Paul, it was meant for the other guy.”

Gotti’s response was partially inaudible, but the bug did hear him say it didn’t matter whom Castellano was with that day. “No one was to—Paul, whoever it was, whoever went there, was gonna get shot.”

In a separate conversation, agents monitoring the bug heard Gotti utter a tantalizing remark about whether the hits were sanctioned by the other Crime Capital bosses, who included Gotti’s friend Joseph Massino, the acting Bonanno boss.

The conversation was with a childhood friend, his closet friend and henchman Angelo Ruggiero, a burly schemer who already had been recorded, bugged, and tapped more than any other Gambino, and probably more than any Family man ever. Ruggiero was under indictment, too, in a heroin-dealing case, and he was about to succeed Gotti as captain of the Bergin Hunt and Fish crew.

Gotti and Ruggiero talked about many matters, including other bosses, which prompted Gotti to say: “One half sanctioned us, the other half said, they’re with them, we sanction ya.”

Though hardly proof of who the actual murderers were, it was obvious the remark meant that two of the other four bosses backed a plot against Castellano and that two others went along.

 

 

Early in January 1986, as the boss-elect acquainted himself with the reins of power, a personal note in his life went unnoticed. In Manhattan, a judge slapped his youngest brother, a non-crew member, with a six-years-to-life term for selling cocaine to an undercover agent. No family members attended the sentencing and Vincent Gotti, age 33, went directly to jail.

Another brother, Gene, age 39, was an important crew member and a defendant with Angelo in the heroin case; he would be by his brother’s side as the heir-certain contemplated his moves—unaware of the electronic plot taking place against him. One of John Gotti’s early ideas, which he shared with Ralph Mosca, was hiring Dominick Lofaro to run his Queens gambling operation.

“This could mean a promotion for you,” Mosca told Lofaro.