Hitman (21 page)

Those were the last words Ronald Hicks ever spoke because at that moment Johnny Martorano shot him in the head. His head snapped back against the horn on the steering wheel and it started blaring, just like in a movie. Johnny grabbed the keys but left the headlights on, just as he had at Normandy Street a year earlier. The cops made note of the similarities in the MO, but it wasn't nearly enough evidence to pull anyone in on.

*   *   *

HEARING THE
horn, a security guard at the Forsythe Dental Center ran outside and saw the car, pointed toward Mass Ave. Hicks was declared dead at 3:05
A.M.
at Boston City Hospital. The district attorney, Garrett Byrne, immediately ordered the sole surviving witness of the NEGRO massacre picked up and placed in protective custody.

“A very vital witness has been assassinated,” said the somber prosecutor. “The witness had refused protection.”

But the police had to admit that a lot of people had wanted Hicks dead. They had no suspects, although the police report did mention that Hicks's girlfriend who had been with him at Slade's “stated that she [was] a waitress at the Basin Street South and that John Martorano was there all the time.”

*   *   *

JOE BARBOZA
was paroled in March 1969 on one condition—that “he leave Massachusetts and never return.” After the parole board cut him loose, he was immediately driven to Logan Airport, where he caught a plane out of the state. A couple of days later Jimmy Flemmi got out of Walpole, crazier than ever.

“He wasn't getting into trouble daily,” Martorano recalled. “He was getting into trouble hourly.”

By then, the FBI was tightening the screws on Stevie Flemmi and Frank Salemme, or at least appearing to. They had to collar someone for the Fitzgerald bombing. Like baseball scouts, Rico and Condon had gone back into the state prison system and recruited a new snitching prospect—a Roxbury hood named Bobby Daddieco. He hated Larry Baione and he was looking at serious time for a botched bank robbery in Somerville. Daddieco had been in the crash car on the Billy Bennett hit and was now ready to give up Salemme and Flemmi on both the Billy Bennett murder and the Fitzgerald bombing—a twofer.

High as usual on Seconal and Scotch, Jimmy Flemmi started talking about killing Daddieco or anyone else who would testify against his brother. But the Bear was also open to killing just about anyone if the price was right—even his best friends.

One night I'm up at the Bat Cove with the Bear and as I'm leaving he asks for a ride back to his car, which he'd left downtown around the corner from Jay's Lounge, Jerry Angiulo's place. So I'm driving him down there when all of a sudden, he drops his gun onto the floorboard of my car. I picked it up and shoved it in his pocket. I asked him, Jimmy, can you drive or do you want me to take you home? He said he'd be okay. I didn't think anything more of it. But then thirty years later, we're all locked up down in Plymouth, and as part of discovery for our case, they're playing these old FBI tapes for us. They had one bug in the car of Larry Baione's driver, Richie Gambale. And on the tape I hear Larry call Stevie over to the car and Larry says, “Your brother was supposed to kill Johnny last night but he got yellow.” You don't hear Stevie say anything back—he probably knew the car was wired. But that was my good friend Jimmy Flemmi.

Stevie Flemmi, meanwhile, was still keeping the FBI up-to-date on both his own brother and Johnny Martorano. “On April 14, 1969, informant advised that Jimmy Flemmi is running with Johnny Martorano and that Johnny Martorano is still ‘hustling girls' out of Enrico's. Informant advised Martorano has in the past purchased some stolen merchandise and he suspects that Martorano is dealing in some kind of drugs. Informant advised that Martorano can usually be reached telephonically at either 716-2091 or VI 6-1529.”

The Bear, about the time he tried to kill Johnny for In Town.

I couldn't believe it when I saw that second number—it belonged to a girlfriend of mine in Winthrop who just died. Until 2009, I hadn't thought of that phone number in close to thirty years. You know I didn't get a chance to see a lot of the later FBI 209s as they came in because I was gone from Plymouth in 1998. Until last year, I never realized Stevie had given the feds that phone number. Nobody had that number, nobody but Stevie—my best friend. But I do remember that after I went on the lam I used to call my old girlfriend at that number every six months or so. One time she told me, the feds had started lurking around outside her house. I couldn't figure it out—how could they possibly know she was connected to me? Now I know.

As for that other number Stevie gave them—I have no idea now who it belonged to. Maybe you should ask Stevie.

The feds may have been closing in on them, but Stevie and Frankie were still scheming. They were looking to take over South Boston. Donald Killeen, a regular at the old Luigi's, was still on top of the Southie rackets, but his grip was growing shakier.

Young Southie guys were coming back from Vietnam, and after combat in the DMZ, the Killeens didn't seem so tough. The younger hoods called themselves the Mullens, after the square where they hung out. Donald Killeen realized he needed some new muscle, so he brought in an ex-con bank robber named Whitey Bulger, as well as Johnny's old pal, Billy O'Sullivan. Flemmi and Salemme figured to let the two Southie mobs decimate each other, another Irish gang war in miniature. Then they would move in to pick up the pieces.

But in September 1969, Rico called Flemmi. He told Stevie he had to speak to him and Salemme immediately. They met before dawn on Revere Beach. Rico informed them that they were about to be indicted in state court for both the Fitzgerald bombing and the Billy Bennett murder. Rico told them about Daddieco's testimony, but added that if they got out of town before they were indicted, they could probably ride it out. “Take Poulos with you,” Rico added. “He's the weak link.” Flemmi and Salemme knew immediately that they would have to flee. The only question was how long they would have to remain on the lam. That depended on the evidence against them, specifically, the witness Bobby Daddieco.

“How good is Daddieco?” Stevie asked Rico.

“He's no Barboza,” replied Rico.

*   *   *

DESPITE HICKS'S
murder, the district attorney went ahead with the Campbell brothers' murder trial. But they all had alibis, and with Ronald Hicks dead there was only one witness to put them at NEGRO headquarters. The all-white jury quickly acquitted the three black hoods, and after the verdicts, they made a pilgrimage to Basin Street South to see Johnny.

“We're here to thank you,” Alvin Campbell told him.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Johnny said. “There's nothing to thank me for.”

“We're here to thank you anyway,” Campbell replied.

The Campbells hadn't been in Vietnam, but they were as hungry as the Mullens across the bridge in Southie. They wanted to take over drugs in the black neighborhoods, by throwing out all the “outsiders”—not so much the whites, because they had mostly abandoned Roxbury by then. The Campbells' ire was directed at the Superfly-style black gangsters who'd been moving into the city in recent years and now dominated the Roxbury rackets. Johnny Martorano was skeptical of the Campbells' strategy.

They were bank robbers, not drug dealers. You don't get rid of people if you don't know how to take over and operate their rackets yourself. It didn't make sense. I know what people believe, but I never took any money from the Campbells. Maybe they gave me a hundred bucks once, but I told them no. They never really made much money anyway.

What was more valuable to me personally about the Campbells was that if anybody ever tried to make a move on me, they'd have to worry about them. On the street you need somebody behind you like that. The more the better. Stevie first had his brother, then Frankie, and then even later Whitey. Every time somebody who doesn't like me sees a black guy walking toward him on the street, he's thinking, is this one of Johnny's guys? I had a lot of black friends, still do.

What I advised the Campbells to do was to go after the barrooms and the numbers in Roxbury. Then I would have been with them. Drugs are too hot. Numbers are slower but cleaner, safer, longer-lasting. I know the state lottery was coming in, but remember, at the start it was only once a week, and then only twice a week for years after that. People in the poor neighborhoods like Roxbury have to play every day. But Alvin didn't have the patience for that—he was an old-fashioned Black Panther–type guy.

Once they beat the NEGRO murder rap, the Campbells moved fast. In September 1969, the FBI sent the following report to the Boston Police Department:

S/A Matthew Seifer received information that the Campbell Bros. had approached all the cocaine dealers in Boston making it very clear that only their “stuff” would be handled. The terms were that they would protect the dealers, that the dealers would provide their own attorney in the event of an arrest, but that the Campbells would see to it that no one would testify against them as long as it was a state violation. It was further alleged that the Campbells were associated with a white fellow …

Pushback was to be expected—there was too much money at stake for the independents to give up Roxbury without a fight. One hot summer night, Johnny was drinking at Basin Street with Jimmy the Bear, who was out on a brief parole. Alvin Campbell and Deke Chandler came in and excitedly pulled Johnny aside. They were having some problems with the proprietor of a joint on Blue Hill Avenue—one Black Sam.

Alvin had spotted Black Sam holding court out in front of his unlicensed bar, surrounded by a crowd of hangers-on. It was a perfect opportunity to take him out, but it would be a difficult shot.

“How many cars you got?” Johnny asked.

“Two,” said Alvin. Johnny nodded and told the Bear to go with Deke Chandler. They would be in the crash car, just in case. He and Alvin Campbell went out into the alley next to Basin Street, and Johnny grabbed a handful of dirt and rubbed it on his face to darken it. Then he tore apart a burlap bag and wrapped it around his head. He got into the backseat of Alvin Campbell's car and lay down. There was a loaded carbine on the floor.

A few minutes later, on Blue Hill Avenue, Alvin braked the car to a stop. Johnny popped up from the backseat, drew a bead on Black Sam, and fired. Black Sam fell to the sidewalk, wounded, shot in the shoulder. It would have to do—there were too many onlookers, and not enough time, to get out of the car and finish Black Sam off. This was his lucky night. The two Campbell cars then roared off north, toward downtown, toward white Boston. Black Sam's near-death experience never made the papers.

Alvin Campbell would be acquitted of murdering three people—after Johnny Martorano killed the main witness against him.

*   *   *

THERE WAS
another holdout named Nelson Padron. He was older, a cocaine dealer who owned a bar, lived in Sharon, drove a Mercedes convertible. The Campbells told him they were in charge now and it was time to negotiate new terms—in a public place, if Padron was concerned about his safety. They agreed on Slade's. A white fellow named Johnny Martorano came along, just in case there was a problem, which there was.

Padron had brought a gun to the sit-down—not a good way to win friends and influence people, as the McLaughlins had learned several years earlier at the Ebb Tide. Johnny pulled back Padron's coat, grabbed the revolver out of his belt, and began pistol-whipping him with it.

“We thought about killing him right there,” Martorano said, “but there were too many witnesses.”

Then Deke Chandler had an idea. While Johnny continued beating Padron, Deke ran outside, took out a switchblade, and slashed all four of Padron's tires. That way, when Padron tried to leave, the Campbells and Johnny could follow him in their car and eventually pull up alongside his Mercedes and shoot him—with no witnesses.