Mob Star (34 page)

Gotti was about to acquire his second son-in-law. The bride-groom would be Carmine Agnello, 24, proprietor of Jamaica Auto Salvage. Agnello had recently beaten a counterfeiting case and, in 1980, had been the victim of a beating authorized by his future father-in-law; but all was forgiven, if not forgotten, and on December 9, 1984, he married Vicky Gotti, the former beauty pageant contestant his company had sponsored.

The wedding was unlike the bride’s parents’ wedding in every way but the “I do.” More than 1,000 people attended the reception, which was held at Marina Del Ray in the Bronx. FBI agents observed from two vans near the entrance as the guests arrived, and saw most of Gotti’s associates, except for Paul Castellano. One guest recalled that at least 30 tables were occupied only by men, who took turns paying their respects to the bride’s father.

The men played a find-the-agent game all night long, and thought they had spotted many among the waiters and musicians. Actually, none were inside to review the entertainment, which included singers Connie Francis and Jay Black (of Jay and the Americans), who was related by marriage to a Gambino soldier, and comedians George Kirby, Pat Cooper, and Professor Irwin Corey.

Despite the snoopers outside, it was a happy event, and was followed in a few weeks by another. Self-made and made, John Gotti, age 44, became a grandfather. His daughter Angela gave birth to a baby boy, whom she named Frank—a tribute to her 12-year-old brother, who died on a minibike in 1980 and who was still listed as a member of the family when Angela’s mother, in 1983, submitted an item about her family to the local newspaper.

 

 

All during the fall of 1984, “the real Italian lady” was lining up her targets. Finally, Diane Giacalone put the names and the evidence into a memo, and was promptly accused of jeopardizing a man’s life to get her revenge on the FBI.

One of Giacalone’s targets was Source Wahoo. Not only would she ask her grand jury to indict him, but she would reveal that he was an informer. This was, of course, a pressure-coated invitation for him to seek a deal and testify against the Family within a Family.

Wahoo was highly regarded at the FBI. He had provided so much about so many. “Most of this information could not have been obtained by other investigative means,” said a memo in his file. “Incalculable hours of investigative time has been saved by this informant’s specific information.” Several memos ended with cautionary footnotes such as “This informant can in no way testify to the information supplied by him since to do so would … place the lives of his family, as well as himself, in extreme jeopardy.”

The FBI had not told Giacalone about Wahoo. Once into her investigation, however, she could have deduced it in a number of ways. For instance, the Queens District Attorney’s detective squad was helping her by turning over its Bergin gambling tapes; Wahoo had helped the Queens D.A. squad back in 1981, after he was squeezed on an attempted-bribery rap. It was reasonable to suspect and conclude: once a snitch, twice a snitch.

By including Wahoo in her case, Giacalone was setting up a mechanism for disclosing his informer status. Even though her case was not based on information he had given the FBI, she would argue that defense attorneys would be entitled to information he gave about codefendants.

The FBI felt Giacalone was playing games, and trying to shore up a case at the last moment by pressuring Wahoo into the witness-protection program and onto the witness stand. If she wanted to have him indicted, she should do it separately. Then she would not have to expose Wahoo—and thus ruin forever a “top-echelon” informant, while undermining the confidence of other informers in the ability of the FBI to keep a bargain.

Two top FBI officials in New York, Thomas Sheer and James Kossler, protested to Washington to get Giacalone to back off. But she had the backing of her boss, Eastern District U.S. Attorney Raymond J. Dearie, and of her underboss, Susan Shepard, chief of the major-crimes unit. Dearie and Shepard had recently been married. The Justice Department brass understood the FBI angst, but gave the decision to Dearie, who admired Giacalone’s devotion to duty and gave her his approval.

Wahoo, playing ends against the middle since 1966, was cornered. He was warned by Agent Abbott that he might be revealed, and he was horrified.

“I will be killed,” he said. “My family will be killed.”

Abbott told Wahoo there was a way out, the way Giacalone wanted: He could take a plea, testify for a light sentence, and fade away in the witness-protection program, like Cardinali and Polisi.

“I will never testify,” Wahoo said.

 

 

In February 1985, the federal hammer raised by the Angelo bugs slammed down on the Crime Capital. In Manhattan, Paul, Neil, and bosses, acting bosses, or underbosses of the other four Families were indicted on charges of operating an illegal RICO enterprise—the Commission.

The indictment began with a history of Family crime dating to 1900. It said the Commission was formed in 1931 to “regulate” Family relationships, and that its current members had used murder as a regulatory tool. The contemporary group had also formed a “club” of contractors, and used extortion to gain control of all concrete jobs in New York City over $2 million.

Many top officials joined Rudy Giuliani to toast their work. “The indictment exposes the structure of organized crime on a scale never done before,” said FBI director William H. Webster. “The mob is on the run and we ask you to help drive the Mafia out of New York City and out of the United States,” said Steven Trott, chief of the Justice Department’s Criminal Division and the official who gave Dearie the decision on Wahoo.

The media turned to its sources and asked who was running the Gambino Family now that Paul and Neil each had two federal cases pending.

This resulted in John Gotti’s public debut, a half-page splash in the Sunday, March 3,
Daily News
under this headline:

Reporter Paul Meskil said Gotti was being identified as the “new ‘acting boss’ of the Gambinos, a position that could make him the most powerful leader of the New York underworld.”

The speculation was a bit rich. The Pope was still the boss, and though quite sick, Neil was underboss. It was true that Gotti was in a position to move up, but so were others, like the two Thomases, Gambino and Bilotti. Two photos ran with the story. One showed the “home of new reputed godfather John Gotti in Howard Beach.” The second was a mug shot from Gotti’s hijacking days, in which a young man with black hair stares into the lens, daring it to capture any emotion except defiance.

On March 18, Agent Abbott and his boss, Frank Storey, met Giacalone to turn the Source Wahoo files over to her. She had won the battle to indict him, but they still wondered why she planned to tell defense attorneys about him if her case was not based on his information. She said the defense was entitled to all his prior statements to authorities. Not all lawyers would argue it had to be done voluntarily. Why not at least wait until asked?

Sorry, boys, Giacalone said.

 

 

John Gotti knew he was about to become another Family defendant, but on March 20 he was able to joke about it.

The government was about to “knock the fuckin’ nuts off of me,” he said to Peter Mosca. “They figure instead of givin’ ya 10 years, they give ya 30 years.”

Mosca visited Gotti in the company of Dominick Lofaro, the wired informer who was working off a heroin charge after telling the state Organized Crime Task Force he was a made man in Ralph Mosca’s crew. Ralph Mosca, Peter’s father, had sent the pair to tell Gotti that a card game about to open in Maspeth—near the Gotti-controlled Cozy Corner Bar—was not Mosca-sponsored, despite its operators’ claims.

The messengers arrived on 101st Avenue and exchanged greetings with Gotti and Angelo, still hoarding his heroin tapes, which the government had turned over during pretrial discovery in his case. Gotti already knew of the rival operation from his Cozy Corner nominee, Philip Cestaro, and was amazed at the operators’ gall.

“I cleaned [out] that neighborhood when there were junkies down there, fifteen years ago when we were on the lam,” he said, referring to his McBratney era.

The men nodded respectfully.

“Yeah, we got a game right there and we got a club there … so now this fucking pimp went around and told all the storeowners, ‘We gonna open up a game.’ He was making like he’s got a license!”

Gotti said he had dispatched Cestaro to tell the two men in Maspeth that they should just sell coffee because “John” had a game at the corner. But the men didn’t know a “John.”

At this Gotti paused to poke fun at himself. “That’s all right … I don’t even know who I am myself sometimes.”

The men laughed respectfully.

Gotti completed the story by telling Peter Mosca that the two men told Cestaro they were “with” his father.

Mosca wanted to know, “Which one?”

“I don’t know which one of them. I didn’t even go see them yet. But if I go see them, maybe I’ll … you know, I’ll crack one.”

Gotti told Mosca and Lofaro to visit the men and find out who they were really with and report back to him. Later that day, they did. Mosca said the men wouldn’t name their sponsor, perhaps not until they could find one important enough to match up against Gotti.

“Well, forget about that,” Gotti said. “I got four thousand guys, I’ll send ’em from every neighborhood.”

“I wanna know who they’re gonna come up with,” Peter said.

“I don’t give a fuck who they come up with.”

Gotti said he wouldn’t even let the men host a friendly game of poker. “I’ll tell you right now, I need the exercise. They’re not gonna play nothin’ … let someone come forward … I want somebody to come forward. I’m dying to see who’s gonna come forward.”

“Yeah, me too,” Lofaro said.

“He better go to Russia and get a guy. He can’t get nobody from the five crews we know.”

 

 

Five days later, on March 25, 1985, Czar Gotti and nine soldiers were indicted.

The indictment was sealed pending the arrest of John and Gene Gotti, Neil and his son Armond, the brothers Carneglia, Willie Boy Johnson, Anthony Rampino, Nicholas Corozzo, and Leonard DiMaria. Corozzo was named as the leader of another crew in the other mob that included DiMaria and Armond.

All were charged with two RICO counts: racketeering and conspiracy. Each faced 40-year sentences and fines of $50,000. Each was accused of varying “predicate acts”—that is, specific crimes committed to benefit the illegal enterprise.

Three of Gotti’s seven predicates were crimes he had been convicted of and served time for—two hijackings and attempted manslaughter in the McBratney case, which the RICO indictment elevated to murder. John Carneglia was accused of the murder of court officer Albert Gelb; Willie Boy was accused of conspiracy to murder Anthony Plate, the loan shark whose disappearance led to Neil’s beating a case in 1979.

It was Neil’s third federal rap in five months—the mortgage on a life in crime was coming due in his final months. He was accused of supervising both the Gotti and Corozzo crews over an 18-year period. Gene and John Carneglia were not in a good spot either; they were already under indictment in the Angelo drug case.

On March 28, NYPD detectives and DEA agents moved out to make the arrests. A little after 4 A.M., they found John, Gene, and Willie Boy playing cards at the Bergin.

“What’d we do?” John asked.

“Don’t worry, you already did it,” DEA agent Magnuson replied. “Your crimes have caught up with you.”

Raymond Dearie issued a press release after the arrests. He said an investigation had reconstructed the organized acts of an illegal enterprise by interweaving almost 20 years of information from state and federal files.

“The investigation revealed that what appeared initially to be unrelated investigations, prosecutions, and convictions of the defendants for the commission of numerous state and federal crimes was, in fact, the organized criminal activity of the two crews under the supervision of underboss Aniello Dellacroce,” Dearie’s statement said.

Dearie didn’t say that most of the interwoven probes had produced no indictments. But he did salute the work of the Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, and Suffolk County district attorneys, Billy Burns of the NYPD major-case squad, DEA agent Edward Magnuson, and assistant U.S. attorney Diane Giacalone. A veteran reporter noted the remarkable omission of the FBI and asked for an explanation. Dearie answered that the DEA was the federal agency on the case because, early on, it involved drug-trafficking allegations.

United States of America v. Aniello Dellacroce, et al.
was called for arraignment and bail applications later that day in Brooklyn, with Judge Eugene H. Nickerson presiding.

Michael Coiro, then under indictment, too, appeared for John and Gene and pleaded them not guilty. John was released on $1 million bail secured by his brother Richard’s home and his own home, which was in Victoria’s name and said to be worth $230,000. Gene was released on the same bail he posted in the drug case, $250,000 secured by his home.

Anthony Rampino was released to the facility at which he had been arrested—a heroin detoxification center in the Bronx. Neil was not able to appear; he was hospitalized for a chemotherapy treatment and would have to plead not guilty by telephone.

“Your Honor, unfortunately, I think Mr. Dellacroce’s stay with us is somewhat limited,” said his lawyer, Barry Slotnick.

After bail for the others was decided upon—two defendants, Buddy Dellacroce and Charles Carneglia, had not been found—Giacalone told Judge Nickerson that Willie Boy Johnson, now the only defendant in the courtroom, should be jailed immediately because “no conditions of bail would secure his appearance.”