The Anderson Tapes (18 page)

ANDERSON: Was that his idea or yours?

INGRID: That was my idea. My mother and I, we were always hungry.

ANDERSON: Smart kid.

INGRID: Yes. I was a smart kid.

ANDERSON: How long did that go on?

INGRID: A few years. I took him for much.

ANDERSON: Sure. Did your mother know?

INGRID: Perhaps. Perhaps not. I think she did.

ANDERSON: What happened?

INGRID: To my uncle?

ANDERSON: Yes.

INGRID: A horse kicked him and he died.

ANDERSON: That’s funny.

INGRID: Yes. But it made no difference. I was then ten, perhaps eleven. I knew then how it was done. There were others.

Schatzie
, the wine! It will be getting warm.

SEGMENT II. 17AUG-12:02PM.

ANDERSON: What then?

INGRID: You will not believe.

ANDERSON: I’ll believe it.

INGRID: For an example, there was this man in Bavaria. Very rich.

Very important. If I said his name, you would recognize it. Once a month, on a Friday night, his butler would assemble perhaps six, perhaps ten young girls. I was just thirteen. We would be naked. The butler would put feathers in our hair and tie belts of feathers about our waists and make us wear bracelets of feathers around our wrists and ankles. Then this man, this very important man, would sit on a chair, quite naked, and he would play with himself. You understand? And we would dance around him in a circle. We would flap our arms and caw and make bird sounds. Like chickens. You understand? And this funny butler with gray whiskers would clap his hands to mark time and chant, “One and two, and one and two,” and we would dance around and caw, and this old man would look at us and our feathers and play with himself.

ANDERSON: Did he ever touch you?

INGRID: Never. When he was finished with himself, he rose and stalked out. We would remove our feathers, and we would dress.

The butler stood by the door and paid us our money as we walked out. Very good money. The next month we’d be back again.

Perhaps the same girls, perhaps a few new ones. Same thing.

ANDERSON: How do you figure his hangup?

INGRID: I don’t. I gave up trying many years ago. People are what they are. This I can accept. But I cannot accept what they pretend to be. This man who fondled himself while I pranced about him clad in chicken feathers, this man attended church every Sunday, contributed to charities, and was—still is—considered one of the leading citizens of his city and his country. His son is also now very important. At first it all sickened me.

ANDERSON: The chicken feathers?

INGRID: The filth! The filth! Then I learned how the world is run. Who has the power. What money can do. So I declared war on the world. My own personal war.

ANDERSON: Have you won?

INGRID: I am winning,
Schatzie
.

SEGMENT III. 17 AUG-12:41PM.

ANDERSON: It could have been different.

INGRID: Perhaps. But we are mostly what has happened to us, what the world has done to us. We cannot always make the choice. By the time I was fifteen I was an accomplished whore. I had stolen, blackmailed, had been terribly beaten several times, and I had marked a pimp. Still, I was a child. I had no education. I tried only to survive, to have food, a place to sleep. At that time I wanted very little. Perhaps that is why we are so
simpatico
. You were poor also …
nein?

ANDERSON: Yes. My family was white niggers.

INGRID: Understand,
Schatzie
, I make no excuses. I did what I had to do.

ANDERSON: Sure. But after you got older …?

INGRID: I learned very quickly. As I told you, I learned where the money was and where the power was. Then there was nothing I would not do. It was war—total war. I hit back. Then I hit first. That is very important. The only crime in this world is to be poor. That is the only crime. If you are not poor, you can do anything.

SEGMENT IV. 17AUG-12:08PM.

ANDERSON: Sometimes you scare me.

INGRID: Why is that,
Schatzie?
I mean no bad to you.

ANDERSON: I know, I know. But you never get out. You live with it every minute.

INGRID: I have tried everything—alcohol, drugs, sex. Nothing works for me. I must live with it every minute—so I do. Now I live quietly.

I have a warm home. Food. I have money invested. Safe money.

Men pay me. You know that?

ANDERSON: Yes.

INGRID: I have stopped wanting. It is very important to know when to stop wanting.

ANDERSON: Don’t you ever want to get out?

INGRID: It would be nice—but if I cannot, I cannot.

[Lapse of seven seconds.]

ANDERSON: You’re some woman.

INGRID: It is my occupation,
Schatzie
. It is not my sex.

SEGMENT V. 17AUG-2:14PM.

INGRID: It has been a beautiful afternoon. Are you drunk?

ANDERSON: A little.

INGRID: We must go soon. You must go to work.

ANDERSON: Yes.

INGRID: Are you sleeping?

ANDERSON: Some… .

INGRID: Shall I talk to you … the way you like?

ANDERSON: Yes. Do
you
like it?

INGRID: Of course.

SEGMENT VI. 17 AUG-3:03PM.

INGRID: Please, S
chatzie
, we must go. You will be late.

ANDERSON: Sure. All right. I’ll clean up. You Finish the wine; I’ll finish the brandy.

INGRID: Very well.

ANDERSON: I would like to tell you what I am doing.

INGRID: Please … no.

ANDERSON: You’re the smartest woman I ever knew. I’d like to get your opinion, what you think of it.

INGRID: No … nothing. Tell me nothing. I do not wish to know.

ANDERSON: It’s big.

INGRID: It is always big. It will do no good to tell you to be careful, I know. Just do what you must do.

ANDERSON: I can’t pull out now.

INGRID: I understand.

ANDERSON: Will you kiss me?

INGRID: Now? Yes. On the lips?

Tape BN-DT-TH-0018-98G; 19 August, 1968; 11:46 A.M.

HASKINS: Was that what you wanted?

ANDERSON: Fine. It was fine, Tommy. More than I expected.

HASKINS: Good. Some day I’ll tell you how I got those floor plans. It was a gas!

ANDERSON: You want in?

HASKINS: In? On the whole hype?

ANDERSON: Yes.

[Lapse of five seconds.]

HASKINS: How much?

ANDERSON: A fee. Two big ones.

HASKINS: Two? That’s a bit skimpy, isn’t it, darling?

ANDERSON: It’s what I can go. I got six guys to think about.

HASKINS: Are you including Snapper?

ANDERSON: No.

HASKINS: I don’t know … I don’t know… .

ANDERSON: Make up your mind.

HASKINS: Are you anticipating … well, you know … violence?

ANDERSON: No. More than half will be out of the house.

HASKINS: You don’t want me to carry …?

ANDERSON: No. Just to spot for me. Finger what to take and what to leave. The paintings, the rugs, the silver—shit like that.

[Lapse of four seconds.]

HASKINS: When would I be paid?

ANDERSON: Half before, half after.

HASKINS: I’ve never done anything like this before.

ANDERSON: A piece of cheese. Nothing to worry about. We’ll take our time. The whole fucking place will be ours. Two, three hours . .

. whatever it takes.

HASKINS: Will we wear masks?

ANDERSON: Are you in?

HASKINS: Yes.

ANDERSON: All right. I’ll let you know later this week when we all get together. It’s going to be all right, Tommy.

HASKINS: Oh, God. Oh, Jesus.

21 August, 1968; 12:15 P.M. Tape NYSNB-49B-767 (continuing).

ANDERSON: You want in?

JOHNSON: Who do I bash and what’s the cash?

ANDERSON: Two big ones, half in advance.

JOHNSON: Gimme your han’ ‘cause you’re my man.

ANDERSON: I’ll be in touch to tell you where and when. Keep clean for the next two weeks. Can you do that?

JOHNSON: You gotta know. Like the driven snow.

ANDERSON: Don’t fuck me up, Skeets. Or I’ll have to come looking for you. You know?

JOHNSON: Aw, now, Massa Anderson, you wouldn’t be trying to skeer this pore, ignorant ole nigguh, would you now?.

Transcription NYPD-JDA-154-11; 22 August, 1968; 1:36 P.M. A telephone interception.

ANDERSON: Ed?

BRODSKY: Duke?

ANDERSON: Yes.

BRODSKY: Was everything all right? Was that what you wanted?

ANDERSON: Fine, Ed. Just right. The map was great.

BRODSKY: Jesus, that’s good to hear. I mean we worked, Duke. We really sweat.

ANDERSON: I know you did, Ed. I liked it. The man liked it.

Everything is set. You want in?

BRODSKY: Me? Or me and Billy?

ANDERSON: Both of you. Two G’s. No shares. Just a fee. Half in advance.

BRODSKY: Yes. Christ, yes! I need it, Duke. You got no idea how I need it. The sharks are at me.

ANDERSON: I’ll be in touch.

BRODSKY: Thank you very much, Duke.

Anderson’s apartment; an interior conversation. Transcription NYPD-JDA-155-23; 23 August, 1968. Participants John Anderson and Vincent “Socks” Parelli have been identified by voice prints.

PARELLI: Jesus Christ, a guy could get a heart attack climbing those fucking stairs. You really live in this shit-house?

ANDERSON: That’s right.

PARELLI: And you got to make a meet here? It couldn’t be a nice restaurant in Times Square? A hotel room maybe?

ANDERSON: This place is clean.

PARELLI: How do you know? How does anyone know? Maybe one of your rats is wired. Maybe your cockroaches been trained. Hey!

How about that! Trained bugs! Not bad, huh?

ANDERSON: Not bad.

PARELLI: What I’m saying is, why have me drag my ass all the way over here? What’s so important?

ANDERSON: This is the way I wanted it.

PARELLI: All right, all right. So you’re the boss. Big deal. We agreed. I take orders. Okay, boss, what’s the setup?

[Lapse of six seconds.]

ANDERSON: We have our first meet tomorrow night, eight thirty.

Here’s the address. Don’t lose it.

PARELLI: Tomorrow? Eight thirty? For Christ’s sake, tomorrow’s Saturday. Who the hell works on Saturday?

ANDERSON: We meet tomorrow, like I said.

PARELLI: Not me, buster. I can’t make it. I’m getting a blow-job at eight. Include me out.

ANDERSON: You want out of the whole thing?

PARELLI: No, I don’t want out of the whole thing. But I… .

ANDERSON: I’ll tell Mr. Angelo you can’t make the meet tomorrow because some quiff is going to give you head. Okay?

PARELLI: You suck, you bastard. When this is all over, you and me, we’ll have our own meet. Somewhere. Someday.

ANDERSON: Sure. But you be at that meet tomorrow.

PARELLI: All right, all right … I’ll be there.

ANDERSON: I got five guys, plus you and me. There’s a smart fag who can finger the good stuff. He knows paintings and jewelry and silver. His name’s Haskins. I got a tech named Ernest Mann. He’ll cut off the telephones and alarms, open the doors and boxes—whatever we need. Then there’s a spade named Johnson, a muscle, but smart. He’s no hooligan. Then there’s two brothers— Ed and Billy Brodsky. Ed is an all-around man, a good driver. His young brother Billy, he’s a wet-brain but he’s a powerhouse. We need a guy for lifting and carrying. Billy will do what he’s told.

PARELLI: Any of them panic guys?

ANDERSON: Tommy Haskins maybe. The others are solid—real pros.

PARELLI: I’ll keep my eye on Haskins.

ANDERSON: You do that. Socks, I don’t want no blasting. There’s no need. Half the families will be gone. No one left but old women and kids. We got a plan that’s been figured four ways from the middle. You’ll hear it tomorrow. Everything will go like silk.

PARELLI: I carry a stick. That’s definite.

ANDERSON: All right, you carry a stick. Just don’t use it—that’s all I’m saying.

PARELLI: I hear you work clean.

ANDERSON: That’s right.

PARELLI: I still carry.

ANDERSON: I told you, that’s up to you—but you’ll have no call to use it. You won’t need it.

PARELLI: We’ll see.

ANDERSON: Another thing—I don’t want these people slammed around. You understand?

PARELLI: Oh, I’ll be very polite, boss.

[Lapse of five seconds.]

ANDERSON: And I don’t like you, prick-nose. But I’m stuck with you. I needed another body and they gave me a sack of shit like you.

PARELLI: You fuck! You fuck! I could burn you! I should burn you right now!

ANDERSON: Go ahead, prick-nose. You’re the guy who carries a stick. I got nothing. Go ahead, burn me.

PARELLI: Oh, you lousy fuck! You piece of funk! I swear to Christ, when this is over I’ll get you good. But good! Nice and slow. That’s what you’ll get, cracker. Something nice and slow, right through the balls. Oh, are you going to get it! I can taste it. I can taste it!

ANDERSON: Sure, you can taste it. You got a big, fucking mouth—

and that’s all you’ve got. Just you be at that meet tomorrow, and at the other meets until next Saturday.

PARELLI: And after that, white trash, it’ll be you and me … just you and me.

ANDERSON: That’s right, prick-nose. How many women you screwed with that snout? Now get your ass out of here. Be careful getting a cab. We got some punks in this neighborhood—oh, maybe ten years old or so—who might take your piece away from you.

PARELLI: You mother… .

The driveway outside Patrick Angelo’s home, 10543 Foxberry Lane, Teaneck, New Jersey; 25 August, 1968; 8:36 P.M. On this date, Angelo’s “personal” car (he owned three) was under electronic surveillance by an investigative agency of the U.S. government, which cannot be named at this time, using a device which cannot be revealed.

The car was a black Continental, license LPA-46B-8935K. Patrick Angelo and John Anderson sat in the back seat of the parked car.

ANGELO: Sorry I can’t ask you into the house, Duke. The wife’s got some neighbors in tonight for bridge. I figured we could talk better out here.