The Battle for Las Vegas: The Law vs. The Mob (9 page)

Fratiano himself went on to become an annoyance to the Outfit. He turned into a swaggering loudmouth, bragging that he was the toughest mobster in California. He attempted to muscle a Beverly Hills lawyer with mob ties, allegedly putting a dead fish in the attorney’s mailbox to intimidate him.

Fratiano was summoned to Chicago for a face-to-face with Doves Aiuppa. Warned to clean up his act, he was allowed to return to California. Rather than follow those orders, however, Fratiano instead boasted that he planned to hustle money from some rich Las Vegas gamblers who were old friends of the Chicago bosses. That proved to be an unwise move. As far as Chicago was concerned, enough was enough. The Weasel had to go.

By 1977, Fratiano was sure he was a marked man. He was also convinced that Johnny Roselli’s replacement, Tony Spilotro, had the contract on him. Criminal associates tried to lure the Weasel back to Chicago, but he didn’t go. Another “friend” called and told him he needed to get to a phone booth right away for a confidential call. It was a ruse Fratiano had used himself to get his victim out in the open. He refused to budge. The FBI had Fratiano under surveillance at the time and knew his days were numbered. The feds contacted him and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: Testify against his organized-crime colleagues and enjoy the relative safety of the Witness Protection Program, or await a visit from Spilotro or one of his men. Omerta, the vow of silence, fell by the wayside and Fratiano became a government witness.

According to FBI documents, Fratiano told FBI agents during an April 1978 interview that Tony Spilotro had contacted him and offered $10,000 if he refused to provide prosecutors with information against any of the gangsters the government was pursuing. More money would be forthcoming if he continued to keep silent. Fratiano asked that the $10,000 be paid to his attorney, but the cash was never received. He also confirmed that he believed it was Spilotro’s intent to kill him.

Through Fratiano and other informants, the feds opened a second front in their war against Tony.

Teflon Tony

John Gotti, the infamous former head of New York City’s Gambino crime family, was dubbed the Teflon Don for his ability to gain acquittals whenever the law took him to court. In fact, from the time he ascended to the throne in 1985 until his conviction in 1992 for violations of the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act (RICO), Gotti and his lawyers had made a habit out of beating up on prosecutors. But Gotti was finally convicted and served time while he was making his way up the career ladder. And the sentence for his only conviction while he was the boss was a beauty: life without the possibility of parole.

Although Tony Spilotro never officially attained “Don” status, the attention he received from the law was nearly the same as that bestowed on higher-ranking mobsters. In spite of being almost continuously under investigation and a suspect in some 25 murders and countless other felonies, Tony conducted his affairs for more than a decade without being convicted of even a minor offense. Part of the reason for that impressive run could be his skills as a criminal; another likely factor was that his reputation and willingness to use violence made witnesses against him scarce. A third and equally important aspect was his lawyer, Oscar Goodman.

Goodman was born in Philadelphia and graduated from the University of Pennsylvania Law School. After moving to Las Vegas in 1964, he opened his own law practice. It wasn’t long before he became one of the city’s premier criminal defense attorneys, representing many high-profile clients. Among them were Harry Claiborne, a federal judge who was convicted of tax evasion in 1983 and impeached by the United States Senate, Allen Glick and his Argent Corporation, Lefty Rosenthal, and Tony Spilotro.

Goodman was a fiery advocate for his clients and he wasn’t shy about attacking his law-enforcement foes, both in and out of court. In
Of Rats and Men
, author John L. Smith chronicles the life and career of Oscar Goodman. At the beginning of that book are quotes from several people, including two from Goodman that may illustrate his attitude toward his opponents and the existence of organized crime. “I’d rather have my daughter date Tony Spilotro than an FBI agent,” and “There is no mob.”

Whether these words accurately reflected Mr. Goodman’s feelings or were only issued for public consumption, one can imagine that Tony, Allen, and Lefty appreciated hearing their legal representative say such things. But Goodman wasn’t merely rhetoric; he produced for those who placed their trust in him.

Together, Tony and Oscar, each using his own unique talents, made a team that prosecutors seemed unable to beat.

On The Home Front

As busy as he was, Tony wasn’t on the job 24/7. As a former Las Vegas TV reporter told me, “Tony didn’t spend all his time whacking and hacking.” He did have a wife and son. In an effort to find out if there was another side to the Ant, I spoke with Nancy and Vincent Spilotro. Per agreement, Tony’s business activities were not discussed.

According to Nancy Spilotro, her husband was a regular guy. He liked home cooking and they seldom ate out. Tony’s own culinary skills were limited to fixing their son breakfast, usually consisting of pancakes. As a couple, they seldom visited the Strip unless there was a special show they wanted to see or if they were acting as tour guides for out-of-town company. The family visited Disneyland from time to time, where Tony’s favorite ride was “It’s A Small World.”
The Sound of Music
, with Julie Andrews, was his favorite movie. He was no “Mr. Fix It” and wasn’t particularly handy around the house. The Spilotros lived comfortably, but not flamboyantly.

Prior to speaking with Vincent, I reviewed an article called “Growing Up Spilotro,” that appeared in the November 2003 issue of
Las Vegas Life
. During our several telephone conversations in the first few months of 2004, we discussed the content of that piece. “He was the most loving man I ever knew,” Vincent Spilotro told me, repeating a quote from the magazine.

Vincent remembers life as being good as he grew up in Las Vegas. He recalls his father taking him on Colorado River trips, sometimes in the company of casino owners. Other times the two of them just went cruising around town. In his son’s eyes, the alleged mob enforcer was honest and generous, willing to give advice to neighborhood kids. There were also the times his father couldn’t get to sleep unless Vincent put his arm around him. “He only slept a couple of hours a night. Having my arm around him helped.”

But he also has memories of raids by federal agents and a shooting incident at his house when he was 14. On that occasion, someone attacked his home, and his uncle John’s house, which was located just down the street, with shotguns. Although some shotgun pellets came uncomfortably close to the teenager’s head, no one was injured during the assault. The building and his mother’s car were damaged, however. No one was ever charged in the incident, but both Vincent and his mother believe the police were the culprits.

His father’s reputation gave a unique character to his experiences in school. The other kids knew about Tony and gave Vincent appropriate respect. “I couldn’t get in a fight if I tried,” he says. And his girlfriends didn’t dare cheat on him. Sometimes Tony brought celebrities, such as actor Robert Conrad, to his son’s baseball games, making the boy a celebrity in his own right. A few teachers even asked Vincent if he would get Tony’s autograph for them.

According to Sister Lorraine Forster, who knew Vincent as a student at Bishop Gorman High School, the boy was no problem. “He was a handsome young man,” the retired nun remembers. “He didn’t cause any trouble, didn’t bring any attention to himself. If anything, I’d say he was quiet, maybe a little shy. He was a nice kid.”

But young Vincent also lived by a code of silence. “If I knew someone had done something wrong, I couldn’t tell on them. That’s the way it was.” And sometimes Tony would advise him that the father of one of his classmates was an informant and to be careful. It was not the life of a typical student, to be sure.

Vincent doesn’t try to portray his father as a saint, but neither does he believe the way Tony is portrayed in books and movies is accurate. He doesn’t think his father was capable of that kind of violence, or that he ever killed anybody. “I just can’t see it,” he said.

Was Tony Spilotro a vicious mobster or a loving husband and doting father? Depending on one’s perspective, he might have been both.

The Tide Turns

Tony’s first seven years in Las Vegas were eventful, to say the least. He was firmly entrenched as the King of the Strip and his tentacles reached into California. Money was coming in from a variety of illegal sources. Allegations of criminal acts rolled off him like water off a duck’s back. The federal and local agencies investigating him each had image problems and didn’t necessarily trust each other on the organizational level. The law seemingly was unable to lay a glove on him. It was true that his relationship with Lefty Rosenthal had gone sour, but the one with his former friend’s wife was perking along and, to his knowledge, wasn’t known to the oddsmaker. All seemed to be good in the Ant’s realm.

But his victories over the law were only the initial skirmishes. The battle was far from over; in fact, it was only beginning. Things were happening in the law-enforcement arena that soon began to turn the tide. The FBI was making personnel moves and preparing to launch a full-court press to take Tony down. And in November 1978, Clark County voters made a change at the top of their police department, electing a reform candidate who had vowed to put Tony and his gang in jail or run them out of town.

It was time for round two.

6

The Law

B
y 1978, the population of the Las Vegas Valley had increased to more than 400,000. The tourist numbers were also up dramatically from 1970, nearly doubling to 11 million. Construction of new housing and commercial buildings flourished. With all the long- and short-term arrivals, small-town Las Vegas was gradually but steadily disappearing. And along with the people came their money, improving the economy for the honest and dishonest alike.

The structure of local law enforcement had also undergone a major makeover since Tony Spilotro’s arrival in Las Vegas. On July 1, 1973, the Las Vegas Police Department and the Clark County Sheriff’s Department merged to form the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. Metro, as it became known, was the largest police agency in Nevada. Its jurisdiction covered 8,000 square miles and included the city of Las Vegas and the rest of sprawling unincorporated Clark County. As a part of the initial organizational setup, Clark County Sheriff Ralph Lamb headed the new department. The Lamb family was a powerful political force in the state, and Ralph Lamb, known as “Mr. Metro,” had been the top lawman in Clark County since 1961. His second in command was Undersheriff John Moran, former Las Vegas Chief of Police.

The consolidation itself had been difficult to implement and was unpopular with many police officers, deputies, and politicians. Institutional and personal rivalries festered for the first several months after the merger. In addition to those problems, Metro was initially plagued by budget woes and a lack of equipment, resulting in officers wearing the uniforms and sidearms of their former departments and driving the old vehicles. These ingredients were contrary to a unified police agency.

Metro survived that rocky start and eventually obtained the financing and equipment it needed. In a short time morale began to improve and the animosities of the past were left behind, at least as far as the officers were concerned. Some politicians didn’t forget so quickly, however. Attempts to deconsolidate Metro continued from time to time for years to come.

The fledgling agency had other difficulties, too. Rumors circulated of corruption within the department, and that Sheriff Lamb himself was less than honest. In 1977, Lamb was indicted on charges of income-tax evasion. The IRS alleged that Lamb spent more money than he earned and had accepted “loans” from casino owner Benny Binion—loans that were never intended to be repaid.

The tarnished image of the department didn’t sit well with some, including Commander John McCarthy, head of the Vice, Narcotics and Juvenile Bureau. The New Jersey native and former Las Vegas Police Department cop decided to do something about it: challenge his boss—the nearly legendary Ralph Lamb—in the 1978 election. It was a bold decision, to say the least. Had Lefty Rosenthal handicapped McCarthy’s chances of beating Lamb at that early point, he would likely have made him a substantial underdog. But, odds aside, McCarthy had made up his mind.

John McCarthy

John D. McCarthy was born in Weehawken, New Jersey, on March 4, 1934. His father died when he was seven and times were tough financially. The young McCarthy earned spending money selling newspapers on the street and shining shoes in the local bars. As a teen he got a job at the Gibraltar Paper Box Company, going to high school during the day and working the afternoon shift at the plant. After paying his mother $15 per week for room and board, he was able to save enough money to buy a car.

Upon completing high school in 1952, McCarthy took a better paying job at the General Motors Assembly Plant in Linden, New Jersey, about 20 miles from his home. But the Korean War was still raging, and knowing he was likely to be drafted at any time, he elected to enlist in the Marine Corps in 1953. Hostilities in Korea ended while McCarthy was still undergoing infantry training at Camp Pendleton, California. He was subsequently assigned to the Marine base at Lake Mead, Nevada, and spent the next 18 months guarding some of America’s deadliest weapons.

During his tour in Nevada, he met a girl and fell in love. When he was discharged in February 1956, he headed back to New Jersey, but vowed to return as soon as he saved some money. True to his word, McCarthy was back five months later.

The ex-Marine took a job as a mechanic for the Las Vegas, Tonopah & Reno Bus Line. One day while he was servicing a bus, a Las Vegas police car pulled up. The officer behind the wheel was one of his former Marine Corps buddies; he asked McCarthy if he’d ever considered getting into police work. Later that same day the cop returned with an application for his friend to fill out. Within a few weeks McCarthy had taken and passed a civil service test and a physical exam. He was hired as a police officer on September 13, 1956.

The new cop was issued a couple of used uniforms and was loaned a .38 revolver, handcuffs, and leather gear. His pay was $360 per month, which figured out to $2.25 an hour. There was no provision for overtime pay at that time.

McCarthy had gained a new job, but shortly after being hired he and his girlfriend split up. He wasn’t unattached for long, though. While on patrol one night, he handled a call that led to a stop at Memorial, the town’s only hospital in those days. While there he met a nurse, Marjorie McHale, and began dating her almost immediately. They were married in January 1958. Their first son, Michael, was born on July 3, 1959. A second son, Brian, was born on June 2, 1962.

On the job, McCarthy moved from patrol duty to the Detective Bureau in 1961. He worked the burglary and robbery details. At that time his shift supervisor was also the chief homicide investigator. As a result, McCarthy assisted in the investigation of 24 homicides that year.

In 1963, McCarthy’s mother passed away. While he was back in New Jersey for her funeral, he met a childhood friend who was then a lieutenant with the Union City Police Department. They’d each been with their respective agencies for about the same amount of time, yet his friend had already been promoted twice. When he asked his pal how he had attained rank in such a relatively short time, he got this answer: His buddy had purchased source books for the formulation of questions for police promotional exams and made up questions and answers that he wrote on 3x5 cards. He carried the cards with him while on patrol and studied them religiously when he wasn’t on a call. He became a well-prepared test taker and his efforts had paid off.

Although he’d never been an enthusiastic student, McCarthy decided that when he returned to Las Vegas, he’d do the same thing his friend had done. He kept the promise he’d made to himself and was promoted to sergeant later that year. In 1964, he was named to head the department’s vice and narcotics detail. A promotion to lieutenant followed in 1968. In 1974, now with Metro, he attained the rank of captain. The following year marked another advancement when he was appointed Commander of the Vice, Narcotics and Juvenile Bureau.

By 1977, Commander McCarthy was disillusioned with the leadership of his boss, Ralph Lamb. Sheriff Lamb was under investigation by the IRS. One of Lamb’s brothers was a partner in a bar supply business that had won a contract with almost every resort hotel in the Valley. Lamb himself sat on the Clark County Liquor & Gaming Board and cast votes on the suitability of applicants on whom his own officers conducted background investigations. On top of that, there were rumors that some cops in the Intelligence Bureau were on the mob’s payroll. To McCarthy, these situations represented conflicts of interest at the least and possible criminal activity at the worst. Metro’s credibility with the valley’s citizens and other law-enforcement agencies was in jeopardy. In his mind, the only sure way to reverse the damage to his department’s reputation was to make a change at the top. With that motivation, John McCarthy decided to toss his hat into the political ring.

Recruiting Support

Gary Lang was born and raised in Las Vegas. In 1965, while working as a police cadet in the Las Vegas Police Department, he became a friend of John McCarthy. After a stint in the Army, he rejoined the police department for a short time as a civilian Identification Technician before attending college, obtaining a law degree from the University of Utah, and returning to Southern Nevada.

In the 1970s, he was a practicing criminal defense attorney. His duties frequently brought him to the Metro offices in the City Hall complex on Stewart Avenue. On one such visit in 1977, Lang was walking by McCarthy’s office when the Vice & Narcotics chief asked him to step inside and close the door. “I’ve decided to run against Ralph Lamb in the election next year,” the cop announced.

“The first thing I asked him,” Lang recalls, “was if there was any way I could talk him out of it. He said there wasn’t; his mind was made up. McCarthy said he was looking for an advisor and wanted to know if I’d be interested. I accepted his offer.”

In April 1978, McCarthy approached the Clark County Republican Party and won support for his candidacy. He filed the necessary paperwork the following month. He presented himself as a reform candidate, vowing to restore Metro’s reputation and prestige. Although Sheriff Lamb was acquitted of the tax charges in federal court, those and other allegations, along with the revelations about Detective Joe Blasko and Sgt. Phil Leone, had taken their toll. John McCarthy defeated “Mr. Metro” at the ballot box that November. The celebration was short-lived, however. Though it was difficult beating Ralph Lamb, the next four years proved to be much more so. The problems began immediately.

Promotions, Resentment, and a Lawsuit

Both supporters and critics knew John McCarthy as a first-class honest cop who wanted to do a good job. His integrity wasn’t an issue with those who worked with and for him. Those same people also agree that he was politically naïve and not a proponent of the art of compromise; McCarthy was more the type to make decisions based on what he thought was right, stick to his guns, and let the chips fall where they may. One such decision created a firestorm even before he took office.

In order to implement his campaign promises to reform Metro, McCarthy needed people he could trust in positions of authority within the department. That meant, for example, promoting patrolmen and detectives he felt he could rely on to upper-level management positions over others with more seniority, rank, and experience.

Many of the people who felt they deserved promotions had been Lamb supporters and weren’t happy with McCarthy’s election to begin with. The news that they were being bypassed in favor of what they thought were McCarthy’s cronies went over badly. Their reaction wasn’t limited to locker-room grumbling. On December 28, 39 Metro officers filed a class-action lawsuit challenging the legality of McCarthy’s appointments.

Gary Lang, who had agreed to hold two positions in the new administration, Legal Advisor to Metro and Counsel to the Sheriff, was aware that emotions were running high even before the lawsuit was initiated. On Thanksgiving Day after the election, he received a bomb threat at his residence and was forced to leave his home for two days; no bomb was found. The lawyer isn’t sure members of Metro made the threat, though. He believes that many people in Clark County who had benefited from their relationship with Ralph Lamb over the years were threatened by the election results.

Lang litigated the class-action suit on behalf of Sheriff McCarthy. It was his position that, unpopular or not, McCarthy had no choice but to make the promotions he did. And he was confident the Sheriff had the authority to make them. The court found his argument convincing and ruled in McCarthy’s favor in January. The case was over, but resentment lingered.

Intelligence Bureau

One of the people McCarthy tapped for advancement was destined to become a key player in the efforts to restore Metro’s damaged image, as well as in the fight against Tony Spilotro. Kent Clifford, a former Las Vegas Police Department vice and narcotics detective, had been working for McCarthy at Metro. Clifford was promoted to Commander and put in charge of the Intelligence Bureau. It was a hot-potato assignment, with pressure to produce results almost immediately. Was the appointee up to the task? John McCarthy certainly thought so.

Kent Clifford was born and raised on a farm in Idaho. Upon graduation from high school in 1963, the 18 year old and a buddy left home to make their fortunes, ending up in Las Vegas. Drafted into the Army in 1965, Clifford attended Officer Candidate School. The new Second Lieutenant then spent a year in Germany, where he was promoted to First Lieutenant. That assignment was followed by a 12-month tour in Vietnam, where he was awarded Silver and Bronze stars for his performance in battle. After being discharged, he returned to Las Vegas and enrolled in the University of Nevada at Las Vegas.

Shortly before graduating in 1972, he was sitting in a political science class when the professor started a discussion about the American flag. According to her, the flag was merely a piece of cloth that could be used as a shirt, tablecloth, or rug; even burning it wasn’t a problem. Those comments enraged Clifford, who raised his hand and told the professor, “You shouldn’t be telling the kids that kind of garbage.” As the combat veteran spoke, several students began clapping. His fans turned out to be cops who were enrolled in the same class. Afterward, they invited him to have lunch with them. During conversation Clifford mentioned that he was looking for a job. His new friends suggested that he apply to the Las Vegas Police Department. He’d never considered doing police work and politely declined. A few weeks later, the same group asked Clifford to attend a meeting they set up with Assistant Chief of Police George Allen. Not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings, he agreed. Clifford walked out of that meeting as a newly hired police officer.

Sheriff McCarthy wasn’t the only one to think highly of Kent Clifford. Even a McCarthy critic, one of the 39 officers in the class-action lawsuit, described Clifford this way: “He was one hell of an undercover cop, with guts a mile deep.” The detectives who worked for Clifford in the reorganized unit quickly developed similar respect for their boss. He was aggressive, fearless, and loyal to his officers. Over the next four years, he needed each of those qualities, and more.