The Sixth Family (70 page)
Authors: Lee Lamothe
Retaining so much legal muscle is not an inexpensive proposition. After Vito’s arrest in Montreal, the need for a substantial war chest to pay the mounting fees in this legal battle was quickly realized. As it had done to weather the Tax Court case against Vito, members of the Rizzuto family started setting money aside. On February 10, 2004, Vito’s wife, Giovanna, started an account at the office of their lawyer, Jean Salois, with a $50,000 deposit. Vito’s son Leonardo would kick in $40,000 and Vito’s daughter, Bettina, $25,000. Vito’s mother and father, Nick and Libertina, would add $50,000, according to an accounting of the fund by Salois. The lawyers started putting their case together.
“The Canadian extradition proceedings allege offences for which I am not wanted in the U.S. and for which I have not been indicted,” Vito declared in a sworn affidavit, filed in the Federal Court of Canada in Ottawa, as part of an appeal against being shipped to the United States. “I am not accused of murder in the United States,” he said of the RICO Act indictment against him, which names acts of murder as part of the racketeering conspiracy and not as separate criminal charges. He did not like the way Canadian prosecutors seemed to suggest he faced a murder charge. He felt it was a purposeful conspiracy to spirit him out from under the protection of the Canadian Charter of Rights and into the hands of hungry American law-enforcement officials.
“The confusion between the offences is intentional,” Vito has declared in an affidavit. His arguments were not well received in Canadian courts.
If Vito was feeling abandoned by his government, at least one person in a position of power has been looking out for him. Noël A. Kinsella, a Conservative senator from New Brunswick, who was the leader of the Opposition in the Senate of Canada, rose in the Senate chambers to ask about the decision by Justice Minister Irwin Cotler to order the extradition of Vito, a man he described as “a presumed Mafia operative in Montreal.” His question for the government: “The honorable leader in this place knows that Canadian laws are in place respecting the extradition of persons to jurisdictions where the death penalty could be sought for murder. Would the minister advise this house whether the Minister of Justice has been given any assurances that the death penalty will not be sought?”
Jack Austin, the Senate leader, said that he understood that such assurance had been “sought and obtained.”
Vito’s pending drinking-and-driving charge, meanwhile, which was also before the courts, was put on hold until his more substantial problem could be settled.
MONTREAL, AUGUST 6, 2004In one of the interconnecting labyrinthine hallways of Montreal’s Palais de Justice, the city’s busy courthouse, a graying, bespectacled attorney walked slowly toward one of the many courtrooms. His wide smile and ruffled hair were instantly recognizable to passing lawyers and reporters, although many had to quiz others nearby to actually put a name to the face. The appearance of Alan M. Dershowitz, the famed Boston lawyer and Harvard law professor, known for representing such celebrity clients as O.J. Simpson and Mike Tyson, was causing something of a celebrity moment himself, brightening up the dry legal proceedings at Vito’s bail hearing before the Quebec Superior Court.
Dershowitz had been engaged to come to Montreal to provide testimony on behalf of Vito on points of American law. His testimony was to bolster the contention, argued by Vito’s lawyers, that the chances of successful prosecution in New York was slight and so it would be in the best interests of justice to release Vito on bail while he awaited decisions over his various appeals, made to both the Quebec Court of Appeal and the Federal Court of Canada.
It was a surprising appearance and Dershowitz was mobbed by reporters anxious for a sound bite. They seemed disappointed when he stuck so closely to his script of arcane legal facts.
“The charges in this case are very specific and very narrow and they end in 1981, so, under a traditional statute of limitation analysis, he would have had to be prosecuted by 1986,” Dershowitz told reporters. His appearance, however, suggested the lengths to which Vito would go to defend himself. But even Dershowitz could not prevail. Nor could five citizens of Montreal who offered their homes and businesses as sureties against Vito fleeing if released on bail: the owner of a supermarket in the plaza beside the Club Social Consenza; a woman from Cattolica Eraclea and her husband, close neighbors of the Rizzutos, who run a Laval submarine-sandwich shop and own several buildings in Montreal; another former resident of Cattolica Eraclea who has known Vito since childhood and offered his catering business as a surety; and yet another former resident of Vito’s hometown who offered his small chain of bakeries. The bail request and appeal were led by Pierre Morneau, the same lawyer involved in the Newfoundland case when his dinner table was bugged by the RCMP.
Vito’s bail request was turned down and, in November 2005, a panel of three judges with the Quebec Court of Appeal unanimously rejected his appeal of the extradition order. Since he had already withdrawn an appeal to the Federal Court of Canada, his options were narrowing.
On December 22, 2005, Vito appealed to the Supreme Court of Canada, the highest court in the country, to overturn the government’s decision to send him to face trial in the United States.
BROOKLYN, 2005In New York, meanwhile, Vito’s co-accused were not facing such delays and had started to trickle through the justice system. Few were faring well. The government had moved immediately for permanent orders of detention against 16 of the accused, including Vito—who had already been called dangerous and a flight risk in court documents, though he was not yet before a U.S. court. It was a hurdle for many just to make bail. Some never did.
Bail climbed to $6 million for Patrick “Patty Muscles” Romanello, described as a longstanding associate of the Bonanno Family who was facing life imprisonment. Romanello was accused in the 1983 murder of Enrico Mazzeo, a former deputy commissioner of the New York City Marine and Aviation Department who was moonlighting as a Bonanno associate when shot, wrapped in a plastic bag and placed in the trunk of his rental car. Before closing the trunk, a Bonanno soldier stabbed Mazzeo eight to 10 times in the neck to make sure he was dead.
Romanello was also charged with the 1990 murder of Louis Tuzzio, a Bonanno associate who was killed on orders from Sal Vitale, after demands for his blood were made by John Gotti. Tuzzio drew the wrath of the Dapper Don when he was involved in a hit aimed at Gus Farace, a Bonanno associate. Farace was ordered killed because he had murdered Special Agent Everett Hatcher, an undercover DEA officer; the ensuing police outrage brought a wave of unwanted pressure on the mob. During the sloppy Farace hit, Tuzzio and two colleagues shot and injured the son of an influential Gambino Family soldier. Similarly, the slaying of Tuzzio was not a smooth piece of work. When detectives found him dead in the driver’s seat of his car in Brooklyn, there were clear signs of a struggle: he had cuts across his face and head, and his right leg was resting on the car’s dashboard, suggesting he was trying to kick out the front windshield when he died. In his hand was a clump of hair yanked from an attacker. Romanello would eventually plead guilty.
Romanello’s bid for bail took an unusual twist after he offered up property listed in the names of his wife and mother-in-law as sureties that he would not flee. The government questioned how much influence his wife really had over Romanello. Prosecutors then revealed that Romanello had a second family that his wife did not know about.
“If this stands in the way of being granted bail, Mr. Romanello has authorized counsel to acknowledge the fact before his wife and children in open court,” Romanello’s lawyer replied. Observers pondered which would be a worse punishment for Romanello—incarceration at the crowded Metropolitan Detention Center or house arrest under the watchful eye of a wife who would just be learning of her husband’s extensive extramarital activities.
Notwithstanding Romanello’s obvious virility, looking at the medical dossiers of many of Vito’s other co-defendants—and ignoring their criminal allegations—it hardly seemed a robust group assembled before the courts. The number of medical ailments they complained of, brought to the attention of the judge to boost their bids for bail or a loosening of their strict bail provisions, could have filled a medical textbook.
“He’s in very poor physical health,” James Frocaro, lawyer for accused 70-year-old gangster Louis Restivo, said in court. “I actually had to write down what he suffers from because there is so much. And they’re all serious,” he said, before listing them: diabetic neuropathy, heart disease, high blood pressure, kidney disease, eye disease, gangrene in his foot, a crippling lower back condition and open heart surgery three years before. Others cataloged their often arcane ailments and maladies for the court’s consideration.
The Sixth Family’s old friend, Baldassare “Baldo” Amato, had problems of a different sort. Amato was already in prison from a robbery conviction when he was rearrested on the racketeering indictment. For Amato, in particular, the prospects look grim.
“More than 10 cooperating witnesses will testify to Amato’s association with, and position in, the Bonanno Family,” prosecutors said in court filings. “Amato has been observed by surveillance agents for more than 20 years at organized-crime-related locations and events,” the government continued. More perturbing for Amato, however, was his predicament over a racketeering-robbery charge against him that was included in the indictment. Amato was charged with ordering the violent armed robbery of patrons and employees of Café Vienna in Queens, in March 1997. Two of the men who went with baseball bats, sledgehammers and a gun to the underground gambling den to force those inside to turn over their money and jewelry were prepared to testify that they were sent by Amato as retaliation for the proprietors’ audacity in competing with one of his gambling joints. This charge against Amato was easy pickings for the prosecutors, because on July 13, 2000, Amato pleaded guilty to organizing the heist in a deal described as a sweetheart of an offer at the time. In hindsight, it was disastrous for him. It is an oddity of the Racketeering-Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act that past criminal convictions can be used against a defendant a second time if the act is later shown to be part of a criminal enterprise. The government planned to enter Amato’s guilty plea as evidence of his complicity in ongoing racketeering. Their job was already half done.
“To prove Amato’s participation in a ‘pattern of racketeering activity, ’ the government need only prevail on one of the remaining four racketeering acts, the evidence of each of which is strong,” prosecutors said. Amato faced life imprisonment if convicted. As an Italian-born immigrant who never obtained U.S. citizenship, he also faced deportation to Italy at the conclusion of any sentence. Perhaps that pressure took its mental toll on the weary gangster. Or, alternatively, perhaps it gave him incentive to pursue creative defense strategies. Regardless, Amato had a rocky time in court. He went through several appearances unrepresented by legal counsel. He was eventually assigned a public defender but this did not seem to lessen his torment. His new lawyer, Michael Hueston, quickly began pushing for extensive testing—psychological, neurological and physical. After one early court appearance, Amato complained that he had become ill during transit from his cell to the courtroom and asked to be excused from future routine court appearances for medical reasons.
“It appears the defendant may or may not be able to stand trial,” said Judge Garaufis, who then ordered that a prison neurologist examine Amato. There was clearly some concern over the legitimacy of his complaints, but the proposition of delaying the trial against others while Amato’s tests were completed was unacceptable. Amato was quickly severed from his co-accused to face justice later if he was found fit to face trial. Amato was not letting his defense rest during his medical examinations, however. A private investigator working for him was at the U.S. Archives in New York poring through boxes of records from old drug trials, including the famed Pizza Connection. He was anxious to read, among other things, the testimony of Tommaso Buscetta, the Sicilian Mafia turncoat.
Federal prosecutors felt Amato’s weak position could be exploited. They had asked him so many times to cooperate that he wrote to Judge Garaufis directly, begging him to tell the government lawyers to stop pestering him to turn on Vito and other co-accused. “I told my attorney the first time,” Amato wrote after another try by the government, “that I was not interested in cooperating. I pray to your honor to not allow the [prosecutor] to discuss with my attorney about me co-operating.” He won that battle, perhaps his last victory. Forced to face trial in the summer of 2006, a jury heard the long chronicle of his life in crime and even witnessed firsthand the fear Amato could instill. Francesco Fiordilino, a Bonanno associate from Castellammare del Golfo, who had known Amato for much of his life, had joined the tide of informants, even testifying at the trial of Joey Massino, the family boss. After taking the stand at Amato’s trial, however, Fiordilino made a surprise announcement.
“Your Honor, I ain’t testifying,” he said.
“What’s that?” Judge Garaufis said, clearly stunned.
“I ain’t testifying.”
The prosecutor, John Buretta, explained Fiordilino’s predicament: “The witness is scared of Baldo Amato.” Over the lunch break, Fiordilino was convinced to uphold his end of the deal, but the drama did nothing to convince the jury that Amato was a man wrongfully accused. He was duly found guilty after a six-week trial. In October, 2006, the 54-year-old mobster who was once a frequent visitor to Canada was given a life sentence and a tongue-lashing from Judge Garaufis: “Mr. Amato, you’re just a plain, wanton murderer and a Mafia assassin. The sentence I’m going to give you, as far as I’m concerned, is a gift.”
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