Brutal: The Untold Story of My Life Inside Whitey Bulger's Irish Mob (33 page)

Over the next six weeks, Jimmy and I had a lot of phone calls. Since he was on the lam now, he’d had to get rid of his beeper and was using calling cards at pay phones to call me at numbers I would give him. I’d never have him call me at the same number twice. He’d always tell me exactly when he would call, and he was never a minute late with each call. I never had a number to reach him at.

The next time I saw Jimmy was in the middle of February 1995. He’d made arrangements to drop off Theresa at her daughter Karen’s house in Hingham and pick up Catherine Greig. Theresa wasn’t well suited for life on the run, and after two months she was ready to come home and see her four kids. Cathy was much better equipped for that kind of life. She had no kids and had been devoted to Jimmy since the early 1980s. Cathy was very intelligent, and always upbeat and pleasant. A good person, she treated everybody in the same nice manner. She had two toy black poodles, Nicki and Gigi, that she and Jimmy loved and were always walking. Cathy was a dental hygienist, but thanks to caring for Nicki and Gigi, she’d become expert at grooming dogs as well. They had been together as long as I had known Jimmy.

Cathy lived with Jimmy—when he wasn’t living with Theresa—in a house in Squantum. In mid-February, Jimmy made arrangements for me to meet Cathy at 7:30
P.M
. at the bottom of the Golden Gate stairs that run down from Thomas Park in South Boston. When I drove up, she was coming down the stairs. Her sister Margaret had dropped her off and taken Nicki and Gigi. Cathy gave me her usual big smile and hopped in my black Pontiac Bonneville and we took off. I’d driven around for an hour before I met her, to make sure I was clean and there was no law following me. As always, Cathy looked attractive and well put together. Blond and blue-eyed, she had a lovely smile, a pretty face, and nice bone structure to her face. And she kept herself in good shape. That night she was wearing warm clothes, no hat, and a big smile, and carried an over-the-shoulder type of weekend bag as her only piece of luggage.

We drove around for another hour to make sure neither one of us was being followed before heading over to Malibu Beach in Dorchester. There were two parking lots on the beach, one on the Morrissey Boulevard side, where I was to park, and the other on the Savin Hill side, where Jimmy would park.

Cathy and I were on the walkway heading from the Morrissey Boulevard side to the Savin Hill side, about nine, when Jimmy appeared out of the shadows of the cold, clear February night. Trying to surprise us, he strode calmly out of the darkness. But Cathy saw him right away and picked up her pace. I could see a few other people around, but no one was paying us any attention. At first Jimmy didn’t show any outward emotion, but as he got closer, he gave us a wide smile.

“How you doing?” he asked simply, and Cathy went right to him and gave him a big hug. The two of them embraced a long minute, making a dramatic scene, sort of like out of
Casablanca.
He was wearing a Stetson hat, a black leather jacket, and dark jeans. He and I shook hands, and the three of us walked over to the Savin Hill side of the parking lot. Jimmy seemed nice and relaxed and in a good mood, like he didn’t have a care in the world. We got into his black Mercury Grand Marquis, me in front with him driving and Cathy in back, which is how we usually sat when we were out with women.

We drove around South Boston and Dorchester for an hour or so, just to see the town and stuff. Jimmy was joking around for a little bit and then we talked about what was going on with the case, how Stevie was doing and why he hadn’t taken off. Jimmy had spent nine years in prison, including a stint in Alcatraz, so he knew how hard it would be for Stevie, who’d never been in prison before. He felt that was one of the reasons Stevie hadn’t fled, the fact that he had no idea what prison was like. He was worried that left to his own devices, Stevie would self-destruct.

Actually, eight years earlier, back in 1987, Jimmy had wanted to pack it in. He was approaching sixty and figured it was time to retire. He’d had enough of it all. He wasn’t sure what he would do, maybe travel. He certainly didn’t need any more money. It would have been fine with me. But Stevie had wanted to stay active and Jimmy was hostage to him.

Now, even though Jimmy had been gone less than two months, it was obvious that he was preparing to stay out as long as he had to. I knew it would work for him. He’d prepared for this for years. And he had no bad habits, no vices. He didn’t drink or gamble or use drugs. Things would have been different if he did any of those things. Plus, most important, he was extremely self-disciplined and would never let his guard down. It takes a lot of money to stay out there, but I imagined he had taken care of that. Driving around that night, I did ask him if he needed money and he said he was all set.

Finally, Jim drove me back to my car and I gave him a new phone number where he could reach me whenever he needed me. He said he’d call me. And then I got out of the car and Jimmy and I had a handshake and the two of them drove off.

Although the indictments had been served and Jimmy was officially a fugitive, I had pretty much the same routine as before, although it was less restrictive and more relaxing without him around. I’d stay home till around noon. Then I’d shower and shave and go down to the variety store around 1:30 and stay till 6:00
P.M
. People would come down to see me and complain. I’d hear about people being bothered, kids breaking into houses, relatives beating up family members, the basic day-to-day complaints. As I’d always done, I’d have to deal with each situation. I’d grab the people who were preying on weaker people and tell them to stop it. I’d find the guys who were robbing in Southie and send them to Newton or Wellesley. “Don’t go robbing your own people,” I’d tell them. “Go to the richer towns. They have more.”

Parents who were having trouble with their kids would ask me to talk to the kids and help keep them out of trouble. Some kids were trying drugs or getting into fights all the time or stealing cars. I’d go to the house or see the kids on the street or when they came into the store and tell them, “What you’re doing is building up a record where you will end up doing time in jail. Everything you’re doing is foolish. You’re not making any money doing what you’re doing. It’s not worth it.” I didn’t have a record, but I had a reputation and the kids might listen to me better than they would to their parents. I sponsored some basketball and hockey teams, giving money to each team so they could buy uniforms and equipment. The community wasn’t as close as it had been when I was growing up, with a lot of people leaving and a lot of outsiders moving in. It was actually a tougher place now, and it wasn’t easy for a kid to stay out of trouble.

Lots of people were coming up to me and saying, “Tell him I said hi.” I couldn’t say okay because if one of these people were working for the law, it would show that I had knowledge of Jimmy’s whereabouts or had contact with him. Then law enforcement would indict me for aiding and abetting.

If I saw his brother Billy, I’d say, “Everybody is doing good,” and he could draw his own conclusions. I would never want to jeopardize Billy or put him in a compromising position. I considered it plausible deniability. I was saying something without saying the words.

But most nights, around six, I’d leave the store, get dinner, and head back out afterward. Most Tuesday nights, I’d play pool in a league for four hours or so. Thursday nights, I’d play cards. They were friendly games where we would enjoy the action and have some fun while killing a night.

Obviously, I wasn’t making as much money as before, since my operation was smaller now. I still had a few drug dealers and bookmakers who were paying me or giving me a cut. I had my gambling and loan-sharking businesses, as well as the sports business with guys working for me to take bets on football games. But after the indictments, we’d pulled our horns in. Things were a lot quieter on the streets in Southie.

I was also visiting Stevie in Plymouth once a week at the beginning, and then maybe every two or three weeks. But he was calling me every night asking me when I was coming up, talking about the case and what was happening in court. I didn’t like talking on the phone at all. I was afraid he might say something accidentally on the phone, where every conversation from prison was recorded. I felt like he was making me a target by calling me every day.

When I visited him in Plymouth, we’d sit separated by the glass partition and talk on the phone. There would be no physical contact. Despite what some of the newspaper reports said about Stevie, things were pretty bad at Plymouth. The food was terrible and he had lost weight. You had to remember that Plymouth was a federal holding facility, where you’re being detained until trial. It wasn’t a state joint like Norfolk where things were much better and you had more facilities, and there was more to do to occupy your time.

But Jimmy had been right about Stevie. He wasn’t doing well in prison. Whenever we’d talk about Jimmy, he’d always say, “It’s better for my case that the other guy is out there. Tell him to stay free.” There was no doubt that the whole atmosphere of the trial and everything would be changed if Jimmy had gotten caught. It would be more of a media event than it already was.

Although I was hearing from Jimmy pretty regularly, at least once a week, and often two or three times a week, I had no idea where he and Cathy were. And I wouldn’t ask. In May 1995, he called to ask me to meet him “at the lions” in New York. So I took the Amtrak out of Dedham to Penn Station, and had no trouble getting on the train without being followed.

When I got to New York, around one o’clock, I met Jimmy and Cathy “at the lions,” which referred to the two statues of lions in front of the main branch of the New York Public Library, on the corner of 41st Street and Fifth Avenue. Cathy looked great, as usual. She was still taking good care of herself and seemed as happy and pleasant as ever. Jimmy wore boots, a dark three-quarter-length jacket with a drawstring at the waist, slacks, a baseball hat, sunglasses, and no gloves. No change in his appearance from how he dressed in Southie.

Sometimes Cathy would stand off to the side to give Jimmy and me a chance to talk privately. Mostly we talked about the case and what was happening. He was now using his ID as Thomas Baxter and was confident about the way things were going. He’d heard from whoever else he was in contact with now that the case on him was falling apart, thanks to bickering between the state police and FBI. Also, some of the people involved in the case, like George Kaufman and Chico Krantz, were sick and might not make it to trial.

Then the three of us took a long walk, just three more assholes blending in with the rest of the assholes walking along the streets of New York. We stopped at a restaurant in one of the hotels and had an early dinner. After dinner, I turned around and came back on the train.

In late June 1995, I had to take off and get out of town for the summer. Paul Moore, a South Boston drug dealer who was paying us money, had been arrested and had started to cooperate. I had had dealings with Paul and knew there was an excellent chance I would get indicted. So I took off for the summer. I went to New Hampshire, to the Lake Win-nipesaukee area, and had a great time for myself. I had three different places to stay at, including one owned by my wife’s uncle. There were reports that I wasn’t around, and anyone looking for me would have had a hard time finding me. I spent my days swimming off the dock, cruising around the lake in a maroon-and-white Chaparral boat I bought with a 350-horsepower inboard/outboard motor.

Since there weren’t many pay phones available for use in the Lakes Region in New Hampshire, it wasn’t easy finding numbers to give to Jimmy to call me at. So I got myself a pair of hand phones, like the ones the linemen from the telephone company use, from a friend who worked for the telephone company. I’d find out the phone number of a local business. Then at night, when the buildings were closed, I’d clip the handset onto a junction box on the outside of the building where the telephone line came in, and Jimmy would call me there. The building was always closed then, so no one else was around and I could talk to him as long as he wanted, usually ten or fifteen minutes. I managed to do this at maybe four different buildings near the lake, so the two of us could stay in touch that summer. Every once in a while I’d sneak back into South Boston and take care of what I had to do and then head right back up to New Hampshire.

Finally, the first week in September, the superseding indictments on Jimmy and Stevie came down but I wasn’t mentioned. I came back to Boston a week later, relieved to have escaped another round. It was easier to talk to Jimmy at different pay phones back in South Boston. Every time we talked, he sounded great, upbeat, and not at all worried about his case. “A rolling stone gathers no moss,” he would tell me, which I assumed meant he was moving around the country, using calling cards in lots of different places to call me.

Finally, in the spring of 1996, a year since I’d last seen him, he asked me to meet him again in New York, “at the lions.” The purpose of the visit was simply to touch base with one another. I took the train and again had no trouble eluding the law. When I met him and Cathy at the public library, they both looked great. She had natural blonde hair, but it looked like she had lightened it a bit. It was obvious he was still keeping in shape. The two of them looked completely relaxed, like they were on vacation. He wasn’t one of those people who showed a lot of affection in public. He felt that was all for show, so they didn’t walk around holding hands. But you could tell he cared for her. And there was no question she cared for him.

It was a nice late May day and the three of us walked around Bryant Park behind the library and talked about what was going on with the case and in Southie. Then we grabbed a sandwich and a tonic from a nearby sandwich shop and walked around some more. Finally, around six, we headed back to Penn Station. Jimmy and Cathy walked me right down to the platform, where the three of us shook hands and I hopped on the train back to Boston. As always, when I was on the train, I didn’t allow myself to fall asleep, feeling the need to stay awake and be aware of my surroundings.