Tyranny of a Lover...Diary of the Wife of an Undercover informant

by Janet J. White

  An hour later, Dick and Clark appeared at my side. "Clark and I are going to tackle the crap tables," Dick said with a smile. "I see you're doing alright, so we won't bother you. See ya later, Pussycat."

  Following my golden rule of gambling, I continued playing as long as I won. If I lost three hands in a row, I quit. When all the seats at the black-jack filled up, my winning streak vanished. I picked up my chips, cashed in with a few hundred bucks ahead and wandered through the labyrinth of gaming tables. I spotted Dick and Clark bent over a crap table, nodded to them and moved on.

  A few minutes later, Clark sought me out. With the sweetest grandfatherly smile, he asked, "Jen, can you make me a small loan? My luck's about to change for the better."

  "Sure, Clark. Would a couple of hundred help?"

  "Thanks, Jen." Clark took the money and cocked his head. "That ought to do it."

  Clark's prediction came true. Twenty minutes later, he again sought me out. With another sweet smile, he handed me the cash he had borrowed. I very much liked that classic elderly gentleman. Clark lifted his hand in farewell and made his way back through the throngs of players to give his favorite crap table another costly lesson.

  Soon, Dick appeared at my side. "Let's have a drink." He took my elbow and steered me to a corner booth in one of the many cocktail lounges. He ordered each of us a Bloody Mary and sat in silence waiting for the drinks, before filling me in. "All the arrangements are set with the casino and Jacob Davis," he said. "Clark let Davis know that I'd be the 'bag man' from now on. That's the ultimate in trust, you know." Looking around to make sure he wasn’t being overheard, he sat back and munched on a celery stick.

  "How does it work?" I asked.

  "It's simple. I'll be carrying satchels filled with ones, fives, tens and twenty-dollar Dicks to the casino money cage, where the cashier will count the money, then exchange the small Dicks for fifties and hundreds. Money laundering is strictly a matter of bulk and weight. Look at it this way: A one hundred dollar bill weighs the same as a one dollar bill and takes up the same amount of space. So two bulky suitcases filled with small denomination bills are exchanged for larger bills that can be stuffed into a briefcase. After a wash, I'm to fly back to Sarasota and turn the briefcase over to Clark. Then Clark or Jackson will hop a plane to one of their offshore banks to deposit the money. They have a system, probably with the bank's collusion, of depositing just under ten grand for each transaction. That way, the bank doesn't have to notify the IRS or any other government agency, which makes the money untraceable and tax-free. No doubt that's why the Feds want an IRS agent in on this sting...they want their cut."

  Dick signaled the server for another round of drinks, before continuing. "And then, there's the service fee to the casino. Jacob Davis charges four percent of whatever amount is washed. For example, to launder a hundred thousand dollars, the casino gets four thousand bucks. The fee is placed in a separate envelope and given to the person in the money cage along with the cash to be washed. That's all there is to it."

  "I see. I'd really like to be more enthusiastic about all of this, but I can't help being apprehensive. That chopped off limb again. We're in this up to our necks. I understand Vegas casinos run continual videotapes covering every nook and cranny. That means they now have pictures of both of us and they'll know who to look for after the arrests begin. And that brings up another point. Should we be talking about this here?"

  "No problem," Dick wheezed. "I told you before, don't worry so much. Come on, drink up and have a good time."

  I tried.

  The day after we returned home, Sonny called Dick, wanting to be sure that the money wash arrangements had been made at The Royal Casino. Dick told him, "Don't worry Sonny, the smoking lamp has been lit."

  "I'll see you later, Jen," Dick said, kissing me on the cheek. "I'm due to meet another IRS agent Sonny's brought in. I hope I won't have to send this one packing."

  "I'm glad you didn't invite me along this time," I told him, heading for the couch. "I'm going to take a down day and recover from the trip. Nobody ever sleeps in Vegas."

  Later, Dick tiptoed in and awakened me with a kiss. "How did it go?" I mumbled.

  "Good. Looks like the new IRS man will work out. Bob Manginess is his name. He and I talked for two hours in Sonny's office. After he left I told Sonny he'd be okay and I'd introduce him to Clark's outfit as the third partner of Brad and Jake. As planned, I'll wait until after the first wash. I don't want to push Clark by bringing in the third man too soon. Might make him skittish."

  The following week, with all their ducks lined up, the FBI opened their 'money chest' and pulled out $119,000 for the government's first money laundering transaction. $100,000 for the wash, $4,000 for The Royal Casino's fee, and $15,000 for Clark as a one-time-only finder's fee.

  "Will the Feds give Clark the fifteen grand before the wash?"

  "Yep, I'm going with Brad and Jake tomorrow to give Clark the cash. Then Clark will call Jacob Davis in Vegas and give him the okay for this Thursday's wash. Clark trusts me to handle things now, so he won't be going along. Brad, Jake and I will carry the money to the casino. None of us will be wearing a bug or carrying a gun. Nice and clean."

  Early Thursday morning, Dick awakened excited and happy. "No breakfast for me, Pussycat. Will you get me some coffee while I pack?"

  "Sure thing," I said, putting on a big pot of coffee.

  Dick gulped black coffee and packed his hanging weekend traveler. I sat on the bed and watched my husband, unable to grasp the workings of his mind. Mentally, I shook my head.

  Dick gave me a quick peck on the lips. "So long, Pussycat, and don't worry. I'll see you this evening, if all goes well, that is..."

  "Be careful, Dick. I hope everything goes well. We'll have porterhouse steaks and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon when you get back. Good Luck."

  About nine that evening, I heard Dick's key in the front door and rushed to open it. He stepped into the foyer with a broad smile. Although he looked tired, his eyes sparked with excitement.

  "How did it go?" I asked.

  "Great." He picked me up and swung me around.

  "Hey," I laughed.

  "Just like clockwork." Dick nudged my neck and set me back on my feet. "Not a hitch. Looks like a winner. We're in. The Feds did what they were supposed to do. They had the casino's fee in one envelope and $100,000 in two lightweight nylon bags. We walked out of The Royal Casino an hour later with lots of $50's and $100's. And best of all, Clark said we'll get a piece of his $15,000 finder's fee. He's going to give us ten per cent, $1,500 plus another $500 for the first wash. We'll see him tomorrow to get our cut. Clark also told me we'll get half a percent of all the monies washed by anyone I bring into camp. Let's have that bottle of wine...maybe two. I feel like celebrating. The steak can come later...much later."

  "You got it!" I said, happy because he was. We sipped wine as he filled me in on every little detail of his big day.

  The following afternoon, Clark grinned at us from behind his desk and handed Dick an envelope containing $2,000 in cash. "Good job, Dick," he said, standing up to shake his hand. "It's not much money, but it's a start. This is only the beginning. Pretty soon, you and Jen will be getting some decent figures."

  Dick flashed him a big smile. "Heck, Clark, this is fine. It's what we agreed on and I know things will get even better. Jen takes care of the books and Dicks, so she'll handle the folding stuff." Dick handed me the envelope.

  "Speaking of that." Clark turned to me warmly. "Dick tells me you have a coin collection. That right?"

  "Yes, Clark. I've been collecting for years."

  "Well, here's a little something for you. Clark leaned over and handed me a silver coin encased in plastic. "It's an uncirculated Barber silver dollar."

  "Many thanks, Clark. It's a beautiful coin. That's very thoughtful of you and Winnie."

  "Think nothing of it," he murmured. "Good of you to make me that little lo
an back there in Vegas. You know what's it's like when you're right on the verge of a good streak...you hate to quit."

  "I know the feeling," I said, smiling.

  On the inside, I felt like crying for Clark.

  We said good-bye. On the drive home, I laid my head back and sunk into depressing thoughts and images of what will happen to Clark after that heart-stopping moment when he's arrested, handcuffed and taken away from his Winnie. Their lives, what little of it remained, would be destroyed.

  "You know, Dick, I feel terrible about Clark and Winnie. For weeks now, I've had dreadful nightmares about Clark being hauled off to jail. I wake up sobbing."

  Dick shrugged. "You'll get over it, Pussycat."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Farewell, My Daughter

  "Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom must undergo the fatigue of supporting it."

  --Thomas Paine

  Early one morning, the phone rang as we sat down to breakfast. Dick spoke to someone briefly, and then hung up. "A guy wants to see me."

  "Who's that?"

  "A guy named Pete Shaffer, another drug smuggler who lives in Sarasota. We're meeting today about noon at the Holiday Inn. I'll bet I can snare another bunny for Sonny."

  Dick roared. "Think I'll wear a wire. How about coming along? You're pretty good at gleaning information."

  "Won't my presence cramp his style?"

  "Nah. He knows you know the score. Besides, a lot of guys get all puffed up and like to brag in front of a good-looking woman."

  "Alright, Dick. I'll do some chores and be ready to leave by 11:30. I'm beginning to feel like Mata Hari."

  Before entering the Holiday Inn, Dick unbuttoned his shirt and activated the thin micro-cassette recorder taped to his chest. In the cool bar, he spotted Pete Shaffer seated in the last booth facing the entrance. Shaffer waved us over. We slid into the booth and the man reached across the table to shake hands with both of us. In his mid-forties with thinning hair, Shaffer had a grizzled face that had hardened into a permanent scowl.

  Dick ordered a round of drinks as the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes and laid them on the table. "Help yourself," he said.

  "I have some, but I'll try one of yours." Dick reached for the pack. "I've started smoking again and I'm still looking for a brand I like." They both lit up and waited for the drinks to arrive.

  Shaffer looked around, then leaned forward. "Dick, I'll get right to the point. I know you're with Clark Rainier and I've heard that you guys have a foolproof way of washing money and getting it out of the country. That right?"

  Dick took a long drag on his cigarette, smiled and nodded his head. "Yeah, Pete. We have a good organization and a great set-up that can handle everything for a customer from start to finish. If I read you right, you have the problem of what to do with bushels of small Dicks; how to convert it into untraceable, accessible funds that are tucked away in an off-shore bank where the tax man can't get his hands on it."

  "That's about hits it," the man said, looking pleased.

  "If we work together, I think you'll find the fee reasonable. Our clients consider it the cost of doing business. We have some heavy-duty safety nets built into the system that offer our customers peace of mind."

  Dick finished his Jack Daniels and water, then pointed at Shaffer's drink with a raised brow. Taking note of my almost full scotch and soda, he ordered refills for just himself and the other man.

  "I thought I had the right man." Shaffer's eyes became alive. "My business is growing by leaps and bounds and I've been looking for a way of hiding all that cash before I get in a bind with the IRS."

  "Consider your problem solved." Dick paused. "Let me know when you're ready to make a move and we'll get down to the nuts-and-bolts."

  "Sure thing," Shaffer blew air out of his cheeks, finished his first drink and started on the second. "One of my biggest problems was figuring out how I could get bulk cocaine out of Colombia and into the States. Then I thought of a plan. I'd smuggle the stuff out in plastic bags inside beef carcasses. Right now, my outfit's negotiating with the owners of a meat packing plant. Once that deal's in place, I'll get back to you."

  "Sounds good." Dick raised his glass in a salute, as they grinned at each other.

  "Let's have another round. Now that we know where we're going on the business end of things, tell me what you do for fun."

  A sickly smile settled on Shaffer's face. "What I do for fun is...women. I really love women: all shapes, all sizes, all colors. Hell, I've got me a wife and two kids here in Sarasota, a girlfriend tucked away nearby, and some hot chocolate items sitting on some nice black ass in Belize. Those little coal-skinned gals can really make you scamper. Why, for a few lousy bucks, I can have two or three of them working on me for the whole night at the same time. It's something else! I love it. That's my favorite fun time in the whole wide world."

  Dick laughed uproariously.

  I forced myself to smile and bob my head. "Oh Pete, you devil you." While he enumerated his sexual escapades in obscene detail, I found myself rubbing my hands against my skirt under the table. It was as if I subconsciously wanted to remove the contamination of having shaken the hand of Pete Shaffer.

  A long hour dragged by and finally Dick ended the meeting. "It's been a blast, Pete. Guess Jen and I ought to be going." We slid out of the booth.

  "Yeah, sure, Dick. I'll be in touch. Good to meet you, Jen.” Since Shaffer remained seated, Dick reached down to shake his hand. I forced a smile, but did not offer my hand again.

  Back home, I told Dick that, after being in the company of a man like that, I felt like taking a good, hot shower."

  "I know the feeling." Dick grinned. "He's more the slime of the earth than the salt."

  The next time Sonny put cash in Dick's hand, he turned over the taped recording of our conversation with Shaffer.

  Exit Pete Shaffer.

  In October of 1982, the Feds were ready for the second money wash through the Royal Casino in Vegas. "It's bad enough that we still don’t have signed contracts," I lamented to Dick. “But now they owe us almost $5,000 in out-of-pocket expenses."

  "That's okay," Dick insisted. "Sonny said he'll see that we get it soon."

  Dick had become so embroiled in the game, he forgot to remember the rules he himself had set in place long ago for dealing with the FBI.

  Before the second money wash, Dick introduced IRS agent Bob Manginess to Clark and Jackson as Brad and Jake's third partner from Chicago. Manginess was believed and accepted. The Feds now had all three agents in the door.

  The Fed 'money chest' opened again and Dick carried $104,000 through The Royal Casino, with an FBI agent, a DEA agent and an IRS agent all wearing body wires.

  When Dick returned from Las Vegas this time, I did not greet him with a nice bottle of wine and porterhouse steaks, but with red-hot anger. We had hamburgers and a two-hour shouting match for dinner. I might as well have saved my breath. Dick's brick wall of resistance to my pleas had grown stronger and higher.

  A few days later my daughter Suzie called and excitedly made an announcement. "Mom, Simon and I are getting married in two weeks. I wanted to let you know the minute we knew so that you and Dick could plan to be here in West Palm Beach for the wedding. We're having a small church service and the reception will be held at our duplex right after the ceremony. Can you come?"

  "Of course, Darling," I said, catching her enthusiasm. "I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world. If you're happy, then I'm happy. We'll be there."

  Presenting a picture of family unity seemed the best thing to do. The wedding and intimate reception went beautifully. For a day, we actually appeared to be a normal family.

  Unknown to Suzie or me at the time, the happy occasion gave Dick the opportunity to reconcile with Simon, and to use him as a source to obtain cocaine for Melvin Pome, Dick's crooked gambling partner.

  During the drive home across the state of Flo
rida, Dick and I briefly discussed how lovely Suzie had looked at her wedding. Then I lapsed into silence. With concern for our safety making me weak, both in body and in spirit, the three-hour drive back seemed to take forever.

  A couple of weeks later, having no advance warning and no time to stop the scheme in motion, I answered the doorbell to see Suzie and Simon smiling at me. Before I could ask them why they hadn't let me know they were coming, Dick escorted them into the office, which now explained why Melvin Pome waited there. Simon pulled out a plastic bag and placed it on the desk. Melvin's eyed widened at the amount of cocaine, especially when Dick told Melvin that he owed him $5,000.

  Melvin gasped. "Dick, I didn't say I wanted to buy $5,000 worth of coke. You told me you'd have a sample. And I told you that if it's first rate, I'd make the decision on how much I wanted to buy. And if I made a purchase, then I'd sell most of it a couple ounces at a time, and keep some for myself. I don't know what you're talking about, saying I ordered this big bag of coke."

  Simon's mouth dropped open and Suzie's face turned pale. "I've got to bring back $5,000 in cash," Simon said, giving Dick a hard look. "These people don't want their coke back and they won't take excuses. If I don't have the money, Suzie and I are in for BIG trouble."

  Dumbfounded that Dick had placed my daughter and her husband in this position, I could only shake my head, while feigned surprise registered on Dick's face. "Simon," he said evenly, "this is just a little misunderstanding. I honestly thought Melvin wanted that much. I'm really sorry. Don't let it scare ya pal, we'll work it out."

  The fear in my daughter's eyes left me little choice. "Is the coke a good grade?" I asked Melvin.

  He stuck his finger in the bag, tasted it and rolled it around on his tongue. "It's been cut more than it should be, but it's still decent."

  "Could you sell it a little at a time?" I asked.

  "No problem there. An ounce here, an once there...yeah, I can sell it."