The Ice Man

by Philip Carlo

  Pronge, like Richard, filled contracts for the Mafia, and these two hit it off like long-lost relatives. Richard took an immediate liking to Pronge, who liked Richard. After sharing notes with each other for a while, Richard said he had to get back to work, and he left after they made plans to meet again soon.

  The following evening, Richard managed to park his van close to the mark’s Lincoln. Richard had the tranquilizer gun close at hand. He had practiced with it and was sure he could score a bull’s-eye at close range. A little after midnight, the mark left the hotel and approached his car. Just as he reached it, Richard shot him with the dart, hit him in the left buttock. Startled, the mark turned, began to reach for a weapon, but never made it. He went right down. Richard picked him up, put him in the van, handcuffed his hands and feet together, put duct tape over his mouth, and headed for the caves in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

  This job required torture, and Richard was going to feed him to the rats. He was very pleased at how well the dart gun had worked and planned to use it again. By the time he arrived in Bucks County it was almost 4:00 A.M. Richard parked the van, pulled the mark out, uncuffed his ankles, and walked him to the cave. The guy was hysterical now, crying like a baby, but his mouth was taped and all he could do was grunt and moan. Richard didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. He had heard it all before and didn’t want to hear it again.

  Richard says he didn’t get any particular kick out of doing this. It was just a job, nothing more, he says. In the cave, using a powerful flashlight, Richard made the mark lie down, again cuffed his ankles together. He used his knife and cut the man’s arms so he’d bleed. The blood, Richard knew, would quickly draw the rats to him. Richard set up the camera and light and left.

  When Richard returned two days later the mark was completely gone. There was only a stain on the ground where he had been. This time the rats took even his bones.

  Richard retrieved the camera and that night he watched the video in his war room on Spring Street, and sure enough it was, again, all on film: how the rats first approached, took tentative bites, soon completely covered the mark. Richard proceeded to take the video to Hoboken and showed it to the De Cavalcante captain who had ordered the job. He loved it. Clapped his hands, patted Richard on the back.

  “You’re the fuckin’ best!” he proclaimed, and gladly gave Richard forty thousand dollars.

  Another job well done, another customer satisfied, Richard headed back home, looking in his rearview as he went, pulling off the highway suddenly to make sure he wasn’t being trailed. Besides country music, Richard was fond of oldies, and he sat there listening to “Blue Moon.” The oldies, he now says, relaxed him.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richard knew this couldn’t go on forever, that sooner or later, if he didn’t stop, there would be trouble. He didn’t worry for himself but for his family, his children. If what he was doing came out it would be a terrible thing for them to have to live through. He shook his head at the thought of the embarrassment and humiliation they’d suffer if he was ever exposed. The thought of it shook him to the core of his being. He would, he resolved, make enough money to retire, then walk away from the life and go straight.

  He still had the fantasy-daydream of having a house on the beach in Southern California. He had mentioned it to Barbara numerous times, but she didn’t want to leave Jersey. She liked Jersey. It was where she’d been born and raised, where most her family lived, where her children went to school and had friends.

  “I’m not moving to California. Forget it,” she said, with grave finality. But still Richard had this hope…this dream.

  What I wanted to do was walk away from it all, go to LA, only deal in porn out there—it’s big out there—but Barbara wouldn’t go and so that was that. Barbara made all the decisions when it came to those things…about the family and all.

  Richard and Barbara’s son, Dwayne, was a truly gifted child. He was always first in his class, and this in the prestigious Sacred Heart/Elizabeth Marrow School. Dwayne had grown into an intense dark-haired boy with curious eyes, intelligent beyond his years. His eyes seemed like the eyes of a middle-aged man who had been around the block a few times, not a child’s eyes.

  Barbara, Chris, and Merrick still did their best to shield Dwayne from Richard’s tirades and outbursts. Most weekends he was sent to stay with Barbara’s mom. Richard did try to exhibit more control when Dwayne was around. He seemed to know instinctively that if Dwayne saw him be violent toward Barbara, as the girls did, it would only be a matter of time before Dwayne attacked him, and he’d have to hurt his son.

  Dwayne was painfully shy around strangers, but he was open and gregarious once he got to know someone. Dwayne was endlessly curious, still always reading, a polite, very well-behaved boy any parent would be proud of. Barbara and the girls thought they had protected Dwayne from Richard well, and little if any damage had been done him, his development, how he viewed the world, his take on life, his psyche.

  But in truth, Dwayne knew what was going on. This was a very sharp little guy. He saw the marks on his mother, the black eyes and bruises, the broken furniture, and he well knew his father was responsible.

  At first this exceedingly bright, curious child accepted what he saw, thinking such things were normal. But it didn’t take Dwayne long to piece together the reality of his father’s actions, and it made him terribly angry. Dwayne loved his mother and sisters deeply, and the thought of his father hurting his mom, terrorizing his sisters, left him cold and angry deep inside. Dwayne started planning how he’d defend himself against his father, what he’d do if Richard came to hurt him, even kill him. He began leaving knives and swords Richard had given him in strategic places in his room. When Richard gave Dwayne a BB gun, Dwayne plotted how he could use it to blind his father. Surely if he blinded his father the way Ulysses had blinded the Cyclops, Dwayne could handle Richard, do him in if it came to that. When Richard gave Dwayne a bow-and-arrow set, Dwayne made it part of his arsenal. He practiced with the bow to be able to hit his father, if necessary.

  Barbara was effusively, gushingly proud of Dwayne and let Richard know every chance she had how smart their son was, implying that Richard couldn’t hold a candle to his son. This, of course, caused Richard to resent Dwayne, and sometimes, when angry, he’d stare at his son with a dreadful gleam in his eyes. In fact, one time just after dinner Richard grabbed Barbara, manhandled her in front of Dwayne, and the boy immediately got up and put himself between Richard and Barbara.

  For a second it appeared that Richard might clobber him, but Richard turned away, saying, “I knew it would come to this.”

  “Don’t…don’t do that,” Barbara warned Dwayne. “Never do that!” He didn’t answer her, but no matter what—even if he died—Dwayne would not allow Richard to hurt his mother. Thus, the stage was set for a terrible tragedy, with dire Shakespearean implications.

  In no time Richard and Robert Pronge became…friends. The more Richard learned about Pronge, the more he liked him…at first. In addition, Richard had been looking for an out-of-the-way garage he could rent; he needed a place to stash stolen items and sometimes kill people, and he wound up renting a garage near where Pronge kept his truck.

  Pronge now told Richard he had a job that he had to do in Connecticut and invited Richard to come along. Pronge wanted to show Richard how well the cyanide spray worked. This was, he explained, something he had personally developed, and he was obviously proud of it.

  The mark lived in a nice stone house on a quiet street. He went to work the same time every day and returned the same time every night. This kind of pattern made an assassin’s work relatively easy. Pronge parked about one hundred feet away from the mark’s home. He and Richard sat there, waiting for the mark to arrive home. There was, Pronge pointed out, no wind. “You cannot ever use this stuff in the wind—don’t forget that.”

  When the mark pulled onto the block, Pronge slipped on a pair of gloves and boldly got out of the
car, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

  As the mark parked, Pronge was nearly to his car. The mark opened the car door and stepped out of the car, and at just that moment Pronge sprayed the man right in the face. Pronge turned and calmly walked back toward his car. He hadn’t taken ten steps when the mark fell over. He was soon dead.

  Richard sat there quite amazed, impressed—not an easy task. Pronge got back in the car and off they went.

  “Wow,” Richard said. “So he’s dead?”

  “He is by now.”

  “Smooth. Very smooth. I like it.”

  “Just never use it in the wind if you are outdoors.”

  “Of course,” Richard said, feeling close to his newfound friend, Robert Pronge, who had, before they left, put another license plate on his car with magnets. He now removed the bogus plate.

  Richard had to have one of these cyanide sprays, and back at the garage where Pronge kept his Mister Softee truck, he showed Richard how to mix it and put it into the special spray bottle he had. Richard couldn’t wait to use it; he was a kid with a new toy.

  But on the next job that came his way, he would not be able to use this unique killing tool. It would have to be done the old-fashioned way, with guns and bullets at close range. This would be the most important murder contract Richard had filled to date: the killing of the head of a Mafia family—a milestone in his bloody career.

  Joe and Mary’s

  Just how the Gambino family became involved in the murder of the notorious Carmine Galante is a long, convoluted story with many twists and turns, betrayals and colorful characters.

  Carmine Galante was “one tough cocksucker,” as a rival boss put it. He was born in Riva Del Gotta, Sicily. As a young man he had thick, wavy black hair and the dark, fearless eyes of a predatory killer. Galante came up the Mafia ladder the hard way, gleefully breaking heads and killing people as he went. His early association with the Mafia began with Vito Genovese, who many say Mario Puzo used as a model for his immortal Don Vito Corleone.

  The young Galante was a hit man for Genovese. When someone had to die, Genovese sent Galante. Genovese was a staunch Fascist, an ardent fan of Benito Mussolini, and Genovese ordered Galante to kill an Italian journalist, Carlo Tresca, who worked for Il Progresso and was an outspoken critic of Mussolini. Galante shot him four times, twice in the head, twice in the chest.

  Eventually, however, Galante was inducted into the Bonanno crime family, not the Genovese clan. Joe Bonanno was a far less volatile and violent man than Genovese, but he used Galante to commit murder when necessary. In the early 1950s Joe Bonanno sent Galante to Montreal. Though Bonanno openly condemned dealing in drugs, he put Galante in charge of the Bonanno family’s Montreal rackets—extortion, shylocking—and Galante soon turned Montreal—with Bonanno’s silent blessing—into the main transit point for heroin coming out of Marseille, into America, instigating and encouraging the so-called French Connection. Thus Galante worked his way up in the Bonanno family, and by 1962 he was the underboss of the family. Thinking he was above the law, invisible (very much like Roy DeMeo), Galante ran afoul of the law, was arrested in Brooklyn for drug trafficking, and sent away for twenty years. While he was in prison a psychiatrist announced that Galante was a psychopath…no shit, Sherlock; and while in prison Galante methodically plotted and planned his ascension to the very top position of La Cosa Nostra: capo crimini/capo di tutti capi, the boss of bosses.

  Tough as rusted nails, Galante picked fights with large black guys in prison, got in front of them on food lines, saying, “Get the fuck outta my way, nigger.” From prison Galante boldly let it be known that he planned to take charge of the Bonanno family, that he planned to be capo di tutti capi. By now Carlo Gambino was the boss of bosses, and Galante regularly told anyone who would listen how he would get rid of Gambino, that Gambino was afraid of his own shadow, that Carlo Gambino was a “spineless prick.”

  No one looked forward to Galante’s release, least of all his own crime family, but he was let out of prison in the fall of 1974, having served twelve years. He never testified against anyone. He never tried to cut a deal. He kept his mouth shut and did his time. Not like the mob guys of today.

  Now Galante was balding, wore large black plastic glasses, had a perpetual scowl about his hard face as if he’d been sucking on lemons all the years he’d been away. Bitter, angry, and very dangerous, Carmine Galante quickly managed to take charge of the Bonanno family. By now Joe Bonanno had effectively retired and lived in Tucson, and Galante quickly bullied the family leadership away from Rusty Rastelli.

  Galante immediately plunged the family into heroin distribution. He believed that’s where the most money was, and that’s where he concentrated the family’s resources, energy, and power. This was the beginning of the end: Galante was recklessly leading the family down a ruinous road. He also began ordering the murders of other mob members who, he felt, were competing with his interest. In one year he had killed nine Genovese people (all made men) who dealt in drugs; it was painfully clear to anyone who looked that Carmine Galante would not stop killing until he completely dominated and controlled the exceedingly lucrative drug trade and the entire American Mafia. Yes, he and his family were making truckloads of money, but he was also writing his own death warrant.

  Galante became so out of control, so greedy, so violent, that the heads of the other four families, as well as the powerful New Orleans boss Santo Trafficante, secretly met in Boca Raton, Florida, and decided that Galante had to go or he would eventually destroy La Cosa Nostra single-handedly.

  Thus, with the full commission’s backing, the contract to kill Galante was issued. This was a first. The full commission had never ordered the death of a family head. It was now the summer of 1979.

  Bonanno captains and people Galante trusted were contacted and told what was about to happen, and they agreed to do nothing (they actually had no choice). They would even cooperate in the hit.

  It was decided that people from several families would be used. Genovese killers were tapped. Paul Castellano had committed the Gambino family, he sent Nino Gaggi to see Roy DeMeo, and Gaggi told DeMeo what was in the wind. DeMeo immediately suggested his premier killer—Richard Kuklinski—for the job. “He’s by far the best we got and no one will suspect him. He ain’t one of us. He’s off the map. I mean, we can put him right fuckin’ there close to Galante.”

  Nino agreed and told Paul Castellano, and Paul gave the green light, the proverbial nod, and it was done.

  DeMeo soon called Richard, they met near the Tappan Zee Bridge, and DeMeo told Richard they wanted him to cap the head of a family: kill Carmine Galante. “He’s gotta go,” DeMeo said.

  “No problem,” said Richard. He knew all about Galante, thought of him as a loudmouthed bully, and would gladly blow him away. “Be my pleasure.”

  “Paul himself okayed you.”

  “Really, I’m honored.”

  “This will be very important for you, Big Guy. They’ll owe you huge after this.”

  “Like I said, it’d be my pleasure,” Richard said. Galante was a notorious bully, and Richard had been a bully slayer ever since he killed Charley Lane back in the projects. He hated bullies, truly enjoyed killing them. Richard knew too that this would put him in good with all the families, that this was a sanctioned hit by the commission itself. For Richard this was the job of a lifetime, a homicide milestone.

  It was now late June. The wheels that would result in Carmine Galante’s murder were oiled and inexorably turning. Galante, however, was not an easy man to take out. He was cunning and very dangerous, and he knew that a lot of people wanted him dead. He was a professional assassin himself and knew what to do and what not to do. He never adhered to any set routine. He always traveled armed. He always had two stone-faced bodyguards with him, Caesar Bonventre and Nino Coppola.

  But Galante had no idea that his death had actually been sanctioned by the full Mafia commission, that bosses all over the country, in Philadelph
ia, California, Detroit—even Joe Bonanno—had given the nod that he had to go.

  One of Galante’s bodyguards was also brought into the hit, and he readily agreed to help set up his boss. He really had no option: if he didn’t agree, his days would be numbered. By cooperating he assured his own ascension in the family; he’d have his own crews in no time.

  The hit was going to go down in a restaurant on Knickerbocker Avenue in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn, a heavily Sicilian enclave. It was called Joe and Mary’s Italian-American Restaurant. They served real homemade Sicilian dishes. It was owned by Galante’s cousin Mary. For that reason Galante felt safe there and often had both lunch and dinner there.

  On July 8, 1979, Richard met DeMeo at the Gemini, and they headed over to Bushwick for lunch. DeMeo wanted this to go down flawlessly. For him too it was the biggest job he’d ever taken part in and would guarantee his moving up quickly in the Gambino family. Both his reputation and his life were on the line. This was going to be an inside job, and DeMeo wanted Richard to see the layout, “the lay of the land,” as DeMeo told Richard that morning.

  The restaurant was a small mom-and-pop affair. An inexpensive sign over the front door said:

  JOE AND MARY’S ITALIAN-AMERICAN RESTAURANT—

  SPECIAL ATTENTION TO TAKE OUT ORDERS

  It had a large window from one end of the store to the other, a good twenty feet, with thin, inexpensive curtains covering the window. DeMeo and Richard entered, took a table, and ordered lunch. The food was good and cheap. The two men quietly ate, started with an antipasto, then shared some pasta, thinking about murder, sudden death in the afternoon. Richard then had veal and peppers, Roy a shrimp dish covered with hot marinara sauce. Richard did not like the setup at all. The place was small, long, and narrow, with one way in and one way out. In the back there was an outdoor patio with some tables, enclosed by three-story buildings. It was there, DeMeo said, that Galante liked to sit; he felt secure back there because he could see anyone coming his way in time to make a move; you had to walk the full length of the restaurant to reach the patio.