The Heart of an Assassin

by Tony Bertot

  After all formalities were exchanged, Tyler suggested they wait until he got the car and honked before bringing the judge out. They all agreed.

  Tyler went out the front of the church heading south on Riverside Drive to where he parked his car. As he walked down the street, he noticed a black Toyota parked across the street, with the engine idling and two men in it. What the fuck is going on, he thought to himself.

  Not bringing any attention to himself, he continued his walk. Reaching the other end of the street, he turned right and, when he was out of sight, ran to his car.

  “Shit, what the fuck do I do?” he said to himself. Tyler pulled out, made a right at Riverside Drive, and pulled up to the space behind the car with the two men in it. Stepping quickly out of his car, he approached the driver whose window was down. “Excuse me,” Tyler said.

  “Uh, yeah,” the driver asked.

  “Can you tell me where Claremont Avenue is?” asked Tyler.

  “Yeah, it’s about one block over,” responded the driver.

  The man in the driver’s seat looked about six foot one with a bulky built, wearing a white shirt under a dark suit with no tie. The passenger looked about five feet and some inches, very thin built, wearing a black turtleneck sweater under a black jacket.

  The passenger had an overcoat sitting on his lap with hands tucked under it. Tyler reached into his jacket and pulled out his revolver and placed it against the driver’s temple. “I want to see both your hands, right now,” he ordered. Both men made their hands visible.

  “Hey, man, what the fuck is this?” the driver asked.

  “Why are you parked here?” asked Tyler.

  “We are waiting for our wives to come out of the church. They are members of the choir,” the passenger said.

  “Let me see your license and registration,” Tyler ordered.

  “Why? We haven’t done anything,” asked the driver.

  Without any warning the passenger reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun and fired at Tyler, who was partially visible in the driver’s window. It happened so fast, that Tyler fell backward on the pavement, avoiding getting shot in the face or chest.

  The driver put the car in drive and gunned the accelerator. The car jumped out of its parking spot, hitting the right taillight of a car parked a few feet in front of them. Tyler fired after them, hitting their backlight and trunk as the car screeched away.

  Out of the church came Sam with his pistol drawn. Not moving too far from the entryway, he shouted out to Tyler, “You alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” Tyler responded. Tyler jumped into his car and drove it up on the sidewalk in front of the church. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he shouted to Sam.

  Sam ran back into the church to retrieve the others. In a matter of seconds, they all piled into the car, made a quick U-turn and headed south toward Ninety-Fifth Street where they entered the Henry Hudson Parkway heading north. Less than a block away, a hotdog vendor witnessed the events that unfolded in the last few minutes.

  First Stop

  June 1, 1984 (O’Hare Airport)

  Nick Costello, now traveling as Neal Galuchi, a freelance reporter for several magazines, arrived at O’Hare airport in Chicago. Over time, Nick had become accustomed to using various disguises. Bleaching his hair blond, wearing a plaid suit, dark-rimmed glasses, and walking with a cane to help offset a fictitious bad limp, helped him to feel more at ease as he traveled about. The dark glasses gave him the ability to look around without bringing any suspicion to him. Anytime he entered an area, such as an airport or air plane, he would look into each person’s face and determine, at a glance, if they posed a threat, if they were what they seemed or not. He could mentally count the number of men, women, and children that were on the flight with him, and would listen to any conversations in his immediate area. He always picked a seat in the aisle at the back so that he could monitor any and all events that occurred during a flight. He was quite knowledgeable on how the emergency doors opened and where they were located. He had mentally practiced an emergency escape countless times over the last twenty years and, fortunately, never had to use it. Unlike many of those in his business, Nick always assumed he would get caught and was always prepared to do what he had to do to avoid it.

  Exiting the plane, he managed to cling to a young lady who was carrying a child and several bags while pushing a stroller. He offered to push the stroller for her and help her to the baggage area. “Please, please let me help you with your stroller and bags,” Nick invited her. At first she hesitated, however, his demeanor and the fact he was limping made her feel at ease.

  “Oh, okay, thank you,” she said. “My husband should be at the gate to meet us,” she commented.

  “Of course, no problem,” he responded while taking control of the stroller and one of her bags.

  They walked, single file, off the plane. As they exited the gate, Nick looked about and saw a man a few feet behind the crowd start to wave. “Is that your husband?” Nick inquired.

  “Yes, yes, that’s him,” she responded as she too started to wave.

  They walked toward the man. The woman, the child, and the man all embraced while Nick stood there holding the stroller. “This gentleman was kind enough to help me with the bags and stroller,” she told her husband.

  “It was my pleasure,” Nick responded. Her husband nodded and thanked Nick for his kindness, eager to embrace his child and his wife again.

  “You folks have a great day,” Nick said as he walked away.

  “You too, sir,” the husband responded with a big smile on his face.

  Nick walked toward the baggage claim area, and as he did he spotted at least three suspicious-looking characters at different locations. A couple were standing about as if they had all the time in the world, while the other was pretending to be busy glancing at a magazine in front of a gate with no departure date on it. None gave him a second look. They may not be looking for him, but they are definitely looking for someone, he thought.

  Nick decided three strikes and you’re out, so he made the decision to leave the airport and head to another location to pick up his instructions. Hailing a cab, he headed for the Marriott Hotel on Frontage Road in Burr Ridge. Entering the hotel lobby, he turned right and walked over to a lounge area and seated himself. From this vantage point, he could see the front desk as well as anyone else who may be idly passing time in the lobby. The two clerks behind the desk were both busy with clients checking in or out. They appeared to be competent at their jobs as calls came in while they were handling customers. After a short time, Nick strolled over to the front desk, identified himself, and asked if there were any messages for him.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Galuchi,” responded the clerk as he handed Nick a manila envelope. “Will you be checking in now, sir?” asked the clerk.

  “No, not at this time,” answered Nick. “Can you direct me to your dining area?”

  “Why yes, of course, sir. Go to your left, past the elevators and the restaurant will be on your right,” the clerk responded. Nick nodded and went in the direction of the restaurant.

  Reaching the restaurant, he walked in and exited through the other side, then hailed a cab. Nick made it a practice to know the layout of any location, making sure that there was more than one entrance or exit.

  Before exiting the cab, Nick switched his identity to Robert Edwards by replacing the Neal Galuchi driver’s license and credit cards with that of his new identity. Neal’s credit cards and driver’s license were concealed in a pocket located on the inside bottom of his pants. Nick found this to be risky, but necessary as he didn’t want anyone to track the whereabouts of either of his pseudo characters.

  Nick arrived at the Holiday Inn close to Midway airport. He walked directly to the gift shop, which was located in the lobby opposite the front desk. Buying Life Savers candy and a magazine, Nick scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary. After a short period, he felt comfortable, at least for the
moment, and checked in.

  “Welcome to Chicago,” the clerk behind the desk said.

  “Thank you,” responded Nick, eyeing him and watching for anything that might be deemed suspicious. He then handed the clerk his credit card and showed him his driver’s license.

  “You are booked for one night, Mr. Edwards. Please sign here,” the clerk said while pointing to a sheet he placed in front of Nick. Nick signed, was handed a card access key to room 315, and was bid a good day.

  Once in his room, Nick opened the envelope and glanced at the information provided. Next, he tore up the paper into small pieces and flushed them down the toilet.

  The job was in New York, which made things a little easier. So after rechecking the room, making a mental imprint of how it had been left, he departed for Chicago’s Midway International Airport where he booked a flight to Long Island’s MacArthur Airport.

  The hit was two individuals, Naiba Nadroi and Icile Nadroi. After a short time, Nick was able to interpret the names to be Felicia and Fabio Giordano. This could prove to be an interesting if not amusing situation. A simultaneous hit on rival families? Only time would tell.

  Second Stop

  June 2, 1984 (New Jersey)

  On his flight, Nick smiled to himself as he tried to anticipate the orders that Felicia would have for him. It would be amusing if the hit was on a top member of the Chicago family. How would he collect if he wiped out both of the clients? He smiled to himself as he pondered the situation. After a short period, he came up with a plan on how to collect from all parties.

  Upon his arrival to MacArthur airport, he rented a car and drove to the Holiday Inn in Hauppauge, one of the drop-off points Felicia was instructed to use. He stepped out of his car and entered the lobby from a back entrance, which was left open during the day. Making his way toward the front desk, he stopped short when he noticed that a camera had been installed. He immediately turned around and walked out of the Inn to his car and left the area.

  “Damn!” he said to himself.

  Driving west on the Long Island Expressway he made his way toward Hicksville where there was another drop off point. Forty-five minutes later, he was on the corner of Newbridge Road and West Old Country Road where there was a restaurant called the Breakfast House. He sat down and ordered a chicken salad with some lemonade. As he sat there, he did his usual, and casual, search of the premises. There were no cameras here, and he waited to see if anyone was just hanging around. He did spot a middle-aged man reading a newspaper who seemed to be waiting for someone. Nick watched this man through his dark sunglasses and decided he did not pose a threat. An hour later, he finished his lunch, paid, and left only to return five minutes later to use the restroom. Suddenly there was a huge explosion on the other side of the restaurant. People jumped from their seats, running toward the commotion.

  Using the explosion as a distraction, Nick entered the restroom. Only one occupant could use it at any given time, and the entrance was not in plain view of the customers or anyone else in the restaurant. Lastly, there was a wide enough window in the back from which to exit. Nick locked the door behind him, pulled the cover off the trash can. He picked up the plastic garbage bag and extracted the envelope at the bottom, replacing the bag and cover to its original state. He unlocked the door and exited the bathroom via the window, closing it behind him. He then quickly made his way to his car and left the area.

  Nick continued west and was in Newark, New Jersey, an hour and half later. Turning in his car as Robert Edwards, he hailed a cab and checked into a nearby motor lodge as Neal Galuchi. Next, he called Jay Messina from a nearby phone booth.

  Nick had not contacted Jay since his last job in New York about twenty years ago and was anxious to see how his old buddy was doing. “I am sorry, but that number has been disconnected” was the recording Nick heard. He left and returned to the motor lodge. Where are you, Jay, Nick thought to himself.

  Though Nick made it a point to keep in contact with most of the people he worked with, on an annual basis, Jay was not among them. Jay and he went back many years, and Nick trusted him. Due to other assignments and priorities, Nick had not tried to communicate with Jay for over twenty years. Has it been that long? Damn, I dropped the ball on this one.

  Nick remembered he and Jay agreed on a plan in the event Jay was ever compromised. The plan was simple; Jay would disconnect one of three numbers. If the first number was disconnected, it was an indication that Jay needed to talk with him as soon as possible. If the second number was disconnected, it would mean that he was compromised but that Nick did not have to worry, he had successfully escaped. If the third number was disconnected it would mean that they knew who Nick was and that he needed to take the appropriate action to disappear. Since Nick lived under an assumed name, this did not worry him.

  Nick called all three numbers from the local phone booth and was somewhat relieved while at the same time disappointed to know that the second number, but not the third, had been disconnected. Nick trusted only a handful people in his life. Jay was one of those people, and now he had gone underground. Nick knew he left the country and figured he would go to a warm climate, to places they had talked about when they were together in the service. Good luck to you, Jay, Nick thought.

  Nick was now forced to change his plan slightly. This made him uneasy; he would be exposing himself to contacts he had never used before, especially now when the hit was a corrupted judge being protected by federal agents. He thought back to other hits of the past; all had an element of risk. But this hit raised the stakes higher. Nick was becoming excited with the challenge and prospect of successfully completing his mission.

  Here One Day, Gone the Other

  October 1969

  What Nick didn’t know was that approximately five years after his last visit to New York City, the FBI got a tip about Jay Messina. They got word that Jay was operating a gun shop in the back of his little store. The FBI, as was standard procedure, decided to monitor Mr. Messina’s activities before closing in. This proved to be a bad decision on their part because Jay was a very cautious man who had installed concealed cameras years ago to monitor the streets around his shop. Cameras he could monitor from his home six miles away and, thus, became aware of not only their surveillance, but that they had planted bugs in his shop. As usual, he went to work the next several days and acted as if nothing was wrong as he cleaned out his back room. Step-by-step, he dismantled all of the weapons in the hidden room, carrying them out in his attaché case; cleaned them thoroughly of any fingerprints, then discarded them in different locations (rivers, garbage cans, etc.) throughout the city.

  On his last day, he spread gasoline inside his secret room and nailed it shut, then planted explosives with a timer set for 5:00 a.m. Next, he closed his shop at the normal time, knowing full well that he was being watched, and drove home.

  The 5:00 a.m. explosion could be heard over half a mile away. By 5:10 a.m. FBI agents burst into Jay Messina’s home only to find he was gone with over a ten-hour head start. Though his car was still in the driveway, they noticed that the motorcycle he never used was no longer there.

  An all-points bulletin went out for someone riding a Harley Davidson FXRT 1340 Sport Glide motorcycle. The authorities quickly moved to freeze his checking and savings accounts only to find that Jay had transferred over $25,000 to an offshore account the previous night. They also discovered that he had other accounts under a different name totaling over $50,000, which were depleted soon after his disappearance.

  The motorcycle was later found parked at the Baltimore Washington International Airport, over a hundred miles away . No one using his name or fitting his description were ever found boarding any flights out of the country. Jay Messina simply disappeared.

  Agents, using forensics, were able to tie the murder weapon used to kill Bolnaldo Costellino to Jay Messina’s shop. An intense investigation of Jay Messina ensued. At first, they suspected him of committing the assassination, but were l
ater disappointed to learn that he was placed at his shop when the shooting occurred. Next, they began to look into his military record to determine with whom he served and had formed friendships with during that time. They came up with seven names whose profiles fit the person they were looking for. Five were identified and cleared. The remaining two, Nick Costello and Theodosio Gresco, were unaccounted for.

  Most interesting was that Nick Costello and Theodosio Gresco had become members of the Giovanna family, responsible for most of the major crimes in Chicago from 1955 thru 1959, including numbers and prostitution rackets. In early 1959, Frank and Emilio Sabrisio were found shot in their family vacation home in Florida. Four of their top lieutenants were also found dead two days later in their Chicago headquarters with over $180,000 missing from the safe. However, missing until the 1964 drive-by shooting of Sylvia Santiago were the two victims, Theodore Enzinola, also known as Uncle Ted, and Joseph Bolano, otherwise known as Fat Man. As for Nick Costello and Theodosio Gresco, they simply disappeared from the face of the earth.

  In Early News

  June 4-11, 1984

  “John, coffee is on,” shouted Stephanie up to her husband.

  “Be right down, honey,” John responded.

  It was 7:00 a.m., and the O’Malley household was coming to life. “Dad, hurry up, I got to use the bathroom,” his daughter Julie, knocking on the bathroom door, shouted out to him.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll be out in a minute,” he answered.

  A few minutes later, John was on his way downstairs for his morning breakfast, stopping by his son’s room to knock on the door and tell him it was time to get up. “Uh . . . okay . . . Dad . . . I’m up,” John heard as he continued on his trek downstairs.