by Behn, Noel;
According to Costa, Pino dropped it.
“We were backing up across the street carrying this radio when a car comes speeding up,” Jimmy relates. “Tony’s all bent over with his ass sticking out. This car almost tears his ass off. Tony gives a jump and yells like you never heard and grabs his ass. And the radio console goes flying. And I don’t know why he’s bellyaching about it the rest of his life. For chrissakes, we went right out and boosted another one that same afternoon.”
The second set was defective.
On a Wednesday afternoon in November Pino entered the Chamber of Commerce building dressed in a suit and tie and a recently boosted overcoat.
“If you can see a pete, you can take her,” Tony explained. “And we ain’t seen her, but we know she ain’t in the cellar. So that means she gotta be upstairs in that office of theirs. Behind the door in the back of the room with the counting table.
“Okay, I’m a respectable businessman, and I ride the elevator. I go to the floor below Brink’s and check the fire stairs. Look ’em up and down and go down ’em. Check ’em all the way down. If anyone asks, I’m gettin’ exercise.
“So what I see is some painters working on the third floor. Psst, that’s it!
“I go running home and take the white baker’s costume of mine and throw paint on it. I come back Saturday morning looking like an Italian painter. I got a bucket and brush, too—the ones I used to paint the new apartment.
“Okay, I start going up them stairs, start up the winding marble staircase in the lobby. There ain’t other painters along the way, and that ain’t luck. I planned it, see what I mean? The Chamber of Commerce ain’t gonna pay painters double time on Saturday if they can help it.”
On the second-floor stairway Pino heard voices, sneaked up to the third-level landing, peeked around the corner, saw a group of electricians at work, beat a rapid retreat. The following Tuesday he was back on the stairs in his painter’s disguise.
“I go right around noon,” he explained, “when the legitimate painters go eat their lunch. Okay, there ain’t no electricians on the third floor. I keep going up. It’s good. No one around. Then I get a case of the jitters. This is a million-dollar proposition. I hear my heart pounding. I’m huffing and puffing, too, ’cause these stairs is steep. But I gotta go on, rain or snow.
“Okay, now I’m on the Brink’s floor. I feel myself going again. Getting them jitters. It’s a tense time. There’s nothing there but me and the door. Now I’m right at it. I open the door a crack and peek in. A goddamn hack’s sitting right there in a glass cage holding a goddamn shotgun. I take it on the arches like some kind of hurricane.”
So much for burglarizing the Brink’s vault.
“Okay, the clout is off, but there’s no use crying over spilt milk. And the milk ain’t spilt that much anyway, know what I mean? I still own them people. Brink’s belongs to me.”
Pino waited behind the steering wheel of his parked Chevrolet, searched the predawn Thursday morning darkness of Post Office Square. A light was on in the windows of the FBI office, but nowhere else. There was no movement on the street. He reached down on the seat, opened his lunch bucket, removed the empty milk bottle and binoculars, unwrapped a sandwich and took a bite. Two tiny white dots appeared in the rearview mirror, jiggled and grew larger. He put the food aside, started the engine, let it idle. The pair of dots expanded into wide beam headlights. A rumbling was heard. The Brink’s truck carrying the metal box passed. He waited until the white armored vehicle was a hundred yards beyond him, then switched on his own headlights and followed. Two blocks ahead the Brink’s truck drove into Dock Square and veered right. Pino reached Dock Square and veered left, but not before squinting off to the side and seeing the armored truck drive off along Moon Street. The following Thursday morning he was parked several blocks beyond the opposite side of Dock Square. He watched the truck come up Moon Street and head into the Callahan Tunnel.
BOOK TWO
GOLDEN EGGS
Chapter Seven
Jimma
Jazz Maffie left the men’s bar at Jimmy O’Keefe’s restaurant shortly after sunset. On his way out he told the hatcheck girl he was going up the block for a few minutes to pay off a winning bettor. To take his calls. That he’d be back soon. Once in his Pontiac he drove to Amory Street in a section of Boston known as Roxbury. He parked and walked around the corner to Egleston Square.
“Oh, I know that neighborhood,” Maffie explains. “My people had a place about ten blocks away. So I go around to Tony Pino’s house for this meet. The reason I came over was Sandy Richardson said Jimma Faherty was out of the can, and they were going to make a meet about Brink’s.
“So let me tell you about that meet at Tony Pino’s house. I’m going to try to tell you everything about it because you won’t believe everything that happened. I still don’t.
“Tony Pino had this new apartment at the corner of Washington and Columbus Avenue. The first-floor apartment. I went in, and Sandy Richardson introduced me. He said, ‘Jazz, this is Jimma Faherty. This is Tony. Pino’s brother-in-law, Vinnie Costa, who works with us sometimes and sometimes he doesn’t.’ I met Tony Pino’s wife, too, Mary Pino. I don’t think they were married yet, but everybody called her his wife. Mary Pino was a very nice woman, and she brought us coffee and whiskey. You could see that she was bigger than Tony Pino. Not fatter. Mary Pino had a good figure. She was taller than Tony Pino.
“So the only one who wasn’t at Tony Pino’s apartment was Tony Pino. The rest of us talked about this and that, and it wasn’t easy. Tony Pino’s apartment was right under the elevated tracks, the elevated that ran along Washington Street. When a train came by, the whole joint roared and shook. There were a lot of trains that night.
“Let me tell you about Jimma Faherty. He was sitting in the chair next to mine, and he wasn’t talking to anybody. He was sitting there, wearing carpenter’s overalls and a hat and reading a book. I looked down and saw that he was wearing shoes, too. He had shoes okay, but he didn’t have socks. So I watched him read for a while, and then I said to him, ‘Hey, is that a good book you’re reading?’
“He said, ‘It’s not a book, It’s poems.’
“I said, ‘Oh, no kidding.’
“He said, ‘No kidding.’
“Then he said, ‘You want me to read you a poem?’
I didn’t know what to say because he was very sincere and polite. So I said, ‘Why don’t you just tell me what they’re about?’
“He said, ‘Swans.’
“‘Swans?’
“He said, ‘Have you heard about the great Grogan?’* or somebody.’
“I said, ‘No, I haven’t. Who’s the great Grogan?’
“‘A great Irish poet.’
“‘Oh,’ I said. Then I said, ‘What makes him so great?’
“He said, ‘Swans follow him around.’
“So I thought I had two nuts on my hands. I already knew Tony Pino was a nut, and there’s this guy in overalls and a hat and no socks talking about swans tailing people.
“I lit up my cigar and tried to pretend I wasn’t there. There was nobody to talk to because Sandy Richardson was sitting and sleeping and Vinnie Costa wasn’t in the living room. Mary Pino wasn’t there either. So I sat there listening to the elevated trains. I put my cigar in the ashtray, and when I went to reach for it again, it wasn’t there. I looked around, and then I looked at Jimma Faherty. He was still reading and smoking my cigar. What are you going to do, call a cop? I took out another cigar.
“Tony Pino came running in the room, and I started smiling. He was wearing a green doorman’s uniform with big brass buttons and gold braids on it. And he was wearing a green doorman’s cap that was too big and almost came down over his eyes. He told Vinnie Costa to get Mary Pino out of the house, and then he ran out as fast as he ran in. He didn’t say hello to anybody. Vinnie Costa went into the kitchen, and all kinds of shouting started. All this time the elevated trains were shaking hell outta
the joint, but you still heard the shouting. And when the door slammed, you heard that. So the door slammed, and Vinnie Costa ran through the living room and out the front door. Tony Pino, Vinnie Costa and another guy came back in pushing a big refrigerator they just swiped from somebody. Only Tony Pino let the other two guys do most of the work. Most—hell, he ran back outside. Vinnie Costa and the other guy pushed the refrigerator off to the kitchen. Tony Pino came back in carrying two big suitcases. I looked around, and I thought I was going nuts. Nobody was paying attention. Sandy Richardson was still sitting up snoring. Jimma Faherty was reading about swans and smoking my cigar.
“So Tony Pino put the suitcases down in the corner, and the guy who helped move the refrigerator went home. Vinnie Costa came in the room, and Tony Pino said the meet had come to order. He started yelling at Sandy Richardson for sleeping, and he told Jimma Faherty to put away the swans.
“Tony Pino tried getting the meet going, and I can’t keep a straight face. Tony Pino didn’t sit down when he talked. He hopped all over the living room in his green uniform and waved his arms. He had the hat on, too—the big one—and he had to keep pushing it up so he could see. I looked at Jimma Faherty. He was slouched down in his chair and had his arms folded over his chest. One eye was closed, and the other was flicking like it was falling asleep. Sandy Richardson had trouble keeping his eyes open, too. Vinnie Costa was looking at the ceiling. Every now and then Vinnie Costa would interrupt Tony Pino and correct him. And don’t forget, trains kept roaring by.
“So I sat there acting like everything was normal. And you want to hear the first thing Tony Pino talked about? He talked about buying gasoline. Us buying, him selling. Tony Pino was working at the gas station across the street, at Tony’s Socony. He was pumping gas, and he wanted us to all buy our gas from him. But he didn’t tell you that like any human being. He had to tell you about giving Tony Socony fifteen hundred bucks under the table and being a silent partner in the joint and they were going to give away dishes if you bought enough gas and had a lube job.
“Tony Pino finally got around to talking about all the scores he spotted. It was the longest list you ever heard. Tony Pino didn’t only tell you about a score. He told you everything about a score like he told you everything about buying gas. He told you how he was riding on a Stop and Shop truck when he found this one or how he was walking down the street after he got fired and found that one. He told you what he was wearing and what he had for dinner.
“So Tony Pino went on and on, and some of the scores sounded good—some factories and warehouses and office buildings. Some were plain nuts—an ice-cream parlor and a dog kennel. I started thinking that every joint Tony Pino walked past he wanted to hit. I knew I was right when he said he wanted to go right next door and rob Joe McGinnis’ place. That’s when I said, ‘Hey, do you know who Joe McGinnis is?’
“Tony Pino said, ‘Who the hell cares who he is, he’s got a safe, doesn’t he?’
“Everybody in Boston knew that Joe McGinnis was the crookedest guy in town. Joe McGinnis had contacts everywhere—and Tony Pino knew it, too. So I said to Tony Pino, ‘Have you ever met Joe McGinnis?’
“Tony Pino said, ‘I’ve seen him around.’
“I said, ‘Well, why don’t you go and take a second look at him? A nice long look?’
“Joe McGinnis was the meanest-looking rogue ever born. A great big baldheaded guy who was built like a bull and just as strong. He could tear a person apart with his bare hands, but he liked using a baseball bat better.
“That’s when Jimma Faherty opened both eyes. He told Tony Pino they had to leave Joe McGinnis alone because Joe McGinnis and Mike Geagan were good friends. Tony Pino said if they were friends, Mike Geagan would have told him. Then the fight started between Tony Pino and Vinnie Costa.
“Vinnie Costa told Tony Pino that he was there when Mike Geagan told Tony Pino about being a friend of Joe McGinnis’. Tony Pino heard that and went crazy. He yelled at Vinnie Costa and called Him every name there was. Vinnie Costa kept looking at the ceiling and wouldn’t change his story. Tony Pino got redder and redder and shouted louder and louder. I never remembered seeing a man get that mad that fast. I remembered thinking it was a good thing Tony Pino didn’t own a baseball bat. He was ready to do damage.
“Sandy Richardson got up and said, ‘Let’s forget it.’ It was the damnedest thing. Only those words, and Tony Pino was calm again. He acted like he forgot all about the argument.
“Tony Pino went right back to talking about the scores. When he finished, he asked which one I was interested in.
“I said, ‘Oh, I’m not interested in any of them. I thought you knew that before I came over.’
“Tony Pino started to get red again and said to me, ‘Then why the hell did you come over at all?’
“I said, ‘Because I thought you were going to talk about Brink’s!’
“Tony Pino damned near choked. He wanted to know how I knew about Brink’s. I told him I’d been hearing about it all over town. I was sorry I said that. Tony Pino turned white as death. He sat down in a chair and started breathing heavy like he was going to have a heart attack. I started to worry, but Sandy Richardson signaled he’d take care of it. Sandy Richardson began to tell Tony Pino that he told me about Brink’s, and that’s when the crash came. The floor jumped, too. It felt like one of the trains had hit the house. I jumped up and looked around. The refrigerator was laying on the floor in the doorway, and Mary Pino was standing behind it, kicking it. Tony Pino jumped up, too, and asked her what she was doing. Mary Pino said she was going to kick the refrigerator right out into the gutter because it was stolen property. Tony Pino swore it wasn’t stolen. He said he bought it and had a receipt. She’s already called the store that the receipt was from, and they said they didn’t carry refrigerators. She called Tony Pino this and that and told him to get rid of the refrigerator. Tony Pino gave up easy. He said okay, he’d take the refrigerator away in the morning.
“So Tony Pino was up on his feet and walking around. He wasn’t white or having a heart attack anymore. He wanted to know where I heard about Brink’s. Sandy Richardson said he told me. That’s when Tony Pino started telling us about Brink’s. Telling us everything. The whole story about spotting the metal box and using the office to spy on them. He said he went up to their joint and found out we couldn’t get to the safe. He said Brink’s was still going to make us all rich, that he was tailing some trucks.
“Jimma Faherty told Tony Pino to be careful around Brink’s trucks. Jimma Faherty said that Brink’s was always trying out brand-new gimmicks so they wouldn’t be robbed. He said he heard that Brink’s used radar on their trucks to keep people from following them. Tony Pino asked what radar was. Jimma Faherty said it was a new secret weapon the Navy used to sink submarines. Tony Pino wanted to know where Jimma Faherty heard all this. All about Brink’s and radar. Jimma Faherty said he read about it in the prison library.
“Tony Pino said we should all go home and think about which score we wanted to hit. He said they’d have another meet soon to decide which went first. He told me I could be in on Brink’s if I wanted. Be in even if I didn’t want to go on any of the other jobs. I said I’d think about it. And that was the end of the meet.
“Oh, wait, there was one more thing. Everybody started to leave Tony Pino’s apartment. I was out in the hall, and Tony Pino grabbed my arm and said he wanted to talk privately. We went back in the living room and he said, ‘What size do you take?’
“I said, ‘What are you talking about?’
“He said, ‘Suit size. What suit size do you take?’
“I said, ‘Oh, I take a forty-two. Forty-two long.’
“He said, ‘You look like a forty regular to me.’
“I said, ‘Well, maybe I lost some weight, but my arms didn’t shrink.’
“He said, ‘When you lose weight, your arms always shrink.’
“So I was standing there thinking of something else to say, and Tony Pin
o ran over and opened a big suitcase I saw him bring in earlier. He started throwing out suits on the floor, looking at sizes and throwing them away. He came running back, carrying two suits. He held the jackets up to me and said, ‘See, I told you they fit.’
“I said, ‘Well, let me try them on.’
“He said, ‘Don’t you trust me?’
“Well, I don’t want to call a man a liar in his own home, so I said, ‘I’m not calling you nothing. But maybe my arms didn’t shrink as much as you think?’
“He said, ‘If you don’t try them on, you can have them both for thirty dollars.’
“You want to know something? That wasn’t a bad price. So I told him I’d think it over.”
Jimma Faherty had a propensity for getting arrested; he had been booked for nine offenses as a juvenile and twelve more as an adult. Jimma Faherty had a propensity for being convicted; he had spent twelve and a third of his thirty-three years in penal institutions as a result of twelve specific counts.
Jimma Faherty had a propensity for drinking. When he and Sandy and Mike and Tony were all together on the old crew, he outdrank Richardson and Geagan two to one. Jimma occasionally went out on a job soused; once he was so crocked he brought along a machine gun, thinking it was a .32 caliber pistol. Jimma’s favorite legitimate part-time job was bartending.
Jimma Faherty had a propensity to lose articles of clothing when he got drunk. Given a few drinks on either side of the wall, chances were good he might soon be without a shirt or socks or shoes or all three or more.
Sober or not, incarcerated or not, five-foot nine-inch, 150-pound James Ignatius Faherty had a sense of humor and gift of gab that was rivaled only by his intelligence. Indications are his IQ neared the 160 quotient. Drunk or not, Jimma was the official debating champ of Charlestown Prison, as well as the official inmate designated to accompany visiting VIPs around the institution.