Ghost

by Michael R. McGowan

  As of June ’97, I had been officially assigned to the Boston office. Seeing that Boston had no Undercover Coordinator (UCC), I asked for and was assigned that job. So even though I wasn’t allowed to go into the office while I was the UCA in the Amabayev case, I was officially coordinating the other UCAs working out of Boston. In my spare time, I read the FBI Undercover Operations Policy Guide manual inside and out, and memorized all the rules. After ten years in the FBI, I’d figured out that if you wanted to get ahead of management, you needed to use their ammunition against them.

  So when a Quantico classmate called from the Philadelphia office in late December ’98 and told me that he needed me for a major LCN UCO between the Philadelphia and Boston offices, I had to say, “Thanks, John, but I just came off a gig and have to go back into the office.”

  He responded, “When the fuck do you ever do what you’re told?”

  Good point. Then he told me that the target was Robert “Boston Bobby” Luisi, who operated in the Boston area under Philadelphia Mob Boss Joseph “Skinny Joey” Merlino. It was a very odd arrangement in LCN circles in a couple of ways.

  First, there was the unusual circumstance of why a Mob captain in Boston was reporting to an LCN Boss in Philadelphia. It had to do with the fact that the New England Mafia was in complete disarray after a series of successful federal prosecutions, and since Luisi’s father, brother, cousin, and another man were shot to death in 1995 in the infamous 99 Restaurant massacre. Bobby Luisi Jr., who was in jail at the time and had been feuding with his father, did not seem upset that a number of his family rivals had been hastily removed from the Boston criminal scene.

  Blocked from becoming a “made man” in Boston, Luisi had petitioned Philadelphia Mob Boss Joey Merlino for permission to join the Philadelphia family. Merlino agreed and made Luisi a Capo in Boston in 1998. Under their unusual arrangement, Merlino protected Luisi’s criminal money-making activities in Boston in exchange for a piece of the action until Luisi could achieve his goal of creating his own crime family in Boston.

  The case was also exceptional because the main target was Joey Merlino in Philadelphia, a Mob Boss and a real pain in the ass. Since the statute of limitation on other crimes Merlino had committed was running out, Philadelphia told Boston we only had six months to make our case against Bobby Luisi.

  Fair enough.

  The informant in both cases was a six-foot, 350-pound corrupt cop-turned-Mob-Captain named Ron “Big Ron” Previte (according to other published sources). Previte operated out of Philadelphia but was willing to travel to Boston and introduce me to Luisi, ASAP.

  Like I said before, Italian Organized Crime was the FBI’s number one criminal priority at the time. This unique opportunity to go after major Mob figures wasn’t something I wanted to pass on. The big obstacle remained the FBI restriction on an Agent doing back-to-back UCOs. But I remembered from my study of the regulations that an undercover could meet with a potential target up to five times before notifying FBIHQ that it became an official undercover operation. Citing that provision of the rules, I prepared to meet with Previte and Luisi in mid-January ’99.

  I’d caught the undercover bug and was super excited. I also knew that this was deadly serious business. The undercover skills I’d learned so far were about to be tested in the lion’s den of Italian Organized Crime. This time I would be going up against a Mob Boss and Capo. The slightest slipup could cost me my life.

  11

  THE ITALIAN MOB—CASE #1

  In early January 1999, two weeks after wrapping up the Russian case, I met with six-foot, 350-pound Mob informant Big Ron Previte. A self-proclaimed “general practitioner of crime,” he was a character straight out of The Sopranos before there was The Sopranos—Big Pussy only tougher, funnier, and smarter.

  A West Philadelphia native, Previte had a long and colorful criminal history. Among other things, he had admitted to selling government-issued gear out of a supply depot while serving in the Air Force, extorting bribe money from criminals as a Philadelphia police officer, stealing from the Tropicana Casino and Resort in Atlantic City as a security guard, and making money by swapping horse urine while working for the New Jersey Racing Commission. Since 1997 and while a “made man” in the Philadelphia LCN Mob, he’d worked as a paid informant for the FBI. His current Mob Boss was “Skinny Joey” Merlino—an ambitious young gangster who was trying to expand his crime empire into New England.

  Funny thing happened. I liked Previte as soon as I met him. He made no bones about his life of crime, and was fearless, despite the fact that he’d been wearing a wire for years. When asked if he worried about getting whacked by the Mob, he answered, “Why think about dying? You’re alive. Enjoy the day. In fact, a bullet to the head is very quick.”

  Previte liked that I wasn’t an Ivy League type, and had been a knock-around kid myself. In terms of working together, neither one of us had a problem with the other. He knew his role, and I understood mine.

  The investigative plan was straightforward—the Boston office would focus on Luisi and his Boston crew, and the Philadelphia office would continue to investigate Merlino and his cronies in Philadelphia as they had for the past couple of years. If the Boston investigation provided more evidence for Philadelphia, so much the better.

  Unlike in the Russian UCO, I spent hours and hours with Previte beforehand, working out our past history. We sat in hotel rooms, restaurants, and barrooms talking and prepping, with him tutoring me in all things LCN. Soon it was if we had known each other for years.

  In a book written after the case by crime reporter George Anastasia entitled The Last Gangster, Previte said, referring to me: “This guy knew what he was doing … he and I worked perfect together … it was like we didn’t have to talk about anything … we just played off one another … he was smooth … he understood.…”

  I was going to be “Irish Mike,” a guy in the Irish export-import business with an office near Logan Airport who “colored outside the lines.” In other words, I had no qualms about selling things “that fell off a truck” (stolen property). To add a touch of authenticity to the offices of my company, Irish International, I purchased hundreds of leprechauns and other Irish-themed trinkets and scattered them everywhere. More importantly, the office was wired for audio and sound.

  The plan was for me to start by offering Luisi and Merlino stolen property, and then move into dope deals, specifically cocaine, because the FBI knew Luisi had been a supplier in the past. We had learned from Previte that because of the unusual LCN alliance between Philadelphia and Boston, everything Luisi got his hands into had to be approved by Joey Merlino first. Again, here was a golden opportunity to gather critical evidence against top Mob players in both Philadelphia and Boston.

  On January 11, 1999, less than a month after wrapping up the Russian case, I welcomed Previte, Bobby Luisi Jr., Robert “The Cook” Gentile, Tommy Caruso, and Paulie Pepicelli into my office. They all looked like Mafia extras from central casting. I saw the outline of an automatic pistol under Paulie’s shiny wool jacket.

  Previte made the introductions. He said, “This is Irish Mike. He and I go back forever. He knows my family. I’ve worked with this guy for years in Philadelphia. He’s an earner. Now you can use him here. Here you go, Bobby.” Not a bad start.

  Luisi was stocky with a square face and thick dark hair brushed back. He didn’t look like the sharpest pencil in the box, but struck me as dangerous and canny. According to Previte, he was a hustler and sometime drug dealer, who talked a better game than he played. He also had to pay Joey Merlino $10,000 a month in tribute, so he needed to make money. That’s where I came in.

  I sat behind a desk piled with papers and stuffed leprechauns facing Previte, Luisi, and the other mobsters, trying to keep my shit together. As Luisi started to talk, the phone rang and I picked it up. It was the Case Agent watching on video from a nearby office. He said, “I want you to start asking them—”

  I cut him off. “No, thanks
.” And hung up. I had to stay focused. I’d learned that once a UCO went “live,” you were on your own. You, and no one else, had to make split-second decisions to advance the case the best way possible. If you waited for help from the sidelines, the bad guy would grow suspicious and walk.

  I described to Luisi how as part of my business I was sometimes presented with “opportunities” and I needed help in taking advantage of them.

  Nodding to Luisi on his right, Previte said to me, “Bobby controls everything here in Boston. You can deal with him the same way you deal with me in Philadelphia.”

  Luisi said, “You’re with us.” Those are magic words to an FBI Agent.

  In Mob-talk that meant he was offering me protection under his name. In other words, I didn’t have to worry about any other Boston criminals bothering me or shaking me down, if I worked with him. It was a very big deal to have a Mob Captain offer something like that on the first meeting. But I had Previte vouching for me, and Previte was one of Merlino’s main guys, and Luisi wanted to make Merlino happy.

  I played dumb and said, “Yeah, Bobby, but I don’t want to have any hassles with other guys who are doing the same thing.”

  “I just told you,” Luisi responded. “You’re with us. You’re not gonna have any problems.”

  The meeting went so well that at the end Luisi said, “Come on down to the North End.” The North End was the Italian section of Boston—a small neighborhood featuring narrow cobblestone streets and brick townhouses that dated back to the seventeenth century. Paul Revere’s home stood there, as did other historical landmarks and many Italian restaurants and cafés.

  We reconvened at the Caffé Vittoria on Hanover Street, which I learned later was one of Luisi’s favorite hangouts. Previte remained in Boston for a couple more days to make sure that the handoff went smoothly. Then I was on my own and officially assigned to Luisi’s LCN Boston crew as an “earner,” or someone who was expected to make money for the Mob.

  Unlike the Russian UCO, where Amanbayev would return to Russia for weeks at a time to give us a break, this UCO required my daily attendance and focus. I was expected to make quick money for Luisi and had to be available at a moment’s notice to meet with him or one of his associates. Luisi and his crew usually woke up at around noon and drifted into their social club at three or four in the afternoon. And they could go all night, drinking coffee and sambuca, playing cards, watching TV, busting balls, shooting the shit, and above all else, hatch schemes to make some money.

  I had to develop a new routine. I started getting up early, having breakfast with my kids, and then taking them to school. They loved it, because they basically hadn’t seen me for two and a half years. From school, I’d drive to the gym and work out for an hour or so to clear my head. I’d drift into my Irish International office at around 1 PM, read the paper, and wait for the phone to ring. Almost every day Luisi or one of his crew would page me, and I’d arrive at their favorite hangout Caffé Vittoria ten minutes later.

  Even though we knew Mob guys were watching me, I had no backup team to swoop in and save me should I get in trouble. The North End was isolated and the type of place where everyone knew one another. The ever-vigilant Mob assumed any strange face was associated with law enforcement. That meant I had to “clean” myself before I returned home at night. I did this by taking different routes through downtown Boston. The narrow city streets made it impossible for anyone to follow me without being seen. Once I reached the Tobin Memorial Bridge, I transitioned from “Irish Mike” to husband/father/baseball coach.

  I made a conscious effort to separate the two, though in many respects the difference between them was minimal. That’s something I teach UCAs today: When creating your UCA profile, mimic your own personality and interests. My interests included dogs and sports, so Irish Mike’s interests were dogs and sports. Irish Mike didn’t pretend to be a car expert or a wine connoisseur because I wasn’t one either.

  The good part about the case was that I was sleeping in my own bed at night. I didn’t get weekends off, but I hadn’t as a Case Agent either. The disturbing part was that some of my FBI bosses were constantly on my ass about my work hours.

  FBI office hours are 8:15 AM–5 PM and many Agents arrive and leave on the dot. My hours as Irish Mike were completely different and some bosses had a problem with that. Since they didn’t see me in the office, they automatically assumed I was dicking off.

  Early into the case one of them called me and said, “You’re nothing fucking special.”

  “I know I’m not special,” I retorted, “but this is what I’ve got to do to work the case.”

  I also had to learn another new language, because Italian mobsters don’t talk like regular people. A typical conversation with them might go like this:

  MOBSTER: “Hey, Mikey, what’s new? How’re they hangin…? Listen, Mikey, I need to talk to you about those things, you know. Them things that I need.”

  IRISH MIKE: “What things you talking about?”

  MOBSTER: “You know, those things.… Not the other things. Those things I told you about.”

  IRISH MIKE: “Those things, yeah.… What do you need? Because I got those things and not the other things. Those the ones?”

  MOBSTER: “Yeah, perfect. That’s exactly what I need. You’re a good guy, Mikey. How’s your dog doin’?”

  IRISH MIKE: “The dog’s good. Real good. You wanna get a sandwich?”

  These guys might be cold-blooded killers, but they were also fun to be around. Both Merlino and Luisi had recently served stints in prison and both were petrified about going back. So I had to earn their trust. In addition, having been part of a Merlino arrest team when I served in Philadelphia, I couldn’t meet with Merlino for fear of being recognized. So I was continually making excuses to Luisi why I couldn’t go to Philadelphia. The truth is that I’d arrested a lot of bad guys in Philadelphia and couldn’t risk a chance encounter with someone who might recognize me as an FBI Agent and compromise the case.

  After my first couple of meetings with Luisi, the Case Agent said, “I want you to start buying dope from them.” Like most Case Agents, he was laser-focused on making a case against Luisi as quickly as possible. And like I said before, we were under a six-month time restraint.

  I answered practically: “I can’t do that right away. It won’t work. Find me some stolen property and I’ll sell them that first.”

  In February 1999, the FBI supplied me with five furs that they had seized in another case. I told Luisi they had been stolen from a high-end store in Connecticut. They retailed for about $100,000 each. As stolen property, they were worth somewhere in the neighborhood of $20,000. I offered them to Luisi for $5,000 each. He gave one to his wife and another to a relative, but couldn’t sell the other three.

  So he didn’t want to pay me. Knowing that I couldn’t let myself be played for a mark if I wanted to appear real, I approached Luisi one day and said, “Hey, Bobby, what the fuck. I just gave you five fur coats worth twenty grand a pop. I gotta get something, too.”

  He replied, “Of course, Mikey. You’re right. Here ya go.”

  Next, I sold Luisi and his crew cases of Kodak 110 and Polaroid 600 film that I told him had “fallen off a truck.” I provided them with stolen cigarettes, showing them I would do anything to make a buck. Then I gifted him a $5,000 Rolex Oyster Perpetual Date Submariner watch that I said I’d gotten from a contact with more of them that he wanted to move. It was a token of my appreciation, I told him, for letting me “join his crew.” He loved it, and showed it off everywhere we went.

  The first week of March ’99, three months into the case, while Luisi was in my office, I made what we call in undercover work “the awkward jab,” as discussed earlier. In other words, I brought up the subject of dope, but went about it in a roundabout way.

  I said, “Bobby, I got some diamonds.”

  “Great, Mikey,” he responded. “I want to get them. I will bring them to a jeweler friend of mine, if h
e likes it … boom. We’ll get the deal done.”

  “The problem is that the owner wants three bricks for them.”

  At the mention of the word “bricks,” which we both understood to mean three kilograms of cocaine, Luisi stood up, pointed to the ceiling, and walked out. I sat behind my desk wondering if he would ever return, when I noticed him signaling me through a glass partition. I met him in the lobby of the remodeled factory building. Without saying a word, he indicated for me to follow him down a back stairway. Two floors down, he stopped, leaned into me, and whispered, “I want to, but I can’t get caught.”

  I was wearing a body recorder, but Luisi uttered the words so softly that we couldn’t hear him when we played back the tape.

  The deal had to be approved by Merlino in Philadelphia. On April 28, 1999, while a secret recorder was running, I sat in my office with Luisi and Previte and the three of us called Merlino to get the green light for the cocaine deal. Here, word for word, is what Merlino said:

  MERLINO: “Bob … is that guy … ya know … do what he’s got to do over there for him…”

  LUISI: “Oh, yeah…”

  MERLINO: “All right…”

  LUISI: “Yeah … that’s … that’s gonna be…”

  MERLINO: “All right…”

  LUISI: “Ya know…”

  MERLINO: “You got it…”

  I know it sounds cryptic and ambiguous to the general public. But to LCN members and FBI Agents, Merlino’s message was clear: Do the deal.

  Less than forty-eight hours later, on April 30, four months into our six-month deadline, a young man carrying a briefcase knocked on my office door and said, “Hi, I’m Bobby Carrozza Jr. Bobby sent me.”