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90 Church Page 31

by Dean Unkefer


  Once at the Bureau, all hell broke loose. Pike just kept pacing up and down and muttering, “My God, my God. What have you done?”

  The “Russian” sat in the interrogation room, bleeding on the floor. In his coat pocket we found his Justice Department credentials with his name, Jake Bellows. Michael called the U.S. attorney’s office and asked for an attorney – adding that we had collared a Justice Department agent trying to sell heroin. Dewey called one of the newspapers. The U.S. attorney came over, the same stupid kid who had tried to help Flowers interrogate Dewey. He confiscated Tony Degaglia’s body wire, and interviewed us. The body wire clearly indicated that Tony – a reliable informant – had warned me that the man was dangerous and carried a gun. The tape also revealed that the Russian pulled a gun on me and the surveillance agents acted to save my life. We had a solid case against Jake Bellows and we were justified in beating him. Flowers was then forced to admit he set up the buy to see if we skimmed money or heroin or would take a bribe, and had taken heroin from the evidence lockers and forced Tony to wear the wire.

  The embarrassment to the Task Force was enormous. Flowers was not fooled by what we did, but there was nothing he could do about it. They tried to keep it quiet but it was in the newspapers, Double Cross Gets Double-Crossed. We knew the reign of terror was not over. Twice we had embarrassed the Task Force so we were starting to even the score.

  Then things took a disturbing turn. Tony Degaglia told me Flowers had told him to try to skim some of the heroin and plant it in my car. The paranoia in the office grew. Flowers was just like us.

  A REUNION

  I got a phone call from Elliott Goldstein, who I had completely forgotten about. Crying, he said that Ridley and Flowers had met with him. They threatened to expose him to the people he had ratted on unless he signed an affidavit accusing me of inflating the amount of money I paid him for the coke in his case. He said he had refused, but now one of the people he had informed on seemed to be suspicious. He needed my help and I agreed to meet with him at the El Hambra Bar, where it all started. I waited two hours for Elliott to show up and then gave up and went to Cookie’s for the night.

  The next morning there was a message from Dewey asking me to pick him up after lunch, at about two. He was having lunch at the Peacock Alley in the Waldorf Astoria and I should wait for him in the street, Park Avenue side. I found a parking space, but rather than wait in the car, I decided to go into the hotel. I was curious. I looked over the room at all the elegant people, the flowers, the vases, and it reminded me of the Medalley mansion. I saw Dewey; he had his back to me. He was having lunch with an older man, someone I had never seen before, but yet seemed familiar. I went to the bar to wait and chose a stool as close as possible, not more than eight feet from their table, hoping to overhear some of Dewey’s conversation.

  I sat there and studied Dewey’s lunch guest. At first he looked like any other businessman, but I knew he was not. He had short white hair in a military cut, but flat. He was dressed in a tailored blue suit, as well-dressed as Dewey. His shoes were expensive Italian loafers. His piercing blue eyes were hypnotic. He was handsome, but he looked as dangerous and mean as Michael. I could not imagine who this man was. I tried to listen to their conversation. Whatever they were saying, they were laughing and joking with each other. I had no idea what they were saying, but knew it was Russian. Then the man got a little serious and started to speak in a second language. It sounded like it could have been Chinese. Dewey answered in the same language. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  Then someone came up and sat beside me and said hello. He was about my height, with a military haircut waxed so it stood straight up, a cheap suit, pot belly, spit-shined shoes and, most interesting of all, one pant leg longer than the other. The way I looked, no one would ever come up and start a friendly conversation with me, so I played along. It didn’t take long before I began to realize that he was the bodyguard for Dewey’s guest, and he had caught me trying to eavesdrop. The man tried to be nice, engaging in a friendly conversation about the bar, weather, anything to distract me from listening.

  But I could still hear them talking and now I heard Dewey speaking in Spanish. I couldn’t understand anything, but then I heard Dewey say, “José from Cuba.” I looked over at the older mystery man as he put his napkin to his face to hide his laughter.

  I got up, patted my new friend on the shoulder and walked out of the hotel to wait in the car. As I sat there I saw the man who had talked to me at the bar leave the hotel and walk down the street to a dark blue car. He opened up the trunk and got a briefcase, then walked back into the hotel. I was sure he worked for Dewey’s mystery guest and now I knew what car they were driving. I got out and walked up to the dark sedan. It was definitely a government car. It had blackwall tires; the government would never approve the added expense of whitewall tires. I tried the door and to my surprise it was unlocked. I looked in the glove compartment, but it was clean. The whole car was clean, too clean. I looked under the seats; nothing, not even a registration. But then on the floor between the seat and driver’s side door I found a restaurant receipt. It was from Virginia. The name was “Maurice Castlemann.” I remembered the name, it was Dewey’s ship captain. His name was on the picture hanging on Dewey’s wall with the sailors saluting Dewey on the ship. As I closed the car door I noticed that the side windows were bulletproof glass.

  About a half hour later Dewey’s friend and the bodyguard got into the car and drove away. Then Dewey came out next and told me to drive to the Bronx. He had just gotten a call from Michael. As we drove I waited for the right time and then asked who he had lunch with. Dewey just chuckled and lied, “An old college roommate that I hadn’t seen in a while. He was in the Navy too.”

  Michael had told Dewey to meet him at a grocery store in the Bronx close to Yonkers. It was a hot day and I didn’t care where we were going because no one was working on anything. We arrived at a grocery store that had a huge refrigerated trailer in a side parking lot. Yellow crime-scene tape hung around the outside of the trailer. Everything around the store and trailer looked dirty and broken. Michael was sitting on the steps in front of the trailer door, smoking a cigarette and talking to a cop. Michael looked at Dewey, ignoring me, and said, “I didn’t know you were going to bring him. I thought you were coming alone. I’m sorry he came with you.”

  “What’s up?” Dewey asked.

  “Not much,” Michael answered. “Just one of Pike and Del Ridley’s little friends. Some of Andy’s handiwork.” Michael’s eyes looked sad as he glanced at me.

  All of a sudden I couldn’t breathe. I pushed Michael aside and ran up the steps and opened up the door to the trailer. The sun streaked in. Inside, hanging on the back wall was Elliott Goldstein. They’d hung him on a meat hook, through the back of his ribcage, his feet about three feet off the floor. He had scratched the wooden wall all night until his hands were bloody. Elliott’s face was frozen in a cold stare with his eyes wide open. Burning tears rolled down my face. I began to scream and hold onto one of his legs. Dewey and Michael dragged me outside into the burning sun. I fought them until they threw me on the ground. I got up and started to walk in small circles, crying and waving my arms. Dewey didn’t know what to do or where to take me. Finally I quieted down and asked him to drive me to my apartment in Brooklyn. I lay on my dark living-room floor and cried until I fell asleep.

  FRIENDS IN NEED

  The death of Elliott Goldstein was a simple report: “homicide of a major drug dealer, unknown suspect.” There was no mention of Del Ridley, Pike, or any of Andy Flowers’ investigators. If ever in my life I needed cocaine, it was now – and it was there for me in the evidence lockers.

  The investigators lost patience with Del Ridley and indicted him for filing a false report. He had signed a case investigation saying he was at the scene of the buy when he was not. The charges were ridiculous, since more than half of all the case files were pure fiction. Flowers felt Ridley knew more
than he was telling them. I knew Del Ridley was sincere and had done his best to help the Task Force. He thought he knew or could find out things that would be useful, but no one trusted him. He was too honest and too religious. Flowers demanded a high bail and put him in West Street Penitentiary until he agreed to give them more information, just like we would do. But Del Ridley couldn’t tell them anything and refused to sign a false report incriminating someone else to save himself. His wife Sarah called and asked if I could do something to get him out. All I could say was that things would be okay even though I had heard bad things from Dewey. Dewey said that Del was thrown into the general prison population. The inmates knocked out his front teeth, to make him a good cocksucker, and were sodomizing him day and night.

  I went to see Del and when they opened the door to the viewing room he short-stepped into the booth as if his ankles were shackled, but they were not. His front teeth were gone. He had a black eye and cuts on his face. He just sat there and stared into space. I tried to talk to him, asked him if there was anything I could do. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head no. After about five minutes of trying to talk to him without getting a response, I said good-bye and left. I felt sorry for Sarah. I told him I would go and see her.

  Badly shaken, I got high on vodka and cocaine, trying to forget Elliott and Del Ridley, who only wanted to help do the right thing. I should have gone home, but instead I went to Del’s apartment to see Sarah. She had been to see him earlier that day. She couldn’t stop crying and telling me how horrible the Bureau was and what they were doing to him was wrong. She was crying so much I hugged her to calm her down. But then still holding her, I slow-danced her into the bedroom. She didn’t say anything, just stared at me. I laid her on the bed and took off her clothes, then mine, hugging and consoling her, telling her everything was going to be okay. She was in a trance. She would do anything I wanted her to do, and I made her do everything. I loved doing things with her, especially the things that gave both of us pain. I thought fucking and hurting her would help keep her mind off her husband. I had things to forget too.

  Afterwards, when I was tired and she stopped moaning, I dozed off and was half asleep when I felt her get up and leave the room. I thought she was going to the bathroom. Then I heard her come back. I rolled over and looked up. She was standing over me with her arms straight up in the air, clutching a kitchen knife with both hands. As she brought it down, I rolled toward her and hit her in the stomach with my fist, but it was too late. I felt the pain in my side. She doubled up on the floor, gasping for breath. I held my side and swore at her. She had dropped the knife but was trying desperately to get it back. I kicked her in the ribs and threw the knife to the other side of the room. She lay on the floor, naked and crying. I got dressed with one hand, holding my side. I left the building and got into my car. I could feel the blood running down into my boot. The closest hospital was Lenox. I went to the emergency room and they stitched up my side. I called the office and told them I had been mugged during an undercover operation to buy heroin, but was all right.

  DEWEY GOES DOWN AGAIN

  They arrested Dewey in front of everybody at the next Monday morning meeting. There wasn’t any press. We had gathered expecting to hear reports of “no progress made in any investigation.” Flowers walked into the room with two U.S. marshals, asked Dewey to stand, hand-cuffed him from behind, and led him out without saying a word. You could feel the fear in the room.

  Blanker tried to continue the meeting, but then Flowers came back in and, without asking Blanker, took the podium. Flowers looked a lot different from the first time he stood before us months ago to arrest two agents on ridiculous charges. He was unshaven, his eyes were red and glaring, but he managed to start with his “come-to-Jesus-I’m-going-to-get-you” type of speech although he rambled so much it was hard to follow, and halfway through it he began to tear up.

  When he finally got down to business, the reason for Dewey’s arrest, he was calm, his pride clear. “Agent Paris,” he said, “will be indicted tomorrow on many counts of felonies. He’s going to spend the next ten years of his life in the penitentiary. Things aren’t funny anymore, are they, boys?” Then he pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket. “I’m going to read you some of the charges: Theft of drug money” – and he named cases that I had never heard of, and continued – “Assault and battery, with robbery, two counts connected to an incident in lower Manhattan at the Little Egypt.” Then he said, “This is a breakthrough. There’ll be more indictments to follow. I promised you would all be going to the penitentiary and that’s what’s going to happen. Have a good day, gentlemen.” He smiled with his bright, shiny white teeth.

  We all filed out in silence and went back to whatever we were doing, except Michael, who just walked out the front door. After lunch Pike told me that Maggie, Dewey’s wife, had posted fifty thousand dollars bail, so at least Dewey was out on the street, and would not have to spend time in jail until his trial. Pike confirmed that the charges would be presented to the Federal Grand Jury for a felony indictment.

  Flowers was so pleased with the arrest that he distributed copies of the arrest warrant with the reports of probable causes to every Group Leader in the Bureau. Pike gave me his copy. It looked as if Flowers had won after all. If they could bring Dewey down, people like me would be easy. I was scared. I had always hidden behind Michael and Dewey, but now I was alone and didn’t know what to do.

  I went over to Cookie’s apartment to drink and snort a few lines of cocaine. After a while she came home and tried to get me out of my dark mood. She put on a little baby doll negligee and pranced around trying to show me her stuff. She was truly beautiful, but when I could follow what she was saying it was always about herself, how beautiful she was, who liked her, and who was jealous of her, or where she should go next to get her hair done. She got aggressive, and for the first time in my life I was impotent. Embarrassed, I got dressed and went out.

  I bounced from club to club and ended up at Count Basie’s to hear DeWitt play his trumpet. I sat at the bar, feeling sad for Dewey, his wife and his two sons Maurice and Dwight Junior, who looked just like him. I respected him. I had hit a new low, losing the closest thing to a best friend that I had since I started at the Bureau. Flowers, an arrogant bureaucrat, who had never faced a dangerous situation in his life, had destroyed Dewey. My hatred and frustration boiled as DeWitt began his trumpet set. I reached for my cigarettes and found the copy of Dewey’s arrest warrant in my pocket. It was painful for me to read it, but I read it anyway. There was nothing new, except on the back page was a list of people who had signed affidavits supporting the charges against Dewey. I scanned the list. They were his informants. In the middle of the list was Charles DeWitt.

  I looked up and saw the old man playing his trumpet. After all the kind things that Michael had done for DeWitt, he had ratted us out. I remembered that Dewey had said you can’t expect an informant to stand up. You know they’re going to rat you out. As much as I liked the old man and his wonderful music, my anger grew.

  After his show I went backstage where he was putting his trumpet away and said that I would walk him home. He grinned in anticipation, no doubt thinking that, as usual, I would give him a little gift of heroin. DeWitt lived about ten blocks from the club and we walked along the dark Harlem streets together until I found an empty stretch with a small alley. I grabbed the old man by the shirt and shoved him down and dragged him into the alley. I pulled out my automatic and pointed it at his face. “You stupid old nigger. Why would you rat out Dewey?” The old man was surprised and frightened. I screamed at him, “You signed a paper, an affidavit testifying against Dwight Paris. Why?”

  His answer stunned me so bad that I almost dropped my gun. He knew exactly what I was talking about. He said, “Michael told me to do it. Michael told me to do it.”

  “Michael?”

  “Michael says he hates this Dewey fellow. That if I would sign the paper against him, that he was be
ating up and robbing people in a bar called the Egypt, that I would be doing a good thing. Michael told me to do it. He hates that Dewey fellow.”

  I was so confused I just stared at the old man. Then I helped him to his feet and said, “I’m sorry, Charlie, I didn’t understand. I’m sorry.”

  DeWitt brushed himself off, picked up his trumpet case and walked away alone, shaking his head. I called him back and gave him a bundle of heroin. He thanked me and continued on again.

  Michael set up Dewey! Michael set up Dewey! These words pounded over and over in my mind. Michael, the evil genius vampire, sacrificed his number-one henchman, his apprentice, his protégé, to Flowers! I was lost for sure now. I thought I had hit bottom, but I was still in a horrible free fall. Then something clicked – like a wrench in the gears that were grinding up my life – and everything stopped. I pulled to the side of the street, parked and turned the overhead light on to re-read Dewey’s arrest warrant and probable-cause pages. Each of the charges had the name of the person that had signed the affidavit. DeWitt’s name was next to the assault and robbery incident at Little Egypt. It also said that they had recovered the stolen property – a wristwatch and gold ring described in DeWitt’s affidavit – from Dewey’s locker in the office! Then I looked at the names next to the other charges, for theft of drug money.

  I opened the door, staggered out of the car, and lay on the hood, screaming with laughter. I rolled off the hood and sat on the curb, tears rolling down my face. What a fool I had been! While the other agents and I ran to our informants and told them to stand up to Flowers, Dewey and Michael set each other up. They knew that no informant could be trusted, so Michael told some informants to rat on Dewey, and Dewey told other informants to rat on Michael. Everybody was happy. The informants were cooperating with the investigators, who in turn would not threaten them by revealing their identity. It was perfect. Typical Michael. Only Michael could think like this. However, what Flowers would soon discover was that Dewey Paris had not been at Little Egypt. He was on sick leave and four other agents, including Pike, who were there at the Little Egypt to beat the hell out of everyone and wreck the place, would discredit DeWitt’s sworn statement. Dewey would never be so stupid as to steal personal property and put it in his locker. Dewey planted it there to draw Flowers deeper into the trap, so Flowers would believe DeWitt. As a witness, DeWitt would be totally discredited, but more importantly, it would show the world what amateurs Flowers and his investigators truly were. Dewey expected to be arrested. Once the Justice Department began to look at cases and prepare them for trial they would realize the whole thing was a fiasco. Flowers would be destroyed. I got back in the car, drove to Cookie’s apartment, and fell asleep laughing.

 

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