Animal

by Casey Sherman

  Sammy Lindenbaum was carrying more than $1,000 at the time of his murder. Stevie Hughes had roughly half that amount, but police also found a newspaper clipping in his pocket dated March 16, 1966, describing how he had barely survived an ambush outside his brother’s Malden home. News of Hughes’s death came as no surprise to the Charlestown cops, who had known him during his brief and violent life. “They [Stevie and Connie Hughes] went the route,” veteran Charlestown police detective John Donovan told the Boston Globe. “The brothers had been too close to the McLaughlins to expect anything but a gangland death.”72

  Police from Charlestown to Somerville to Boston and beyond were bracing themselves for a reprisal, but the murder of Stevie Hughes served as a death blow to the McLaughlin Gang. The Boston mob war was now unofficially over. Of course there would be more gangland slayings, but none would be blamed on the blood feud between Somerville and Charlestown. Joe Barboza had survived the purge unscathed, and he was now in position to fill the power vacuum left wide open by the war. Virtually all of Barboza’s enemies and friends were gone—either dead or in jail—and now he was one of the only men standing in the way of the Mafia’s total control of the Boston rackets. The Animal weighed these options heavily in his mind. Would he attempt to seize the brass ring and all the risk and reward that went with it? Barboza was a pathological killer, as were most of his comrades in arms, but there was also a practical side to his personality. He recognized and understood his limitations better than anyone. Joe knew that he was not equipped to handle the rigors of running a big organization. Joe’s skills were ill suited for pulling strings from behind a desk like Raymond Patriarca. Barboza had to be on or near the front lines of the battle. He was General Patton to Patriarca’s General Eisenhower. If anything, Joe thought the void left behind after the McLean-McLaughlin feud would solidify his standing with the Office. The Mafia needed someone who could manage the growing number of independent contractors whose only allegiance was to the all-mighty dollar. Henry Tameleo was growing old, and Jerry Angiulo had not done enough to earn the respect of the Boston underworld. Barboza believed that he was now a major step closer to his dream of becoming the first non-Sicilian to join the ranks of La Cosa Nostra.

  14

  Double Cross

  No one man should have all that power

  KANYE WEST

  The Animal could dream all he wanted, but Raymond Patriarca had other plans. The Irish mob war had cost the Office countless millions in lost revenue. The Wild West had shipped East during the war, and what was once a mob boom town had now become a ghost town as the steady flow of money slowed to a trickle. Fear of violence had kept people away from gambling parlors, race tracks, and mob-controlled bars. Patriarca and his underbosses Henry Tameleo and Jerry Angiulo needed to get business moving again, and a gunslinger like Barboza had become a burr under their saddle. The same was true with law enforcement. Suffolk County district attorney Garrett Byrne had made it a top priority to take Barboza off the streets. Cops began harassing the Animal at every turn. Joe stopped driving his “James Bond” car, as it had become a magnet for police. They had even given the automobile its own code—66. The Animal had to adapt to his new environment, so he began traveling by cab and subway; when he needed a car, he made sure that he never used the same vehicle twice. He also relied more heavily on tipsters to keep him one step ahead of the law. One evening in the fall of 1966, Joe received a phone call from a detective friend who told him that police were staking out his headquarters and that they planned to arrest him the minute he was on the move.

  “The heat’s on. They wanna catch you, Nicky (Femia), and Chico (Amico) with guns,” the detective whispered into the phone. “The word is out to get you guys off the street one way or the other.”73

  At the time, Joe was driving a friend’s black convertible, which had a trunk loaded with handguns and an M-1 rifle. Barboza ordered his men to dispose of all the weapons before they picked him up for a ride into the city. Normally he would not venture away from his headquarters unarmed, but the mob war was over now and the heat from law enforcement was indeed on. Police spotted the black convertible later that night as Joe and his crew pulled up to a local bar. Officers jumped out of their vehicles with weapons drawn and ordered Barboza out of the convertible. A detective working with the district attorney’s office was also on the scene. The police officers shoved Barboza up against the side of the car and searched his body. They did the same with Nicky Femia and Chico Amico but found nothing. An exhaustive search of the car found the same. Barboza smiled as he stood by watching the spectacle. After about an hour, the frustrated officers were forced to let Joe and his men go on their way. Barboza made sure that the tipster got an extra $100 for his effort.

  A few days later, Barboza was having a drink with his crew and counting his blessings at the Intermission Lounge on Washington Street in Boston. A friend walked by Joe’s table and motioned him to meet outside. Once there, the friend informed Joe that a mob killer was on his way to Boston to take him out.

  Fuck him, Joe thought. He can die like the rest.

  The friend said the contract had been paid by Rudy Marfeo, who blamed Barboza for his brother’s murder in Providence a few months earlier. Joe began to connect the dots in his mind. Why would Marfeo blame him for a murder that had been so clearly orchestrated by Raymond Patriarca? Maybe Patriarca himself is behind the bait and switch, Joe thought. By blaming Barboza for the hit on Willie Marfeo, Patriarca could get Joe killed without having to order the hit himself. For the first time in a long time, the Animal felt vulnerable. He hadn’t been carrying a gun for the past two weeks and contemplated borrowing one from his friend. Finally, he decided against it. If the cops found a gun on him now while he was still on bail in the Pearson stabbing case, they could toss him in jail and forget about him. The Animal would have to send one of his men to find this mob killer and take care of him.

  Joe left the Intermission Lounge with Nicky Femia, Tashi Bratsos, and another associate, Patsy Fabiano. They all got into Tashi’s gray Cadillac and began driving down Washington Street headed for Revere. Joe noticed a vice squad car following them.

  “Get rid of anything hot,” he told his men. Joe lowered the window slightly and tossed out three marijuana cigarettes. He also ripped up a piece of paper with the names and addresses of two mobsters he was looking to do business with in Florida and Detroit and sprinkled them like confetti on the sidewalk. The gray Cadillac reached Congress Street in Boston and Barboza thought they were in the clear. When the vice squad car ordered Bratsos to pull over to the curb, Joe had little worry. In fact, he told the officer to fuck off as he approached the vehicle.

  “If you want anything from me, take me to the station and I’ll call my attorney,” Barboza said defiantly.74

  The cop informed Joe and his men that they were all getting booked on suspicion. Joe laughed in his face and strode happily over to a waiting police wagon. Barboza’s laissez-faire attitude quickly changed when he noticed the look of worry on Tashi’s face.

  “What’s the matter?” Joe asked.

  “I just remembered there’s a .45 in the glove compartment,”75 Tashi responded.

  Barboza shot up from his seat like a bottle rocket. “What?”

  Bratsos explained that the gun belonged to Tommy DePrisco and that he had forgotten it was in the glove compartment. Joe could not believe that Tashi could be so stupid.

  “We had time to throw away a cannon, let alone a pistol. You realize the law will try to blame me?”

  Once at the station, Barboza refused to be fingerprinted. He figured that it was a waste of time, as police already had his prints on file. Joe also complained that his rights had been violated, because the car had been searched without a warrant. The cops just shook their heads and laughed. Finally, one officer told Barboza that they had found the gun in the glove compartment. Joe was right about one thing; the cops would try to tie the weapon directly to him. But there was more. Police also clai
med that they had found an M-1 rifle and a knife in the vehicle. Barboza was convinced that officers had planted the other weapons in the Cadillac after they had whisked him off to jail.

  District Attorney Garrett Byrne now had the Animal right where he wanted him. Byrne released a statement following the arrest in which he called Barboza “the biggest killer in the Commonwealth.” Later, at the arraignment, Byrne claimed that police were tipped off by a reliable informant that Barboza was on his way to a hit on the night in question, and that he was armed to the teeth. The D.A. also told the judge that officers saw Barboza pass the handgun to his pal Nicky Femia to hide. Because of the gun charge and the pending court action in the Pearson case, bail was set high, at $100,000. Nicky Femia was held on half the amount, while Bratsos and Fabiano were released. Barboza and Femia were transferred to the Charles Street Jail, where Joe waited to find out whether he was truly on the outs with the Office after all. It was customary for the Mafia to pay for the release of its top members and associates through bail bondsmen, but Garrett Byrne sent out word that Barboza was off limits and that his office would lean heavily on anyone who tried to free him.

  The warning gave Patriarca just the cover he was looking for. The Man did not want Barboza running the streets anymore than Byrne did. The Animal had been a useful tool for Raymond Patriarca to strike terror in the hearts of his enemies and to handle the jobs that his own people did not have the stomach for. The boss understood early on that this was not a sustainable relationship. “Someday, we’ll have to whack him out,” Patriarca told his closest associates. He had not planned to move on Barboza this quickly, but an opportunity had presented itself, and Patriarca was not one to pass it up. With the Animal in stir, the Office could now dictate the time and place of his execution. Barboza was behind bars, but he was not beyond the reach of the Mafia. The key was making sure that no one came up with the $100,000 cash bail to uncage the Animal.

  Since parting ways with Guy Frizzi, Joe had surrounded himself with soldiers he believed would be loyal to him. That loyalty was now being tested as he sat in the notorious Charles Street Jail. The jail had once been home to Sacco and Vanzetti, Malcolm X, and even a German U-Boat captain named Freidrich Steinhoff, who had committed suicide inside the prison by opening his arteries with broken pieces of his sunglasses. The place would have been frightening and ominous to a newcomer, but Barboza had been living behind prison walls for much of his life. For him, Charles Street Jail was as good a home as any. He did miss his wife, Claire, and their young daughter, Stacy, who had been born a year into their marriage. The Barbozas, or “Barons” as they were now called, since Joe had officially changed his last name, lived in a rented house on a quiet street in the town of Swampscott just over the border from Revere. He had fought hard to keep both sides of his life—the domestic and the deranged—from crashing into each other. Claire had a basic understanding of how he made his money. In fact, she had been drawn to the excitement early on, but now she was the mother of a little girl, and it was her job to shelter the child from harm. Joe felt the same way. He was a man capable of extreme cruelty, yet he would melt into a puddle around Stacy. He wanted to win his freedom so that he could get back to her, and he would have to rely on Tashi Bratsos, Chico Amico, and Tommy DePrisco to make that happen. The Animal also knew that he’d been set up, and he’d have scores to settle once he was back on the outside.

  Bratsos visited Barboza at Charles Street. Clearly feeling responsible for his boss’s predicament, Bratsos told Joe that the crew had hit the streets to raise bail money and had collected a little over $70,000.

  “The Office has promised to supply the difference,” Bratsos told Barboza. “You’ll be out in a couple days tops.”76

  The Animal did not share his friend’s enthusiasm and warned him to be careful. On the night of November 15, 1966, ten days after Barboza’s arrest, Tashi Bratsos and Tommy DePrisco walked into the Nite Lite Café on Commercial Street in the North End. Larry Baione was Jerry Anguilo’s top enforcer. He told Barboza’s crew to bring all the cash they had raised to bail out the Animal, and they would then make up the difference. Bratsos and DePrisco had managed to raise $82,000 and were promised they would receive another $18,000 at the meet. Barboza’s men should have recognized the setup a mile away, but their devotion to Joe was no substitute for intelligence. As Bratsos and DePrisco entered the Nite Lite, they were immediately surrounded by Baione and eleven other Mafiosi who informed them that the Office would provide no charity for the Portugee nigger rotting in the Charles Street Jail. Knives were pulled and guns were drawn. Baione and his men pounced on Bratsos and DePrisco, who did not stand a chance. The two men were beaten, stabbed, and shot. Bratsos took two bullets in the head, while DePrisco was shot four times in the skull at close range. Their bodies were stuffed into Bratsos’s Cadillac and driven to South Boston, where the vehicle was abandoned in a vacant lot at the corner of A and West Fourth streets. La Cosa Nostra had chosen Southie in an attempt to blame the murder on the Irish.

  Unfortunately for the Mafia, too many gangsters had been involved in the murders, and the story of what happened inside the Nite Lite filtered out through the evening. Several mobsters, including Wimpy Bennett, phoned in tips to the police. The Cadillac, with the butchered bodies of DePrisco and Bratsos occupying the front and back seats, respectively, had been discovered in the early morning hours, and now police were racing toward the North End. The owner of the bar was a Mafia soldier named Ralphie Lamattina. They called him “Ralphie Chong” because he looked more Chinese than he did Sicilian. When officers arrived at the Nite Lite, they caught Ralphie and his men in mid cover-up. Lamattina was busy removing shattered mirrors and hanging pictures on the walls to hide the bullet holes, while another man furiously tried to scrub blood off the floor.

  When Patriarca was told about the hits, he hit the roof. He told Larry Baione that he should have buried the bodies instead of dumping them in South Boston. “No bodies, no case to worry about,” said the boss. Jerry Angiulo also found himself in Patriarca’s crosshairs, since it was his men who had handled the murders so sloppily. Angiulo saved his own neck by convincing Ralphie Chong to turn himself in and plead guilty to a charge of being an accessory after the fact. Angiulo assured Patriarca that Ralphie would stand up for the “family” to prevent a long, drawn-out investigation. Still not satisfied, Patriarca called a meeting in Boston with Angiulo, Larry Baione, Ralphie Chong, and others, including former underboss Joe Lombardo. Two mob lawyers were also present for the sit-down at Giros Restaurant. Patriarca could not be seen meeting with these men, so he sent Henry Tameleo to mediate. Lamattina still needed some convincing, so Angiulo promised him that he could fix it so that he would receive a light sentence. The underboss also stressed to Ralphie that if he didn’t go along with the plan, he would not survive the afternoon. Lamattina avoided the death sentence by standing before the judge and pleading guilty. He admitted to the judge that he had wiped up blood and disposed of a blood-soaked carpet, replacing it the next day. He received two consecutive sentences of five to seven years, each at Walpole.

  Chico Amico, one of the last Barboza crew members left standing, called a meeting of his own with Wimpy Bennett, Stevie Flemmi, and others at a pool room in South Boston. Words of revenge were thrown around the room, but no one seemed willing to step up and take care of the situation. Frustrated by the lack of action, Amico challenged his associates to band together and take on the Office. Wimpy Bennett stepped forward as the voice of reason. He told Chico that such a move would mean suicide for them all. It would be like a commando unit waging war on an entire division. The Mafia had an unlimited supply of soldiers spread across the United States, while the independent killers of Boston numbered in the dozens. They would have to plot their revenge more strategically. At the close of the meeting, Bennett pulled Chico aside and urged him to kill Larry Baione. Chico glanced around the room at Stevie Flemmi and other members of the group. He then asked Wimpy whether these men wou
ld back him up if he went after Baione, who was considered the New England Mafia’s number one killer.

  “They’ll be with you after you make the move on Baione,” Bennett informed him. “I guarantee it.”77

  Chico did not fully trust Bennett, but he felt that he had no other choice. It was kill or be killed now for Barboza’s crew. Amico began hunting for Baione at the mobster’s favorite haunts, such as the Bat Cave, a tavern on Friend Street, or any number of clubs in Chinatown. Chico even traveled to Baione’s home in the town of Franklin but could not catch up with the elusive Mafiosi. While tracking Baione, Chico could not help but think that there was another setup in play. Wimpy Bennett had never been shy about voicing his hatred for Larry Baione. Bennett wanted Baione dead for his own reasons but was unwilling to pull the trigger himself. Instead, he had convinced his surrogate assassin to do it for him. Chico vowed to kill Baione but now had his sights set on Bennett as well. In a letter smuggled into Charles Street Jail addressed to Barboza, Chico wrote: “I’m gonna do my best, Joe, but if I die, I want you to cut that motherfucker’s head off and put it on my grave.”78