The Corporation

by T. J. English

  Shanks joined the police force in 1974. At the time, it seemed like a fairly tranquil way to make a living. The city was not yet a hub of international narcotics activity. As in many American cities at the time, there were racial disturbances that to some extent began to turn the people against the police. But by and large a cop could go off to work in the morning and not have to worry about whether he would be returning home that night.

  In 1976, around the same time that Ernesto Torres and Idalia Fernandez arrived in Miami, on the run from various assassins, police officer Dave Shanks had two experiences which signaled that his career as a cop might be changing with the times.

  One of these occurrences was Shanks’s first narcotics seizure. In the trunk of a car, he and his partner discovered a kilo of cocaine, carefully wrapped in plastic. To the two young cops it seemed like a major bust, though this type of seizure would soon be dwarfed by cocaine busts many times greater. Shanks didn’t know it at the time, but it was a harbinger of things to come for law enforcement throughout Dade County and much of South Florida.

  The other incident was one that Shanks did not experience firsthand, but that would deeply affect all cops in Miami at the time.

  On the night of April 1, detectives Tommy Hodges and Clarke Curlette, members of the department’s Auto Theft Squad, were following up on reports of a stolen Lincoln Continental Mark IV, then the vehicle of choice for gangsters and pimps. They had an address of someone they were told might be a suspect, a car thief who specialized in Mark IVs. He was living in Miami Beach at a seedy motel called Starkey’s Beach Motel at 8601 Harding Avenue.

  Hodges and Curlette arrived at the horseshoe-shaped dive and were led to room number 5. The detectives believed they were making a routine inquiry. They did not have their guns out, and in fact, their guard was down.

  The man they were looking for was named Joe Born, a professional car thief who was wanted on two arrest warrants. Born was the type of criminal who had done time in prison and did not want to go back. Discovering that two detectives were at his door, he blasted them with a double-barreled shotgun—killing them both—and fled the room. In the parking lot, he had a shootout with a responding officer, Frank D’Azevedo, who was also shot dead with a shotgun blast. An hour later, hiding in the weeds on the beach side of Collins Avenue, Born blew his brains out with a snub-nosed .38.

  It was a shocking night of carnage, one of the worst seen by Miami cops at that time.

  Dave Shanks had been working the late shift that night, and he heard reports of the cops being killed as they came across department airwaves in real time. When he got home, he watched the reports on television and saw the dozens of responders from the Miami Beach police, Public Safety Department units, Florida State troopers, and the media. It was a horror show of large proportions.

  The next day, the entire department was in mourning. And supervisory officers were angry. The cops had approached the motel room of Joe Born having overlooked the fact that he was a violent felon. They had felt they could handle it.

  A lieutenant who had been at the hospital and seen the bloodied bodies of the officers told the cops that morning, “I wish I could have marched every cocky young cop in the department through that room. I’d have pulled back the sheet and said, ‘Take a good look . . . This is what taking this job lightly will get you.’ ”

  Shanks never forgot those words, and he never forgot that night. It was a tough lesson, but one that he would take to heart.

  At the time, Shanks had never heard of José Miguel Battle Sr. Although there were cops in Miami who did know who Battle was— because of his reputation in the Cuban community, and also perhaps because of the infamous shootout on Flagler between Hector Duarte and the Battle brothers—Shanks was not privy to police intelligence on organized crime figures at the time. He was a lowly street cop.

  What he did know was that diligence was what kept a cop alive and helped him make cases. Never get sloppy, never take the job lightly. Though he didn’t know it at the time, it was a lesson that would serve him well in the years ahead, when his entire career as an officer of the law would be consumed by the desire to take down José Miguel Battle Sr., Godfather of the Cuban Mafia.

  7

  RASPUTIN IN MEXICO

  AT TIMES IT SEEMED AS THOUGH JOSÉ MIGUEL BATTLE HAD ALL OF HUDSON COUNTY IN his back pocket. His influence in law enforcement was far-reaching, with Deputy Chief Scarafile on the payroll, and he had pull with Mayor William Musto of Union City, whose various political campaigns were believed to be partially financed by illegal gambling money. But Battle had other connections designed to lubricate the system and give him a standing in the community above and beyond that of a crime boss.

  One such connection was Rene Avila, the publisher of Avance, who sometimes acted as Battle’s liaison between the underworld and the upperworld. Avila had risen from being an ad salesman for a monthly Cuban magazine to a player in Hudson County political circles. He was friendly with Battle to the point of providing crucial services for the organization. For example, on April 24, 1975, when Ernestico Torres and Chino Acuna were arrested following the attempted murder of Loco Alvarez, it was Avila who showed up at the jail to pay their bail—$15,000—on behalf of the Cuban Mafia.

  If you asked Avila if he was affiliated with any criminal organization, he would deny it, and if you stated it in print, he might have you sued for libel. Avila presented the veneer of an upstanding businessman. Upon arriving in New Jersey from Cuba in 1961, he had risen from nothing to become an independent publisher. With his newspaper, he had the influence to promote and support various county commissioners, some of whom were hand-selected by Battle, who for a brief period was even listed as an employee of Avila’s newspaper.

  In 1975, Avila bought a house on Manhattan Avenue in Union City for $69,000 (which would be nearly $300,000 today). He owned a 1972 Rolls-Royce as a second car, wore designer suits, and purchased fur coats for his wife. His declared annual income at the time was $10,000. Eventually he would be called to answer for these financial discrepancies via a grand jury corruption investigation in Hudson County. Investigators concluded that there was a “shadowy relationship” between Avila, Battle, and key political and police figures in Union City in which Avila was “the lynchpin.” It was also implied that Avila was on the payroll of El Padrino, a charge he denied.

  The role that Avila played in Hudson County cultural and political circles was a classic function of organized crime, as it had existed in the United States at least since the Prohibition era. The criminal underworld may have been a separate entity, comprised of hoodlums and hit men like Ernestico and Chino, but organized crime did not operate in a vacuum. Battle was a typical Mob boss in that he was constantly looking for ways to ingratiate himself in the upperworld. If an anti-Castro political group was holding a fund-raiser at a restaurant or former vaudeville hall on Bergenline Avenue, Battle would make a bulk purchase of seats or tables. The man who would broker that sale was Rene Avila, who seemed to know everyone in the community. If a county commissioner was being put forward for office, or running for reelection, Avila had tremendous influence, not only with his newspaper, but, more important, by making a phone call in support of a particular candidate. It was understood that Avila represented the interests of José Miguel Battle.

  As influential as Avila may have been, he was part of a network that reached deep into law enforcement and politics in Hudson County. He was not operating alone. Another person with tremendous influence was Eusabio “Chi Chi” Rodriguez.

  In 1976, Chi Chi was called to testify in front of an ongoing federal grand jury investigating gambling-related activities of, among others, Deputy Chief Scarafile and Mayor Musto. It was a potentially explosive investigation. Chi Chi Rodriguez was a well-known bolitero, part of Battle’s organization, with many arrests, mostly for gambling offenses. He was also friendly with politicians and cops throughout Union City. In front of the grand jury, he refused to answer questions, an ac
t of defiance—or loyalty, depending on where your bread was buttered— that would eventually cost him eighteen months in jail on the charge of contempt. Upon his release, Chi Chi’s standing among crooked politicians, dirty cops, and local gangsters was greatly enhanced.

  Chi Chi became a power broker of some renown. He was a frequent visitor to city hall and was able to secure an audience with any commissioner at will, but most especially Commissioner Manuel Diaz, who had gone to school with José Miguel Battle Jr. and was a close personal friend of the Battle family. Chi Chi’s influence was so far-reaching that when Deputy Chief Scarafile, after a political shake-up at city hall, was looking to protect the teaching jobs of his son and daughter-in-law, he didn’t contact the commissioners or members of the Union City Board of Education, all of whom he knew personally. He contacted Chi Chi Rodriguez to ask him to intercede on his behalf, because Chi Chi represented the Battle organization.

  A grand jury report on corruption in Hudson County put it this way:

  If you want a job, call Chi Chi. If you want to influence a commissioner, call Chi Chi. If you want the head of a national crime syndicate to influence a newspaper and affect an election, call Chi Chi. All of this is so, despite the fact that Chi Chi Rodriguez is not registered to vote.

  This same report stated:

  The conclusion which this panel must draw is that elements of organized crime have been knowingly and intentionally integrated into the general governmental structure in Union City and those organized crime elements are using their power and positions for their own advantage . . . Chi Chi Rodriguez could not have attained and maintained this position of importance in the community by himself. He had, and still has, the help of public officials and employees who have become far too cozy with individuals in organized crime . . . The picture is frightening.

  The findings of this particular grand jury, based on wiretapped conversations between Rene Avila, Chi Chi Rodriguez, and others, were still a few years away. In the meantime, these men were at the peak of their powers helping to create a universe of influence that was conducive to the criminal objectives, and personal whims, of José Miguel Battle.

  ERNESTICO AND IDALIA WERE ON THE RUN, AND THIS WAS CAUSING MUCH ANXIETY for Charley Hernandez. Charley was aware that there was a contract out on all their lives, for various transgressions, but mostly for the aborted kidnapping of Luis Morrero, Battle’s uncle-in-law. Charley didn’t want to die, so after slinking around New York for a while, hiding in the shadows, he headed down to Miami to stay with Ernestico and Idalia.

  They stayed at the home of Tomás Lopez, a friend of Ernestico’s who lived in Allapattah, a low-income neighborhood north of the civic center, near the courthouse and Dade County jail.

  The main reason Charley was there was to help fulfill a dream that Ernestico had had for some time to kidnap Isleño Dávila, the richest of the bolita bankers. Isleño’s Fort Lauderdale home was an hour’s drive from where they were staying. Though Ernestico was in hiding, it did not mean he was in retirement. Kidnapping Isleño, they believed, would make them all rich.

  Isleño lived on a luxurious estate on the intracoastal waterway in a big house with twenty acres of land. The estate was surrounded on three sides by water. Isleño kept three pumas in cages. The security system at the estate was designed so that if anyone breached the perimeter of the property, the cages would open automatically and the animals would be released.

  Ernestico and Charley cased the joint, sitting in a car outside the home’s front gate. They were like two medieval bandits trying to figure out how to get into a castle. Charley’s bag of quaint lock-picking tools would do him no good here. They wondered which one of them would first get eaten by the pumas. They weren’t even sure if Isleño was staying at the estate or if he was in New York City.

  The idea of kidnapping Isleño was put in dry dock, but Ernestico remained a hustler; he always had something up his sleeve. They decided to burglarize a private home that Ernestico had been told about. They broke in and stole, among other things, a gun they found on the premises. Afterward, they found out that the place they had broken into was the home of a former Los Angeles cop now living in Miami. A deal was worked out for them to return the gun, and in exchange, the former cop would not make their lives a living hell. Ernestico and Charley’s knack for getting into trouble followed them from New Jersey to Miami.

  Even while this was going on, Ernestico maintained contact by phone with El Padrino and also with Chino. With Battle, he pretended he was still in the New York–New Jersey area, lying low because various people were trying to kill him. To Chino, Ernestico confided all, believing that his former partner was still a friend. Chino reported everything he was told by Ernestico back to José Miguel, his boss and benefactor.

  AROUND THE SAME TIME THAT ERNESTO AND IDALIA FIRST DISAPPEARED ON THE RUN, the bolita bankers called a special meeting at the Colonial restaurant in Washington Heights. Everyone was there, and quite a few of the bankers were upset with El Padrino. The one who was most upset was Luis Morrero, who spoke for the entire group when he said, “José Miguel, with all respect, you are responsible for this cucaracha, Ernesto Torres. You are the one who brought him into our group. You made us contribute to his becoming a banker, which was a disaster. You created this monster. He’s your responsibility.”

  It had come to the attention of everyone that the kidnapping and shooting of Morrero had only been the beginning. Word on the street was that Ernestico had a list of bankers he intended to kidnap and hold for ransom. Everyone in that room was likely on that list. Said Morrero, “This guy has become a big problem for us. He has to go. You, José Miguel, have created this problem, and so you must take care of it. It’s only fair. It’s the right thing.”

  Battle did not argue with the other bankers. He knew they were right. He had allowed the Prodigal Son to run amok for too long.

  The next afternoon, El Padrino met with Chino. The only matter on their agenda was to find and kill Ernestico, who had recently cut off phone contact with both Battle and Chino. Ernestico had gone deep underground. Battle and Chino knew he was in Miami, but they had no idea where he was hiding out.

  “What about that friend of his, Charley Hernandez,” said Battle. “Maybe he knows.”

  “El Pincero? I hear he’s back in town.”

  “Find him,” said Battle. “Find out what he knows. It’s time we put the squeeze on that fool.”

  IN MARCH 1976, AFTER SIX WEEKS ON THE LAM IN MIAMI, CHARLEY WAS BACK IN UNION City. He’d been slinking around, only going out at night. Eventually, he got the impression that maybe the dangerous times had blown over. Then he visited a friend of his named Manuel Cuello, who was associated with the Battle organization.

  “Charley, my friend, you’re in a lot of trouble,” said Cuello.

  “What do you mean?” asked Charley.

  Cuello explained that Chino Acuna and another hit man had been by his place that morning. They knew that Cuello and Charley were friends. Chino told him that they were looking for Charley because the boss, Señor Battle, had put out a $15,000 contract on his head.

  “Why?” Cuello had asked Chino.

  Chino explained that it was because of the botched Morrero kidnapping.

  Hearing this, Charley was alarmed. “But that was all Ernesto’s idea.”

  Said Cuello, “That’s what I told them. I said, ‘Ernesto Torres is the instigator. Charley is not the bad guy.’ Chino said, ‘Well, as it stands right now, Charley is marked for death. The only way he’s gonna survive is if he helps us get rid of Ernestico.’ ”

  “Oh my God, what do I do?” Charley asked Cuello.

  “Call Chino,” answered his friend. “See if you can make a deal. Otherwise they gonna hunt you down and take you out.”

  The next day, Charley called Chino. They arranged to meet on 60th Street in the town of West New York, near where Chino lived. When Charley arrived, Chino was already there. They were standing at a street corner right in front
of—of all places—the West New York police station.

  Chino explained to Charley that there was a contract out on both him and Ernestico. The contract had been initiated by Luis Morrero, but Battle had taken over responsibility for the killings.

  Said Charley, “But I thought Ernesto was supposed to be like a son to El Gordo, that they were thicker than blood.”

  “Look,” said Chino, “Ernesto has been out of control for a long time. He called up El Gordo and told him he was going to start kidnapping all his friends. He’s crazy. And we know you were in on some of that. The one we really want is Ernesto. He betrayed El Gordo. He has betrayed the organization . . . If you don’t help us, you’re dead. If you do, El Gordo will forgive you.”

  Fuck. Charley wasn’t sure what to make of all this. Maybe it was a trick. He said to Chino, “I’m gonna help you, but right now I’m completely broke. I need two hundred dollars. Can you arrange for two hundred to be dropped off at my wife’s house? As a sign of good faith.” It was a test on Charley’s part, to see whether Chino could be trusted.

  “Sure,” said Chino, “I can do that.”

  Charley wasn’t even staying at the house in Union City with his wife and kids. He’d been hiding out at the apartment of his girlfriend, Lydia, in Washington Heights. That night, he called his wife in Union City and asked, “Hey, did you receive two hundred dollars from a guy tonight?”

  She said yes, a man had dropped off two hundred in cash earlier that evening.

  Charley didn’t tell his wife anything, except to say, “See, don’t I always take care of you?” Then he called Chino and said, “Okay, we’re good. My wife got the money. We can do business.”

  Chino said, “All right, tomorrow at noon we gonna meet at Battle’s apartment. I see you there.”

  A bell went off in Charley’s head. He knew Battle’s building, a big new apartment complex on 45th Street in Union City. Luis Morrero lived in that same building.