Brutal_ The Untold Story of My Life Inside Whitey Bulger's Irish Mob - Kevin Weeks [0]
THE UNTOLD STORY OF MY LIFE INSIDE WHITEY BULGER’S IRISH MOB
KEVIN WEEKS and Phyllis Karas
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE:
The two people that I am proudest of, my sons Kevin Barry and Brian Michael. The person that was the best part of my life and my best friend, Pam, even though I wasn’t able to realize it at the time. My brothers and sisters, who believed in my good side. My friends who stayed with me through the worst times. And, lastly, to the few men in law enforcement—Dan Doherty, Steve Johnson, Thomas Duffy, Tom Foley, Brian Kelly, and Fred Wyshak—who were straight talkers and always played it down the middle.
Kevin Weeks
To Sherry and Tom Bowman and Joy and Tom Glennon, who so graciously share their special daughters.
Phyllis Karas
CONTENTS
Foreword by Bill Weeks
Author’s Note
1. Growing Up in Southie
2. Marriage and the Triple O’s: 1978–1982
3. Breaking In: The Halloran Murder
4. Learning the Business: Loan-Sharking, Extortion, and Murder
5. Three Murders: Barrett, McIntyre, and Hussey: 1983–1985
6. Stevie Flemmi
7. Drugs: 1980–1990
8. Jimmy: Ten More Murders
Photographic Insert
9. Jimmy and Southie
10. Stippo
11. The Media Lies
12. In the Wind: 1994–1996
13. FBI and the Law
14. Arrest, Prison, and Release
Where Are They Now?
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Praise
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
FOREWORD
BY BILL WEEKS
The reader of this book faces a quandary: how to deal with the violence, brutality, and amoral behavior of the characters and at the same time see how deceit, and wrong perceptions of what constitutes success, led my brother Kevin to become entwined in a life that is beyond the comprehension of “civilized” people.
You may not be able to comprehend how a father could be prouder of a son in crime than two sons who succeeded in other endeavors, but then you were not raised in an environment where violence was not only prized, but encouraged. You might not understand how his brothers cannot and would not condone the acts that were committed but love their brother in spite of his actions. You cannot understand how razor-thin the difference between taking the right or wrong road can be when you are caught up in an environment that is not within your control and in which you can only strive to survive with some sense of identity and self-worth.
The streets of Southie were tough, but not as tough as the apartment at 8 Pilsudski Way. There violence reigned supreme. What do you do when the streets are safer than your home? It was better to go out and take a beating (although mostly you were inflicting one) than face the consequences of failing. And you could win and still fail—you didn’t win by enough, the other person wasn’t bloodied enough or got up too soon after the punishment was inflicted. Do nothing, and you got a beating. There was a malevolence that permeated the air we breathed. We were the primary targets of it, and there was nothing we could do but survive it. And survive it we did, each in our own way and with any and all means and tools that we had within us and whatever external support system we could devise and utilize.
So one grew up inured to violence. It was a fact of life, nothing to get excited over. In fact, the absence of it was not necessarily a good thing, as you just wondered when it was going to occur and if you would be ready for it. It preyed upon your mind. It was actually easier to take the beating than to worry about when it was going to happen. Not if it would. That it would was never in question.
My brother Jack and I got out how and when we could. The train ride to Cambridge was in fact a ride to another world, one that was as alien to the people left behind as their world is (or should be) to you.
Kevin was not as lucky. You might feel that it was unthinkable that his parents would not want him to escape and better himself. But then you could not think in the terms that those who are supposed to be most influential in a child’s life saw the world.
The desire to control