Brutal_ The Untold Story of My Life Inside Whitey Bulger's Irish Mob - Kevin Weeks [106]
We also knew that since the grand jury had first been convened, they had round-the-clock surveillance on us. There were three different teams, each one working eight hours on us. We got to know lots of their faces. It didn’t matter how many different cars they drove, we remembered their faces. South Boston is a small community, so it wasn’t that hard to spot the undercover cops. People overestimate the law. They figure that once they’re on you, you can’t do anything. But that’s not true. It’s not that they’re so great at what they do, it’s just that the criminals can be lazy at what they do. And if a criminal makes one mistake, he’s gone. Most criminals don’t put enough effort into not being caught. The law can make a thousand mistakes, and they still get their check every week. And time is always on their side. They have all the time in the world.
But I’d gotten really good at losing the law whenever I wanted to. I’d hop on the T, go one or two stops, then hop on another train and go a few more stops before getting off and getting into a waiting car. Or I’d make my way through the projects on foot, snake through a few buildings and tunnels, come out the other side, and jump into a car I’d parked there earlier. Or I would drive down a one-way street, hop out, and have another car waiting. When they had a plane on me, I would drive to Logan Airport where there was restricted airspace and their plane couldn’t follow me.
Sometimes Jimmy and I would be flying down the highway in the left high-speed lane, and we’d suddenly swing over three lanes and fly off an exit at high speed. Other times, we’d be in the right lane on the highway, going 25 miles per hour. Anyone who is behind you who is not following you would get upset and swing by and pass you. But the law would slow down and try and stay behind you at a distance. Or they’d get ahead of you and wait at a rest area for you to pass. Those were just things we learned over the years. Like how the law would use magnets to try to put transmitters underneath the car’s bumper, sort of an early form of LoJack. But we’d always check the bumpers and find them. Then we’d take out the battery and leave the empty transmitter in place there. When I think about all the work Jimmy and I put into not getting caught, I can barely imagine how much money we could have made legitimately, probably with a lot less effort. But with Jimmy gone, I wasn’t curtailing my activities, and was basically living the same life, although without his presence. But no matter where I went, I felt the presence of the law.
On Thursday night, January 5, 1995, I was down at the L Street Tavern, which my friend Bobby Cox owned, playing whist with some friends. This was the place used for Good Will Hunting, where Matt Damon always hung around. In the movie, Damon had the middle booth. But the end booth was my booth, right next to the jukebox. When I walked in, anyone sitting there would get up so my friends and I could play cards at our designated card table. Anyhow, that night, Stevie’s younger brother Michael walked through the door and motioned to me. As the two of us walked outside together, he told me, “They just pinched Stevie.”
“What’s he doing still around, Mikey?” I asked him. “I told him to take off two weeks ago.”
“I know, I know,” Michael said.
“Jesus, what was he thinking?” I said. “He should have taken off.”
“I know, I know,” Michael kept repeating.
When I started to look around, all I could see were all sorts of new cars driving around. The faces in the cars were all staring at me as the undercover agents kept circling the bar. It was an even stronger presence than I’d had in the past two weeks since Jimmy took off. “Mikey, you brought the law with you,” I told him as I started to point out the circling cars to him. “Just look at them. I’ll catch you later.”
I walked into the bar, grabbed my jacket, and walked out the side door. A friend met me at L and Seventh streets