Brutal_ The Untold Story of My Life Inside Whitey Bulger's Irish Mob - Kevin Weeks [108]
“How you doing?” he asked simply, and Cathy went right to him and gave him a big hug. The two of them embraced a long minute, making a dramatic scene, sort of like out of Casablanca. He was wearing a Stetson hat, a black leather jacket, and dark jeans. He and I shook hands, and the three of us walked over to the Savin Hill side of the parking lot. Jimmy seemed nice and relaxed and in a good mood, like he didn’t have a care in the world. We got into his black Mercury Grand Marquis, me in front with him driving and Cathy in back, which is how we usually sat when we were out with women.
We drove around South Boston and Dorchester for an hour or so, just to see the town and stuff. Jimmy was joking around for a little bit and then we talked about what was going on with the case, how Stevie was doing and why he hadn’t taken off. Jimmy had spent nine years in prison, including a stint in Alcatraz, so he knew how hard it would be for Stevie, who’d never been in prison before. He felt that was one of the reasons Stevie hadn’t fled, the fact that he had no idea what prison was like. He was worried that left to his own devices, Stevie would self-destruct.
Actually, eight years earlier, back in 1987, Jimmy had wanted to pack it in. He was approaching sixty and figured it was time to retire. He’d had enough of it all. He wasn’t sure what he would do, maybe travel. He certainly didn’t need any more money. It would have been fine with me. But Stevie had wanted to stay active and Jimmy was hostage to him.
Now, even though Jimmy had been gone less than two months, it was obvious that he was preparing to stay out as long as he had to. I knew it would work for him. He’d prepared for this for years. And he had no bad habits, no vices. He didn’t drink or gamble or use drugs. Things would have been different if he did any of those things. Plus, most important, he was extremely self-disciplined and would never let his guard down. It takes a lot of money to stay out there, but I imagined he had taken care of that. Driving around that night, I did ask him if he needed money and he said he was all set.
Finally, Jim drove me back to my car and I gave him a new phone number where he could reach me whenever he needed me. He said he’d call me. And then I got out of the car and Jimmy and I had a handshake and the two of them drove off.
Although the indictments had been served and Jimmy was officially a fugitive, I had pretty much the same routine as before, although it was less restrictive and more relaxing without him around. I’d stay home till around noon. Then I’d shower and shave and go down to the variety store around 1:30 and stay till 6:00 P.M. People would come down to see me and complain. I’d hear about people being bothered, kids breaking into houses, relatives beating up family members, the basic day-to-day complaints. As I’d always done, I’d have to deal with each situation. I’d grab the people who were preying on weaker people and tell them to stop it. I’d find the guys who were robbing in Southie and send them to Newton or Wellesley. “Don’t go robbing your own people,” I’d tell them. “Go to the richer towns. They have more.”
Parents who were having trouble with their kids would ask me to talk to the kids and help keep them out of trouble. Some kids were trying drugs or getting into fights all the time or stealing cars. I’d go to the house or see the kids on the street or when they came into the store and tell them, “What you’re doing is building up a record where you will end up doing time in jail. Everything you’re doing is foolish. You’re not making any money doing what you’re doing. It’s not worth it.” I didn’t have a record, but I had a reputation and the kids might listen to me better than they would to their parents. I sponsored some basketball and hockey teams, giving money to each team so they could buy uniforms and equipment. The community