Brutal_ The Untold Story of My Life Inside Whitey Bulger's Irish Mob - Kevin Weeks [117]
An hour later, Jimmy called back, and this time he got Morris on the phone. “You started this fucking thing,” he told him. “Use your Machiavellian mind and straighten this out. Because if I go down, I’m taking you down with me.”
It had to terrify Morris that Jimmy, on the run, had found out exactly where he was. Morris, of all people, knew what a dangerous man Jimmy was. And now he knew that Jimmy Bulger could find him no matter where he was. When I told Connolly about the conversation, he laughed and said, “He had a heart attack a couple of days ago. He died twice on the table. It must have been some phone call.” But instead of retracting the Globe story or dying on the table, Morris recovered enough to seek immunity from prosecution and, years later, went on to testify against John Connolly.
As for my relationship with Connolly, things changed drastically between the two of us in 1996. Two years earlier, in December 1994, Connolly had come to the liquor store to tell me that Jimmy and Stevie were about to be indicted. But once Stevie was in jail and Jimmy was gone, I saw a great deal more of Connolly. Our frequent meetings, which probably numbered more than three dozen, began in 1996 and continued until I got pinched in November 1999. The first meeting took place in Harvard Square when Stevie, who was locked up in Plymouth, gave me the number to call to reach out to Connolly. Stevie wanted me to find out what was going on with the investigation, what the state police and DEA were doing. Connolly informed me that the DEA and state police, who were working together, were not getting along with the FBI, that cooperation was at the lowest point ever. He said he’d try and find out more and would let me know. The next time I visited Stevie at Plymouth, I gave him that information.
At our next two meetings, which were at a restaurant/bar in Cambridge called Finnigan’s Wake, John and I were basically talking about witnesses and the case they had against Jimmy and Stevie. He kept telling me that the feds had a weak case, that they had nothing there, that the case was going to fall apart. We also discussed witnesses, their health and which ones had already died. When I wanted to set up a meeting or speak to Connolly, I would call his office and say it was Chico calling. If he wanted to get in touch with me, he would call a relative of mine, who would call me up and tell me that my girlfriend was looking for me. That was my relative’s way of joking with me.
After our first few meetings in Cambridge, the rest of my meetings with Connolly were held in the evenings at the Top of the Hub restaurant on the fifty-second floor of the Prudential Building, where Boston Edison had its business offices. We’d meet around five-thirty, eat, and talk. At each meeting, he continued to keep me informed about the different witnesses. Chico Krantz’s health was failing. Another bookmaker, Eddie Lewis, was also in bad health. George Kaufman had already died of natural causes. Frankie Salemme Jr. had also died. The only thing Jimmy Katz had said was that he believed the money he gave to George Kaufman was going to Whitey and Stevie, which wasn’t a really damaging statement. More and more, we continued to hear that the case was falling apart.
One fall day in 1996 while I was visiting Stevie, he wrote down a number and held it up to the window for me to write it down. “Call the number,” he told me. “Get ahold of Eric. Ask for Dick. Say you’re a friend of Paul’s.” That night, I followed his instructions and set up a meeting with Dick for the following Thursday night at the old Braintree Drive-In. That night, Dick walked out of a small blue foreign car with his rottweiler. About five-ten, in his mid-sixties, he was heavyset, with silver hair, glasses, and a pudgy round face. “Are you Dick?” I asked