Brutal_ The Untold Story of My Life Inside Whitey Bulger's Irish Mob - Kevin Weeks [70]
Before the move, Jimmy, Stevie, and I spent a lot of time checking weather reports, waiting until we heard a report about a rainy night when not too many people would be out and about. Since those who were out would be hidden under umbrellas or looking down trying to get out of the rain as quickly as possible, it would be easier for us not to draw any attention on that type of night. Once we got the weather we wanted, I took off for George’s house and, around 9:00 P.M., backed my car into the garage underneath his house. After George and I walked into the basement off the garage where the hide was, George took out a putty knife and slid it down the wall between the molding to a spot where it touched two copper nails with wires attached to them that were sticking out. As soon as the putty knife hit the nails, it made a connection and I heard a motor turning. As George and I walked out of the room, I saw that the wall had been on a track. Now the other side of the house opened up and we could see the hide. The two of us spent the next hour taking all the weapons out of the hide and packing them into the five duffel bags I had brought with me.
We were always acquiring guns and had stashed others in different houses, but it was certainly time to get them out of George’s house. It wouldn’t have been great for the new owner to have somehow moved the wall and discovered more than 200 weapons in his new home. Weapons were our tools of the trade, and we needed easy and constant access to them. We had to be prepared for anything that might come up. Obviously, we needed different weapons for different tasks, each need depending on the setting. For instance, if we were going car-to-car, we might need an assault weapon or a carbine machine gun with a silencer. Or if we were going after someone on foot, we’d need a pistol with a silencer. This arsenal had all those weapons, plus hand grenades, AK-47’s, Thompson and 9-mm submachine guns, bulletproof vests, and C-4 explosive, along with .25s, .32s, .38s, .45s, ski masks, holsters, walkie-talkies, and handcuffs. And boxes of ammunition for every caliber of gun there. More weapons than we could possibly use in a lifetime. Some we wanted to have with us if we were doing something, perhaps a hand grenade, just in case we might need it.
Jimmy, Stevie, and I, of course, knew how to use everything in this arsenal of weapons. We’d picked up a piece here or there, maybe from somebody selling one. They were often guns from robberies, stolen guns. It was never hard to get guns, since people were always wanting to sell them. And Jimmy, Stevie, and I took good care of ours, going down to our various hides once a month to clean the weapons and make sure they were functional.
Since we were criminals dealing with violent crimes, it wouldn’t have done much good for one of us to have walked up to someone with a flyswatter and said, “Give me your money.” Of course, not every criminal needs a weapon to commit his crime. White-collar types like WorldCom CEO Bernard Ebbers or Andrew Fastow of Enron use a pen or a computer, not a gun, to steal someone’s money. At least our weapons were easy to identify and there was nothing underhanded about our crimes. You knew when you were being robbed.
Anyhow, when George and I were through putting the duffel bags into my trunk, we went back into the house, made the connection again, and watched as the wall closed itself up. Then I drove to Stevie’s mother’s house in South Boston and backed the car into the driveway. In the rain, Stevie was waiting for me on the other side of the fence. I took the duffel bags out and passed them, one at a time, over the fence to Stevie, who carried each heavy bag into the screen house where he had built his own hide. The