Surviving the Mob - Dennis Griffin [56]
15
1995
Starting in 1995, Andrew’s life began a roller-coaster ride that made the previous years seem tame by comparison. The first week of January was an indication of a bumpy year. It began on a down note when he was summoned to a business meeting at Wild Bill Cutolo’s social club. The just-out-of-jail gangster was trying to find out what had happened to the money he’d entrusted to his son while he was behind bars. And he thought Andrew knew where at least some of it had gone.
“Wild Bill said that according to Billy’s records, I owed twenty-five thousand and he wanted to know when I was going to pay it back. I told him in no uncertain terms that the amount was actually about fifteen thousand and it was money that Billy and I put out on the street. He didn’t like that. He said, ‘You’re tellin’0 me my son’s a shylock? Billy’s no loanshark.’
“I think what happened is that Billy had gone through that money somehow and did a little creative accounting to cover it up. So if somebody owed ten thousand, Billy put it down as twenty. Regardless, I didn’t like Wild Bill’s attitude. I told him, ‘You called me in here to discuss this money and now you’re treating me like a fuckin’ mutt? Like I can’t be trusted? Do you wanna hear the truth or don’t ya? Because if you think I took that money to go sit on a beach with my wife, you’re out of your mind.’
“Billy still owed Robert Arena and me fifteen thousand or so for the marijuana we fronted him. I never pushed for it and I didn’t want to tell Wild Bill about it. I figured it was up to Billy to explain to his father that he’d gotten into the drug business.
“Our talk wasn’t gettin’ anywhere. Wild Bill said as far as he was concerned, I owed him twenty-five thousand. I told him he couldn’t get twenty-five. The amount was fifteen and Billy was involved in the loans whether he wanted to hear it or not. After that I left and went on my way.”
Meanwhile, Andrew was still waiting for final approval transferring his parole from Brooklyn to Staten Island.
“I was dating a girl whose father was associated with the Genovese family. He was a street guy like me and I really liked him. She got me an apartment in Staten Island and I was waiting for the parole people to okay the move.
“It was kinda funny, because Robert Arena and me had the same parole officer in Brooklyn. Sometimes I was at Robert’s house counting the pounds of pot or something when this guy showed up. We weren’t supposed to associate, so Robert stashed the pot while I jumped out the back window and hid in the shed.
“This particular parole officer was real strict with us. In the parole office, most of the guys waiting to see him would sit around the waiting room shooting the breeze and he didn’t say shit to them. But if he saw Robert and me talking, he’d tell us to shut up or he’d violate us.
“Thankfully, my transfer to Staten Island got approved and I was able to get away from that prick. The trouble was that I lost my job at the Gregory Hotel when my relationship with Wild Bill went sour. And the parole people wanted me to show that I had a means of earning an income. I told them that I was going to be self-employed and was opening a carpet-cleaning company. I called it Andrew’s Clean Machine. One of the guys I’d used the previous year to help me pass the counterfeit money gave me two floor cleaners. I’d never cleaned a carpet in my life and had no intention of doing so, but it allowed me to stay on the streets and gave me a way to account for my money. I made up phony receipts and took them to my parole officer every week. They showed I was making enough to pay my bills and put a few dollars in the bank. It worked perfect with no questions asked.”
SAN DIEGO CONNECTION
With the parole matter resolved, Andrew turned his attention to a personal matter. A problem with one of his sisters’ husbands had developed while he was in prison: He was not only verbally abusive, he put his hands on her. Andrew confronted him and told him he had two choices. He could act like a man and do what he was supposed