Surviving the Mob - Dennis Griffin [80]
“But those realizations about myself and organized crime occurred over time. My toughest obstacles at first were having to give up my friends along with my enemies and convincing my mother that I had made the right decision.
“Unfortunately, a government witness doesn’t get to pick who or what he’ll talk about. The prosecutors had made it very clear that they wouldn’t accept anything from me but total honesty. Nothing was off the table—not my own crimes or those that I committed with others. That meant I had to throw my buddies from the bank-robbery crew under the bus along with everybody else. That was a real hard thing to do at the beginning. Later, I came to accept the fact that we were all part of the life. And the way the game is played, it’s the bottom line that counts in the end. If Nicky had kept the pressure on them about how much we actually made in that New Jersey bank robbery and some other scores, they’d have eventually given me up. That’s the way it works.
“My mother wasn’t upset about the cooperation aspect of my deal. She was concerned about the long-term effects. The way she looked at it, some of the high-profile guys who turned government witness, guys like Sammy the Bull, had lots of money stashed when they flipped. They could start over again a lot easier than I’d be able to. She worried that they’d stick me in some Godforsaken place with no money and no way to establish myself. But after a while, she realized that there wasn’t really any other option for me and she knew it was the right move.
“My nervousness came from the lack of knowing exactly what kind of sentence I was going to get when I had to face a judge and pay for all the crimes I was admitting to. The prosecutor’s promise of a sentencing recommendation didn’t tell me a hell of a lot. I knew the New Jersey bank job could carry a long prison term all by itself. And a felon in possession of a weapon was serious as well. I could still end up in prison until I was an old man. I didn’t think that would happen. But the uncertainty was there.”
For the next several months, Andrew continued his routine: shuttled among Otisville, MCC, and various courthouses. Although he would eventually enter the first phase of the federal Witness Protection Program—the phase for incarcerated witnesses—for the time being he remained in general population.
“In prison, like on the streets, you run into some guys you like and some you don’t. One of those I met was Theodore Persico, my friend Teddy Persico’s father. I liked him, but he was a little eccentric. We met in Otisville and after the first twenty minutes of conversation, I surmised that he was a pretty thrifty guy. In fact, I figured he probably still had the first nickel he ever made in organized crime. For example, New York State charged nickel deposits on their soda cans. He went around the prison and collected the cans from the trash barrels and turned them in for the deposit. Considering that Theodore was a boss, money certainly wasn’t an issue for him. Like I said, he was a nice guy, but a bit odd.”
Andrew really shouldn’t have been surprised that the elder Persico wasn’t a free spender. If like-father-like-son is any indication, Andrew’s dealings with Danny Persico, Theodore’s son, should have tipped him off.
“Danny, me, and some of our associates met for dinners and lunches multiple time per week. And during these outings, Danny was known for always leaving others with the tab. During our friendship, it became a long-running joke. I really liked Danny and it was all in good fun.
“One day me, Tommy Dono, and Benny Geritano returned the favor by playing a trick on Danny that he wouldn’t forget. It was an afternoon and we were hanging around a friend’s social club in Bensonhurst. There were about ten of us and we were gettin’ a little hungry, so we went to this neighborhood restaurant that was owned by a friend of ours. It was also one of Danny’s favorite spots. So I called Danny and told him he could meet us there