Surviving the Mob - Dennis Griffin [81]
“Our timing was perfect. We knew we’d be long gone before Danny got there. After ordering like kings, with six bottles of wine and entrées, I went downstairs and put the plan into place. I used the pay phone to call the restaurant upstairs. Doing my best impersonation of Danny’s squeaky voice, I asked to speak with the owner.
“I said, ‘It’s cousin Danny. Are Andrew and the boys there? Good. Listen to me. Today is Tommy’s birthday. I’m supposed to be there, but I can’t make it. So make sure I get the bill. Don’t charge anyone and I’ll stop by in a few hours and pay the tab.’
“I hung up the phone and went back upstairs. The owner stopped at our table a couple of minutes later. He said Danny had called and said our meals and all the trimmings—nearly a thousand dollars worth—were on him. There was a moment of silence as we all looked at each other and then burst out laughing.
“When we left the restaurant, we went down the street to a bar we frequented. Danny was dating a girl who worked there and we knew he’d show up after he stopped at the restaurant. Within an hour, Danny came flyin’ through the door. His face was beet red and he was waving the bill in the air. He yelled across the room, ‘Andrew, are you on fuckin’ medication?’
“We were all laughing so hard we could hardly breathe. We bought Danny a drink. In a couple of minutes he’d calmed down and was laughing with us. He knew he had it coming.”
During his confinement, Andrew met some other interesting organized-crime figures and gained valuable insights into the mentality of many of the bosses. The results were both disappointing and beneficial.
He met Andrew Russo at MCC. He’d been a Colombo boss at one time and in the streets his whole life. Still, he came across as intelligent and well-read. He had a wide range of interests and could carry on a conversation on almost any subject. Andrew’s time spent with Russo during their incarceration was definitely a learning experience.
Russo’s son Jo Jo was there too, on a conviction from the Colombo war. Jo Jo passed away not long ago. Andrew doesn’t relish speaking ill of the dead, but he says Jo Jo wasn’t like his father. He was more like a baby. Every day he whined about his conviction.
“Those guys sat in MCC for seven years fightin’ and appealin’ their cases. I couldn’t believe they didn’t want to go to Otisville so they could at least get some fresh air. But they didn’t. They stayed at MCC the whole time.
“It’s funny that you hear a lot about some of these guys, who are kinda like legends when they’re on the streets. But when you see them behind bars, you find out they’re human beings like the rest of us. They put their pants on like the rest of us and they’ve got their own strengths and weaknesses. That can be a letdown, because sometimes their street personalities aren’t as colorful when you meet them in person behind bars.
“I learned a lot about some of those guys I’d thought were larger than life while I was locked up with them. What I saw contributed to my changing attitude about organized crime and the people in it. Most of what I’d thought it was didn’t really exist. The camaraderie, the idea that it was one big family where everybody took care of each other, was all bullshit. During my last several months on the streets, I’d learned that true friends were few and far between. And that guys like Nicky Corozzo didn’t give a fuck about anybody but themselves. When they could use you to make them rich and take care of their dirty work for them, you were okay. But if you stopped producing or got so good at your job that you became a threat, you became expendable. And make no mistake, we were all expendable.
“People think that those of us who become government witnesses turned against the bosses. The reality is the bosses turned against us. The guys in middle management and on the streets have to follow certain protocols. But not the bosses. They change the rules or make new ones to suit their own situations. They take from their underlings until there’s