Surviving the Mob - Dennis Griffin [82]
“So those days gave me a front-row seat into the mindset of the big shots as they planned their strategy on how they’d defend themselves in court. I’ve heard it said that watching sausage being made isn’t a pretty sight. For me, seeing and hearing what was going on was the organized-crime version of making sausage. Those guys had no loyalty to anybody. The so-called principles that I once thought everybody, even the bosses, abided by were laid bare as lies. As those scenarios unfolded, on the one hand I felt like a real sucker. I’d bought into that crap hook, line, and sinker. On the other hand, it made me feel better about what I was doing. The whole Mafia thing in my day was built on lies and misconceptions. These guys didn’t feel the least bit guilty about what they’d done or were prepared to do. I was beginning to have no regrets either.”
Andrew longed to see his son. But Dina wouldn’t allow it, citing the fact that because he was involved in a serious relationship with Charlotte, visitation wouldn’t be appropriate. That didn’t sit very well with him.
“Dina was what I call a sauce maker. And I don’t mean in the kitchen. She seemed to cause trouble for me at every turn. She didn’t want to live with me, but didn’t want anybody else to have me either. I think she was relishing the fact that I was in prison and hoped that I’d need her somewhere down the line. I refused to kiss her ass and she used my son as leverage against me. So I didn’t see him at all for two years—while I was on the run and while I was in Otisville and MCC.
In the late summer of 1998, Andrew went to court and admitted his part in the 1996 New Jersey bank robbery. Shortly after that, prosecutors informed him that the cases he had provided information on were moving forward and indictments would be forthcoming in the near future. He knew when that happened, the cat would be partially out of the bag. There would be suspicion at the least; eventually, the whole story would get out.
“The first case was going to be against the bank-robbery crew,” Andrew said. “That made me kind of sad. But the choice wasn’t mine. And knowing they’d have had no choice but to give me up to Nicky somewhere down the line made it a little easier.
“I appeared before Judge Charles P. Sifton on September third for sentencing on the bank-robbery plea. It was kind of a surreal experience. None of the cases I was helping with had been announced yet, so he’d have to take the prosecutor’s word about how helpful I was being. If he wasn’t convinced, he could have given me thirty years. That made me pretty nervous and I had butterflies when I stood before him. As he talked, he said he wondered how many generations organized crime would ruin. And then he started to cry. The first thing I thought was that he was going to use me as an example that society had to get tough on crime.
“But he didn’t. He said he’d been told the extent of my cooperation and sentenced me to forty-eight months. He stated that he was uncomfortable giving me that much time and he ordered that his sentence run concurrent with the eight years I’d been given for the parole violation. He added that if I could rectify my parole situation, he’d consider bringing me back to further reduce the sentence he’d just handed down.
“Under the circumstances, the news couldn’t have been any better. The almost twenty months I’d been locked up counted toward his sentence. Adding in my good-time allowance, my federal sentence timed out on November seventh, 2000.
“Just days after the sentencing, a correction officer got me up around four-thirty in the morning and told me I was being moved to the Hole. Nicky the Blonde was my cellmate and he was concerned that the move was disciplinary. But I knew it was the first move in getting to the Witness Protection unit. Later that