Surviving the Mob - Dennis Griffin [95]
On April 6, 2001, Andrew was again a free man. Well, kind of. He was no longer Andrew DiDonato. And as a participant in the Witness Protection Program, the feds were keeping an eye on him. When the gate closed behind him that day, he entered a whole new world. Andrew explains what it was like.
“Learning the rules and how to interact with the Marshals Service was quite a shock to me, a guy who’d never been controlled like that before. After that I had to go through a cleansing period where I was given a new identity. And then it was time to get back into society and show the world that I was capable of being an honest productive citizen. It took me about a month to get up and running.
“I secured a driver’s license and bought a car. And then came the job hunt. I read every available newspaper in search of a way for a person in my position to earn money without drawing attention. When I wasn’t reading the paper, I was out pounding the pavement looking for my ideal job. I tried real hard, but I wasn’t able to find what I was looking for, what I’d be comfortable with.
“I finally came to the conclusion that I should open my own business. That would eliminate having to pass the scrutiny of potential employers who would be skeptical of hiring a thirty-five-year-old man with no work history or references. The only obstacle was money.
“I didn’t have unlimited financial resources available to me any longer. In my previous life, I always had a stash I could go to when needed. But those days were gone. I was now Joe Citizen dropped from the fuckin’ sky to the Midwest with no history or money. I still didn’t let that stop me. After some intense thought, I came up with what I thought to be the monster plan. I’d always loved to cook and that was the one thing I could do that was legitimate. So I decided to open a pizza restaurant.
“Like a sign from above, the very next day I saw an ad in the paper for a restaurant for sale. When I called to get the information, the guy on the other end of the line offered to practically give me the place. It turned out he was a real estate-agent who owned the restaurant and several other properties. He wasn’t interested in the business at all. His previous tenant had walked out and left everything. He wanted to either sell the building or have someone take over the lease. So we made a great deal that benefited both of us. I signed a lease to take over the business and would make monthly payments to purchase the equipment.
“When I think back on it now, it’s kind of funny. There I was in parts unknown trying to bring the flavor of Italy to these people who thought Olive Garden is gourmet Italian food. It was interesting, to say the least. Almost as soon as I opened the shop, business started booming. I knew I was a good cook. But not good enough to account for the lines of customers I was getting. And then it hit me like a shot. It wasn’t just my cookin’ that was bringing people in. They were coming to see the show. I was like a circus act. My accent and sense of humor drew them like flies.
“All day long I’d hear, ‘I love your accent. You’re not from here. I bet you’re from New York.’ My response was always the same. I’d smile and say I knew it wasn’t my accent that gave me away, it was my complexion. The customers always burst out laughing like it was the funniest line they’d ever heard. I didn’t care what they thought. I was making great money. And it was all legal.”
But over time, some of the locals became suspicious of the stranger. Who was he, really? What brought him to their town? What did he do before he came there? When Andrew failed to satisfy their curiosity, some people provided their own answers. Maybe he was really a drug dealer. Or perhaps the pizza joint was being used to launder money for the Mob. The rumors swirled. Andrew wasn’t bothered by them, though. In fact, he thought