Final Confession

by Brian P. Wallace

  Phil had known the five victims from his own Walpole days, and he was leery of working with a thief who didn’t stop at paying people off to stay out of prison. On the other hand, risk was part of Phil’s business. And except for McAleney, Phil had always come out on top when using accomplices for crimes.

  So, though uneasy, Phil agreed to Tony’s and Angelo’s meeting with Red Kelley on a June afternoon at McGrail’s. Kelley, Angelo was told, couldn’t wait to brag to the Cresta guys about his big score in Plymouth. Though none of the Cresta team wanted to hear the story again, they were willing to let Kelley talk in order to get his help on this new potential job of theirs. Kelley was still considered one of the best at what he did—when he wasn’t talking.

  True to form, Kelley came in and had a few drinks with Tony and Angelo. He wouldn’t listen to what Angelo and Tony were proposing until he’d told his tale about Plymouth.

  “We clocked the job for at least six months. We even knew what time those guys took a shit,” Kelley bragged. “We had the whole job timed for under four minutes if everything went all right—and it went better than all right.”

  Angelo and Tony listened politely.

  After a long swig of beer Kelley told Tony and Angelo, “We were parked across the street from Clark Road in Plymouth. We saw the mail truck approach and everything went into motion. As soon as the truck turned onto Clark Road, one of our guys, who was dressed as a Plymouth police officer, ran over and put a detour sign on the road right behind the truck. We wanted that vehicle to be the last on Clark Road until the real cops arrived.

  “The driver had no clue. He drove for two and a quarter miles from where the detour sign was. There we’d staged a two-car accident, making it impossible to get by. In case the mail-truck guys got suspicious and tried to bolt when they saw the accident, we had a woman standing in the middle of the road, acting as if she’d been hurt.” Kelley grinned and drank some more beer. “Now who’s going to suspect an injured woman, who’s pretty cute as well, to pose any kind of threat? Ha! They almost fell over each other trying to get out of the truck to help.

  “The minute they got out of that truck, they knew they’d made a mistake—a one-and-a-half-million-dollar mistake.” Kelley was grinning from ear to ear by this time. He was also oblivious to who was around to hear him, which made both Angelo and Tony nervous.

  “He kept getting louder and louder, and he wasn’t telling us about his kid’s First Holy Communion either,” Tony said later. “We should’ve walked away right there, and never looked back.”

  But they didn’t, and Kelley went on. “Once those two guards’ shoes hit the pavement they were surrounded with heavy fire-power. They were smart, though, and did what we told them. We handcuffed them to one of the two stolen cars we’d used to stage the accident. Two of our guys, who were already dressed as armored car drivers, got in and drove the truck to a spot in Randolph, which we had designated as the drop-off spot. It took us about ten minutes to unload the bags.” Kelley laughed so hard he almost choked. Then he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

  Angelo said to Tony, “I think Phil’s right. This guy’s a loose cannon. Let’s clam up and tell him we just wanted to hear the Plymouth story firsthand. He’s so caught up in himself he won’t care. And then we’ll be outta this.”

  But to Tony and Angelo’s consternation, Kelley wasn’t through. He brought three more beers back with him, and continued. “Those postal assholes and the feds spent more money than we robbed trying to pinch us,” he said, laughing. “They charged us with armed robbery of mail, putting the lives of postal employees in jeopardy, and possession of firearms. I said to my lawyer, F. Lee Bailey, ‘No shit. When ya rob someone, you better put their lives in jeopardy or your own’ll be over.’ … You guys should call Bailey, just in case you need him someday.”

  Angelo looked at Tony and shook his head, meaning, “We both know how much Phil hates Bailey, but don’t tell Kelley.”

  After what seemed like forever, Kelley said, “But here I am: safe, sound, and rich. The indictments have been dropped. The feds never recovered a cent of that money and they never will.”

  “Speaking of money,” Angelo said, deciding to say what they’d come to say and seizing an opening, “we have a proposition for you.”

  Kelley leaned back confidently. “It better be six figures or I’m walking outta here.”

  “It’s six figures, don’t worry, Mr. Big-time,” Tony said disgustedly.

  Angelo got to the point. “We have reason to believe that a guard who works for Brink’s is looking to make a deal.”

  The word Brink’s made Kelley sit up. Like Phil, he thought of hitting Brink’s as the ultimate crime, if they could pull it off. Brink’s rolled with heavy money, and having an inside guy meant everything. And besides, the Brink’s robbery of 1950 was still being talked about. He was all ears.

  They outlined the job and asked if he was interested. “I have to eyeball your inside man first and have a sit-down with him,” Kelley responded.

  “Fair enough,” both Tony and Angelo replied.

  They shook hands and parted.

  That night Tony and Angelo met Phil in the South End and told him that Kelley was in. Then Tony said, “But, geez, what a flake. When he was giving the details of the hit, it looked like he was gonna have an orgasm.”

  “We have to be very careful of him,” Phil said. “He scares the shit out of me. No face-to-face meetings with that Brink’s guard, okay? That’s why we’re bringing Kelley in. If this goes down bad, that guard only knows Kelley. And if Kelley goes down, fuck him; he won’t be missed.”

  Angelo set up the first meeting between Kelley and the guard through a third party. Kelley met the guard, Andrew DeLeary, one evening in the Mede’s Log Cabin Bar in Revere. DeLeary was told to wear a Red Sox hat and a blue jacket because all the transactions had so far been carried out by phone and nobody knew what he looked like.

  Angelo picked up Kelley at his house in Watertown and drove him to Revere. He waited in his car as Kelley went in and sat in a booth facing the door. About five minutes later Angelo saw a station wagon enter the Log Cabin parking lot. Out of it climbed a man wearing a Red Sox hat and a blue jacket. Andrew DeLeary looked around a couple of times before he climbed the stairs that led into the bar.

  Angelo sat there for about forty minutes, praying that Kelley didn’t screw this thing up. It seemed like the longest forty minutes of his life. At one point Angelo was tempted to go in and watch what was going on, but he knew Phil would be angry if he let himself be seen.

  DeLeary finally came out, went to his car without looking around, and drove off. A couple of minutes later Kelley walked out and got into Angelo’s car. Angelo asked him what he thought.

  Kelley wasn’t sure the man could be trusted. “He seems … scared,” Kelley told Angelo.

  “The guy is a legit guy! Of course he’s fucking scared,” Angelo angrily replied. “He’s gonna rob the joint he works for. Wouldn’t you be nervous?”

  “I guess,” Kelley said, unconvinced. Then he added, “Oh yeah, he wants to meet again next week.”

  On the next two Wednesday nights, Kelley and DeLeary met at the Log Cabin. At the third meeting they finalized a deal. By then Kelley felt comfortable enough with DeLeary to give the go-ahead to Angelo.

  The next piece of the puzzle would be to determine what Brink’s truck to hit, and when. Phil cased a bank in Burlington that was on DeLeary’s Brink’s route. But it was too close to a police station. DeLeary then gave Kelley information about a stop in the Natick Shopping Mall. He told Kelley that the truck would have in excess of $150,000 when it got to the mall. Kelley cased the place for a couple of weeks, but didn’t like the setup of the location.

  Phil, Tony, and Angelo were getting frustrated. They had a meeting with Kelley in which they voiced their displeasure. A couple of days later Kelley called, excited. “I think I got it,” he said. On his own, Kelley had clocked an armored truck run that inc
luded pickups at major restaurants and hospitals, then finished by picking up at all three major department stores in downtown Boston.

  Phil also became enthusiastic when he heard about this particular truck. It was mid-October by this time, and he looked at Tony and uttered but one word, “Christmas.” From that point on, only that job occupied their minds. They decided that Saturday, the heaviest shopping day of the week, as dusk was falling, was the time to hit.

  Kelly asked DeLeary about the run. “Yeah, that’s a lucrative route. The best of the Saturday trucks,” the guard replied. “We call it the Saturday-three run because it picks up from all three big department stores. I don’t know who drives it, though.”

  Kelley said he’d seen one of the three guards carrying a white pearl-handled revolver.

  “Oh yeah?” DeLeary said. “I know him. That’s Smokey—Richard Haines. I’ll find out who the other guards are.”

  Kelley then asked DeLeary how much money this particular truck would be carrying after its downtown department store pickups.

  DeLeary estimated anywhere from half a mil to a million dollars, given the season, but of course the figure would go down after Christmas. Kelley made notes and promised to call DeLeary in a few days.

  The team clocked Brink’s truck 6280 every Saturday for a month. It started in the morning at Joseph’s, a posh restaurant. Then it went to Children’s Hospital, the Harvard Coop, and out to Brigham Circle, where there were several hospitals and a supermarket. One of but a handful of trucks that picked up on Saturday, on this particular route it had three guards, as Kelley had observed. Phil studied their mannerisms, their reactions, when and where they ate, how long they took, and how long they spent at each stop on their route. The three guards on 6280 seemed a little more lax than many, making Phil more and more sure this was the truck to hit. They almost always took a break at the same tavern in South Station, then at a diner on State Street, and their last stop of the day was always the same: Downey & Judge’s, a bar on Canal Street, near the Union Oyster House. The team thought that might be the best place to hit the truck.

  On two consecutive Saturdays Kelley and the team watched two of the guards leave the truck and go into Downey & Judge’s, near the Boston Garden. The third guard, alone, stayed in the back of the truck, which was locked, but the team saw no sign that he ever bolted either of the front doors. Kelley, as careful as his reputation, clocked the scene from every conceivable angle, including from the elevated North Station MBTA platform. He wanted to see what kind of view any waiting riders might have of the robbery they planned.

  Despite the temptation of the big score and Kelley’s apparent care, Phil continued to have mixed feelings about Kelley. He just didn’t trust the guy, especially with such a big haul. So Phil told Tony and Angelo that one of them had to sit in on all further meetings between Kelley and DeLeary. “I know it puts one of us in jeopardy, but we have to know Kelley’s being square with us. If we have to, we’ll kill Kelley and DeLeary after this is over.”

  Tony and Angelo were silent. Then Angelo said, “I’ll go. I think Kelley trusts me.”

  Phil replied, “Nothing personal, Ange, but Red Kelley doesn’t trust his own mother.”

  At the next meeting at the Log Cabin, Red Kelley introduced Angelo to DeLeary. “Who’s he?” DeLeary asked. “He’s the guy who’s been staking you out.” Kelley smiled. DeLeary was shocked. “You guys have been watching me?” “Fucking right we have, whadda ya think this is, Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour?” Kelley laughed. DeLeary turned pale and looked around to see if there were any more eyes watching him. Very nervous now, he asked, “Is anyone going to get hurt?” “That all depends on how it goes down,” Kelley said nonchalantly. “Hey, I know one of those guys,” DeLeary said, producing a sheet of paper with the names of the three guards who rode Brink’s truck number 6280 on the Saturday-three run. “Be careful, okay?”

  The names were Richard Haines—the one who carried the personalized revolver—John Gillespie, and Joseph Kelly.

  Angelo and Red Kelley looked at the paper and Kelley began to laugh. “Joe Kelly, huh? I like that. He doesn’t spell it like I do, but I like it a lot. Luck of the Irish, eh?” And then he ceremoniously burned the paper and put its smoldering remains in the ashtray on their table.

  ON A BITTER COLD November morning Kelley got word to meet DeLeary on Boston Common.

  “You aren’t going to believe this.” DeLeary was smiling ear to ear. “I just got assigned to 6280’s Monday run.”

  Kelley grinned. Things were starting to look up.

  The next Saturday the entire team—seven men—met at McGrail’s and then went to the North End. They lunched together at Joe Tecce’s, then walked in three groups from the restaurant to the stakeout on Canal Street. Red Kelley and Santo “Sonny” Diaferio, whose wife had been the pretty “accident victim” in the Plymouth robbery some six years earlier, walked in front. Phil, Tony, and Angelo were a block behind Kelley and Diaferio. Stephen Roukous and Carmello Merlino, recently added to the team after Phil had done a count of how many guys would be needed, brought up the rear, a block behind Phil, Tony, and Angelo. It was now the last week of November and the wind whipped down Canal as they waited for truck 6280.

  Each group watched from a different vantage point. The truck came to a stop on Canal, in front of the Union Oyster House. Two guards got out and, as was their custom, walked into Downey & Judge’s and stayed there for eighteen minutes. The armored truck was locked, with a lone guard in the back who did not bolt the front doors. They all liked what they saw.

  At their conference afterward, Kelley suggested they could hit the two guards as soon as they opened the door.

  Phil shook his head and said, “Two doors, Red, two doors.”

  “Oh yeah,” Kelley said, and took a drink of his beer.

  “Let’s just go in heavy, hit all three, and grab the loot,” Diaferio suggested.

  Phil listened to this cowboy scenario and others until he’d heard enough. Then he said, “Why don’t we just get a key and let ourselves in?” Everyone stared at him. Kelley asked, “Are you crazy? Those guards have to sign for all the keys they get, and sign again when they return them. It’s impossible unless you’re Houdini.” Diaferio agreed, saying, “Nobody has Brink’s keys. Not even the great Phil Cresta.”

  Phil shook his head again. “You guys with this shoot-’em-up mentality make me laugh. We want to get in and out without anyone knowing we’ve even been there.” Nobody spoke. Phil continued, “Listen, we have a guard on our payroll, right?” “We do?” Diaferio asked. This was news to him, and to the newest team members, Merlino and Roukous. “Shut up and listen,” barked Angelo. “Yeah, listen to Mr. Houdini,” Kelley said sarcastically. Phil, ignoring Kelley’s taunts, said, “Kelley, check with DeLeary and see how tough it would be to borrow a key to truck 6280. A couple of minutes is all I need.”

  That night Angelo and Kelley grilled DeLeary on every aspect of 6280’s Monday schedule. DeLeary told them that he and his two partners took two breaks, one in the morning, at the Bulkie Restaurant near Copley Square, and one in the afternoon, on Commonwealth Avenue. DeLeary stayed in the truck in the afternoon, but not in the morning. The pattern of the breaks was not expected to change.

  “So there’s a guy in the truck while you take your morning break?” Angelo asked.

  “Yes,” DeLeary stated. “We always leave someone in the truck.”

  “Where’s the truck parked?” Kelly probed.

  “Right there, on Boylston Street.”

  “So the guard who’s still in the truck has you in sight at all times?” Angelo asked.

  “Absolutely,” DeLeary replied firmly.

  Angelo groaned and repeated, “So you’re never alone and you’re always in sight of each other.”

  “Yeah,” DeLeary said. “Keeping each other constantly in sight is a rule none of us breaks.”

  “Okay,” Angelo said glumly. “We’ll get back to you.”

  On t
he way back from the meeting, Kelley said to Angelo, “Doesn’t sound too good.” “Phil will come up with something,” Angelo said confidently. “Yeah, I forgot we’re working with Mr. Houdini.” “Fuck you, Kelley,” Angelo said, a little too loudly. He was really getting annoyed at the way Kelley liked to put Cresta down.

  Monday morning Phil and Angelo were in Copley Square. At ten-fifteen exactly the big gray Brink’s truck double-parked, and Phil saw Andrew DeLeary for the first time. Laughing and joking with his partner, DeLeary went into the Bulkie Restaurant on Boylston Street. The two men were inside for six minutes and thirty seconds, and came out holding paper bags.

  Phil made notations on everything he saw, including traffic conditions and the number of a Boston police car that drove by while the two guards were in the store. On the way to their car Phil said to Angelo, “Go into that phone booth and call Tony. Tell him to meet us at my room in an hour.”

  Later that night Phil called Kelley and they all met at McGrail’s.

  Just as Angelo had predicted, Phil came up with a plan. He went over it with Kelley and Angelo, and stressed that nobody else needed to know anything. Kelley instructed DeLeary on what to do the next Monday.

  The following Monday, December 9, Angelo was in the phone booth, approximately seven yards from the restaurant’s entrance, when the Brink’s truck pulled up to the Bulkie Restaurant. As DeLeary and his partner left the truck on Boylston Street and passed the phone booth where Angelo was pretending to be talking to someone, DeLeary quickly slipped two keys into Angelo’s hand. The pass-off was perfect, completed in the blink of an eye.

  Walking behind DeLeary was Tony, who took the keys from Angelo and quickly went around the corner to a parking lot on Exeter Street. Phil Cresta was seated in the front seat of his Bonneville. Cresta took the keys and began work, using the smoker he kept in his glove box. Within two minutes he had a copy of each key—one to truck 6280’s front door, the other to the back.