The Sixth Family

by Lamothe, Lee

  Vito’s pending drinking-and-driving charge, meanwhile, which was also before the courts, was put on hold until his more substantial problem could be settled.

  MONTREAL, AUGUST 6, 2004

  In one of the interconnecting labyrinthine hallways of Montreal’s Palais de Justice, the city’s busy courthouse, a graying, bespectacled attorney walked slowly toward one of the many courtrooms. His wide smile and ruffled hair were instantly recognizable to passing lawyers and reporters, although many had to quiz others nearby to actually put a name to the face. The appearance of Alan M. Dershowitz, the famed Boston lawyer and Harvard law professor, known for representing such celebrity clients as O.J. Simpson and Mike Tyson, was causing something of a celebrity moment himself, brightening up the dry legal proceedings at Vito’s bail hearing before the Quebec Superior Court.

  Dershowitz had been engaged to come to Montreal to provide testimony on behalf of Vito on points of American law. His testimony was to bolster the contention, argued by Vito’s lawyers, that the chances of successful prosecution in New York was slight and so it would be in the best interests of justice to release Vito on bail while he awaited decisions over his various appeals, made to both the Quebec Court of Appeal and the Federal Court of Canada.

  It was a surprising appearance and Dershowitz was mobbed by reporters anxious for a sound bite. They seemed disappointed when he stuck so closely to his script of arcane legal facts.

  “The charges in this case are very specific and very narrow and they end in 1981, so, under a traditional statute of limitation analysis, he would have had to be prosecuted by 1986,” Dershowitz told reporters. His appearance, however, suggested the lengths to which Vito would go to defend himself. But even Dershowitz could not prevail. Nor could five citizens of Montreal who offered their homes and businesses as sureties against Vito fleeing if released on bail: the owner of a supermarket in the plaza beside the Club Social Consenza; a woman from Cattolica Eraclea and her husband, close neighbors of the Rizzutos, who run a Laval submarine-sandwich shop and own several buildings in Montreal; another former resident of Cattolica Eraclea who has known Vito since childhood and offered his catering business as a surety; and yet another former resident of Vito’s hometown who offered his small chain of bakeries. The bail request and appeal were led by Pierre Morneau, the same lawyer involved in the Newfoundland case when his dinner table was bugged by the RCMP.

  Vito’s bail request was turned down and, in November 2005, a panel of three judges with the Quebec Court of Appeal unanimously rejected his appeal of the extradition order. Since he had already withdrawn an appeal to the Federal Court of Canada, his options were narrowing.

  On December 22, 2005, Vito appealed to the Supreme Court of Canada, the highest court in the country, to overturn the government’s decision to send him to face trial in the United States.

  BROOKLYN, 2005

  In New York, meanwhile, Vito’s co-accused were not facing such delays and had started to trickle through the justice system. Few were faring well. The government had moved immediately for permanent orders of detention against 16 of the accused, including Vito—who had already been called dangerous and a flight risk in court documents, though he was not yet before a U.S. court. It was a hurdle for many just to make bail. Some never did.

  Bail climbed to $6 million for Patrick “Patty Muscles” Romanello, described as a longstanding associate of the Bonanno Family who was facing life imprisonment. Romanello was accused in the 1983 murder of Enrico Mazzeo, a former deputy commissioner of the New York City Marine and Aviation Department who was moonlighting as a Bonanno associate when shot, wrapped in a plastic bag and placed in the trunk of his rental car. Before closing the trunk, a Bonanno soldier stabbed Mazzeo eight to 10 times in the neck to make sure he was dead.

  Romanello was also charged with the 1990 murder of Louis Tuzzio, a Bonanno associate who was killed on orders from Sal Vitale, after demands for his blood were made by John Gotti. Tuzzio drew the wrath of the Dapper Don when he was involved in a hit aimed at Gus Farace, a Bonanno associate. Farace was ordered killed because he had murdered Special Agent Everett Hatcher, an undercover DEA officer; the ensuing police outrage brought a wave of unwanted pressure on the mob. During the sloppy Farace hit, Tuzzio and two colleagues shot and injured the son of an influential Gambino Family soldier. Similarly, the slaying of Tuzzio was not a smooth piece of work. When detectives found him dead in the driver’s seat of his car in Brooklyn, there were clear signs of a struggle: he had cuts across his face and head, and his right leg was resting on the car’s dashboard, suggesting he was trying to kick out the front windshield when he died. In his hand was a clump of hair yanked from an attacker. Romanello would eventually plead guilty.

  Romanello’s bid for bail took an unusual twist after he offered up property listed in the names of his wife and mother-in-law as sureties that he would not flee. The government questioned how much influence his wife really had over Romanello. Prosecutors then revealed that Romanello had a second family that his wife did not know about.

  “If this stands in the way of being granted bail, Mr. Romanello has authorized counsel to acknowledge the fact before his wife and children in open court,” Romanello’s lawyer replied. Observers pondered which would be a worse punishment for Romanello—incarceration at the crowded Metropolitan Detention Center or house arrest under the watchful eye of a wife who would just be learning of her husband’s extensive extramarital activities.

  Notwithstanding Romanello’s obvious virility, looking at the medical dossiers of many of Vito’s other co-defendants—and ignoring their criminal allegations—it hardly seemed a robust group assembled before the courts. The number of medical ailments they complained of, brought to the attention of the judge to boost their bids for bail or a loosening of their strict bail provisions, could have filled a medical textbook.

  “He’s in very poor physical health,” James Frocaro, lawyer for accused 70-year-old gangster Louis Restivo, said in court. “I actually had to write down what he suffers from because there is so much. And they’re all serious,” he said, before listing them: diabetic neuropathy, heart disease, high blood pressure, kidney disease, eye disease, gangrene in his foot, a crippling lower back condition and open heart surgery three years before. Others cataloged their often arcane ailments and maladies for the court’s consideration.

  The Sixth Family’s old friend, Baldassare “Baldo” Amato, had problems of a different sort. Amato was already in prison from a robbery conviction when he was rearrested on the racketeering indictment. For Amato, in particular, the prospects look grim.

  “More than 10 cooperating witnesses will testify to Amato’s association with, and position in, the Bonanno Family,” prosecutors said in court filings. “Amato has been observed by surveillance agents for more than 20 years at organized-crime-related locations and events,” the government continued. More perturbing for Amato, however, was his predicament over a racketeering-robbery charge against him that was included in the indictment. Amato was charged with ordering the violent armed robbery of patrons and employees of Café Vienna in Queens, in March 1997. Two of the men who went with baseball bats, sledgehammers and a gun to the underground gambling den to force those inside to turn over their money and jewelry were prepared to testify that they were sent by Amato as retaliation for the proprietors’ audacity in competing with one of his gambling joints. This charge against Amato was easy pickings for the prosecutors, because on July 13, 2000, Amato pleaded guilty to organizing the heist in a deal described as a sweetheart of an offer at the time. In hindsight, it was disastrous for him. It is an oddity of the Racketeering-Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act that past criminal convictions can be used against a defendant a second time if the act is later shown to be part of a criminal enterprise. The government planned to enter Amato’s guilty plea as evidence of his complicity in ongoing racketeering. Their job was already half done.

  “To prove Amato’s participation in a
‘pattern of racketeering activity, ’ the government need only prevail on one of the remaining four racketeering acts, the evidence of each of which is strong,” prosecutors said. Amato faced life imprisonment if convicted. As an Italian-born immigrant who never obtained U.S. citizenship, he also faced deportation to Italy at the conclusion of any sentence. Perhaps that pressure took its mental toll on the weary gangster. Or, alternatively, perhaps it gave him incentive to pursue creative defense strategies. Regardless, Amato had a rocky time in court. He went through several appearances unrepresented by legal counsel. He was eventually assigned a public defender but this did not seem to lessen his torment. His new lawyer, Michael Hueston, quickly began pushing for extensive testing—psychological, neurological and physical. After one early court appearance, Amato complained that he had become ill during transit from his cell to the courtroom and asked to be excused from future routine court appearances for medical reasons.

  “It appears the defendant may or may not be able to stand trial,” said Judge Garaufis, who then ordered that a prison neurologist examine Amato. There was clearly some concern over the legitimacy of his complaints, but the proposition of delaying the trial against others while Amato’s tests were completed was unacceptable. Amato was quickly severed from his co-accused to face justice later if he was found fit to face trial. Amato was not letting his defense rest during his medical examinations, however. A private investigator working for him was at the U.S. Archives in New York poring through boxes of records from old drug trials, including the famed Pizza Connection. He was anxious to read, among other things, the testimony of Tommaso Buscetta, the Sicilian Mafia turncoat.

  Federal prosecutors felt Amato’s weak position could be exploited. They had asked him so many times to cooperate that he wrote to Judge Garaufis directly, begging him to tell the government lawyers to stop pestering him to turn on Vito and other co-accused. “I told my attorney the first time,” Amato wrote after another try by the government, “that I was not interested in cooperating. I pray to your honor to not allow the [prosecutor] to discuss with my attorney about me co-operating.” He won that battle, perhaps his last victory. Forced to face trial in the summer of 2006, a jury heard the long chronicle of his life in crime and even witnessed firsthand the fear Amato could instill. Francesco Fiordilino, a Bonanno associate from Castellammare del Golfo, who had known Amato for much of his life, had joined the tide of informants, even testifying at the trial of Joey Massino, the family boss. After taking the stand at Amato’s trial, however, Fiordilino made a surprise announcement.

  “Your Honor, I ain’t testifying,” he said.

  “What’s that?” Judge Garaufis said, clearly stunned.

  “I ain’t testifying.”

  The prosecutor, John Buretta, explained Fiordilino’s predicament: “The witness is scared of Baldo Amato.” Over the lunch break, Fiordilino was convinced to uphold his end of the deal, but the drama did nothing to convince the jury that Amato was a man wrongfully accused. He was duly found guilty after a six-week trial. In October, 2006, the 54-year-old mobster who was once a frequent visitor to Canada was given a life sentence and a tongue-lashing from Judge Garaufis: “Mr. Amato, you’re just a plain, wanton murderer and a Mafia assassin. The sentence I’m going to give you, as far as I’m concerned, is a gift.”

  The professed frailty of some of the defendants was largely a red herring, prosecutors insisted. Those who prosecute the Mafia with the frequency of New York’s government attorneys are well aware that mobsters typically develop serious medical conditions when facing trial, ailments that miraculously seem to clear up upon acquittal or imposition of a light sentence.

  Robert Henoch, an assistant prosecutor working with Greg Andres, argued eloquently that advanced age or weakening physical prowess do not correspond to a reduction in the power or relative dangerousness of someone involved in the Mafia.

  “Ronald Reagan was 78 years old when he was the president of the United States and I probably could have beat him in arm wrestling, but that doesn’t mean that he wasn’t the most powerful man in the world.”

  Amato’s spirited defense against his charges was a rarity in New York in recent years. In May 2006, on the eve of jury selection for their racketeering case, five more accused gave up, including Michael “Mickey Bats” Cardello, who had walked the New York Post supervisor to his death at the hand of Amato. He accepted 10 years in prison with his guilty plea.

  All of Vito’s co-accused—those arrested in the same January 2004 sweep—eventually opted for guilty pleas or government deals, or received guilty verdicts at trial.

  From the sprawling indictment, 03-CR-1382, that began with Vito Rizzuto and expanded to 27 people, only Vito’s case remained unsettled. This may well have been exactly where his defense team wanted him to be.

  CHAPTER 41

  LAVAL, QUEBEC, MARCH 2005

  The clean cubist décor of the 9,000-square-foot split-level Moomba Supperclub in Laval, just across the river from Montreal, is even more eye-catching than the fashionable clientele who pack the place each night. By the spring of 2005, the club was gaining a niche in the crowded entertainment scene with its trendy supper-club concept, offering decent dinner service followed by DJs, dancing and drinking until 3 a.m. With its enforced dress code and valet parking, the Moomba attracted a crowd that was a little more upscale than was found in many of Montreal’s downtown bars and clubs.

  It was a little past 2 a.m. on March 10, 2005, when the sound of gunfire cut through the beat of a Latin track that was blasting the Moomba’s dance floor, sending patrons diving for cover and scattering from the crowded club. By the time the 250 guests had cleared out and police officers and ambulance attendants had arrived, two men had been found gravely injured. Lying inside the bar was Mike LaPolla, 36, an olive-skinned man with a long face and shaved head who had worked with the Sixth Family as an enforcer for several years and had a recent drug conviction. Outside the Moomba, police found Thierry Beaubrun, 28, a black man with short dark hair and a small goatee. Beaubrun was heavily involved with the Crack Down Posse, an aggressive Montreal street gang, and the 67s, another of the city’s street gangs, according to a police report. Both LaPolla and Beaubrun were shot after an apparent fistfight escalated into a shootout; hours later, both men died in hospital.

  Sixth Family leaders quickly gathered to discuss what had happened and how it might impact business. Lorenzo Giordano, described by police as an aggressive street boss within the Sixth Family organization, had been in the Moomba when the shooting broke out and was closely questioned by his seniors. Rocco Sollecito, originally from Grumo Appula in Southern Italy who is close to the Rizzutos, said he had been told the killing of LaPolla was “an isolated incident,” but Rocco’s son, Giuseppe Sollecito, warned that the dead rival, Beaubrun, was a “captain of the blacks” and there would be blood on the streets because of it.

  “The blacks are not people you can sit down and reason with,” Giuseppe Sollecito allegedly said. “They are not like [us]. They are animals.” It was not only the friends of LaPolla who worried about where the slayings might lead. Police were nervous the gunfight signaled emerging underworld tension between the Mafia and the largely black street gangs, perhaps a brewing war that would go far beyond two hotheads who refused to back down.

  Prison officials were similarly concerned and decided not to take any chances with one of their highest-profile prisoners. Immediately after the Moomba slayings, Vito was moved into protective custody, meaning solitary confinement, at Ste-Anne-des-Plaines prison, a federal facility north of Montreal. Prison staff worried that members of the street gangs, who have a significant presence in the prison system, might try to avenge Beaubrun’s death by attacking Vito. Prison was one of the few places in Quebec where the Sixth Family was outnumbered by rivals.

  Incarceration in Canada for Vito, as he fought extradition to the United States, had offered ups and downs. He was held for a period in the Rivières-des-Prairies provincial detention
center not far from his home. There he lived in a grim cell with a simple cot, porcelain sink and a tiny desk built into the wall. Vito could touch the green walls on either side if he stretched his arms out when standing on the worn black floor of his cell. When his release on bail was denied, he was granted his request for a transfer to Ste-Anne-des-Plaines prison, where he had a little more room to roam until his placement in protective custody, a move he did not like but one that was relatively brief, a longtime friend of Vito’s said.

  While in both facilities, Vito was kept well informed on affairs outside the prison walls. He had family visits from his father, children and grandchildren and telephone calls with close associates. In prison, he also enjoyed the benefits of having two children who were lawyers. Since both Leonardo and Bettina were helping with their father’s case, they had lengthy and frequent access to him.

  There has been plenty of news for them to bring Vito since his arrest.

  MONTREAL, MAY 2005

  Two months after the Moomba shootout, another sign of underworld unrest surfaced in the form of four burly men who rushed into a Saint-Léonard barbershop. Inside, they tussled with Frank Martorana—enough to bloody him up—and then forced him into a waiting sport utility vehicle. Martorana, a luxury car dealer in Montreal, has had long ties with the Sixth Family. The bold kidnapping in broad daylight sparked concerns for Martorana’s safety and a frantic search. Police found his late-model Mercedes-Benz S55 AMG, valued at about $130,000, parked nearby. Six days later, however, Martorana returned home, apparently safe and unharmed. He made a courtesy call to the Montreal police to tell them to call off their search but did not explain his absence, press any charges or file any official complaint.