Former Bonanno family boss testifies against Genovese captain
The fat man admitted
he's trying to sing away two life sentences.
Looking like the canary
who swallowed a beach ball, former Bonanno boss Joseph Massino took the witness
stand Monday for only the second time since he became the highest-ranking New
York City mafioso ever to become government rat.
Massino, 69, waddled
into the courtroom outfitted in the same navy blue warm-up suit he wore when he
testified last year at the murder trial of his successor Vincent “Vinny
Gorgeous” Basciano.
Assistant U.S. Attorney
Jack Dennehy asked the tubby turncoat to tell jurors what the mob penalty is
for cooperating.
"Moider,"
Massino said gruffly. "A hundred percent."
This time, Massino was
called as an expert witness on the mob in the extortion trial of Anthony “Rom”
Romanello, a relatively unknown Genovese captain whose only connection to the
crime boss was frequently dining at his Casablanca restaurant in Queens before
it was seized by the feds.
But Massino left no
doubt that he's trying to earn points with the government in the hope of a
reduction in his sentences someday.
"I'm hoping someday
I see light at the end of the tunnel," he told the prosecutor.
"Whenever they need me, I'm here."
Massino has torrents of
blood on his hands to wash off. He pleaded guilty to nine gangland hits and has
admitted participating in a total of 12. His crime career began in his teens,
stealing pigeons and boosting cars for joyrides, before he graduated to truck
hijackings, illegal gambling, loansharking, extortion and murder.
He got his button along
with four other wiseguys on June 14, 1977 in a Maspeth tavern — where the
jukebox played "Happy Birthday" so the other patrons wouldn't suspect
a mob induction ceremony was taking place.
Massino lacks the charm
and charisma of the late John Gotti, who earned fame and infamy for his
custom-made suits and good looks. Massino's graying hair needed a trim, he
obsessively brushed lint or dandruff off his jacket, and frequently scratched
the inside of his ears with his index finger.
But the gangster — known
as "The Last Don" before he rocked gangland by flipping — oozes
authenticity and authority.
When he became boss,
Massino instituted a rule that associates had to be around the Bonannos for
eight years before they could be inducted on the theory that the FBI wouldn't
use an informant for that long.
"I was always leery
of surveillance," he said. "If I had to talk about something serious,
I'd go to the boardwalk and face the ocean and talk. No one can see what you're
saying."
"I never let
anybody in my house, I drove myself, I didn't talk in the car and I didn't talk
on the phone," he added.
He regaled the jury with
war stories about bribing jail guards to smuggle shrimp, linguini and clams
into the prison cellblock; whacking the prospective son-in-law of the late
Gambino boss Paul Castellano because he made fun of Castellano's looks; and
refusing to allow an ex-member of law enforcement into the Bonanno ranks.
"If we put in cops,
what, are we gonna make lawyers next?" Massino said, prompting chuckles.
Defense lawyer Gerald
McMahon parried with Massino over the gangster's immense wealth — he turned
over $10 million in cash and gold bars to the government under the plea deal.
Massino denied there were millions more stashed away.
"If I would have
had more money, I would have given it to the government," he insisted.
"I got no money overseas."
Massino pointed out that
rental income from real estate was providing his wife with a six-figure income,
along with their faux mansion in Howard Beach, which they were allowed to keep.
"Maybe you missed
it, but the real estate market crashed," McMahon said.
After making his point
that Romanello was a Genovese captain and that mobsters never hold sitdowns
over legal monetary disputes, Massino waddled out of the courtroom for the trip
back to a prison somewhere in the U.S., where he keeps a copy of his 11-page
cooperation agreement in his cell.
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