Time - Man of the Year/Time_Man_of_the_Year_Compact_Publishing_3YX-Disc-1_Compact_Publishing_1993.iso/moy/012092/0120104.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 6KB | 115 lines

                                                                                NATION, Page 19

ORGANIZED CRIME

A Gang That Still Can't Shoot Straight


When the trigger-happy Colombo family goes to war with itself,
innocent bystanders had better look out

By RICHARD BEHAR


    Gangsters who blow out each other's brains may be
performing a public service. Unless, that is, the public starts
getting in the way. Such is the crisis facing law-enforcement
officials in Brooklyn, N.Y., where the city's worst intrafamily
gangland war in 30 years is now raging. The culprits: the
black-sheep Colombo clan, the Mafia's most reckless, divisive
and dull-witted crime outfit. Not only have six members or
associates of the group been killed since late November, but at
least five innocent bystanders have also been shot or otherwise
injured. Seeking to bring the gunplay under control, Brooklyn
District Attorney Charles Hynes has launched a dubious grand
jury investigation and is slapping subpoenas on as many reputed
Colombo mobsters as his staff can locate.

    The Colombo spat is a battle for control of one of the
nation's largest crime groups -- and its purse strings. On one
side are roughly 40 members loyal to Carmine (the Snake)
Persico, the 59-year-old boss currently serving a 100-year
prison term in Lompoc, Calif., for racketeering. The Persico
forces are being challenged by 60 or so members loyal to Victor
(Little Vic) Orena, the 57-year-old acting head who has been
solidifying his grip on the family's businesses, ranging from
gambling and prostitution to air freight, construction, catering
and liquor distribution.

    "Orena's people are getting a bigger percentage than the
Persico faction, and the word got back to Carmine," explains a
Brooklyn-based investigator. "When the dispute was brought to
the other Mafia families, they apparently gave Orena the O.K.
to be in charge." That O.K. hasn't sat well with everyone.

    The rubouts, which Hynes likens to a "B movie," began with
Henry Smurra, a middle-aged Colombo soldier who was shot in the
head on the night of Nov. 24 while sitting in his red Lincoln
Continental outside a Dunkin' Donuts shop. One Colombo
associate, Vincent Fusaro, received season's greetings in the
form of a bullet to his head as he hung a Christmas garland on
the door of his Brooklyn home. Another wiseguy, a 79-year-old
bookie, was blown away in broad daylight while playing cards at
a social club; his 47-year-old girlfriend managed to walk away
with a small chest wound.

    The youngest victim of the war, Matteo Speranza, 18,
gunned down on Dec. 8 in the Brooklyn bagel shop where he
worked, was widely reported to be the first innocent bystander
to die. But government officials tell TIME that the dead teen
has since become a suspect in a homicide that may or may not be
Mob connected. After Speranza's death, things were eerily quiet
until last week, when a 62-year-old Colombo captain named
Nicholas (Nicky Black) Grancio became the highest-ranking rubout
of all. Grancio, whom sources describe as a "peacemaker," was
whacked while sitting in his Toyota Land Cruiser.

    Not everyone believes the killings are part of an
authentic gangland war. "I'm not convinced, simply because too
many innocent bystanders are getting hurt," maintains Stanley
Meyer, a lawyer for Persico and several other Colombo members.
"It seems to be very unprofessional." But Meyer knows just how
messy the Colombos can be: he prosecuted Mob cases during the
family's so-called Gallo wars, which broke out in 1960 and
resulted in 13 murders. In 1972 Joseph Gallo was sloppily killed
by fellow Colombos in Umbertos, a crowded clam house in
Manhattan's Little Italy. Several months later, his avengers
entered another restaurant, the Neopolitan Noodle, and, in a
case of mistaken identity, opened fire on four kosher-meat
dealers out for a night on the town. Two were killed.

    In an attempt to stop the current bloodletting, Hynes has
issued subpoenas to more than 90 reputed Colombo men. Since
mid-December, more than 30 camera-shy wiseguys -- many donning
upturned collars, oversize hats and dark sunglasses -- have
strolled in and out of Brooklyn's courthouse without admitting
anything. Unlike federal law, which gives prosecutors the option
of granting immunity in return for testimony, New York law
hampers state investigations by making immunity automatic unless
the individual agrees to waive it. The result, in this case, is
a deadlock. "It's clear that Hynes has no intention of
immunizing them, while most defense attorneys would be unlikely
to sign a waiver," points out Thomas Russo, a former assistant
D.A. from the neighboring borough of Queens.

    Until last week's slaying, the grand jury charade appeared
to have at least prompted a one-month cease-fire. "Our
information now is that anybody who's anybody is armed to the
teeth and hiding," says James Fox, who heads the FBI's New York
office. "These are dangerous times not only for innocent
bystanders but for detectives and agents." Unfortunately, some
experts foresee a continuing trend toward violence that will
spread to the other families. "The Mafia is weak now, and
there's a reduced capacity to resolve disputes in a nonviolent
way," points out Ronald Goldstock, who heads the New York State
Organized Crime Task Force. "Ironically, violence breeds
defection, which weakens the structure and breeds more
violence."