post-Sparks shakeout, when he began to receive boss-like kisses and hugs.
Now, “there was a definite increase in the amount of respect shown John,” McCabe said later, “as he entered the funeral home, [as he left] the funeral home, people holding umbrellas for him, people stepping out of the way, people kissing him.”
“It appeared to me that he was accorded more respect than he was on Christmas Eve,” Detective Gurnee added.
Outside the wake, Gurnee said Gotti “had very, very hushed conversations” with several captains. At one point, he took a ride with Castellano loyalist Thomas Gambino, the owner of many Manhattan garment district trucking firms and a son of the Family patriarch Carlo Gambino. Gotti and Gambino returned 40 minutes later.
At the wake, McCabe also saw Bruce Cutler and Barry Slotnick, then law partners and an odd couple. Slotnick’s courtroom style was the opposite of Cutler’s, though historically as successful. He was cunning, too, but in a softer way. He also was a physical opposite; he was tall and slim, and sported a salt-and-pepper beard.
Slotnick’s public profile then was much higher than Cutler’s. He had represented many organized crime leaders and several major politicians, and was then defending Bernhard Goetz, the seemingly mild-mannered man whose bullet-filled meeting with four black teenagers in a subway car in December 1984 was worldwide news.
Dodging raindrops, Cutler, Slotnick, and all the other mourners departed the wake of the abruptly absent Frank DeCicco, who was buried later in the week in a cemetery on Staten Island, the same burial ground where the Pope also lay.
Extensive coverage of the wake once again hampered jury selection in Brooklyn, which resumed the next morning. Not much was accomplished, although Judge Nickerson warned Cutler and Gotti to stop laughing at the comments of potential jurors.
The warnings came after Nickerson asked one candidate whether he had read anything about a Mr. Castellano.”
“You know, I read the names,” the man replied. “They don’t stick with me. You know, it is not something I would retain in my head.”
The sounds of incredulous laughter reached Nickerson, who ordered Cutler to a sidebar.
“I get the distinct impression that you and Mr. Gotti are trying to intimidate these jurors by the way you are laughing,” the judge said.
Cutler denied it was so, but Nickerson persisted.
“You keep a poker face. You tell your client to do that.”
Cutler denied it again.
“It certainly was intimidating, and I took it as such,” said the judge.
The laughter was a tonic for the last few days. The murder of DeCicco preyed on Gotti’s mind. At night, encamped with soldiers in the fortress next to the Nice N EZ Auto School, he tried to figure it out, and what he would do if he had a clue.
For instance, a few hours after he was rebuked by the judge, the boss and his driver, Bobby Borriello, were taped discussing an article in the Staten Island Advance. Before the bombing, the newspaper received, but did not publish, a letter predicting DeCicco’s death. The anonymous letter writer said a revengeful relative was recruiting an inmate on Rikers Island, a city-run prison, to carry out a contract on the life of DeCicco.
Gotti speculated that the bombing might not have been the work of a relative, but “a crackpot”—after all, “it happens.”
“It can’t be a crackpot,” Borriello said.
“Well … so we gotta put some investigation on it right away,” Gotti said.
Borriello did not think this would be so easy. After all, Rikers Island had about 7,000 inmates confined to overcrowded cells in the middle of the East River.
“No, not that,” Gotti said impatiently, before explaining what he meant:
“We don’t take the guys who did this, we take the guys that sent them … you gotta get the guys who’re paying them. Know what I’m saying?”
Two days later, Gotti discussed the DeCicco hit with his
Now, “there was a definite increase in the amount of respect shown John,” McCabe said later, “as he entered the funeral home, [as he left] the funeral home, people holding umbrellas for him, people stepping out of the way, people kissing him.”
“It appeared to me that he was accorded more respect than he was on Christmas Eve,” Detective Gurnee added.
Outside the wake, Gurnee said Gotti “had very, very hushed conversations” with several captains. At one point, he took a ride with Castellano loyalist Thomas Gambino, the owner of many Manhattan garment district trucking firms and a son of the Family patriarch Carlo Gambino. Gotti and Gambino returned 40 minutes later.
At the wake, McCabe also saw Bruce Cutler and Barry Slotnick, then law partners and an odd couple. Slotnick’s courtroom style was the opposite of Cutler’s, though historically as successful. He was cunning, too, but in a softer way. He also was a physical opposite; he was tall and slim, and sported a salt-and-pepper beard.
Slotnick’s public profile then was much higher than Cutler’s. He had represented many organized crime leaders and several major politicians, and was then defending Bernhard Goetz, the seemingly mild-mannered man whose bullet-filled meeting with four black teenagers in a subway car in December 1984 was worldwide news.
Dodging raindrops, Cutler, Slotnick, and all the other mourners departed the wake of the abruptly absent Frank DeCicco, who was buried later in the week in a cemetery on Staten Island, the same burial ground where the Pope also lay.
Extensive coverage of the wake once again hampered jury selection in Brooklyn, which resumed the next morning. Not much was accomplished, although Judge Nickerson warned Cutler and Gotti to stop laughing at the comments of potential jurors.
The warnings came after Nickerson asked one candidate whether he had read anything about a Mr. Castellano.”
“You know, I read the names,” the man replied. “They don’t stick with me. You know, it is not something I would retain in my head.”
The sounds of incredulous laughter reached Nickerson, who ordered Cutler to a sidebar.
“I get the distinct impression that you and Mr. Gotti are trying to intimidate these jurors by the way you are laughing,” the judge said.
Cutler denied it was so, but Nickerson persisted.
“You keep a poker face. You tell your client to do that.”
Cutler denied it again.
“It certainly was intimidating, and I took it as such,” said the judge.
The laughter was a tonic for the last few days. The murder of DeCicco preyed on Gotti’s mind. At night, encamped with soldiers in the fortress next to the Nice N EZ Auto School, he tried to figure it out, and what he would do if he had a clue.
For instance, a few hours after he was rebuked by the judge, the boss and his driver, Bobby Borriello, were taped discussing an article in the Staten Island Advance. Before the bombing, the newspaper received, but did not publish, a letter predicting DeCicco’s death. The anonymous letter writer said a revengeful relative was recruiting an inmate on Rikers Island, a city-run prison, to carry out a contract on the life of DeCicco.
Gotti speculated that the bombing might not have been the work of a relative, but “a crackpot”—after all, “it happens.”
“It can’t be a crackpot,” Borriello said.
“Well … so we gotta put some investigation on it right away,” Gotti said.
Borriello did not think this would be so easy. After all, Rikers Island had about 7,000 inmates confined to overcrowded cells in the middle of the East River.
“No, not that,” Gotti said impatiently, before explaining what he meant:
“We don’t take the guys who did this, we take the guys that sent them … you gotta get the guys who’re paying them. Know what I’m saying?”
Two days later, Gotti discussed the DeCicco hit with his
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