"Really Big Cars" on Manhattan's "Itty Bitty Streets"



"Cadillac Frank" tried to pull a Whitey Bulger at age 82.

In 2003, Winter Hill turncoat Steve Flemmi told federal and state authorities that he had walked in on the May 10, 1993, murder of South Boston nightclub manager Steven A. DiSarro at the Sharon home of Francis Salemme’s former wife, according to a DEA report filed in Boston federal court.
Flemmi said Francis Salemme and two others watched as Salemme’s son, Frank, strangled DiSarro to death. Flemmi named the two other witnesses as Frank Salemme’s younger brother, John, and a friend named Paul Weadick.

Salemme later told Flemmi that Rhode Island mobster Robert P. DeLuca Sr. "was present during the burial" of DiSarro, Flemmi said, adding that Salemme had expressed concern about DiSarro’s friendship with a law enforcement cooperator.


This story is based on notes I took during informal conversation with an old timer who goes by the name of "Charley P."  I call him Charley Partanna, just to call him something. I'm hoping this can be an occasional column but Charley didn't want to commit to anything without remuneration involved.



You gonna whack a guy, why do it in front of an audience?

I mean, you want your kid to do it, whack a guy out by strangling him to death, okay. I can understand that. Kinda. Dumb as it is. (Why cause your own flesh and blood to nearly suffer a coronary, not to mention fck up his head beyond all psychological repair, by having him strangle a guy in front of you and three other people? I mean, Frank should have charged them a fee for the show. Least he'd have gotten something out of it. And you supposed to kill him before the Fed's start talking to him... Once they ID your front partner as a witness, you kill him then, might as well wave a sign.  Cause chances are, everyone but you and the dead guy are rats.)

Is this brain surgery here? Quantum physics? Or killing a guy? You kill a guy, you do him nice and easy, use a pistola. Gabbish? "Two behind the ear" mean anything?

I didn't even start talking about the location this guy chooses.... Of all places you whack a guy in your ex-wife's house, where another asshole rat just walks in on you and watches your kid strangle some fcker out? That might explain the strangling, at least. You gotta be a dumbsky to shoot a guy in the head inside your ex's house. But who the fck chooses their exwife's house in the first place?

And why bury the dead guy on the other side of town, getting even more guys involved? Just dump him somewhere. Leave him in a trunk. Not your trunk, of course.... Someone else's.

There's rivers and shit all over the place. Honestly, I chalk it up to one thing: lazy ass bitches. To cut one corner, they'll risk a 50-year bit.

I wanna talk about honor and murder and this thing you call Mafia or La Cosa Nostra or mob or syndicate or organized crime or whatever. It don't exist. And it never did, even back when I was workin' for it. You folli me?

Even if it did exist, it don't exist.

I'll tell you a few things about me. I got made at 17. And I was pissed cause it shoulda happened sooner.  It shoulda happened a lot sooner and I'll tell you why. I was 13 when I first whacked a guy in the Bronx on Gun Hill Road. Now I always avoided the Bronx, even as a child. But my old man had trouble whackin' this one guy and it was gettin' to be like a major pain in the ass. Then a fcking nightmare. Little Phil....  Something .... Carbone? Whatever the name, my ol' man couldn't get a clean shot.

He was the heaviest heroin dealer in the north Bronx, as they said. And somehow, he always seemed to be surrounded by a crowd of people. And then there'd be like twenty, thirty kids around him, too. Phil always threw handfuls of change at them. (Who the fck even thinks about doing that?)

So I get the order. I'm 13. They figure, Hey, the kid can do it! They was right.

What I did was, I step out from behind a car and I blow his head off.  I drop the gun and get lost in the crowd. Like, really fast.


Christ, what these guys get arrested for! I mean it's absolutely unfcknbelievable! They don't even have to do nothin' no more! They talk about doing it instead! And then they get arrested for all these things they're gonna do that they talked about.

Only thing worse than talking about what you're gonna do is talkin' about what you already did. Especially if you talk about all the guys you clipped. Or had clipped.

You don't talk about them. No, you don't talk about whacking people and you don't talk about your reasons for whacking people. Especially if you dress like a mob boss and act like a mob boss. (Meaning you get a crew of guys just focused on you... specifically, you.... meanin' you got this guy openin' your car doors, this guy puttin' your coat on for ya, that guy holdin' a huge fckin' umbrella over ya head).

Would you believe there once was a boss who actually wanted everyone to know he was a boss? I mean, Christ, old timers like Corrado woulda (and sometimes did) shit themselves. I'm not goin' there though....

Now think about that. You want the whole world to know you're a boss... so how do you do that? It's not as easy as it sounds. First you start wearing clothes that are too expensive for you to afford on the salary you tell the IRS you make. You gotta look the look, walk the walk and, here's the most important part, you gotta talk the talk.

Bottom line is guys in Cosa Nostra aren't allowed to talk about Cosa Nostra with anybody outside a Cosa Nostra. Now, I swear to fcking God, some of these guys that get made, get their button, you know what? They start to realize, wow, I can't tell Donna or what's her name what I just done ova here. And it really starts botherin' them that no one can know about it.

I mean what's the point of belonging to the secret criminal society of all criminal societies, the Mafia, if you can't brag about it? What's the point of joinin' if it don't get you laid, is the mentality of some of them out there.

So what's next? Well, ya know what that mob boss did.... You have all the guys come in and see you like once, twice a week. No matter where they are, how many miles away with whatever action they got going on, you order em all to drop whatever the fck and come in and see you once or twice a week.

And you have to have em meet you in the most pubic place possible. Like in a really crowded, gridlocked city and you have em come to a social club. In fact perfect place, you wanna know the perfect place? Social club on Mulberry Street.... you get all your guys in to see you while you sit in the back of a social club on Mulberry Street. That's the perfect way to show everybody you are a boss .... Cause you're a mob boss, where else you gonna meet them? Gotta be a social club with a good espresso machine. That espresso gotta be perfect, that foam on top nice and creamy, cause all these  guys coming in to show the world you're a mob boss are coming in from all the boroughs and even neighboring places and maybe some not so neighboring places. See where I'm headin with this? They're sitting in traffic for fcking hours and hours in Cadillacs and Lincolns -- really big cars --  and then they gotta drive to this itty bitty little street in downtown Manhattan... Like squeezin' an elephant through a keyhole. And there's no parking by the way....no parking... And it ain't like ya can just go around the block a couple times cause that'd take longer than the entire ride from home, wherever the fck that is. So you gonna have all these Caddys double parked on both sides of Mulberry Street. And the itty bitty street gets... ittier and... bittier....

We're still outside now, right? Still outside.... Now here's the icin on the cake. You're dressed like a mob boss and every single one of those guys who gets outta those double-parked Lincolns on both sides of Mulberry Street is gonna be seen walking inside the joint. But the thing is, nobody is watching inside the place. The public or the Fed's, whoever the fck is watchin, ain't gonna see you. Because you're sitting inside the social club. So whaddya do? It's very very very simple. You stand outside the social club and all the guys comin' in to see you, well, they get to actually see you, first thing. Whaddaya gonna do then? Well you gotta greet em, right? So you hug each one of them and give em a peck on the cheek. The guys who are more important to you, maybe you show them a little something extra. Like you squeeze their shoulder when they're heading past you to go inside the club while you're gettin ready to kiss the next guy and the next. You do something like that so the people watchin' know, hey, that guy's a little more important than all the other guys cause the boss squeezed his shoulder but not the thirty other shoulders that zipped by before him.

Now you can't say shit in a social club. Even if you dress like a gangster and act like a gangster, you know you start talking like a gangster inside a social club there's probably three-four-fourteen bugs inside the joint. So you gotta leave the club and go on the walk talk.... okay the Fed's gotta make do with pictures and videos which is what you secretly want but you can't talk in a club or you're goin' away. Like fckn forever.

Only problem is, in New York, in winters, it gets fckin' really cold outside. You freeze your nuts off, your ears, your nose. No, no wiseguys gonna wear a knit cap. Actually NO HAT, NOT EVER..... Why? It fcks up the hair.

So you ain't gonna walk talk someone in zero degree weather and order a hit. Your nose gonna start running all over the place. Easiest thing, you save it for another time and place. But NOT INSIDE THE MAFIA SOCIAL CLUB THAT THE FEDS ARE WATCHING, FILMING AND RECORDING EVERY WAY HUMANLY, OR INHUMANLY POSSIBLE.... this important stuff, there....

At the same time, going up one or two flights of stairs is NOT enough of a buffer. For one thing, talk spreads that the boss talks business above the club....and soon that the boss actually seems to enjoy talking about nothing but murder and La Cosa Nostra in the apartment above the club. Some 90-year-old woman live there? You just throw her out.... nah, you call the daughter, hand her a brick of $100 bills and say, Hey, can you like take mom a few days? We gonna be talking about murder and Cosa Nostra up in here..... would ya mind? Something like that.

It don't really matter because everyone is going to jail eventually, they got that kinda mentality....

"Charley Partanna"


A mere attempt at humor... Charley Partanna is a character played by Jack Nicholson in Prizzi's Honor.

If you chuckled once or twice, this succeeded.....


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