Lou Eppolito - Mafia Cop

I AM FOREVER INDEBTED TO A LEGION OF PEOPLE FOR harnessing the thought processes that went into this book. Nick Pileggi provided the inspiration; my agent, Flip Brophy, the manifestation. My editor, Laura Yorke, was a guiding light who wielded her Number 2 pencil like a laser. Michael Kordas deft touch is stamped indelibly on this project.

Among the many who lent me their time, recollections, and analyses, I owe a special thanks to Detective Steve Gardell, Hugh Mo, Esq., District Attorney Charles J. Hynes, Assistant District Attorney Mark Feldman, Theresa (Tess) Mandelino, and the entire Eppolito family. And, with gratitude, I must acknowledge fellow reporters Richard Esposito, Phil Messing, Mike McAlary, and Mark Kriegel for their insight and knowledge of the street. I would also like to thank researcher Christine Baird of the New York Newsday library. Finally, I am forever beholden to Detective (Ret.) Doug Le Vien, the fixer who smoothed my research path too many times to recall.

Ironically, the legend of Detective Louie Eppolito still reverberates ominously throughout the New York City Police Department. For that reason, dozens of current and former police officers granted interviews only on the condition of anonymity. You know who you are, and I thank you. To the goodfellas who shared their thoughts, I, as per our deal, do not remember who you are.

While researching and writing this book I relied on many authors too numerous to name, who hacked previous paths through the thicket of NYPD politics and pierced the veil of secrecy shielding La Cosa Nostra. Yet among those whose works were especially insightful and inspirational, I must acknowledge Herbert Asbury, Jimmy Breslin, Harold Conrad, Nicholas Gage, Robert Lacey, Peter Maas, Mike McAlary, Gene Mustain and Jerry Capeci, Joseph F. OBrien and Andris Kurins, Joseph D. Pistone and Richard Woodley, Charles Rappleye and Ed Becker, Thomas C. Renner, Nick Pileggi, Claire Sterling, and Gay Talese.

B OB D RURY

T HIS BOOK TELLS A LOT ABOUT L OUIE E PPOLITO . N OW let me acknowledge some others with my gratitude. To my motherif anyone has earned a place in heaven, it is she. To my sister, Pauline Guarneri, who grew up always covering for her brother. To my wife, Frances, who has put up with me for the past twenty years. Her great love and understanding of me will always be a mystery waiting to be solved.

From my uniform days, I thank all the members of the 71st Precinct for their support and backup. They were the toughest cops with whom Ive ever worked. To Sergeant Larry Ponzi and Lieutenant Patrick Flynn, who taught me how to be a detective, I send my respect. And to Captain Anthony Marra, whose knowledge of The Job has, in my eyes, never been equaled, I say thanks.

To my first partner, Sergeant Louie Pioli, and to the detectives who stood behind me in my hour of needBilly Mulligan, Peter Furtado, Ralph Blasie, and Paul Frommeryou taught me what true friendship is. To Officer Nick Santamaria and the rest of the CaprisMike, Tommy, Frankie, and TonyI will be forever in your debt. And to my great good friend Detective Steve Gardell, I offer my heartfelt thanks.

I also offer thanks to Detectives Jimmy Fairchild, Pat Melia, Phil Sciannamia, and Sergeant John Muldoon, who accepted me back on The Job with smiles, understanding, and no doubts. And at no time and in no place did I ever have a friend as supportive as Sergeant James McCoy.

Never in my heart will I forget Jimmy McCafferty. The two of us laughed together. The two of us cried together. And the two of us were always ready to die, if necessary, for the protection of the people of New York City. And there are no words to define my feelings for Detective Steve Caracappa, my closest and dearest friend. And special thanks to my brother-in-law Angelo Todesco for his financial support.

I offer special thanks to Maxi Cohen, who brought my story to the attention of everyone concernedwithout her this project would never have come into being; to my agent, Charlotte Sheedy; and to my friend, Nick Pileggi, who grabbed an idea and molded it into reality.

And, finally, to my children, Andrea, Deanna, Tony, and Louie: I love you.

L OUIE E PPOLITO

I stare through the front window of the Brooklyn restaurant as Louie Eppolito unfolds in stages from the front seat of his white Chevy van. A sea breeze skims off the harbor, momentarily brushing aside the folds of his sportcoat. For one instant, the harsh winter sunlight, almost white, glints off Sheepshead Bay and catches the polished black grip of the fourteen-shot Smith & Wesson 9-millimeter automatic pistol riding above his right hip.

I am not alone in noticing the pistol. The matre d standing beside me raises an eyebrow at the flash of metal and edges closer to the plate glass, the better to scrutinize this man. As this matre d caters to a regular clientele of Mafia bosses, his health depends upon knowing who is carrying a piece into his establishment.

It is obvious he is not sure what to make of the armed man walking our way. Louie Eppolito is a man who seems larger than his six-foot height. He is plainly powerful, and attractive, though not handsome by the conventional Hollywood standards. Yet there is something deep about his eyes. They are dark brown, slightly hooded. When he stops to talk to a couple of fishermen, his eyes crinkle and sparkle, dominating a broad, open face bisected by a trim black mustache. They are the eyes of someone who can be trusted, which, as we shall see, makes Louie Eppolitos ordeal all the more painful.

There is a nearly undetectable limp to Louies gait, the one lingering effect of a childhood bout with rheumatic fever. His right leg remains imperceptibly withered. Otherwise, at forty-three years old, he cuts a figure Ive watched women of a certain age turn to admire.