Cullotta: The Life of a Chicago Criminal, Las Vegas Mobster and Government Witness (22 page)

Groover returned to the police car and stationed himself behind the driver’s door. Both officers yelled at the driver that they were cops and to put down his gun. Bluestein never said a word, but instead of getting rid of the weapon, he turned slightly in his seat, opened his door, and started to get out of the car. The gun was still in his hand and, according to police, aimed toward Smith. Believing the man was about to shoot, the officers opened fire.

The shots rang out at approximately 11:45 p.m. and several of the rounds struck Bluestein. He was rushed to a nearby hospital where he died a couple of hours later. A .22 handgun that had allegedly been in Bluestein’s possession was recovered at the scene.

Frank and Tony were well aware that Groover and Smith were watching them as they sat outside the restaurant that night. In fact, they made gestures at the cops to make sure the officers knew they’d been detected. It was a game they played all the time. The baiting was interrupted when Frank Bluestein pulled up and got out of the Lincoln. Bluestein was acquainted with the gangsters through his father, Steve. He’d moved into town from Chicago a few months earlier and was working in the showroom of the Hacienda.

After exchanging pleasantries, Frank said to him, “I see you’ve still got Illinois plates on your car. Are you going to get a Nevada registration?”

“Someday I will. I just haven’t had the time yet.”

“You’d better get it done pretty soon,” Frank advised. “These fuckin’ cops here are real cowboys. Any time they see a car with Illinois plates, they think you’re a gangster from Chicago.”

“You know, I think somebody’s been following me around,” Bluestein said.

“It’s probably the goddamn cops,” Frank told him.

“No, I don’t think so; I think it’s somebody looking to rob me. Anyway, I’ve got a gun in the car. If anybody tries anything, I’ll be able to take care of myself.”

“Do yourself a favor. Get rid of that fucking gun. I’m telling you, these fucking cops are nuts. If they think you’ve got a gun, they’ll shoot you,” Frank warned.

When Bluestein’s pizza was ready, he got up to leave. “Get rid of that piece and get the right plates on your car,” Frank told him again as Bluestein walked away.

About twenty minutes later, Eileen came out of the restaurant and told Tony he had an important phone call. Tony went inside and came back out with a shocked look on his face. He said, “That was Herb Blitzstein on the phone; they just killed Frankie Blue.”

Frank was stunned. “Who killed him?”

“The fucking cops,” Tony said. “I’m going over there to find out what happened.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, Frankie. Stay here and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

An hour later Tony returned with Herb Blitzstein and Steve Bluestein, and he was in a foul mood. “The cops claim they tried to get Frankie to get out of his car and that he reached for a gun. That was when they opened up on him,” Tony said. “It was Smith and Groover and they put a lot of bullets into him.”

Frank recognized the names of the two cops as the same ones who’d been tailing him and Tony earlier that evening. He considered Smith to be a trigger-happy maniac. Bluestein had admitted having a gun in his car, but Frank wondered whether or not he’d actually pulled it.

Tony said, “We gotta do something with these fucking coppers. I know if we whack one of them, we’ll have to fight the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps. You just can’t win against these cocksuckers. I gotta figure out a way we can get them corked without it coming back to us. I’ve gotta think about this, the bastards.’”

While Tony was considering how to punish the police, the Bluestein family went on the offensive. They alleged that the gun the police found in Frank’s car the night of the shooting had been a plant, intended to mask what was really a police execution. However, at the coroner’s inquest two weeks later, evidence was introduced that the weapon in question had been purchased in Chicago by Frank’s brother, Ron Bluestein. That information effectively knocked down the planted-gun accusation and the shooting was ruled a justified use of deadly force.

The legal system had spoken, and neither Tony nor the Bluesteins liked what was said.

Frank continued to tolerate Pete the burglar and Sal Romano, but his dislike and distrust of each man increased with the passage of time. Although he couldn’t understand why, Tony Spilotro seemed to think they were both stand-up guys, and his was the opinion that mattered most.

One night Romano was in My Place with a girl. They were at the far end of the bar, talking and laughing with a couple of other women. Romano called Frank over and introduced him to his girlfriend. Frank said hello and they talked a little bit. Frank didn’t find out until much too late that the girl was actually an FBI agent and Romano was wearing a wire in his cowboy boot.

Eileen got bad vibes from him too. “Is that Sal guy a friend of yours?” she asked later that night.

“No, I can’t stand the son of a bitch. Why?”

“I heard him talking on the phone and something didn’t sound right. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about him I don’t like.”

Although Frank and Eileen turned out to be right in their feelings about Romano, at the time all they had were their suspicions.

On August 5, 1980, just weeks after Frank Bluestein was killed, Oscar Goodman filed a class-action lawsuit alleging police harassment of Tony Spilotro and his associates. Goodman asked the court to restrain Sheriff John McCarthy from continuing a program of harassment that had been ongoing since November 2, 1979.

In an article in the
Las Vegas Sun
on that date, Goodman is quoted as saying, “I believe the lawsuit will protect the citizens of the state of Nevada from false arrests, harassment, and possibly injury or death that has taken place in the past.” Goodman charged that Bluestein’s death was the direct result of police harassment. He added of the alleged police conduct, “I think it’s un-American. These are really Gestapo-like tactics. It literally has become a police state in this community.”

In the lawsuit itself, the lawyer said, “The object and purpose of this program is to make unlawful any unfounded investigatory detentions and arrests of Spilotro and any persons observed in his company or known to be an associate of Spilotro.”

In addition to McCarthy, the suit named nine Metro intelligence officers, including Kent Clifford, and 20 unnamed officers as defendants.

The
Sun
article went on to report the specific charges leveled by Goodman. He said that since November 1979, the police had: kept Spilotro and nearly a dozen of his friends under intensive surveillance; stopped and interrogated Spilotro and his friends without lawful or reasonable ground under the false guise of making some police investigative inquiry; and made false accusations or alleged minor traffic violations as a pretext for jailing persons known to be associated with Spilotro.

Attacking the Sheriff directly, Goodman said, “[McCarthy] didn’t care whose rights were being violated. He said it was legitimate police work.”

The attorney said the killing of Bluestein was the “last straw” in leading to the filing of the lawsuit. In Goodman’s opinion, Metro officers had conducted a high-speed chase of Bluestein, who had committed no violations of the law, and gunned him down while carrying out Metro’s harassment policy against Spilotro.

Frank’s dislike for Pete the burglar came to a head one night outside the Upper Crust when the two men got into a dispute about an alleged tip on a potential burglary target.

“I don’t know about any tip,” Frank said. “You never told me about it.”

Standing off to the side, Blasko egged Pete on. “Don’t let him shit you; he knows what you’re talking about. He doesn’t want to give you your cut.”

“How about it?” Pete asked. “I gave you the tip and you’re supposed to take care of me.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” Frank said to Pete. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you don’t believe me, you can go fuck yourself.”

Pete threw a punch at Frank and the two men started wrestling, with Blasko trying to pull them apart. Frank got one good punch in, then grabbed the metal lid to a trash can. Before he could crack Pete in the head with it, Blasko grabbed him and shoved him up against a wall. At that point Guardino and Davino came out of the restaurant and broke things up. Pete and Blasko left a couple of minutes later.

Frank was like a madman; he went looking for Tony. When he found him he said, “You’ve gotta let me whack this fuckin’ Pete. He’s a no-good lying cocksucker and he’s gotta go.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie. I know you’re pissed off, but I’ve got to say no.”

Like a good salesman, Frank wasn’t ready to give up with the first refusal. “The bastard came to
my
goddamn place, called
me
a liar, and swung on me. You’ve told me that he’s even held back money from his scores. Let me get rid of the motherfucker.”

“I know the kid’s no good, but I can’t let you do it. Pete’s the out-of-wedlock son of an Outfit big shot and he’s under my protection. You’ve got to put it on the shelf.”

Finally, Frank understood why Tony ordered him to let Pete hang around. He was Outfit-connected. But that didn’t cut any ice with the enraged Frank. He tried one more time. “I can do it so Pete’s old man won’t know what happened to him.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie. The answer is no.”

Frank said okay, but it wasn’t okay. For the first time he was going to defy Tony, he was so mad. He told Davino to stay close to Pete and Blasko, to be their friend. Tony had taught him, when setting up the Lisner hit, that if you get people to like you and be comfortable around you, it’s easier to take them out when you need to.

Ernie did as he was told, but Blasko got suspicious and ran to Tony. He said he thought he and Pete were being set up. Tony assured him that he hadn’t given the okay for anybody to be whacked.

After his talk with Blasko, Tony called Frank. “What the fuck are you trying to do? I told you to put this thing on the shelf, didn’t I?”

Frank denied that he had anything up his sleeve. “Hey, I wanted to do it, but you said no. Those guys are just being paranoid.” “Okay, case closed. It’s all over with,” Tony said. “But I’ll tell you what. Pete’s becoming a real pain in the ass and I’m going to encourage him to move back to Chicago.”

Reluctantly, Frank had no choice but to cancel his murder plans.

Not long after issuing the order that saved Pete’s life, Tony called Frank. “Pete burglarized a radio store and he’s got a lot of police radio stuff. He wants to give you a couple of walkie-talkies.”

“Look, Tony, I don’t like that fucking kid and I don’t want anything from him.”

“Come on, Frankie. He didn’t realize how tight you were with me when you had that beef with him. Now he wants to make amends.”

Frank relented. If taking those walkie-talkies would make everybody happy, he’d do it.

Pete called Frank later and brought the radios to him. “I hope there are no hard feelings,” Pete said. “I’d like us to be friends.”

“No, no hard feelings. Let’s forget about it.”

“You know, there’s an awful lot of heat on me out here and I’ve decided to move back to Chicago. They’re after you guys big time, too. Have you thought about going back?”

“I’m not in a position to leave; I’ve got too many obligations here,” Frank said.

Pete left without telling Frank one very important thing: The radios were stolen in Chicago, not Las Vegas. That meant anyone caught in possession of them in a state other than Illinois would be subject to federal charges.

Even though Frank had only accepted the radios to placate Tony, they were good units and he decided to hang onto them for possible future use.

Tony also appeared to be somewhat lax about security when it came to tolerating Sal Romano. Ignoring Frank’s warnings, he didn’t seem to be overly concerned about whether Romano had loose lips or was an out-and-out informant. Frank didn’t know what to make of it, especially because Tony took extraordinary precautions to keep the Gold Rush and other places he frequented free of electronic listening devices. Tony’s caution and, perhaps, his increasing paranoia, were also in evidence during a meeting at the house of his brother, John Spilotro. Frank, Tony, John, and Joe Blasko were there.

Frank laughed. “Are you nuts? I don’t even have a swim suit with me.”

“Don’t worry. John’s got suits for you and Joe,” Tony said.

Blasko went in the bathroom first to change. Tony opened the door right after and walked in with the swimming trunks. He did the same thing when Frank went in. That’s when Frank realized what was going on. Tony thought someone was giving information to the cops and he was checking his guests for wires. It also gave him an opportunity to search their clothes if he wanted.

Frank thought the Jacuzzi thing was actually a good idea, though. There weren’t any transmitters in the water and the participants were able to talk freely. He wasn’t offended. His only regret is that Tony never made Sal Romano strip.

In late 1980, Frank, Eileen, and her two children moved to another home. Their new place was much larger than their old digs and they found themselves short of furniture. Like his father before him, Frank figured there was no sense in paying for what you could get free. He got his furniture okay, but it turned out to be far from free. In fact, it ended up costing him dearly.

Knowing Frank was looking for furnishings, Ernie Davino came to his aid. He knew of a woman and her husband who were going to be out of town for two months. In fact, Davino’s daughter was watching their house for them, so getting a key would be no problem. Frank had an associate rent a truck using a fake name, then went to the house and took everything. The stolen goods looked great in Frank’s new place.