TIME: Almanac 1990s

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<text id=92TT0113> <title> Jan. 20, 1992: A Gang That Still Can't Shoot Straight </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1992 Jan. 20, 1992 Why Are Men and Women Different? </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> NATION, Page 19 ORGANIZED CRIME A Gang That Still Can't Shoot Straight </hdr><body> 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." </body></article> </text>