of casinos, bars, and numbers parlors but was a quiet, studious kid. He graduated from St. Josephâs Prep in Philly, went on to Holy Cross in Worcester, Massachusetts, then eventually got his MBA from Temple. Collesano liked the fact that Richie was well-educated. He gave Richie a new car when he graduated from Holy Cross. For years, Jules and Manny had joked about making thematch between Richie and Collesanoâs youngest daughter, Joanne. In the summer of 1972, after her freshman year of college, Joanne Collesano did marry Richie, who by this time had legally changed his name from Vargas to Varga.
There was a newspaper clipping of their wedding announcement in Vargaâs file. Gibbons studied the picture carefully. The bride looked frail, a small face lost in a lot of long straight hair, bangs covering her eyebrows, a real flower child. The groom had a kind of sleepy-eyed suaveness, dark wavy hair, long sideburns, and a droopy Zapata mustache over a toothy Latino smile. Not bad-looking, if you liked the type. Gibbons took note of the hippie influence in their hairstyles and was spitefully pleased to see that even the Mafia wasnât completely unaffected by the sixties.
Gibbons turned back to the terminal and started scrolling up, searching for more on the Atlantic City double cross. In the early seventies, Atlantic City was a quiet town, not a whole lot of action at what was then a decaying resort. Jules Collesano was getting older and wasnât much of a go-getter anymore, so the Philly mob sent him to Atlantic City to oversee what little they had going there. Jules was happy to be down the shore, and he took Richie and Joanne with him, putting his son-in-law the businessman in charge of the books. Eventually Richie was given responsibility for the day-to-day operations of everything in Collesanoâs jurisdictionânarcotics, prostitution, gambling, loan-sharking, protection, food suppliers, laundry services, garbage collectionâeverything. Jules knew that Richie was a good boy, capable enough and, if nothing else, trustworthy. Jules was very happy with this arrangement. He could hold on to his position of authority and still take it easy and enjoy his semiretirement.
But that was all before gambling became legal in Atlantic City. Thatâs when things started to heat up.
Traditionally Atlantic City had always been the province of the Philadelphia boss, and when legalized gambling came into their territory, the Philly mob saw gold, Vegas East. But the other capi around the country had other ideas, particularly the three powerful New York bosses, Sabatini Mistretta, Joe Luccarelli, and Phillip Giovinazzo. They felt it was only fair that Atlantic City be an open city, the same as Las Vegas, so that everyone could get a piece of the action. Philly didnât see it that way and basically told them all to go fuck themselves. Jules Collesano assured his boss that he was prepared to go to the mattresses to defend his turf. Bolstered by a fresh crop of heavy hittersfrom the City of Brotherly Love, Collesano then let it be known that heâd come down hard on anybody who arrived from New York or anywhere else trying to get cute in his town.
Gibbons rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his hands and imagined Collesano as a bullet-head centurion crammed into his breastplate, a good foot soldier once upon a time but promoted beyond his capability. He was ready to defend his walls to the death, but the thought of a fifth column never occurred to him. What a blow it must have been when he found out that his beloved Richie had been playing footsie with the New York bosses all along, feeding them inside information about his operations so that they could eventually take over Atlantic City as systematically as an epidemic.
Richie Varga may have looked like a jerk, but he must have had nerves of steel to do what he did. For over three years, he worked with Collesano while he was really spying for
There was a newspaper clipping of their wedding announcement in Vargaâs file. Gibbons studied the picture carefully. The bride looked frail, a small face lost in a lot of long straight hair, bangs covering her eyebrows, a real flower child. The groom had a kind of sleepy-eyed suaveness, dark wavy hair, long sideburns, and a droopy Zapata mustache over a toothy Latino smile. Not bad-looking, if you liked the type. Gibbons took note of the hippie influence in their hairstyles and was spitefully pleased to see that even the Mafia wasnât completely unaffected by the sixties.
Gibbons turned back to the terminal and started scrolling up, searching for more on the Atlantic City double cross. In the early seventies, Atlantic City was a quiet town, not a whole lot of action at what was then a decaying resort. Jules Collesano was getting older and wasnât much of a go-getter anymore, so the Philly mob sent him to Atlantic City to oversee what little they had going there. Jules was happy to be down the shore, and he took Richie and Joanne with him, putting his son-in-law the businessman in charge of the books. Eventually Richie was given responsibility for the day-to-day operations of everything in Collesanoâs jurisdictionânarcotics, prostitution, gambling, loan-sharking, protection, food suppliers, laundry services, garbage collectionâeverything. Jules knew that Richie was a good boy, capable enough and, if nothing else, trustworthy. Jules was very happy with this arrangement. He could hold on to his position of authority and still take it easy and enjoy his semiretirement.
But that was all before gambling became legal in Atlantic City. Thatâs when things started to heat up.
Traditionally Atlantic City had always been the province of the Philadelphia boss, and when legalized gambling came into their territory, the Philly mob saw gold, Vegas East. But the other capi around the country had other ideas, particularly the three powerful New York bosses, Sabatini Mistretta, Joe Luccarelli, and Phillip Giovinazzo. They felt it was only fair that Atlantic City be an open city, the same as Las Vegas, so that everyone could get a piece of the action. Philly didnât see it that way and basically told them all to go fuck themselves. Jules Collesano assured his boss that he was prepared to go to the mattresses to defend his turf. Bolstered by a fresh crop of heavy hittersfrom the City of Brotherly Love, Collesano then let it be known that heâd come down hard on anybody who arrived from New York or anywhere else trying to get cute in his town.
Gibbons rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his hands and imagined Collesano as a bullet-head centurion crammed into his breastplate, a good foot soldier once upon a time but promoted beyond his capability. He was ready to defend his walls to the death, but the thought of a fifth column never occurred to him. What a blow it must have been when he found out that his beloved Richie had been playing footsie with the New York bosses all along, feeding them inside information about his operations so that they could eventually take over Atlantic City as systematically as an epidemic.
Richie Varga may have looked like a jerk, but he must have had nerves of steel to do what he did. For over three years, he worked with Collesano while he was really spying for
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