After Horton spoke to the judge on Evans’s part, Evans was given a $240 fine and cut loose. Not two hours after he was released, he called Horton at home. “Let’s go. What can I do for you?”
“That was fast.”
“I pay my debts. I don’t go back on my word.”
“Well, Gar, you’re famous for ripping off drug dealers…. Why don’t we try to figure something out.”
In the federal system, a CI can do what is called a “reversal.” Simply put, the cops can have the drugs and the bad guy can have the money; thus, a CI can solicit the dope deal. In the state system, this can’t be done; it is considered entrapment.
Horton continued: “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll assign you to an agent. We’ll provide you with a thirty-pound bale of marijuana. Who can you get to buy it from you?”
Evans shot right back without missing a beat. “Archie Bennett.”
Bennett was a neighbor of Damien Cuomo’s, known around town as a “big-time” drug dealer. Evans had always hated him. He said he would enjoy “fucking him” and not lose a minute’s sleep over it.
A few days later, Evans called Bennett and told him he had robbed a drug dealer in New York City and wanted to dump a bale of pot as soon as possible. “I want thirty-four thousand.”
Bennett said he would get back to him.
Within days, Bennett called to say he had the money.
“Good,” Evans said. “Meet me at the parking lot near the Laundromat by the river.” It was a popular spot in Troy down the street from Bennett’s house. Bennett knew exactly where Evans was talking about.
He and Evans then set up a time for the following day.
Evans called the agent Horton had assigned him and explained what was going on. When Horton heard, he immediately began wondering if Evans was telling the truth. It seemed too easy.
“I need to be there,” Horton told the agent. “Nobody knows Gary like me. I trust him, but I don’t trust him.”
In all, there were about ten agents set up in every nook surrounding the area near the parking lot. Horton stationed himself in a convenience store diagonally across the block.
Evans pulled up about 1:30 P.M. An agent met with him and gave him the bale of dope while Horton sneaked around to the front of his car and unhooked the coil wire so Evans couldn’t act on any strange impulses he might have of taking off.
At 2:00 P.M. sharp, Bennett walked into the parking lot and sat in Evans’s Saab.
Under normal circumstances, a CI would be arrested along with the target to make it look like a normal grab. That way, the buyer wouldn’t suspect—at least not right away—a setup.
Evans, however, told Horton he wanted Bennett to know he was being set up. Horton didn’t have much of a problem with it. If Evans wanted to show Bennett he wasn’t scared of him, so be it. But Horton said they wouldn’t make an issue out of it; they just wouldn’t cuff Evans and lead him away with Bennett.
As Horton took a crunch out of a hot dog while standing in the window of the convenience store across the street, he watched as Bennett gave Evans a brown paper bag, which contained the money.
Within a few seconds, all of the agents “swooped in and grabbed Bennett.” Evans, turning to Bennett, mouthed, Fuck you, asshole, and walked away from the car.
As Bennett was being put into one of the cruisers, Evans began mumbling and skulking about, noticeably upset at something.
“What is it, Gar?” Horton asked.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Evans said. “Damn it all. Son of a bitch. Motherfucker.”
“What is it, Gar? Talk to me?”
“Bennett never even asked me to see the drugs!”
“Yeah, so. Big deal. We got him.”
“I could have pulled this shit off without you assholes and pocketed the thirty-four thousand myself. Motherfucker, I didn’t need you guys.”
Horton started laughing.
In the end, Evans received about $2,500 for his role. A confidential informant, under the federal system, is entitled to a percentage of any take he is involved in.
After working with Horton on nailing Bennett, who was basically given a slap on the wrist and released, Evans became engrossed in the excitement of working with Horton on that level. He envied Horton in many ways, and made no secret about telling him how much he wished he could have been more like him.
“My way of thinking was to always make Gary feel like he was doing a good thing by me,” Horton said. “He believed that I was totally taken with him—and that was part of my wanting to know things about him he just wouldn’t come out and tell me. I began to suspect that he’d had something to do with the disappearance of Damien Cuomo and Michael Falco, as we became closer. I still had no proof, of course, but I felt I was getting somewhere.”
Indeed, once Evans got a taste of police work, he wanted more—like an addict.
Months after the Bennett job, Evans phoned Horton and told him he needed to talk to him about another “job.” Horton was never one to pass up an opportunity to hear Evans out. So he agreed to meet him.
“We met in the parking lot of a grocery store in Watervliet, New York, across the Hudson River from Troy,” Horton recalled later. “I parked away from most of the shoppers, in an area where most people wouldn’t want to park.”
Evans showed up on foot, which was pretty standard for him whenever he and Horton met. “He had his vehicle parked nearby, but was probably doing counter-surveillance on me, like he always did.”
After sitting down in Horton’s car, Evans began to talk about an idea he had to purchase a few guns. As he talked, a car pulled up, nose to nose, to Horton’s.
“With all these places to park, this guy comes way over here?” Horton said aloud.
“That motherfucker,” Evans said in agreement. Then he opened a newspaper and pretended to read it to block his face so the people in the car couldn’t see him.
Within a few moments, a red Chevrolet Camaro pulled up next to the other car. Neither driver had noticed Horton and Evans sitting in front of them.
Horton couldn’t believe his eyes, but both men got out of their cars and began to make an exchange.
“Drugs for money,” Horton recalled. “Right in front of me. Gary and I couldn’t believe it. As the deal was going down, I’m laughing, explaining to Gary what I’m seeing because he’s still covering his face with the newspaper.”
“Look at these two guys,” Horton said to Evans. “I can’t believe it. They’re doing a drug deal not ten feet from me. Isn’t it obvious that I’m in a Bureau car?”
Evans couldn’t help himself. He had to peek around the newspaper to see it for himself.
“Motherfucker,” he said.
“Quick, get out of my car,” Horton said at that point. The men had completed the deal and were getting into their cars to leave.
“Let me go with you,” Evans pleaded. He had a noticeable hint of excitement in his voice.
“Get out of my car,” Horton said again, with a bit more authority.
Evans began begging. “Please let me go, Guy. I want to bust them with you. Come on, it’ll be fun. The two of us working together like cops.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Car.” Horton wasn’t kidding now. Both cars were approaching the parking lot exit. He had to take off at that moment or the chance of catching one of them was gone.
“Come on, Guy?” Evans asked again.
“I’ll physically throw you out of the car, Gar. Now get out.”
As Horton opened his door to walk around to the passenger side to pull Evans out, Evans took off.
“The cars went in different directions,” Horton added. “I chose to stop the first car, thinking that he was the buyer rather than the seller, because the seller would have more money. He ended up being the buyer. He had an ‘eight ball’ of cocaine on him. I had gotten the plate number off the Camaro and went and picked up the seller later that night. Gary called me the next day at my office and wanted to know what happened.”
“I wish I was a cop so I could do that,” Evans said before they hung up. “I wish I was like you, Guy.”