AT 2:35 P.M., ON the afternoon of Wednesday, 17 April, 1968, a black sedan was parked on the north side of Fifty-ninth Street, New York City, between Fifth Avenue and Avenue of the Americas. The vehicle was a 1966 Cadillac Eldorado (with air conditioning), license HGR-45-9159. It was registered as a company car by the Benefix Realty Co., Inc., 6501 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York.
The chauffeur of the car—later identified as Leonard Goldberg, forty-two, a resident of 19778 Grant Parkway, the Bronx, New York—was observed lounging nearby.
The sole occupant of the parked car, seated in the back, was Frederick Simons, vice-president of the Benefix Realty Co., Inc. He was fifty-three years old; approximately 5 feet 7 inches; 190 pounds. He wore a black bowler and a double-breasted tweed topcoat. His hair and mustache were white. He was a graduate of Rawlins Law College, Erskine, Virginia, and was also licensed as a certified public accountant in the State of New York (#41-5G-1943). He had no criminal record, although he had twice been questioned—by the New York Federal District Attorney (Southern District) and by a grand jury convened by Manhattan Supreme Court—regarding the control of the Benefix Realty Co., Inc., by an organized criminal syndicate, and the role Benefix had played in the procurement of liquor licenses for several taverns and restaurants in New York City and Buffalo, New York.
Approximately five months prior to this date, on 14 November, 1967, a court order (MCC-B-189M16) had been obtained for the emplacement of an electronic transmitting device in the vehicle described. Application was made by the Frauds Division, New York State Income Tax Bureau. A Gregory MT-146-GB microphone transmitter was concealed under the dashboard of the aforesaid vehicle. It was implanted in the garage where cars registered to the Benefix Realty Co., Inc., were serviced.
At 2:38 P.M., on the afternoon of Wednesday, 17 April, 1968, a man was seen approaching this car. He was later identified by an eyewitness at the scene and by voice prints.
John “Duke” Anderson, thirty-seven, was a resident of 314 Harrar Street, Brooklyn, New York. He was 5 feet 11 inches; 178 pounds; brown hair and brown eyes; no physical scars; dressed neatly and spoke with a slight Southern accent. Anderson was a professional thief, and four months previously had been paroled after serving twenty-three months at Sing Sing (#562-8491) after his conviction on 21 January, 1966, in Manhattan Criminal Court on a charge of breaking and entering. Although it was the first conviction on his record, he had been arrested twice before in New York State, once for burglary, once for simple assault. Both charges had been dropped with no record of trial.
Tape NYSITB-FD-17APR68-106-1A begins:
SIMONS: Duke! My Lord, it’s good to see you. How you been?
ANDERSON: Mr. Simons. Mighty fine to see you. How you been?
SIMONS: Fine, Duke, just fine. You’re looking well. A little thinner, maybe.
ANDERSON: I expect so.
SIMONS: Of course, of course! We’ve got this little refreshment stand here. As you can see, I’m already partaking. Can I offer you something?
ANDERSON: Cognac? Or brandy?
SIMONS: How will Rémy Martin suit you?
ANDERSON: Just right.
SIMONS: Pardon the paper cups, Duke. We find it’s easier that way.
ANDERSON: Sure, Mr. Simons.
[Lapse of five seconds.]
SIMONS: Well … here’s to crime.
[Lapse of four seconds.]
ANDERSON: God … that’s good.
SIMONS: Tell me, Duke—how have things been going for you?
ANDERSON: I got no complaints, Mr. Simons. I appreciate everything you all did for me.
SIMONS: You did a lot for us, too, Duke.
ANDERSON: Yes. But it wasn’t much. I got the letters through when I could. Sometimes I couldn’t.
SIMONS: We understood, I assure you. We don’t expect perfection when you’re inside.
ANDERSON: I’ll never forget that night I got back to Manhattan. The hotel room. The money. The booze. And that cow you sent over. And the clothes! How did you know my sizes?
SIMONS: We have ways, Duke. You know that. I hope you liked the woman. I picked her out myself.
ANDERSON: Just what the doctor ordered.
SIMONS [laughing]: Exactly right.
[Lapse of nine seconds.]
ANDERSON: Mr. Simons, since I got out I been walking the arrow. I work nights on a folding machine in a printing plant. We do a daily sheet a chain of supermarkets gets out. You know—special buys for the day, things like that. And I report regular. I don’t see any of the old gang.
SIMONS: We know, Duke, we know.
ANDERSON: But something came up I wanted to ask you about. A wild idea. I can’t handle it myself. That’s why I called.
SIMONS: What is it, Duke?
ANDERSON: You’ll probably think I’m nuts, that those twenty-three months scrambled my brains.
SIMONS: We don’t think you’re nuts, Duke. What is it … a campaign?
ANDERSON: Yes. Something I came across about three weeks ago. It’s been chewing at me ever since. It might be good.
SIMONS: You say you can’t handle it yourself? How many will you need?
ANDERSON: More than five. No more than ten.
SIMONS: I don’t like it. It isn’t simple.
ANDERSON: It is simple, Mr. Simons. Maybe I could do with five.
SIMONS: Let’s have another.
ANDERSON: Sure … thanks.
[Lapse of eleven seconds.]
SIMONS: What income do you anticipate?
ANDERSON: You want me to guess? That’s all I can do—guess. I guess a minimum of a hundred thou.
[Lapse of six seconds.]
SIMONS: And you want to talk to the Doctor?
ANDERSON: Yes. If you can set it up.
SIMONS: You better tell me a little more about it.
ANDERSON: You’ll laugh at me.
SIMONS: I won’t laugh at you, Duke. I promise.
ANDERSON: There’s a house on the East Side. Way over near the river. Used to be a privately owned town house. Now it’s apartments. Doctors’ offices on the ground floor. Eight apartments on the four floors above. Rich people. Doorman. Self-service elevator.
SIMONS: You want to hit one of the apartments?
ANDERSON: No, Mr. Simons. I want to hit the whole building. I want to take over the entire fucking building and clean it out.