In the twenty-seven months Pitera had been living in Japan, he had matured considerably beyond his years. This was no longer a frail boy trying to overcome various inferiority complexes. He was now a confident man, opinionated, well read in the history of war; well read in the destruction of human beings. While in Japan, he had not only studied martial arts using fists and feet of fury, but he had mastered all the different accoutrements. Tommy Pitera’s hands were now weapons. His feet were weapons. However, more important than anything was his mind-set. He was, he had become, he had molded himself into a killer. He had come to view killing, the martial arts, as a literal art form. There was no room in this art form for conscience, sympathy, or remorse. Consistent with the samurai way of thinking of old, Tommy Pitera had become a remorseless killer of men.
Oddly enough, he showed tremendous deference and respect to women—his mother, his sister, girlfriends. They were all treated well by Pitera. He was no longer shy, quiet, and withdrawn. He no longer blended in with the furniture. Now he looked people directly in the eye and walked with his head high—stoic, hard-jawed, dragon-eyed.
He thought about what exactly he would do in life—how he would make his living. Pitera wanted the good things life had to offer—a fancy home in a nice neighborhood. He wanted his parents to be proud of his achievements. He wanted his friends to look up to him. With no family connections, trade, or particular business training or acumen under his black belt, Tommy Pitera’s prospects were minimal. Again, he thought about teaching martial arts; thought about opening his own school, but this did not excite or interest him beyond an occasional fleeting daydream.
Inevitably, Tommy Pitera came to a crossroads. One road led to the dry, mundane destiny his father had reached; the other road, red with blood, led to power and riches, respect and adulation. Born and raised in Gravesend, Tommy Pitera was known and readily accepted by the mafiosi who saturated the neighborhood. The respect and trappings mafiosi had as a matter of course were things Pitera wanted. How could he not? The straight life was not for him. A nine-to-five gig, for him, was anathema. The thought of taking the subway to work every day was…nauseating. Naturally enough, given who he’d become, what he was about, the fire-breathing dragon within, he began hanging out in mob bars, social clubs, and restaurants in Gravesend and Bensonhurst and there rubbed shoulders on a regular basis with Mafia soldiers, lieutenants, captains, underbosses, and even bosses. They warmed to him—he warmed to them. It was no secret that he was a martial arts expert and soon Tommy Pitera became known as “Tommy Karate.”
Mafiosi have an amazing penchant for giving one another nicknames. Some of these names were amusing: Sally Socks, Vinnie the Nose, Vincente the Chin Gigante, Anthony Gaspipe Casso, Vinnie Beans, Sammy the Bull, Vinnie Gorgeous, Anthony Bruno Whack Whack, Carmine the Snake, the Mad Hatter, Kid Blast Gallo, Crazy Joe Gallo, Lilo Gigante, Sonny Red Indelicato, and on and on. These names were also a good way to hide the true identity of any given mafioso; they confused the cops; they confused the FBI. But among themselves, they all knew who they were.
In order to become a made man in any of the New York crime families, you must take an oath, on a saint, swearing allegiance to the crime family above all other things—even one’s own family, parents, wives, children. There is also a knife and a gun on the table at which the oath is made. In addition to the made men, there is an outer core of men known as associates who actively work with the Mafia. Associates are protected by the family they are involved with; they are, in a sense, surrogate members of the family. If any given associate does particularly well, exhibits loyalty, dedication, willingness to follow orders blindly, that associate could very well be nominated to become a full-fledged made man.
One of the made men that Tommy Karate Pitera began hanging out with was a deadly, erratic, psychotic killer—one Anthony Bruno Indelicato. It would be Indelicato who would open the door into La Cosa Nostra for Tommy Pitera. Bruno was one of the premiere killers in the Bonanno family. He killed so readily, with such aplomb and such ease, that he actually became known as “Whack Whack.” Bruno was tall and thin and muscular, had a dark complexion and a large beguiling smile that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. Women were readily drawn to him. Contrary to Bruno’s good looks, he began balding prematurely—when he was in his mid-twenties—and had difficulty coping with the loss of his hair. This stone-cold killer, who shot, stabbed, and beat people to death, was more concerned with his hair loss than with the terrible destruction he wrought upon his many victims. He had an abundance of vanity, but no conscience…morality. Hair, for him, represented masculinity and virility. In fact, he was so preoccupied with his hair loss, so put out by it, that his constant complaints to fellow mafiosi drove them nuts. Bruno was one of the first people in the New York tristate area to get a hair transplant, but it didn’t work. As well as having developed an inferiority complex regarding his hair, regarding his appearance, Bruno was a dedicated cokehead. This was a very dangerous thing for a made man to be.
The Mafia, as a whole, viewed drug users as unreliable, potential trouble, weak links in a carefully put-together, very strong chain. Bruno came from a family with close Mafia ties. His father, Sonny Red Indelicato, was a respected capo in the Bonanno family, while his uncle, Joseph, was also a capo in the Bonanno family. As a result, people looked out for Bruno and constantly warned him to stay away from drugs. He kept promising he would; he dutifully went to rehab. Upon release from rehab, he was as handsome as a movie star and as charming as a seasoned car salesman. However, Bruno would go back to his old ways—snorting and smoking cocaine while acting completely out of control.
Bruno’s drug use did not deter Pitera from pursuing a friendship with this erratic killer. Bruno and Pitera were tight and fond of each other. Together they made for a volatile mixture. One could readily liken it to mixing arsenic and cyanide. Bruno and Tommy were cultural contemporaries, both of them blindly dedicated to the rules and laws and mandates of La Cosa Nostra, not society.
Fuck society!
Fuck its rules and regulations. These two lived by a different beat, rhythm, they heard only in their heads.
With Bruno’s assistance, blessings, and encouragement, Pitera became a Bonanno associate. Pitera was eager to please, and others in the family quickly took a shine to him. He had all the right moves, comported himself perfectly, said all the right things.
With Bruno’s support, Tommy Pitera earned his bones (committed a murder) and killed for the Bonanno family. Dismemberment, the taking apart of bodies for easier disposal, was one of Bruno’s specialties. Inspired by Bruno, fused with the innate knowledge that Pitera had of bodies—of taking them apart, of where to cut and where to saw and where to separate trunk from limb—victims of the Bonanno crime family were soon being cut into six pieces and buried in desolate places around Brooklyn.