Inevitably, when dealing narcotics, some people don’t pay. They get caught up in the trials and tribulations of life and don’t realize that the nonpayment of drugs could very well lead to a death sentence. If, it was common knowledge, you fronted an amount of drugs that were not paid for, soon everyone would be doing it; soon the dealer would be out of business. To stay in that business, people had to keep their word, people had to own up to the agreements they made. No one believed this more than Tommy Pitera. He came to view the selling of drugs as though he was selling his own respect. For him it became a very personal enterprise. If he gave you drugs and you didn’t pay him back, you were stealing away his livelihood, you were stealing away the reputation he had worked hard and diligently to acquire. He took his place in the family very seriously. For him, his position in the family was something to be revered, not merely respected and spoken about in whispers.
According to those in the know, Thomas Salerno had taken several ounces of cocaine on consignment from Pitera. He paid a little late, though he paid. Pitera gave him more cocaine and, again, he paid a little later, but still paid. Pitera warned him about paying on time. Apparently, what Pitera said fell on deaf ears, for the third amount of drugs Pitera fronted Salerno were not paid for. Pitera sent word for Salerno to come see him. He didn’t come. When Pitera finally met up with Salerno, he managed to convince him to go for a car ride, which ended up with Salerno being shot in the head.
Pitera thought it would be funny to leave the dead Salerno in his car right next to Gravesend Cemetery. When the body was found by police, there was no connection to Pitera, but soon word spread on the street of exactly what had occurred and why, and people in La Cosa Nostra nodded knowingly as the police scratched their heads and wondered who committed the murder.
Like this, Tommy Pitera began killing people who were not paying for drugs on time. He not only killed those he personally had fronted drugs to, but he murdered for associates of his in the Bonanno clan. He soon became the go-to guy for murder, not only within that family but other families as well. With each murder, Pitera’s reputation grew. Pitera became adept at murder, comfortable in that guise.
Now, for the most part, Pitera wore all black. He shunned daylight, came out mostly at night, and his face grew pale and waxy. His light skin juxtaposed against his black clothing gave him a vampire-like appearance. He was quiet—sullen. This further fueled the fear people had for him. This further fueled the rumors that were being passed all over Brooklyn—that Pitera was a remorseless killer; that Pitera was dismembering his victims, neatly cutting them up into six pieces and disposing of them at various burial sites.
It was said that he had cleverly discovered that land on bird sanctuaries could not be disturbed; that building and construction would not be allowed. It wouldn’t take long for him to put two and two together and realize that burying a body in such a place would just about guarantee the body would not be discovered. It was also said, people in the know recently confided, that Pitera had an autopsy table in the basement of a building he controlled.
Pitera married a Brooklyn woman named Carol Boguski and had a male child with her. They named the boy Charles. This, however, was an ill-fated union and soon the couple separated. With the proceeds Pitera made from dealing drugs, he opened two bars: one in Cypress Gardens called Cypress Bar and Grill and another on Avenue S and West Eighth Street called the Just Us Bar. It was a residential street with few stores. More than being a moneymaking enterprise, it was a place for Pitera and his people to meet and arrange for drug sales; in reality, more a place to sell drugs than alcohol. That’s not to say they sold drugs over the bar or out of the bathroom. Deals were consummated here. Agreements and handshakes were made here. The physical passing of drugs happened elsewhere.
Now, when Pitera walked into a Brooklyn restaurant frequented by mafiosi, conversation slowed. People stared and pointed. Tommy Pitera had become what he always had wanted to be: feared and respected, a man not to be taken lightly. Pitera still practiced martial arts but now it was more to keep in shape, to keep well coordinated. He was a vain man and did not want to develop a stomach or jowls. Pitera continued to read voraciously about killing human beings, war, and destruction. He acquired books on how to dismember bodies and diligently studied where to cut and slice, deepening his knowledge of how to neatly take apart a body.