Made Men by Greg B. Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

fourteen dollars on a haircut? Barber Lou Amato got a measly three-dollar tip and was thus inspired to tell the Daily News, “I saw his picture in the paper and I said to myself, ‘Oh my God, I cut a bank robber’s hair.’ ”
    From there, Reed walked down the street feeling mighty munificent. He walked into a local corner store where he was well-known and gave the owner a dollar he owed her. He then bought himself a carton of strawberry milk.
    “All singles,” she said. “He acted very normal. It was unbelievable.”
Within hours after the newspapers printed a number to call the police with information about the suspects, the cops had received no fewer than fifty-six tips. It did not hurt that there was now a $26,000 reward. All over Windsor Terrace people were dropping quarters into pay phones. Mel and Mike, after all, weren’t exactly well liked in the neighborhood. At Farrell’s bar, for instance, the bartender— who also managed to call the tip line—made it clear that Reed was considered a bit of a skell, and was therefore unwelcome on the premises—“not even to use the bathroom.”
But worse than all of the humiliation was the fact that one of the Three Stooges was now in the custody of the FBI, and Ralphie was sure he knew which one.
It had to be Mel, and Mel knew Richie’s first and last name. Whether or not he knew Ralphie’s name, Ralphie could not be sure. Certainly Richie had mentioned it once or twice. And even more certain was that the FBI could not in their right minds believe that Moe, Larry, and Curly had thought this thing up. As a liquor-store owner from Windsor Terrace told the News, “They weren’t smart enough for that. Someone had to come to them and offer a deal.”
Someone indeed.
Ralphie reached out to Sal to have a talk. They met for coffee.
Sal: “You want some coffee?”
Ralph: “You drink the coffee.”
Sal: “I’ll drink any fucking thing. I mean, I don’t give a fuck.”
Ralph: “I got a fucking headache.”
Sal: “All right, then. What are we gonna do? Let’s really start thinking.”
Sal then informed Ralphie that he’d heard a kid from the neighborhood was at a local funeral home and was saying that Melvin Desmond Folk had $25,000 stashed at his house and then the federal agents came around and were asking the kid questions. Sal said the kid told them, “I was just talking out of my hat.”
Ralph said, “Sally, you know, you gotta believe one thing. You gotta believe you’re dealing with fucking morons, this whole neighborhood.”
The FBI picked up Michael Reed on Thursday, the fifteenth of January. He was actually staying at the home of a friend right there on Twentieth Street in Brooklyn where he hung out all the time. A retired NYPD detective who’d known Reed for years from Windsor Terrace had identified him within a few hours of the robbery. That same day a photo of Richie Gillette was circulated to police stations across the nation.
Around 7:30 P . M . on Friday, January 16, a passenger on a California-bound Amtrak aroused the suspicions of railroad security because he was chain-smoking and flashing money around. The man was approached by security in his sleeper car as the train pulled into Albuquerque, New Mexico, and was asked a few questions. The man wore a Green Bay Packers jacket and produced an ID with the name George Grillo. He said he was from New York and was headed to San Bernardino. He consented to a search of the cabin and a drug-sniffing dog reacted to his red duffel bag. Inside, Amtrak agent Jonathan Salazar found lots of cash and an ID with the name Richard Gillette. The cash was confiscated because Gillette couldn’t explain it. Agent Salazar did not arrest the passenger but instead headed back to his radio car to check both names. When Gillette popped up in the computer as wanted by the FBI, Salazar returned to the sleeper and discovered his man was gone.
The train had by now pulled out of Albuquerque and was headed out into the frigid