Free Cullotta: The Life of a Chicago Criminal, Las Vegas Mobster and Government Witness by Dennis N. Griffin

the tavern, a cocktail waitress left with them. The Outfit frowned on killing innocent bystanders, so Frank’s crew continued to wait for the right opportunity.
    One night Frank and a girl were bowling when Billy McCarthy came into the alley looking for him. “Jimmy and I are going to the Black Door tonight. Do you want to come with us?”
    Frank nodded toward his girl. “I’m on a date. But I can send her home and go along with you if you want.”
    Billy thought it over for a few seconds. “Never mind. You stay with her.”
    “Here, you’d better take the key to my garage, in case you need any guns. You know where they are.” Frank handed over the key.
    After Billy left, Frank and his date bowled a couple more games, but he felt uneasy. He asked the girl to drive him over to the Black Door. They pulled in to get gas at a station near the bar. There, Frank saw Jimmy’s work car come around the corner and drive away. Afterward, Frank and his girl went to a motel and spent the night. When they left the motel the next morning, Frank turned on the car radio and heard a news flash about a triple murder in Elmwood Park, a suburb about seven miles from Rosemont. Two men and a woman had been gunned down in their car on a side street. No identities were given, but he was pretty sure who the dead people were. It looked like Billy and Jimmy not only killed guys who were connected, they also hit the waitress. Worse yet, they did it in Elmwood Park, a heavily Outfit-connected area. Frank knew if the Outfit identified Billy and Jimmy as the shooters, they were goners. There would be no warnings or second chances.
    Frank saw Billy at the bowling alley the following night. He thought Billy looked pale and acted antsy. “What did you do with the guns you took from my garage?” Frank asked.
    “We had to dump them.”
    “Did you and Jimmy use them to whack the Scalvos and the broad?”
    “We didn’t do that, Frankie. I’m glad they’re dead, but it wasn’t us.”
    Frank didn’t believe him, but he didn’t question him further.
    A couple of days later Tony was at Frank’s door. Tony said they had to talk and he didn’t pull any punches. “I know you hang out with Billy and Jimmy. They had a problem with the Scalvo brothers and now the Scalvos are dead, along with a waitress. They [the Outfit] think you, Billy, and Jimmy were the hit men.”
    “I had nothing to do with that, Tony, absolutely nothing,” Frank said.
    “Look, Frankie, I’ve been sticking up for you with these people. I personally guaranteed them you weren’t there, that if you knew anything you’d tell me, huh? But here’s the way it is. You’ve got to give up Billy and Jimmy. If you don’t, I can’t save you.”
    Frank was annoyed that Tony was trying to score points with the Outfit bosses. But he knew he had no choice in the matter. If he tried to cover for Billy and Jimmy, he’d be dead, too. Frank told Tony what happened the night of the murders, that Billy and Jimmy had done them using guns they’d taken from his garage.
    Tony seemed satisfied. “You done the right thing, Frankie. Those guys fucked up bad and now they have to pay. But you’ve got no problem; you’re going to be okay.”
    When Tony left, Frank knew Billy and Jimmy had no chance.
    Two days later Tony asked Frank to meet him at the bowling alley. Both men were nervous. Frank figured he’d be asked to set up his friends and it was Tony’s responsibility to convince the Outfit that Frank was innocent of the Scalvo killings.
    Tony said, “They want to talk to Billy McCarthy and they need your help in making the arrangements.”
    Frank knew that if he didn’t cooperate, he, too, would be a dead man. “What do you want me to do?”
    “Call Billy and ask him to meet you at the North Avenue Chicken House at eight o’clock tonight.”
    Frank got Billy on the phone and scheduled the meet. Tony made a couple of calls on the pay phone and told Frank, “Meet me at the Howard