***Ain’t Got Not No Time For The Corner Boys-With George V.
Higgins’ The Friends Of Eddie Coyle
in Mind
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
Every kid, every “the projects” kid, a
kid who would have to know this bit of urban legend wisdom sooner rather than
later, know there was “no honor among thieves,” in order to survive out on the
edge of society down there where the line between the lumpen and the
downtrodden working poor (or can’t work poor) is blurred, very blurred. Know
this by heart, by gut, in order to survive childhood in one piece unless he was
“connected” or was tough enough, or had a brother or brothers tough enough to
protect him. So would every triple-decker Southie/Dot/North
Cambridge/Somerville/Revere and on and on Massachusetts Mom and Pop variety
store holding up the wall looking for the heart of Saturday night corner boy,
ditto on the “no honor among thieves” wisdom. Ditto too on the survival part. All
knowing too that that principle though applies as well to “hit” men, stone-cold
killers, grifters, drifters, midnight sifters, gunrunners, heist artists and
every con man who walks the street going whatever his con is. Those young guys
know deep in their hearts, and if not somebody better embed it there, just like
Eddie Coyle knew, Eddie “Fingers” if you forgot his real name, and just knew
him from his small reputation as a part-time stand-up guy, that despite all
that stuff about the sanctified lumpen brotherhood down there in the grime of
society, all that noise about keeping the faith as a stand-up guy if you want
to stay in one piece, above about not being a “snitch” each of those projects
boys or corner boys (could be the same depending on your town and its social
structure) has to learn, and maybe the hard way, that down at the bottom of
society, down there where the working poor meets the non-working poor meets the
bottom feeder, what, Karl Marx, and not just him, called the lumpen that it is
dog eat dog and the survivors move up the food chain.
And see the cops, the guys who deal
with all of this one way or another as part of their jobs, who maybe lived in
the projects coming up themselves or held up some corner storefront brick wall,
work that knowledge to their benefit. Work each freaking guy up against it, each
guy looking at some serious closed-up and forgotten time, each guy who comes up
against their justice system and if you are a projects boy or a corner boy you
will come up against that system if only for a search and frisk for being a po’
boy, to sell-out whoever and whatever he can to get right with whatever governmental
agency has him by the cajoles. Not
only do the cops know this but the guys who prosecute the cases for the
government, you know the D.As. (really the Assistant D.A.s except in high
profile cases),the judges, the jailers, and the constitutional law professors,
most of whom did not come up that way, all know this. Laugh among themselves over
drinks about how some poor snook could not figure out the fact that he was
being used as an experiment in their “snitch” manipulations (mainly how to get
those dockets cleared before noon day after day with ninety-five percent plea
outs). The only ones who don’t know, or maybe do a little but don’t know the
extent of it, are the average citizens who get bopped on the head, get their
cars stolen, or get burgled.
Hold on though there is another group,
well, maybe not a group but a few guys anyway, smart guys in all ways, all
important ways. Those of course are maybe guys who used to be in law
enforcement now working as security for private businesses, maybe guys who used
to try the cases for the government (or better get a negotiated plea out) now
in lucrative private practices who make it their business to know so they could
use that information when they went out and got real jobs, or maybe write about
it, to wise the public up every once in a while.
That’s what this guy I knew once did, the
late George V. Higgins, a guy who worked in the Attorney-General’s Office in
Massachusetts and when he got tired of that moved up to the “bigs” in the federal
district court in Massachusetts. Kind of a stand-up guy in his own way if
anybody is asking although as far as I know he always had his nose in a book.
He said one that he had done a little corner boy stuff and although he was a “projects”
boy he gave up the thrill of the criminal life that beckoned to every corner boy
early and from there went straight to the head of his class.
So George knew his stuff, had as they
say “seen it all” and while he worked for chump change in the government he made
a good living at writing the stuff up later because he knew his former low-rent
“clientele” that wound up coming before him for a deal, looking for help, and ready
to give up their acquaintances, their close friends, their relatives, hell,
their mothers if it would get them out from under some long stretch in Cedar
Junction, the old MCI-Walpole or you name your MCI, or down sunny “club fed” Danbury
in Connecticut. Knew the Eddie Fingers of the world. Better, had a close ear to
the way they talked, talked to each other, talked to the coppers, talked to the
bench but most importantly knew how their minds worked, how they skittled the
truth, on the job and off. Higgins knew too how to make a lot of guys at
Sculler’s over in North Adamsville, guys like me who worked in that town and
liked to stop off for a few after work, laugh that knowing laugh about that “honor
among thieves” stuff. (One time he said
that North Adamsville was where he was originally from, or so I heard, and so
he liked to go back to the old neighborhood taverns looking for “color.”)
I remember one time, it have to have
been about thirty or forty years ago, Higgins came dragging his ass into the bar
one night after some hardball case for the “feds” whom he was working for then had
finished up, had become “case closed” and he was in an expansive mood so he
just let it rip. Wanted to give out on about the 227th version on
the “no honor among thieves” thesis. So somebody bought him a high-end Scotch
(I forget the brand but he always drank high-end liquor in those days). See he had been (as had me and a few other
guys there listening) a corner boy himself and so could see where going off
track might lead, had been in thrall to the “life” for a while until he figured
the percentage differently from those corner boys who he grew up with and who
choose a different “career” path ending up doing plenty of collective “hard
time.” Yeah, that night he told us about
old Eddie Coyle, old Eddie “Fingers” who the day before had wound up face down
with about nine slugs in him in the front passenger side of a stolen 1970 two-toned
Chevy over at the Fresh Pond Shopping Mall in Cambridge as the prime new
example he could give about that honor among thieves stuff.
George didn’t know much about Eddie’s
early life but he guessed that like a lot of guys who came of age in the 1930s
and 1940s, guys from Eddie’s “class” like
Whitey Bulger who they just grabbed recently, a couple of years ago, grabbed
good Eddie started early. Figure: probably a drunken father (like George’s had
been, that was the first time I had heard that) who did, or did not beat, the
kids (and wife) after a three day toot and who did, or did not, drink away his
weekly wages leaving said wife with many empty envelopes for the “on time” bill
collectors and repo men but who in whichever case applies was AWOL in bringing
up sonny boy. Figure: a nagging mother (who despite the beating or short money
would not leave her man, where would she go?) who kept sonny boy in tow for a
while with “you do not want to be like your father” but who when he came of age
turned more and more like his father-except he was in thrall to easy money,
easy money “found on the ground” not whiskey. Figure too: too many kids in the
family, too little space to breathe, always climbing over or under somebody,
and the kicker- a serious wanting habit that never left him because there was
too much to want and not enough to pay for it. Yeah, George did not know every
detail, every Eddie detail but those of us on the stools kept nodding our heads
as he spoke.
How to get that easy money though.
Maybe Eddie started, you know probably with the “clip”, the “five-finger
discount” at some cheap jewelry store downtown (and probably for some young
girl that he was smitten with and had no dough to buy some harmless trinket.
Little did he know then that there was not enough dough in the world when his
women got their wanting habits on. That hard-bitten knowledge came later.). Kids’
stuff for kids’ eyes. Later when more serious dough was needed maybe a quick Mom and Pop variety store robbery
throwing a scare in the owners but no weapons (and not in the neighborhood
either-funny about the “code” you did not hit the neighborhood stores but some
other neighborhood stores with the same hard-working up against it small owners
were fair game. Worse though was when the drugs came and distorted a lot so
even locals were hit. But in Eddie’s time-stay away).Maybe some silly petty
larceny thing finally graduating to more dough armed robberies, selling stolen
goods, selling dope, maybe selling women who knows. The way George got to know
Eddie though was as a gun-runner, one of the best in New England, and one of
the surefire ways to get yourself before the “feds”-if you were looking for a
way.
What Eddie was though, and here he was
and is legion, was a career “soldier,” a guy just trying to do a little of
this, a little of that to keep the vultures from the door. George said looking
at photographs of Eddie when he was younger he looked pretty tough, but also a
good- looking guy that would be spending a lot of time buying trinkets for one
frail or another. George said think of maybe a young Robert Mitchum, all
cleft-chin, barrel-chest, a mass of dark hair, and a little sneer that women,
some women anyway, usually make it their business to take off a guy when they
have a different set of wanting habits on. They would never make a movie of
Eddie’s short unsweet mournful life but if they did he would suggest Mitchum for
the role hands down.
Yeah, so Eddie was just a guy doing the
best he could, not an educated guy but “street wise” enough to get noticed by
guys who notice such things. (Eddie dropped out of high school over at Rindge
Tech in Cambridge after his first successful armed robbery and after he nearly
beat one of the teachers, a shop teacher, to death when he asked Eddie where he
was going with all shop materials in the back of his car after school). Most of the time whatever caper he was on worked,
a few mishaps, thirty days here, six months there and then back to the streets,
back to the “this and that.” But here is where he got dragged into the “code.”
One time he was look-out on an armed robbery of a department store on payday.
Something went wrong and the guys who actually were to pull the robbery off
fled leaving Eddie holding the bag. Eddie was left “holding the bag” (had a
weapon on him as he was approached by the called cops.) Eddie, knowing the guys
he was working with were “connected’ did his first stand-up guy routine-got a
year and served six months. He would stand-up some more later but what was
important was after that time, after he proved to be a stand-up guy, was when he
began his career as the “armorer” anytime somebody needed some “clean”
guns.
But see guys like Eddie are street
smart, or better be if they expect a longest career, but not smart, smart, not
covered with about eight layers of protection before they might have to take
the big fall, not brain smart and so guys like Eddie make mistakes, and certain
mistakes cost a guy. That is how Eddie got his moniker. See mostly Eddie was
after that youthful mishap stuff, that 30 days here, six months there stuff, a
gun-runner, a job which means that he was “connected” if only by a “banker” to
guys who mattered. Eddie was the guy who, if you were “connected,” could depend
on to get guns for your caper and then you dump them in some river, any river
and nobody was the wiser, no cops anyway. That was what Jimmy Smalls did, the
case that later put Eddie face down, when he thought up his string of quick
armed robberies and then fade out but needed a ton of hardware to pull them all
off.
So there was always a demand,
especially for guns that didn’t blow up on you when you used them, or blow up
on you with a “history” (you know stolen, or from some government inventory
storage, or used in some traceable criminal act if you got caught). Eddie made
that mistake, once. See Eddie was supposed to give the good-housekeeping seal
of approval on all the guns he sold, was to make sure that those guns had no
history, had not been used before in some traceable criminal activity. That one
time he got sloppy, dealt with a dealer who claimed the guns were clean (Eddie
was always the “middle man” on these deals. Like George said where would he get
guns, clean guns on his own.). Billy Banks, the old-time bank-robber (who like
the more illustrious Willy Sutton said he did it because that was where the
money was. Nice) depended on an Eddie gun, got into a squeeze with the “Feds”
and found out the gun had been used in an unsolved murder. Well, Billy, who was
connected from way back, was not going to be the guy who got the lesson. Our
boy Eddie was. Here is how “connected” justice works though. They took Eddie’s
hand (nicely giving him the choice of which one) and slammed it into a
drawer-hard. So Eddie, now Eddie Fingers, had a grotesque set of knuckles on
one hand ever after. Hence the moniker.
After that object lesson Eddie became
cautious, much more cautious, for a long time. Like a lot of career guys,
soldiers, he got married, had kids and so he needed a steady flow of cash and
the gun trade was somewhat seasonal. So he branched out a little, worked a
shipment of stolen goods up in Maine for a couple of guys, and got caught. That
shipment turned out to be many, many cases of liquor, untaxed stolen liquor
coming over the line from Canada. That is where George came into the story
personally with Eddie. See an aging soldier with a wife and kids just can’t do
the “time.” They had him solid on the heist, no question, and so Eddie seeing
the writing on the wall, saw that being a stand-up guy was going to put him in
nowhere land wanted to talk to one of George’s field guys, wanted to talk to “Uncle”
George called the process. And what “talking
to Uncle” meant was that Eddie was ready to sell his mother to get out from
under his expected two-to-five year sentence.
So Eddie made one of his life’s little
compromises. Here is how that went. Eddie needing plenty of cash for family and
lawyers got back into the gun-running trade while awaiting sentencing. Eddie was
the broker for Jimmy Smalls’ caper like I said which needed much hardware in a
short period. Eddie found his dealer, a young guy named Tiny Brown, who had
serious connections to some small arms plant where they made the damn things, worked
him hard, mercilessly in fact, to get the guns that were necessary for Jimmy’s series
of quick bank robberies. Things went well for a while, Eddie got all the guns
he needed at a decent price and plenty of dough for himself. The problem was
the Feds were wired into the action (through the thoughtfulness of another
snitch of course), wired in almost accidently.
In those days, back in the early 1970s,
the Feds were up to their knees in trying to keep guns out of hand of black
revolutionaries like the Panthers fearing some kind of race war with “whitey”
getting the short end of the stick. Also as time went on and America got all
crazy over Vietnam some white radicals figured they would start a “second
front” in America to aid the Vietnamese revolutionaries over there and the
black liberation fighters in America.
They too were looking for guns, heavy-duty M-16 kind of automatic
weaponry. And Tiny was the man who could get such weaponry. So at one point on
another Tiny dealt with some radicals looking for guns for the revolution at
the same time as Eddie needed some quick gun turnaround. The Feds brought down Tiny,
the gun-dealer with no problem. Oh yeah, with a little help from Eddie, something
about machine-guns in the trunk of his car. George said Eddie’s logic was
impeccable-he did not want to see his country overrun by n----rs and commies
and why not throw a gun-dealer in the mix to lighten his sentence. Besides Tiny
was kind of a snotty-nosed kid
Here is the funny thing about the “stoolie”
business though, about when you stop being a stand-up guy. Once you give “Uncle”
one thing he wants to put you on the “payroll.” Wants you to sing loud and
clear in his choir. See George’s field guy went to bat for Eddie up in Maine
but because he neglected to “dime” on the guys who ran the operation (connected
guys and so you might as well cut your own throat if you brought them down as I
am sure Eddie seriously thought about when he looked at his knuckles) the
government guy in Maine wasn’t ready to do likewise. So our boy Eddie was going
to have produce more than that one gun-dealer, like maybe give up who the guys
were who organized that stolen goods shipment up in Maine. Here is where the
“code of honor” goes to hell and back. The guy, or one of the guys who
organized the stolen goods heist was a guy, Dixie, who ran a bar in Boston and was
for his own purposes working for Uncle. And guess what Dixie was worried about.
Yeah, Eddie’s problem, whether Eddie would be a stand-up guy when the deal went
down. So Eddie became the classic victim of the squeeze. See Dixie put it in Uncle’s
ear that Eddie was the guy who ratted out on the bank robberies, ratted out on
Jimmy’s capers, that were spreading like wild-fire around Boston-using Eddie
provided guns.
Here is what got Eddie doomed though, got
him over to Fresh Pond. When the coppers, using information provided by a woman
scorned girlfriend of Jimmy, the mastermind of those robberies, closed in for
the arrests they killed one of his confederates. A kid, a kid seriously connected to a local
Mafia boss who treated the kid like a son. So the contract went out, the
contract with one Edward Coyle’s, late of the Cambridge streets, name written
all over it. An injustice, sure. A bad end, sure. Honor among thieves? Ask
Eddie with his face down in some car seat. No, better, ask his widow. Jesus, that
George sure could tell a story.