Bugging Big Paul

By John Elson

BOSS OF BOSSES

by Joseph F. O'Brien and Andris Kurins; Simon & Schuster 364 pages; $22.95

In 1983, against considerable odds, the two FBI special agents who authored this slam-bang policier placed a bug in the Staten Island mansion of Paul ("the Pope") Castellano, New York City's boss of crime bosses. The tap eventually led to the indictment of Castellano, along with more than 100 of his underlings, in the so-called Commission case. Joseph O'Brien and Andris Kurins did the honors, but more like courtiers than arresting officers. They took Castellano to the federal court complex in Manhattan by a back way to avoid the flashbulbs. When the aging diabetic felt a little peckish, they secretly drove him to a favorite deli so he could enjoy a corned beef on rye with celery tonic.

Such is the peculiar intimacy that develops between hunters and quarry. Big Paul Castellano, as the admiring authors describe him, had a certain gritty grandeur. There was one unshakable rule for his boys in the Gambino family: no dealing in drugs. He accepted fiscal tribute from his capos with the lofty dignity of an Indian raja being given his weight in gold by his subjects. And he could discuss, with almost Socratic detachment, the subtleties of when or whether to "whack" a customer who had fallen behind in paying the vig on an extortionate loan.

The bug also disclosed weaknesses that led to the Pope's downfall. Castellano installed a flirty Colombian maid as his mistress -- so flagrantly that his wife left him -- thereby violating the unwritten Mafia law that girlfriends stay discreetly out of sight. He also named his murderous, vile- tempered driver, Tommy Bilotti, as his underboss and heir, a decision that infuriated members of the family. Within the Mob, word got out that Big Paul had lost touch. And so it was that Castellano and Bilotti were shot outside a fancy Manhattan steak house in December 1985. The gunsels were never caught.

Boss of Bosses has an irritating quotient of macho G-man swagger, and some of ghostwriter Laurence Shames' imagery is so hard-boiled it could be served at picnics. (When Gloria, the maid, dropped a steak into hot oil, "it sizzled like a soul in hell.") But the story is fast paced, and the vivid vignettes include the immortal words of a Cosa Nostra capo who was once asked if his beef shipments contained horsemeat. "Well," he answered, "some of it moos and some of it don't moo."