Philip Carlo - The Ice Man

Now Kuklinski showed Dominick how to put on the silencer. He handled the gun with knowing familiarity. They were off near a bank of telephones. Richard used the open trunk of his car to block anyone from seeing what he was doing. Polifrone gave him the eleven hundred dollars, which had been provided by the state of New Jersey. This is what was recorded:

“Listen, Rich. Remember you were telling me about how you use cyanide?”

“Yeah?”

“Well I got this fucking rich Jewish kid I been supplying with coke. He wants me to get him two kilos now, which I can do, but the kid’s a real fucking pain in my balls, you know? So what I’m asking is, you think it’s possible we can dope up the coke with cyanide?”

“Definitely.”

“What I was figuring, we can make a quick score. Do the kid and go halfsies on the bread he brings for the two keys.”

“Does he always come alone?”

“Yeah, he always comes alone.”

“And he brings cash?”

“The kid’s rich from his old man. He’s rolling in it. Money’s not the problem. He’s the problem. I can’t stand the little fuck anymore.”

“All right. Just tell me when. Dom, you understand that the price of these pieces goes up after this one, right? It’s eleven for this one, but it’ll be fifteen apiece, even in quantity.”

“Without the nose?” (A “nose” is a silencer.)

“No, with the nose. The same as you got here, except it’ll be fifteen hundred, not eleven.”

“What caliber?”

“I didn’t even ask. Probably .22.”

“Hey, what the fuck do I care? It’s the Irish broad’s money, not mine. I don’t give a fuck. Personally I could give two shits about their cause over there. I’m gonna give you your price today. Whatever it is tomorrow is her problem.”

“Whatever, I’m just telling you, Dom. And as for that other guy, that sounds very interesting, fuck it, I’ll hit a Jew in a minute. Who the fuck cares?”

“Yeah.”

“Not only that, you say we can make a nice buck off this.”

“That’s what I’m telling you, Rich. You know what we can do? I don’t know if you wanna do this, but I can bring the kid here someday. I’ll meet him here for coffee, and you can come and take a look at him if you want.”

“No problem. Tell him you’ll meet him over by the phones, and I’ll park over there so I can see what he looks like.”

“Good, good. Only thing is, Rich, I don’t want him whacked. His old man’s got money up the ass. He’ll hire private investigators and all kinds of shit. That’s why it’s gotta look like an OD. You know what I’m saying?”

“No problem. I can do it, but you gotta get me the cyanide. I’ll make it up and hit him in the face with it. I can make the—you know, then just one hit, and that’s it. He goes to sleep.”

“Or we put it in the coke. I don’t give a shit really, just as long as he’s gone and it looks like an overdose.”

“My friend, there’s more than one way to do it. You don’t want him shot, we can do it another way. There’s millions of ways.”

“An OD, that’s what I want.”

“Well, we can give him some pure shit and make him really OD.”

“Whatever. I gotta run now, but we’ll talk about this some more later. All right, Big Guy?”

“You got it. See you later.”

Richard and Polifrone walked in different directions. Richard got back into his car and drove out of the rest stop. Carroll was overjoyed. They now clearly had Kuklinski for conspiracy to commit murder. The list of charges, as he was hoping, was lengthening, and because of how Kuklinski obviously trusted Polifrone, Bob Carroll was thinking they could take this even further, build and fortify the case against Kuklinski they already had. Carroll was thinking of using Paul Smith, sitting next to him now, as the rich Jewish kid looking to buy cocaine. Carroll could’ve had Richard arrested on the spot, but he wanted more. He wanted to be sure that when they arrested Richard, they had an airtight case against him, that he would die in jail, either of old age or by execution—preferably the latter.

As the Ice Man task force planned and plotted its next move, Richard left for Zurich again, and again they had no idea he’d gone anywhere. Had Richard known what was going on, how Solimene had set him up, who Polifrone truly was, he would have stayed in Zurich. He still believed Polifrone would buy a huge load of armaments and help set up this rich Jewish kid. He was not yet suspicious. Polifrone was a means to an end—more money, and cyanide. After that he was dead.

Remi and Richard met in a glass-encased café in the center of town, and still again Richard heard how another man in this “gang” was trying to shake down the Asian bank official.

Remi said, “Now, you know, he’s really scared. He’s talking about quitting and going back to Japan, and then we are lost. We must stop that. You have to do your magic thing again. I know you know the right people.”

“I am the right people,” Richard said, his voice low and deadly serious, a slight smile on his high-cheekboned, Slavic face.

Remi blanched. “You… I don’t believe it.”

“Isn’t any big deal,” Richard said.

Remi’s eyes widened. He blinked rapidly. He didn’t know how to handle this… revelation. “My goodness,” he said.

“Okay, listen. Tell the bank official to relax; tell him we’ll take care of everything. What I’m concerned with is more of this gang popping up. You have to find out how many people know about him—and who they are. The right thing to do would be to get rid of all of them at one time.”

“Yes, yes, of course… you… you can do such a thing?” Remi asked, incredulous.

Richard smiled. He was amused. “Of course I can, no problem, my friend. Do you think you can get me a handgun?” Richard asked, and took a bite out of a sugar-powdered almond croissant.

“Yes,” Remi said.

“Okay, you get me the gun, show me where this gang is, and I’ll do the rest,” Richard said.

“Really?” Remi asked, looking at Richard now in a completely different way, with shocked awe. He knew now Richard had killed the first two members of the gang. “You’re, I think, a very rare man, you know.”

“There aren’t too many people like me around,” Richard said.

“My goodness, no,” Remi said.

“Tell the bank guy to get all the members of the gang in one place. That we will take care of this.”

“You’re sure?”

“Sure as shit.”

“I see,” Remi said. “Okay.”

Because Richard was in Zurich, the phone taps on his phone were temporarily useless; Polifrone beeped Richard several times, left messages that went unanswered. Perplexed, the Ice Man task force scratched its collective head.

Remi secured a Walther P .38 for Richard with a full clip and a box of bullets. This was a gun Richard knew well. Now, armed, Richard had Remi rent a van, and from it they watched the Asian bank official meet with two men in a café in town.

The bank official told the two men that he would work with them again, provide them with new checks, but that it would take a week or so. He repeatedly assured them that he would continue doing business with them. After the meeting, Remi and Richard trailed the two men to the same house visited by the man Richard had killed with the cyanide spray. This was a quiet residential street, not good for what Richard had in mind—shooting them in the head. But he’d make it work. Richard now told Remi to leave; he would do this alone. Gladly, Remi got out of the van and hurried away, not looking back as he went. Richard pulled the van right up in front of the house, thinking about the best way to do this.

If he fired the gun the cops would be summoned. He had with him a hunting knife, and he decided to use it. He stepped from the van and boldly walked right up to their door, knocked. One of the men opened it, and with lightning speed Richard stuck the automatic in his face, told him to be quiet, and pushed his way in, quickly, like a tango dancer. He made both men lie on the floor. He cut the lamp cords and used the wire to bind their hands tightly behind their backs. He then stuck socks into their mouths, and killed one, then the other, by pushing the knife, in an upward angle, into the backs of their heads. Concerned that the double murder might in some way reflect on the bank officer, Richard decided to get rid of the bodies. To do this, he took the blankets off two beds in the apartment, rolled each of the bodies in a blanket, picked up one and placed it in the back of the van, made sure he wasn’t being observed, returned, hoisted the second one over his massive shoulder, put him in the van, and slowly pulled away. People who sped drew attention. When he was transporting bodies, Richard never hurried.