Mob Sisters - Prologue

KRISTIN


It was the last time I'd be returning home from one of the dangerous drug runs that had been my stock in trade for the past six years. Finally I'd be moving up in the ranks of organized crime — not that I had complaints about my probation period; one million eight hundred thousand dollars in cash under the table last year, for example, made my activities on behalf of the La Femmina female mafia syndicate — or the LFM, as it's called — more than worth the risks. Nevertheless, I was pleased the unusual organization to which I owed allegiance would now be promoting me.

I settled back into the luxurious pleasure of Thailand Airlines' Royal Orchid Service, trying to put worries aside. Actually, this Bangkok to New York flight was one of my favorites. The beautiful hostesses in bright colored saris pampered passengers, offering hot perfumed towels and pretty purple fans, serving cold jasmine tea, cherry wine, exotic cocktails and spicy Thai food. That part I'd miss. What I wouldn't miss was the constant fear.

I recalled the culture shock of my first Thailand run. It was October, the cool season, and the stifling air was blazing hot. The Thai capital is a city of contrasts in which extremes of wealth and poverty coexist, where you can be walking in rat-infested slums, the smell of human excrement pervading, then just around the corner discover a lush tree-lined section of sumptuous villas.

This is a city where one can easily hire a killer for less than a hundred dollars. Everywhere, one sees ragged beggars hawking pathetic skeleton-like children, and for fifty dollars, you can buy a nursing baby. I don't like telling you the usual fate of such infants is that they are slaughtered, their internal organs removed to stuff their bodies with drugs. I thanked God I was never asked to do anything like this because I know I never could.

The first time I ever hailed a cab on a Bangkok street, a well dressed stranger came up to advise against my getting into a taxi unless I wanted to end up dead in some alley. Later that night in my hotel room, I noticed the door handle to the room adjoining mine was turning. I put a chair against it and lay awake the entire night, my heart pounding till dawn. No matter how much practice I had, no matter how satisfying it might be to take the money and run, the fear never ended.

As an LFM soldier, my main activity was drug courier, and there was always the risk, particularly with large orders, that someone might deliberately leak information to the police. This was part of what I'd had to contend with these past years, and it wasn't over yet.

At the outset, as a struggling single mother in dire straits, I desperately needed what this life could offer. Working with the LFM's was a way to earn quick money and lots of it. The world's first criminal organization of women, the La Femminas — God, did I want to be a part of it.

They were — they are — the most powerful cartel of female criminals in the world, in fact, the only criminal cartel composed exclusively of women, and they do it all — gambling, loan sharking, numbers, counterfeiting, narcotics -- you name it. In addition, LFM women own some of the most profitable legitimate businesses in the world in sports, entertainment, fashion, real estate, publishing, and so on.

How did I have the good fortune to connect with them? If you watch cable tv, you know Sandra Martinez, exotic, dark-haired psychic and astrologer. A fated 900 number phone call to "Sandra and the Stars" led to an appointment for a private reading. I'd been praying for a break to escape debts and the 9 to 5 rut, to get a life. Well, I got everything I asked for and more. Sandra, a capo in the Jasmine Shields mafia family, introduced me to the LFM, and the rest is history.

Think what this would mean to my son David, I thought — the best schools, his future assured. My boy, just nine at the time I first got involved with the LFM, was the reason for it all. Women like me must opt to make it through any channel we can, no matter how unorthodox. I make no apologies. Even so, the LFM didn't accept me all at once; I had to prove myself.

That watershed day half a dozen years ago, I opened the door to the Manhattan hotel room where I'd been told to go. Keys had been left for me at the desk and a note was placed on the bed. I picked it up and read: "Fill out this form. Be at McDonald's, 8th Avenue and 56th Street, at 3 p.m. But be sure you intend to go through with this and are willing to face any consequences. Check and double check your replies to all questions. The information must be accurate, because if anything proves false, consequences could be serious."

Were they trying to scare me? They were succeeding. My initial thought was that if I could do this job even just once, maybe say up to a dozen times, I'd be home free, and then I'd quit. I'd made my share of mistakes in life; the goal now was for a source of income, a lump sum to stash away and live off the interest from. This gig could provide it. It had to work.

I was shaking. "Form 20" required name, address, phone and passport numbers, age, race, and answers to several questions, such as: Would you go to any part of the world? Can you read maps? Can you read instructions in English? Yes, I wrote, my hand unsteady, U.S. citizen, born in Richmond, Virginia. Have you ever been involved with anything like this before? No, never. What are your qualifications? "Willingness to risk," I wrote. How much money do you want? As much as possible, the max, please.

Still trembling, I re-read the final orders. "Leave this folded with your passport. The latter will be returned to you soon. Good luck." I had the feeling I was dealing with a mysterious league that kept itself well insulated, hidden from view. How right I was.

They contacted me two days later, met and escorted me to three separate locations. At the ultimate destination I found a note reading, "Go to Grand Central Station. Pick up a double-bottomed suitcase. Inside you'll find money." I was to purchase a ticket and leave on a trip. I followed instructions to the letter. As it turned out, this was a trial run. The same procedure happened again; I went where I was told, was directed to be at another and still another place, where I was met and escorted yet elsewhere. I sat and waited. When would it all gel? When would I start making the big money Sandra had said I could?

Finally, a few weeks later, apparently satisfied with my performance thus far, they had me buy a plane ticket to the Far East, where upon arrival I was to purchase another special double bottomed suitcase. I was given an envelope containing twenty thousand dollars in cash, half of my fee in advance. The balance would come on delivery of consignment. Everything was finally falling into place, my problems were being solved, my life was opening up!

This marked the beginning of my career of sitting in hotel rooms around the world and waiting, waiting for phones to ring, afraid to go out for days on end for fear of missing a call.

And now the waiting was coming to an end. Thank God I wouldn't have these worries anymore. What a relief; what satisfaction to know that bigger, safer ventures were coming my way, and that from now on, the money promised to be even better. As I gazed out the plane at the New York skyline, I smiled to myself. These fears of mine would soon be over.


"Kristin Cates, you are in violation of United States Code 16443.052, Section II, Article 27 — "

I stared incredulously at the two federal agents who waited on the tarmac. The full impact didn't sink in at first. There was an air of unreality about this, yet at the same time it seemed that ten thousand pairs of eyes were boring into me and that everybody at Kennedy Airport knew what was going down, knew it was all over for me. The feds were taking me into custody, making my worst nightmares come true. At once, I could predict the scenario — scare tactics, threats of grand jury indictments and plea bargaining — cooperate with us, Kris, and you can keep out of prison, strike a deal, plead and we'll give you immunity, we'll put you in the Witness Protection Program — all the ensuing scenes played through my mind in advance. They'd want me to tell all, the truth and the legends, everything I knew about the La Femmina female mafia. While I was but a cog in a wheel, I did have information about the organization the authorities wanted to hear. The story I knew, covering some three or more decades in scope, contained facts about the LFM leadership and expansion, their romances and vendettas, and how these remarkable women, over a period of thirty plus years, managed to parlay rackets and vice operations as well as legitimate enterprises into a multi-billion dollar empire.

Of great interest to law enforcement, I knew, would be how the syndicate women brought the global drug trade under their jurisdiction and became the leading voice in the American underworld.

"A mafia of women? A mob not of male hoods called Vito, Sal, Tony and Joe, but of beautiful and charming ladies named Terri, Laura, Jasmine, Victoria, Susan and Sandra?"

The scene was Federal Plaza, FBI New York headquarters. I'd been led through the Bureau's rabbit warren into the offices of FBI Special Agent Tom Madigan, who appeared bemused as he leaned back from the desk in his brown leather swivel chair. On the wall to Madigan's left hung a chart depicting the La Femmina Mafia's alleged leadership coast to coast. The chart was not totally accurate, and I thought, is it possible we women have been operating under the FBI's noses all this time and they were only now getting around to finding out? Another proof of our cleverness. But I kept these thoughts to myself.

A second agent, Ronald Haines, who also seemed amused by the idea of the La Femminas, joined in, "Ladies raking in hundreds of millions annually from a cartel founded on gambling, loan sharking, numbers, narcotics, prostitution and labor racketeering! Laundered money recycled into legitimate enterprises — trucking companies, mortuaries, restaurants, dry cleaning establishments, pizza parlors, fashion houses, banks and brokerage houses — "

"An empire worth today an estimated two hundred billion dollars," Madigan finished, then looked at me again. "How did it all begin, Kristin?"

Madigan, Haines and I were at an informal transitional phase, legalities having thank God been settled. When I was brought into the FBI office following my arrest, it had to be determined if I was going to be a cooperating witness, if they were going to bring me down to the court and arraign me, or have me held over in the Metropolitan Correction Center. To make a long story short, I elected to be a cooperating witness.

My actual testimony would come much later, when the U.S. Attorney had the cases ready. At this point, I was at a preliminary stage with the FBI; we were painting the broad strokes. I would tell them what I knew, they would listen and transcribe hours of what I said on tape.

Trying to answer Madigan's question about beginnings, I said, "Sex discrimination and sexual harassment have been definite factors impacting women's lives. Some women who were angry about being closed off from the system became eager to correct the balance by whatever means, no matter how radical. These women joined ranks and formed a `mafia'. They began small — floating craps games out of their apartments, cigarette smuggling from the Carolinas, fencing hot stones ... "

"Who were the founding mothers?" Tom Madigan asked. Madigan was I guess what you would call a fairly decent fellow, as FBI agents go. He was about 45, sandy-haired, with a broad forehead and a receding hairline.

"There were probably two major queenpins to begin with, which later escalated to four," I said. "You've heard of Joseph Lo Bianco?"

Of course they had. Although Lo Bianco was murdered back in the early 70's, law enforcement wouldn't forget this mafia don for a long time to come.

"Lo Bianco, as you probably know, had a beautiful daughter named Laura. The family lived first in Brooklyn, Lo Bianco's main turf, later in Brookville, Long Island. When Joe Lo Bianco's wife, Laura's mother, was dying over a ten year period, all during that time, Joe had a girlfriend, a mistress by the name of Victoria Winters — tall, blonde, goodlooking — "

The two agents nodded, remembering the legendary Lo Bianco, shot with a cigar in his mouth in the garden of a Brooklyn restaurant.

I continued, "Initially, Laura Lo Bianco had no great love for Victoria Winters; in fact, very few people did, since Victoria is not a particularly endearing person — however, Laura and Victoria reached a working relationship that was mutually beneficial. As I understand, even though Joe Lo Bianco provided to some extent for his daughter and his mistress, nevertheless, after his death there was internal strife in his organization, a lot of assets were missing, and at this point, Laura and Victoria found themselves in circumstances that compelled them to join forces, although they probably never would have otherwise.

"It seemed natural to continue some of the things the two had learned from Joe and strike out on their own. Victoria was full of ideas to make money. As for Laura, when Joe died, she was in deep trouble — being family, she was the one who inherited her father's headaches.

"So here were these two arm's length friendly enemies, rivals when Joe was alive, now in a state of truce. They had a mutual goal, to make up for the money that wouldn't be filtering their way anymore through Joe. And if the truth be told, Joe had held them both down. Lo Bianco was hardly what you'd call a feminist — like they say, the Mafia is not an equal opportunity employer, and both Laura and Victoria were victims in that sense. They reached an agreement to split percentages. Both had a network of friends; they expanded.

"The other two leaders of New York's Four Families, Terri Lynn Cutler and Jasmine Shields, were, I think, either school or social friends of Laura's. Anyway, these four soon banded together and formed a loose alliance; in the beginning they joked about being a female mafia; then it became a reality. One thing led to another ...

"My knowledge of LFM operations begins shortly after they were up and running."