Brutal: The Untold Story of My Life Inside Whitey Bulger's Irish Mob by Kevin Weeks; Phyllis Karas Page B
Authors: Kevin Weeks; Phyllis Karas
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Quickly.
“I thought you cut his throat with that knife,” I told Jimmy.
“I meant to,” he said. “The truth is he was just lucky I held it wrong.”
We found out later on that it had been another girl, not Jimmy’s niece, who had been slapped, but I didn’t feel bad about it. I had shown Jimmy that I would do whatever he asked me to do. And besides, the kid still deserved to be beaten up for beating up a girl.
A couple of days later, in the car, Jimmy gave me a thousand dollars. “It’s for you,” he said as he handed me the cash. That was pretty big money for a young kid. It was all pretty amazing. Here was Jim Bulger giving me money. It felt good getting all this cash. Real good. From then on, I spent more time with him. I knew, of course, that my life had changed. But I could handle it. I never felt the need to talk to anyone about what I was doing. I certainly never talked to Pam, or any woman, about anything that would involve criminal activity. As the years went on, Pam might have surmised what I was doing, but I would never put a loved one in jeopardy by discussing these matters.
I had learned early that once a crime was committed, you never talked about it. There was never any reason to. If someone ever got in the car with us or came over to talk to us at a bar about something we had done, we would immediately suspect that he was wired and trying to get us to talk about a crime.
But back then, I was getting busier with my own family. Our first son, Kevin Barry, was born at St. Margaret’s Hospital on December 12, 1982. Three and a half years after that, Brian Michael was born on May 2, 1986. After growing up with six sisters, it was something for Pam to get used to handling boys. But she did a fantastic job and raised two terrific sons. I was excited with each birth and cut the umbilical cord both times, so grateful to have two beautiful sons. Girls, I was certain, would have given me more to worry about. But by the time the boys were born, I was working for Jimmy full-time and it was often hard to find time for my kids. I wish I had found more.
But there were some real funny times during those years. When Kevin Barry was born, I asked Kevin O’Neil if he would be the godfather. He agreed, but when Jimmy said he wanted the honor, I said, “No problem,” and told Kevin he’d have to wait till the next kid. The baptism was held at St. Augustine’s in South Boston when Kevin was a couple of months old. Pam and I were up at the altar with her sister Sue, who was the baby’s godmother, while Jimmy held Kevin. The priest asked Jimmy, “Will you watch out for this child’s spiritual well-being?”
Jimmy kind of smiled and said, “Yes, I will.” There were other families there that day whose kids were being baptized and they all knew who Jimmy was, so everyone in the church started laughing. Except for the priest, who had no idea who Jimmy was or what was going on. Pam and I were living in a first-floor apartment at 178 L Street at the time, and our family and close friends came back to our place for a celebration after the ceremony.
In 1983, I bought a nice one-family house in the suburbs. With the help of some friends in construction, I fixed it up and put in a Jacuzzi, a sauna, and a weight room. When Kevin was maybe six years old, he fell down while he was outside playing. His whole face got scraped up, his nose, his lip, his forehead. When he came in the house, Pam began to clean him up. She stopped for a minute and looked up at me and saw that my eyes had teared up and she shook her head. But I couldn’t help it. It really bothered me to see him like that. All I wanted was to take the pain for him. For both my boys. Whenever they got sick, it was devastating. I had so many scars all over my face, all over my body, but my kids were different. Sure, I was a criminal and I fought all the time, but my kids were young and I wanted to protect them from any pain. I also knew that I didn’t want
“I thought you cut his throat with that knife,” I told Jimmy.
“I meant to,” he said. “The truth is he was just lucky I held it wrong.”
We found out later on that it had been another girl, not Jimmy’s niece, who had been slapped, but I didn’t feel bad about it. I had shown Jimmy that I would do whatever he asked me to do. And besides, the kid still deserved to be beaten up for beating up a girl.
A couple of days later, in the car, Jimmy gave me a thousand dollars. “It’s for you,” he said as he handed me the cash. That was pretty big money for a young kid. It was all pretty amazing. Here was Jim Bulger giving me money. It felt good getting all this cash. Real good. From then on, I spent more time with him. I knew, of course, that my life had changed. But I could handle it. I never felt the need to talk to anyone about what I was doing. I certainly never talked to Pam, or any woman, about anything that would involve criminal activity. As the years went on, Pam might have surmised what I was doing, but I would never put a loved one in jeopardy by discussing these matters.
I had learned early that once a crime was committed, you never talked about it. There was never any reason to. If someone ever got in the car with us or came over to talk to us at a bar about something we had done, we would immediately suspect that he was wired and trying to get us to talk about a crime.
But back then, I was getting busier with my own family. Our first son, Kevin Barry, was born at St. Margaret’s Hospital on December 12, 1982. Three and a half years after that, Brian Michael was born on May 2, 1986. After growing up with six sisters, it was something for Pam to get used to handling boys. But she did a fantastic job and raised two terrific sons. I was excited with each birth and cut the umbilical cord both times, so grateful to have two beautiful sons. Girls, I was certain, would have given me more to worry about. But by the time the boys were born, I was working for Jimmy full-time and it was often hard to find time for my kids. I wish I had found more.
But there were some real funny times during those years. When Kevin Barry was born, I asked Kevin O’Neil if he would be the godfather. He agreed, but when Jimmy said he wanted the honor, I said, “No problem,” and told Kevin he’d have to wait till the next kid. The baptism was held at St. Augustine’s in South Boston when Kevin was a couple of months old. Pam and I were up at the altar with her sister Sue, who was the baby’s godmother, while Jimmy held Kevin. The priest asked Jimmy, “Will you watch out for this child’s spiritual well-being?”
Jimmy kind of smiled and said, “Yes, I will.” There were other families there that day whose kids were being baptized and they all knew who Jimmy was, so everyone in the church started laughing. Except for the priest, who had no idea who Jimmy was or what was going on. Pam and I were living in a first-floor apartment at 178 L Street at the time, and our family and close friends came back to our place for a celebration after the ceremony.
In 1983, I bought a nice one-family house in the suburbs. With the help of some friends in construction, I fixed it up and put in a Jacuzzi, a sauna, and a weight room. When Kevin was maybe six years old, he fell down while he was outside playing. His whole face got scraped up, his nose, his lip, his forehead. When he came in the house, Pam began to clean him up. She stopped for a minute and looked up at me and saw that my eyes had teared up and she shook her head. But I couldn’t help it. It really bothered me to see him like that. All I wanted was to take the pain for him. For both my boys. Whenever they got sick, it was devastating. I had so many scars all over my face, all over my body, but my kids were different. Sure, I was a criminal and I fought all the time, but my kids were young and I wanted to protect them from any pain. I also knew that I didn’t want
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