24
The agents dropped me off near my brother Richard's house.
The first person I phoned from my brother's place was Adolfo. I told Adolfo how I had been able to make bail, about the offer which had been made by the DEA.
"So what are you going to do?" he asked.
"If I was going to take them up on their offer would I be talking you about it?" I asked."I don't owe them nothing, Adolfo. It didn't cost them anything to let me out. I'll go do my time when I have to. I could no more turn rat than could fly to the moon."
"What are you going to do in the meantime?"
"Well," I said. "I'm going to need some money so I'll be calling you shortly on that. I'll probably need a front, because I haven't got much money. You and your people don't have to worry about me. If you don't know me by now, you never will."
Next, I called Scrap Iron.
"How did you get out, John?" he asked.
"I sat in that jail for 3 months. Some people I know were able to help me out." I answered.
"I'll be over to pick you up in an hour," said
Scrap. "You can stay with my wife and I."
"I appreciate that, Scrap," I said. "I need a place to stay and someone to help me move my stuff."
"You can count on me," Scrap said and hung up.
Shortly after talking to Scrap on the phone, my brother got home from work. Richard asked me how I had managed to get out. I told him that the Court had granted me a P.R bond, at the request of the U.S.
Attorney General's office. I suppose he wondered about that, But he didn't ask me about the particulars, so I spared him the details.
"Do you have a place to stay?" Richard asked.
"Yes," I answered. "I'll be staying with a friend of mine and his wife."
"Stay out of trouble," my brother advised.
"I will, Richard," I said.
I began staying with Scrap and his wife Della.
I had never worked with Scrap before. He knew most of the same people I did. But other than the bank robbery that he, Rick and I did right before the DEA arrested me, I hardly knew the guy.
The guy who I had fought with, Jimmy, the guy who then tried to crash through the 8th avenue bridge and into the Platte River, was Scrap's youngest brother. The one who had been shot by the cops, after he went on his pig hunt.
I had known his older brother, Ralph, in the early '7Os. Ralph had been strangled to death and shot to death by two Mafia hit men, from the East. They had been hired to kill Ralph.
The clubowner's, Skip's, family had brought in the team to get rid of Ralph. He had waited for Skip behind the bushes of the clubowner's backyard. Then Ralph shotgunned Skip to death. As far as I know,
the guy who had hired Ralph to kill Skip was never hit. Probably because it had been contracted by a group of local Italian gangsters who controlled gambling in Colorado for many years. A war like that could have gone on for many years. As it turned out, it only cost two lives, Skip's, and Ralph's. The people who initiated that particular incident have all since died of old age.
I had heard from my nephew, the informant, that Scrap had been interested in working with me for a long time, because of my reputation as a safe cracker and stick up artist. Myself, I never thought much about it.
A reputed person is usually not as big, or great,as he or she is made out to be. People talk, and in the process, things can be blown way out of proportion. So to myself, my reputation was nonexistent. Nobody ever talked to me about my reputation.
But I used to wonder why people I knew would seek me out to do difficult criminal enterprises like robberies and burglaries. While still a teenager, career criminals fresh out of prison, would look me up to do jobs with them. They were usually in their 30s or 40s.
Because of my demeanor, most people who had only heard of me, thought I was much older than I was. I never really acted like a teenager. I had been dressing like an adult since age 14. I wore slacks and blazers from Cotrell's in the summer, or top coats and Botany 5OOs in the winter. I liked fine clothes, and could afford them, even at 14. And too, I was smarter than the average bear.
Now that I am older, of course, I realize that I am not really that smart, but maybe a little bit over aggressive. When I see something that could, or should
be done, I find a way to do it without talking too much about it. I don't plan. I take action. My morals are a little screwed up. I rationalize my thievery by looking at a job as a challenge. But I've never robbed
poor people, or old people. Poor people can't afford a safe to keep their money in. Old people are pretty much helpless.
I could understand why Scrap wanted to work with me. But still, I felt uneasy working with him.
I told him that the bank robbery he, Rick and I had committed had actually been observed by the DEA.
"How so?" he asked.
"Remember," I answered, "when you and Rick came to pick me up to go rob that bank, and my nephew was in the room with us, and we went in the bathroom to discuss the job because Rick had told us that my nephew was wearing a snitch jacket? Anyway, my nephew was wearing a wire. The cops had the motel under surveillance for several weeks prior to that. When you guys finished the bank job and drove the stolen car to my car in the K-mart parking lot, when we went
back to the motel to divide the money, the snitch was still in my room. Remember when we went into the bathroom, divided the loot, then you and Rick split?" I asked.
"Yeah, I remember," he answered.
"The DEA saw all that go down," I said.
"You're joshing me," he said, a little bit surprised, but half expecting me to say I was just joking.
"I'm not bullshitting Scrap," I said. "They saw it all and didn't really know what was going down. Otherwise, we'd all be busted for bank robbery."
We laughed a good raucous almost joyful laugh. All 3 of us would be facing a life sentence had the police put two and two together.
"Somebody up there really loves us, John," Scrap said.
"Yeah buddy," I said.
Between us, we had about $50O. I called Adolfo and told him of my financial status.
"I want to go to work," I said.
"You'll need about $2500," he said. "But I'll front you the rest."
With that phone call, Scrap and I were in business.
I was out on bail for 3 weeks. One morning, I noticed some strange dudes searching the trash cans in the alley. I knew they were undercover cops. Something about their smell, I guess.
I told Scrap, "I'm moving out today. I saw some pigs prowling in the trashbin this morning. I know they were cops."
"How come I aint seen them?" asked Scrap.
"Instincts pal. I've got 'em," I answered.
We left Scrap's place, and sure enough, as soon as we pulled away from the curb, a car pulled next to us. The guy on the passenger side was pointing a 9mm at us. Naturally, we pulled over.
25
I was taken to jail. The agents from the DEA came to see me.
"We were going to have all the charges against you dismissed," one of the agents told me. "You didn't contact us and we knew that you were dealing again. You blew it, John," he said.
"Look," I pointed out, "you yourself told me that the fact I was given a P.R. bond wasn't binding. I never agreed to work with you people. I appreciate being out on bond and all before I have to go do some time, but it just isn't in my nature to be a snitch. The reason I am so well trusted is because they know I won't compromise. Sorry, fellas."
I was taken back to court and my bond was revoked. When I went for sentencing, the judge gave me 6 years.
After serving 3 calenders, I was paroled. About 6 months after that, my parole was revoked because a urinalysei came up positive. The Parole Board member that heard my case revoked my parole for a period of 5 years.
"You can't do that!" I said. "You're turning my original sentence into an 11 year sentence. You are exceeding the authority of the sentencing court. You can't do that!"
"Watch me," he laughed as he signed the order. "Why don't you appeal my finding, as you have in the past," he said with a snicker.
I started to jump across the table to sock him, but the guard grabbed me, pinning my arms to my side.
While taking me hack to my cell, the guard remarked, "Lucky thing I grabbed you, John. If you would have hit that guy, you'd be in big trouble now."
"Yeah, thanks a lot," I said. "I kind of lost it for a moment. But I am appealing to the District Court."
As it turned out, the appeal process took about 18 months. In the meantime, I had been transferred to a Missouri prison because of overcrowding in the Colorado State Prison system.
When I finally stood before the judge that was considering my appeal, he said, "You have an interesting appeal here, Mr. Gallegos. I'm curious as to how you plan to prove that the Legislature erred in structuring the laws governing the authority of the Colorado State Parole Board."
"The Legislature erred, your honor," I said. "Of that there is no doubt. The Parole Board exceeds its authority in presuming to extend my sentence beyond the original order of the District Court. There is no agency in the State that has the authority to exceed the order or power of the District Court. As far as my motion for a 35.C goes; in memorandum of December 9, 1979, issued by the Supreme Court, a motion 35.C, replaces Habeus Corpus. Habeus Corpus states its case in the motion itself. What I state in my 35.C is self explanatory. My case, and all the issues therein, is thus stated. It is up to the Attorney General to dispute the issues I claim. My case is already made. His argument, if any, is pending."
The judge seemed to be impressed.
Then he said, "Mr. Gallegos, your knowledge of Law is commendable. I doubt anyone in this courtroom could have anticipated your response. I'll take it at
its face value. And since the Attorney for the People has not put forth a response, I'm going to delay issuing an order on this matter until January. At that time, a case similar to this will be ruled on by the Supreme Court, in McDonald vs. the State. If, as expected, the Court rules in his favor, you will be released and discharged from the Department of Corrections on June, 1, 1990. Good luck Mr. Gallegos."
As it turned out, the Supreme Court ruled in favor of McDonald, and I was discharged on June, 1, 1990.
I had about 6 months to serve, before being released, during which time I resolved to never again commit a felony.
When I got out I went to work as a cook at a hotel whose guests were old retired people. I think that I could have worked there permanently, but the cook who had held that position before me wanted to
return to work. The manager wanted me to split my shift with the former cook. I disagreed and quit the job only having held it for two months.
I began working out of those temporary labor halls which pay daily. The pay rate was minimum wage, so I soon tired of that. I went to work as a roofer. Jim, the guy I worked for, was an alcoholic and we were soon fighting almost daily. I soon lost the job.
I began to shoplift. I would have liked to have kept working, but I became addicted again. There is no way a person can afford a drug habit and hold down a job too. The habit will invariably interfere with the duties of any job.
My daughter got me a job as a dishwasher at the restaurant where she tended bar. Her husband, Tom, was the head cook. My connection would not deliver drugs
to the area in which I worked.
One day, I had to get to west Denver to pick up my daily dose. I had just finished my shift. My daughter was just coming on duty and wanted me to babysit my grandson while she worked. But I was starting to get sick and needed my fix. I couldn't explain to her why I couldn't babysit at that very moment. I didn't want her to know that I was using drugs again. She became somewhat upset. I felt very badly about that because I knew I had hurt her feelings. There was no way I could explain to her the reason I couldn't help her. So I decided to quit my job. Once one is addicted to heroin, maintaining a habit is the most important need of the day.
My first wife, Peggy, viewed the poppy as a form of life, an entity, whose purpose was to attach itself to human life...to create such a powerful need for the use of opiates that its survival is pretty much ssured by mankind's need for its utility.
I became very active as a shoplifter, adept at getting cartons of cigarettes. I would take out 10 cartons at a time. I worked with Ravi, a friend with whom I did time with in prison. He would gather the cartons in a shopping buggy and watch behind me while I stuffed the cartons. I watched the aisle behind him, to make sure we weren't being observed by store personnel, or shoppers.
When I worked by myself, I usually stole meat, steaks mostly.
One afternoon, I ran into Adolfo in the super market parking lot. He thanked me for not taking him down with him. Hell, I could have avoided going to prison, period, on him. I didn't tell him that, though. He asked how I was surviving.
"I'm still using drugs," I answered.
He asked what I had in the bag that I was carrying.
"T-bone steaks. I was just on my way to sell them," I said.
He owned a restaurant now. He bought the meat from me, paying me a hundred dollars, which is just about what the steaks retailed for in the store. He gave me his pager number and told me to call him in a couple of days.
About 3 days later I called him. He told me to meet him in a couple of hours at a gas station.
When I met him, Adolfo said, "I no longer deal heroin but I have some cocaine."
He gave me 4 ounces with which to get on my feet with.
I had two buyers that bought by the ounce. In about 3 days I sold out. I called Adolfo, made a meet, and he gave me another 4 ounces.
"I have to charge you for this one." he said.
Since I had the money, I paid in full.
Being that I only had two buyers who bought often, as dealing goes, I was conducting a relatively safe criminal enterprise.
I was living with a girl named Theresa, and her daughter, Carmy.
One morning, we all left the house early, to take care of some domestic business. I saw Theresa and Carmy to the busline.
They boarded the bus, but I decided to go back to the house. For some reason or another, I had a feeling something wasn't as it should be.
A few days earlier I had found some small button like objects in a small vase in the living room. I also found some in most of the other rooms. They looked somewhat like the voice receptors found on
professional video cameras, but disguised as buttons. I asked Carmy and Theresa if they recognized the quarter sized objects as belonging to any of their clothes. Just to be safe, I flushed them down the toilet.
I had also noticed that a large warehouse across the alley from our house was seemingly not in use from the front side of the building. Yet a few times when I passed near the backdoor, the door had been opened, and I saw a lot of electronic equipment placed on the shelves lining the wall. There seemed to be a lot of activity inside. I wondered about that then.
I saw another strange activity. A white van pulled up to the trashbin we and the neighbors used. Guys in their mid 20s or so, well dressed, collected all the trash from the bin, and placed it in the van.
Then I saw a couple of guys that looked like tramps, bumming cigarettes from people that seemed to be coming from our apartment. At the convenience store with my niece, one morning, one of the tramps begged a smoke from me. Though the guy was grubby, unkempt and unshaven, his eyes had a sharp, intelligent, alert look about them that just didn't seem right. About a month
prior to that, my niece had been in jail for theft, and while in court awaiting her turn to face the judge, had seen the tramp who had just bummed a smoke off me, filing some charges in District Court.
I was sitting in the living room thinking about all those incidents when I heard the deadbolt being opened. A blonde woman entered the apartment, closing the door behind her. At first she hadn't noticed me.
I startled her when I asked, "Who the hell are you?"
I thought she was going to scream, but she quickly regained her composure.
"Oh, uh, I'm from the realty company that operates these units," she said. "I'm checking the keys on the doors to make sure they all work."
"You could be a burglar, for all I know," I said.
But I knew she Was a cop coming to check why their eavesdropping equipment wasn't working. I had flushed them down the toilet.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you," she said.
She left in pretty much of a hurry.
I gathered all of my belongings and put them on the floor by the kitchen door. A friend of mine came by about an hour later and helped me store my stuff at my brother Richard's house, as he had a pick up to move stuff with.
That very day, I quit dealing cocaine. I figured if the cops ad any kind of case on me, I already would have been busted.
26
I went back to stealing meat and cigarettes. It wasn't long before I was busted for shoplifting. Sick and desperate, I took one chances to many. A drug habit is a terrible thing.
Since I had no outstanding warrants, I was given a summons. The police officer who came to the store recognized me from a previous incident. He had been the officer who had stopped Mr. D.'s Continental when I had been abducted, years past.
After he had given me the summons, he said, "What happened to you that night, John? You wouldn't. say anything, so we had to let the guys in the car go."
"That was you?" I asked. "Thank you for saving my life. If you hadn't stopped us that night, I probably wouldn't be here, right now. Those guys were waiting to collect a ransom for me. The guy who was supposed to deliver it, didn't show up."
"What happened after that?" the policeman asked.
"I managed to stay out of their way," I said.
"What was that about?" he asked. "Why'd they abduct you? A drug deal gone bad, maybe?"
"Yeah," I answered. "Something like that. Mr. D., the driver, was reading too many novels. He thought he was a mafia Don, or something. If you guys hadn't pulled us over that night, God knows where I'd be."
"Didn't you guys have a carlot, up on Morrison road or something?" the cop asked.
I answered, "That's what's so ironic
about the whole situation. We had a body shop and a garage. We'd buy old Junkers, fix them up and then resell them on Morrison. We were making good honest money. All of a sudden, Mr. D. thought be could be a gangster. Now he's serving a life sentence for killing a kid. All because he started using drugs."
"How did you happen to get involved with those people, John?" he asked. "Did you get Mr. D. started on drugs?"
"No, I didn't," I answered. "When I got out of prison in '82, I had no place to live. Mr. D. took me in as a partner, buying and selling cars, after we'd fix them up. I was real excited about the opportunity to straighten out my life. But Mr. D. had an ulterior motive for taking me in as his partner. He knew that I knew my way around the drug world and that I could
speak Spanish fluently. And as much as I hate to admit it, he used me to get into a life I was doing my damnedest to get away from. Then he blamed me when everything started falling apart around him because he couldn't control his drug use. He took it pretty hard when I decided to leave his family."
"Well," the cop said, "at least I know you aren't dealing drugs. You wouldn't be cattle rustling if you were. Damn, John, you've been a felon longer than I've been on the force. Safecracker, stickup artist, drug dealer, junky. When's it ever going to stop?"
"Well," I said, "at least I'm no longer a felon. I haven't degenerated. I'm just tired of walking the big yard at Cañon City. I don't like to steal. I have to."
"You're already into your 50s, John," he said. "Most hardcore addicts don't live to see 35. That you've survived this long is amazing. Try to stay out of jail by getting a job. Get on methadone or something. You're too old for this bullshit."
He wrote me out a summons to appear in Court for shoplifting. When I went to Court, I plead guilty, and was sentenced to 180 days in the County Jail.
VATO MALDITO: My Life of Crime, by John "Bubbles" Gallegos Now Available!!! from Enlightened Pyramid A notorious Denver professional criminal tell his story in his own words. Armed robbery, addiction and hard time are just the tip of the ice berg in this career thief's autobio.
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