Crime Boss, James Whitey Bulger



In the kitchen of seven ninety, nine east. Third Street in Boston Fifty Five Year Old Boston crime boss Whitey Bolger said across from John mcintire he felt nothing but hatred. He knew that McIntyre agreed to talk to the DA and there was nothing that Whitey loathed more than a rat. A cool breeze rattled the window on that day in November nineteen eighty-four McIntyre was handcuffed and chained to a chair. Whitey set his MAC ten machine pistol on the table and told him that they needed to talk. Knew, he was doomed. There was a reason why Whitey had become the kingpin of South Boston. Lording over the neighborhoods loansharking bookmaking truck hijacking and extortion rackets, and it wasn't by showing mercy. He knew that even if he was somehow able to talk his way out of the situation that was nowhere to run. By the end of his career Whitey sanctioned hits as far away as Oklahoma McIntyre. Himself had even been involved in weapons smuggling scheme into Ireland full Whitey. No less. His boss was an international criminal. The great irony of course was Whitey got away with all of his criminal enterprises because he himself was an FBI informant. Whitey had grown up in the projects with an FBI agent named John Connolly. To him. Whitey was more than just a valuable pawn in their war against the Italian mafia, and for Bolger, Connolly became his `get-out-of-jail-free card and it was connelly who gave him the tip that one of his guys McIntyre was talking of course only those in White T.'s inner circle new of his deal between Bolger and connolly besides who would suspect Whitey of talking he was the gentleman gangster who bought Turkeys for poor South Boston families on Thanksgiving, the man who was a fitness. Nut He didn't drink or smoke the same Whitey who for all of his wealth and power still drove a Chevy Malibu and lived with his mother nearly until her death in nineteen eighty. Whitey, was a Southie boy through and through no, one would accuse him of talking to the feds so why he ran southie and that meant he had all the tools in his pocket, the power of the FBI and the power to do whatever needed to be done to anyone who crossed him. In. The kitchen John mcintire shook his head apologizing over and over again he told his boss. I'm sorry. I was week white. He wasn't interested in the apologies he needed information. He turned the conversation to ask him questions about what McIntyre told the FBI. NDA and then oddly his questions shifted back towards business McIntyre was entrenched in Boston's drug trade Whitey. He had been forcing South Boston's drug dealers to pay him rent for working his streets and he wanted to make sure he was still getting his haircut McIntyre spilled everything both what he said to the feds and about the drug industry he held back nothing by the time McIntyre was done talking Whitey was satisfied. He calmed McIntyre down in assured him that they were just going to send him away. Once the heat died down, he could return to Boston somehow whites he managed to convince McIntyre to come down to the basement with him. and. Once they were downstairs white he tried to strangle McIntyre with the rope. But the rope was too thick. All it did was make McIntyre. throw-up frustrated Whitey grabbed a gun and shot him with that bullet. Whitey used his position as an informant for the FBI to kill another enforcement and the FBI had helped him do it. People like John McIntyre. What collateral damage the cost of doing business ultimately McIntyre's death meant nothing to Whitey. In fact, he went upstairs and took a nap a ritual he kept after every kill. Meanwhile, two of his henchmen buried the body

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