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C/O GANGLANDNEWS.COM Anthony Megale, a.k.a., "The Genius"

ERIN DRAKE-PRIOR PHOTO One of two successful strip clubs once owned by Harry "Oil Can" Farrington.

ERIN DRAKE-PRIOR PHOTO The U.S. Attorney's office in New York is moving now to seize Megale's $800,000 home in North Stamford.

C/O BRIDGEPORT POLICE DEPARTMENT Victor Riccitelli

ERIN DRAKE-PRIOR PHOTO The mob ran a protection racket on Valbella, famous for its pricey wine list and celebrity customers.

While pleading guilty to racketeering in a New Haven federal courtroom in October, Anthony Megale played deaf when the judge asked him if he went by any nicknames.

"I don't hear so good, your honor," said Megale, 52, tugging on his earlobe, although his hearing had been fine up until that time.

Judge Janet Arterton was fishing for any of the handles prosecutors say Megale answers to: "The Genius," "Tony Connecticut," "Machiavelli," "Mac," "The Brain," "Mr. T" and "Gas Man," to name a few.

But if Megale, an alleged Gambino-organized crime family underboss, had copped to any of the nicknames, he'd also have been admitting to the existence of the Gambino family.

That would have violated "omerta," the Mafia behavior code: meaning other Mafioso would likely label him a "rat," who, at worst, could be rubbed out without reprisal, or, at least, as someone who couldn't be trusted with mob business in the future.

Judge Arterton let Megale's convenient hearing loss slide. He pled guilty to racketeering, and U.S. Attorney Kevin O'Connor sent another Connecticut organized crime member to jail, one of dozens over the last several months.

Megale, allegedly the No. 2 man in the entire Gambino hierarchy at the time of his arrest, was the biggest fish netted in Connecticut by the F.B.I.'s "Organized Crime Strike Task Force," formed secretly a few years ago.

Judge Arterton will likely hand Megale a prison term in the neighborhood of six years when he's sentenced Dec. 23, according to the terms of his plea deal. But he still faces racketeering charges in New York, where a similar investigation led to charges in March against a "who's who" of alleged organized crime figures in the Big Apple.

These indictment papers, along with wiretap and other evidence made public for the first time in September 2004, reveal some of the inner workings of organized crime in Fairfield County, conducted by a cast of colorful personalities. The Megale case in particular provides a rare opportunity to get an insider's view of the mob's operations in Connecticut. The information contained in this story came from the indictments and audio recordings of the F.B.I. wiretaps that are part of the official court documents.

They shed light on the lucrative enterprises of the Connecticut mob, including violent extortion, loan sharking and a vast array of underground gambling operations, with some drug dealing on the side. Though most customers would never know it, the mob has run protection rackets in some of Fairfield County's most upscale restaurants.

"No one is going to say these prosecutions mean the end of organized crime in Connecticut," said U.S. Attorney Kevin O'Connor, outside the New Haven courthouse where Megale pled guilty.

A retired F.B.I agent familiar with the investigation agrees. "As sure as the sun's coming up tomorrow" someone will take Megale's place, he said. "There's just too much money to be made."

Underground business in the state of Connecticut has never been controlled by one crime family, experts say, but the Gambino and Genovese families have vested interests in wealthy Fairfield County.

Other criminal organizations have financial enterprises in northern and eastern Connecticut, most notably the Patriarca family, based out of Providence, R.I. All have done business here for decades.

But it was a bitter mob dispute over who controls Stamford that gave the F.B.I. the opening it needed to wiretap a vital witness.

Harry "Oil Can" Farrington

Many years ago, Stamford businessman Harry Farrington picked up the nickname "Oil Can," because of his resemblance to the old cartoon villain--a walking cat in a Zoot suit who was always kidnapping Mighty Mouse's girlfriend, Pearl Pureheart.

Farrington ran two successful strip clubs in Stamford, Beamers on Richmond Hill Avenue and Harry O's Cafe on Selleck Street.

According to the Stamford Police Department, his businesses were legitimate. No history of prostitution, fights or other goings-on.

In 2002, Farrington was an affable, married, middle-aged man with a smokers' cough, a dislike of violence and a growing preference for his second home in the mountains.

His biggest problems at that time were some minor violations uncovered by the state liquor commission, which meant possibly a small fine or probation. But otherwise he had little reason to seek protection from sources outside the local police department.

So he was a little surprised when one summer day a group of men walked into Beamers who weren't looking for lap dances and a round of beers.

One of those men was Gambino capo Ignazio "Iggy" Alogna, 72, who brought with him to Beamers a motley collection of younger enforcers. They included Gambino associates Joseph "Joey Mash" Mascia and his brother John "Johnny Mash" Mascia Jr., both of White Plains, N. Y.

Also working as muscle on the job were two men from Rhode Island, both associates of Patriarca, the New England Crime Family, Alfred "Chip" Scivola Jr. and Henry "Hank" Fellela Jr.

"We're taking over the whole East Coast now," Farrington says the men told him, according to the Megale indictment.

As tribute, Alogna demanded $4,000 a month in "protection" payments, Farrington told prosecutors.

"You've had a free ride for years," Farrington says Alogna told him, boasting about extorting 50 other New England strip clubs for similar payments. "Come on, you know the routine, you gotta start paying."

Joey Mash told all the strippers in the club he was the new owner and paraded around with a girl on each arm.

The men, according to Farrington, told him he would have problems if he didn't leave an envelope of "grocery money" for them to pick up each month. Someone would come in and wreck the place, and he could get hurt.

But this collection of hoods misjudged Farrington. He didn't give in and start paying the "street tax" like so many before him.

Instead, he went to the F.B.I.

A Real Tony Soprano

When Farrington first agreed to wear a wire and allow his Stamford club Beamers to be secretly videotaped by F.B.I. agent John Sereno, he may not have known he was about to ensnare a man he had known most of his life while growing up in southwestern Connecticut: Anthony Megale.

Born in Italy, Megale moved to Connecticut at a young age and became a U.S citizen. The man who would become an illegal gambling guru with a taste for expensive cashmere coats attended two years of college at Post University in Waterbury, majoring in "recreation," he told Judge Arterton at his plea hearing.

Prosecutors say Megale grew up to become a real-life Tony Soprano, living in an upscale house in the picturesque suburbs of North Stamford, at 105 Northwind Drive.

According to prosecutors, he regularly met with fellow top-ranking Gambino members from New York, such as boss Peter Gotti, and, after Gotti was indicted in 2002, with acting boss Anthony "Zeke" Squiteri, to resolve family disputes, mete out discipline and parcel up the various criminal enterprises.

Instead of golf courses, these underground businessmen made deals during "walk-talks" in the aisles of a Home Depot in Port Chester, N.Y., while sipping coffee at Starbucks in Stamford or over meals at several restaurants--anywhere they felt safe from bugs. They even discussed business over the comatose son of one "made" captain at a hospital, and at the retirement home where the mother of one Gambino member stayed.

Prosecutors in New York say Megale and others made millions of dollars over the last decade from racketeering, "including violent assault, extortion of various individuals and businesses, loansharking, union embezzlement, illegal gambling, trafficking in stolen property and counterfeit goods and mail fraud," according to the Megale indictment.

Megale did a stretch in prison in the 1990s for racketeering, but was soon back in charge of Fairfield County, running a crew of his own men in Bridgeport, Stamford, Norwalk and elsewhere.

An Old Friend

Harry "Oil Can" Farrington called Megale for help after Alogna and the other men demanded extortion payments from him. So Megale went to Beamers to meet one-on-one with Farrington.

On the wiretaps, Megale sounds like a middle-aged man bragging to an old high school classmate at a reunion about how successful he's become.

"They made me the acting underboss of this family," said Megale. "So I'm over everybody."

The two men exchanged updates about their wives and children. Farrington flattered his old acquaintance by asking if he too could join the Gambino family.

"What about me bein' a soldier?" Farrington asked.

"Your father Italian?" replied Megale.

"No, Indian," Farrington said.

"You're probably better than 90 percent of the guys. But if you were Italian..."

Megale was outraged that Alogna, who lived in eastern Pennsylvania, was trying to extort a business in Stamford, Megale's home turf--especially because he was using enforcers from another crime family, the Patriarcas of New England.

"I just don't want to be embarrassed," said Megale. "You gonna let a guy from out of town take a guy you know all your life?"

Megale explained to Farrington how he got clearance from New York, then sent one of his crew, Angelo Ricco, to deliver a message to Alogna and the others at a roadside diner: "Stay out of Stamford. I've got a message, it's coming from the boss--stay out of Connecticut."

"I'm going to make this fucking asshole bleed, though," said Megale about Alogna.

And he did, although not literally. According to court documents, Megale used his power as underboss to demote the older man from a captain to a mere soldier.

Now that the interlopers were taken care of, Megale began a slow manipulation of his old friend Farrington.

"If I thought I could have taken money from strip joints I would have came to ya and say, "Listen, let me put you on the record. Give me a little bit every month,'" said Megale.

The wiretaps reveal a series of casual conversations between Megale and Farrington, with Megale telling threatening anecdotes about what happens to those who don't cooperate.

Valbella And The Albanians

One of the anecdotes that Megale recounted to Farrington was about Valbella, an upscale Northern Italian restaurant in Old Greenwich that's famous for its pricey wine list and for celebrity customers like newscasters Tom Brokaw and Paula Zahn, and Yankees coach Joe Torre.

The Zagat Survey describes it as a place where diners "shrug off the high prices."

According to prosecutors, this is exactly what members of the Gambino family, including Megale, did. They ate there for years for free, while owner Dave Ghatan forked over thousands in protection money.

On the wiretaps, Megale explained to Farrington how it all started. "Yeah, they went over to Valbella's two months ago," said Megale. "Thirty of 'em. With Uzis. They got $5,000 a month. The guy was in a fuckin' panic, Dave."

Working with a group of violent Albanians, they allegedly beat up Ghatan and reportedly hung him from the ceiling until he agreed to pay out, Megale told Farrington on the wiretaps.

"The, the guy stayed home three days," said Megale, laughing. "Fuck, he hadda go to the dentist cuz he was grinding his teeth. That's how nervous he was."

Farrington replied, a little nervously, "That's a fancy place over there. That place fucking does some business."

What Farrington may or may not have known is that one of Valbella's top chefs in the 1990s was an Albanian immigrant named Joe Vuli, who went on to open his own restaurants, Vuli at the Stamford Marriott and Gusto in Danbury.

Last year, Vuli was found dead, cut up into pieces placed in plastic bags, on a roadside in Bedford, N. Y. The crime remains unsolved.

Police say it bears all the hallmarks of a mob hit, and speculate he may have fallen into loan sharking or other debt and was unable to pay the money back.

But even if Farrington didn't know about Vuli, he surely got the message that he should cooperate with Megale.

The Deal

Megale first hit up Farrington for monthly extortion payments, spinning it like he was giving his old pal a good deal.

"That's what, ya know, $500 a week a bookmaker pays," said Megale. "So if it's a strip joint, for two joints, $500 a week ain't bad. You know what I'm trying to say? So like that... you don't have to worry about another fuckin' thing from nobody."

"It doesn't sound bad," said Farrington. "I just want to do business peaceful."

For the next two years Farrington paid Megale $2,000 a month in "protection" money for his two strip clubs, along with a $3,000 "Christmas bonus" each year. But it didn't stop there.

Megale saw Farrington's two businesses as ripe locations for illegal video poker machines, which, according to prosecutors, remain big money makers for the mob.

Despite the fact that gambling is legal at nearby places like Foxwoods or Atlantic City, and there's a state lottery and Off Track Betting storefronts, the mob usually offers better odds, does not collect taxes and people don't have to leave their neighborhoods to play.

In a later conversation, also wiretapped, Megale sold Farrington on the idea, saying it was so profitable "you can throw the liquor out, believe me."

"Especially if you spoon a few of these girls to fuck around with the guys and get them to put money in the machines, fughettaboutit," said Megale.

He anticipated a poker machine in Beamers could net $10,000 a month. "We take 10 percent off the top and it goes someplace upstairs," said Megale.

The rest would be split between Farrington and Megale.

Farrington said he thought the money sounded good, but he was worried about losing his license.

"They don't take your license the first time," said Megale. "If they come in, "Oh, it's an antique, what's the problem?'"

Then he laid out the rules of running an illegal gambling business: "Designate a guy to the machine. Only players that play is the players you know, no one else can play. You have to know the guy, otherwise, the "brother-in-law' is the law."

There was also a warning to Farrington not to go to the authorities: "We just don't want nobody to earn that is a rat and is no good," said Megale.

Riccitelli's Retirement

Farrington spent the next two years becoming more involved with Megale's world and wearing a wiretap all the while--setting up drug buys, running a gambling business, etc.

Among others convicted from evidence he gathered were Vincent "Vinny" Fiore, 42, who prosecutors say severely beat a Norwalk social club owner for not paying "protection" money; Nicola "The Greaseball" Melia, 73, of Stamford, a reputed loan shark who demanded $100 a week "interest" payments on loans and gambling debts as little as $1,000.

Prosecutors say his enforcer was Athanasio "Saki" Tsiropoulos, 37, owner of the Wall Street Variety store in Norwalk.

In what the U.S. Attorney's office calls a "related" indictment, John Chetta, 46, of New Canaan was convicted of selling cocaine for years at Norwalk Community College, from an office where he ran a food services company.

Former used car salesman and "made" man Victor Riccitelli, 72, of Bridgeport was first sentenced to 13 years in prison in June after a jury convicted him of a bulk cocaine sale outside the City Limits Diner in Stamford, in a sting organized by Farrington and the F.B.I.

He then pled guilty in October to racketeering, after prosecutors threatened to play wiretaps at trial that allegedly reveal him plotting to kill a cocaine dealer and kidnap the son of a local businessman to boost his "retirement" fund.

He faces up to 55 years for racketeering when sentenced in January, meaning he will surely die in prison.

Unlike Megale, Riccitelli admitted during his guilty plea that he was a member of the Gambino family, breaking the "omerta" code.

With his bleak future, perhaps it gave him something to hold onto.

Megale isn't that desperate yet.

The U.S. Attorney's office in New York is moving now to seize Megale's $800,000 home in North Stamford, along with a top-of-the-line flat-screen television inside, all of which they allege was paid for with criminal proceeds.

But while being sentenced in October, Megale smirked and glared at prosecutors, one hand clenched in a fist in front of him, the other pinned behind his back.

With a head of hair that's only half gray and relatively light prison time ahead of him, he could be back in business within a few years.

"Tony loves the [Mafia] life," said a retired federal agent who has known Megale for decades.

Meanwhile, Farrington has had to leave Fairfield County permanently and sell his businesses for his own safety, with the help of the government.

The Future

According to the retired F.B.I agent familiar with the investigation, organized crime will never die in Fairfield County, often cited as the wealthiest county in America.

One reason: the Mafia thrives under the support of some members of the "law abiding" public.

"There is a whole segment of the population that just want to be around these guys because you're living vicariously," he said. "These guys are thinking: "I played golf with this guy who killed 15 people.' Wow."

But more importantly, there is too much money to be made.

"I'll bet you on any given night there's two or three of these games [poker, craps, backgammon] in Stamford," said the agent. "I'm sure there's more than that in Norwalk. I'm not talking you and a couple of buddies getting together playin' five-dollar hands. I'm talking about big money and all-night games. A lot of them are businessmen; they have a lot of money, and they have that itch. But somebody always loses and somebody's always gotta borrow money."

And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Experts say there are numerous other illegal revenue streams. Law enforcement knows about some of them, but doesn't have enough evidence to indict.

And with Megale incarcerated for the time being, "somewhere, some guy is happy, because now there's room for him," said the retired F.B.I. agent. "The life is good; you get a lot of money and power and flash. You don't think you're ever going to get caught, because only stupid people get caught, and I'm not stupid. If I were stupid, I'd be going to work nine to five."

So who is this new person taking over?

"I am sure right now that a new captain, capo, has been assigned to Connecticut," by the Gambino hierarchy in New York, attests the retired agent. "It's a short drive up here from Port Chester or the Bronx; you hop on I-95 you're up here, put your hand out, and people pay ya."

And, he says, they'll still pay despite how badly the mob has been wounded recently by well-publicized convictions.

"They are scared because it's the mob. It's like this aura: It's the mob, a bunch of fat old men and stupid kids," he said. "But who are you? You're a bookmaker, you're a tough guy who lifts weights, studies Judo and has a couple of bodyguards. But is that going to stop a .22 to the head?"