#Boston Police Department

[aesthetic--mood]

Maura Isles Aesthetic

[coveredinmetaldust]

I Can Think of 1,312 Reasons Not to Trust the BPD's Recollection of Events

It's nice to see the youth keeping up the tradition of peacefully protesting, and then having the Boston Police Department respond with a completely disproportionate escalation of violence. It’s downright nostalgic considering what we are seeing at Emerson College is exactly what I saw happen first hand in the late 2010s during and after the Occupy Boston protests. You’d think after a decade and change the BPD would stop being scared shitless of unarmed liberal arts majors in their early 20s, but here we are.

It’s uncanny: we're seeing the exact same playbook from the police, while the media trips over themselves to find ways to minimize their brutality. Just as before, many media outlets are trying to sweep the bodily harm inflicted on the protesters under the rug, while obsequiously reporting on the poor officers who got kinda hurt while they were wearing full riot gear to beat the ever-loving shit out of unarmed protestors.

But to anyone who has been paying attention, the BPD have proven time and time again that they are a gang of heavily-armed thugs who are just itching for any excuse to use the fancy military-grade gear that we paid for with our tax dollars. (Though it is funny how they never seem to use those bullet-proof vests or other tactical gear when heavily-armed militant white supremacists protest...)

None of this surprises me anymore; the police in Massachusetts are openly corrupt to a downright cartoonish degree. Even in my home town that is 40 minutes west of Boston, you have officers who are lionized by officials despite being infamous amongst the community—because when they are off-duty they've worked as hired goons for the local mega-landlord to rough up tenants who are late on rent.

As the news coverage continues, remember not to give the police the benefit of the doubt nor any good will, and remember that the media has a history of downplaying their actions while taking their side. Also, do not let them gaslight you into thinking this is a freak occurrence—because this is standard operating procedure.

But above all else, remember that all cops are bastards.

[musicshelfwithmustard]

Get Ready for Date Nite

Mustard had the pleasure of speaking with Boston's Date Nite. Together we discussed their ideal date night, Applebee's, their upcoming debut single "Roller Derby Decapitation", and so much more!

Mustard had the pleasure of speaking with Boston’s Date Nite. Together we discussed their ideal date night, Applebee’s, their upcoming debut single “Roller Derby Decapitation”, and so much more! 1. Mustard is grateful to have Date Nite join them at Music Shelf. How is everyone?  As a collective, we’re great because we’re doing this interview right before a Boston show. Additionally thirsty and…

[argyrocratie]

"How will people get healthcare?

(...)

During the Spanish Civil War, Barcelona’s Medical Syndicate, organized largely by anarchists, managed 18 hospitals (6 of which it had created), 17 sanatoria, 22 clinics, 6 psychiatric establishments, 3 nurseries, and one maternity hospital. Outpatient departments were set up in all the principal localities in Catalunya. Upon receiving a request, the Syndicate sent doctors to places in need. The doctor would have to give good reason for refusing the post, “for it was considered that medicine was at the service of the community, and not the other way round.”[40] Funds for outpatient clinics came from contributions from local municipalities. The anarchist Health Workers’ Union included 8,000 health workers, 1,020 of them doctors, and also 3,206 nurses, 133 dentists, 330 midwives, and 153 herbalists. The Union operated 36 health centers distributed throughout Catalunya to provide healthcare to everyone in the entire region. There was a central syndicate in each of nine zones, and in Barcelona a Control Committee composed of one delegate from each section met once a week to deal with common problems and implement a common plan. Every department was autonomous in its own sphere, but not isolated, as they supported one another. Beyond Catalunya, healthcare was provided for free in agrarian collectives throughout Aragon and the Levant.

Even in the nascent anarchist movement in the US today, anarchists are taking steps to learn about and provide healthcare. In some communities anarchists are learning alternative medicine and providing it for their communities. And at major protests, given the likelihood of police violence, anarchists organize networks of volunteer medics who set up first aid stations and organize roving medics to provide first aid for thousands of demonstrators. These medics, often self-trained, treat injuries from pepper spray, tear gas, clubs, tasers, rubber bullets, police horses, and more, as well as shock and trauma. The Boston Area Liberation Medic Squad (BALM Squad) is an example of a medic group that organizes on a permanent basis. Formed in 2001, they travel to major protests in other cities as well, and hold trainings for emergency first aid. They run a website, share information, and link to other initiatives, such as the Common Ground clinic described below. They are non-hierarchical and use consensus decision-making, as does the Bay Area Radical Health Collective, a similar group on the West Coast.

Between protests, a number of radical feminist groups throughout the US and Canada have formed Women’s Health Collectives, to address the needs of women. Some of these collectives teach female anatomy in empowering, positive ways, showing women how to give themselves gynecological exams, how to experience menstruation comfortably, and how to practice safe methods of birth control. The patriarchal Western medical establishment is generally ignorant of women’s health to the point of being degrading and harmful. An anti-establishment, do-it-yourself approach allows marginalized people to subvert a neglectful system by organizing to meet their own needs.

After Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, activist street medics joined a former Black Panther in setting up the Common Ground clinic in one of the neediest neighborhoods. They were soon assisted by hundreds of anarchists and other volunteers from across the country, mostly without experience. Funded by donations and run by volunteers, the Common Ground clinic provided treatment to tens of thousands of people.

The failure of the government’s “Emergency Management” experts during the crisis is widely recognized. But Common Ground was so well organized it also out-performed the Red Cross, despite the latter having a great deal more experience and resources.[41] In the process, they popularized the concept of mutual aid and made plain the failure of the government. At the time of this writing Common Ground has 40 full-time organizers and is pursuing health in a much broader sense, also making community gardens and fighting for housing rights so that those evicted by the storm will not be prevented from coming home by the gentrification plans of the government. They have helped gut and rebuild many houses in the poorest neighborhoods, which authorities wanted to bulldoze in order to win more living space for rich white people."

-Peter Gelderloos, "Anarchy Works" (2010)

[theficpusher]

Chasing Feelings by Neondiamond | M | 20029 When homicide detective Louis Tomlinson first gets assigned to work with detective Harry Styles, the newest addition to the Doncaster police station, on the biggest case of his career, he’s less than enthused about it. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and Louis has no time to waste working with a newbie, despite how attracted his inner Alpha may be to Harry’s sweet scent. Along the way, he finds he may have been too quick to judge the Omega.

Into This Mess by crimsontheory | E | 20561 The first day of Louis’ promotion is going well, far better than he expected. That is until his new partner shows up, who just so happens to be the guy who stumbled half-dressed out of his flat that same morning. Or the enemies to lovers detective AU.

a long way down (to the bottom of the river) by MediaWhore | M | 24184 “Most people would call Harry silly for believing in curses. Childish would also be a probable insult thrown his way. In their little town full of little people, Harry’s whimsical nature and beliefs mean that he’s subjected to frequent judgemental looks and whispers. It doesn’t usually bother him. Most people don’t know about the magic thrumming through his veins or about how powerful words can truly be. Most people don’t carry around their ancestors grief like a burden. They don’t have to pay for deeds hundreds of years old like Harry and his family have. They get to love freely without fear. Harry and his kin aren’t so lucky.” a practical magic au in which Harry and his sister accidentally kill her abusive boyfriend with magic and Louis is the D.I working the case.

A Study in Love by Rearviewdreamer | M | 24307 Louis knows everything about everyone which has put him at a great and weird advantage over nearly all of them since the very beginning. He can solve any puzzle before most people know where to begin. He is rarely perplexed, mistaken, or wrong, and obviously, Louis is never ever surprised. And yet, his new flatmate after a very long string of failed ones has Louis questioning how he ever did any of it without him.

Catching a Partner by berzerkshires | M | 24936 This documentary follows the story of two people who fell in love in the last place you'd expect. Louis is a detective at the Boston Police Department investigating a trail of recent murders. Harry is the latest victim who survived an attempted murder and is sent to live at a safe house with Detective Tomlinson as the killer is still at large. This is their story.

i've heard it both ways by vintagehistories | E | 26331 “I, uh.” Harry is scrambling, trying to think of something believable on the spot. He remembers the woman from reception and her phone call and says the only thing he can think of. “I’m a psychic.” Everyone stills. Zayn laughs, Detective Edwards looks confused, and the officer holding the door open looks mildly frightened. “A psychic?” Zayn gets out between his laughs. “I’ve heard it all. You’re definitely spending the night in the holding cell now. You’re wasting all of our time here.” an au based on the tv show psych where harry is shawn, louis is jules, liam is gus, niall is mcnabb, and zayn is lassie.

When Darkness Strikes by he_wants_to_write | E | 58766 Private Investigator Harry Styles is called to help solve a brutal homicide case in a small town by the North of England. There, he stumbles upon Detective Louis Tomlinson, and although their personalities crash and dark mysteries haunt their circumstances, the pair does have one thing in common; the will to catch the responsible behind the murder. Or, the suspenseful, thrilling Enemies to Lovers that evolves more than romance and slow burn.

technicolor by creamcoffeelou | E | 81386 When the small town of Twin Lakes begins experiencing a string of serial murders, a team of detectives is called in to help. Louis is the head of the team and meets a hard-headed psychic who everyone else seems to believe is the one who will solve the case. Louis isn't so sure. OR The slow-burn, hate-to-love, crime au where Harry is a psychic, Louis is a detective, and the world is against them.

Where you'd rather be by Itsmotivatingcara | M | 103456 Louis runs the best Canine Search and Rescue school in Augusta, Maine, one that trains dogs to track missing persons. He lives an idyllic life on Togus Pond where he's built his career from the ground up. He has everything he could ever want, a beautiful home, friends he adores and a dog that aids his students in their training. Romantic entanglements have never been high up on his list of priorities. That is, until he stumbles across a body in the woods. A woman was brutally murdered and dumped on his doorstep. It doesn't help that the Detective on the case happens to be devilishly handsome and just the right amount of broody. Detective Harry styles has a murder to solve, he's just gotten out of a long-term relationship and he's certainly not looking for another. Regardless of whether the man who run's the SAR unit's blue eyes sparkle with promise and a sense of belonging. Something he may or may not have been searching for all his life. Or Detective - Search and Rescue AU

[aesthetic--mood]

Jane Rizzoli Aesthetic

[tkachuktkaching]

Tkachuk has ‘really special’ day bringing Stanley Cup home to St. Louis

Panthers forward visits first responders, children’s hospital with famed trophy

ST. LOUIS -- Matthew Tkachuk remembers visiting family in Boston, the first stop usually being the North End fire department where his grandfather, John Tkachuk, was the chief.

“We’d ride the pole, try the hat on, sometimes we’d go for a ride even though I don’t know if that’s allowed,” the Florida Panthers forward said with a laugh on Thursday. “It was super cool and anytime I see firemen, on duty or off, I always make sure to go say ‘Hi’.”

And when Tkachuk had his day with the Stanley Cup on Thursday, the Brentwood Fire Department, located about 15 minutes west of his hometown of St. Louis in Brentwood, Missouri, was one of the stops he definitely had to make.

It was an enjoyable day for Tkachuk, who had 61 points (24 goals, 37 assists) in 71 regular-season games and 22 points (six goals, 16 assists) in 24 Stanley Cup Playoff games to help the Panthers win their first Cup championship last month.

His time with the Cup actually began Wednesday, when he took it to lunch at Grassi’s Ristorante in Frontenac, Missouri, about 15 minutes west of St. Louis.

On Thursday he brought the Cup to his elementary school, Villa Duchesne in St. Louis, the St. Louis Children’s Hospital and the Brentwood police and fire departments.

“It’s been amazing," he said. "I’m trying to have that little mix of fitting everything I want possible in, but also want to enjoy it with those who are close to me. It’s been awesome so far and I’m sure the day’s going to continue to be awesome.”

There was no riding on the pole at the fire department this time, but Tkachuk did try on a fireman’s hat, saying that “it was a little snug. I’ve got a big head, but it was good.” He also took photos with the firemen and their families, displaying the Cup in the department and outside in front of one of the fire trucks.

Brentwood assistant fire chief Ed Beirne said when he told his staff that Tkachuk would be coming by with the Cup, “I didn’t think their eyes and mouths could open any wider.

“It’s an honor for us to actually be considered,” said Beirne, whose grandson, Faris, was placed in the Cup for one of the photos.

“Although we know the Tkachuk family is part of Brentwood, growing up around here, this is a massive effort to win the Cup. For them to remember and humble us by sharing his day with the Cup, I know he gets it for a short amount of time, but to share that time with us and then bring a lot of joy to the staff and family we were able to assemble, that is what’s really special about public safety and the NHL in general. It’s a family sport. All of us have played it, it’s a family, and this is a testament to that.”

When Tkachuk brought the Cup to the police department, he was joined by his immediate family, including brother Brady, captain of the Ottawa Senators, and father Keith, the former NHL forward who had 1,065 points (538 goals, 527 assists) in 1,201 games with the Winnipeg Jets, Phoenix Coyotes, Atlanta Thrashers and St. Louis Blues.

Brady was catching up with Matthew after some early-morning training.

“I can’t just be riding his coattails. Have to prepare for next season,” Brady said with a laugh.

“This is our childhood dream, just to see it up close and personal, to see how happy and genuinely excited and fulfilled and satisfied Matthew is, it’s amazing to see. It’s been awesome to see, and it’s definitely created that burning desire for me to provide that for my family and friends, too.”

Matthew took photos with individual officers and staff members, who were hesitant as they approached the Cup.

“Anybody that knows anything about hockey knows the Cup is sacred, so we’re scared to touch it,” Brentwood police chief Joseph Spiess Jr. said.

“The Tkachuk family has a strong presence in Brentwood. Not only do we get to protect them, but we get to share in their celebration, so it’s cool for us. Most of the people in this building are huge fans, sports generally, but hockey in particular.”

When the Vegas Golden Knights won the Cup in 2023, it marked the first time that names were engraved on the Cup prior to players and staff getting their respective days with it. It was something Matthew appreciated.

“It’s really special for my family. Years and years and years of hockey in our blood and for grandparents and extended family that come to my house and see that Tkachuk name on the Cup there, it’s truly such a special thing,” Matthew said.

The family had its own time with the Cup by midday Thursday. After bringing home some barbecue, Brady and Keith, along with Matthew’s sister, Taryn, mom Chantal and his fiancée, Ellie Connell, took turns taking a sip of beer out of it.

Tkachuk had already spent some quality time with the Cup. He and a few Panthers teammates brought it to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, on June 25, the day after they defeated the Edmonton Oilers 2-1 in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final. That day, they brought it to the Elbo Room, a bar near the beach, and Tkachuk carried the Cup into the Atlantic Ocean.

But there’s something special about bringing it back to your hometown.

“It hasn’t sunk in,” Keith said. “It’s been so much fun watching Matthew with the Cup with other people. That means more than winning, so it’s so cool. We’re pretty proud. He’s been around, grew up here, wants to be a part of it and he took it everywhere. Everybody’s loving it. We’re loving it.”

via nhl.com

Photos © Tracey Myers

[sol-draws-sometimes]

Ask and you shall receive

The Barbie trailer mugshot meme but it's Adam looking Concerned and Caleb is here for the ride

ooooh YES can someone please draw this, I want to see this SO badly

[puckgoss]

okay everyone… the deep dive you’ve all been very patiently waiting for… i recommend putting on the “the departed” “the godfather” or “goodfellas” soundtracks while reading this!

thanks to the anons who sent in info about all of this. huge thanks to the anon who was able to reveal some personal information about the family (from the same town).

when i got an ask saying sway’s gf’s family is (ex)-mafia i went looking for proof, and that sent me down a huge rabbit hole… 

IMPORTANT NOTE: this is currently under editing/review as i add/clarify further info

Links to Alessandra’s IG & Alessandra’s VSCO

Alessandra’s Background

Alessandra is 21 years old, turning 22 at some point this year (2002 birth year). She graduated high school in 2020 (source).

Alessandra’s family is from Leominster, Massachusetts. They lived there for many generations. Alessandra grew up in a home described as a “chateau” with horses and a dog. A picture of the house can be found below, up to you to decide whether it looks like a chateau or not. The town rumor is that they are ~7th Generation Italian Royalty. They used to vacation to their home on the coast of Puerto Rico during February vacation every year. They still go there often, as you can see on her social media accounts.

She now lives and works in the Northend of Boston. Her and her sister (Anina) are in the same big friend group and have both been described as nice, fun, private, and quiet. Her sister works as a “marketing intern” according to LinkedIn. Alessandra’s job is unknown. They and some of the Bruins players frequent Lincoln in Southie in Boston.

Alessandra has been dating Bruins goaltender Jeremy Swayman since ~Fall 2023. Apparently Alessandra and Jeremy are very cute together in public.

Salvatelli Family Background (Maternal Side)

Here is a family tree to help you visualize this:

Alessandra’s mother (Monique) and aunt (Toni) operate Paisano’s Pizza and Spirits, which they have done since 2019, although the business has been in the family for many years.

In 2007, the restaurant had their liquor license suspended for two days after finding its owner (Toni) hindered a police investigation. Here is an excerpt from the article, the link is here but it’s paywalled.

If you guys want to learn how to bypass hard paywalls on Google Chrome, let me know!

Essentially, Toni’s boyfriend got in a bar fight, and Toni (one of the owners) rushed him out the back door then did not comply with a police officer’s request later that night to give him the security video.

In 2023, the restaurant posted on their Instagram account congratulating Alessandra on running the Boston Marathon.

The restaurant is located in a hole in the wall strip mall and has mediocre reviews.

The article linked above mentions that Toni (and Monique) are the daughters of John Salvatelli, a former City Councillor. He and his brother Robert Salvatelli were both city councillors in Leominster for many years - Robert since at least 1999 and John since around the same time. In early 2005 Robert was voted in as City Council president, supported by his brother John.

Robert Salvatelli retired from this role in 2015. John was a City Councillor for 10 years. Previously, Robert was a teacher and principal at one of the town’s elementary schools.

Iacaboni Family Background (Paternal Side)

Note 1: Their surname is sometimes spelled Iacaboni, and sometimes spelled Iacoboni. I found articles using both spellings referring to the same people.

Note 2: David was Frank Sr.'s stepson. His mother is unknown.

1980s & 1990s

source

Frank Iacaboni Sr. was convicted of being a major player in a multimillion-dollar bookmaking ring.

He "has been paying tribute to the Mafia for years", according to law enforcement sources.

In the mid-1980s, Frank Iacaboni Sr. complained that convicted Boston mobsters Robert Carrozza and Dennis (Champagne) LePore ransacked his home and made off with an estimated $250,000, according to sources.

Police say Burton (Chico) Krantz, the region's preeminent bookmaker, mediated the dispute, in which Iacaboni agreed to pay his tribute without complaint, and the Boston Mafiosi agreed not to kill him.

1993

Sources say David Iacaboni, who was adopted by his stepfather, always resented his father's failure to acknowledge him. But they say, the Iacabonis apparently made some form of reconciliation several years ago when David Iacaboni returned from a brief stay in Florida. That rapprochement ended, however, when David Iacaboni and his wife, Lori, were indicted in 1993 for marijuana trafficking.

Sources say Frank Iacaboni tried to file criminal charges against David for allegedly selling a Corvette he had given to Frank. The elder Iacaboni had also blamed his son for a December 1993 fire at his home. No charges were ever filed, however. After David Iacaboni and his wife were sentenced to 10 years in prison last January, David Iacaboni approached US Attorney Donald K. Stern, offering to lead authorities to the body of Richard Tuttle Jr. in exchange for his wife being released. Stern agreed to the deal.

September 1995

A suspected prowler was killed and a police officer was seriously wounded outside of Frank (Alessandra’s grandfather’s) Iacaboni's house.

Frank’s son, David, who I believe is Alessandra’s paternal uncle, was convicted in the murder of a man in July 1995.

(source)

(source)

January 1996: (source)

FBI agents raided the home of convicted bookmaker Frank E. Iacaboni, shortly after the start of the Super Bowl. No arrests were made, but FBI agents, assisted by state and local police, confiscated some cash.

"It was a sad day for gamblers in Leominster," said one source, who asked not to be identified.

Iacaboni's ranch-style home at 640 Union St. was the scene of a bloody shootout in September after a man opened fire on two police officers who were investigating a complaint of a prowler.

Police sources have said the man may have been trying to steal gambling money from Iacaboni. The shooting is still under investigation by state police.

FBI spokesman Pete S. Ginieres said he could neither confirm nor deny Sunday's raid.

However, Leominster Police Capt. Thomas J. Bisol said local police helped FBI agents execute a search warrant at Iacaboni's house.

Bisol said other homes in the city were also searched. Bisol declined to provide any more details.

"This is an FBI matter," he said.

On Sept. 15 1995, two police officers were called to Iacaboni's house to respond to a call of a prowler outside the home.

Officers Dwayne Flowers and Thomas R. Kent found John J. MacNeil in the garage of the house. MacNeil, 47, charged at the two officers, firing from two hand guns.

MacNeil was killed by police after exchanging more than 26 rounds of gunfire. Kent, 32, who was shot in the chest by MacNeil, is still recovering from his injury.

Police sources at the time said they were investigating the possibility that MacNeil was sent to the house by Iacaboni's estranged son, David M. Iacaboni.

MacNeil was a cellmate of the younger Iacaboni at the Plymouth County Correctional Facility. Police sources said they were looking to see if David Iacaboni sent MacNeil to his father's house to steal gambling receipts, or to kill his father, or to do both.

The police sources said Frank Iacaboni was known to keep large amounts of cash in a safe inside his house.

Frank E. Iacaboni was one of 18 people arrested in 1983 on gaming charges as a result of a state police investigation into illegal gambling. He pleaded guilty to 21 counts of using a telephone for gaming and 13 counts of conspiracy to register bets. He was fined $4,250.

Wednesday, Jan 24 1996:

David Iacaboni was sentenced to 18 to 20 years in prison for killing Richard A. Tuttle Jr. of Lancaster in November 1989.

The younger Iacaboni pleaded guilty to manslaughter in Middlesex Superior Court in Cambridge. He told authorities he killed Tuttle during an argument about a drug sale.

2002-2008: Charges laid, legal documents, case notes

In March 2002, Frank Iacaboni pleaded guilty to charges arising out of his operation of an illegal gambling business.

From 1995 through March 1998, Iacaboni conducted an illegal sports gambling operation in and around Leominster, Massachusetts. Iacaboni's business included a few different "offices" headed by individuals hired to take bets from gamblers over the telephone. Iacaboni also ran a "football ticket" business; bettors paid between $1 and $10 per "ticket," a card on which they checked off four or more predictions in dozens of upcoming games.

Aug 13, 2002 - U.S. v. Iacaboni

Oct 21, 2002 - U.S. v. Iacoboni

Mar 30, 2004 - U.S. v. Iacaboni, other source

April 2005: Indictment handed down on charges of racketeering against 12 men

October 2008: Outline of the criminal case below

March 2009: (source) (source)

In March 2009, Arthur Gianelli, Dennis Albertelli and his wife Giselle, and Frank Iacaboni of Leominster (Alessandra's grandfather) were on trial in federal court for numerous crimes.

Mary Ann Gianelli pleaded guilty to 19 counts of racketeering, money laundering, filing false tax returns, and illegal structuring of cash transactions. Under a plea agreement, the federal government dropped an additional 141 money laundering counts against her.

Her husband was Mafia associate Arthur Gianelli. She helped him run his illegal gambling business after he was indicted on federal racketeering charges in 2005 and placed under house arrest.

Mary Ann Gianelli's sister, Elizabeth, is married to John J. Connolly. Connolly is a former FBI agent who was convicted of federal racketeering charges for protecting long-time informants James "Whitey" Bulger and Stephen "The Rifleman" Flemmi from prosecution. He was also convicted of murder in Florida in November 2008 for plotting with the two gangsters to orchestrate the 1982 slaying of a Boston businessman.

Arthur headed a sprawling criminal enterprise whose members were involved in gambling, money laundering, loan sharking, arson, and extortion. Him and his three co-defendents listed above, including Alessandra’s paternal grandfather Frank Iacaboni, committed hundreds of crimes between 1999 and 2005.

Millions of dollars flowed through the organization's gambling operation, which took bets on football games and later shifted its operation from Massachusetts to an Internet operation in Costa Rica. The organization also created phony companies to hide profits. Gianelli had ties to the Mafia, making weekly payments to reputed New England underboss Carmen "Cheese Man" DiNunzio.

Note: for more info on the Patriarca crime family (Carmen is now the boss), there are links at the end of the post under Appendix A.

One of the victim’s of this organized crime crew was Boston Bruins Hall of Fame goaltender Gerry Cheevers. He was threatened by a leg breaker for not repaying a loan.

Gianelli, Dennis Albertelli, and Frank Iacoboni were also charged with arson for allegedly plotting to burn down the Big Dog Sports Grille in North Reading in 2003 in an attempt to intimidate the owners into selling them another bar that they were poised to open in Lynnfield.

November 9, 2009: (source)

Frank Iacaboni was sentenced to 15 years and 3 months in federal prison and fined $10,000 for his role in a gambling and extortion ring.

He was sentenced in U.S. District Court on charges of racketeering conspiracy, extortion, use of fire to commit extortion, attempted arson of the Big Dog Sports Grille in Reading Nov. 13, 2003, and operating illegal sports and football card gambling businesses.

The Judge noted that he received 29 letters on Mr. Iacaboni’s behalf, including those from a state representative and a city councilor. Those two letters were from state Rep. Dennis A. Rosa and Ward 4 City Councilor Robert A. Salvatelli, both of Leominster. (Alessandra’s maternal great uncle!).

Summary of Findings

Alessandra’s maternal family is extremely powerful and well-connected in Leominster. They have held/still hold positions of power in schools, government, and local business. Her maternal great uncle vouched for her paternal grandfather when he was charged by the federal government for multiple crimes in association with the Mafia. Her paternal uncle was convicted for murdering a man in 1995.

Her maternal family owns the Paisano’s pizza "restaurant", but this is only the tip of the iceberg. It is very likely that their businesses are all fronts for money laundering, illegal gambling, tax evasion, and more. At the very least, her maternal family has been involved in trying to lessen the charges for her paternal family.

Hope you all enjoyed this deep dive ☕️

Appendix A

Patriarca / La Cosa Nostra Crime Family

The bosses of the Boston Mafia

Alleged Underboss of the New England Family of La Cosa Nostra Sentenced to Six Years in Prison

New England mafia underboss Carmen DiNunzio back on the streets

Old Patriarca Famiglia: The Cheeseman Cometh?

VIDEO: How The Mafia CONQUERED Boston | The Patriarca Family Part 1

VIDEO: How The Mafia CONQUERED Boston | The Patriarca Family Part 2

VIDEO: Current State of the Patriarca Crime Family

[racefortheironthrone]

What are your thoughts on Police Unions and calls to have them thrown out of the AFL CIO?

The last time that police unions actually acted like unions was the Boston police strike of 1919 (that unfortunately catapulted Cal Coolidge into national political prominence). After that, the basic labor relations between the state and police unions began to change in ways that are not recognizable as standard trade unionism.

The shift really began in the 1930s, when the rise of industrial unionism and attendant strike activity scared the shit out of the employers and their allies in government, because the usual Pinkertons and American Legion thugs were not enough to keep a lid on the situation. Hence the need to keep the police unions on the side of the employers rather than allow any possibility of siding with the strikers - thus you start to see police unions getting easily recognized, wage increases getting thrown around like candy, anything to keep the strikebreakers sweet.

However, it particularly morphed during the Second Great Migration (1940s through 1970), when the sudden emergence or at least rapid expansion of black populations in Northeastern, Midwestern, and Western cities scared the shit out of the municipal establishment in similar, yet distinct ways than the earlier union uprising had. In this period, an informal understanding was reached that the elected officials would block, slow-walk, or otherwise frustrate attempts by activists to impose accountability on police through civilian complaint review boards and other mechanisms, in exchange for police making upholding the racial hierarchy one of their enforcement priorities.

The expansion of grievance and arbitration procedures to include shootings and other acts of police brutality, written reprimands and other punishments from management, civilian complaints of abuse of power, officers' misconduct records and the extent to which they could be made public or even shared with future employers - the whole intricate mechanism by which police union contracts were turned into a bulwark against accountability - was part of this quid-pro-quo alliance between the state and police in the face of the emergent civil rights movement.

That's part of what slightly gives me pause about the left critique of police union contracts, because I think this alliance would have been constructed, maintained, and expanded over the decades whether or not police were unionized. The means would have been different, probably exercised through city charters, local ordinances, judicial precedents (even more so), but the ends would be the same. And if activists actually managed to eliminate a police union contract today, I'm absolutely confident that municipal government would rebuild it the next day, because they're absolutely scared of police slowdowns.

As to chucking them out of the AFL-CIO, it's not a bad thing per se, but I do want people to understand that it would be purely symbolic. The AFL-CIO is a union federation, it doesn't really have much in the way of direct authority over member unions, or exclusive access to resources that outpace what the member unions have. To give a historical example, the AFL-CIO expelled the Teamsters back in the 50s for being mobbed-up and it didn't change the Teamsters one bit - they kept on being mobbed-up until the Teamsters for a Democratic Union challenged the Hoffaites in the 70s and the Justice Department went after them with RICO charges in the 80s.

[futturmanspookie]

Paparazzi

Summary – You're a paparazzi who Derek fought with, and now he owes you something Pairing – Derek Danforth X Male!Reader Tags – +18 Smut, MLM, Oneshot, Penetration, Unprotected sex, No genitalia specified, Doggy style, Missionary, Dirty talk, pet names (Babe, honey and darling)

You were one of the greatest paparazzis of the whole country. Always with the best angles, and always finding A LOT about famous people's life.

But it obviously had it's downsides, like now.

You were sitting on a chair on Boston's general police department, besides with Derek Danforth; son of the newly elected president of United States of America.

What happened for you two to end in this situation? Basically, you were taking some pictures of him as he walked out of a club and you both had a fight.

He punched you and you retorted, you only defended yourself tho, so you could easily file a complaint about him.

The fact is; punching you would give him a really bad reputation, what wouldn't be any good for his mother's campaign on next elections.

He couldn't risk you suing him and the media discovering he started fights with innocent paparazzis.

So he would do what he always did with everyone he assaulted, damaged or bruised. He would bribe you.

"What do you want to not fill a complaint, huh?" He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the chair. "Money? Fame? Success? I can give you whatever you want."

Money didn't interested you, and you also didn't wanted to end like the people you photographed... But there was certainly one thing you wanted.

"I want a interview." You said, smirking and crossing your legs, turning your head to look at Derek.

"What?" Derek asked, a confused frown appearing on the Danforth's face. "I just said i could give you whatever you wanted, and you want a interview?" He asked, clearly not understanding what you mean.

"Yeah, but you have to be sincere, and let me ask whatever i want to." You answered, smirking and crossing your arms.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down as if he was thinking about that. It would probably just end up in a random gossip page, and it's not like he had something to hide.

"Alright." He answered shrugging.

You smiled at that, your smile seeing just as devious as your ideas were. Of course you wouldn't throw a chance like that away.

"When and where you want to do this "interview"?" Derek asked, leaning back against his chair and looking back at you.

"Now, at my hotel room." You said confidently, looking at Derek straight in the eyes.

"Seriously?" He asked groaning in annoyance.

"Yeah." You answered, smiling and shrugging.

You get up and looks around, tilting your head towards the exit and shoving your hands on your pockets.

Derek got up and followed you, taking in your looks. He never thought he would met such a good looking paparazzi. In his head, people with this kind of job were all ugly.

You lead Derek to your hotel, it was one of those fancy 6 stars hotels. Derek was happy he wouldn't need to go to a cheap place, he hated cheap places.

As soon as you two got into the elevator, Derek looked at you, up and down.

"How old are you?" He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the elevator's mirror.

"Twenty-four." You answered, smirking.

"Hm." He mumbled, looking away. Okay, so you were old enough for him.

The elevator rings signaling you arrived your floor. You both walk out of the elevator and you lead him towards your room.

237

Derek would remember that number, certainly would.

When you two enter, it looked just like you left this morning; messy sheets, your laptop and an notebook on the coffee table, your bag open in the corner of the room.

You leave your camera case on the floor and walk towards one of the armchairs, sitting on it and grabbing your notebook from the coffee table.

"Feel free to sit down." You said, smirking at Derek.

Derek furrows his brows, but smirks a bit too. He walks towards the other armchair and sits on it, he looks around taking his surroundings.

"So..?" He asked as his gaze moved back to yours, he tried to sound impatient, but he clearly was in no hurry.

You didn't had any questions to ask. You wasn't an interviewer and certainly wouldn't expect having the chance to interview someone like Derek. You desperately needed to think on something.

"You, hm... Like what you do?" You asked, looking down at the notebook and then up at Derek.

"You mean, being the CEO of my family's business?" He asked, leaning back against the armchair.

"Yeah..." You answered, biting your lip and hitting your feet against the floor anxiously.

"Yeah... I think." He answered, shrugging and taking a deep breath.

You sigh and write it down, your look shifting between the paper and Derek, he seemed totally uninterested. You needed something better than usual questions.

"Have you, ever thought of dating a fan?" You asked, trying to make more interesting questions.

It drew Derek's attention, making him look down at you and smirk a bit.

"No, maybe one hookup... But not dating." He said, chuckling a bit.

You took a deep breath, thinking twice about your next question as wrote Derek's last answer down on the paper.

"Have you ever fantasized about other guys?" You asked, gulping dryly and staring at Derek.

His eyes widen and his brows furrow.

"What do you mean?" He asked, looking away and then back at you.

"Fucking other guy, you know." You said shrugging, your grip on the pencil getting tighter.

He stayed quiet for some seconds and then looked down at your notebook.

"Why do you want to know?" He asked, smirking a bit and sitting up straight.

"Huh... Is just a question, you know, it interests the public." You answered, stumbling in your own words as your gaze wandered to the ground.

Derek's smile turned into a grin and he got up, walking closer and holding your chin, making you look up at him.

"I don't think the public is the one interested on it." He hissed, leaning in a bit in a way you could feel his hot breath against your sensitive skin.

Your gaze didn't left his as you got up. His hand moved to the side of your face, his thumb softly rubbing against your cheek.

"You know, you're not that bad for a motherfucker that photographs people without their consent." He whispered moving in and kissing your lips.

You quickly kissed him back, moving your hands up to the back of Derek's head and letting his tongue enter your mouth.

Derek's free hand quickly move down your butt without much ceremony, he's quite touchy.

He lifted you up so you could wrap your legs around his torso, and now he could carry you to the bed

Derek dropped you on the big, fancy bed. Leaning over you and kissing your neck, starting to unbutton your shirt with one of his hands.

His left arm was wrapped around you as he shoved his hand under your shirt, touching your chest briefly and gripping on your neck.

"Fuck, you're hot." He mumbled against your skin, he enjoyed the soft gasps you let scape.

"What the fuck are we doing?" You ask, groaning a bit. You couldn't tell if it was a pleasure or annoyance groan.

"We are having fun, babe-" He whispered, licking and biting on your neck. You tilted your head back, sighing softly.

His hand quickly sneaked to your belt, undoing it as his wet kisses moved down to your collarbone.

You didn't knew why you were doing it, but you wasn't against having sex with Derek, either. So you just decided to let i happen.

His hands slip into your pants, and he slowly starts masturbating you, making you moan and squirm.

You move your hands to Derek's shirt, unbuttoning it and struggling to slip it down his arms.

He helps you, taking it off and throwing it on the corner of the room before getting back to masturbate you.

"You're so sensitive~" He whispered against your ear, biting your earlobe and pulling his hand away.

You groan in frustration, wanting to feel Derek's touch again. He chuckled and starts pulling your pants off.

You lift your hips for him, making it easier for your pants and underwear to slip off. Derek takes some seconds admiring you before pulling away.

"Get on all fours for me." He said, smirking and looking at you up and down. He liked how you looked like a mess already, your unbuttoned shirt slipping down your shoulders.

You obey him eagerly, what you never thought on doing. You wasn't the obedient type, submissive... But damn, it was Derek Danforth... That man could boss you as much as he wanted too.

Derek smiled and moved his hands from your thighs to your buttcheeks. He held them, squeezing and feeling the soft flesh.

"You have such a pretty ass, baby." He said as moved his hands down your thighs again and leaning in to kiss your rear.

You blushed, your hands tugging on the sheets as your cheek was pressed against the mattress.

You watched him positioning behind you and opening his belt. He bent over you, whispering on your ear.

"All i thought since we got out that police department was how i was going to fuck you when we got here." He whispered, kissing your earlobe and pulling his dick out of his pants.

You could feel his throbbing length against your entrance. Fuck, you never felt so eager in your whole life.

He spit in his hand and slathered it all over his cock. He slid his dick between your buttcheeks a few times, groaning lowly.

"You like that?" He asked, tugging on your hair as the other hand held on your ass. You nodded quickly, moaning a bit. You nodded eagerly, your hair falling over your face.

He then pulled away a bit and teased the head of his cock against your tight hole, spitting on it again.

Your breath hitched, feeling him pulling into you slowly.

"Fuck~" You moaned as gripped tighter on the sheets and buried your face further on the mattress.

"No- No... Look at me babe." He said, tugging your hair and making you look up at him. "I want to see you falling apart, honey..." He whispered, leaning in and kissing your lips softly.

Once he was full inside of you, making you pant and moan lowly, he started moving. His thrusts were already fast, making your moans get eventually louder.

It hurts a bit, but the faint pain is subsided by the overwhelming pleasure of feeling him inside of you.

"Damn, you're so fucking hot-" He growled as pumped into you like it was his last day of life. "I want to cum all over this tight, perfect little ass of yours-" He whispered, bitting on your neck and then pulling away, straightening his posture.

You kept moaning and whined softly when Derek pulled at your hair. "So good-" You groan lowly, Derek's other hand finding support on your lower back.

The sticky and wet slapping filled the room, together with the hitting of the bed against the wall and the moans from both of you.

He then turned you around, making you lie on your back as kept his cock inside of you. You looked beautiful; teary eyes, messy hair, rosy cheeks. Derek felt like he could keep fucking you for two weeks straight.

He leaned in kissing on your chest and sucking on your nipples, his thrusts turning steady and deeper.

"God- So tight~" He groaned, moving his kisses up your neck.

You clenched around him a bit, making him go crazy. He thrusted deeper and bit on your earlobe.

"Fuck, baby- Don't do this... I may cum too early-" He whispered on your ear, biting your earlobe again.

He slowly pulled away and got on his knees, holding your inner thighs and thrusting faster and deeper inside of him.

You moaned and squirmed underneath him, your hands running up his abdomen looking for more physical contact.

"Tell me what do you want, tell me, darling... Come on." He said, panting and growling lowly.

"I- I want you to keep fucking me like this, Derek-" You whimpered, your hands clenching and scratching him a bit.

"Oh... I know you want it babe~" He whispered, thrusting even deeper and gripping tighter on your thighs.

You moan louder, feeling his dick reaching a really sensitive point. He bents over you again, one of his hands sneaking up to stroke you.

"Cum for me, babe... Come on-" He whispered, kissing you softly. You moaned against his lips, arching your back as he touched you.

Soon you came, with a loud and high pitched moan. He kept pumping into you after your orgasm, what felt like heaven.

After a few seconds he came too, letting out a guttural moan and falling over you.

"You're incredible..." He whispered, caressing your cheek and kissing your lips softly.

He pulled out of you and looked down at your hole, dripping with his cum.

"Damn... Look who's now my little cumslut." He said, chuckling and pulling his thumb inside of you, making you shiver.

"Don't do it!" You said, blushing.

"What?" He asked, chuckling and pulling his thumb away.

You huffed and rolled your eyes, and then Derek slowly crawled over you.

"I'm going to take a bath, wanna join me, Mr. Paparazzi?" He asked, his breath hot against your face.

[drdemonprince]

Re: an anon from November 15th: do you have advice on how become more comfortable with negativity? Because the White Woman Socialization Brain is strong with this one and I've had a couple of friends say it gives me a tone-policing problem

I'm going to depart from my usual gradual tolerance-building exercise approach here (though all that stuff still applies) and give you a more targeted recommendation:

I think you need to find a friend who can be a bit of a shitty little outrageous bitch in how they speak and emote, but who is at their core a wonderful, reliable, and morally stand-up person, and make a special place for them in your life.

The type of person who is not afraid to be disagreeable, who says "terrible!" and launches into a whole long rant about why when you ask them how their day is going and who will show up to your house with groceries when you are sick and start cooking and cleaning all around even when you've (lyingly) said you do not need the help. The type of person who will teach your nervous system that negativity is not bad, that ruining the vibe is sometimes needed, and that we can be good people even while not worrying about making other people feel good.

You can often locate such people in hard-core activist spaces, as the people steadily Doing the Work for years on end are unlikely to be motivated by soft, tender feelings, because those emotions sure don't keep in that line of work. You can also find them in places like AA programs (or SMART Recovery meetings, etc), support groups, queer discussion groups, book clubs, marxist reading groups, church groups, food kitchens, and any other gathering of people that is motivated by a strong ideological commitment or interest in intellectual pursuits but which can be rather dry or unpleasant in its execution of their ideals. you can also just like, throw a stone in places like New York or Boston or Philly and hit three to five people like these. Even as far out as Pittsburgh or Cleveland there is a lot of them.

Now, if you have chronic white woman everybody must be happy all the time syndrome (which really just means i will *make* everybody pretend to be happy or else im going to lose my shit), it can be tempting to fall in with someone who *seems* like a person like this, but who in actuality is a manipulative undermining abuser taking advantage of your tendency to excuse and downplay their many slights and offenses.

You do not want that. You want someone who can accept criticism just as readily as they dish it out. The kind of person who will fire off at the mouth but then go "oh dammit, youre right, i hate it but youre right" the moment you point out a valid flaw in their logic. Someone brash, but with a heart. Someone who can teach you that conflict is inevitable, and needed, and that saying something weird or off-putting is not the end of the world, and that arguing and complaining can actually bring you closer to someone when it is done authentically and from a place of good faith.

to find this person, keep putting yourself in places that align with the type of person you'd like to be, filled with people who are doing things with their lives that you admire. notice your initial reactions to people. who is off putting? is that a fair judgement? who are you afraid of upsetting? who expresses themselves in a way you'd never, ever dare to? most kind of unpleasant people wont be the special Prickly Friend for You, they'll just be kind of annoying people you dont want to be around. but at some point you will notice, hey actually, this person is a little off and irascible, but i notice they always come through for people. they might not be the most elegant in how they express their views, but when i think about it, i think they tend to be right. over time a person like that will prove themselves through their behavior and track record, and as you get more acclimated to their way of communicating, you'll find your voice of disagreement too.

good luck!

[deadpresidents]

Road Trip

On November 8, 1960, millions of Americans went to the polls in what would become one of the closest Presidential elections in American History:  John Fitzgerald Kennedy versus Richard Milhous Nixon.

That morning, Kennedy voted in Boston and Nixon voted in Whittier, California.  The candidates had spent months canvassing the nation, working to get every last vote – and every last vote was needed.  For the past several weeks, Kennedy and Nixon had criss-crossed the country, debated one another, and been working non-stop to be elected the 35th President of the United States.

After they voted that day, there were results to monitor, precincts to watch, election day problems to take care of, and many other things to worry about.  Imagine being on the cusp of the Presidency – with a 50/50 chance of being elected the next President of a superpower in the grip of the Cold War, with the threat of Communism and nuclear weapons hanging over your head, and the hopes of hundreds of millions of people pinned on either your victory or defeat.  Imagine being in the position of John F. Kennedy or Richard Nixon on November 8, 1960.  What would you do? 

John F. Kennedy put the control of his campaign in the hands of his younger brother, Bobby, and then took a nap.

And Richard Nixon took a road trip to Mexico.

Once Nixon voted that morning at a private home in a quiet Whittier neighborhood, he had been scheduled to head to the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles (where Bobby Kennedy would be assassinated eight years later) for the Election Day vigil and the long wait for the returns which would indicate whether he would be moving into the White House or facing an early retirement. 

Nixon was finished voting by 8:00 AM and hopped into his black Cadillac limousine to be driven to the Ambassador.  Several blocks away from the polling place, Nixon ordered the limousine to stop.  Along with a military aide and a Secret Service agent, Nixon jumped out of the limo and into a white convertible follow-up car driven by an officer from the Los Angeles Police Department.  Nixon took the LAPD officer’s place, got behind the wheel and ditched the press which had been following him.

Driving to La Habra, California, Nixon made a quick visit with his mother, making sure she had voted for her son in the Presidential election.  Nixon drove south along the Pacific Coast Highway, with no specific destination.  He stopped for gasoline in Oceanside and told a gas station attendant – startled to see the Vice President of the United States on a joyride on the very day that he stood for election as President – “I’m just out for a little ride."  Nixon confided that it was his only source of relaxation.

As the group of four men, with Nixon in the driver’s seat, reached San Diego – over two hours away from Nixon’s campaign headquarters at L.A.’s Ambassador Hotel – Nixon pointed out that he hadn’t been to Tijuana in at least 25 years.

As David Pietrusza wrote in his recap of Nixon’s road trip, "Richard Nixon – the ultimate control freak – was winging it on the most important day of his life."  Not only that, but the sitting Vice President of the United States and the man who many Americans were choosing to become the next President, impulsively decided to leave the entire country while those voters were still at the polls.

In Tijuana, Nixon and his party headed to a restaurant called Old Heidelberg.  Despite the fact it was owned by a German, Border Patrol agents told Nixon that it was the best place in Tijuana for Mexican food.  Joined at the last moment by Tijuana’s Mayor, Xicotencati Leyva Aleman, Nixon, his military aide, a Secret Service agent, and an average LAPD officer ate enchiladas in Mexico while John F. Kennedy took a nap in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts.

When Nixon’s press secretary Herb Klein was asked about the missing candidate, he had to tell reporters that Nixon often took some private moments on hectic days such as Election Day.  Really, though, Klein had no clue where Nixon was, eventually admitting that the Vice President was "driving around without any destination”. 

After lunch in Tijuana, Nixon and his companions headed back north towards the United States border crossing.  The LAPD officer took over driving duties as Nixon sat in the convertible’s passenger seat.  A shocked Border Patrol guard shook hands with the Vice President and asked the man who was currently on the ballot for the Presidency, “Are you all citizens of the United States?”.

Nixon and company drove to the Mission of San Juan Capistrano, which Nixon called “one of my favorite Catholic places” on the day he faced the first successful Catholic candidate for the Presidency in American History.  Nixon took his three companions on a quick, informal tour of the Mission.  “For a few minutes, we sat in the empty pews for an interlude of complete escape,” Nixon later recalled.

The missing candidate and his three road trip buddies arrived back in Los Angeles before the election results started rolling in.  Nixon had to explain his trip to reporters who had been searching for him all day.  “It wasn’t planned.  We just started driving and that’s where we wound up.”

In his Memoirs, Nixon didn’t go too far into explaining why he escaped on Election Day, but a paragraph about that day is pretty illuminating:

“After one last frenetic week, it was over.  Since the convention in August I had traveled over 65,000 miles and visited all fifty states.  I had made 180 scheduled speeches and delivered scores of impromptu talks and informal press conferences.  There was nothing more I could have done.”

Except escape to Mexico while JFK slept.

[irregularincidents]

Oh hey, it's Harry Houdini's 150th Birthday! To celebrate, here's a weird story I found.

A large part of the famous magician and escapologist's act appeared to be folk publicly challenging him to do a particular stunt, which as multiple instances of police departments claiming he couldn't escape their cells, usually as a mutual publicity stunt.

One of the more unusual examples of this came in 1911, when a group of 10 Boston businessmen challenged Houdini to escape from a "sea monster" while also chained hand and foot.

Houdini accepted the challenge, and thousands lined up outside of the BF Keith Theatre to see the magician escape what newsletters speculated was anything from a whale to a large turtle (it was the latter).

And, indeed, a lubricated Harry did escape the turtle, although as it had been embalmed with arsenic (one of the businessmen was a taxidermist), he did confess that in the 15 minutes it took to do so he nearly suffocated from the chemical fumes after an assistant help stuff the chained and handcuffed Houdini in the dead creature in the first place.

[news4dzhozhar]

Boston Marathon bombing victims rip Tsarnaev’s latest legal appeal

**So due process and the right to appeal is a "cash cow" now? This whole attitude is why some of the appeals are being filed in the first place. There SHOULD have been a change of venue, Judge O’Toole SHOULD 100% be removed, 2 of the jurors lied in their pretrial screenings so the penalty phase SHOULD be retried. **

BOSTON — Boston Marathon bombing victims say Dzhokhar Tsarnaev’s attempt to get his old legal team back together is a waste of taxpayers’ money.

Tsarnaev, locked up in a Colorado Supermax, has an Aug. 21 court date in Boston where his lawyers will begin to try to keep him out of the electric chair.

That status conference is before federal Judge George A. O’Toole Jr.

“Who’s paying for this?” said Liz Norden. “He blew up innocent people and we’re told it’s no one’s business to know how much his lawyers cost? It makes no sense.”

The Department of Justice has denied a Herald public records request for Tsarnaev’s legal bill while his case drags on in the courts.

Norden has attempted to make every hearing in a solemn show of support for the victims of the bombing, including her two boys who lost their right legs that terrible day on Boylston Street on April 15, 2013.

Marc Fucarile, woke up in a hospital with his right leg mostly gone and his left one possibly next, said Monday the seemingly never-ending case against the bomber is an insult to the city.

“Stop wasting taxpayers’ dollars just for greedy lawyers,” he said of Tsarnaev’s appeal of his death penalty sentence. “He was already judged by his peers. There should be no question he deserves the death penalty.

“Let’s just cut off this cash cow,” he added.

The bomber has questioned the bias of two jurors in his 2015 death penalty trial and won a partial victory in the First Circuit Court of Appeals in Boston.

The appeals court stated “the district court’s investigation fell short of what was constitutionally required” over this one issue. If bias is shown, the court adds, Tsarnaev will be “entitled to a new penalty-phase proceeding.”

The alleged bias is over social media postings about the bombing made by two jurors.

The appeals court has added “regardless of the outcome, (Tsarnaev) will spend the rest of his life in prison.”

Now the bomber is moving quickly to assemble his legal team, with Boston attorney William Fick filing an appeal to return to the case now that he is in private practice.

Tsarnaev is “legally indigent,” Fick writes, and the courts should allow him back on the case “in order to serve the interests of justice, judicial economy, continuity in representation.”

His motion also states attorneys Daniel Habib, Deirdre von Dornum, and Mia Eisner-Grynberg from the Federal Defenders of New York, are on his side of the bench. It’s not clear if all the lawyers are working pro bono or submitting a bill.

The New York group does offer free help to “persons charged with federal crimes who cannot afford to hire an attorney.”

The case remains in the Seaport federal court before the same judge as the alleged bias of two jurors is re-examined, the court announced Monday. Still, Tsarnaev does have a chance to avoid death.

The bombing killed Martin Richard, 8; Krystle Campbell, 29; and Lu Lingzi, 23. More than 260 people were injured and maimed. MIT Police Officer Sean Collier, 27, was shot execution-style days later by Tsarnaev and his brother Tamerlan, killed hours later in a firefight in Watertown.

Boston Police Officer Dennis Simmonds, 28, injured in the Watertown shootout, died in April 2014.

Tsarnaev is locked up in the Federal Correctional Complex Florence in Colorado — a Supermax called the “Alcatraz of the Rockies.”

[pockcock]

gift wrapper // jason newsted x reader 1.1

read it on ao3. content: detective!jason newsted. detective!reader. police!au. slow burn. warnings: other additional tags to be added. murder mystery. blood and gore. body horror. strangers to lovers. eventual smut. ptsd. gunshot wounds. plot armor. non-con elements. idiots in love. panic attacks. medical inaccuracies. inaccurate police procedures. thriller. mutual pining. the author has adhd.

January 31, 2011, Monday. 08:23 AM 

It was a cold but sunny Monday in Seattle.

You drove with your eyes on the lane, a song from the CD you mixed before hitting the road playing in your speakers, on your tongue, and your hands tapping out the rhythm on the wheel throughout Washington. The sun shone through the windshield, making you squint even through the lowered sun visor. You never expected Seattle to be this sunny on a cold winter day. You took your sunglasses sitting on the passenger seat and took a right turn.

You were a homicide detective, even if it was in a different state. You had concerns— everybody for the first couple of weeks, or months (maybe even years), could act like you were a rookie detective, regardless of your experience back in Boston. Even the person they were going to pair you up with. The jokes, pranks, and constant bullying were bound to happen. You hoped they weren’t as bad as the ones back in Boston.

You pulled over in front of the department, AC/DC wasn’t filling the space anymore. You looked around and listened for a while with your eyes closed. Seagulls, traffic, people, ships from a distance… So different from Boston . Everything felt almost the same, even the weather for fuck’s sake! I might as well have kept living there.

You grabbed a pack of Marlboro, a lighter from the glovebox and your jacket from the passenger seat sitting on top of a small box. You had filled it with your stuff; some files, a succulent, and a couple of pictures of your cat, thinking you might put them on your desk were they to give you one. You wore your jacket, felt the Boston PD badge sitting in your inner pocket, your gun in your hip, and put the cigarettes and the lighter in your left pocket before heading out. 

God , it was cold.

An officer escorted you down the hallway after you had introduced yourself to the front desk while unfamiliar faces observed you; some nosy, some curious, and some condescending. Not an unusual sight for a cop, especially a female one, feeling like a fish out of water really, but except this time, this wasn’t the first tank you were put in. So when you reached the lieutenant’s door, you turned around to look at them from your corner. 

It was their time to be observed.

He knocked and opened the door. “Lieutenant, it’s Detective Hunter from Boston PD.”

“Let her in.”

A pair of eyes found your figure when you walked in. Short, curly auburn hair he brushed back neatly, he had silver eyes with a blue hue. He was wearing a black sweatshirt that said Sepultura , and skinny black jeans. A big silver ring was decorating his right pinky finger and a digital watch on his left wrist. He had the demeanor of a cop yet you wondered if he was something else. Yet, you saw his gun on the right side of his hips and his unnecessarily thick back pocket. A regular wallet wouldn’t be this big without a badge. 

He was sitting with his elbows on his knees in front of a big desk with a man behind it. There were files and papers scattered on the desk that you assumed belonged to a murder. Some trophies, awards and medals behind him . The guy behind the desk gestured for you to sit on the chair in front of the desk. 

“Please sit.”

As you sat down, the curly-haired guy stood up and spoke. “Lou,” His voice was smooth, warm . He sounded shy yet so sure of himself, you wondered how he managed to speak with a tone like that. “Do you want me to leave?”

“You stay, Newsted.” Lou kept his eyes on you, Newsted sat back down. You figured you wouldn’t mind him staying here during the ‘welcome ceremony’. “Lieutenant Donovan,” he offered you his hand. “Donovan Beckett.”

“Detective Jason Newsted,” curly guy, too, offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

So, he was a detective.  

“Detective Perle Hunter,” you introduced yourself to both, shaking their hands. “Thank you for having me.”

Beckett smiled while opening one of the files in front of him. “Unusual spelling,” he spoke. You faintly saw your picture in the file. “Your resume doesn’t mention you speaking French.”

“Désolée,” you confessed with an awful accent, shaking your head. “My grandmother lived in France for eleven years. Hence the name.”

“It’s okay, we don’t need French in Seattle.” You forced a smile on his words. He leaned down toward the right side of the table, you heard a drawer opening and he rose back up with a golden badge and an ID card in his hand. “Here,” he glided them across the desk and you caught them. “You can return your previous ones to the front desk. They’ll take them to the county.”

You took the ID, it felt heavy in your hands, different. Seattle Police Dept , it said with your name, title, picture, and signature aside from other not-so-important details like the expiration date. You swiped your thumb over it before taking your wallet out to replace your Boston PD card with the new one. It felt odd. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Newsted sent a lopsided smile your way. “Welcome to Seattle PD.”

You returned his smile, and put your wallet back in its place. “Thanks.”

Beckett leaned back into his chair. “Did you find a place to live already?”

You felt Newsted’s gaze on you. Now, you did mind him staying here. “Yes, sir.” You avoided his eyes and kept yours on the Lou. “I, uh, found an apartment downtown. Not so far from the station.”

“Good, good.” He then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. When did you get here?”

“Saturday, sir.”

He shook a hand. “No need for formalities.” You smiled apologeticly and he continued. “I don’t wish to go hard on you after what you have been through–”

You interrupted. Maybe you could avoid the personal questions. “When can I start working on the case?” 

Rich laughs from both sides filled your ears. You forced a laugh as well.

“Eager, aren't you?” The laughs faded out and Beckett closed your file and took one of the pictures scattered around the desk. “Alright.” He showed the pictures of a woman’s head. “This is the girl we found today.”

You took the picture to inspect it further. The blonde woman had cloudy blue eyes and fair skin. Her eyes and mouth were open. Her head was sitting inside a pretty pink box next to an ID card and a slide phone. She was wrapped with a fuchsia, shiny ribbon, it was tied in a bow. Her makeup was done haphazardly, the person had no idea about what they were doing. Wrong shade of foundation, too much mascara, cheap blue eyeshadow, and red lipstick. Her long, curly hair was tied in a ponytail. 

The killer made the effort.

“Port Patrol found her this morning at dawn,” you heard Newsted’s voice. “The box was placed on a deck where the cameras have been broken for some time.”

“Patrol knew about the cameras?” you asked.

Newsted gave you an affirmative sound. “Ulrich knew a guy from Patrol and asked them to pay more attention there. Not a lot of boats on that deck.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Anyone can do anything.”

“And someone did during their shift change,” Beckett leaned forward on his elbows. “They said that the dock was fairly calm before they changed shifts. What do you think?”

“How many bodies have you found before this one?” An uncomfortable silence filled the room right as you spoke. You tore your eyes away from the picture to look at their surprised and concerned faces; brows furrowed and mouths gaped. “What?”

Beckett broke it. “We only found one .”

Newsted furrowed his brows. “Why, do you think there are other bodies?”

You looked at the lieutenant first and then Newsted. “Well,” a breathy, nervous laugh left your lips. “The pink ribbon with a bow, the box, the-the makeup,” you showed them the picture to emphasize your stuttering speech.

“Chopping her head, putting it in a box for the police to find it in a particular place at a particular time,” Newsted continued your words, turning his head towards Beckett. 

“Don’t you think it all looks so…” You were lost for words for a second. “Inconvenient and-and fancy for a one-time thing?”

Beckett remained silent. Newsted took another picture from the desk.

“Was the makeup done post-mortem?” You gave the picture back.

“We believe so but not confirmed yet. Hammett is still working on it.”

“What if it’s an ex-boyfriend situation?” Newsted asked. “Maybe he got crazy and butchered the poor girl. He could easily do this.”

“But then he wouldn't have left her phone and ID.”

He gave you the picture. “Maybe he wanted to humiliate her, or whatever. Maybe he wanted her to be known.” He then asked Beckett. “What do you think, Lou?”

Beckett didn't answer but directed his question to you. “Hunter?”

“I think this is the first of many,” you place the picture on the desk. “But Newsted could be right, we can’t be sure until we look further.”

The phone rang interrupting your speech. Lieutenant answered. “Yes?” A long pause before he finally said “Okay,” and hung up. “Ulrich needs you in the scene, Newsted.”

“What did he say?”

“They found some footprints. He wants you to take a look.” Beckett gathered the pictures and put them back in the file. “Take these,” he handed it to Newsted. “And take Hunter with you. Show her how to work a scene in Seattle.”

“Yes, Lou.” Newsted got up and pointed at the door with his head. “Let’s go.”

You rose from your chair, following your new partner’s steps. Just before you left the room, you heard Lou shouting your name. You stopped. “Yes, sir?”

He tossed your badge to you, you caught it midair. “Welcome to Seattle PD.”

a/n: Hello everyone! This is my first ever Metallica fic (and first ever multi-chapter fic in English), and I hope it won't be the last! This one will be a long, murder mystery featuring Load Era Jason 🥳🥳 I initially intended to have '86 Jason, but it didn't fit well with this fic :') I divided the first chapter into 6 after I realized 8k words would be a bit too much to read. I hope to have nailed the characterization of our boys. This was heavily inspired by the show "The Killing", I highly recommend that you watch it! A quick disclaimer: I'm not American, I have no idea how police procedures work there. I'm just an avid crime mystery show lover :') Please ignore any inaccuracies, I tried my best to research and find information. I also apologize for any grammar mistakes or anything that doesn't sound quite right. I'm not a native English speaker and I'm trying my best :') Enjoy! PS: I purposely gave the reader a name, I personally think "Y/N" looks a bit weird but if you don't like it please let me know so I can change it! Please leave constructive criticism so that I can improve! Thank you so much for reading <3

dividers by @cafekitsune

© 2024 pockcock. All rights reserved. Do not modify, copy, repost or translate my work.