For somebody who’s supposed be in such poor health, Whitey Bulger was able to pick out his little brother Billy in a crowded courtroom and mouth a cheerful hello even before he made it to the defendant’s table.
And for a guy whose moll, Cathy Greig, was telling the neighbors back in Santa Monica that he had Alzheimer’s, Whitey seemed like he still had his fastball. He didn’t miss a beat when the judge asked him if he could afford a lawyer.
“Well,’’ he replied, “I could if you’d give me my money back.’’
Once a wiseguy, always a wiseguy.
Patricia Donahue, the wife of a man Whitey Bulger stands accused of cutting to shreds with a machine gun, was sitting in the back of the courtroom, shaking her head at Whitey’s trademark insolence.
“He’s worried about his assets?’’ Pat Donahue said. “He should be worried about his ass.’’
With Whitey, it was always about the money. Whitey is absolutely obsessed with getting back that 800 large the feds seized from his the rent-controlled apartment in California. (Note to Santa Monica rent-control board: You might want to check your tenants a little more closely out there.)
Whitey didn’t say anything about the 30 guns they grabbed. But, then, guns are a dime a dozen. Eight-hundred grand doesn’t grow on trees, you know.
The government, God bless ’em, said they would oppose Whitey trying to get the taxpayers to pay for his defense. Maybe the Justice Department could give that $800,000 to the Donahues to make up for the $6 million they refused to pay them last year under a court order.
There were some interesting seating arrangements in Courtroom 10 at the federal courthouse where, if everything goes right, Whitey will be spending so much time in the coming years that they’ll have to charge him rent.
On one side, Margaret McCusker, Greig’s twin sister, sat in the front row. Billy Bulger sat in the second row, between two of his sons, right behind McCusker, with whom he chatted easily.
On the other side of the courtroom, there sat a few dozen of the people whose loved ones ended up in shallow graves or hard pavement after being shot, stabbed, strangled, garroted, and who knows what else by someone the government says is Whitey Bulger — the same Whitey Bulger the government, in the guise of the FBI, protected throughout that bloody reign of terror.
The Donahues filled a row. Pat, her sons Michael Jr., Shawn, and Tommy. Michael’s wife, Malissa, put a comforting hand on her husband’s back.
“I’m here for my husband,’’ Pat said.