Digital Extras

10.16.2001 00:05

A tough guy comes to dinner

For years, Bobby Buehne lived a double life -- as a player in the Providence underworld and as a police informant. Now he has a new identity and a new life, which the government gave him after he helped lock up a ruthless figure in the Rhode Island mob.

BY W. ZACHARY MALINOWSKI
JOURNAL STAFF WRITER

Bobby Buehne first noticed him standing alone at the bar.

The date was Sept. 18, 1992, and Buehne and Ronnie Coppola, the mob loan shark and bookmaker, were out for Friday night dinner with their friends at The Arch, an upscale restaurant on Providence's Federal Hill.

Their wives and girlfriends met them at about 7 o'clock.

Buehne watched the stranger approach the table, walking over to greet Coppola. They shook hands.

Buehne (pronounced Bee-nee) didn't recognize him, but he was obviously a somebody. He was rugged, standing over 6 feet and weighing more than 200 pounds. He clearly pumped weights and took care of himself.

Coppola invited him to pull up a chair and join the dinner party.

Then, Coppola singled out Buehne for an introduction.

"This is Kevin Hanrahan," he said.

At 39, KEVIN T. HANRAHAN was a professional. When the Italian mob needed somebody to collect gambling debts or give someone a beating, the work often went to the Irish strong-arm from Federal Hill.

Anytime there was a mob hit, Hanrahan topped the state police list of possible suspects. Where was Hanrahan? Was he locked up at the time? Did he know the victim?

Over the years, Hanrahan had spent time in prison for intimidating witnesses, tampering with juries, trafficking in drugs, and counterfeiting.

The Hanrahan legend was born in 1975. Responding to a call about a shooting, the Providence police arrived at Club Aries, on Atwells Avenue, and found Hanrahan sitting in a chair with a bullet in his chest.

Hanrahan, who remained conscious, refused to say who shot him, a decision that bolstered his stature in the underworld.

Hanrahan had long been the suspected killer of Raymond "Slick" Vecchio in a Federal Hill restaurant a decade earlier.

In 1990, Hanrahan had a role in a brazen power play inside the mob. He and three other hoodlums were nabbed in an attempt to kidnap mob associate Blaise J. Marfeo outside a restaurant on the East Side of Providence.

Three of the thugs were equipped with handcuffs, fake police uniforms, badges, a portable siren, a spotlight and a police scanner. The plan had been to abduct and extort Marfeo, a big bookmaker for the Patriarca crime family.

The plan was foiled when a Providence police officer spotted the trio slouching in what looked like an undercover police car. They were arrested, and one of them implicated Hanrahan.

The next day, Hanrahan surrendered to the police and was charged with conspiring to kidnap Marfeo.

The name Kevin Hanrahan meant nothing to Buehne. But he knew by the way Coppola introduced him that he should show respect.

Buehne stood to shake hands, and Hanrahan sized him up.

"Hey, he's a big guy," Hanrahan told Coppola. "You're not going to have him throw me out of here?"

Everyone laughed. Mixed drinks and a bottle of champagne were ordered. The three-hour dinner included orders of calamari and entrées such as chicken Antonetta.

THE GROUP AROUND the table had become Buehne's new circle of friends.

Among them were Ronnie Coppola's new bride, Paula, whom he had met at Lincoln Greyhound Park when she was 18. Coppola had divorced his longtime wife, Etta, and married Paula in Las Vegas. Paula was younger than his children from his first marriage.

Recently, Paula had given birth to their son, Nicholas.

Also at the table was Paulie Calenda, a millionaire businessman who ran New England Industries, a costume-jewelry manufacturing firm in South Providence.

Buehne had been introduced to Calenda by a friend who knew that Calenda was a big-money guy and owned property across the city. The failure of the state's credit unions had thrust Calenda into the news: he had more than $500,000 frozen at the Heritage Loan & Investment Co., on Federal Hill in Providence.

Buehne met with Calenda in the corner office of his rundown manufacturing plant on Potters Avenue. On the work floor, about two dozen Guatemalan immigrants assembled earrings and bracelet charms.

Buehne told Calenda that he had been trained as a plumber and could be of use. About a week later, Calenda and Buehne met for lunch, and immediately hit it off. Buehne was an up-and-coming mob associate, and the short, corpulent Calenda liked being around tough guys.

"Our fascination with money was something we could share," Buehne said.

Buehne and Calenda became inseparable. They went out to eat five nights a week. They sailed in Calenda's Sea Ray boat , Once Around, that he kept docked in East Greenwich. They traveled twice to Aruba, where Calenda kept a time-share condominium; they spent their days at the beach and nights in the casinos.

In Rhode Island, they spent Friday nights in the clubs and Saturday mornings puffing cigars and cruising Federal Hill in Calenda's gray Cadillac El Dorado. They hung out at Calenda's Cranston townhouse, and watched television shows about the mob on the Arts & Entertainment channel.

Calenda's wife, Gail-Ann, ran the office at New England Industries. She enjoyed sporting events and political fundraisers.

Calenda, nearly twice Buehne's age of 22, warned Buehne not to fall for a woman.

"There is no love, only money," Calenda told him.

When Buehne wasn't with Calenda, he was with Coppola. He hung out with Coppola at the Ace of Hearts social club, in North Providence, or at the Lincoln dog track -- where Coppola would lay down $5,000 bets on the simulcast horse races.

And when he wasn't with them, Buehne was often talking with two Providence police detectives.

DURING THE FRIDAY night dinner at The Arch, Coppola handed Hanrahan an invitation to his infant son's christening in October. After the ceremony, Calenda was going to host a party at the restaurant he owned in Warren, the Fore 'N Aft. Calenda was the child's godfather.

After dinner, Coppola reached into his trousers and peeled off about $350 to cover the tab. He also picked up the checks for three other parties in the restaurant. Buehne figured Coppola spent about $1,000 that night.

The partiers agreed to meet later at Jimmy Burchfield's Classic Restaurant, in North Providence, for dancing and more drinks. Hanrahan said that he would catch up with them; he was going to have another drink with someone at the bar.

At Burchfield's, the Coppola party got a table and ordered drinks. Paula played keno. About 45 minutes passed, and there was no sign of Hanrahan.

Sometime around 11 p.m., two made members of the Patriarca crime family, Bobby DeLuca and Eddie Lato, walked into Burchfield's. When Coppola spotted them, he sprung from his chair and hustled over. The three men then walked outside.

About 10 minutes later, Coppola returned, visibly shaken.

Nobody said anything for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, Buehne spoke up.

"Ronnie," he said, "what's going on?"

"We've got some big problems," Coppola said.

Tomorrow: Bobby Buehne's ties to the police -- and to the mob -- tighten.

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