When the Pigeon Coops Come Down
An FBI agent spent 6 years inside the mafia as Donnie Brasco. He befriended a captain who loved pigeons and trusted him completely. When the truth came out, only one of them survived.
1976. New York City.
Truck hijackings were costing hundreds of thousands of dollars.
The mob would hijack trucks, steal the cargo, and sell it to fences.
The FBI needed someone on the inside. They chose Joe Pistone.
I always worked undercover. Bank robberies. Prostitution. Gambling.
Growing up in the neighborhood, you always know who the mob guys are.
My family's rule was simple. Keep away from those guys.
The FBI created a cover. A jewel thief named Donnie Brasco.
We picked jewel thief because you can't get involved in violence.
Not many jewel thieves in jail for murder.
Pistone left FBI headquarters with a new ID. He would not return for over 6 years.
He rented an apartment in Manhattan. Left his wife and kids in New Jersey.
The plan was to hit bars and restaurants where these guys hung out.
Get my face seen. Get known. Hopefully start a conversation.
For 6 months he sat at bars. Ordered meals. Ordered drinks. Hung around.
You can't form a pattern. Same place, same day, same time. That's how you get caught.
It's not a 9 to 5 job. It's 7 days a week.
Did I enjoy it? I endured it. I'm not really a bar guy. I don't drink.
After 6 months, Pistone made his move.
He showed a barman a package of diamonds. Asked for $10,000.
The barman didn't say a word. Just put them in his pocket.
Two weeks later, an envelope was waiting. The money was inside.
Now he knows what I am. I don't have to spell it out.
The barman started introducing Donnie to contacts. After hours joints. Gambling spots.
One introduction would change everything.
His name was Jilly. A fence. A hijacker. And a made man.