THOMAS Riccio I spent a day with when he hustled Anna Nicole’s di aries. Thomas Riccio, celebrity mem orabilia-ist, has turned scurvy deals in his time. Thomas Riccio is a felon who’s in the news for being OJ‘s wingman in that gun-heavy Vegas heist. Thomas Riccio will be the centerpiece in OJ’s April trial. I’ve written steadily about Thomas Riccio of late. So this week, when a caller from the West Coast said, “It’s Thomas Riccio,” I tightened. Thomas Riccio didn’t like roughing up. Didn’t like the stuff I’d written.
“I got a beef,” said the voice on the phone.
“But, Tom, you have a record. I only wrote the truth.”
“Naaahhh, that doesn’t bother me. The problem is you spell my name wrong. It’s not ‘Riggio.’ It’s R-I-C-C-I-O. Since that OJ bust, I’m all over the headlines. Everybody spells my name right but you. It’s R-I-C-C-I-O.”
Doing the quickest thing I could think of, I blamed my editor. “Maybe she changed it, Tom. She probably thought I was wrong. Must be her stupid fault.”
“Yeah, well, have your paper get its act straight. It’s R-I-C-C-I-O, not ‘Riggio.’ Friends in Jersey read you every day and say every time you mention me you spell my name wrong. That upsets them.”
“So you’re not bitching about how I handled you?”
“Naaaahh. I don’t care. Publicity is publicity. Just spell the name right. R-I-C-C-I-O. It’s got my friends upset.”
RICCIO’s exposed the world of collectibles in “Busted,” a Phoenix Book dealing with stolen goods, prison, escape, parole, the shady life. “The original title was ‘Why I Did It,’ but the publisher Michael Viner changed it because it could sound too much like that OJ thing, ‘If I Did It.’ The cover has two mug shots – mine and OJ’s.
“Comes out April, but Vegas police want to subpoena it now before the defense sees it. I write A-to-Z things the cops know nothing about. Hey, I remember the day before OJ’s arrest he called and said, ‘Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to care about this story a week from now. This will all blow over . . . all be forgotten. . . . I got it all handled.’
“When they asked me to testify, I was scared. Look, I got a record. And I told them the truth. I knew nothing of guns. [OJ]’d said to me, ‘Tom, would I lie to you? I didn’t know nothin’ about guns in advance.’ But, hey, the bail bondsman made a tape of OJ admitting he knew, and the police confirmed they have even another tape telling people to bring a gun. But if that’s the truth, he’s fried.”
However, the hot evidence is Riccio’s video of what went down in that Vegas hotel room. How in the midst of this tumultuous heist could he have made a video?
“I’d bought a little 59-buck Olympus digital recorder at Radio Shack the day before. If I’m feeling concern, I like back-up proof. So I placed it on top of a cabinet. It tapes 14 hours, and nobody saw it. Police later came in, crime scene, taped everything, ransacked the place. It was there between two soda cups on top of that armoire. . . . When the cops said, ‘You gotta get out of here,’ I just reached up and took it. Two seconds more I’d have blown it.
“I don’t know if you should write this yet, but if you do, the name’s ‘R-I-C-C-I-O.’ ”
NEWMARKET Press submitted “phal lographics” to Oxford English Dic tionary to describe the “art” in their new book “Superbad: The Drawings.” In an intro, the film’s Seth Rogen explains one character needed to draw that part of a male. Oy, whatever happened to Doris Day movies? . . . Las Vegas Review Journal just reported that they’ll soon run gambling on new Hong Kong-Vegas chartered flights. It’s about Vegas, and it was featured in a Vegas newspaper. Hot-diggety! Me, I printed this Jan. 28. . . . I’ve read scientists successfully slowed the speed of light from 186,000 mph to 38. You think it’s because when Britney was high enough to be circling Jupiter, she nailed a speeding ticket? . . . Promoted to staff writer, Village Voice big-mouth Michael Musto, who writes La Dolce Musto, added the blog “La Daily Musto.” I now musto stopo plugging Michael. . . . Rumor. Just a rumor. Only a rumor. But it’s rumored, to attract women and blacks, McCain might grab Condoleeza for VP.
SO this mild-mannered exec’s suffering through airport security. They stop him. Signal him to move aside for a heavy-duty search. They swab his shoes, pat down his body, check for some unknown metal object. Then they riffle through his Louis Vuitton duffle. Aha! The hidden dangerous weapon is uncovered. A roll of quarters.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.