My brother Pete must be spinning in his grave over this Eric Adams indictment. That’s because his grave is by choice right behind that of William Marcy “Boss” Tweed’s headstone on a grassy knoll (there’s an image) in the sprawling necropolis of Brooklyn’s Green-Wood Cemetery. I remember as Pete’s health deteriorated from diabetes in his late 70s when he went grave shopping in “The Green-Wood.” He specifically asked if there were any plots available near Tweed’s. He was delighted when he found one because he thought that if he was buried behind the most corrupt pol in the city’s history he could keep an eye on him into eternity. “I’d rather be in the company of a sinner than a saint,” Pete explained, smiling. “Tweed had one of the best job recommendations for a constituent asking for work. ‘This man understands addition, subtraction and silence. Hire him.’ ” Obviously some of the people Adams hired didn’t have that vital last quality as they are now spilling on their boss to the feds. I thought about that after Adams’s police, education, and health commissioner resigned. After his top lawyer and corporation counsel quit. After his Department of Buildings commissioner pleaded guilty to corruption. After the guy who procured chicken for our public schools was sentenced to prison for allowing tainted meat to be served to schoolkids in exchange for a $150,000 bribe. After school execs were caught taking their own kids to Disney World on public money earmarked for homeless kids. Adams has ruled over an administration that would have been the envy of Mr. Tweed. And, after all this, Adams last week had the audacity to appoint seven new city judges. Which reminded me of another of Tweed’s lines that Pete often quoted. “It’s better to know the judge than the law.” Problem is Adams now needs to know a federal judge. In the early 1970s Pete and a gang of other politicos formed a mock political club called the Tweed Democrats to celebrate the most audacious thief in NYC government who had served as an alderman, congressman and machine boss of Tammany Hall. In 1871 Tweed was convicted on 102 felony counts including forgery and embezzlement of hundreds of millions in public funds. Tweed was sentenced to 12 years in prison, then escaped, fled to Cuba and then Spain where he was caught and returned. Tweed died of pneumonia on April 12, 1878 in the Ludlow Street Jail on the Lower East Side. Pete later featured Tweed as a prominent character in his 2003 novel “Forever.” After Pete died in August of 2020 at age 85 we laid him to rest behind the bones of Boss Tweed. A year after Pete died, a local Park Sloper wrote to Brooklyn Borough President Eric Adams suggesting the corner of 12th St. and Seventh Ave., in Park Slope, where we were raised, should be named after Pete Hamill. Adams — then the presumptive new mayor of New York — agreed. So did local City Councilman Brad Lander who was destined for the comptroller’s seat. Both spoke at the Pete Hamill street naming. Adams and Lander posed for a photo with my sister, Kathleen, brother, Brian, and me holding the Pete Hamill street sign. I looked at Adams and Lander and said, “This might be the last time you two will be smiling in the same photo.” They both laughed. We all did. I’d heard all the rumors about the company Adams kept as Brooklyn beep with dirty real estate speculators, multi-ethnic wise guys, and insurance grifters. None stopped the juggernaut of his mayoralty run. There was talk. No proof. I was just happy to see my late brother’s name adorn the street corner where our immigrant parents raised their seven American kids. Adams made that happen and we were grateful. But I always suspected that his sketchy alliances would follow him like a second shadow from Brooklyn Borough Hall to City Hall where the spotlight gets much brighter and way hotter. Yesterday, that spotlight shone on a 57-page, five-count indictment of Adams — the very first of a NYC mayor — claiming $100,000 in bribes and illegal campaign contributions from foreign nationals and ripping off matching taxpayer funds. Shades of Boss Tweed. And so my brother Pete must have been spinning in his grave in the shadow of Tweed’s headstone knowing that the pol who named a Brooklyn street corner for him was in the running to top his Green-Wood Cemetery next door neighbor as the most corrupt pol in New York history. Hamill is a former Daily News columnist.