of alibi, Mr Sutter? I want to hear what alibi you have.' He looked at the judge. 'Your Honour, I have five witnesses who have testified under oath in front of a grand jury, who have implicated Frank Bellarosa in the murder of Juan Carranza. The grand jury voted to indict the defendant based on this testimony. What possible alibi could the defence counsel present here…?' He threw up his hands in a dramatic gesture. 'Oh, this is inane. Really, Mr Sutter. Really. You have wasted my time and everyone's time.'
He really looked pissed off. Really. But I was more pissed off. In fact, the more this jerk spoke, the more I realized he was a ruthless, egocentric media hound. I said to him, loud enough for everyone to hear, 'Mr Ferragamo, I have the licence plate numbers of four cars that attempted to delay my appearance here in court. I believe that when I run those numbers through the DMV, I will find those cars are registered to the U.S. Attorney's office. I believe that you engaged in an unlawful act to keep-' 'How dare you? How dare you?'
'How dare you?' I shot back, doing a little word stressing of my own. 'How dare you obstruct-' 'Are you insane?'
I mean, I was really hot now. Needless to say, it's not a good idea to make an enemy of a man like this, but what the hell, I had enemies in high places now: the IRS, the FBI, The Creek, the Stanhope dynasty and their attorneys, and so forth. What was one more? I said, 'I'm not the one displaying aberrant behaviour in open court.'
'What?'
The crowd loved it. I mean, really loved it. There they sat, only ten minutes before, bored out of their minds with pro forma early-morning arraignments, and suddenly, in walks Frank Bellarosa, then his button-down attorney, who turns out to be a little bit nuts, and the ambitious Alphonse Ferragamo, who has completely lost control of himself. I glanced into the courtroom and saw reporters scribbling furiously, artists looking up and down between their pads and the bench as though they were following a vertical Ping-Pong game, and the rest of the crowd, smiling attentively, like people who had been sitting through a dull opera only to discover there was a nude scene in the second act. Bellarosa and I made eye contact again, and he smiled at me. Meanwhile, Alphonse and I were getting in good jabs at each other, not really addressing any issue except the issue of egos. Judge Rosen let us spar for about a minute, not wanting to be thought of as a killjoy, but finally she rapped her gavel. 'That's enough, gentlemen.' And she used the term loosely. 'Mr Sutter,' she said, 'that is a serious accusation, but even if it were true, it has no bearing on this discussion. And regarding any alibi you say your client has for the day of the alleged crime, Mr Sutter, such alibi evidence may be considered by the court in determining whether to set bail or not. However, I don't see how I can give your argument any credence unless you happen to have witnesses in this court. And even if you did, Mr Sutter, I am not prepared to delay this morning's arraignments by swearing in witnesses at this time.' She added, 'I'm sorry, Mr Sutter, but the question of bail must be decided at a future session -' The gavel went up again.
'Judge,' I said quickly, 'Judge, on the day in question, January fourteenth of this year -'
'Mr Sutter -'
'My client, Your Honour, was, in fact, inspecting property adjacent to my property on Long Island. And though he was unknown to me personally at that time, I recognized him from newspapers and television, and I realized that I had, in fact, seen Mr Frank Bellarosa.'
Judge Rosen leaned toward me and waited for the gasps and all that to subside.
'Mr Sutter, are you telling me that you are Mr Bellarosa's alibi?'
'Yes, Your Honour.'
'You saw him on January fourteenth?'
'Yes, Your Honour. I was home that day. I checked my daybook.' Actually I hadn't, but I should have before I committed perjury. I continued, 'I was riding my horse and saw Mr Bellarosa with two other gentlemen walking around the property that he subsequently purchased. I saw them and they waved to me and I returned the wave, though we did not speak. I was not more than thirty feet from Frank Bellarosa and recognized him immediately. This was at nine A.M., then I saw them get into a black Cadillac at about noon and leave. Mr Carranza, was murdered at about noon as his car left an exit of the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey, about eighty miles from where I saw Mr Bellarosa at the same time.' What could Alphonse Ferragamo say? Only one word and he said it. 'Liar.' I gave him my best withering Wasp look, and he actually turned his oyster eyes away.
Judge Rosen sat quietly for a full minute, probably wondering why she had wanted so badly to be a judge. Finally, she asked me, 'How much money do you actually have there, Counsellor?'
'Five million, Judge. Four in assignable assets, one million in cash.' 'Good. I'll take it. See the clerk downstairs.' She banged her gavel as Ferragamo bellowed. Judge Rosen ignored him and said, 'Next case!' On the way to see the district clerk down in the basement, Bellarosa said to me, 'See, I knew you could do it.'
My stomach was churning, my head ached, and yes, my heart ached. Never in a billion years would I have imagined that I would perjure myself in court for any reason, let alone to spring a Mafia don.
But neither did I ever think I would be charged with criminal tax fraud for a stupid misjudgement. Nor would I have imagined that a U.S. Attorney would frame a man because of a personal grudge, or try to obstruct justice by delaying me on my way to court, then trying to send me on a wild-goose chase to Brooklyn. Yes, I know that two wrongs don't make a right – that's one of the first ethical lessons I learned as a small boy – but part of life and part of growing up is the ability to do what has to be done to survive. When the stakes go from baseball cards and pennies to life and death, then sometimes you make adjustments. Concessions, I guess you'd say. Sometimes you lie. The history of the world is filled with dead martyrs who would not compromise. I used to admire them. Now I think that most of them were probably very foolish. Bellarosa said to me, 'See what a prick that guy is?'
I didn't reply.
He went on, 'You pissed him off. I didn't want you to do that. It's personal for him, but it's not personal for me. Capisce?'
'Frank. Shut up.'
I was still sort of in a daze as I moved through the corridors of the courthouse, reporters with pads and pencils swarming around us. They can't bring cameras or tape recorders into the courthouse, but why they let these crazy people inside at all is beyond me. Freedom of the press is one thing, but blocking the hallway is inconvenient and probably a misdemeanour. Finally, out on the courthouse steps, minus my heavy briefcase and my virginity, we ran into the press again, who had fallen back to regroup and join up with their cameramen and photographers.
Reporters were asking all sorts of pertinent and dangerous questions, but all they were getting from the don in return were wisecracks, such as: 'Hey, what're you all doing here? No autographs. You want me to smile? Get my good side.' And so forth.
Also, he knew some of the reporters by name. 'Hey, Lorraine, long time. Where'd you get that tan?' Lorraine smiled at the charming man. 'Tim, you still working for the paper? They don't know about your drinking?' Ha, ha, ha. A TV reporter got his microphone under Bellarosa's nose and asked, 'Is there a power struggle going on between the Mafia and the Medellin cartel over the control of the cocaine trade?'
'The who and the what over the which? Talk English.' A more sensible reporter asked, 'Do you think Alphonse Ferragamo is pursuing a personal vendetta against you?'
Frank lit up a big cigar, Monte Cristo number four. 'Nah. People lie to him about me, and he's got to follow up. He's my good goombah.' Everyone laughed. 'You happy to be free this morning, Frank?'
He puffed on his stogie. 'I gotta tell ya, I had the worst breakfast of my life in there. That's what I call cruel and unusual punishment.' That got a good laugh, and as it became obvious that Mr Bellarosa was not going to make any newsworthy statements, the emphasis shifted to the entertainment value of the story. Frank was good entertainment. Someone asked him, 'How much did that suit cost you, Frank?'
'Peanuts. I go to a little guy on Mott Street. I don't pay uptown prices. You could use a good tailor yourself, Ralph.'
So the don held court for a few minutes as we made our way down the forty-six steps toward the street, surrounded by about fifty members of the press, including cameramen and photographers. Worse, a crowd of several hundred onlookers had materialized. It doesn't take much to draw a crowd in New York. I was not being completely ignored, of course, and reporters who couldn't get the don's attention were settling for me, but I was just reciting my mantra, which was, 'No comment, no comment, no comment.' We were near the bottom of the steps, but the crowd around us was so thick now, I couldn't see any way to get to the street where Lenny was supposed to meet us with the car.
