A reporter asked me, 'How much does five million dollars weigh?' It seemed silly to say 'No comment' to a silly question, so I replied, 'It was heavy enough for me to think that it was excessive bail.' Well, you should never encourage these people, and by answering one question I opened myself up for a lot of attention. I was really getting grilled now, and I glanced at Bellarosa, who gave me a look of caution through his cigar smoke. 'Mr Sutter,' asked a newspaper reporter, 'you said in court that you were delayed by four cars on your way here. How did they delay you?' 'No comment.'
'Did they cut you off?'
'No comment.'
'Do you really think those cars were driven by people from Alphonse Ferragamo's office?'
'No comment.'
And so it went. I seemed to have a permanent microphone under my nose now, recording my 'no comment' for posterity. I spotted the Cadillac parked illegally in the square about fifty yards away, with Lenny behind the wheel. Then I noticed Vinnie approaching the courthouse with two patrolmen in tow. Meanwhile, the press were really getting on my nerves. I glanced again at my client and saw that he was still smiling, still puffing away, and still at ease despite being surrounded by aggressive A-type personalities. But though he was at ease, Bellarosa did not have the reputation of being a publicity hound. He could handle it, but he did not seek it out as did some of his predecessors, certain of whom were – partly as a result of their fondness for talking too much to the press – dead.
A particularly persistent and pesky female reporter, whom I recognized from one of the TV networks, was bugging me about the alibi. She asked me, 'Are you certain it was Frank Bellarosa you saw?'
'No comment.'
'You mean you're not sure it was Frank Bellarosa.'
'No comment.'
'But you said it was Frank Bellarosa.'
And on and on she went, as if we were married or something. 'Mr Sutter,' she said very snottily, 'Mr Ferragamo has five witnesses who put Frank Bellarosa at the scene of the murder. Are you saying they're all liars? Or are you the liar?' It must have been the heat, and I guess my own state of mind, or maybe that woman's tone of voice finally got to me. Anyway, I snapped back, 'Ferragamo's witnesses are liars, and he knows they are liars. This whole thing is a frame-up, a personal vendetta against my client, and an attempt to start trouble between-' I got my mouth under control, then glanced at Bellarosa, who touched his index finger to his lips.
'Trouble between who? Rival mobs?'
Someone else, a Mafia groupie or something, asked, 'Trouble with his own mob?
Trouble with his underboss? With Sally Da-da?'
Mafia politics were not my strong point, but obviously the initiated knew all sorts of underworld gossip and they thought I did, too. 'Trouble with who?' asked someone else. 'With the Colombian drug kings? With Juan Carranza's friends?'
'Is it true that the Mafia is trying to push out the Colombians?' 'Mr Sutter, did you say in court that Alphonse Ferragamo ordered people to run you off the road?'
I thought someone already asked that question.
'Mr Sutter, are you saying that the U.S. Attorney is framing your client?' Mr Sutter, blah, blah, blah. I had this image of the television set over the bar at The Creek. I wonder if people really do look heavier on TV. I hope not. I could hear my pals now. 'Look at him.' 'He's getting fat.' 'He's sweating like a pig.' 'His tie is crooked.' 'How much is he getting paid for that?' 'His father must be rolling over in his grave.' My father is actually alive and well in Europe.
Finally, the two cops, with Vinnie encouraging them on, got through to us. Frank bid the press fond adieu, waved, smiled, and followed Vinnie and the two cops through the throng with me bringing up the rear. We got out to the street, and Lenny inched the car closer through the onlookers. I was annoyed that the government could set the stage for a media circus, then not provide crowd control. Actually, I never realized how many annoying things the government did. Vinnie got to the Cadillac and opened the rear door. Bellarosa ducked inside, and one of the cops said, 'Take it easy, Frank.'
Bellarosa said to the two cops, 'Thanks, boys. I owe you one.' Meanwhile, I can't even get a cop to interpret complex and contradictory parking signs for me. But that was yesterday. Today, the cop near the open car door touched his cap as I slid in beside the don. What a screwy country. Vinnie had jumped into the passenger's seat up front, and Lenny pulled away, moving slowly until he was clear of the crowd, then he gassed it. We headed downtown, then Lenny swung west toward the World Trade Center, then downtown again to Wall Street. Obviously, he was trying to lose anyone who might be following.
We passed my office building, the J. P. Morgan Building at 23 Wall Street, and though I was still supposed to work there, I felt a sudden nostalgia for the old place.
We drove around for a while, no one saying much, except that Vinnie and Lenny were congratulating the don ad nauseam about his great escape, as though he had something to do with it. I really detest flunkies.
Bellarosa said very little in return, but at one point he leaned over to me.
'You did real good, Counsellor. Right up until the end there.'
I didn't reply.
He continued, 'You got to be careful what you say to the press. They twist things around.'
I nodded.
He went on, 'The press ain't lookin' for facts. They think they are, but they want a good story. Sometimes a good story has no facts. Sometimes it's funny. They think this stuff is all funny. This stuff with the Mafia and all. The big Cadillacs, the cigars, the fancy suits. Somehow they think this is all funny. Capisce? That's okay. That's better than them thinking it's not funny. So you keep it funny. You give them funny stuff. You're a funny guy. So lighten up. Make it all sound funny, like it's a big joke. Understand?'
'Capisco.'
'Yeah. You did fine with that lady judge. Alphonse fucked himself up. He talks too much. Every time he opens his mouth, somebody wants to put their fist in it. He's pissed off now, but he's gonna be a lot more pissed off when the press starts asking him about the car bullshit this morning and the frame-up thing. You didn't have to say all that shit. You know?'
'Frank, if you don't like the way-'
He patted my knee. 'Hey, you did okay. Just a few points I gotta make so you know. Okay? Hey, I walked. Right?'
'Right.'
We kept driving around lower Manhattan. Frank ordered Lenny to pull over at a newsstand, and Vinnie got out and bought the Post for Frank, the Wall Street Journal for me, and some medical journals for himself, mostly gynaecology and proctology. Lenny shared the journals with Vinnie at stoplights. I like to see people try to improve their minds.
I had some paperwork with me relating to the bail: the receipt for five million dollars, the bail forfeiture warning, and other printed matter that I looked over. I also had the arrest warrant now, and the charge sheet, which I now read. Most important, I had a copy of the indictment, which ran to about eighty pages. I wanted to read it at my leisure, but for now, I perused it, discovering that, indeed, all the evidence against Frank Bellarosa was in the form of five witness statements. There was no physical evidence putting him at the scene of the crime, and all the witnesses had Hispanic names.
I had never asked Bellarosa about the actual murder, and I only vaguely remembered the press accounts of it. But from what I could glean from the witness statements, Juan Carranza, driving his own car, a Corvette, left the Garden State Parkway at about noon on January fourteenth, at the Red Bank exit. With him was his girlfriend, Ramona Velarde. A car in front of the Corvette came to a stop on the single-lane exit ramp, and Carranza was forced to stop also. Two men then exited the car behind Carranza, walked right up to his car, and one of them fired a single bullet through his side window, striking Carranza in the face. The assassin then tried the driver's door, and finding it unlocked, he opened it and fired the remaining four bullets from the revolver into Carranza's head. The girlfriend was untouched. The assassin then threw the revolver on the girlfriend's lap, and he and his companion got into the front car that had blocked the exit ramp, abandoning their car behind Carranza's. The witnesses to this assassination were Ramona Velarde and four men who were in a car behind the car from which
