He smiled. "Yeah, we shoulda known they'd pull some stunt. I never got to FBI headquarters neither. Mancuso gets this call on the radio, and next thing I know, we're pulling up to the back of the courthouse. You see what I mean? Fucking Alphonse."

Mancuso came through the rail and stood a few feet from us. Bellarosa said to me, loud enough for him to hear, "They wanted to get you over to FBI headquarters where they were going to jerk you around until this was over in court. But I dragged my ass through the booking. Fucked up six sets of prints.'' He laughed and poked me in the ribs. "I knew you'd figure it out. You're a smart guy. Hey, we leaving here together?"

"Maybe."

Judge Rosen said, "Mr. Sutter? Do you need a moment?"

I turned back to the bench. "No, Your Honor."

She said to Mr. Mancuso, "Please relate the circumstances of the defendant's arrest."

Mr. Mancuso did so, very precisely, professionally, and unemotionally, leaving out only the conversation that he and I had had regarding my midlife crisis.

Judge Rosen said to him, "What you're saying, Mr. Mancuso, is that Mr. Bellarosa appeared to be expecting you, and he made no attempt to flee or resist arrest."

"That is correct."

"Thank you, Mr. Mancuso. Please remain in the court."

"Yes, Your Honor.'' Mancuso turned and looked at me, then at Bellarosa, but I could read nothing in his face but weariness.

He took a seat at the prosecution table.

Judge Rosen said to me, "It appears that the accused made no attempt to resist or flee. However, I am not going to grant bail based solely on that fact. Unless you can convince me otherwise, Mr. Sutter, and do so very quickly, I am going to order that the accused be taken to the Metropolitan Correction Center right now to await trial."

We did not want that, did we? So I looked at Judge Rosen and said, "Your Honor, I also want to bring to your attention the fact that my client has never been convicted of a violent crime in any jurisdiction. He has, in fact, no history of violence.'' Someone in the courtroom laughed. "Further, Your Honor, my client is a legitimate businessman whose-''-I could actually hear some tittering behind me. People are so cynical these days-"whose absence from his companies would impose an undue hardship on him, would interfere with his livelihood, and with the livelihoods of people who depend on my client for employment-"

The laughing was becoming a little more overt now, and Judge Rosen, too, smiled, but then caught herself and banged her gavel. "Order!"

Miss Larkin, I noticed, was smiling also, and so was the court reporter, the two marshals, and the courtroom deputy. Only Frank and John were not smiling.

Judge Rosen motioned me to approach the bench, and I did. She leaned over and our faces were only inches apart. We could have kissed. She whispered to me. "Mr. Sutter, at your request, I let you say your piece, but this is really very silly, and you're wasting my time and making a fool of yourself. Now, I understand the pressure you must be under to keep your client out of jail, but you can forget it. He can go to jail and await a more formal bail hearing where you may present more substantial evidence than your own characterization of him as a gentle man and a good citizen. I have a lot of arraignments before me today, Mr. Sutter, and I'd like to get moving on them.'' She added, "A few days or weeks in jail won't kill him."

I looked her in the eye. "But it will. Your Honor, at least let me say what I have to say. Can we retire to your chambers?"

"No. Your client is not any different from anyone else who will come before me today."

"But he is is different, Judge. You know that and so do I. This courtroom is packed with newspeople, and they're not here to report on the general state of the criminal justice system. They have, in fact, been tipped off by the U.S. Attorney's office to be here at your court to see Frank Bellarosa led away in cuffs.'' I added, "The press knew before even you or I knew that Frank Bellarosa would be in this courtroom." different, Judge. You know that and so do I. This courtroom is packed with newspeople, and they're not here to report on the general state of the criminal justice system. They have, in fact, been tipped off by the U.S. Attorney's office to be here at your court to see Frank Bellarosa led away in cuffs.'' I added, "The press knew before even you or I knew that Frank Bellarosa would be in this courtroom."

Judge Rosen nodded. "That may be true, Mr. Sutter. But it doesn't change the charge or the general policy of refusing bail in cases of homicide."

Still tete-a-tete, I whispered, "Your Honor, my client may or may not be involved in so-called organized crime. But if he is who the press alleges he is, you must be aware that no major figure such as Mr. Bellarosa has fled U.S. jurisdiction for many decades."

"So what?'' She looked at me a moment, then said, "Mr. Sutter, I sense that you are not a criminal lawyer and that you are not familiar with Federal Court. Correct?"

I nodded.

"Well, Mr. Sutter, this is another world, different, I'm sure, from the one you come from."

You can say that again, lady. But good Lord, do I really look and sound like some sort of Wall Street Wasp, or worse yet, a la-di-da society lawyer from Long Island? I said to Judge Rosen, "I'm here to see that justice is done. I may not know how things are usually done here, but I know that my client has a right under Constitutional law to have a fair bail hearing." But good Lord, do I really look and sound like some sort of Wall Street Wasp, or worse yet, a la-di-da society lawyer from Long Island? I said to Judge Rosen, "I'm here to see that justice is done. I may not know how things are usually done here, but I know that my client has a right under Constitutional law to have a fair bail hearing."

"He does. Next week."

"No, Judge. Now."

Her eyebrows rose, and she was about to throw me out and put Bellarosa in the slammer, but as luck would have it, Miss Larkin interrupted. Obviously Miss Larkin didn't like all this talk that she couldn't hear, so she said, "Your Honor, may I speak?"

Judge Rosen looked at her. "All right."

Miss Larkin came closer to the bench but spoke in a normal volume. "Judge, whether or not the accused came into custody peacefully is not relevant in determining bail when the charge is murder. Nor is this the time or place to consider other circumstances that defense counsel might wish to put before the court. The government has reason to believe that the accused committed murder, and is a danger to the community, and has the resources and ample reason to flee the country if released on bail."

Judge Rosen, who had had enough of me a minute before, now felt obligated, I think, to give the defense the last word before she kicked me out. She looked at me. "Mr. Sutter?"

I glanced at Miss Larkin, who still reminded me of Carolyn. I had an urge to scold her but said instead to her, "Miss Larkin, the suggestion that my client is a danger to the community is ludicrous.'' I turned to Judge Rosen and continued, loud enough now for everyone to hear, "Your Honor, this is a middle-aged man who has a home, a wife, three children, and no history of violence.'' I couldn't help but glance back at Mr. Mancuso, who made a funny face, sort of a wince as if I'd stepped on his foot. I continued, "Judge, I have here in this briefcase the names and addresses of all the companies that my client is associated with.'' Well, maybe not all all, but most. "I have here, also, my client's passport, which I am prepared to surrender to the court. I have here also-"

Just then, the side door swung open, and in strode Alphonse Ferragamo, looking none too happy. Ferragamo was a tall, slender man with a hooked nose set between eyes that looked like tired oysters. He had thin, sandy hair and pale, thin lips that needed blood or lip rouge.

His presence caused a stir in the court because nearly everyone recognized him; such was his ability to keep his face before the public. Ferragamo had been called an Italian Tom Dewey, and it was no secret that he had his eye on either the governor's mansion or, a la Tom Dewey, the bigger house in Washington. His major problem in running for elective office, I thought, was that he had a face that no one liked. But I guess no one wanted to tell him that.

Judge Rosen, of course, knew him and nodded to him but said to me, "Continue."

So, I continued. "I have here, too, the ability to post a substantial bail, enough to-"

"Your Honor,'' interrupted Alphonse Ferragamo, ignoring all court etiquette. "Your Honor, I can't believe believe that the court would even that the court would even entertain entertain a discussion of bail in a case of willful and wanton a discussion of bail in a case of willful and wanton murder murder, in a case of execution-style murder murder, a case of drug-related, underworld assassination."

The jerk went on, describing the murder of Juan Carranza with more adjectives and adverbs than I thought anyone could muster for a single act. Also, he was into word stressing, which I find annoying in court, almost whiny.

Judge Rosen did not look real pleased with Alphonse Ferragamo charging into her court like-pardon the expression-gangbusters, and running off at the mouth. In fact, she said to Alphonse, "Mr. Ferragamo, a man's liberty is at stake, and defense counsel has indicated that he wishes to present certain facts to the court which may influence the question of bail. Mr. Sutter was speaking as you entered."

But Alphonse did not take the hint and put his mouth into gear again. Clearly, the man was agitated, and for whatever reason-justice or personal vendetta-Alphonse Ferragamo desperately wanted Frank Bellarosa in prison. Meanwhile, Miss Larkin, who in her own way had handled this open-and-shut case better by keeping her mouth mostly shut, sort of slipped off and sat beside Mr. Mancuso at the prosecutor's table.

"Your Honor,'' Ferragamo continued, "the accused is a notorious gangster gangster, a man who the Justice Department believes is the head of the nation's largest organized crime family, a man who we believe, through investigation and through the testimony of witnesses, has committed a drug-related murder murder.'' In a monumental Freudian slip, Ferragamo added, "This is not not a personal vendetta, this is a personal vendetta, this is fact fact,'' leaving everyone wondering about personal vendettas.

Obviously, this guy hadn't been in a courtroom for some time. I mean, I don't do much court work either, but even I could do better than this clown. I listened as Mr. Ferragamo did everything in his power to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. I was tempted to interrupt a few times, but as that old Machiavellian Napoleon Bonaparte once said, "Never interrupt an enemy while he's making a mistake."

I glanced at Judge Rosen and saw that she was clearly and openly annoyed. But even a judge has to think twice before she tells a U.S. Attorney to shut up, and the more Ferragamo talked, the more time I felt I would be given to present my arguments.

The interesting thing about what Ferragamo was saying now was that it didn't relate directly to the question of bail. Instead, Ferragamo was going on about Bellarosa's alleged problems in the drug trade, especially in regard to Colombians and rival Mafia gangs. The man sounded as if he were holding a press conference. Actually, he was. Ferragamo informed everyone, "The heroin trade, which has been traditionally controlled by the Cosa Nostra Cosa Nostra, the Mafia Mafia, is now only a small part of the lucrative trade in illegal drugs. The Bellarosa crime family crime family is seeking to muscle in on the cocaine and crack trade, and to do so, they must is seeking to muscle in on the cocaine and crack trade, and to do so, they must eliminate eliminate their rivals. Thus, the their rivals. Thus, the murder murder of Juan Carranza." of Juan Carranza."

Good Lord, Alphonse, why don't you just paint a target on Bellarosa's forehead and turn him loose in a Colombian neighborhood? I glanced at Frank and saw he was smiling enigmatically.

Judge Rosen coughed, then said, "Mr. Ferragamo, I think we understand that you believe the defendant has committed murder. That's why he's here. But pretrial incarceration is not a punishment, it is a precaution, and Mr. Bellarosa is innocent until proven guilty. I want you to tell me why you believe he will forfeit his bail and flee."

Mr. Ferragamo thought about that a moment. Meanwhile, Frank Bellarosa just stood there, the object of all this attention but with no speaking part. I'll give him credit for his demeanor though. He wasn't sneering at Ferragamo, he wasn't cocky or arrogant, nor did he seem deferential or crestfallen. He just stood there as if he had a Sony Walkman stuck in his ear, listening to La Traviata La Traviata while waiting for a bus. while waiting for a bus.

Rather than answer Judge Rosen's direct question, Alphonse Ferragamo had some advice for her, and she clearly did not like his tone, but she understood the words. What he was saying in effect was this: "Listen, lady, if you let this guy go free on bail, public opinion (the press) will crucify you. If he flees the country, you might as well go with him.'' And the final point, though not in these exact words, was this: "Judge, you have no reason whatsoever to stick your neck out. Just bang the goddamned gavel and have the prisoner taken to jail.''

Judge Rosen did not seem happy with the lecture, but she did seem to grasp the import of it. Still, to irk Ferragamo, I think, she turned to me. "Mr. Sutter?"

I began my counterattack, and that son of a bitch kept interrupting. I was scoring points, but clearly the home team started with lots of points. Bail proceedings, you understand, are not stacked in favor of the defendant as a trial by jury is, and it was all I could do just to keep Judge Rosen from banging the gavel and ending the whole thing. I mean, what was in it for her to listen to me tell her to make an insane decision that would jeopardize her career and lead to speculation that she was on the mob's payroll or was sleeping with Italian gangsters? There was nothing in it for her except that she was ticked off at Ferragamo's grandstanding, and in some deeper sense, she was not now fully convinced that Bellarosa was a bail risk. In short, she was interested in justice.

I went on with my description of Bellarosa as if I were introducing him for a Knights of Columbus award. "He has deep roots in his former Brooklyn neighborhood, having lived within a mile of his birthplace all his life. Recently, he has become my neighbor, and I know this man personally.'' This brought a few murmurs from the crowd, but having started on this tack, to use a nautical term, I had to sail with it. "My wife and his wife are friends. We have entertained at one another's house''-sort of-"and I've met some of his family-'' Oh, shit. Wrong word. Oh, shit. Wrong word. Everyone laughed again, and the gavel crashed down again. "Order!" Everyone laughed again, and the gavel crashed down again. "Order!"

I recovered nicely and went on, "Your Honor, I will personally guarantee that my client will not leave the Southern District of New York and that he will appear in court to face this charge on the date assigned to this case. I repeat, Your Honor, my client, despite all innuendos and allegations and public smears to the contrary, is a substantial, taxpaying citizen, a man with friends and fami-and relatives all over the metropolitan area, a man who counts among his friends many prominent businessmen, clergy, politicians-'' More chuckles from the peanut gallery, though I could see I had made a few more points, but was anyone keeping score? I said, "And further, Your Honor-"

Ferragamo couldn't stand not hearing himself talk for this long, so he cut me off again. "Judge, this is ridiculous. ridiculous. This man is a known This man is a known gangster gangster-"

It was Judge Rosen's turn to interrupt. "The charge before the court is murder, Mr. Ferragamo, not racketeering. If the charge were racketeering and he had these roots in the community, I would have already set bail. I'm not interested in allegations of racketeering. I'm interested in the question of whether or not this man will flee a drug-related murder charge."

Ferragamo was annoyed. He looked at Bellarosa, and their eyes met for the first time. Then he looked at me, as if to say, "Who the hell are you to get in the middle of this thing between Ferragamo and Bellarosa?'' Ferragamo said to the judge, "Then let's concentrate on that aspect; this is a man who has vast resources, resources, not only in not only in this this country, but in country, but in foreign foreign countries, and it is not inconceivable that-" countries, and it is not inconceivable that-"

"Your Honor,'' I interrupted, since this seemed the way to get the floor with Mr. Ferragamo, "Your Honor, I stated earlier that I have here my client's passport-"

Ferragamo interrupted by yelling at me directly, "Your client, Mr. Sutter, can buy fifty fifty passports!" passports!"

I found myself, for the first time in my life, shouting in court. "Mr. Ferragamo, I gave the court my word! I am personally guaranteeing that-"

"Who are you you to personally guarantee-?" to personally guarantee-?"

"Who are you you to doubt-?" to doubt-?"

And so it went, degenerating very quickly into courtroom histrionics. Everyone loved it. Except Judge Rosen, who banged her gavel. "Enough!'' She looked at me. "Mr. Sutter, the court appreciates your personal guarantee and is impressed with your foresight in dragging a suitcase full of money into court''-laughter-"and acknowledges your offer to turn over the defendant's passport. However, your request for bail is deni-"

"Your Honor! One more thing, if I may."

She rolled her eyes, then motioned wearily for me to go on.

"Your Honor ... Your Honor ..."

"Yes, Mr. Sutter? Speak. Please."

I took a deep breath, caught Bellarosa's eye, and spoke. "Your Honor, regarding the charge itself ... the charge as read ... the charge states that the alleged murder of this Juan Carranza individual took place on January fourteenth of this year in New Jersey. Well, Your Honor, my client has an alibi for that day, and I didn't think it appropriate or advisable to introduce that alibi at this time, but it's obvious that I must address myself to that alibi. So, if I may approach the bench ..."

There was a silence in the courtroom, broken by Ferragamo's voice. "What kind kind of alibi, Mr. Sutter? I want to hear what alibi you have.'' He looked at the judge. "Your Honor, I have of alibi, Mr. Sutter? I want to hear what alibi you have.'' He looked at the judge. "Your Honor, I have five five witnesses who have testified under oath in front of a witnesses who have testified under oath in front of a grand jury grand jury, who have implicated Frank Bellarosa in the murder murder of Juan Carranza. The grand jury voted to indict the defendant based on this testimony. What possible alibi could the defense counsel present here ... ?'' He threw up his hands in a dramatic gesture. "Oh, this is inane. Really, Mr. Sutter. of Juan Carranza. The grand jury voted to indict the defendant based on this testimony. What possible alibi could the defense counsel present here ... ?'' He threw up his hands in a dramatic gesture. "Oh, this is inane. Really, Mr. Sutter. Really. Really. You have wasted my time and everyone's time." You have wasted my time and everyone's time."

He really looked pissed off. Really. 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 license 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-" 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 license 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 dare you?" you?"

"How dare you you?'' I shot back, doing a little word stressing of my own. "How dare you you obstruct-" 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 many 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 behavior in open court."

"What?"

The crowd loved it. I mean, really 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. 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 Honor, 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 you are Mr. Bellarosa's alibi?" are Mr. Bellarosa's alibi?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"You saw him on January fourteenth?"

"Yes, Your Honor. 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 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, Counselor?"

"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 any reason, let alone to spring a Mafia don. 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 misjudgment. 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? 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 misdemeanor.