Casino Moon

51

THE PROSECUTOR IN A previous case had entered an AK-47 assault rifle into evidence in Judge Leonard Scibetta’s federal courtroom in Philadelphia, so when Teddy and his lawyer Burt Ryan walked in for a status conference to set a trial date, the judge was still looking down the sights and aiming the gun at the jury box.

“Judge, I was hoping we could move this along quickly,” said Burt, wheezing and ducking as the judge swung the barrel around and pointed the gun at a clerk. “It’s no secret my client is not in the best of health, and I think it’s in everyone’s interest to have a speedy trial.”

Teddy coughed into his fist as the judge, a cadaverous-looking man with a widow’s peak of dark hair, put the rifle down and began conferring with his clerk.

“I have a date open on the fourteenth of October,” the judge said as he flipped pages on a desk calendar. “Could we start jury selection at that time?”

“Your Honor, that won’t work for me.” Burt studied the appointment book he had open on the defense table.

“What do you got, another polo game?” sneered Teddy, standing beside him.

He’d lost even more weight in the four weeks since the operation. The skin under his chin and around his eyes was hanging off his face like loose crepe paper streamers.

The judge looked at his clerk and flipped through more pages. “How ’bout November second?”

At the prosecution table, a trim young lawyer named Nevins, who had shiny auburn hair and black horn-rimmed glasses, clicked his pen and stood up abruptly. “Your honor, we may need a little more time.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s hard to be definite.”

“I will not have you wreaking havoc on my docket.” The judge looked like he was ready to pick up the rifle again. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Nevins?”

“Judge, it’s not for me to say at this point.”

“Are you planning to bring a superseding indictment?”

“Well.” Nevins hesitated and looked down at his co-counsel, a young woman with straight dishwater-blonde hair, who was busy scribbling on a yellow legal pad.

“If you are, then I want you to give notice now what the additional charges are going to be,” the judge demanded.

Teddy and Burt exchanged nervous glances. The young prosecutor swallowed hard.

“Judge,” he said, clicking his pen several times. “As I believe Mr. Ryan knows, the grand jury has been considering adding homicide charges as they relate to the DiGregorio situation. And they might supersede the simple racketeering indictment you have before you.”

Burt Ryan took out his asthma spray. Teddy cursed, winced, and delivered himself of a belch that sounded like something out of a county fair.

“Your Honor,” said Burt, taking a long shot from the spray as he prepared to feign outrage. “I want the names of these cooperating witnesses right now. I’m going to need a chance to prepare for cross-examination.”

Nevins approached the bench with a light bounce in his step. “Judge, I couldn’t possibly release any names,” he said. “It would seriously jeopardize the safety of a witness whose cooperation has not been fully secured yet.”

“Why don’t you wash your hair, you faggot?” Teddy said to the prosecutor.

“Your Honor,” said Nevins. “Will you please direct Mr. Ryan to tell his client to keep his invective to himself?”

The judge nodded as Teddy leaned over to whisper in Burt’s ear. Two paralegals rustled papers behind them.

“Judge, we want the name of that witness.” Burt put away his spray. “And we want it now, so we can begin our preparation. I have appointments in New York City later today and Mr. Marino has almost an hour’s drive back to Atlantic City for his dialysis.”

”And I’m sure you will get the name in due time,” said the judge, rubbing his forehead. “But at the moment, charges have not been filed and I see no reason to pressure Mr. Nevins any further.”

At the defense table, Teddy was quietly raging. So there was a Judas after all. Maybe even someone who’d stood alongside him when he was battling it out on the streets and spilling the blood of real men. Here it was all being settled in little brown rooms and corridors by men with shiny hair and asthma sprays. Another hot flash from the medication washed over him and he found himself on the verge of tears. It was those goddamn female hormones they were giving him. Bad enough he couldn’t get it up anymore, but now he was finding he could barely control his emotions.

“Fuck this,” he erupted. “I can’t face my own accuser? This is worse than the Nuremberg trials.”

The judge leaned over the bench. “Mr. Marino,” he said. “Are you comparing yourself to Nazi war criminals?”

Nazis? What the fuck? Teddy looked down at his shoes. “I meant those Rosenbergs,” he mumbled.

What was the difference?

“Mr. Marino,” said the judge, “I understand that you’re not feeling well, but I won’t tolerate another outbreak like that in my courtroom.”

“My client understands, Your Honor.” Burt patted Teddy on the back.

The judge flipped a few more pages in his calendar. “I have a date open right after Thanksgiving,” he said, checking one more time with his clerk. “Is that all right with you, Mr. Nevins?”

“Yes, it should be,” said the young prosecutor.

“And how about you, Mr. Marino? Can you live with that?”

“Do I have a choice?” asked Teddy.