He thought a moment, then said, "I'll tell ya. I made a fool out of him in court once. Not me personally. My attorney. But that don't make a difference. This was seven, eight years ago. Ferragamo was the U.S. prosecutor on my case. Some bullshit charge that wouldn't hold. My guy, Jack Weinstein, got the jury to laugh at him, and Alphonse's balls shrunk to little nicciole – hazelnuts. I told Weinstein he fucked up. You don't do that to an Italian in public. I knew I'd hear from Ferragamo again. Now the jackass is the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, and I got to live with him or move." "I see." And all this time I thought Alphonse Ferragamo was a dedicated public servant. In truth, I didn't completely believe Frank Bellarosa's analysis of Ferragamo's motives. Thinking that I'd heard enough, I said, "I have an early day tomorrow."
Bellarosa ignored this and said, "Ferragamo can't get anything on me, so he tells the papers that I hit this Colombian guy, Juan Carranza." My eyes rolled a bit. I said, "I really can't believe that a U.S. Attorney would frame you."
He smiled at me as though I were simple minded. "Not to frame me, Counsellor.
You really got a lot to learn."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. You see, Ferragamo wants to get the Colombians on my case. Capisce? He wants them to do his dirty work."
I sat up in my chair. "Kill you?"
"Yeah. Yeah."
I found this even harder to believe. I said, "Are you telling me that the U.S.
Attorney is trying to get you murdered?"
"Yeah. You don't believe that? You a Boy Scout or what? You salute the flag every morning? You people got a lot to learn."
I didn't reply.
Bellarosa leaned toward me. "Alphonse Ferragamo wants my ass dead. He don't want my ass in court again. He is a very pissed off paesan'. Capisce? He stewed for eight fucking years waiting for his chance to get even. And if I get hit by the Colombians, Ferragamo will make sure everybody on the street knows he was behind it. Then he's happy and he has his balls back." He looked me in the eye. "Okay?" I shook my head. "Not everyone thinks like you do. Why don't you give the guy credit for just doing his job? He thinks you killed somebody." "Bullshit." He leaned back and twirled his glass.
"I have to go."
"No. Just sit there."
"Excuse me?"
He looked at me and I looked back. I finally saw don Bellarosa for a second or two. But then Frank was sitting there again. It must have been the light. He said, "Let me finish, Counsellor. Okay? You're a smart guy, but you don't have the facts. Hey, I don't care if you think I hit this Colombian guy. But there's two, three, four sides to everything. A smart guy like you sees two sides, maybe three. But I'll show you another side, so when you walk out of here, you'll be a better citizen." He smiled. "Okay?"
I nodded.
"Okay. So when those assholes in Washington made Ferragamo the U.S. Attorney here, they knew what they were doing, for a change. They got it all figured out, those smart guys in the Justice Department. They want the Colombians to hit me, then my friends start hitting the Colombians, and the undertakers are happy, and the Feds are happy. The melanzane are not happy because now they have to go back to cheap wine because the white stuff is cut off while the stiffs are piling up. Understand? This talk make you uncomfortable?"
"No -"
"So the next time you talk to Mancuso out there, you tell him what I just told you. Mancuso is okay for a cop. He's got nothing against me personally, and I got nothing against him. We treat each other with respect. He believes in the law. I respect him for that even if it's stupid. He don't want a shooting war out there on the streets. He's a very responsible man." "You want me to pass on this conversation to Mancuso?" "Sure. Why not? Let him go to Ferragamo and tell him that Bellarosa's onto his game."
"You've been reading too much Machiavelli."
"You think so?"
"Are you suggesting that not only Ferragamo, but the U.S. Attorney General and the Justice Department in Washington are in on a conspiracy to have you murdered and provoke a gang war?"
"Sure. Why do you think Alphonse is still here? It's so fucking obvious what he's up to with this Carranza shit. If Justice don't yank the guy out of here or tell him to cool it, then Justice is in on it. Right?"
"Your logic -'
"Then with the two biggest players blasting away at each other, the Feds take care of the Jamaicans and the other melanzane down there in the islands. Then they go for the Asians. Divide and conquer. Right?"
I shrugged. "I do house closings."
"Yeah. Let's say you buy what I'm saying. How do you feel about it as a good citizen?"
What I felt was distressed to think that the forces of law and order in this country were so desperate that they had to stoop to Bellarosa's level to get rid of Bellarosa. But I said, "As a good citizen, I would be… angry to think the government would provoke a dangerous gang war."
"Sure. But you kinda like the idea. Right? The spies and the wops finally knocking each other off."
"No."
"Bullshit."
"No comment." I asked, "Why don't you go to the newspapers if you believe what you're saying?"
He laughed. "Sure."
"They'd print it."
"You bet your ass they would. They print it when I fart. But you don't go public with your problems in my business. You shoot your mouth off to the press, and you piss off everybody, including your friends who don't even admit there's such a thing as the Mafia. You start talking to the press about your enemies, and your friends will kill you."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're a lawyer."
"I'm not your lawyer." I added, "Anyway, it's not a lawyer you need. You need bodyguards." Or a psychiatrist.
"Yeah. But I need some outside advice. I listened to my friends, my counsellors, to Jack Weinstein. Now I want to hear from somebody who sees things different from the people around me."
"You want my advice? Retire. Go to Sorrento."
"You don't retire in this business. Did any of the Caesars retire? You can't set everything straight with the people you pissed off, you can't raise the dead, you can't go to the government and say, 'I'm sorry, and I'm paying the taxes I cheated on and giving back all the businesses I bought with the illegal money.' You can't let go of the tiger, because he'll turn and eat you. You got to stay on the tiger and keep the power in your hands."
"No. You can go to Sorrento."
He shrugged. "Maybe I like what I do. Keeps me busy."
"You like the power."
"Sure. Sorrento is for when I'm old. When I'm tired of power, business, women. I got a few years yet."
"Maybe not."
He looked at me. "I don't run. The spies are not running Frank Bellarosa off.
The Feds are not running Frank Bellarosa off. Capisce?"
"Now I do."
We both sat there a few minutes. I had the impression he was waiting for me to say something, to come up with some advice. As an attorney, I'm in the advice business, but I'm not predisposed to giving free and friendly advice. I said, "Are we finished?"
"Almost. Here's the thing. Ferragamo can't be shooting his mouth off to the press that I'm a suspect in the murder of Juan Carranza, and let it go like that. Right?"
"Right."
"He's got to follow up with a grand jury investigation."
"Correct."
"So, what I'm thinking is I want you to handle this for me." "If I wouldn't handle a real estate deal for you, why would I represent you in a criminal matter?"
"Because one thing is money, the other is justice." He didn't choke on that last word, but I almost did. I shook my head. "I don't handle criminal matters. I'm not qualified."
"Sure you are. You're a lawyer."
"What kind of evidence is Ferragamo going to present to a grand jury to get you indicted?"
"He don't have shit. But you ever hear that expression – 'a New York grand jury will indict a ham sandwich'? You hear that?"