"Your Honour," Ferragamo continued, "the accused is a notorious 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." In a monumental Freudian slip, Ferragamo added, "This is not a personal vendetta, this is 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, the Mafia, is now only a small part of the lucrative trade in illegal drugs. The Bellarosa crime family is seeking to muscle in on the cocaine and crack trade, and to do so, they must eliminate their rivals. Thus, the murder 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 neighbourhood? 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 pre-trial 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 demeanour 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 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 favour 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 neighbourhood, having lived within a mile of his birthplace all his life. Recently, he has become my neighbour, 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. Everyone laughed again, and the gavel crashed down again. "Order!"
I recovered nicely and went on, "Your Honour, 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 Honour, 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 Honour -" Ferragamo couldn't stand not hearing himself talk for this long, so he cut me off again. "Judge, this is ridiculous. This man is a known 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, not only in this country, but in foreign countries, and it is not inconceivable that -"
"Your Honour," I interrupted, since this seemed the way to get the floor with Mr Ferragamo, "Your Honour, 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 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 to personally guarantee -?"
"Who are you 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 Honour! One more thing, if I may."
She rolled her eyes, then motioned wearily for me to go on.
"Your Honour… Your Honour…"
"Yes, Mr Sutter? Speak. Please."