The Pa-la-ti-'shan

by Neal Goldstein

  We taxied over to the federal courthouse at 6th and Market. The governor was giving an impromptu news conference to the assembled media when we arrived. The press abandoned the governor in midsentence when Cinaglia stepped out of a black Escalade. He was accompanied by his latest girl friend. She was the kind of woman who made a straight priest rethink his vows. She looked like one of the Victoria Secret models, dark eyes, high cheekbones, pouting lips, and a body that demanded attention. Even the governor realized that he was seriously overmatched and gaped like the rest of us as Cinaglia and his companion made their way into the courthouse.

  As they passed me I tore my eyes away from Cinglia’s girlfriend and stared directly at the senator. The strain of the last several months had taken its toll on him. Cinaglia looked haggard and his right eye twitched. He had lost weight and his signature three-piece black mohair suit looked a size or so too large. He smiled at me, leaned close and whispered, “That thing you did in the bank that was very brave of you. Be careful of the pricks you’re hanging with,” he nodded his head at the governor and Bollinger. “They’ll fuck you in the ass before it’s all over.”

  Cinaglia whispered something to his companion who nodded her head and smiled at me. I blushed and Cinaglia’s girlfriend laughed.

  “All rise,” the court clerk signaled as Judge Peskin took the bench. “Be seated,” the judge smiled at the packed courtroom. The Honorable Harold J. Peskin had served on the Federal Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania for over 15 years. Before his appointment to the bench he had served as the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York. He had successfully prosecuted a dozen Mafia bosses who had purportedly threatened his life. Peskin was in his mid sixties, a small man, about five feet, five inches tall. His diminutive size belied the fact that he was an authentically tough guy. When Peskin was in the service, he boxed, and was known as the ‘Jew–Boy from Brooklyn.’“Seems we have quite a crowd on hand today,” Judge Peskin commented with a sparkle in his eye, “must be something important.”

  “Yes your Honor,” Monroe Sterling said as he jumped to his feet. “As your Honor is aware from the documents we submitted, I have concluded that my continued representation of the senator poses an irreconcilable conflict of interest and I am requesting that your Honor grant my petition to withdraw as counsel of record.”

  “Mr. Blackburn,” the judge addressed the Assistant U.S. Attorney, “What is the Government’s position?”

  All eyes turned to the Assistant U.S. Attorney as he slowly rose to his feet. Blackburn looked like he had been born to be a prosecutor. He was tall, six feet, six, and lean. He still had the trim body of the All American college basketball player he had been fifteen years before. He stared at Sterling with killer eyes, the stare he had probably used to intimidate an opponent who attempted to block his jump shot when he played forward at Princeton.

  “Judge, it is inconceivable that after nearly a year of pre-trial motions, and a veritable mountain of discovery defense counsel of the stature of Mr. Sterling would suddenly discover an ‘irreconcilable conflict of interest’ as he claims on the eve of trial,” Blackburn’s tone bordered on mockery.

  The two attorneys argued back and forth each insulting the other in the understated but obvious manner of men who detested one another and no longer wished to endure the pretense of civility required as officers of the court.

  “I’ve heard enough gentlemen,” Judge Peskin announced tiring of the sniping. “We’ll recess for 15 minutes and I’ll announce my decision. In the meantime, I will trust both of you to restrain yourselves.”

  After the Judge left the bench I watched as the two attorneys ignored each other. Senator Cinaglia tried to appear as if the proceedings were of no real concern, however, his right eye twitched with increasing intensity betraying his façade.

  “What do you think the Judge is going to rule?” the governor asked.

  “I agree with the prosecutor, Sterling is obviously full of shit. He should have known from the get go there was a conflict. Now, after he billed the senator a million dollars, he wants out of the case. I’m surprised the Judge didn’t tell the U.S. Marshall to take Sterling into custody,” I replied.

  Mike Bollinger said, “Bernie may be right about Sterling, but the judge has to insure that the defendant has effective counsel. If he denies the motion, the entire proceedings are in jeopardy. It’s not as simple as calling Sterling, as pompous an ass as he is, a charlatan, and allowing the case to proceed with him as counsel. If he does that, and if Cinaglia is convicted the verdict might be set aside on appeal.”

  Judge Peskin resumed the bench exactly fifteen minutes later.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for behaving during the recess,” the Judge said, breaking the tension that had gripped the courtroom.

  “As I’m sure both of you realized I carefully reviewed your pleadings prior to hearing your arguments this morning. Mr. Sterling, as the Assistant U.S. Attorney has observed, the timing of your motion is, to be blunt, a matter of significant concern. An attorney of your experience should have anticipated the potential of a conflict long before this. If I did not know you so well, I would find Mr. Blackburn’s characterization of the petition as obfuscatory and deliberate to be accurate.”

  Sterling’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed the Judge’s rebuke.

  “Mr. Blackburn, I agree that the delay occasioned by a change in counsel at this late stage of the proceedings is extremely regrettable and manifestly unfair to both the Government and the defendant. However, it is my duty to assure that these proceedings are free of any taint of impropriety. I must afford counsel the benefit of the doubt and accept his representations as completely candid, no matter how, as you characterized them, ‘far-fetched’ and, ‘disingenuous’ they may appear to be.”

  Sterling glared at Blackburn.

  “Senator Cinaglia, in the interests of justice, and to assure that your trial is conducted with absolute integrity and fairness, I am granting Mr. Sterling’s petition to withdraw as counsel in this case. Senator, how long will you need to retain new counsel?”

  Cinaglia slowly rose to his feet obviously not prepared for this turn of events.

  “Your Honor, I really don’t have an answer. I mean, I will have to give this careful thought. This is, I mean, I’m as surprised by this as, I am sure, you and the U.S. Attorney are.”

  “I understand,” the Judge said. “Here’s what I’m going to do. The case will be recessed for thirty days. If you have not retained counsel by then we will reconvene and address the matter. Senator, I suggest you expedite your search for counsel. If you retain counsel before the next listing we can convene in my chambers and work out a new schedule for the trial. Court is adjourned.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Major Miller’s story

  The caller ID on my cell phone indicated ‘Anonymus Caller – Nobody’ I usually declined anonymus calls but the ‘Nobody’ intrigued me. “I think I found something.” It was Zeebooker he sounded excited. “Meet me at Billy G’s.”

  When I arrived Zeebooker was once again seated in the back booth waiting. This time, I could tell from the smile of satisfaction on his face that he had successfully accomplished his mission. I sat down and waited for the briefing.

  “Just about every weekend the Attorney General travels to Greek Peak, it’s a small ski resort in New York, about 50 miles from Wilkes-Barre. I checked and the Conrad family has owned property there for 50 years.”

  I waited, assuming Zeebooker would make his point shortly.

  “So I decided to take a personal day and drive up there to see what was so appealing to the AG. Turns out Conrad’s older sister, Clarissa lives there, year round. The locals always thought Clarissa was a bit on the strange side. Mrs. O’Malley who does occasional cleaning for Ms Conrad told me she thought Clarissa was a lesbian, not that there was anything wrong with that. After all there was no husband, no children but suddenly, about seven or eight, or so years ago, Clarissa’s
infant granddaughter comes to live with her. Mrs. O’Malley still has her suspicions.”

  “According to Mrs. O’Malley, Ms. Conrad told her the little girl’s parents had been killed in an automobile accident and Clarissa is her only surviving grandparent. What a tragedy.”

  “Are you telling me the little girl is Nicky’s daughter?”

  “Take a look at this.”

  He showed me a series of pictures he had taken on his cell phone camera.

  “My god, she looks exactly like Nicky!”

  “What do you want to do?” Zeebooker asked. “We could pick Nicky up and drive to Greek Peak. We could be there in less than 4 hours.”

  “Let me think this through,” I said and tried to make sense out of what Zeebooker had disclosed. Conrad takes his granddaughter and stashes her in the family get away with his strange older sister. I can’t figure out why Nicky’s parents would have consented to that. Nicky’s father must know about it. He knows that Nicky’s worried about her daughter.

  “Before I tell Nicky, I’m going to speak to her father. I want to give him an opportunity to explain what happened. I’m concerned that if we go barging up there without knowing how this came to pass it could turn out badly for Nicky and her father.”

  “Miller,” the Major answered his cell phone.

  “Major, it’s Bernie.”

  “Is Nicky OK?”

  “Yes sir, she’s fine. Major, we need to talk.”

  “I’ll be in Philly this weekend.”

  “It can’t wait we need to talk right away.”

  “What’s so important it can’t keep for a few days,” he sounded irritated.

  “It’s about Nicky’s daughter, your granddaughter. I thought it would be a good idea for you to tell me what you know before I take Nicky to see her daughter.”

  “Damn you, why couldn’t you have left it alone. Have you told Nicky yet?”

  “No sir, but I’m not going to keep this from her. She’s entitled to know what happened to her daughter. I want her to know. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to let Nicky know what happened.”

  We agreed to meet at a diner near the Morgantown Exit of the Pennsylvania Turnpike; it was half way between Harrisburg and Philadelphia. The Major was already there when I arrived. Miller must have used his juice with the State Troopers to exceed the 65 miles per hour speed limit. I still drove the Cobalt and doubted that it could sustain that speed for the 50 mile trip without falling apart.

  “Christ Bernie, did you walk? I’ve been sitting here for nearly an hour,” the Major greeted me icily.

  “Nicky wants to know that her daughter is being properly cared for. As I see it, you need to explain how the child ended up with the Conrads and why you kept it a secret.”

  “Look Bernie, I promised Bob Conrad I would never let anyone know about this. He promised to take care of the child. As far as I know, he has kept his promise. The little girl is well taken care of. Why can’t we leave it alone? Bob Conrad will make sure the child never wants for anything?”

  “I promised Nicky I would try to find out what happened to her daughter. Now I know where she is. There’s no way I’m not going to tell her what I know. She’s your daughter for Christ sake. You know how much pain giving up her baby has caused her. How can you just sit there and tell me to leave it alone? What kind of father are you?”

  I thought the older man was going to strike me. I watched as he struggled for control. After a few minutes the Major told me his story.

  It started in 1964. Miller, he was John Milanski back then and Bob Conrad were High School buddies in Wilkes-Barre. They were an unlikely pair, Conrad the son of the leading family of Wilkes-Barre and Milanski, the bastard son of one of the Mill hands. Conrad had a wild streak. He had been thrown out of the Hill School, a prestigious prep school in Pottstown, at the end of his sophomore year. Despite his parents’ wealth and standing Conrad had to attend the local public school for at least a year before the Hill School would let him return.

  Bob Conrad was used to getting his way, and did not care if he upset the natural order that had been established at Wilkes-Barre High during his absence. Conrad decided he would bestow his attentions on Evona Stovanich, one of the girls from the part of town where the immigrants who worked at the mill lived, disregarding Milanski’s advice that she had already been spoken for.

  One Friday night, Milanski became concerned when Conrad did not show up at their regular hangout, the candy store on Main Street. He heard the rumor that Evona’s boyfriend, Mikos Denyan, had decided to teach a lesson to the rich boy who was putting the moves on his girl.

  By the time he arrived at the alley behind the store, Conrad was being held by two of the jilted boy’s buddies as Denyan beat Conrad senseless. Without a thought for his own well-being Milanski came to Conrad’s rescue.

  He moved in from behind and hit the young man hard on the side of his head. Perhaps Denyan had exhausted himself by beating on the defenseless Conrad. When he turned Milanski hit him hard in the chest, knocking the wind out of him, and followed up with an upper cut that literally knocked him off his feet. He came down awkwardly and struck his head on ground. It was over in seconds.

  When the police arrived they called for the ambulance. One of the police officers recognized Bob Conrad and called Conrad’s father. Milanski was sitting in the backseat of the police cruiser. He could see but not hear what Mr. Conrad was saying as the police officer nodded affirmatively.

  Instead of taking him to the station the police drove him to the Conrad mansion. He was told to wait in the study for Mr. Conrad. Several hours later Bob Conrad and his father walked into the study.

  Bob looked unsteady. “Johnny, thank you for saving my life, my Dad has taken care of everything. Listen to him, and do as he says, and everything will work out.”

  “After Bob left, Mr. Conrad told me what he had done and what I would have to do. Mikos Denyan had been badly hurt. They didn’t know if his injuries were permanent, or if he would survive. He explained that because I was 18 years old, my options were limited. I would be tried as an adult and depending on what happened I could be charged with manslaughter. He suggested that the better course was for me to disappear until things cooled off. He would make all the arrangements.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Instead of standing up for what I had done, I ran away.”

  Miller enlisted in the army and was, like thousands of others of his generation, immediately dispatched to Viet Nam.

  “I returned to Wilkes-Barre after my second tour in Nam. Bobby was at Dickinson Law School. He told me Mikos had survived, but he had suffered severe brain trauma. Bobby’s father hired him as a porter at the mill.

  I met with Mr. Conrad. He assured me that I had made the right choice. He told me when I fulfilled my military obligation if I wanted to return to Wilkes-Barre I would be taken care of.

  By that time I found I liked the army way of life. I had gotten my GED and taken some college level courses. I gradually moved up in rank. In between my overseas assignments I would return home, even though I had no real family so to speak.

  Bobby, now Bob, was moving up in the world. Evona, the girl who had been at the center of this, was working at the Mill. She was still a beauty.

  I was stationed at Fort Indiantown Gap, near Harrisburg and spent most of my weekends back home. By then most everyone had forgotten about the fight, everyone but Bobby and his father and Evona.

  One day she confronted me. Why did you run away and hide like a coward, she asked. I told her how that night, and my running away had haunted me. Nothing I had done in three tours in Viet Nam, and nothing I had accomplished since had erased the stench of my cowardice.

  In time Evona and I became friends and she forgave me. Evona was Nicky’s mother.”

  “So, how does this play into your agreeing to allow Conrad to take Nicky’s baby?” I asked.

  “After Bobby Junior and his mother were killed, and we found ou
t Nicky was pregnant, Bob became obsessed with the thought that the baby would become the next generation of his family. He believed that somehow, Bobby Junior would be reincarnated in this child.

  At first Evona and I hoped Bob would get over his grief, but as the months progressed his obsession got worse. He threatened to expose me as a fugitive. He would ruin us financially. I was concerned for Nicky’s welfare. He promised that he would provide for the child and make sure that the Conrad family fortune would assure that Nicky’s baby would have all of the advantages.

  He was unrelenting, and eventually we decided that it was in the best interests of the baby to let Bob Conrad care for the child. As the birth date approached, Evona and I convinced Nicky that she should put the baby up for adoption.”

  “Are you telling me that you made Nicky give up her baby because you were concerned that Conrad would dig up something that happened 30 years before?”

  “You don’t understand; it’s a matter of honor.”

  Miller was right, I didn’t understand, and I still had the feeling that Miller hadn’t told me everything.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to tell Nicky, I found her daughter and take her to see the child.”

  “What about Conrad?”

  “Fuck him,” I said as I got out of the booth and limped away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  But You Told Me My Mommy Died

  I borrowed Zeebooker’s car to drive Nicky to Greek Peak. I didn’t think the Chevy Cobalt would make the 300 mile round trip. Besides, I didn’t want Nicky’s daughter to think her mother was married to a loser. First impressions can last a long time.

  I called Nicky as soon as I left her father at the diner in Morgantown. I told her Mike Zeebooker had found her daughter and filled her in on the basic information and promised to provide all of the details as soon as I got home.