Of course all of the details of the in chambers discussion had been leaked to the press within minutes of the court’s recess. Dan Gross’ blog reported that Green had played a tape of his meeting with Cinaglia that exposed the FBI tape to have been altered. According to Gross the judge would declare a mistrial and dismiss all of the charges. Green assumed the senator and his counsel were responsible for leaking the story to the press.
The next morning Judge Peskin was livid. “I cannot believe that any of you did not understand my ruling that the in chambers discussion be kept completely confidential!” Although the judge had assembled all of the parties in his chambers and admonished everyone, he was staring directly at Cinaglia and his attorney as he spoke. “If I discover who leaked this information there will be severe sanctions imposed.”
When court reconvened the judge dismissed the jury and declared a mistrial. He did not dismiss the charges against Cinaglia as had been widely reported in the media. When the jury members were questioned by the press the consensus was that the senator would have beaten the rap anyway. According to the chairperson, “Look, we all know that politicians are corrupt. Big deal! The senator didn’t do anything different from what all the rest of the bums in office do every day.”
“The governor thinks you’re a friggin genius!” Jack Collins called to congratulate me for exposing the Government’s case as a political witch hunt. “He wants to meet with you this morning. He asked me to make sure you don’t record your conversation, no offense.”
“Got a minute?” Joel Solomon asked as he stepped into my office at Brinkley Smoot and closed the door behind him.
“Mike Bollinger wanted me to tell you that the firm was always solidly behind you. No one believed for a second that you had taken any money from Cinaglia. Mike had come to the conclusion that the U.S. Attorney was really after the governor and that Cinaglia had only been charged when he refused to go along. Anyway, Mike wanted me to ask you what your plans are?”
I looked at Joel and said, “What plans?”
“Your career, are you planning on staying with the firm?”
“You can tell Mike I haven’t decided what I’m going to do. I’ll let you know.”
I had not actually given any thought to my career. My focus had been on Samantha Binnager and the White Haven case ever since I saw her with Senator Spellman. I had set up a meeting with Susan Romansky to discuss this development.
Romansky was also impressed with my foresight in taping my conversation with Cinaglia and keeping the evidence for a ‘rainy day.’
“That was well played Bernie.”
“How about just plain lucky, I didn’t remember keeping the tape. It was in the file with my notes. I was pretty certain I had erased it.”
“Well, everybody thinks you’re brilliant. If I were you, I’d let them continue to think that way. Anyway, I understand the mysterious Ms. Binnager has resurfaced.”
“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. She’s one of Spellman’s assistants.”
“Is that what that old coot is claiming?”
“Uh-huh; you’re not suggesting that the senator and Samantha… I mean for crying out loud he’s got to be 85 or 86,” I stared at the DA in disbelief.
“That man is reputed to be one of the horniest men in D.C. He may be old, but he’s not dead yet. Although, if this young woman is everything you told me she is, she may be Spellman’s last conquest.”
The District Attorney and I planned how best to convince Binnager and her new benefactor to cooperate in the investigation.
By the time I arrived at the District Office Carlota handed me a stack of messages. I discarded all the calls from the press. There was a call from Jack Silver, Senator Cinaglia’s attorney, Congressman O’Grady and Jack Collins.
I returned Silver’s call first, more out of curiosity.
“The senator asked me to call you and thank you. He would have called himself, but I convinced him that any direct contact would not be in either your or his best interests,” Silver said.
“No thanks are necessary. I was merely telling the truth about our meeting. Besides, from what I heard on the KYW, the jury wasn’t going to convict the senator. He may have been better off if the trial had proceeded.”
“Maybe…but you know juries; they can change their minds a dozen times during the course of a trial. If you hadn’t recorded the conversation the jury might have considered the FBI tape to be a smoking pistol,” Silver observed.
“Do you think Blackburn knew the FBI tape had been altered?”
“I’ve been a criminal defense attorney for over 35 years. The next time I trust a prosecutor will be the first.”
I returned the Congressman’s call out of respect. O’Grady also believed I was a genius. He promised me that the party would long remember my good deed for exposing the U.S. Attorney, who happened to be a republican appointee, for the charlatan every red blooded democrat knew him to be.
Before I could return Jack Collins’ call Carlota told me he was holding.
“Too busy to return my call,” Collins asked.
“Honestly Jack, I figured our conversation would be more comprehensive so I wanted to get the other calls out of the way.”
“Well you’re right about that. We do need to have a sit down. But I wanted you to know the miracle tape recording made you two powerful enemies with your pals Blackburn and the FBI agent Fox. Be careful.”
“Jeez Jack. Two more enemies; just what I needed.”
“You can handle it my boy.”
CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT
Anthony A. Cinaglia Redux
Anthony Cinaglia could not get over the chutzpah of that Green kid. Bernie had taped their conversation! How did the kid have the foresight to do that? Cinaglia figured that in the aftermath of the mistrial the U.S. Attorney was not anxious to schedule a new trial. Jack Silver his attorney advised that he assume a low profile and gauge the lay of the land for the time being. Silver also reminded Cinaglia that his fee for the trial was six figures and he wanted to know when the senator would be addressing it. Fucking lawyers! The publicity that Silver would derive from the case would generate a flood of six and seven figure fees. Silver should be paying him. Besides, Silver had nothing to do with the mistrial, Cinaglia should be paying Green
The senator would find a way to show his appreciation to Green. Even though he was no longer an elected official, Cinaglia still retained considerable political clout in both the state and the city. People owed him for all he had done for them over the past three decades. And even if they had short memories, Cinaglia had a very long memory, so whether his ‘friends’ demonstrated their gratitude out of loyalty or fear made no difference to him.
He looked out his window. There were no Comcast trucks or unmarked vans parked across the street. Perhaps the FBI now used unmanned drones or some other sophisticated form of surveillance. He would just assume he was still being monitored. He used his fiancee’s cell phone to make the call.
“We should meet.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I’ll get back to ya.”
“Who was that?” the governor asked Collins.
“Who’d ya think?”
“Christ he’s not wasting any time.” The governor stared at his chief of staff. “So what do you recommend?”
“He wants to meet, so we’ll meet.”
“But Jack, everyone will know if we meet. That fucker Dan Gross finds out everything. We can’t risk being seen with Cinaglia.” The governor said.
“That fucker Dan Gross knows everything because ya tell him everything. And you’ll tell him about the meeting.”
“Why the fuck would I tell him that?”
“You’ll tell him because there’s goin to be a party for the senator. A celebration for the forces of good thwartin the political travesty of the federal prosecution that blew up in that prick Blackburn’s face. Every pol who values his or her political future will be in atte
ndance. So ya can have the meeting with the senator in plain view.”
“I’m so glad you’re back,” the governor said as he patted Collins on the back.
L&M Caterers on East Passyunk Avenue is the location of choice for most low budget affairs in South Philadelphia. The banquet hall is housed in an old movie theater that had seen better days long before its reincarnation. The interior design is reminiscent of a disco club of the 1970s complete with a giant disco ball hanging from the ceiling. It was the perfect venue for Cinaglia’s victory party. All the local politicians and party mahofs were in attendance. Even though Cinaglia no longer held official office, no one wanted to run the risk of offending the former ‘Senator from South Philly’. Cinaglia’s temper and penchant for holding a grudge were legendary; better to pay tribute than suffer his wrath.
I was advised by Congressman O’Grady and Governor Slattery that my attendance was mandatory. Jack Collins told me Cinaglia wanted him to convey the senator’s personal invitation.
“The senator was adamant that you be there. I’m sure he wants to express his personal thanks for the grand favor ya did him and perhaps to show you his peculiar brand of appreciation.”
As I approached the banquet hall I realized that the odds that my arrival would go unnoticed were somewhere between slim and none. Reporters from all the local TV stations, microphones in hand and camera crews in tow hovered around the entrance like flies around poop. I hoped the media would all be occupied by politicians or local celebrities craving free face time when I got close to the entrance. I almost managed to make it through the gauntlet unscathed.
“Representative Green!” Jenniphur Fredricks, from the local Fox News jumped directly in front of me, her microphone like a pistol aimed directly at my face.
“Would you care to share with our audience your thoughts on tonight’s activities?” she spoke with her trademark enthusiasm.
No I would not like to share anything with you, you twit, I kept the thought to myself, I smiled and said, “Jenniphur Senator Cinaglia is one of Philadelphia’s favorite sons. We’re all pleased to see that our system of justice works and affords due process to everyone. I’m sure I speak for many of his constituents who wanted the senator to get a fair opportunity in the judicial process.”
I stepped away before the reporter could ask another question. If she got in my way I would ask her where she came up with the pretentious spelling of her name.
When I entered what used to be the lobby of the movie theater now banquet hall a huge man with bulging muscles greeted me. “Representative Green the senator is anxious to see you. Please follow me.”
I followed him into a large hall that was packed with neighborhood people, many of them my constituents I shook their hands as I walked past them. My greeter made his way through the throng like a lead blocker on a football team. Another young man with the same physique opened the door at the far end of the hall and gave us access to a smaller banquet room. I recognized the ward leaders and city commissioners and other low level office holders who were stationed there. Had the senator not personally requested my attendance, I would no doubt be relegated to this ranking of guests.
Another doorway guarded by a twin to the two muscle men allowed access to yet a smaller hall, with a private bar. “Here he is,” I was greeted by Congressman O’Grady who was surrounded by high ranking elected officials and other movers and shakers of Philly including Mike Bollinger the Managing Partner of Brinkley Smoot and District Attorney Susan Romansky.
“Were you able to get past the media without being assaulted?” O’Grady asked.
“Afraid not,” I replied.
“Let me buy you a drink,” the congressman said leading me to the bar.
“The governor and Collins are meeting with the senator,” he nodded his head in the direction of a door at the end of the bar. “When they come out it’s your turn in the barrel,” he said with a grin. “All of us have already had our private audience. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. Bartender, please give the representative whatever he wants, and refresh this,” O’Grady said as he handed the bartender his glass.
“Knowing the governor, it may be some time until their meeting is over,” O’Grady said, patting me on my shoulder.
By the time the governor and Jack Collins emerged, O’Grady was working on his third highball and I had nursed my light beer flat.
“I was looking to see if there was white smoke coming out of the door. Thought you elected a pope,” O’Grady quipped.
The governor shrugged and Collins said, “Congressman, ya know how gregarious the governor and Senator Cinaglia are. The two of them had to play a round or two of can ya top this before they got round to business. Bernie, the senator is waitin for you. I suppose your meetin will be pretty brief seein as how he’s all talked out now.”
I knocked on the door and entered the senator’s private meeting room. The trial had taken its toll on the senator. His boyish face showed lines around his eyes and mouth that were not there before. He looked smaller, as if the events of the past 18 months had diminished him physically and emotionally.
“So good of you to come; you’re not recording this are you?” he said and laughed.
“No sir,” I felt my face flush.
Cinaglia shook his head still smiling. “I can’t believe you did that. Were you that concerned that I would put you in a compromising situation? I can only imagine what people must have told you about me.”
“It was a long time ago, and I was very wet behind the ears. The advice I received was not only directed at you. I was told never to trust any politician and to avoid at all costs one on one meetings. Look at me now, I’m a politician and spend most of my time in meetings with other politicians, go figure.”
“Well, whoever told you not to trust politicians gave you sage advice. Lucky for me you took appropriate precautions. Anyway, I owe you big time and I always return a favor. Is there anything I can do for you?”
I paused before responding, could I trust the senator?
“What is it? Don’t worry I’m not taping our conversation.”
“Since you asked there are two things.”
Cinaglia waited.
“Do you know Robert Worthington?”
Cinaglia nodded. I proceeded to tell him about my discovery of Worthington’s involvement in the White Haven detention center scam and the fallout including the attempt on my life.
“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do about any of this. It’s probably a better idea that you steer clear of this.”
Cinaglia stared back at me. “Let me think about it. You’re probably right it’s likely there isn’t anything I can do. But you did a great deal for me, so let me see if I can be of assistance. What’s the second thing?”
“Have you ever heard of a Mr. White and if you have, who is he and what does he want from me?”
Cinaglia smiled. “Yes, I know Mr. White. If he wants you to know who he is and what he wants from you, he’ll have to tell you himself.”
CHAPTER SIXTY NINE
Mr. White
A week later Carlota knocked on my door, “There’s a Mr. White here to see you.”
“Please show him in.” So my conversation with the senator must have paid off after all; finally the mystery man reveals himself I thought. As the door opened I looked up in disbelief. “Hello dad,” I said as Carlota closed the door.
I had not seen or spoken to my father for over 15 years, since the day my mother told me that they were getting a divorce. Max Green was now 70 years old, but he looked much younger. He still had a full head of hair, although now there were now some gray hairs sprinkled throughout. He stood erect and showed no signs of aging, he radiated energy and confidence.
“May I sit?” he asked.
I nodded to the chair in front of my desk.
“You know I tried to talk to you a number of times when your mother and I…” Max Green stopped in mid sentence reading his son’s reaction.
“Don’t you think it’s time for us to reconnect? Your mother and your brother and I reconciled years ago. I know the divorce was hard on you, but Bernie can’t we at least try to have some kind of a relationship?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.
When I was younger I idolized my father. Max Green was a dynamic union leader. Whenever I accompanied him to a sporting event or any public gathering people would come up to shake my father’s hand and tell me how my father had helped them, by getting them a job, or helping their son or daughter get into trade school, or settling a strike. It seemed as if my father could fix anything. And then one day the myth caught up with reality. My father was a fraud and a cheat. He walked out on his family.
“Listen to me son, I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I can’t change the past. I realize how lame that may sound, but I want you to know I always provided for your mother, even after the divorce. I tried to help you, from a distance, and without your knowledge. And I want to help you now.”
“Help me how?”
“I understand that Robert Worthington may be posing a problem. Perhaps I can help you resolve that.”
I stared at him for a moment. “Exactly how would you do that?”
It was his turn to stare back. “Maybe it would be better if you don’t know the details,” he said.
“I don’t know,” I responded.
“Think about it. What?”
“Can you tell me something?” I asked.
He nodded.
“What’s this ‘Mr. White’ thing all about?”
Max Green laughed and said, “It’s nothing ominous, I assure you. Back in the day, before we all got so ‘PC’ when I first went to work as a business agent for the union, there was another business agent, Alfonzo Green. The officers and staff of the union always mixed up our messages and stuff, so in order to keep everything straight they referred to us as the White Green and the Black Green for obvious reasons. Since everybody’s in a hurry it soon became, Mr. Black and Mr. White. I continued to use the moniker whenever I called a politician or an employer to discuss a sensitive issue or something that they might not want to publicly disclose our connection. You know that kind of thing.”
The Pa-la-ti-'shan Page 29