“And for that he gets jail time? It won’t happen, Marshall, can I call you Marshall? Chet Concannon’s a stand-up guy. He won’t flip.”
Eggert sniffed at me. “What would he want?”
Good question. Truthfully, I had no idea what Chester Concannon would want to testify against his boss, but I knew exactly what I wanted here. “Complete immunity,” I said.
“You know better than that, Carl. We would never give immunity in a case like this.”
I shrugged.
“Your boy’s in a tough spot,” said Eggert, who had dropped a hand into his navy blue pants pocket and was now jingling his loose change. “With his priors he’s looking at serious time. And he’s liable to be caught in the crossfire between the government and Moore. If I were you I’d be jumping out of my pants to make a deal. Look everything over, talk to Concannon. We’ll keep our offer open for a week, but then it disappears. Now how much time will you need to get ready for trial? We’re willing to be flexible.”
“Trial’s in a week and a half,” I said. “That should be enough.”
The jingling stopped suddenly and Eggert’s expression shifted to weary incredulity. He sniffed twice, cracked a weary smile, and the jingling began again. “Ever tried a racketeering case before, Carl?”
“No.”
“This is not your usual rear-ender. There are tapes, there are boxes of documents, there are reams of financial records, there are over a thousand pages of Jencks Act material from the grand jury. And there’s a half a million dollars flowing from the good guys to the bad guys, a half million we can’t all account for. This is complex stuff. There’s no way you can be ready in a week and a half.”
“I’ll work overtime,” I said.
“Listen, pal, if you don’t ask for more time I’m going to demand it, and make you look like a fool in the process. I’m not going to have my conviction overturned upstairs because of your incompetence.”
My eyes were watering, so I turned aside and looked down the hall. “You started the clock running when you indicted, Marshall. Time to step up to the line, ready or not.”
“Oh, we’ll be ready,” he said, the jingling of his change growing furious. “The government is always ready. But you’d be well advised to be careful here, Carl. These people you’re palling around with now, they’re not boy scouts. Bissonette would tell you so if he could talk out a skull still as soft as a ripe guava. And fat Pete McCrae, whom you replaced, that piece of duck might have done him a favor. He was two weeks from getting indicted himself.”
“I can look out for myself,” I said.
“I don’t know how you fell into this case, Carl,” he said, “but trust me when I tell you that you didn’t fall in clover.”
Then Marshall Eggert, a knight in cheap navy blue wool and clunky black shoes, a weary prosecutor weighed down by all his grave and portentous righteousness, Marshall Eggert turned from me and stalked back into the courtroom. Well, I could never say I hadn’t been warned.
Judge Gimbel was a great prune of a man, his skull covered in a wrinkled bag of skin without even a pretense of hair, except for wiry sprouts erupting from his brows and ears. His mouth was dried and downturned. A set of reading glasses perched aggressively on the tip of his sharp nose, through which he peered with a marked disdain for those with the temerity to stand before him. He had been a federal judge longer than anyone could remember and acted as if he had been born to the job. His voice, turned grotesque by age and disease, was like a handsaw eating through a log.
“Did Mr. Concannon get new counsel?” the judge asked. There was a slight echo in the courtroom that gave the proceedings an air of grave importance.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “Victor Carl on behalf of Chester Concannon. I filed an appearance of counsel this morning.”
There were four of us at the defense table. Prescott stood next to me, straight as a pole in his stock navy suit, his own pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, lending him the virtuous air of a scholar. Moore and Concannon sat on either side of us. Behind our table was the Talbott, Kittredge team, all in a row, waiting to hand off any document for which Prescott snapped his fingers. At the prosecution’s table stood only Eggert.
“Are you satisfied with Mr. Carl’s representation, Mr. Concannon?”
Concannon stood and said, “Yes, sir.”
“I can attest,” said Prescott, “that Mr. Carl is a highly qualified attorney.”
“We’ll see, won’t we,” said the judge. “When’s our trial date?”
“October sixth,” said the judge’s clerk, a young woman sitting at a table in front of the bench, ceaselessly working through piles of paper as she spoke.
“That’s thirteen days from now,” said the judge. “Are we going to be ready?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said Prescott.
“The government will be ready, Your Honor,” said Eggert, “but in light of the fact that Mr. Carl filed his appearance only this morning, we believe a continuance is in order.”
“I’ve discussed the case with Mr. Carl,” said Prescott. “He’s had access to all our discovery and to Mr. McCrae’s files and he has informed me that no delay of the trial date will be necessary.”
“Your Honor,” said Eggert, “Mr. Prescott does not speak on behalf of Mr. Concannon and, with all respect due Mr. Carl,” he glanced at me and his face clearly indicated exactly how little he thought that amounted to, “we don’t want to go through the expense of a trial only to have a conviction overturned somewhere down the line for ineffectiveness of counsel.”
“That’s enough carping, both of you,” said Judge Gimbel. “Mr. Carl, can you be ready in thirteen days?”
“I think so,” I said.
“You only think so?” said the judge. “Mr. Concannon.” Concannon stood again. “Your counsel has just told me he only thinks he’ll be ready for trial in thirteen days but wants to go ahead anyway. What is your opinion of that?”
“We’ll be ready, Your Honor,” said Concannon.
“Why don’t you have a little talk with your attorney before you decide.” The judge waved us to the back of the courtroom. We sat next to each other on the last bench and spoke softly while everyone else waited.
“The judge wants me to explain to you what’s going on,” I said.
“I understand what’s going on,” he said. “They think because I’m black they have to say it twice, like English is my second language. Just do whatever Prescott says.”
“The truth is, Chet,” I said quietly, “Eggert’s right. There’s no way I can go over everything before the trial. There’s too much material.”
“Whatever Prescott says.”
I saw something move to our side and I turned my head quickly. One of the reporters was sneaking up the bench, trying to listen in on our conversation. “Do you mind?” I said loud enough for the entire courtroom to hear. The judge stared hard at her as she smiled awkwardly and backed away from us.
“Vultures,” said Concannon, his head hanging low. He didn’t look so assured just then, he looked young and scared and sick of it all.
I looked away, scanned the courtroom, saw the gaggle of Talbott, Kittredge lawyers conversing easily. I swallowed once and said, “The government offered me a deal for you.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “They want me to testify.”
“That’s right. You’d end up with a minimal term. I could probably work out a recommendation for no jail time if I push.”
“They want me to testify against the councilman?”
“Yes.”
“And then what happens to me?”
“Maybe probation for a few years.”
“And then what?”
“And then nothing. You’re off the hook.”
“And then what?” he said. “Don’t you understand, Victor? There is no choice for me here. Before working for the councilman I was sitting on the stoop in my undershirt, buying malt liquor with my mother’s check. For the guys I grew up with that was the ultimate career goal. Occasionally, for a little extra beer money, I would cook up cheese steaks at a place my uncle owns, sweating into the chipped beef as I mixed it with the onions and Cheez Whiz. Two years of Temple University but that was still all the work I could find. I have a record, no worse than anyone else I grew up with, but enough to kill my future. Then comes the councilman, seeking guys with records who had cleaned up their acts, role models for his crusade. And so there I was looking for something and there he was looking for me. He saved me, absolutely. Now I drive around in his limousine and drink champagne every other night and make good money and do good work. And when he becomes mayor I’m going to be his chief of staff. Now what happens if I testify against him?”