Robert Tanenbaum - Act of Revenge

“Just a second, Mr. Lie-this man, what was his name?”

“Ah, name Scarpi. Gino Scarpi. So he say, you want to work for us distribute product in Chinatown? This surprise me, because, ah, most times Chinese man is selling product to Italian. Bulk shipping.”

“This is drugs you’re referring to?”

“Yes, drugs. So I say to him, okay. I don’t tell big brother in tong, I figure, work for myself, you know? And we do business, Asian heroin, very pure. This is for year, year and a half, all going good, no problem. Then one month ago, something like that, Scarpi say to me, Willie, you know where I can get shooter, I have job for shooter. So, you know, I must laugh because, I say to him, why you need me, huh? You Mob ! You don’t have shooters? He say, yeah, we got, but can’t use them, he don’t say why not. Hundred thousand dollar, he say, you pay shooter. So, I say know guys, I give them a call, but no more, I don’t set it up, he must set it up. Scarpi. He don’t like that. He say, I pay you money, you do job. I say no thanks, I say, what you think, this Chinese restaurant?”

To Karp’s surprise Lie giggled then. “You understand? I not crazy man, I gangster , but Chinese gangster, not want shoot some Italian, get killed that way. So I go away. Two day later, at night, car comes, two men tell me, get in. So I go. Take me to apartment house, go up back way. Fancy apartment. There is Scarpi, there is another man, they say, this Joe Pigetti, big boss, I never meet him before. Pigetti say, once we ask you nice, now we don’t ask, we tell you, you get shooter, you take out Eddie Catalano. So what could I do, I say, yes, boss. Then he say got to happen a special night, a special time, nine of June, around three in morning. This two days later now. So I say, yes, boss. So two days, I get boys for this, tell them it must be so, it must be this way. Don’t use my own boys, get Viet boy, I know this shooter, he kill like it nothing, crush of fly, also another boy to help him. So they do it. Scarpi give me envelope, I give to them, I don’t touch, don’t count. Don’t want it. They take it, I don’t get no complaint. That’s all.” He looked blankly out at them, as if he had just told a joke without a punch line.

“Mr. Lie,” said Karp, “how come you’re here? I mean, why did you call a lawyer and come in here with this story?”

“Is not story, is true!”

“Yes, of course, but what was the reason that made you want to tell this true story to me?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, I scared they try to kill me, you know shut me up. So I tell, ah, Mr. Fogel this story, maybe I get some, what you call, witness protection.” He looked over at Fogel, whose smooth face was professionally neutral, with perhaps a hint of discomfort around the eyes.

“That’s an interesting story, Mr. Lie. Would you be able to provide corroboration?”

Fogel said, “Mr. Lie, what he means is he needs something to back up your story, some other witness, some-”

A look of what seemed like impatience seemed to flash from Lie to the lawyer, and he said, “I know what is corroboration. Yes, I have this. I have boys who did job, names, places you find them, and, have gun they used. They use, they give it to me to get rid of, but I don’t do it. So, yes. But I must have immunity. Transactional immunity.”

Karp shot an inquiring glance at Fogel, but the man seemed bemused by his client’s statement.

“Well, Mr. Lie,” said Karp, “as your lawyer may have informed you, all witnesses before New York state grand juries receive automatic transactional immunity. That is, a witness is immune from prosecution connected to any transaction arising from anything covered in his testimony, a very broad immunity.”

“Yes, is what I want,” said Lie.

“Right, I understand that, Mr. Lie. But here’s my problem. I don’t know you, I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done. Until you’ve made a formal statement and provided us with the means to corroborate it, I can’t actually guarantee you anything.”

Lie shook his head. “Is not good, not for me. Look, I admit I am gangster, I admit I sell drugs, I set up murder. When you have this all signed, you can say, Mr. Lie, you talk, you testify or you go to jail.”

Karp pushed his chair back and said, “Bill, I’m going to step outside for a few minutes, and in that time I’d like you to explain to your client how a proffer works and how we’re really not interested in pulling any fast ones on him.” He stood up. “While I’m out, would anyone like a soft drink? We have Coke and Diet Coke and Sprite, I think.” Fogel declined; Lie asked for a Coke.

Karp went into the outer office and used the phone to call the desk man at the D.A. squad, the small group of police officers assigned permanently to the district attorney’s office for various cop-type chores, and said, “Mel, get on to CATCH and find out if there’s a record on a mutt named Willie Lie, el-eye, or el-eye-ee, Asian male, age about thirty, five-five, around one-forty. Also, get a couple of the guys posted outside the courthouse. The mutt’s in my office now, and when he leaves I want him followed. He’s wearing a white shirt, dark pants, loafers. And tell Captain Fulton to call me as soon as he can. I may need full surveillance on this character. Got that?”

The officer said he had. “Is that it?”

“No, send a CSU tech up here in about fifteen. I’ll have something for him.”

Karp hung up and went to the coffee room behind the secretary’s office and, after killing five minutes with a newspaper he found in the trash can, he took a couple of Cokes from the refrigerator, wrapped them both in paper napkins, and went back into his office.

“Any progress?” Karp asked, handing a can to Lie, who picked it up, popped it, and took a swig. It was clear to Karp that lawyer and client were at odds. Lie had a cast to his face that made him look a lot less like a Chinese waiter and a lot more like what he said he was. Fogel looked confused and out of his depth, no surprise there.

“Butch, I’m afraid we’re at something of an impasse. Mr. Lie is not willing to proffer more than a version of what he has already related unless he is guaranteed protection and full transactional immunity.”

“Well, then, Bill, I’m afraid I can’t deal. No offense intended to your client, but somebody could walk in off the street, say he just shot the mayor and say that your grandmother set up the hit, and ask me to let him skate on it in return for his testimony against granny.”

“That’s not a relevant analogy, Butch,” Fogel objected. “Mr. Lie had a very minor role in the Catalano killing. He’s giving you a major organized-crime figure.”

“He’s giving me nothing but smoke, Bill. I need the shooters, the weapon, and a detailed account of how it was ordered, paid for, and carried out. With that, and after due investigation to see if the story checks out, I would be glad to place your client before the grand jury with the routine transactional immunity. Alternatively, I can offer him use immunity on his testimony, and offer him protection as a material witness. But other than that. .” He opened his hands palm up, the gesture of helplessness.

Lie placed his Coke back on the table and rose. “Now this over. Now we go to see United States attorney.” He waited to see what effect this would have on Karp, and Karp was surprised that a Chinese gangster, a relative newcomer, had grasped the fact of rivalry between two prosecutorial organizations enough to expect that there might be such an effect. He did not think a malpractice lawyer like Fogel had the balls to play that high-stakes game. There was more to Mr. Lie than was first apparent, it seemed, and it seemed to Karp that he, rather than Fogel, was calling the shots.