“Dennis, let’s take this to trial,” Berger says.
“That could work out,” Weintraub says. “Maybe Sheila’s trial will be in the same department, you can take lunch breaks together.”
“You motherfucker.”
“We’re going to step out for ten minutes,” O’Dell says. “Let you think about it, confer with your attorney. Ten minutes, Denny, and then that’s it. You choose what happens after that.”
They walk out, and Malone and Berger sit in silence. Then Malone gets up and walks over to the window, looks out at Midtown. It’s New York busy—people scrambling, hustling a buck, trying to make it.
“This is hell,” Malone says.
Berger says, “You’ve always hated defense attorneys. Thought we were the scum of the earth, helping guilty people to escape justice. Now you know, Denny, why we exist. When the small guy gets caught in the system—if he has a vowel at the end of his name, or God help him he’s black or Hispanic, or even a cop—the machine just grinds him down. It’s not a fair fight. Lady Justice has a blindfold over her eyes because she just can’t bear to watch what happens.”
“Do you believe in karma?” Malone asks.
“No.”
“Neither do I,” Malone says, “but now I have to wonder . . . the lies I told, the phony warrants . . . the beatings . . . the wiseguys, the Jamaals, the spics I put behind bars. Now I’m one of them. I’m their nigger now.”
“You don’t have to be,” Berger says. “You have me.”
Yeah, Malone knows all too well how good Berger is in court. He knows what else the lawyer has in mind, but if this gets past a grand jury—and it will—no prosecutor or judge is going to take a chance selling it.
“I can’t risk my family,” Malone says.
He didn’t need the ten minutes. Malone knew as soon as they started talking that he wasn’t going to let Sheila go to prison.
A man takes care of his family, end of story. “I’ll take the deal.”
“You’ll have to do time,” Berger says.
“I know.”
“So will your partners.”
“I know that, too.”
Hell isn’t having no choice.
It’s having to make a choice between horrific things.
Berger says, “I can’t represent Russo or Montague. That would be a conflict of interest.”
“Let’s get this done.”
Berger goes out and gets O’Dell and Weintraub. When they sit down he says, “Detective Malone will make a full proffer of his crimes and plead guilty to heroin trafficking. He will cooperate fully and serve as a cooperating witness against other serving police that he knows to be implicated in crimes.”
O’Dell says, “That’s not good enough. He has to wear a wire and get incriminating evidence against them.”
“He’ll wear a wire,” Berger says. “In exchange, he wants a memorandum of cooperation from the sentencing judge recommending a sentence of no more than twelve years, to be served concurrently on any multiple charges, fines amounting to no more than one hundred thousand dollars and forfeiture of any funds gained through the illegal activities.”
“Accept in principle,” Weintraub says. “We can work out the details later. Final adjudication of the charges will be suspended pending the satisfactory completion of the defendant’s cooperation.”
“On the understanding that Malone’s new 302 contains no lies or omissions,” O’Dell says, “and that he commits no additional crimes.”
Berger says, “Our other condition—”
“You’re in no position to make demands,” O’Dell says.
“If we weren’t,” Berger says, “we wouldn’t be here. We’d be in a holding cell at the Metropolitan Correctional Center. May I go on? Detective Malone’s cooperation as to Detectives Russo and Montague is contingent on a guarantee that no jurisdiction files charges against any of the spouses. That is nonnegotiable, must be placed in a separate memorandum countersigned by both of you and the U.S. attorney general.”
“You don’t trust us, Gerry?” Weintraub asks.
“I just want to make sure that everyone has skin in the game,” Berger says, “and that if either or both of you leave your current positions, my client is still protected.”
“Agreed,” Weintraub says. “We have no desire to hurt families.”
“Nevertheless you manage to do it on a daily basis,” Berger says.
“Do we have a deal?” O’Dell asks.
Malone nods.
“Is that a yes?” Weintraub asks.
“My client agrees,” Berger says. “What do you want, his blood?”
“I want him to say it.”
“I speak for my client,” Berger says.
“Well, let your client know,” Weintraub says, “that if he decides to go Rafael Torres on himself to get out of this, the deal is off—his wife doesn’t leave flowers on his grave for five to eight.”
“We’ll need his proffer now,” O’Dell says.
Malone tells them all about the Pena bust, the theft of the cash and the heroin, and the subsequent sale of the heroin.
He doesn’t tell them that the killing of Diego Pena was, in fact, an execution.
Malone and Berger walk out of the building together.
“This is why you called me,” Berger says, “so that you walk out.”
“Will you be there to walk me in?” Malone says. “When I surrender myself at the federal lockup?”
“We’ll work on getting you Allenwood,” Berger says. “It’s a three-hour drive, your family could come visit.”
Malone shakes his head. “They’ll put me in seg, for ‘my protection.’ I won’t get visitation for years. Anyway, I don’t want my kids seeing me in prison. Going through all that, sitting around with skels’ families in the waiting room. When the frequent fliers find out that they’re visiting a cop, they’ll be harassed, maybe threatened.”
“It won’t be for months, maybe years,” Berger says. “A lot can happen in that time.”
“I’ll go get your money.”
“We need to arrange a drop,” Berger says. “It would hardly do to have you seen going into my office.”
Malone almost laughs. “What do your rat clients usually do?”
Berger hands him a card. “It’s a dry cleaner’s. I have my little jokes.”
“What about the rest of your fees?” Malone asks. “These forfeitures . . . I was counting on that money to pay you.”
“Let me be very clear,” Berger says. “I am first in line. The federal government is last. What can they do, collect money you don’t have?”
“They can take my house.”
“They’re going to take that anyway,” Berger says.
“Great.”
“What do you care?” Berger says. “You’ll testify for several years, so you’ll be living on a military base. Your family will be in the program. When you get out, you’ll join them. You can buy a lot more house for your money in Utah, I’ve heard.”
“You have a condo on Fifth Avenue.”
“And a house in the Hamptons,” Berger says, “a cabin in Jackson Hole, and I’m looking at a casita on St. Thomas.”
“You need someplace to dock your boat.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Berger says. “This is a business, Detective. Justice is a business. I just happen to have done very well at it.”
“Nice work if you can get it.”
“Would you like to know what the downside is?” Berger asks.