Condemned (59 page)

As to Tony Balls' own phone conversations, there were few, very few, since Tony Balls was rarely at home. The most that the Government recorded him saying over the phone was that phones were not intended for men to talk on. He then would make an appointment to meet whomever it was that he was talking with, at some locale so they could talk.

Although Tony Balls did not believe phones were intended for talking, telephone conversations between Vickie and Charlie caused Tony Balls—a man, a stand-up man—more embarrassment than anything in his life.

District Attorney's Office : August 24, 1996 : 3:30 P.M.

“I have my own copy of all this stuff,” Rob Quintalian said to Sandro as he scanned through the school and medical records of Hettie Rouse. “Why are you showing me this?”

“I want to focus you on the Hettie Rouse case, so we can discuss a disposition,” said Sandro.

“What disposition can there be? It's death, or life without parole. And at the moment you haven't shown me anything that causes me to tell you we won't pursue death.”

“That's what I came to see you about,” said Sandro.

“But, like I said, I've already read this stuff. I know she wasn't bright, and all that, but that still doesn't change things for me. People who kill are not necessarily rocket scientists, so unless you have something else—”

“I do,” said Sandro, reaching into a folder he had in his open alligator skin attache case. He removed a document.

“What's this?” said Quintalian.

“First, I want you to tell you a little about Hettie Rouse, a little that you don't know,” said Sandro. “She has a brother …”

“You told me. He's a doctor somewhere,” Quintalian nodded indifferently. “What's he do, work in a clinic in Alabama?”

“No, I told you, he's a prominent Park Avenue doctor, with a very elite practice. And, for all intents and purposes, he's white.”

“He's what?”

“White. He has a white practice, a white wife, white children—step children—and I've interviewed him. His opinion, both as a brother and as a medical expert is that Hettie Rouse, his sister, is, and was always, mentally challenged; that her capacity is, and was always, diminished, that her capacity to comprehend right from wrong, or anything else, is, and was, subpar.”

“Let me see that,” said Quntalian, reaching again for the document Sandro held just out of his reach.

“Before I do that, I am giving you a redacted copy. His name is blacked out, so is his signature at the bottom—you guys do that to us all the time. The reason I'm redacting it is that the doctor is reluctant—not unwilling—just reluctant to blow his cover at this time. He has been passing as white for many, many years—”

“How could that be? Hettie Rouse is as dark as the ace of spades,” said Quintalian.

“The reason her father abandoned she and her mother, as I'm sure you already knew,” said Sandro, “is that the father believed, probably rightly so, that Hettie Rouse wasn't his daughter, that the mother was fooling around and became pregnant from another man. Hettie and the Doctor are probably half brother and sister. But they lived together their entire lives until the brother went off to prep school, I guess around the age of fourteen or fifteen.”

“You telling me that he's willing to testify to this?” said Quintalian.

“If we can't work out a disposition, he will—at great, great, personal sacrifice. Coming out of the closet will ruin his life—his wife and kids do not know—it will ruin his practice, he will be sacrificed entirely on the witness chair. But he will do it. And he will confirm the fact that Hettie Rouse has always had diminished capacity. This is a very intelligent, a very impressive man, very well spoken, very dignified. I think his testimony, and his open confession to having passed all these years, the obvious damage that he would be doing to himself by testifying, because it is the right thing for him to do, will, at the very least, evenly balance the jury, which, of course, will result in no death penalty, in life without benefit of parole.”

“Let me see it,” said Quintalian.

Sandro handed Quintalian the affidavit, then reached back down into the folder in his attache case and took out another redacted copy, which he silently re-read along with Quintalian. As Quintalian read, occasionally, he glanced up and across his desk at Sandro, then back down, continuing to read.

“The doctor is willing to take the stand and say all this?” said Quintalian.

“If absolutely necessary.”

Quintalian continued to read. “You say he's well spoken, dignified, intelligent?” he said without looking up.

“Extremely so,” said Sandro.

Quintalian's desk phone rang. He let it ring. “Voicemail will answer—” he murmured, continuing to read. At one point, Sandro glanced over. Quintalian's eyebrows were raised, his head nodding. “You think he'll make a good witness?”

“You'd be very impressed,” said Sandro. “And, Rob, when the poor bastard has to take the stand, basically, sacrificing his life, his world, by taking the stand, it will come across like a peal of thunder.”

“You know I've always been a straight shooter with you, Sandro, because you've always been straight with me—I think,” Quintalian smiled slightly. “This affidavit, along with the documents—if he really is, as you say, credible, impressive—”

“If he has to take the stand, you'll see that he is. He'll tell the whole story, about himself, his name, that he was passing, the sacrifice he'd be making for her sake—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” said Quintalian. “I'm impressed. Do I get to talk to the Doctor in person, or do I have to buy this pig in a poke?”

“In anticipation that you'd ask that very question, and with no small amount of effort,” said Sandro, “I convinced the Doctor to accompany me here this morning. He's sitting on one of the metal chairs in what you refer to charitably as a waiting area.”

“He's here?”

“It wasn't easy to get him to come down. And I'm going to ask you to be—well, to take it easy on the guy. Maybe we might not agree with him, or the position he's put himself in, but, whether we like it or not, his life is in our hands as well as Hettie's. If I'm forced to call him, which I will if I have to, if we put him through this, we are going—rightly or wrongly—to ruin the man's life, and the lives of his wife and children.”

“Give me some credit for understanding. I'm not totally insensitive, Sandro.”

“I know we didn't create the situation—it's his own doing—but for whatever reason, the ruin will hurt as much. You want me to bring him in?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sandro walked out to the reception area and caught the Doctor's eyes. He grimaced as Sandro signaled for him to go to meet the D.A. “I imagine the District Attorney wants to talk with me,” said the Doctor.

“I don't think for content. The affidavit speaks for itself. I think he just wants to impress himself with you.”

“I don't feel very impressive, Sandro—you don't mind if I call you Sandro?”

“Not at all.” They were walking along the wide corridor that led to Quintalian's office.

“I think I feel the same being led to Quintalian, as people must have felt being led to the guillotine,” said the Doctor.

“For a prosecutor, he's a nice guy,” said Sandro. He knocked on Quintalian's door.

Quintalian scrutinized the Doctor as he entered. “Doctor, Mr. Luca tells me you're willing to testify on behalf of your sister.” Quintalian aimed his dart right at the heart of the matter.

“Mr. Luca is very convincing.”

“He must be,” said Quintalian, his face softening. He stood and extended his hand to shake the Doctor's hand. “Thank you for taking the time to come down. Yes, Sandro is an excellent attorney. Your sister is lucky to have him.”

“If he could convince me to come down here and lend my support to—to this matter, I think he can convince anyone of anything,” said the Doctor.

“I imagine that's so,” said Quintalian, sitting down behind his desk, pointing to a chair for the Doctor. “I've read this affidavit,” he said, handing the pages to the Doctor. “The contents of this document are your own words?”

“Oh, yes, quite.”

“You swore to the truth of this document—the original?”

The Doctor gnawing on his bottom lip, nodded.

Quintalian nodded, taking the pages back from the Doctor.

“And you'd be willing to get up on the stand to testify to these facts?”

The Doctor was pensive. “If it were to save the life of a human being. I can't tell you how difficult it would be, but I would.”

“I'm impressed,” Quintalian said, standing. “I didn't tip my mitt, there, Sandro, not inadvertently, that is. I realize how difficult this is for you, Doctor, and not wanting you to be entirely on pins and needles, I will tell you that Sandro has made a formidable pitch for your sister. I'm not saying one way or the other, the final decision is up to my boss. But I will tell you, under the circumstances, I'm impressed with the circumstances.” Quintalian reached out his hand to shake the doctor's hand. “I'll be in touch with Mr. Luca.”

“Thank you for—for anything you can do for Hettie.”

“Sandro, I'll be in touch.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

Chatham Square : August 25, 1996 : 10:25 A.M.

Since Tony Balls was being charged with selling narcotics, combined with the total hostility of the D.E.A. in the form of Michael Becker, A.U.S.A. Dineen had requested, and the Magistrate Judge had ordered, that Tony Balls be remanded to the Metropolitan Correction Center (M.C.C.) without bail pending the disposition of his case. Now, Tony Balls sat across a table from Sandro Luca in a small counsel visiting room.

“I'm fucked now, right?” Tony Balls said to Sandro with a resigned shrug. He was wearing a baggy orange jump suit and a pair of government issue white sneakers.

“It's not a hundred percent shoo in,” said Sandro, “but you've been around long enough to know they have a pretty solid case against you. They have videotapes with you and Sally Cantalupo—not devastating tapes—but they show you meeting with him in front of the restaurant, appearing to drop something on the ground, him picking something up. They have audio tapes, but the audio tapes are not bad; you hardly say anything on tape.”

“Thank God for little favors.”

“They have the Russians by the balls as far as a narcotics conspiracy is concerned—they haven't even mentioned, yet, their complicity in killing Red Hardie—tapes, informant, this guy Awgust Nichols is in the Government's pocket, the whole thing,” continued Sandro. “The conspiracy against them is solid, so the Government will be able to prove a conspiracy without any trouble. As you know, after that, all they have to do is connect you to that conspiracy, even the last link in the chain, and they've got you.”

“And then they have me meeting with the Russians down in Coney Island, right?”

“That's right. And they have you meeting with Sally Cantalupo—”

“So the whole fucking thing goes ‘round in a circle, like one big circle jerk, and like I said, I'm totally fucked, right?”

“If I had a mind to lie to you and tell you no, would you believe me?”

“You ain't going to lie to me, Sandro, I know that. And more than these Government scum bags having me by the balls as far as the conspiracy is concerned, I fucked myself with my friends, to boot. I can talk to you about this shit. You know the score. I get out of this miserable jail, my hash is fried in the street. Even I don't get out of it, my hash is fried in the joint as well. Billy Legs'll have a contract on me, for someone to hit me over the head. Not because of his kid so much, but because I was dealing with that thing, you know what I mean? It was against the rules. Whether someone comes to hurt me or not, I got to be looking over my shoulder every minute, worrying that someone is going to try, which is not such a good way to live the rest of my life. And to top it off, I'm a fuckin' laughin' stockin' because of those tapes with my wife.
Minca
, those dopey fuckin' tapes. She didn't do nothin' with the guy, but still—” Tony Balls voice trailed off in disgust and resignation.

Once again, Sandro felt helpless to help a client, which was a feeling he detested. He had felt the same way a few short weeks ago when he visited Red Hardie in this same M.C.C.

“You think this scumbag Becker wants to talk to me?” said Tony Balls, looking squarely at Sandro.

“Talk to you, like you cooperating?” said Sandro, taken aback.

“Yeah, like me cooperating. You think he'll want to talk to me?”

“Are you serious?” said Sandro.

“I'm fucked, right? Inside or out, I'm a fuckin' laughin' stockin'
cornud
, because of them tapes, right? I gotta live like a hunted rat, inside or out. I disgraced myself. So what the fuck I got to lose? I can only win, right?”

“Are you telling me that you want me to talk to Becker, tell him that you want to cooperate?” said Sandro.

“It can't hurt to know all our options, right?”

After Sandro left the M.C.C, he contacted Michael Becker and inquired if he'd be interested in having Tony Balls cooperate. Becker was at first skeptical, then delighted with Sandro's inquiry. He was the more delighted, because he gloated over the fact that he brought down, humbled, and now wanted to humiliate the audacious, preening, smart ass, fresh mouthed Tony Balls. Becker told Sandro absolutely, he'd be very interested in speaking to Tony Balls. If he was willing to sign a cooperation agreement—which meant full cooperation, including testimony in open court—there was a certain amount of help that the Government would extend to him. Sandro made an appointment to meet with Dineen, the D.E.A. and Tony Balls.