project’s going to take off like a rocket ship.
It was these tapes and certain subsequent events that were the basis for the government’s case against Moore and Concannon. Ruffing’s waterfront development plan was budgeted at $140 million, and Moore wanted a full 1 percent to propose and ensure passage of the enabling legislation in City Council. The government’s theory was that Moore and Concannon were shaking down Ruffing for the million point four and that when Ruffing stopped paying after the first half mil they turned violent, first beating the hell out of Bissonette, the club’s minority owner who had convinced Ruffing to stop the payments, and then burning down the club. Moore and Concannon had been indicted for violations of the Hobbs Act, RICO, the federal conspiracy laws, and there was plenty of evidence to back it all up. Ruffing would testify at the trial to an arrangement that had gone very bad, and there were reams of records, which I had not yet been able to examine, that purported to follow the trail of money from Ruffing to Concannon to Moore’s political action committee, Citizens for a United Philadelphia, or CUP, as well as physical evidence relating to the assault. But most significant of all were Moore’s own words, captured with startling clarity on the ferric oxide of the tapes.
Moore: I don’t understand the problem.
Ruffing: We’re going a different way is all.
Moore: But we had a deal. A deal, Mikey.
Ruffing: I’m not happy about it but I don’t got no fucking choice. Bissonette found out about us.
Moore: And I should care about that. He hit two-twenty lifetime, Mikey, two-twenty. We can walk all over him.
Ruffing: There are things about him I didn’t…I got a new investor with a new plan.
Moore: Don’t do this, Mikey. You back out now, your project’s dead. Dead.
Ruffing: My new investor don’t think so.
Moore: It’s that cookie baker, isn’t it?
Ruffing: Shut up. You were taking too much anyway, you know? You were being greedy.
Moore: So that’s it, is it, Mikey? I’m sending my man Concannon down.
Ruffing: I don’t want Concannon.
Moore: You listen, you shit. You talk to Concannon, right? I ain’t no hack from Hackensack, we had a deal. A deal. This isn’t just politics. We’re on a mission here, Mikey, and I won’t let you back down from your responsibilities. You catch what I’m telling you here? You catch it, Mikey?
I worked through lunch, eating a tuna salad sandwich as I listened to the tapes. I had not even touched the six boxes full of documents when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around and saw standing behind me Prescott, tall, stern faced, dressed in his severe navy blue pinstripes. I nearly jumped when I saw him. He looked like a mortician. I took off the headphones and was disoriented for a moment by the Dolby quiet of reality.
“What do you think?” asked Prescott.
“I haven’t been able to look at everything yet,” I said.
“But from what you saw. Be honest now, Victor.”
“Well, sir, to be honest, the tapes make Jimmy Moore out to be the archetypal grasping politician.”
“I knew you’d catch on,” he said as his stern features eased into merriment. “That’s exactly our defense. Come, Chester Concannon is waiting for us and Jimmy’s on his way. Chester especially is anxious to meet you.”
“Fine,” I said, grabbing hold of my pad and following Prescott out the door. He led me through a maze of hallways and up a flight of steps.
“It’s very important,” he said as I followed, “that Chester agrees to your representation and to maintain our current strategy.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, masking my apprehension. This, I knew, was the first crucial moment of my opportunity. I had never met Chester Concannon, had no idea what he looked like, what his manner was, but somehow I had to convince this stranger with his life on the line to hire me as his lawyer and to allow me to follow Prescott
It was these tapes and certain subsequent events that were the basis for the government’s case against Moore and Concannon. Ruffing’s waterfront development plan was budgeted at $140 million, and Moore wanted a full 1 percent to propose and ensure passage of the enabling legislation in City Council. The government’s theory was that Moore and Concannon were shaking down Ruffing for the million point four and that when Ruffing stopped paying after the first half mil they turned violent, first beating the hell out of Bissonette, the club’s minority owner who had convinced Ruffing to stop the payments, and then burning down the club. Moore and Concannon had been indicted for violations of the Hobbs Act, RICO, the federal conspiracy laws, and there was plenty of evidence to back it all up. Ruffing would testify at the trial to an arrangement that had gone very bad, and there were reams of records, which I had not yet been able to examine, that purported to follow the trail of money from Ruffing to Concannon to Moore’s political action committee, Citizens for a United Philadelphia, or CUP, as well as physical evidence relating to the assault. But most significant of all were Moore’s own words, captured with startling clarity on the ferric oxide of the tapes.
Moore: I don’t understand the problem.
Ruffing: We’re going a different way is all.
Moore: But we had a deal. A deal, Mikey.
Ruffing: I’m not happy about it but I don’t got no fucking choice. Bissonette found out about us.
Moore: And I should care about that. He hit two-twenty lifetime, Mikey, two-twenty. We can walk all over him.
Ruffing: There are things about him I didn’t…I got a new investor with a new plan.
Moore: Don’t do this, Mikey. You back out now, your project’s dead. Dead.
Ruffing: My new investor don’t think so.
Moore: It’s that cookie baker, isn’t it?
Ruffing: Shut up. You were taking too much anyway, you know? You were being greedy.
Moore: So that’s it, is it, Mikey? I’m sending my man Concannon down.
Ruffing: I don’t want Concannon.
Moore: You listen, you shit. You talk to Concannon, right? I ain’t no hack from Hackensack, we had a deal. A deal. This isn’t just politics. We’re on a mission here, Mikey, and I won’t let you back down from your responsibilities. You catch what I’m telling you here? You catch it, Mikey?
I worked through lunch, eating a tuna salad sandwich as I listened to the tapes. I had not even touched the six boxes full of documents when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around and saw standing behind me Prescott, tall, stern faced, dressed in his severe navy blue pinstripes. I nearly jumped when I saw him. He looked like a mortician. I took off the headphones and was disoriented for a moment by the Dolby quiet of reality.
“What do you think?” asked Prescott.
“I haven’t been able to look at everything yet,” I said.
“But from what you saw. Be honest now, Victor.”
“Well, sir, to be honest, the tapes make Jimmy Moore out to be the archetypal grasping politician.”
“I knew you’d catch on,” he said as his stern features eased into merriment. “That’s exactly our defense. Come, Chester Concannon is waiting for us and Jimmy’s on his way. Chester especially is anxious to meet you.”
“Fine,” I said, grabbing hold of my pad and following Prescott out the door. He led me through a maze of hallways and up a flight of steps.
“It’s very important,” he said as I followed, “that Chester agrees to your representation and to maintain our current strategy.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, masking my apprehension. This, I knew, was the first crucial moment of my opportunity. I had never met Chester Concannon, had no idea what he looked like, what his manner was, but somehow I had to convince this stranger with his life on the line to hire me as his lawyer and to allow me to follow Prescott
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