The Undertaker

Jimmy Santorini's troubles started with a series of prominent U. S. Senate Hearings on organized crime. I vaguely remembered all the dramatic TV coverage – bright lights, politicians with make-up, and a ton of demagoguery. A flashy new Senator from Illinois named Hardin led the charge, tanned, fit, and white capped teeth flashing. When he finally got the gumbas under oath in front of the cameras, he patiently painted them into a tight little corner. Someone had done his homework, because the hearings blew the lid off the Santorini mob and goosed the Justice Department into what they later described as, “one of the most intense investigations in the history of the Department.” A year later, “the Stump” was wearing a not-too-stylish orange jump suit in a broom closet of a cell in Marion.

Big trial. Big name lawyers. Lots of press. What finally put Jimmy behind bars was the defection and testimony of several of Santorini's top “button men”: Richie Benvenuto, Johnny Dantonio, Paul Mantucci and Clement “the Mole” Aleppo, topped off with a bean counter named Louie Panozzo. Without them, the Feds would never have made their case. With them, it was a slam dunk. Apparently, the Federal Witness Protection Program sounded better than spending twenty-five to life behind the razor wire at Marion in the cage next to Jimmy. It was a good thing Marlon Brando was dead, though. Omerta must have died with the Godfather.

Looking at the more recent news stories, I found some dealing with the investigation, the arrest, and the trial, but not much after that. The trial lasted months, but the half-life of a mob trial is only a week or two once it was over. Besides, it was mostly a New York/ New Jersey story to begin with. With the exception of a few quick blips, it faded as fast as Jimmy's suntan inside Marion. The New York Times put the best wrap on it:

“When all is said and done, after all the prosecutors and politicians have done their final preening for the cameras, after all the big name lawyers have cashed their 7-figure checks and the reporters have written their last word, putting Jimmy “the Stump” to the Federal pen had all the permanence of throwing a rock into a big lake. Not that Jimmy Santorini didn't get what he deserved, but after the big splash, the hole in the pond quickly fills back over, the ripples fade to nothing, and some new “wise guy” has muscled his way in to take his place. In the end, we must ask ourselves, “What difference did any of it make?”

I returned to the Reference Desk and found the same polite librarian sitting on her stool, staring across the counter at me.

“If I wanted to find out about a lawyer, do you have a book or something I could look him up in?” I asked.

“Some people have the damnedest hobbies,” she commented, straight-faced. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Oh, I'm just curious,” I smiled. “I want to make sure I'm hiring the right one, you know.”

“You mean the one with the sharpest teeth?” She asked without blinking. “Well, each to his own. Come along, we'll see what we can find.”

She led me back into the labyrinth of the reference shelves and paused in front of a long row of thick, yellowy-gold, black-lettered tomes. “That's the new edition of the Martindale-Hubbell Law Directory,” she offered proudly. “All thirteen volumes, divided by State and City. It'll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about every law firm and every lawyer in the Country — except which ones are honest and which ones ought to strung up and hung.”

She looked up at me and flicked her finger against my shirt pocket where I had hidden the obituaries I ripped out of her newspapers. “Just don't go tearing anything out of these babies, okay? 'Cause if I catch you, it won't be pretty.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said as she turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with an embarrassed grin on my face.