From our Walt Whitman desk
I got cut. Whitey gave me my outright release yesterday from his defense-witness list.
One minute I’m there, the next I’m gone, kicked down the stairs like I’m Aaron Bleepin’ Hernandez or somebody.
Around the courthouse yesterday, it was like the Monday before the start of the NFL season in September. People milling about in confusion, not knowing what to do now that they’d been placed on witness waivers.
Well, Carr knew what to do: spend the rest of the column fantasizing about what he would have said if he had been called on to testify.
If I had been called, and it was always a long shot, I had been planning to start by dropping a few words and phrases in here and there, no matter what question his lawyer Jay Carney hit me with.
“Well, Mr. Carney, your client used to stare at me — Sal Mineo — whenever I’d drive around the rotary — Hank Garrity — and I’m told he wanted me to come in — Jacques — and … what was the question again?”
Uh-huh. That would’ve happened right around the time Carr won a Pulitzer.
Funny, though – no fake testimony about all the money he split with John “Hitman” Martorano, whose 20 murders netted him a short 12 years and a sweet six-figure book deal.
Far more convenient to take the Fifth, eh?