Free The Hearing by James Mills

tightening
     of procedural controls on police and prosecutors, broader authority for federal parole board members, a far more malleable
     procedure by which convicted federal felons might win early release. The last two of these, which could critically influence
     the possibility of Vicaro’s eventual freedom, were encapsulated in
Javez v. Rench,
a case challenging the federal law under which Vicaro had been sentenced.
    He also wanted the decriminalization of marijuana and, eventually, cocaine. He already controlled coca plantations, processing
     labs, and distribution networks. Legalization would eliminate all the people Vicaro had to pay so liberally to do his illegal
     processing, shipping, warehousing, and retailing. Hundreds of millions of dollars in bribes to Latin American officials would
     no longer be necessary. Decriminalization would let Vicaro turn his expensively illegal operation into an even more profitable
     legal enterprise. Another R. J. Reynolds.
    If the drive for legalization could ever be moved out of the legislative branch, where it had little support, into the Supreme
     Court (as abortion had been), Vicaro wanted justices there who would not oppose it. And the thin edge of the decriminalization
     wedge was almost certain to appearbefore the Supreme Court later that year in the form of
Hacker v. Colorado,
an appeal testing the constitutionality of a state law prohibiting the growth of small amounts of cannabis in private homes.
     Vicaro saw the court as evenly divided both on that case and on
Javez v. Rench.
He did
not
want Gus Parham’s vote tipping the balance.
    And if Vicaro, who paid Parks & Simes $20 million a year, didn’t want Gus Parham on the Supreme Court, John Harrington didn’t
     want him there either. So when Helen Bondell called, Harrington had said, “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll do what I can.”
    At eight o’clock the following morning, Harrington had had a phone call from “Jonathan.” Harrington had never met Jonathan,
     knew nothing about him except that he had the voice, vocabulary, and diction of an extremely genteel upper-class Englishman.
     Whenever Vicaro needed Harrington to know something and didn’t want to send a letter or observe whatever prison procedures
     were necessary for making a phone call, he managed, in ways Harrington had no desire to know, to contact Jonathan. And Jonathan,
     for reasons Harrington also did not want to know, ever so graciously passed the message to Harrington.
    “Yes, Jonathan?”
    “My friend would like to see you. He says it’s extremely important. Today, if at all possible.”
    “I don’t know if I can get a flight. I’ll try. If I can’t make it late today, I’ll be there tomorrow.”
    “Thank you very much. He said today. I’ll see he gets the message.”
    So Harrington had told his assistant to clear his calendar and book him on the next flight to Chicago, nearest airport to
     the federal prison where Vicaro was incarcerated.
    Responding now to Harrington’s remark that Parham might be nominated for the Supreme Court, Vicaro said, “You are wrong, my
     friend. He will be nominated for nothing. And if he is, he will not be confirmed.”
    “You sound very certain.”
    “Mr. Harrington …” Vicaro always called him Mr. Harrington when he was serious. Harrington didn’t like it—nobody liked it—when
     Vicaro got serious. “I’m going to tell you something, and you will know what to do with it.”
    Harrington didn’t like the sound of that, but he said, “I’m listening.”
    Vicaro leaned forward, an operation requiring the labored displacement of more than 300 pounds of deadweight flesh. He looked
     up at Harrington and exhaled. This time Harrington did not pull back. He had a son at Princeton and a daughter at a private
     school in Virginia.
    “Parham’s a thief.”
    Vicaro, studying Harrington, looked like a delicately triggered bomb. Harrington didn’t want to disturb the atmosphere. After
     ten