The Juror by George Dawes Green Page B

cartel?”
    “Maybe, but he didn’t—”
    “And wasn’t this the very same Teacher who had a few ideas for dealing with the Ndrangheta?”
    “Yeh, but he—”
    “And wasn’t this the very same Teacher who suggested to Louie Boffano that he could dig a tunnel to Mr. Riggio’s house and
     kill him?”
    “Yeh.”
    “Who is this Teacher, Mr. DeCicco?”
    “I dunno.”
    “Is he in this courtroom?”
    “I dunno.”
    “What does he look like?”
    “I dunno.”
    “You never saw him?”
    “No.”
    “Did you ever speak to him?”
    “Yeh. But he wore a mask.”
    “Why did he wear a mask?”
    Paulie DeCicco shrugs.
    Bozeman suggests, “Perhaps he didn’t trust you?”
    “I guess not.”
    “You
guess
not?”
    “Yeh. Well, one time Louie told me that the Teacher didn’t trust me. That he thought I’d rat out.”
    “And this prophecy proved true, didn’t it, Mr. DeCicco?”
    “I guess.”
    “You
did
rat out, that’s why—”
    “Objection!” says Tallow.
    Says Bozeman, “His words, Your Honor. Not mine.”
    Wietzel overrules the objection.
    “You turned your back on the family, Mr. DiCicco, just as the Teacher said you would, correct?”
    “Yeh.”
    “In fact, the Teacher was
often
right, wasn’t he?”
    “I guess.”
    “These drug dealings, did the family make a lot of money?”
    “Yeh.”
    “Just as the Teacher predicted?”
    “Yeh.”
    “Pretty smart guy?”
    “Yeh.”
    “And yet nobody knows who he is?”
    “Louie Boffano knows.”
    “Anyone else?”
    “I dunno.”
    “And one day this Teacher said he could dig a tunnel to the home of Salvadore Riggio, for the purpose of killing him?”
    “Right.”
    “And Mr. Boffano said, ‘OK, you want, you want to dig a tunnel, dig a tunnel.’ Correct?”
    “Correct.”
    “After all, the Teacher was the boss, he could do what he wanted, right?”
    “Wait a minute—the Teacher wasn’t the boss.”
    “Really? Do you know of any case in which the Teacher’s council wasn’t followed?”
    “Well, yeh. Like me. I mean the Teacher didn’t trust me but Louie kept me around anyway.”
    “Are you saying that despite his concerns, the Teacher
permitted
Mr. Boffano to retain your services?”
    A feather of laughter sweeps over the courtroom.
    Says Paulie DeCicco, “He didn’t permit nothing! Louie was the boss! He gave the orders!”
    “I think you mean Louie spoke the orders?”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Do you know what a puppet is, Mr. DeCicco?”
    Tallow’s on his feet instantly. “Objection!”
    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bozeman mumbles as he moves back to his desk. “I’ll rephrase the question.”
    He stoops beside his desk and comes up with a paper bag. He reaches his hand into the bag. He turns to the witness. “Mr. DeCicco,
     do you know what this is?”
    When his hand comes out of the bag it’s wearing a cloth puppet. With black hair and a walrus mustache and a scowl. In the
     very image of its master, Mr. Bozeman.
    Bozeman holds it up. He announces: “This is a puppet, isn’t it?”
    Gasp from the courtroom.
    The puppet wheels and scowls down at Mr. Bozeman and squeaks:
    “No I’m
not
! I’m the boss!
You’re
the puppet!”
    Above the roar of laughter Wietzel tolls his gavel. He’s furious. “Mr. Bozeman! Mr. Bozeman!”
    Paulie DeCicco is shouting,
“Louie Boffano was no puppet!”
    The puppet nods gravely to Paulie, then turns upon its master and huffs, “That’s right! So there!”
    Judge Wietzel shouts, “Mr. Bozeman!”
    Now Bozeman, mock-sheepish, dunks the puppet back into the paper bag. But the puppet fights its way out and shouts, “Sorry,
     Your Honor!”
    The Judge thunders, “Mr. Bozeman, are you trying to make a circus of these proceedings? You’re in contempt, and if there’s
     one more—All right! Calm down! Order!”
    Cracking the gavel again and again.
    “I’m going to initiate disciplinary proceedings against you, Mr. Bozeman, for this comedic display. One more such