The Jersey City Independent"

Maybe it was a couple of extra handshakes. Or bending down to pick up that quarter he dropped. Could’ve been the moment he waited for the car to pass until he crossed the street.

What’s clear is this: a few seconds on April 30, 2009 saved Jerramiah Healy’s ass.

Otherwise, he might no longer be mayor of Jersey City.

You can’t see him. He’s out of frame (a spy camera only has so much range). But Healy is dangerously close to the table at the Medical Center Luncheonette as David Esenbach, a government informant posing as a developer, tells a group of the mayor’s associates that he needs his zoning approvals done as quickly as possible. Esenbach refers to the $10,000 cash he has brought with him, stashed in a FedEx envelope, to be illegally funneled into the Healy ‘09 campaign account. Even more damning to all ears present, he promises to fork over another $10K after the election.

And at that, without even a beat, David Esenbach stands up to shake Healy’s hand. The Mayor steps to the table and into the picture — literally. There’s an FBI camera hidden on David’s gut.

By this time, the two have met before, and Healy greets Dave warmly, perhaps knowing that this guy is important enough to remember his name, or at least pretend to remember his name…. See, it all depends on what kind of state of mind Healy’s in, but don’t worry; Dave understands the mayor’s condition. See, he’s got a couple of good pals who tell him everything he needs to know about Hizzoner.

This is a lesson in how to make friends and bribe people in Jersey City. It is taught in starts and stops by secret tapes and witness testimony, pieced together by the Assistant U.S. Attorneys prosecuting Healy’s suspended deputy, Leona Beldini, on six counts related to influence peddling and corrupt payments.

Beldini was one of the four people sitting at that Luncheonette table while Esenbach dished the dough pro quo. All four got pinched by the Feds.

That’s everybody except for Healy, safe because he hadn’t reached the booth early enough to hear the worst of it. Sure, David was able to mention $10 grand to him at one point, but Healy could plausibly brush it off as something about fundraising. Maybe the guy was bundling donations from his friends?… Hey, it could happen.

Now, of the indicted diners, Beldini is the only one proclaiming her innocence. She faces up to twenty years if convicted. Eddie Cheatam, one of two political fixers who helped David do business, copped a plea. The other, Jack Shaw, has since shuffled off to the Big FedEx Envelope In The Sky.

As for the final participant, David Esenbach is also no longer with us. That’s because he was never actually with us to begin with. His real name is Solomon Dwek and he is sitting in the courtroom this morning.

Spectators came out in droves to catch a glimpse of the government’s star witness in his second day of testimony. The press pool alone accounted for 15 by 9:47 am. There was a revolving door of defense attorneys, presumably with clients who walked into the Dwek buzzsaw. You could tell their pedigree by their briefcases, their manner, or their coziness with Beldini’s barrister, The Bow Tie. BT’s been teaching criminal law at Rutgers for years—maybe the fellas could earn a credit or two if they take a pop quiz on the cross-examination.

Not today, though. Today is target practice for the prosecution. They have an arsenal of videos and recordings. The Jaw’s co-counsel, Sandra Moser, fixes her position at the center of the courtroom. The enemy’s coordinates are spread out at her fingertips. She commands the barrage. The Siege of Fortress Beldini is underway.

Exhibit…. Page Number…. Tape…. Audio Recording…. Mr. Dwek…. Your Honor…. ::silence::

Moser holds her fire as The Bow Tie objects. To what, it’s not important. He objects.

What else can the man do? Over and over again, crisp gray-scale footage floods a 6′ by 8′ screen on the wall opposite the jury box. Transcribed conversations from cellphone-taps trickle down the page. The men and women of the jury know what they’re seeing: stark evidence of a conspiracy to trade influence for money. If that weren’t enough, Moser has Dwek explain it for them.

So The Bow Tie objects. He jumps to his feet like a fencer about to spar. He lifts his rapier — his left index finger — and thrusts at the hearsay, the witness leading, the speculation. He cannot abide the prosecution’s well laid assault, bombing Beldini into a crater only to bomb that crater some more. The Bow Tie needs to disrupt, to make the government’s pursuit of corruption look less methodical, and more diabolical.

Somebody ought to tell him that you can’t parry with precision guided munitions.

Moser finishes another question. Dwek has barely inhaled before The Bow Tie is out of his seat again.

Lookit! The witness is reading FROM the transcripts!

The defense would like the jury to believe Solomon Dwek is some sort of puppet, but in fact, he’s an actor.

Now, if only it was possible to tell which role is the fake, and which is the real Dwek?

David Esenbach seems to be a whole other person than the baby-faced man who sits at the witness stand. Esenbach is a cajoler. His voice, a nasal rapid-fire rip of gee-whiz. At times, he sounds like a young Jay Leno. Ya know, just aw regulah gwuy, trwyin’ to make a few buhks, that’zawl.

Solomon Dwek talks with an earnest, round voice. He speaks slowly. Sometimes you can hear an Eastern European flourish. (’They said Beldini or Craig Guy might be de b’yag-person.’) Dwek’s face looks concerned. It wants you to know that he’s a serious man. That this time, he’s not bullshitting you.

Moser rolls the next clip. The jurors slide headphones over their ears. They fix their eyes on the screen or their transcripts. Here, Shlomo steps in — offstage, once again. No one to perform for. He’ll look at the transcripts, but never at the monitor to his right. Every now and then, his mouth makes O’s, like he’s sucking in a marshmallow. A nervous tic. He’s breathing from the pit of his stomach.

Is he upset with his performance? Did this soliloquy not live up to his full potential as an artist? Maybe he’s uncomfortable as fifty-odd people are evaluating his body of work?

As one long monologue plays out on the screen, Shlomo is fixated on the transcript. He starts bouncing his shoulders and poppin’ marshmallows, one after another. He looks like a teenager in the mirror, imagining how he should’ve reacted when Sally said sorry, but she already has a date to the prom.

The mask falls and rises with each clip. In one instance, we see David and Solomon occupy the same space. He tape-records a phone conversation with Eddie Cheatam in which they agree to meet at The Brownstone Diner. Eddie hangs up, and in an instant, the voice on the recording — da dopey high-pitched Jay Leno gwuy — has changed to an all-business baritone, sounding like the fine-print disclaimer at the end of an auto-sale commercial.

The-preceding-is-a-consensual-recording-of-Edward-Cheatam-on-Monday-April….

It’s startling, but in a light, amusing way. It draws a similar reaction to the recordings of Beldini calling Jack Shaw’s cell. He’s got a music service that plays while Leona waits for him to pick up.

BUMPBIMBUMPBIM—Heyyy! Get rhythm! When youuu get the blues….

Somebody’s singing the b-side to Johnny Cash’s “Walk The Line,” an upbeat country ditty. It’s a bit out of place, because Shaw doesn’t seem like the type. Country music, sure, but in more of a tragic, there’s-a-tear-in-my-beer, the-hurtin’s-all-over way.

Shaw’s voice is not that of a well man. Not so much gravelly as it sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel. He uses words like ‘alrighty’ and makes little jokes that only the less sentient would find amusing. It sounds like there’s a struggle inside to get words out, and you find him sweet for just making the effort to speak. He wasn’t that old, but you could never tell it by his voice.

How sad, becau — BUMPBIMBUMPBIM a jumpy rhythm makes you feel so fine! It’ll shake all the trouble from your worried mind! Get rhythm when youuu get the blues….

The courtroom is nodding along, smiling. Even The Bow Tie gets in on the act. Beldini is stoic. Shaw was a friend. She called him “hon” and “my dear.” She hated Eddie Cheatam but loved Jack.

Then again, without Jack Shaw and his buddy David Esenbach, maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here today.

Shaw is the one caught on camera telling Dave about “This. Piece. Of. Shit. Restaurant.” that Mayor Healy frequents. Ya gotta understand, he tells David, “the Mayor drinks a little,” and maybe if you spent all night drinking a little, you wouldn’t mind the chow at this Luncheonette either.

And so they meet Mayor Healy at the Medical Center Luncheonette — a few times actually. Though Dwek’s David act never does catch Healy in the act…. And all Shaw had to show for it were some shitty meals at a shitty restaurant and a few FedEx envelopes stuffed with cash.

Ah, Jack. He talked his friends into putting on a show and didn’t even stick around for the curtain call. Perhaps he had an early reservation at a finer establishment.

You see, on the day of his arrest last July, Shaw wandered out of the federal courthouse in Newark, a strange smile on his face. A few days later, there’d be no more eating at piece of shit luncheonettes. No sir. From then on, it’d be Shaw and St. Peter. Tablecloths and lobster.

Tags: corruption, Edward Cheatam, Jack Shaw, Jerramiah Healy, Leona Beldini, Solomon Dwek

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