It’s the Ides of March — the hour of Caesar’s reckoning. The perfect day to believe there are knives under the togas, to allege plots of political assassination.

Some eight months after his arrest in a bribery sting, this is the date that former Assemblyman/political journeyman Lou Manzo has chosen to confront his assailants. Do not be fooled by their titles or familiar faces, he tells us. For though they are robed in government garb and walk the marble halls of justice, they are conspirators who meet in secret, ready to maim for their selfish advancement.

Shall you trust your poor messenger, who professes himself to be a ghost of the man he once was, the man he might have been? Unlike his murderers’, Manzo’s quarters have no pomp to them. The curia he has called us to — the meetinghouse — is down a few rubber-laminate stairs to an office suite-cum-television studio off Central Ave.

Manzo’s face is cherubic, full of color and purpose as he greets every entrant.* He looks good, happy to be back in the forum, to have people watching him around a bay of microphones, making a righteous case for justice and civic life. Democracy, the Republic, a nation of laws — our inheritance from the free civilizations. There are those in places of power wishing to do away with these ideals, and we don’t even know it.

Manzo will explain it all. Everything he knows (or at least, everything he can share) has been packaged into a heavy two-inch briefing binder. Among its contents are:

• newspaper clippings culled since last summer.
• portions of the U.S. Code on prosecutorial misconduct.
• the Attorney General’s guidelines on the use of confidential informants.
• a 2008 House report on the politicization of the Justice Department.
• the gubernatorial campaign contributions of key figures in Chris Christie’s U.S. Attorney’s outfit, now employed through the governor’s office in Trenton.

A glossary of terms is provided.

After reading a five-minute statement, Manzo plays a video clip of Christie speaking to a group of Republicans as he campaigned for their party’s nomination last winter. The future governor says that he will win this election and that when he does, he’ll bring his deputy U.S. Attorneys along with him. Once there, he says their jobs will be to ferret out the waste and corruption that they had spent the last eight years prosecuting.

“So I told them, ‘The good news is that when we get to Trenton, we don’t have to worry about ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ anymore.’”

“I can assure,” Manzo parrots Christie’s line, “ya don’t have to worry about ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ anymore.” He says it in a way that’s less ‘Et tu?’ and more, ‘Eff you.’

Any questions?

Manzo is asked about the effect this press conference will have on his case. He notes that he might be arrested for obstruction of justice. His lawyer was nervous about it, too, but ultimately gave him the OK. Whatever the question, his answers keep returning to the pillars of his argument.

Manzo alleges that Operation Bid Rig III denied him and the other defendants of their due process of law. It was a plot designed by Christie and his underlings Ralph Marra and Michele Brown to betray the Constitution they had sworn an oath to protect. They would use their offices to grab at their next ones, Manzo alleges, by conspiring to drive a blade through the vote totals in Hudson County — “a strategically important county for Democrats to dominate statewide elections.” And he happens to have a salacious example of the Christie crew’s relentless bid to rig Gov. Jon Corzine’s defeat.

Lou recalls the day of his arrest, being locked into a holding cell with a guy who looked like a corpse — Jesus, it was the political fixer, Jack Shaw. His good friend, and he didn’t even recognize him! Lou shook the poor bastard to make sure he was OK, that he wasn’t in some sort of diabetic shock. Turns out Jack had been picked up the night before, sequestered in a hotel room in Secaucus and given a thorough grilling. Yeah, yeah, he told them some things, but he insisted that no money went to Joe Doria, the ex-Bayonne mayor and member of Corzine’s cabinet.

But look, Lou says: regardless of what Shaw told the Feds, they still raided Doria’s home. Now what does that say?

(Well, for starters, how about, ‘They didn’t entirely trust Jack Shaw?’)

Even if that much can’t be proved, Manzo charges the U.S. Attorneys with denying their guidelines, requiring the recusal of lawyers when there is a conflict of interest or possible loss of impartiality. Furthermore, their corrupt payments injected nearly $200,000 in local elections throughout the state. This is the Federal government infringing upon local elections! Affecting outcomes! Disenfranchising voters!

Arguable, but doesn’t it just show a willingness to accept money disenfranchising voters in instances where it isn’t stamped by the Feds?

His strongest point is that it was the U.S. Attorney’s office that decided to make arrests that July morning before indictments could be handed down, blunting Corzine’s message a week after President Obama made a high profile campaign visit. Then again, they could have made the arrests in, say, October.

Regardless, Manzo is no soothsayer. None of this information is new. He admits as much, pleading with the media to stop ignoring the meat of these conflicts, demanding they dub Christie’s office, ‘The Touchables.’ It’s unlikely this press conference will be the silver bullet, especially when he stands alone at the dais.

So what’s his angle?

Set aside, for the moment, the $27,500 of illegal campaign contributions for which he will stand trial. Bring it up and watch the man’s blood boil. He denies it emphatically, angrily almost. He attempts to wave a sheath of papers, but most of them fall and scatter at his feet. He holds the remaining one up high, defiantly making a point that’s hard to catch. He is, for the moment, obscured by the imagery of what has just occurred: a man, losing his grip, on his papers, on his public image.

He tries to explain why he is taking this stand now. He attempts to put himself off the record for a moment, but he might as well have turned his car down a one-way street. He draws laughter from the room full of microphones, lenses and eyeballs that he invited. The ‘off the record’ gesture might be (and probably is) pretense. It’s hard to believe Manzo doesn’t want this soliloquy played for all to hear.

Let me put it this way — and I don’t want this out there because, again, I don’t want to look like a sympathetic figure. But for all practical purposes, I was beside myself for two months. … But this is completely, absolutely aggravating to, to live a life as I’ve tried and to follow ideals and values that I’ve brought up with to be accused of such a thing — it’s the most heinous thing that could happen. And I’ve accepted it in this way: ya’know, whatever day I — ya’know, the Lord chooses to take me in this life, uhh, he takes me, but on my tombstone, the date of my death will always be July 23rd, 2009, because every future aspiration I ever had, everything I ever wanted to do again, is gone. It’s over — no matter what happens at the end of this process. So, I’ve accepted right now I’m living my purgatory. And I’m looking forward, hopefully, to meet my maker at my just reward. But … but that’s how I classify: it doesn’t matter.

Friends, reporters, Jersey Cityans, lend him your ears; he’s come to bury Lou Manzo … and slyly praise him.

In these words, this press conference is revealed. What it shows is a man, politically dead, scratching at the coffin he’s been placed in. He’s crossing his Shakespeare now, the Ghost of King Hamlet, crying out from beyond the grave, demanding vengeance for his assassins — the U.S. Attorney’s office.

Methinks he doth mourn himself too much. In Jersey City, the dead walk again.

Ever meet Gerry McCann?

*An aside: This was the first time that I was ever in the same room as Lou Manzo, but I have a small history with him. I worked for his opponent when he ran for the state Senate a few years back, and though I didn’t have a direct hand in attacking him (and attack him, we did), I was present throughout. I will also add that when my aunt passed away suddenly last year, Manzo’s insurance company sent her flowers. While completely unrelated, it has stuck with me.

Not guilty on four counts. The ones about her role in a conspiracy and the attempt to commit extortion through the real estate deal. But she didn’t beat the wrap for accepting the $20,000 in illegal campaign contributions, what the prosecution construed as bribes. There, she was convicted on two counts, with a max sentence of 20 years. She’ll never do that kind of time, not even close, but The Bow Tie vowed to appeal anyway.

I can’t really tell you how it happened. I wasn’t there. At 4:49 p.m., this writer’s phone rang from a 973 number — the courthouse. I didn’t pick up.

Like a lot of New Jerseyans, I had seen enough.

Jeez — even speculating about them is boring.

Today, the jurors file in, uniformly broad-smiled and casual. Somebody must’ve cracked a joke. They are a stark contrast to the serious courtroom demeanor, where a heavy air has descended. The gallery is packed with people waiting to hear the closing arguments, the final say on the government’s case against Leona Beldini.

But first, Judge Jose Linares steps down from the bench to stand in front of the jury box. He has a long list of instructions for the jurors on their responsibilities, what the law is, what the charges are — and he doesn’t want anybody falling asleep…. Judge Linares is a hulking man with large arms and thick mitts for hands. His powerful frame pushes up instead of down, in the way a bodybuilder’s seems to defy gravity. For most of the trial he’s been atop a mountain of dark-stained wood and black marble, expressing his displeasure, puzzlement or passivity through his brow. He smushes it to the center when he’s skeptical, curls it when an attorney goes out on a limb, or just plain relaxes it. You can read it like a rain cloud. The Thunderbrow.

Now that he’s down with the rest of the mortals, Thunderbrow doesn’t look as big. In fact, he’s just like any other lawyer, except for the long black robe. He tells the jury how they should treat evidence, the law and so on. One juror yawns, but they all sit rapt. Even ‘The Sleeper’ — the guy who slumped over in the box during juror selection — is sitting up and forward.

Judge Thunderbrow goes on about them having to make their decision without bias or sympathy. Meanwhile, Beldini’s right thumb and index finger are tapping together. It’s hard to tell at first. She’s usually cradling a tissue, but soon you can see she’s rubbing rosary beads. They’re wrapped around her wrist, spilling out of the cuff of her blouse. She appears to be squeezing the metal crucifix, and as her fingers tap, her gaze goes from the Judge to the jurors, the jurors to the Judge.

Thunderbrow tells the jury not to be influenced by his rulings on objections, and The Bow Tie is writing on a neon green Post-it note in a thick three-ring binder brimming with various colors. He folds his hands, then fiddles with a cup, unable to sit still. Assistant U.S. Attorney Sandra Moser looks at a much thinner binder. She will spend the lunch break making sure her PowerPoint presentation is set and ready to go.

The Judge talks about the presumption of innocence and proof beyond a reasonable doubt — “a fair doubt,” not absolute certainty nor an outlandish excuse. Thunderbrow starts listing the six counts. He explains what a conspiracy is and that it is still a crime even if the agreement is never fulfilled. Keeping bad company is not a crime, but a meeting of the minds is.

A younger person, maybe a law student, tries to leave. The bailiff, who looks like a jowlier Mike Ditka, informs him he can’t — they lock da doors during the charges. Every now and again, you hear someone pull on the door, trying to get in. It’s a muffled tapping bwumbumbum but far less distracting than new entrants.

You may consider statements made by any members of the conspiracy. Beldini shakes her head from side to side. Her eyes widen and she uses a finger to wipe their inner corners. The Judge’s voice is far less expressive than his forehead, and yet he is bringing Beldini to tears. It’s more what he’s saying not how he’s saying it. Anyone who witnessed the evidence in this trial can tell how damning these charges and instructions sound.

Not that any of the jurors would notice. None of them look Leona’s way. They’ll glance down at their notes or stare at the Judge, but never at her. She, of all people, has to know … this can’t be a good sign….

One juror fiddles his fingers, while three sit with hands to their faces. The bald man with a mustache leans forward and then back. Another is scoping out the arm hair emerging from his T-shirt. A woman bounces her pen. Another juror is hunched over her notebook, writing quickly.

Thunderbrow: You can’t take into account that other people were not charged. This is about the defendant in this case and this case alone…. You may find this person guilty, even if you think there are other people who are guilty but unindicted.

The inference is clear, but the name he does not say.

The Judge gets into describing Solomon Dwek’s character, reminding that they don’t have to believe his testimony. Only two jurors write. One is an alternate. And the other one seems to be writing everything down. The arm-hair juror yawns. Beldini draws in an audible breath.

The prosecution is up first after lunch. The defense girds itself. Beldini leans over the rail to shake hands with each of her family members in the front row, like the captain of a ship sailing into storm. This is it, lads.

The prosecutor stands up. Moser’s hair is a long and pure blond that stands out, and yet everything else about her courtroom demeanor is muted. She has a set of cool blue eyes that she locks on jurors, one by one by one. It’s a sweeping meticulousness that she employs in the courtroom. All methodical. All to a T.

Every movement Moser makes seems deliberate. She is as planned out as her PowerPoint, which beams white words on a black background to screens around the courtroom. The text is from the tapes, purporting to show Beldini was wise to what David Esenbach was up to. They are the first in a series of slides.

Moser runs over all the familiar arguments. She points and flexes her fingers, like she’s air-quoting at her sides. She steps around the podium slowly, meting out her carefully measured words in an even fashion. It’s like watching a kindergarten teacher read a picture book to her class. Make sure everybody sees the picture and read it slowly. Mi-ss Mose-r wants yo-u t-o kno-w how im-por-tan-t your dic-t-ion is.

She employs some arithmetic, using a whiteboard to calculate how much Beldini stood to gain from even the most modest real estate deal with Solomon Dwek. “The fact is,” she proclaims as she finishes the equation, “she stood to gain in the millions.”

This is a truly multimedia presentation. There are tapes, flow charts, images. She plays clips of Mayor Healy and Beldini laughing about ‘flipping’ the proverbial pile so the crooked developer ended up on top. Moser asks the children to think about the other, honest people in that pile…. And as every kindergartener knows, cutting the line is a crime akin to first-degree murder.

What’s more important, Moser says, is that Beldini never chided Jack Shaw for bringing this corrupt developer into her life. In fact, she seemed absolutely pleased to have him around. She kept going to meetings and even procured the Mayor for him — twice.

The courtroom is packed to the gills, and it leads to distraction at times. The pews are squeezed tight and there are no empty seats. No one is allowed to stand, and Ditka has given away his bailiff’s chair so two women can sit in it. He argues with a television reporter in a bright red coat, trying in vain to find a seat. He eventually kicks her out and the reporter spends the rest of Moser’s argument peaking through a crack in the door.

The jury sits motionless. The body language on the defense side shows it has been a hard few hours. The charges sounded brutal, and Miss Moser’s Romper Room of Bribes and Concealment hasn’t been any easier. By the time she wraps up, every member of the Beldini entourage is sitting with their shoulders forward and chins buried in their necks, bracing for impact.

The Bow Tie looks distracted. It is a powerful presentation he’s up against, a bevy of evidence. ‘Beyond a reasonable doubt’ is looking pretty darn reasonable at this moment.

BT asks that skylight be opened. He tells the jury he has no PowerPoint to show them because this isn’t the time for such things. You don’t have the TV or radio on when you sit down to discuss an important family matter…. A few sentences in, and his closing argument so far is essentially, ‘No toys at the dinner table.’ This cannot be good.

Leona’s eyes look wet. She is completely turned toward the jury now. You can see the red creeping out from under her eyelids from several yards away.

The Bow Tie is talking about Solomon Dwek, “the ultimate conman.” One without friends or rules or trust to govern his life. That’s not like Leona, who would do anything to help a friend. In this case, one Jerry Healy.

“It is this young lady,” and The Bow Tie quickly walks toward the defense table, “I call her young, but she’s 74 years old….” A mother. A grandmother.

None of the jurors look at her. None can bear looking at her.

Neary is back at the character of Dwek, a LIFE of bad acts, a LIFE of crime…. He can’t even wrap his arms around the hundred of millions Dwek stole from friends and family, the commandments he’s broken, and yet he still takes the witness stand in “religious garb.”

One of the spectators, an FBI agent, exhales and leans forward.

This time, The Bow Tie comes out and says it: “Bernie Madoff.” Dwek orchestrated a “Ponzi-Madoff scheme” to swindle his community, and yet he doesn’t get a “Bernie Madoff-type sentence.” He’s free to walk the streets. Hell, he doesn’t even go on unemployment insurance — like the rest of us — but is paid from a bankruptcy trust.

Dwek is not to be trusted. Never. Ever. (Which presumably includes when the tapes back him up.)

It’s the familiar arguments all over again. Leona is a good friend; Shaw and Cheatam were double agents; Dwek chased after Leona; nothing wrong with the Medical Center Luncheonette; it was a busy campaign and it was hard for her to keep track of what money came from where.

But soon, he’s back to Dwek treading on the untrustworthiness of one man. He seems to be going along lightly enough when Thunderbrow, whose face has been rippling, interrupts and asks to see the attorneys at sidebar.

Wow. It happened…. Neary flew too close to the nullification sun and his wings just came off. At sidebar, the Judge’s head is bouncing as he talks. Neary leans in with his eyebrows raised. He looks angry.

The Bow Tie returns to the jury box, asks the court reporter if she’s ready, and starts again. He talks more about Dwek’s Ponzi-Madoff scheme: first of people’s money, and then people’s liberty. He will keep on scamming, keep on trading while he takes the stand…. No one has put a stop to it, he says. No one, until now. For now, he faces 12 citizens…. 12 citizens who will not be fooled….

The Bow Tie concludes with, “Don’t lie. Don’t steal. Don’t cheat…. I hope that Mr. Dwek learns that when he goes to jail.”

Neary walks away from the jury box, slightly deflated. He’s been at this long enough to know when a fix is in.

To make matters worse, Thomas R. Calcagni — The Jaw — springs from his chair, declining a break so he can tear right into the prosecution’s rebuttal.

Now, if Moser was reading the kids picture books, The Jaw has broken out the Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots.

“Don’t lie. Don’t Cheat. Don’t Steal.”

There’s no ducking and weaving here. The Jaw is standing toe-to-toe with the defense in a contest of who can punch the hardest. He tells the jury that the government has proved every paragraph of the charges. But there is also something he wishes to disprove.

He’s talking about some of the defense’s arguments and exclaiming, “That’s a LIE.” More of what the defense said. “More lies.” It starts seeming a bit harsh until The Jaw lets everybody else in on what he’s doing.

“Don’t lie.”

He nods, as if to say, ‘Uh-huh. Here I go.’

“Don’t cheat.” The Jaw explains how Beldini cheated the other people trying to do business honestly in Jersey City. He talks about how she stole — stole the honest services and government that people deserve. It all comes down to honesty, and The Jaw is emphatic today — emphatic in his demand that the people deserve justice. Because Beldini can watch Mayor Healy’s back all she wants, but we must expect more of our public officials.

“The honest people. WHO’S LOOKING OUT FOR THEM?”

At this, there are murmurs from spectators on the defense side. The Jaw is clobbering them so bad, they’re compelled to react audibly. He goes on.

So what if Solomon Dwek is a bad person? Beldini was in a fine position to give him the slip. To not play his game. She could have told him to go to hell, like other public officials did.

“Objection,” calls The Bow Tie, without rising from his chair. He is reclined, resigned, with his posture limp.

Thunderbrow rumbles an overruled. The entire Beldini front row is leaning forward, as The Jaw grabs his opponent by the collar and offers some advice before punching his lights out one last time.

“‘Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal.’ That’s a fine credo. Did she follow it? Not even close…. I propose a new credo: ‘Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal. AND DON’T GET CAUGHT ON VIDEO DOING IT.’”

He drops his opponent to the floor, without even needing to take the last swing.

Just like that it’s over. Everyone stands up and the jury files out. The courtroom is buzzing with conversation and amidst it all, The Bow Tie steps forward from the defense table and starts talking at the Judge. He is a quiet kind of angry, drowned out by three dozen conversations.

The Judge asks for quiet and all of a sudden, it’s like a fight in the cafeteria, where everybody gets up on their chairs for a better view. All eyes are on The Bow Tie and Thunderbrow.

The Bow Tie says that in summation, The Jaw argued that the government could rely on Dwek’s testimony, but that when the defense made the opposite case, he was pulled to sidebar and told to cut it out. Furthermore, it was beyond what the prosecutor could address in his rebuttal, and he demands that the comments about Dwek be stricken from the record. “The alternative is a mistrial.”

‘Ooooooooooh,’ the crowd does not say…. But holy shit: the ‘M’ word.

Thunderbrow overrules. The prosecution made a legally correct statement while the defense made an incorrect one. That was the difference.

The defense retreats, for now. The tension of the morning is gone. It was gone long before the jury left the courtroom.

And no, that’s not a figure of speech.

It was the spring of 2009. Like so many businesses in the down economy, deputy mayor Beldini’s real estate brokerage was hurting. And then all of a sudden, into her life walked this David Esenbach character, a developer with money to spend and high rises to build. He gabbed on and on about this parcel of land on Garfield Avenue, but that project was way far afield. Maybe Leona could interest him in something else? Turned out she had the perfect deal all ready to go: the old Cortes Sausage Factory.

Leona knew the owner was looking to sell the property, but who had the money to buy? Her new friend David, that’s who!… She handed him a brochure about it when they met at the Brownstone Diner on April 1. It was a premium site — right off Journal Square. They were thinking maybe 118 units for 23 stories, with some condos on top of that. Even Jack Shaw got in on the sell. Can’t you just imagine the skyline view? It was a real peach, despite the unsavory sound of the site’s old purpose. Take it from Upton Sinclair — you don’t want to know what goes into the sausage. Get a whiff, and you’ll never take another bite.

David reviewed the materials, did some calculations and pushed the sausage factory proposal aside. Yeah, only $475 a square foot…. You didn’t hear him scoff, but the tone in his voice was clear enough…. And besides, he had another deal he wanted to get to — specifically the zoning on his Garfield Avenue project. With Leona’s business in the dumps and no sale of the sausage factory, she seemed more than happy to take whatever she could get.

It was, after all, The Great Recession.

It’s hard not to feel sympathy for Leona Beldini. You can’t begrudge a person for trying to get a leg up in tough times. It’s what everybody does, right?

But see, Beldini had another occupation: one in local government, which in parts of New Jersey means regularly blurring the lines between what is legal and what, as Beldini says on one of the tapes, “everybody does.” It is a system that is all too tolerant of those who mix official duties with personal financial gain. It takes ‘corruption’ and dresses it up as ‘tradition.’

And though this clearly reeks to outsiders, if you spend enough time in the sausage factory that is Jersey politics, you get used to the smell. In fact, you start to forget what all the stink is about … that is, until you get caught in one of the grinders.

Because the average sausage factory functionary wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with Beldini handing two business cards — one as a deputy mayor, the other as a real estate agent — to a developer interested in doing city business. It might be considered normal to have a conversation about the approval process, backchannel campaign contributions and real estate commissions, all in the same sitting.

But given the right circumstances — say, one of the people at the table is not a factory worker, but a Fed — and you can be indicted for that. It’s what has Beldini facing charges that could put her away for the next twenty years.

Like the pols, the New Jersey citizenry also has a routine way of doing business when it comes to corruption. They’re used to hearing that their government has an ugly side to it, and despite living in a democratic republic, they’ve found themselves incapable of banishing it through the ballot box. So they settle for the next best thing: sending offending politicians to jail, whenever a case is brought. They require just the tiniest bit of evidence, the faintest smudge of lipstick on the collar to confirm what they already know.

The finger is pointed by the U.S. Attorney’s Office, and a pol is led off in handcuffs. Once the charges reach the jury, recent history has shown that what happens next is a near certainty.

Conviction.

First thing Friday morning, the tenth day of the trial, the defense rests its case. The prosecution had called it quits the day before, which came as a shock to the in-the-knows in the courtroom. The Assistant U.S. Attorneys did not call Edward Cheatam, the surviving half of the political operatives who acted as go-betweens for the developer David Esenbach, whose real name is Solomon Dwek. Cheatam entered in a guilty plea for his crimes as a bagman, and in doing so agreed to cooperate with the prosecutions of people like Beldini.

But given the path the defense is on — one of discrediting the government’s admittedly corrupt witnesses — the prosecution thought better of calling the man whose character so clearly matches his surname, he might as well have gotten it from Nathaniel Hawthorne. Because Cheatam is a Jersey City pol, too. And compared to the muck caked on some of the other factory workers, Beldini’s apron might not look so dirty.

So the government rested its case. Yes, it displays their lack of confidence in some of their evidence, but it also shows how little they have to provide to satisfy a justice-thirsty jury of New Jerseyans.

The jurors are sent home early. They aren’t allowed to watch the slice-dice-stuff that is the attorneys making the sausages of final charges.

The Bow Tie motions for a complete dismissal via Rule 29 of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure, which is invoked when the government fails to prove its case during the trial. Such a ruling would prevent the decision from going to the jury, and the Judge says he will take it under consideration. They move on to discussing the minutia of how the counts will be read, and the instructions that will go to the jury.

At one point, the defense argues that the root of the crime relates not to “corrupt payments” but “political contributions”; that it wasn’t a “concealment” issue but a “structuring” one. He wants the language to reflect as much.

The Judge isn’t having it. He says the case is clearly about more than political contributions done in an unwholesome manner. At the same time, he says he will remind the jury that it is not illegal, nor is it unseemly for candidates for office to solicit and receive donations — it’s just the way the system works. So, he agrees to insert language instructing the jury to treat the issue of political contributions with that in mind.

The most critical part of this colloquy is the topic of how the charges address the character of Mr. Dwek. The defense wants him identified to the jury as someone who has pled guilty to numerous state and federal crimes. They feel his reputation as a liar, cheater and a stealer cannot be emphasized enough. The prosecution quibbles with this, saying there had not been any third parties called to impeach his character, but the Judge says he will allow it. Dwek impeached his character himself, the Judge says, when he proffered that he is not trusted in his community and admitted that he has no friends. Not even his mother.

But the final issue they discuss is how far the defense can go with its assault on the government’s star witness in its closing argument. The Judge warns The Bow Tie that he came perilously close to arguing for jury nullification in his opening — an illegal practice which asks the jury to ignore the evidence against the defendant and vote for acquittal in order to teach the government a lesson. Such a tactic is a rebuke of the law enforcement sausage factory … a way of saying the government can’t get too ugly in its efforts to catch criminals.

The Bow Tie is instructed that he can ask the jury to acquit by attacking Dwek’s trustworthiness; but he cannot ask the jury to rebuke the government’s use of someone like Dwek in a sting operation. The Judge says he almost never interrupts in the middle of closing arguments, but in such an instance, he would have no choice.

The Bow Tie responds by stating that he will not curb his zeal in the defense of his client, but would do his best to balance that with his fidelity to the law.

It’s a solemn moment in the courtroom. If the jury votes for acquittal, not in rejection of what the evidence is but rather how it was collected, it would jeopardize numerous prosecutions from Operation Bid Rig’s massive July sweep.

In other words: the system might cease to function in the way it is expected to.

It would be a stunning turn of events, especially when considering that New Jersey politics is very stubborn in its habits. For the sausage factory has been working with the same methods, the same recipe for some time now. It goes on despite the exterior circumstances, the sliminess of a witness, or a slump in the economy.

Ah, yes. Because Leona Beldini wasn’t caught stealing a loaf of bread to feed her starving family. At the time of her arrest, she had a steady salary of $66,000 as deputy mayor. Even if her real estate business was in freefall, there was a comfy cushion there all along. According to her lawyer, her job was to sign some marriage licenses, cut a few ribbons and keep up on government business. No real power, no real authority. People would line up around the block for a gig like that during any kind of economy.

So it’s hard not to have sympathy for Beldini, but it’s even harder to ignore the evidence against her.

The Judge ultimately rules against a dismissal, and the jury is to hear the closing arguments on Monday. Then they will deliberate on the charges.

So far, the sausage factory has worked just the way it always has.

And after his three years of training and service, Solomon Dwek returned to the surface having captured some pretty big fish, in business but most notably in politics. He held his breath for months, navigated some of the most treacherous waters known to man and never made a blip on enemy radar. And he did it all without ever having learned to swim.

Let’s get this straight: Shlo knows real estate. Shlo knows sting operations.

But does Shlo know politics?

Oh, no, no.

One of the most stunning revelations from the five days of testimony by Solomon Dwek is his ignorance of the system in which he has wreaked so much havoc. Few professional politicians have ended as many promising careers as Mr. Dwek has, and yet a tenth-grade civics class probably has a better handle on government than he does.

There are several minor mistakes in his travels as a bribe-happy developer. One is his assumption that Leona Beldini’s position of deputy mayor is like that of a vice president, when it is really more like a key aide. Then Dwek is unaware that she doesn’t have a vote on the city council or the zoning board. He also believes that Beldini was a candidate for reelection that spring. On one tape with Shaw and Cheatam, Dwek questions his political fixers’ advice that he should only give $10 grand to Healy/Beldini, saying it’s not a lot for two political campaigns, and “I don’t wanna be a chintz.” (Oh, Shlo knows Yiddish.)

At one point, Shaw says they ought to hedge their bets by giving $10,000 to Healy and $10,000 to opposing mayoral candidate Lou Manzo, unless Healy “pulls away significantly.” Now, anyone who has watched 15 minutes of cable news in his life could tell you that this is a clear reference to Healy’s standing in the polls, but on the witness stand, Dwek says he interprets that as insurance for Healy ‘pulling away’ from a bribe. Even to a political kindergartener, there’s not enough Crayola there to connect the dots.

Dwek repeatedly insists he does not make campaign contributions, but “cash bribes,” but Beldini’s lawyer presses him about whether he’s ever made legit campaign donations in his life. Yes, Dwek says, but very few and he didn’t expect anything in return.

In truth, Dwek doled out tens of thousands of dollars to state and federal candidates in the decade prior to his arrest for bank fraud. The names range from Robert Torricelli to George W. Bush, and like many incompetent politicians before him, it seems Dwek doesn’t realize his past has a paper trail.

At one point during the cross-examination, Beldini’s Bow Tie is talking about how Dwek’s Hudson County go-betweens would get matching bribes for every “contribution” to a public official. Dwek corrects him. “No. Corrupt payments.” They quibble over this repeatedly, until The Bow Tie starts saying “corrupt payments” as well, “because this’ll go faster if I say it.”

The political overreaching can’t all be blamed on the witness, though. In the opening arguments and direct questioning of Dwek, the government prosecutors insinuated that the money Dwek funneled into the Healy ’09 campaign coffers would eventually line the pockets of the Mayor and his deputy. They didn’t outright say it, but what they were getting at was something much more nefarious than inflating a campaign account. “Corrupt payments.”

While that might not be true, it is against the law, let alone highly unethical, to let an individual contribute amounts over the legal limit by having numerous others make smaller donations. It is even more nefarious when considering that Dwek’s name—the alias David Esenbach—had never contributed the max to begin with.

Though the defense dug up an event invitation where “Garfield Development LLC” shows up as a sponsor. It appears Jack Shaw invented a name for David’s front business, which didn’t even have a real fake name like Dwek did.

For there were a lot of names on that invitation, a lot of people giving to the Healy for Mayor ’09 campaign account. Does this make it believable that Leona was being hoodwinked?

Hardly.

Because though the defense makes a lot of bones about how Beldini had no vote, no influence in Jersey City politics, it fails to acknowledge the importance of Beldini’s role as campaign treasurer for Mayor Healy’s “million dollah campaign.”

Beldini is caught on tapes mixing her private financial interests as a realtor with her dual official duties as deputy mayor and campaign treasurer. At one point, she hands Dwek two business cards: one as Leona Beldini, Deputy Mayor and the other as Leona Beldini, Real Estate Agent. There may be a lot that Shlo don’t know, but double-fisting duties is a surefire no-no.

Then there’s the time when she replies, “Absolutely,” after developer David tells her he’s given “the ten thousand” and requests help with approvals. Or the video of the campaign treasurer/deputy mayor saying that approvals should be fine with Mayor Healy now that the money’s flowing. “He” — she lifts her chin — “remembers his friends.”

Now, would a developer who wasn’t forking over the dough get to shake pepper-shakers with the Mayor? After seeing these conversations, it might take several million dollah campaigns to convince a jury otherwise.

Because for once, Beldini has filed her proverbial petition signatures. She’s no longer treasurer, but the candidate in the campaign of her life: Keep Leona Outta The Federal Pen, 2010.

Politicians are famous — infamous, rather — for controlling their images. They shield the public from their true feelings, their naked thoughts on the clowns they have to kiss up to. Of course they talk a lot, but when do they tell us what they’re really thinking? Not often.

It’s what comes to mind when looking at Leona Beldini in the courtroom. Her lips are pursed, her body language muted. From time to time, we’ll get a glimpse of what Beldini thinks. She’ll shake her head from side to side with incredulity. She might shoot an objecting prosecutor her ‘buzz off‘ look. But mostly, she sits there with a stone veneer. Gavel to gavel. Day in, day out.

Right now, she’s running as an outsider. According to her defense attorney, Leona isn’t a political mastermind. Hell, she doesn’t even have that much power. Trust The Bow Tie, and you might believe that the beginning and end of Leona Beldini in Jersey City government could be found in a civil marriage, a ribbon-cutting or a parking ticket. She’s small-time!… Not like those godless government fat cats….

No, Leona wasn’t raking in $12,000 a month like Dwek. She wasn’t driving around a Lexus SUV. (Or maybe she was? It never comes up.) She collected a small yeoman’s “fee” of $66,000. She wears the same few outfits to court everyday because she doesn’t have the means that some people have. (She’s looking at you, Shlomo.)

And while Solomon swindled his family out of millions, without a soul who’d stand next to him at the podium with an endorsement, Leona is shaking hands and kissing babies.

In fact, an adorable little one decked out in pink entered the courtroom on Wednesday. She sat in the front row behind the defense table while the jurors tried to help themselves from going all goo-goo-ga-ga. At one point, Beldini turned, looked at the baby and winked her right eye — the one furthest from the jury — with the microsecond precision only seen in cartoons. You damn well expected a glint of sparkle and a harmonic ting from the triangle after that one. It was breathtaking.

To be clear, this is not to say that Beldini doesn’t like babies, but it’s only the politicians of the world who must broadcast to you and everyone else, ‘HOW MUCH I LIKE BABIES!‘

Politicians also go to great lengths to hide their personal flaws. These aren’t the failings of the smelly gym-sneakers, has-to-be-reminded-to-take-out-the-trash variety, but rather the deep emotional pain they’ve caused to others. The names and faces of those they knocked down and stepped on on their way to the top.

This is not an advantage Solomon Dwek’s campaign has. He is a ruined man who will probably go to prison for many years when he is through testifying.

And so in the courtroom, as in politics, careers are spoiled and public images lay in ruin. They are almost always the victims of their own design. Dwek is no different.

You’re hittin’ the headboard; macking the mattress; shaking the sheets, dig?… And maybe your friend calls out, “Oh God, YES!… OHhmhuh GOD!… OH, GODDDDDDDDD!!!”

Now, you wouldn’t exactly call that ‘praying.’

So it’s a bit audacious of Leona Beldini to argue that a tape in which she says, “Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal,” amidst an abundance of illicit activity is proof of her moral rectitude.

At least, that’s what it seems like the defense is saying. Like the mystery of faith, it’s sometimes hard to discern their true meaning.

The second week of Beldini’s federal corruption trial began on Monday with The Bow Tie (née: Brian J. Neary) leading the sacred ritual of defense in his much anticipated cross-examination of the government’s busy-bodied mole, Solomon Dwek.

“Good morning, Mr. Dwek.”

“Good morning, Mr. Neary.”

A pause.

“Is it Mr. Dwek or Rabbi Dwek?”

Mr. Dwek reaffirms that he is a ‘mister.’ The Bow Tie wants to know if he’s ever held himself out to be a rabbi. Dwek says no.

Ah ha, Neary counters, but your FATHER — he is a rabbi, no?

Oh yes, he is, and with that, The Bow Tie has broached a very sensitive subject — Shlomo’s fam.

See, Dwek had a bit of a falling out with his relatives. There were news reports that they sat Shiva for him last summer when they learned that he had informed on other Jews to non-Jews. But today Mr. Dwek denies that such a service was held. Mr. Neary asks Dwek if he understands what sitting Shiva means. Of course, Dwek says.

The Bow Tie starts talking about Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal. “Jerry Healy’s code,” he says…. Tell me, Mr. Dwek, do you live by such strictures?

Dwek says he does and has, since May of 2006. The start of what he calls his “cooperation.” Though not so much with God as the federal government.

The Bow Tie begs to differ — this man couldn’t have gotten religion in the spring of ’06…. Not someone who ROBBED a BANK…. True, Dwek is a bank-robber, but only in a manner of speaking. In April 2006, Shlomo rolled up to the drive-thru teller’s window at a PNC and bounced a $25.2 million check into orbit. He did it again, later… that very same day.

So you can see why The Bow Tie showboats for the jury. Yuh know, Mr. Dwek, the bank isn’t just a building; it represents people’s hard-earned money…. Neary begins a long series of questions about how Shlomo makes his keep these days…. What’s that you say? You’re the WORST of the WORST—a THIEF with a mouth full of GOVERNMENT CHEESE?… and we’re not talking Velveeta here, folks. We’re talking $12K a month, with a government-leased Lexus SUV in the driveway.

And then all of a sudden, it’s back to religion. The Bow Tie starts asking about the yarmulke Dwek wears. It’s a cover, Dwek tells him. He’s not supposed to walk more than four steps without one. But Neary demands to know, “What does it symbol?”

Shlomo says he was brought up to wear it. That “it’s one of the 613 commandments in the Bible.”

“The Torah?” Neary asks.

“Yes.”

613 sounds like a big number. For starters, it’s 610 more than Mayor Healy’s ban on liars, cheaters and stealers…. But The Bow Tie suggests they meet at a happy middle: say, 10.

Ten Holy Commandments. Neary asks Dwek if he can name a couple, and the witness musters up not killing, honoring thy parents, respecting the Sabbath — among others.

Bow Tie reminds Dwek how he has not honored his father. (Ouch.)

Then he asks about adultery, or whether Dwek had ever coveted another man’s wife? (Now he’s really gotten our attention.) For once, Dwek has the nonchalant look of an innocent man. He may have done some scummy things in his life, but never to his darling dearest.

But wait a second, The Bow Tie implores, have you ever ASSISTED in adultery or the coveting of another man’s wife? Dwek maintains, “No.”

Yet The Bow Tie presses Dwek on his investment in a Floridian gambling-boat-gone-bust, which was later converted into a barge-of-ill-repute. Dwek said that while he assented to the bankrupt boat being leased out, he would have had some serious qualms with it being pimped out.

See? Even Dwek can be a Holy Roller when he wants to be.

Though The Bow Tie’s not buying it. His questioning moves on to some other commandments.

“You believe you haven’t killed anyone?”

At this, the Judge’s head snaps to attention. He looks about ready to cast a lightning bolt down at Mr. Neary.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Sandra Moser is starting to make objections. Unlike The Bow Tie’s zealous leaps, she rises out of her chair slowly. Theirs is the difference of the skeptic and the converted. The prosecution is assured by hard evidence that they are in the right. The defense must make the jury believe.

Neary starts talking about Dwek’s collaboration with the FBI. “Did they operate the way you like to operate?”

“Objection,” Moser says in her slightly smoky voice.

Bow Tie explains the question and Dwek responds by excusing his more recent duplicities as in the service of a higher power: The Department of Justice. Though Dwek eventually resorts to saying, “I did not lie, cheat or steal.”

It’s a miracle! The Bow Tie’s doing it! He’s framing the debate!… Another few questions and the words “operate the way I like to operate” — a phrase from the transcripts but brilliantly re-branded by Neary — pass Mr. Dwek’s lips. Hallelujah!

And then, all of a sudden, Neary changes the subject.

The Bow Tie pivots. Now he’s da Vinci, painting Jack Shaw and Eddie Cheatam as twin Judas Iscariots, the snakes around the apostles of Mayor Healy. You see, Dwek paid out large commissions to those who brought him corrupt politicians to bribe. How in the heavens could little ol’ Leona known that her friends were so eager to find someone — anyone — to feed to the lions?

And then, another turn. Look, Mr. Dwek, there’s that hard-working waitress who you mocked with your crooked buddies!

You can almost hear the courtroom wonder, ‘What is he doing?… Gee, the Lord of Horizontal Neckwear sure works in mysterious ways.’

Neary turns again: this time to Leona Beldini’s strong moral code and apparent cluelessness. She could have never imagined that Shaw and Cheatam were funneling for Dwek!… He’s on that curve for a while before he turns again to how the expensive government-recommended security service Mr. Dwek has hired also played a part in the wiretaps…. Then he turns to how naive the supposedly conniving Dwek was. Huh? And then more on how devious Shaw and Cheatam were. And then, no, Leona had no vote, no influence…. You’re rotten to your family, Mr. Dwek…. Why don’t you understand what a political contribution is?… That wicked Jack Shaw…. What about the payments to George W. Bush’s PAC?… Look at this FedEx envelope!… Spell the word ‘CASH!’

Individually, it makes sense. But a defense can only handle so many turns before it starts spinning out of control.

The Bow Tie’s defense moves around like the Stations of the Cross, except that story was chronological. By the time he’s wrapping up for the day, Neary might as well have carved out another commandment: MEMBERS OF THE JURY, THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT THIS TO MEMORY.

Or maybe that’s the point. Perhaps Neary is trying to blur the lines, make the jury see apparitions in every tape recording. He will wrap up his cross-examination at some point on Tuesday, and he will probably sculpt some sense out of it all.

In the end, it all comes down to whether or not you believe Beldini is a saint. Whether she has, “Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal,” written on her heart. That she was oblivious to all the sin swirling around her.

Judging by her courtroom demeanor alone, Beldini seems too high and mighty to be a saint. For even the holiest fall to their knees and beg for forgiveness. Beldini believes she has nothing to confess to, nothing to apologize for. Some might frown on her for that, but it’s not her fault. Such an affectation is an article of faith in Hudson County politics.

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.

It took the better part of three days to pick twelve jurors and three alternates in the federal corruption trial of suspended Jersey City deputy mayor Leona Beldini.

Beldini opted to be judged by an impartial jury of her peers. But she should’ve requested a change of venue.

Because New Jerseyans are more likely to acquit the arsonist of a children’s hospital than an indicted politician. Give a taxpayer the chance to soak a pol, and I’ll show you somebody who’s about to get wet.

Still, Leona Beldini wouldn’t take a plea. And in the face of secret audio tapes, secret video tapes and the not-so-secret disgust of the citizenry, she goes to trial. Now it depends on how good her lawyer is.

Oh, and what a show, what a show.

Beldini’s lawyer is Brian J. Neary, a man proud to carry the moniker: “the lawyer with the bow tie.” His reputation precedes him. No sooner has The Bow Tie bopped into the courtroom that morning than some editorial writer-type with Graydon Carter hair and The Arts section tucked under his arm stops him to say hello.

A pleasant enough fellow, The Bow Tie is dressed like he’s stuck in prep school, forever repeating the tenth form. A black charcoal-striped suit with his trademark neckwear, green today, peeking out of a black sweater. He fidgets, removes his jacket and stretches his hands. He seems to have mental spasms through his wrists, his fingers, perhaps in thinking out his remarks or maybe expending that schoolboy energy. His gray hair is short but not shorn, and his thick brown eyebrows and spectacles give him the look of an aging college professor. Though that face is like a trap: harmless and inviting, until he springs it … the tongue of an expensive defense attorney.

In the government’s corner is Thomas R. Calcagni. He’s a young guy with a flat face and Milo-Goes-To-College rectangles for glasses. His suit is a good cut. Compared to The Bow Tie, his courtroom attire is more business than pleasure. These clothes make the man.

Because the suit isn’t the only thing that’s tightly wound around The Jaw. There’s a tension in his step, in his face, all setting in his mouth. He’s to deliver the government’s opening argument, and it’s clearly weighing on him. While his co-counsel is breezy and confident, he’s caught somewhere in thought. Christ, he’s convicted enough politicians already. But while others leave the court room for lunch, he will pace the jury box, sit in their chairs, and imagine himself speaking.

The Bow Tie steps over to The Jaw and shows him a packet of papers and whispers something. They both laugh. “I’ve seen yours, too,” says The Jaw, touching The Bow Tie’s arm. “A leopard doesn’t change his spots.” HA HA HA.

Beldini is standing slightly bent over the defense table and freezes her eyes for a moment. The look on her face might be considered icy if it wasn’t so obviously pained.

The Jaw goes back to his pace. Crossing his arms hard, pulling his jacket even tighter. He’s shadowboxing with an empty jury box. Practicing how he’ll hold his hands, how he’ll look up, how he’ll tilt his head. His lips move but no sound comes out.

The jury is almost selected. It’s hard given how much the story was in the news last summer, not to mention this week again. Beldini has never hidden her past as an exotic dancer, a burlesque star of the 1960s, but on Monday, some major news outlets published the pictures anew. HOPE DIAMOND, GEM OF THE EXOTICS … the stories came complete with comments from an archivist of the retro skin scene.

The Judge screens potential jurors for knowledge of the, um, recent stories you might have seen on the internet. If you understood his meaning, it probably meant that you weren’t going to be a juror.

Between the Hope Diamond oglers and the jurors who claimed to have FBI agents for fathers, it’s pretty damn hard to put together an impartial jury of New Jerseyans who will undoubtedly convict a politician.

The final ones were selected around 3 o’clock. They filed out for a quick orientation while the courtroom prepared for the openings.

The Jaw is in his mental recitations, but looking less tense. The Bow Tie removes the sweater underneath his suit jacket, revealing green suspenders to match his bow tie, natch. He’s doing calisthenics with his arms, much more frequently now, patting his head as if trying to mask the movements as something natural.

It’s anybody’s game.

The jury is sworn in. The Judge explains the rules. The Jaw is up first.

As he rises, the nerves take over. His voice squeaks.

“Thank YU-ou, your honor.”

He collects himself at the podium, opening a thick binder. Curtains up, he performs the show he’s rehearsed in his head all morning.

He cuts right to the chase.

This is a case about a Jersey City public official who took bribes, plain and simple…

He lays out the government’s side, as it has been hashed over by newspapers some dozen times since July. A government witness posing as a developer paid $20,000 cash (converted into illicit campaign contributions) and promised hundreds of thousands in real estate commissions to buy Beldini’s official help with a zoning issue.

It sounds damning even with The Jaw’s subpar delivery. He offers the case with muted emotion, as if he were brought to the courtroom not by righteous indignation but by some analytical duty. Perhaps he feels he doesn’t need to be persuasive to be right. Because the case is sealed, he says, by the tapes.

And this is when he puts some OOMPH into it.

“From her mouth” — and his arm shoots toward the defendant — “to your ears.”

Beldini doesn’t react. The Jaw goes on.

There’ll be no need for guessing. You’ll know who’s saying what, who is getting what, and who wants what.

Listen to the prosecutor talk some more, and you might think that Mayor Healy had been charged with a crime. The Jaw is describing two people — “these two seasoned politicians” — who gamed the system, who knew better than to blatantly stuff cash in their pockets. And it was his campaign account that was getting fat from this, after all. Yet Mayor Healy wasn’t charged, something The Jaw leaves to the jury’s imagination.

But if you think Beldini is going to throw Jerry under the bus, then you’ve got something coming. She doesn’t need to do that (yet). She’s got The Bow Tie.

Whereas The Jaw carried a thick binder, The Bow Tie speaks from a few notes scribbled on a green folder (syncing with the bow tie and the suspenders). His message is simple.

“Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t steal.” The credo of Jerry Healy — Regular Guy, USA.

He argues that Leona Beldini should not be acquitted because she is as honest as her old friend and ally, the mayor. It’s not because she lacks real power. (She only performs “a ceremonial role” for the city! With a small $66,000 “fee.”) It’s not because campaign contributions are illegal and the mayor was running a “million dollah campaign.” No.

She and the mayor are honest people, being taken advantage of by the government.

The Bow Tie makes his case brilliantly. He is animated. Raising his voice to a shout, shooting the prosecution shaming looks, and warming up to this jury of peers, even getting a few of them to crack a smile. He needs to find a scapegoat. Someone these jurors hate more than politicians. The best he can come up with is Bernie Madoff.

Though he never says “Bernie Madoff,” The Bow Tie peppers his assualt on the government’s star witness, Solomon Dwek, with a description of the fallen financier. A ponzi schemer who writes bad checks, who tosses his family and community to the wolves to save his own skin. A man who always traded off other people’s money and now he’s trading off other people’s freedoms.

An all-around no-goodnick.

The Bow Tie describes the lengths the government went to to satisfy Dwek, to keep him fat and happy and to destroy anyone who was running for office in Jersey City last May. You’re not going to see Dwek’s face on the videotapes. Yuh’ll see awl of them, except Dwek.

Just watching his movements are something else. The Bow Tie swings his arms. His head darts back and forward, his eyes go wide. He leans hard on the podium and whispers, or shouts as he marches in front of the jury box. He is exasperated describing how desperate the government is.

When it’s over, it’s clear that The Bow Tie has demolished The Jaw. The editorial-type from earlier walks over to another journo.

“You ever seen him before?” says the Graydon Carter.

His reserved peer nods toward the prosecution, “They were not great.”

Maybe he doesn’t understand that they don’t need to be great. They have the evidence. They have the tapes. Great is no good, especially not in a case like this.

Because who needs great when convincing a group of New Jerseyans that politicians are corrupt?