SERIOUSLY, if I hadn’t known better, you would have thought Victoria Gotti, stiff as a steel girder, had died with her eyes open until she heard the verdict.
Breathing restored, face regaining color, she reflected on her words: “I’ve lost one son and it nearly killed me. I have lived in fear that I would lose another son.”
Yesterday, it appeared, at least for now, John “Junior” Gotti had finally removed the bull’s-eye from his back. And his defense lawyer, Jeffery Lichtman, just might have given the feds second thoughts about using a conga line of rats, murderers and drug dealers to make their cases. It has been simply a case of rounding up long-tailed rodents who say to the feds: “Pass the cheese, please.”
They are making an attractive career choice. See, a young punk wants to make his fortune and he hits the streets as a wiseguy, makes millions, and when he gets pinched, figures: “I’ve made my money, so now I’ll roll on someone, anyone, and go free.”
Victoria, who had heard enough about “the life” which her son John has sworn he not only rejected, but reviled, was giddy and laughing . . . perhaps the first real laugh in months.
“First of all, God listens to a mother’s prayers. Second of all, as a mother, I’m going to beat the living daylights out of him for being a naughty boy many years ago.”
If John Jr. later beats the hung rap of ordering the kidnapping of Curtis Sliwa, he has vowed to move to Ocala, Fla., and “get a bunch of horses, buy 20 acres there, and get to work.”
Of course Curtis Sliwa was there in full regalia. He’s never seen a camera he didn’t like. He said, “I believe there was a bit of O.J. Simpson in this jury.” And obviously a bit of Alzheimer’s in thee, Curtis. Wasn’t it you who identified the 6-foot-5 inch Steve Kaplan as shooting you?
Kaplan was saved by the feds, of all people, who had a Queens social club under surveillance at the time of the shooting, and saw Kaplan playing cards there.
That’s one for the books. Don’t you think, Curtis, old buddy?