Christian Marrone endured his second day yesterday as a prosecution witness in the federal government's case against Vincent J. Fumo, all 139 counts. Marrone was the state senator's former special assistant, assigned to the regional office. By special assistant, Fumo meant general contractor, jack of all (building) trades, and e-mail whipping boy - all, argues the government, at the taxpayers' expense.
Marrone is also Fumo's son-in-law, though to judge by court behavior, any rapport between them is in the past, too.
Marrone and Nicole, his pretty wife of five years, do not speak to her father. Nicole and the Marrone family sit in back, behind the government lawyers. Fumo's political family, his more harmonious one, and his stunning current companion, Carolyn Zinni, a large gold cross dipping into her chest, sit behind the defense.
It's like a bad wedding.
Yesterday, Marrone was in the toilet, detailing the inner plumbing of Fumo's Green Street castle. Toilets failed. Plumbers died. Leaks? Everywhere. Or, as Fumo would e-mail, leaks!!!!
The government plans to present 200 e-mails between Marrone and the senator. The son-in-law calls Fumo by his title, as much invective as honorific, and by Senator, he suggests the ancient Roman corrupt persuasion.
At times, Marrone spent 80 percent of his job working on the "Green Street project." Fumo e-mailed him constantly at work, which the prosecution will argue was on your dime. Every household task was labeled important, accompanied by a fusillade of exclamation points, a hailstorm of expletives.
December 2000 was not a happy time in the duchy of Fumo. His second wife had left - of course, there was a new girlfriend, Dottie, now gone, now a government witness - and he was breaking up with John Dougherty, too.
When there was a problem at Green Street, an almost weekly occurrence, Vince went to the top. For electrical problems, he had Marrone call Johnny Doc, the electricians union boss.
Now, maybe not. "I'd rather not be indebted to Doc. He is becoming a big aperture to the anal canal."
Except he didn't use those exact words.
Marrone, then in law school, kept tending to these tasks even though "anyone who knows me knows I hated anything to do with tools. It was nothing I liked to do at all."
Fumo wanted more done on the house because "this lovemaking place is VERY big and has been ignored for 2 years."
Except he didn't write lovemaking and the house hadn't been ignored at all. Marrone kept the many, many e-mails that prove otherwise, anticipating this day in court.
Then there was the matter of the incessant barking of the neighbor's dog. A book could be written - not a good one, mind you - on Fumo's slow torment by this particular pooch.
The senator's staff was hounded to call the Ninth District captain repeatedly. Citations were issued. Councilman James Kenney's staff was deployed. There was talk of going to L&I. Also of getting "rid" of the unnamed dog. Fumo lawyer Dennis Cogan wanted the court to know that by "rid," Fumo meant going to the SPCA and was not requesting gross canine malfeasance.
With an OCD boss like that, it's a wonder Marrone didn't stop talking to his father-in-law sooner. By the way, the dog problem was never solved. For all we know, he barks still.
The mansion is on the market, the price dropped from $7 million to $5.5 million. In a case of incidental humor, the listing states that the house has been "fully restored to its original grandeur with loving care by the current owner and no expense was spared."
The government plans to continue questioning Marrone today, delving into the role Fumo's Citizens Alliance for Better Neighborhoods played in sparing no expense for loving care.
By Citizens Alliance, Fumo meant the taxpayers' footing the bills and staff, the government plans to prove, and by Better Neighborhoods, Fumo meant specifically his.
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