According to the time on my wrist watch, I had four minutes. Four minutes to find a parking spot, make my way to the automated ticket kiosk, cajole the thing into spitting out a ticket, then climb up the long stairway to the platform to catch the 4:39 train to Penn Station - not the 4:40 mind you; the 4:39. And they mean it. Each step of this required sequence presented its own unique challenge that could make it the determining factor in whether or not I'd spend the next 40 minutes waiting on an empty platform for the next train. Missing the train would really mess up my program because it meant it pushed back my meeting with Victor Conte. On a day like today where his latest courtroom exploits in boxer Shane Mosley's $12 Mil defamation suit against him hit cyberspace, throngs of reporters from all over the world were "blowing up" his cell phone. A delay in getting there would give him the chance to involve himself in yet another interview, which in turn would further prolong my time away from home, which exponentially raises the fee for Max's babysitter.
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| VICTOR CONTE |
During the week, a parking spot at Wantagh Train Station is about as rare as a virgin in Ibiza. I turned onto the last row of parked cars and hoped it was late enough in the day for a spot to open up; it was a real long shot. Then it was with the kind of amazement that convinces you there is a guardian angel riding on your shoulder, or that God is watching over you, that I found a spot 13 feet from the ticket kiosk! Incredible. I could easily have spent more time than I had looking for a place to park.
I hit the screen on the ticket machine with my index finger and began the process of choosing my options. Not using the ticket machine and, instead, buying a ticket on the train was not an option. It almost doubles the price of the trip! The time showed up on the processing screen. I had exactly 1 minute. It felt like every second of it was spent waiting for the machine to spit out my ticket and MTA card (for the subway later). The very instant I reached into the bin at the bottom of the machine to retrieve my ticket, the train pulled in. Now, history has proven to me that the Long Island Railroad did not plan the length of time a train stays in the station contingent upon the length of time it takes an average human to climb the stairs. If you merely walk, or take the escalator, the train will leave before you get to the top. Thanks to the hour I spend every morning on the stair climber, the sprint to the top of that gargantuan staircase was effortless. In fact, I shot out of the top so fast that when I passed the old man, hunched over his cane at the top of the steps in yellow high waters, he nearly stood up straight in shock. My momentum ebbed just in time for me to dart right and into the open door of the train which closed so soon after I got inside that it clipped my heel. The taste of victory was making me high. The last four minutes could easily have been spliced into a James Bond film.
Once on board, I did what everyone does: I found a seat and took out my cell phone. I had 30 txt messages from Victor and one from this smoke'n Latin hottie from down South. I read hers first. Ahhhh...... I'd give anything to bottle the feeling that you get when you first start realizing the girl who knocks your sox off really likes you.... Once the day dream and the stupid smile subsided, I unlocked my screen and pecked away at the texts from Victor. They were all forwards from various news agencies listing the link to the latest article quoting Victor with regard to the bomb he had just dropped on Shane Mosley. In a nutshell, Mosley's case hinges on his testimony that he had no idea what the drugs were that he got from Victor, and that he had no 
idea those drugs were banned or illegal. He goes on to accuse Victor of duping him, conning him, and injecting him with substances unknown to him. In short, the story that Mosley took to court is that he was an unwitting participant in a plot to increase his performance that he didn't know about. Pretty much the exact same defense that worked so well for Marion Jones when she sued Victor for defamation.
I climbed out of the subway on 5th Ave and 55th St and headed up 5th Ave toward Central Park. Victor was staying at the Plaza. As soon as I spotted the infamous glass cube of the Apple Store in front of FAO Schwartz I took out my cell and called him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm in room 931," Victor replied, "just come on up."
"Why don't you come down? Aren't we going to eat? I'm starving."
I pretty much knew exactly what Victor would say next and I was right. "I'm just finishing up with....." I knew it!
Coming up on the Plaza Hotel from 5th Ave offers a breathtaking view (especially at dusk) of the building across Grand Army Plaza no matter how many times you see it. The Plaza was one of NY's premier luxury hotels during what was known as the "Gilded Age" of the industrial revolution that exploded at the turn of the century. The Plaza was the hotel in NY where the wealthy robber barons of the industrial revolution would stay. The Plaza was an extension of any Gilded-age mansion, replete with butlers, housekeepers, and the rest of the usual service staff customary in the care and pampering of the industrial elite. Today, after several renovations, the Plaza still stands as a beacon to the rich and famous and the social elite. It's where rock stars and presidents stay. And it was where Victor Conte was staying.
"Opulent" just didn't seem like a big enough word, I thought, striding through the most striking marble interior. I meandered my way to where the elevators are, resplendent in their glistening early 1900s brass façade; they don't make them like this anymore. I rode up to the 9th floor and stepped out of the elevator into a grand hallway. There were ceiling lamps of cut crystal that refracted the light in an elegant kind of way, tempered and softened by the lighting that washed across the ceiling from somewhere inside the crown molding. Walking over yards and yards of custom patterned wool carpet, There was no question you were inside someplace very expensive. I tapped on 961 and Victor opened the door still yacking into the blue tooth device clamped to his ear. I shook his hand without saying anything and he motioned me inside. I walked past him into a suite that probably looked just like a guest room would look in the Vanderbilt Mansion. Victor continued on his call; he was in an animated discussion about Jud Burstein, Shane Mosley's attorney.
I sat on a thinly cushioned gold-leafed chair that was surprisingly more comfortable than it looked and took in the surroundings. The high ceiling, the layers of drapery, the over abundance of pillows on the overstuffed bed, the gigundo flat screen TV hanging over the carved marble mantelpiece, the universal remote that Victor was playing with that controlled everything from lighting, to music, to the butler - who just stepped inside at the behest of one of those buttons under Victor's thumb... it all seemed a bit much. While Victor kept talking into the phone he placed into the gloved hand of the butler, a pair of his shoes. Victor turned to me and held up his hand with his fingers splayed to indicate that he would be done in five minutes. Pretty much true to his word, he ended the call. "Oh, man.... You can't believe what's going on here." No sooner had he uttered those words his phone rang again. He looked at the ID and then showed it to me. It said "ABC News." "This has been going on all afternoon," Victor said. "It doesn't stop! Releasing that video has created a fire storm!"
The video he was talking about is the now infamous compilation of excerpts from Mosley's deposition where he contradicts his sworn statement and admits that he knew what he was taking was EPO. He admits that he took it before he even checked to see if it was on the ban list.
"Yeah, Victor. That video has gone viral. It's everywhere. Every major news source is embedding it in their reports."
Victor smirked. "Yeah, I can't believe it."
"Bullshit! You know exactly what you're doing! Why did you release it?"
There was a light tapping on the door. It was the butler. He came in and placed the freshly polished shoes in the exact appropriate spot and asked Victor if there would be anything else.
"Jud Burstein is an asshole!" Victor shouted. "I'm going to fry him in court!"
Then to the butler he said in a remarkably affable tone, "No, thank you very much." And the butler left as quietly as he came in.
Victor slipped on the shoes the butler had left for him and he said, "Where do you want to eat?"
"It would save time if we could just eat here in one of the restaurants," I said. Then I considered that we were both dressed pretty casually and asked him if he thought they would let us dine dressed as we were.
"I didn't think of that" Victor replied. "We'll have to see." We stepped out of the elevator and followed the marble labyrinth through colossal granite columns to the entrance of an eatery I was sure would require at least a jacket. The Maitre' di addressed us promptly and Victor asked, "Can we dine dressed like this?" The Maitre 'di said that we could and he led us to a perfect corner booth in the back of the restaurant facing the door. It was the table any Mafia Don would request. I guess it made Victor feel comfortable. He had a beer and loosened up and we had some really uproarious laughs. Victor was laughing so hard at one point that I started wondering what the butler had used to shine his shoes. Then Victor's thoughts ran back to Burstein.... "He got his ass kicked today."
"Yeah, that's exactly what Burstein says he's going to do to you in court. He said he can't wait."
"What else is he going to say! Of course he's going to say that. But he's got nothing. Mosley is lying and I just proved it."
I took a swig of dark rum and diet Coke. "But why," I asked. "I thought this was a mediation hearing. Weren't you guys supposed to settle this and not go to trial?"
"It was supposed to be." Victor replied. Can you believe Burstein wanted me to settle for $5,000.00 and a statement that Mosley and I had a ‘misunderstanding."
I cracked up. "You mean he wants to settle a $12 mil suit for five grand? Are you kidding me?"
"I told him to go fuck himself. I'm not giving them a dime! And I stormed out of there."
The food was starting to come. The elegant plating of the micro portions reminded me we should have eaten before we got there. I really didn't care though. I was getting the story the rest of the world was getting tomorrow. I'll grab a chicken kabob on my way back to the train if I'm still hungry. Victor continued, "Finally my lawyer comes out and says that Burstein is sorry and to please come back. I go back in and Burstein says no money. So I'm telling them that this is starting to sound good, then Burstein says he wants a statement stating that there was a slight miscommunication between Mosley and me and that neither side can ever say anything about it ever again. And you know what? I almost went for it. But I don't fucking trust them. So I told Burstein no deal today. Then it got really heated between Burstein and me. That's when he started telling me how he'd destroy me in court. I stared him right down and told him ‘ bring it on motherfucker!' and I stormed out of there. I went right back to my hotel room and posted the video. Burstein is going to destroy me? He's going to enjoy it? Enjoy this motherfucker, Mosley lied!"
It sure looks that way. So, of course, Burstein comes back out saying the videos were taken out of context and posted his own drawn out versions of the same testimony. It still ends the same way - with Mosley squirming in his seat and giving damning answers that prove he lied and prove he cheated. I wondered, "Victor, don't you think Floyd Mayweather might find this interesting?" Mayweather is scheduled to fight Mosley in a week. Hmmmmmm.......
So, as Victor's blow turned boxing upside down you have to wonder why Moseley's lawyer isn't pulling his client in off the rock pile. This guy is cooked. He has paid his lawyer hundreds of thousands of dollars fighting a defamation suit that history proves he cannot win, and, even worse, it can get him in even deeper trouble than before he started. You'd think by now, Burstein would be trying to capitulate and see if he can pull Mosley quietly off into the sidelines and at least not have to pay Victor's legal bills. But Burstein treats Mosley like the corner sending a boxer back into the ring after he's clearly beat, only to get beaten some more. Mosley is done. Victor got him. Case closed. Except it really isn't because an unscrupulous megalomaniac lawyer can still convince his not too bright client to pony up more money for something he can probably convince him he can fix. Yup, BALCO just keeps on giving....
