Chapter One


"You jerks wanna know what you can do with your Witness Protection Program? Don't worry, I'll let you fill in that blank. Hey, I did a thing for you, I ratted out these guys. Look at me, I'm thirty-three years old–all I want is the short stint. And when I get out . . . Well, I been takin' care of myself this far. So it's this way: the Feds'll save a lot of green not havin' to babysit me my whole life. I want you to consider that when my sentence comes down–know what I'm talking about?"

Oh, the Feds had warned Sid about the dangers, that outside of the WPP he might well get chopped up and otherwise disemboweled by his former comrades in the Palfutti family. But before Sid decided to turn state's evidence, before he testified, he'd worked out another kind of deal. The rival Camuchi family had made arrangements with his shark of a lawyer to insure that Sid would rat out his confederates at their trials, and in such a way as to scuttle the Palfutti family once and for all. In return, the Camuchis would see to it that any Palfuttis that were not arrested as a result of his testimony were in no position to whack Sid. As a token of their confidence, they'd made a tidy $500,000 honorarium to the Sid Bifulco Defense Fund. The Camuchis were, in effect, buying up the Palfutti turf and rackets for a song.

And so with the deal from both the Feds and the Camuchis in his pocket, Sid took the stand. Days in the Trenton, New Jersey, courtroom were tense as a succession of Palfutti defendants gave Sid the evil eye. But Sid, a sinewy guy with salt-and-pepper hair, remained impassive. He seemed calm, confident, and matter-of-fact. Hours of scratchy recordings, expert testimony, and lawyers' charts filled the weeks. And of course there was the small matter of cross-examination.

"Mr. Bifulco, could you tell the court how you came upon the nickname 'Sleep'?" The defense attorney looked like a tall gray hero...