Friday, Nov. 7, 2003 | 6:29 a.m.
WEEKEND EDITION Nov. 8 - 9, 2003
Jon Ralston hosts the news discussion program Face to Face on Las Vegas ONE and publishes the Ralston Report. He can be reached at (702) 870-7997 or at [email protected].
After reading the 42 pages of sex, lies and audiotapes that indicts three Southern Nevada pols, one must ask the question: Were these people insane not to cop a plea when they had the chance?
The indictment, whether truth or fiction or some hybrid, charts an odyssey through a seamy and sordid political underworld. It's more "Hardcore" than Homer, but it has enough seriocomic elements to become a memorable page-turner.
Lance "Dude" Malone sounds like a surfer in a stupor, as dazed and confused as anyone Robert Plant could ever have imagined. (That surely will be attorney Dominic Gentile's defense: "My client may be a dolt, but he's no felon.")
Erin "I'm begging you on my knees" Kenny sounds like a wheeler-dealer on methamphetamine, speeding from deal to deal, at once solicitous and desperate, relentless and ruthless. That is, all that she was perceived to be -- and more.
Dario "That's huge, huge" sounds like a money-strapped political climber, eager to please so long as the price was right. From playing in golf games with strippers as accoutrements to wheedling money for a new bachelor pad, Herrera was a hustler extraordinaire.
Mary "Uh hum" Kincaid-Chauncey sounds like a woman who could be a psychological case study in denial, seemingly unaware of what she has done. And her Mother and Grandmother of the Year veneer has been ripped away with allegations she funneled illegal cash gifts through her daughter to her grandson and arranged for strip club favors for her son.
Mike "No (expletive)" Galardi sounds like Godfather Lite, making politicians offers they can't refuse and treating them like the strippers who work for him: Chattel who will perform for him whatever acts of degradation he needs.
But are these fictional characters, embroidered from bits and pieces of reality by a federal government that privately offered sweet deals but now feels pressured to prosecute? Or are these crooked politicians exposed by devastating wiretaps and their own arrogance?
This is a case that will attempt to delineate the fine line between legalized extortion (campaign contributions and gifts) and illegal extortion (money and gifts for votes). This is the case where the government will have to rely on damning wiretaps with outrageous conduct implied, but also with problematic witnesses -- to call Kenny and Galardi less than credible is a little like saying Mayor Oscar Goodman is outspoken.
And this is a case that could prove to be just the beginning as Operation G-Sting morphs into Operation Money for Zoning -- if a strip club mogul is clever and aggressive enough to corrupt politicians, why isn't it reasonable, the government surely believes, to assume that developers and others might have, too?
The cliche is that you can indict a ham sandwich because the process is so biased against those targeted. But, if this indictment is to be believed, the only ham here was in these amateur thespians, who acted as if they could say and do anything and get away with it. Unfortunately for them, the audience was larger than they anticipated in the form of eavesdropping FBI agents, who captured some of the silliest dialogue since Mel Brooks. Max Bialystock could never have produced something this ridiculous.
And, not surprisingly, the feds seized on the most risible dialogue from the wiretaps to include in the document -- attorneys later surely will argue context or lack thereof -- to make these three defendants look utterly rapacious and reckless.
Malone is overheard using the word "dude" over and over again as if he were some pot-addled pinhead. Kenny is shown as joking about her performance, saying with a laugh that she did it all "for God and country" and later acknowledging her willingness to kneel down and beg for more money. Herrera is portrayed as exhibiting schoolboy excitement as he tells Malone how huge it would be if Galardi could bundle money to him through his employees. And Kincaid-Chauncey is depicted as passively accepting cash from Malone twice, once soliciting funds for her grandson, and then acknowledging with a nonchalant "uh hum" that Malone had given her the correct amount.
This is all so damning, so sickening and so sad. But is it true? And, more to the point, can the government prove it is true?
The dissonance cannot be ignored between the deals offered to the defendants during the last few weeks and the kitchen sink indictment presented Thursday. The same government, which was willing to let Herrera serve a year or so -- maybe less -- and Malone and Kincaid-Chauncey only a couple of years, now has thrown the proverbial book at them.
And yet, the book's cover is not as sexy as its contents. Yes, 28 counts. But wire fraud and extortion under color of official right? This is not the stuff of which best sellers or cinematic blockbusters are made.
But inside, the plot thickens.
At the very least, it is a story of how Galardi, through ex-cop Malone, was able to insinuate himself into the lives of at least three commissioners and essentially infiltrate the government and influence how it regulated a multimillion-dollar industry. And at worst, it is a tale of how Galardi played into the greed and ambition of two former Democratic rising stars who went supernova (Kenny and Herrera), and into either the naivete or the avarice of the only current elected official named (Kincaid-Chauncey).
I almost find myself chuckling at the extortion counts in the indictment because Galardi seems much more of the puppet master than a man being coerced. He is matter of fact about what's happening -- the offhand "no (expletive)" comments sprinkled throughout attest to that.
It is difficult to discern even after several readings of the indictment how some of the information not on the taps was obtained. If it was acquired through testimony from Galardi, who reeks of sleaze in the document, and Kenny, who comes off as an amoral manipulator, the government could have serious problems making its case. But if the feds have photos and more of some of the meetings alleged in the indictments, I again express surprise at why the defendants did not take the plea agreements.
Take a look:
Malone, who as a former policeman might have known about the possibility of wiretaps, is quoted throughout the indictment as being able to get his former colleagues to go along with the strip club owner's plans.
Herrera wanted to meet with Galardi, Malone tells the boss on Aug. 10, 2001. Galardi: "What do you think he wants?" Malone: "What do you think he wants?" Galardi: "No (expletive)."
Malone repeatedly tells commissioners he'll "take care of that" as he is telling Galardi, also known as "dude," that he has them on board.
Malone surely will argue he was talking about legal campaign contributions -- and if so, the worst you have is a disclosure problem. But prosecutors will insist these were tantamount to bribes -- although I don't see the word "bribery" in the indictment.
If I told you that I think Malone has some problems, I have an idea what people who have read the indictment might say: "No (expletive)."
Maybe she was just duped. Maybe she was just led down a path by Malone.
Well, maybe not.
Kincaid-Chauncey appeared on "Face to Face With Jon Ralston" a couple of months ago and here is one exchange from the program:
JR: Let's for your sake and to clear it up for the public, too, commissioner, did you ever take cash from anybody?
MKC: No I have not.
The indictment directly contradicts that assertion, though, in two instances.
Pretty damning stuff. Unless, of course, it was a campaign contribution.
This sounds even worse, especially with the nexus to the planning Commission action. Stupidity or crime?
Some of the stuff is salacious and intended to portray Herrera in an incredibly unflattering light -- Galardi is alleged to have provided a dancer to accompany the commissioner on a golf outing and to have paid for $400 in lap dances for Herrera. Is this a failure to disclose a contribution and gift, or something much more insidious?
Herrera is also recorded as telling Malone that he was separating from his wife and, "So, I might need a little bit of help getting, you know, getting a place and stuff, so, I'll let you know." There is no evidence presented that Galardi helped set up Herrera in his new place, but clearly that is what the strip club magnate told authorities.
The most damaging part of the indictment for Herrera is a meeting alleged to have taken place on Sept. 21, 2001, in which "defendant Malone gave defendant Herrera thousands of dollars in cash from Galardi."
Two points here: Can the government prove this was a payoff and not campaign cash? There is a fine line, folks. And how do prosecutors know this happened -- it was not on a wiretap, so do they have pictures or did they somehow record this?
Malone also is recorded several times talking to his "dude" and telling Galardi that he has Herrera, that, as he once said, "You've had Dario from the very beginning." But did he just have him, as in committed on the issue, or in his pocket?
That is what this case is all about -- the government proving that this was not just business as usual, but business as criminal. It may take years to sort out, with various sideshows along the way -- such as, perhaps, Mayor Oscar Goodman becoming more intimately involved with Herrera's case. By the time the trial finally occurs, we will know the answer to the question about whether any or all of these defendants should have accepted the sweet deals when they could have.
And we will also know whether Operation G-Sting was the first signpost on a long road to exposing corruption in Southern Nevada politics or a dead end for the federal government.
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