Alfano, landlord of a video store, also scored free flicks for the judge (the indictment is mum on titles) that Perri asked Alfano to "pack real nice . . . tape 'em and all."
Allegedly, Perri worried that the ever-accommodating Alfano wasn't feeling enough love from Perri in return. The situation was "becoming like a one-way street on my end . . . I like a two-way street," Perri told Alfano, with touching concern.
To which Alfano responded, "If I need something, you're going to do it."
He needn't have worried. The feds say that Perri once said, in regard to traffic citations forwarded to him for "consideration" (courtspeak for "fixing"), "I see Century [the name of Alfano's company] on it; it's gold."
Coffee isn't always a
The feds say Perri's indicted former personal assistant, William Hird, had a cryptic phone chat with a caller who was due in court for a hearing about tickets totaling $1,700-plus in fines and fees that were to be quashed.
"How we make out for tomorrow?" asked the caller, referred to by feds as "V.B."
"I'm gonna see ya for coffee, ain't I?" Hird responded, in code.
"I just want to make sure," said V.B.
"I'm gonna be available for coffee," said Hird.
"We're in good shape, then?" V.B. asked.
"Yeah," said Hird. "I'll talk to you tomorrow for coffee."
The tickets were thrown out.
Motherhood isn't just for mothers
The feds allege that businessman Robert Moy had scads of tickets dismissed or reduced by former Judge Thomasine Tynes. The two were so close, he called her "Mom."
This is what passes for campaign transparency
When Willie Singletary was running for judge, he solicited campaign funds from members of a motorcycle club called Philadelphia First State Road Tattlers. In his stump speech, he was startlingly straightforward.
"You're all going to help me out?" he asked . . . "There's going to be a basket going around because I'm running for Traffic Court judge, right, and I need some money. I got some stuff that I got to do, but if you all can give me 20 dollars, you're going to need me in Traffic Court, am I right about that? . . . Now, you all want me to get there, you're all going to need my hookup, right?"
Singletary was disciplined and given two years' probation for that sales pitch. Apparently, it didn't take.
Good bar owners offer free beer nuts; great bar owners offer something more
Judge Michael Sullivan owns the Fireside Tavern in South Philly, where, feds allege, he kept a box behind the bar where family, friends, favored pols and customers could deposit their Traffic Court documents for the judge's "consideration." That's court-speak for "fixing."
Theft is theft is theft
Money received from the fine portion of a traffic ticket is split between the city and the state. The city's take goes in its general fund.
But the state's goes to emergency-related services like the catastrophic-head-injury fund and legal aid for low-income people and victims of domestic violence.
In other words, each dollar that our allegedly crooked Traffic Court helped the well-connected to avoid paying is a dollar stolen from the needy.
That point was lost on Thomasine Tynes, who told the Daily News, emphatically, that she had never accepted money for anything.
Unlike Perri, whom the feds say got car repairs, a patio, landscape work and other goodies.
She allegedly took part in a massive ticket-fixing scheme at Traffic Court. And all she got was a lousy indictment.