Popkin is reticent when discussing the case. He doesn't want to agitate U.S. District Court Judge Roger Andewelt, and he knows that Perri is not someone to be trifled with either. In fact, a few months ago Perri fired a contract lawyer who was working with Popkin because he thought the lawyer wasn't doing his job.
Five years ago, Perri walked into Popkin's Shirley, New York, office and asked Popkin if he'd be interested in suing the federal government. "I never knew him before," Popkin says. "He told me his story, I did some research, and I took a shot at a lawsuit."
courtesy of New York Times
The Old Westbury Farm was confiscated in a Perri-led FBI sting operation and sold for $5.6 million.
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Popkin took a two-pronged legal approach. First, he argued that payments provided to informants through a congressional forfeiture fund should in some cases be mandatory. Andewelt rejected the argument.
But a contractual claim is still pending. Popkin argues that agents promised Perri a share of the horse farm, and that constitutes a binding contract.
"There doesn't seem to be any doubt that these promises were made," Popkin says. "The question is, what are the legal consequences of having made these promises?"
Perri argues that Matthews couldn't have made a promise without the FBI's knowledge and consent. "He never gave me anything without clearing it with the bureau. He wouldn't give me $100 without clearing it. He made it clear that he couldn't do anything without approval."
A Justice Department lawyer who is working on the case says neither Matthews nor Byers ever promised Perri a share of the farm.
"The government's position is that no promises were made to Mr. Perri in the regard that he's suing us over," the attorney says. "The government does not have any information that any such promises were made."
The government turned over a batch of documents to Popkin in March. Popkin says he "needs to straighten out some things with Anthony" before deciding on his next legal move.
One wild card in this case is whether Perri has any evidence of a promise from the feds. He hints that he might have tape recordings of some conversations with Matthews and Byers.
"The government may have a surprise," Perri says. "Remember, I'm not too dumb. They taught me how to use these recording devices. But we'll deal with that down the road."
For someone who admits that his life has been devoid of a moral compass, Perri takes an ironically righteous tone when he talks about the case. He argues that because he put his life in danger for the government, the United States has a "moral obligation" to take care of him.
He draws his own quirky line between his kind of bad behavior and what he perceives as true evil.
"My definition of a bad person is a guy who goes around fucking little girls, a guy who wears a raincoat and exposes himself to school kids, a guy who chops people up, puts them in the refrigerator and eats them," he says. "Those are people you have to put in the fucking cell and peel their fucking skin off.
"Now, if you kill a person for a reason, that's one thing. If you kill an innocent person for no reason, that's another thing. Now you're talking about the scum of the earth, the devil's disciple."
Perri seems impatient by nature. He concedes that his lifelong need for instant gratification has contributed to many of his mistakes. But he's learning patience from the American judicial system. As bleak as his life is, as much as he misses his wife and his daughter, he's determined to see this case through -- if for no other reason than to annoy the feds.
"Most people would just walk away," he says. "They'd put their finger in their ass and walk away. But I'm not going to. Win or lose, they're going to know I'm here."
Contact Gilbert Garcia at his online address: ggarcia@newtimes.com
