CARL HIAASEN

Crooked politicians can relax. The U.S. Supreme Court just made it easier to shake down special-interest groups for campaign money.

In a 6-3 vote, the court overturned the extortion conviction of a West Virginia legislator who took several thousand dollars from unlicensed doctors seeking to practice medicine in his state. The legislator then worked to pass a law that would have licensed the doctors without requiring a state examination.

A jury convicted the legislator, Robert L. McCormick, of extortion. The verdict was upheld on appeal.

The Supreme Court threw it out. In a ruling that gladdened the hearts of all sleaze balls, the court said that it's not extortion unless "payments are made in return for an explicit promise or undertaking by the official to perform or not to perform an official act."

As theory, it sounds sensible. In the real world, though, bribery and extortion are rarely arranged by explicit discussion. Only the most witless, ham-handed politician openly solicits money in exchange for favors.

The dirty deed usually is orchestrated by winks, nods, and the most ambiguous of conversations. The risky chore of collecting the payoff generally falls to trusted aides, also known as bagmen. Seldom will you hear a senator holler: "Hey, Frank, where's that bribe you promised?"

Special interests give campaign money to politicians all the time, and usually it's legal. The question of corruption arises when money is tied to a specific favor by mutual agreement -- for instance, a payoff in exchange for a vote.

It happens every day, but proving it is hard. The U.S. law against extortion is called the Hobbs Act, and it was designed to prosecute gangsters. Politicians were an afterthought.

In its recent ruling, the Supreme Court applies loan-shark standards to old-fashioned political shakedowns. To make an extortion case, U.S. prosecutors now must show that the payment was either "induced by the use of force, violence or fear," or part of a clear "quid pro quo."

Even the greediest councilman seldom resorts to breaking kneecaps. As for the "quid pro quo," how do you prove a secret deal when both sides deny it? If the extorted party ultimately has got what he wants, he's got no reason to rat on the extortee.

When such allegations do arise, the politician's typical response is righteous indignation. He will heatedly deny any connection between his vote and the wad of money that arrived shortly thereafter. Pure coincidence!

The recent case of Mayor Raul Martinez of Hialeah, Fla., didn't involve campaign funds, but still relied on a broader interpretation of the Hobbs Act. Martinez was charged with extorting almost $1 million in cash and property from developers, in exchange for zoning favors.

Yet some of the government's own witnesses swore -- with straight faces -- that they'd have steered lucrative real-estate business toward the mayor no matter how he voted. They'd have done it just because he's a swell guy.

Jurors didn't swallow it. The new Supreme Court ruling, however, puts the mayor's conviction in jeopardy. As in the West Virginia case, the Martinez jury was told that proof of threats and explicit extortion wasn't necessary for a guilty verdict; the "wrongful taking" of money and property was enough.

A majority of the high court says no. Consequently, it will be more difficult than ever to make a federal case against a corrupt office-holder.

Hard to believe it's the same "law-and-order" court that's cracked down so hard on the rights of the accused. Recent rulings have given police more power to search without warrants, allowed coerced confessions to stand, and lengthened the time that an arrested person can be held with no charges.

The court's anti-crime fervor obviously doesn't extend to politicians. A crook is still safer running for office than he is breaking into one.

Memo:  (Carl Hiaasen is a columnist for the Miami Herald/distributed by Knight-News-Tribune.)