The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller (19 page)

Gene argued there could be a problem with advertising, which was still strictly prohibited in the state. Gage didn’t see a problem. The newsletter was not an overt attempt to solicit clients. Rather, it was simply a means to share information with people who needed it.

Keith saw it as a rare, perfect moment to (1) keep clients happy, (2) subtly solicit more clients, and (3) remind the voters in the
Second Circuit Court district that Jesse Rudy was a badass lawyer they could trust. While avoiding the stickiness of politics, the newsletter could be a beautiful calling card and the first salvo in next year’s race for district attorney. He wrote the first newsletter, christened it the
Camille Litigation Report,
and showed it to his father, who was impressed. They argued over the mailing list and Jesse was adamant in his belief that the mailing would be regarded as advertising. He reluctantly agreed to an initial run of 2,000 clients and others who had contacted his office.

The newsletter was a hit. The clients loved the attention and were encouraged to see their lawyer so actively pushing their cases. They passed their copies around, shared them with neighbors. Strangers showed up at the office, holding the newsletter, asking for some time with Mr. Rudy. Unknown to anyone at the firm, Keith ran hundreds of additional copies of the initial newsletter, virtually all of it written by him, and nonchalantly left them around the courthouses, post offices, city halls, and at a makeshift field tent being used as the unofficial gathering place in Camille Ville.

And then it was time to leave for law school. His last night in Biloxi, he met Joey and Denny at a new watering hole in Back Bay, a cheap dive at one end of an old oyster house and cannery. With thousands of relief workers still in town, someone had realized they were thirsty and opened a bar. Oddly enough, there were no strippers, no rooms upstairs, no slot machines.

The Camille cleanup was in full throttle, but it would take years, not months. Many homes, stores, and offices would never be rebuilt. Mountains of debris sat waiting to be hauled away and burned. Denny was working for a government contractor from Dallas and driving a dump truck ten hours a day. Not much of a job, but the pay was okay. Joey talked about the fishing business, which was rebounding nicely. The storm unsettled the Sound for a month or so, but the fish came back, as always. The enormous amount of debris taken away by the surge was now at the bottom
of the Gulf and attracting fish for nesting. The oyster crops were especially abundant.

They finally got around to the subject of Hugh. Keith had not seen him in at least three years, certainly not since the last election. And that was a good thing, the other two agreed. They saw Hugh occasionally, and he had made it clear that he and his father had no use for the Rudy bunch. Too much was said in the heat of the campaign. Jesse had promised to take on the nightclubs and shut them down for illegal activity. He had even used a photo of Red Velvet in one of his mailings.

“Stay away from the guy,” Denny said. “He’s looking for trouble.”

“Oh, come on,” Keith said. “If Hugh walked up right now I’d buy him a beer and talk football. What’s he gonna do?”

Denny and Joey exchanged looks. They knew more than they wanted to tell.

Joey shrugged and said, “He fights a lot, Keith, likes to work the door and intimidate people. As always, he enjoys trading punches.”

“His old man makes him work as a bouncer?”

“No, he wants to. Says that’s where the action is. Also, he gets the first look at the girls.”

Denny said, “He says he’ll take over one day and wants to learn the business from the ground up. He drives his old man around, carries a gun, hangs out in the clubs, samples the women. He’s a total thug, Keith. You don’t want to be around him.”

“I thought you guys were in business.”

“Maybe before Camille, but not now. He’s too big for me, a real tough guy and a real swinger. Not my friend anymore.”

To change the subject, Joey said, “You guys read about Todd Foster, kid from over in Ocean Springs?”

Both shook their heads no.

“Didn’t think so. Todd Foster was killed in Vietnam a couple of weeks back, the twenty-third casualty from the Coast. He must
not have been too bright because he volunteered to begin with, then signed up for two more tours.”

“Awful,” Keith said, but they had grown accustomed to such stories.

“Anyway, he had a nickname. Take a guess.”

“How are we supposed to know? Shorty. Shorty Foster.”

“Try Fuzz. Fuzz Foster. The guy we saw in Golden Gloves the night he and Hugh beat the shit out of each other. Referee called it a draw.”

Keith was startled and saddened. He said, “How could we ever forget? We were all there, raising hell and yelling, ‘Let’s go Hugh! Let’s go Hugh!’ ”

“I’ll never forget that fight,” Denny said. “Fuzz was tough as nails and could take a punch. Didn’t they fight again?”

Joey smiled and said, “Remember? Hugh said they had two more fights, split them, then they had a brawl in a club one night when Fuzz got outta line. According to our dear friend Hugh, he won by a knockout.”

“Of course. Has Hugh ever lost a fight no one saw?”

They laughed and sipped their beers. They had been together since the first grade on the Point and had shared many adventures. Keith wanted their friendship to last forever, but he feared they were drifting apart. Denny was still searching for a career and making little progress. Joey seemed content following his father and fishing for the rest of his life. And Hugh was gone. Surprising no one, he had slid into the underworld, from which there was no return. Career gangsters like Lance Malco went to prison, or took a bullet, or they died in prison. That was Hugh’s future too.

The litigation had found a new reality. The insurance companies could afford to stall the damage claims, but they could not survive angry juries willing to do whatever Jesse Rudy asked. When the value of a $15,000 claim quadrupled with the addition of punitive damages, it was time to wave a white flag. Typically, though, the surrender would be tedious and frustrating.

The break came in the courtroom in Wiggins, just as the lawyers were waiting for Judge Oliphant to take the bench and begin jury selection. Simmons Webb walked to the plaintiff’s table, leaned down and whispered, “Jesse, my client’s had enough.” The words were magic, though Jesse’s expression did not change. He said, “Let’s go to chambers.”

Judge Oliphant took off his robe and waved at the small conference table.

Webb said, “Your Honor, I have finally convinced my client to settle these cases and pay the claims.”

His Honor couldn’t suppress a smile. He was tired of the nonstop trials and needed a break. “Great news,” he said. “What are your terms?”

“Well, in the case before us the policy holder claims damages in the amount of thirteen thousand dollars. We’ll write a check for that amount.”

Jesse was ready to pounce. “No way. You’ve sat on this money for almost a year and you don’t get to use it for free. Any settlement must include interest and living expenses.”

“I’m not sure ARU will do that.”

“Then let’s start the trial. I’m ready, Judge.”

His Honor held up his hands and asked for quiet. He looked at Webb and said, “If you’re settling these cases, then it will be done properly. These people are entitled to damages, expenses, and interest. Every jury so far has agreed.”

Webb said, “Judge, believe me, I’m aware of that, but I’ll need to discuss this with my client. Give me five minutes.”

Jesse said, “And there’s something else. I’ve signed up these cases on a twenty percent contingency, but it’s not fair for me to take fees out of the money that is desperately needed by my clients. Your company’s bad faith required them to file suit. So, your company will pay five hundred dollars in legal fees per case.”

Webb bristled and said smugly, “That’s not in the policy.”

“Neither are punitive damages,” Jesse shot back.

Webb stuttered but had no retort.

Jesse fired away with “And since when does your client honor the policy?”

“Come on, Jesse. The jury’s not in here.”

“No, it’s out there and I’m ready to put it in the box and have us another trial. If all goes well I’m going to ask for a hundred thousand in punitive damages.”

“Settle down. Give me five minutes, okay?” Webb left chambers, and the judge and Jesse exhaled in unison. “Could it be over?” Oliphant asked, almost to himself.

“Maybe. It just might be the beginning of the end. I met with the lawyers for Coast States last week, up in Jackson, trying to get the cases settled. For the first time there they were willing to talk. The big boys haven’t blinked, until now. If ARU and Coast States surrender, the rest will be quick to follow.”

“How many cases do you have now?”

“Fifteen hundred, against eight companies. But I’ve filed only two hundred, those with clear wind damage. The others are more
complicated, as you know. They’ll be harder to settle because of water damage.”

“Please don’t file any more, Jesse. I’ve had enough of these trials. And there’s something else that’s really bothering me. I’m not impartial anymore, and for a judge that’s not good.”

“I understand, Judge, but no one can blame you. These damned insurance companies are rotten, and if you hadn’t allowed my claim for punitive damages we wouldn’t be talking settlement. You made it happen, Judge.”

“No, you get the credit. No other lawyer on the Coast has dared to try one of these. They signed them up all right, but they’re waiting on you to force settlements.”

Jesse smiled and acknowledged the truth. Minutes passed before Webb returned, and he came back a different man. His face was relaxed, his eyes had a glow, his smile had never been wider. He stuck out a hand and said, “Deal.”

Jesse shook it and said, “Deal. Now, we’re not leaving this room until we have a written agreement, witnessed by the judge, that covers all of my cases and clients.”

Judge Oliphant put on his robe, went to his courtroom, and released the prospective jurors. Jesse informed his client that the case had been settled, a check was on the way.

Weeks passed, though, before anyone saw a check. ARU had written the playbook on stalling claims and it simply turned to the next chapter. Phone calls to adjusters were often not returned and never promptly. An amazing amount of paperwork was lost in the mail. Every letter from the company was mailed at the last possible moment. A favorite ploy was to settle with the folks who’d hired lawyers, and ignore those who hadn’t.

Coast States agreed to settle two weeks after ARU, and it
proved just as slippery. By the end of July, almost all of the insurance companies were making offers to settle. Contractors were suddenly busy, and through the ravaged neighborhoods the welcome sounds of hammers and power saws filled the air.

Rudy & Pettigrew received its first batch of checks for the eighty-one clients who had sued ARU. Suddenly, there was a little over $40,000 in fees in the bank, and the money lessened the stress considerably. Jesse rewarded his partners with handsome bonuses; likewise for his secretary and part-time paralegal. He took some money home for Agnes and the kids. He sent a check to Keith in law school. And he tucked away $5,000 for his campaign account, one he had never closed.

The litigation was far from over. His clients who lived closer to the beach suffered damage that was clearly caused by the surge. His position was that the winds, at least 175 miles an hour, blew off roofs and porches hours before the flood came. Proving it, though, would take experts and money.

On the one-year anniversary of Camille, a crowd gathered on a beautiful morning near the remains of the Church of the Redeemer, the oldest Episcopal Church on the Coast. The municipal band played for half an hour as the crowd gathered. A Presbyterian minister offered a flowery prayer, followed by a priest who was more succinct. The mayor of Biloxi talked about the iron will and fighting spirit of his people along the Coast. He pointed to his right and talked about the rebuilding of the Biloxi harbor. To his left and across Highway 90 a new shopping center was under construction. Most of the rubble had been cleared and every day the sounds of recovery grew stronger. Staggered and wounded like never before, the Coast had been brought to its knees, but it would rise again.

A beautiful memorial to the victims was unveiled.

When Camille leveled the nightclubs and swept away everything but the concrete slabs, there was optimism in some quarters that perhaps God had sent a message, had finally pronounced judgment on the wicked. This was a popular theme among some preachers after the storm. The infamous Biloxi vice was gone. Good riddance. Praise the Lord.

The sinners, though, were still thirsty, and when Red Velvet and O’Malley’s reopened three months after the storm, they were instantly packed and long lines waited to get in. Their popularity inspired others and soon there were opportunists everywhere. Once-expensive land that faced the beach was now empty, and many homeowners had no plans to return. Why build an expensive home and risk another Camille? Prices plummeted and that drew even more interest.

By Christmas of 1969, a construction boom was underway along the Strip. The buildings were of the cheap metal variety, barely able to withstand winds from a good summer thunderstorm. They were decorated with all manner of awnings, porticos, colorful doors, fake windows, and neon signs.

The Coast was still busy with construction workers, day laborers, volunteers, drifters, and Guardsmen, not to mention the new recruits at Keesler, and the nightclub scene returned in a hurry. Vice was perhaps the first industry to fully recover after the storm.