The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller (23 page)

Keith wrote a series of print ads that accused Dubisson of “buying” the election. They ran almost daily in the
Register
and finally broke the campaign’s tenuous budget. There was talk of Jesse making another trip to the bank for a last-ditch loan, but he finally vetoed the idea. He was convinced he had the battle won, though the momentum seemed to be shifting. In speeches, and in private conversations with voters, he lamented the use of big money to buy an election.

When the last votes were finally counted on August 5, Egan Clement was the margin of victory. She carried Stone County by 150 votes and received only 11 percent overall, but took crucial support away from Dubisson. Agnes felt all along that many women would quietly vote for her, and she was right. The Pettigrew brothers delivered Hancock County by a margin of 820 votes. And in Harrison County, the longtime stronghold of the Fats Bowman machine, Jesse collected almost 900 more votes than Rex Dubisson.

With 51 percent overall, he avoided the runoff and became the new district attorney.

Getting Egan Clement in the race had been a risky move. She
could have easily forced a runoff, one that Jesse could not afford to fight. With unlimited cash and access to TV, Dubisson would have been reelected. He graciously conceded and wished Jesse the best of luck.

A week after the votes were counted, Keith packed his car and left for law school.

The sheriff arrived at Baricev’s half an hour early and saw some familiar faces. He shook hands and thanked the folks for their votes, promised to keep them safe, and so on. As usual, when he was off-duty he wore his blue suit and a tie and gave the appearance of a prosperous businessman. He seemed to relish his role as the machine boss who always delivered. Everyone knew Fats and enjoyed his routine. He was, after all, quite affable, and his mood was even merrier with his latest landslide. His reputation as perhaps the most corrupt sheriff in the state was well established, but, that aside, he ran a tight ship and was tough with common criminals. His darker side was rarely seen by the average citizen. He kept the vice in check and the mobsters in line, for the most part.

He and Rudd Kilgore, his chief deputy, eventually worked their way to his corner table where they ordered cold beers and a platter of raw oysters. Lance Malco and Nevin Noll arrived on time and the four huddled around the table. More drinks and oysters arrived. The other diners, those from the area, knew better than to try and eavesdrop.

“Haven’t seen your boy lately,” Fats said. No one had seen Hugh in months.

“He’s still at sea,” Lance said. “Taking a break. No sign of the Feds?”

“Nope. It’s been a while. I doubt they’ve given up, though.”

Fats balanced a fat oyster on a saltine, then gulped it down. He chased it with beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand. “Robbing jewelry stores. Where did that idea come from? Something you taught him?”

Lance glared at him and said, “Look, Fats, we’ve had this conversation at least three times. No sense in covering the same territory.”

“Pretty stupid.”

“Yes, quite stupid. But I’ll take care of him.”

“You do that. Ain’t none of my business until the Feds show up. I mean, the boy’s looking at five counts of armed robbery, if and when the Feds ever put two and two together. They’re not a bunch of dummies, Lance.”

A waitress stopped by and they ordered broiled crab claws and stuffed flounder, Fats’s favorites.

The meeting was not about Hugh and his stupidity. The election of Jesse Rudy had them uneasy. They weren’t sure what the new DA was planning, but for them nothing good would come from his election.

“I can’t believe Rex lost that race,” Nevin said.

Fats was swallowing another oyster. “He didn’t do what I told him. He won big last time because he took off the gloves, got dirty. Didn’t do it this time. I think Rudy had him spooked. Threatened him with lawsuits and such, and Rex backed down.”

“What’s Rudy’s first move?” Lance asked.

“You’ll have to ask him. Me, I’d guess he’ll clamp down on the gambling. It’s easier to prove. If I were you I’d be careful.”

“I’ve told you, Fats, we’re not gambling. I have four clubs and three bars and there’s no gambling anywhere. The state liquor boys come around from time to time and have a look. If they see as much as a set of dice they’ll pull the liquor license. Can’t risk it. We’re doing okay with drinks and girls.”

“I know, I know. But you’d better tighten things up, know your customers.”

“I know how to run the clubs, Fats. You and I have been in
business for a long time. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. And by the way, don’t let me forget to say congratulations on the landslide.”

Fats waved him off with “Nothing to it. The voters know talent when they see it.”

“Where’d you find that clown?” Nevin asked. As his career flourished, Fats had proven adept at convincing a string of oddballs to jump in the races against him. Running unopposed was a bad idea in his book. One or two opponents, the weaker the better, allowed him to keep his machine well oiled and his fundraising at top speed. The latest opponent, Buddy Higginbotham, had once been convicted of stealing chickens, long before he tried to go straight and became a constable in Stone County. Eleven percent of the voters found him attractive.

They had some laughs telling Buddy stories and enjoyed a smoke. Fats worked a fat cigar while the other three puffed on cigarettes. The platters of crab claws and flounder arrived and covered the table. When the waitress was gone, Nevin said, “We have an idea.”

Fats nodded with his mouth full.

Nevin leaned in a bit lower. “That new place called Siesta, up on Gwinnett, some thug named Andy, been open two months.”

Kilgore said, “We’ve been by, sold him a license.”

“Well, he’s just opened a little casino in the back. Two dice tables, roulette, slots, some blackjack. They keep the door closed, monitor who they let in.”

“Let me guess,” Fats said. “You want me to shut it down.”

“No, not you. Get the city police to do it. We’ll tip them off. They make the bust, get in the news, look good. State liquor pulls the permit. Rudy gets handed an easy case to start his new career. We get to watch him and see how he does things.”

Fats chuckled and said, “Sacrifice one of your own, huh?”

“Sure. Andy is a dimwit, already poached two of our girls. Let’s put him out of business and let the new DA strut his stuff.”

Fats shoveled in a load of flounder and smiled at something, either the fish or the idea. “Who else is gambling?”

Nevin looked at Lance, who said, “Ginger’s got a private room at Carousel. Cards and dice. Members only and it’s tough to get in.”

“We ain’t messin’ with Ginger,” Fats said.

“I wasn’t suggesting that. You asked.”

Nevin said, “Shine Tanner’s got his bingo hall hitting on all cylinders. Rumor is he’s offering slots and roulette for the right crowd.”

“He ain’t too bright,” Fats said. “Making a killing on bingo and booze and putting it at risk.”

“There’s always demand, Fats,” Lance said.

Fats laughed and said, “And ain’t you happy about that? Let’s keep talking about this Andy boy. The problem with handing Rudy an easy case is that it’s likely to go to his head. He’s nothing but trouble and we don’t want to jump-start his career as a crusader.”

“Good point,” Lance said.

Fats drained some beer and smiled at Lance and Nevin. “You boys look worried. Need I remind you that the graveyard is full of politicians who promised to clean up the Coast?”

Acting on “an anonymous tip,” the Biloxi police swarmed the Siesta late on a Friday night and arrested seventeen men caught red-handed shooting craps and playing blackjack. They also arrested Andy Rizzo, the proprietor. They dispersed the crowd, padlocked the doors, and returned the following day to confiscate the slot machines and roulette and craps tables. All suspects bonded out in a matter of days, though Andy, because of his lengthy criminal record, spent a month in jail as his lawyers scrambled.

Jesse convened his first grand jury and indicted all eighteen men. Speaking to a reporter for the
Gulf Coast Register,
he praised
the work of the city police and promised more aggressive action against the nightclubs. Gambling and prostitution were rampant and he had been elected to either lock up the criminals or run them out of town.

For the seventeen, four of whom were airmen from Keesler, he went light and allowed them to plead guilty, pay fines, and serve a year in jail, with all time suspended. For Andy, he refused to negotiate and set the case for a trial. He was itching for a courtroom fight, especially against a defendant who was obviously guilty, but eventually agreed to a seven-year prison sentence. Prison was nothing new for Andy, but the harsh sentence rattled the nightclub owners and they closed their casinos. Temporarily.

The case was too easy and Jesse smelled a rat. He tried to establish a relationship with the city’s police chief, but got nowhere. The chief had been in office for years and knew the forces at work.

The idea of using the state’s nuisance law originated with Keith. During his course in Chancery Court Practice at Ole Miss, the professor skimmed over a seldom-used law that allowed any citizen to file suit to enjoin another citizen from pursuing activities that were illegal and detrimental to the public good. The case they studied involved a landowner who was allowing raw sewage to drain into a public lake.

Keith sent a memo to Jesse, who at first was skeptical. Proving gambling was difficult enough when the casinos screened their customers. Proving prostitution would be even more of a challenge. But, as the months of his first year passed, Jesse became more and more restless.

He drove to Pascagoula and met with Pat Graebel, the DA for the Nineteenth Circuit, comprised of Jackson, George, and Greene Counties. Jackson was on the Coast, but unlike Harrison and Hancock, it had never tolerated the lawlessness that made
Biloxi infamous. Nine years earlier, in his rookie days, Graebel had been thoroughly routed by Joshua Burch in his defense of Nevin Noll for the cold-blooded murder of Earl Fortier. That loss still stung, mainly because Noll was a free man and doing the dirty work for Lance Malco.

Graebel had nothing but contempt for Fats Bowman, the politicians he controlled, and the mobsters who made him rich. Law enforcement in Jackson County spent far too much time cleaning up the spillover from next door. A year before Camille, a homegrown outlaw opened a nightclub on a country road between Pascagoula and Moss Point. He had a big mouth and boasted that he planned to establish his own “Strip” in Jackson County. He had girls and dice and things were hopping until Sheriff Heywood Hester raided the club one Saturday night and hauled away thirty customers. Pat Graebel played hardball with the owner, got a conviction in circuit court for gambling, and sent him to Parchman for ten years.

The ten-year sentence reverberated through the beer joints and pool halls of Jackson County, and the message was clear. Any local thug with ambitions should either find honest work or move along to Harrison County.

Jesse laid out his plans to go after the Biloxi strip clubs. He needed a handful of honest cops willing to go undercover and get themselves solicited for sex. They would be wired, their conversations recorded, and they would abandon the “date” before the clothes came off. That might be problematic. The girls weren’t stupid, indeed most of them were experienced and had seen it all, and they would immediately be suspicious when their johns walked away at the last possible moment.

Pat Graebel liked the plan but wanted to give it some thought. The chief of police of Pascagoula was a close friend, a tough cop, and above reproach. He liked undercover work and was monitoring drug traffickers. Sheriff Hester, too, would probably enjoy some of the action. And Graebel had close contacts with the city
police in the town of Moss Point. It was crucial that they use men who would not be identified anywhere in Biloxi.

A month later, two men wearing wires and using the aliases of Jason and Bruce walked into Carousel on a Thursday night, found a table, ordered drinks, began to admire the strippers dancing onstage, and within a minute attracted the attention of two tarts who’d been waiting to pounce.

“Wanna buy a girl a drink?” was the standard come-on and it worked every time. The waitress brought two tall glasses filled with a red sugary punch concoction with no alcohol. The men drank beer. The tarts removed the swizzle sticks and kept them for payment later. Onstage the dancers were gyrating to a Doobie Brothers song blaring from the speakers. Back at the table, Jason and Bruce ordered another round and the women moved in closer, practically sitting on their laps. One finally uttered the next come-on: “Wanna date?”

Getting down to business, all four enjoyed the bantering about what, exactly, a date meant. Various things. They could pair off and go to a back room for a few moments of privacy, sort of sex-light. Or, if the boys were serious, they could rent a room upstairs for fifty dollars a half hour and “do it all.”

Jason and Bruce were really off-duty, plainclothes policemen from Pascagoula, both happily married. Neither had ever been tempted to enter a Biloxi nightclub. As cops, they watched everything and it was apparent that the traffic was moving to the back rooms and upstairs. In the midst of the loud music, dancing, drinking, and stripping, the hookers were doing a brisk business.