The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller (28 page)

Governor Waller was, after all, a former district attorney. He had been threatened on several occasions and knew how frightening it was for the family. He called Jesse every other day for updates. The support from the top was comforting.

Both men knew there were a lot of crazies out there.

Foxy’s was closed for a week while Joshua Burch spun a dizzying assortment of legal maneuvers to get it reopened. When the barricades and police tape were finally removed, Lance tried to gin up excitement with free beer, live country music, and even more hot women. That fizzled when state troopers arrived in uniform and milled around the front door. They parked their patrol cars in full view of the traffic on Highway 90. The few thirsty customers who showed up could only drink and watch the strippers; the prostitutes were in hiding. The intimidation worked so well that Jesse requested more troopers and before long Red Velvet, Desperado, and the Truck Stop were practically deserted. The Strip was a ghost town.

Lance Malco was livid. His flow of cash had been choked off and there was only one person to blame. His private life was a mess. Carmen was living in a guest room above the garage and hardly spoke to him. She had mentioned a divorce several times. Two of his adult children had left the Coast and never called. Only Hugh remained loyal as he jockeyed for more authority in the business. To make matters worse, the highway patrol routinely parked near the Malco home to draw attention from the neighbors. For fun, they followed Lance to and from work. It was nothing but harassment, all orchestrated by Jesse Rudy, he was certain. Lance was at a breaking point. His empire was on the brink. He was facing criminal charges that could put him away for decades. He spoke to Joshua Burch at least three times a day, not a preferred way to spend his time.

Burch was adamant that he represent the three floor managers,
along with Lance. Though the four could possibly have conflicting interests, Burch wanted them under his thumb. His fear was that Jesse Rudy would select one of the managers and start chipping away with threats and offers of leniency. If he flipped one, he might flip another, and the dominoes would fall. Burch could protect all four if he called the shots, but interference from another lawyer could be disastrous. Lance was obviously the biggest target, and his defense could not withstand the ruinous testimony from those close to him.

Burch was not privy to the grand jury testimony but would try like hell to get it. Normally it was not discoverable, and Rudy would fight to keep it private. It was not unusual in a criminal case to have little more than the names of opposing witnesses before the trial started. Undermining their testimony was left to the skill of the defense lawyer, and Burch considered himself a master at cross-examination.

In the preliminary court hearings, he maintained his air of confidence in his clients’ innocence as he scoffed at the indictments. He said little to the press but let it be known that, at least in his opinion, the State’s case was based on the shaky testimony of a bunch of washed-up call girls who hung around the nightclubs causing trouble. Privately, though, he confided to his associates that Jesse Rudy had them on the ropes. Was there any real doubt that Mr. Malco had built his empire on the backs of prostitutes? Wasn’t it common knowledge that he was a wealthy man because of illegal booze, gambling, and hookers? How could the defense possibly pick a fair and impartial jury?

The jury would be the key, as always, and the defense only needed one vote.

As the shock of the arrests began to wane, and fewer state troopers roamed the Coast, the night life slowly returned. Stofer
reported to Jesse that some of the girls drifted in, but they flirted only with the men they knew. They were far less aggressive and ignored strangers. When they sneaked away to the rooms it was with someone they had serviced before. Mr. Malco himself was seen around the clubs at night, making sure all rules were being followed. He worked the floor, shaking hands, slapping backs, cracking jokes, as if he had no worries.

Hugh stayed close to his father and was always armed, though they did not feel threatened at the moment. The gangsters had a new and more serious problem—Mr. Rudy—and gave little thought to another senseless turf battle among themselves. Lance’s rivals hunkered down in their caves and hiding places, fearful that more indictments might be coming. The nightclubs had a new appreciation of the law and were following it to the letter.

Hugh was twenty-six years old and finally growing out of his rebellious years. He had stopped fighting and given up hard liquor and jacked-up sports cars, and was dating a young divorcée who once worked as a waitress at Foxy’s. He got her away from the nightclubs before she could advance to the more lucrative specialties. She worked in a downtown bank where proper attire was required and strict hours kept. The longer they dated, the more she nagged Hugh about getting away from the Strip and finding honest work. The life of an outlaw might be exciting and prosperous for a while, but it was also unstable, even dangerous. His father was facing prison. His parents were separating. Was a life of crime really worth it?

But Hugh saw little future on the right side of the law. He’d been hanging around the clubs since he was fifteen, knew the business well, and had a general idea of how much money his father had made. It was a lot, far more than anyone else knew, and far more than any doctor or lawyer could earn.

The more they quibbled, the less Hugh liked her.

He was worried about his father and was angry that Jesse Rudy had actually indicted him. He could not comprehend his dad going
to prison, though he had gradually accepted that possibility. If it happened, how would it affect their business? He had broached the subject a few times, but Lance was too bitter to talk about it. He was consumed with the likelihood of going to trial and facing a jury. The nightmare they faced was driven by the haunting reality that the charges were based on the truth, and everybody knew it.

Jesse was not pushing for a speedy trial. Joshua Burch was already clogging the docket with motions and requests that would take time to fight through. He was demanding the grand jury transcript; he wanted the indictment quashed for a number of technical reasons; he wanted separate trials for each of his clients; he wanted Judge Oliphant to recuse himself and asked the Mississippi Supreme Court to appoint a special judge. It was another impressive lesson in the endless ways to confuse the issues and delay a day in court.

Jesse fought back with his own lengthy briefs, but as the months passed it became obvious that a trial was far away. And that was fine with him. He needed time to work in the shadows and explore deals with the three managers and the girls.

And there was another reason not to hurry. He was up for reelection the following year. The trial of Lance Malco would be front-page news for weeks, and Jesse would be in the middle of it. The publicity would be priceless and might frighten away a possible challenger. Jesse was not aware of anyone who wanted his job, but a big, splashy guilty verdict would virtually guarantee an uncontested race.

And he knew quite well how devastating a loss would be.

Losing came a step closer in early September with the disappearance of Haley Stofer. On the first Monday of the month,
he failed to show for the first time since going undercover. Jesse called his apartment and there was no answer. There was no safe way to contact him at work, so he waited two weeks until the third Monday of the month. Again, Stofer failed to show. That night, after Jesse had turned out the lights and kissed Agnes, the phone rang.

Stofer said, “Mr. Rudy, they’re after me. I’m hiding but I’m not safe.”

“What are you talking about, Stofer?”

“I got a tip from a guy at work, said he overheard Nevin Noll cussing me, calling me a snitch. The guy asked me if I was a snitch. I said hell no. But I disappeared anyway. You gotta get me outta here, Mr. Rudy.”

A leak from the grand jury was unlikely, but not impossible. Fats Bowman had more informants than the FBI.

“Where are you?” Jesse asked.

“I can’t say right now. Three days ago some men came to my apartment, kicked in the door, wrecked the place. A neighbor told me about it. I can’t go back there. I need to leave this place and do it in a hurry.”

“You can’t leave the state, Stofer. Remember the indictment?”

“What good is the indictment if my throat gets cut?”

Jesse had no response. Stofer had him completely boxed in. If he was telling the truth, and that was entirely possible, then he had to get away from the Coast. Malco and his goons would find him and his death would be ugly. If he was lying, another plausible scenario, his timing was perfect because he could run away with Jesse’s blessing. Either way, Jesse had to help him. His testimony would be crucial at Malco’s trial.

Jesse asked, “Okay, where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. I can’t go back to New Orleans. The gang I was working for is there and those boys aren’t happy with me. Maybe I’ll go north.”

“I don’t care where you go but you have to keep in touch. The
trial won’t happen soon but you’ll have to come back for it. Part of the deal, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be here for that, if I’m still alive.”

“I’m sure you’re broke.”

“I need some money. You gotta help me.”

Three hours later, Jesse parked in the gravel lot of a truck stop east of Mobile. The all-night diner was busy with truckers gulping coffee, smoking, and eating, all while talking and laughing loudly.

Stofer was at a rear table, ducking low behind a menu. He seemed genuinely skittish and kept one eye on the door. Jesse said, “You cannot get stopped or get into trouble anywhere. Understand? The moment you’re arrested the cops will see the trafficking charges in Harrison County and they’ll throw you under the jail.”

“I know, I know, but right now I’m not worried about the cops.”

“You’re a convicted felon with serious charges pending. You can’t screw up again, Stofer.”

“Yes sir.”

Jesse handed over a wad of assorted bills. “Three hundred and twenty bucks, all I could get my hands on. It’ll have to do.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rudy. Where should I go?”

“Drive to Chicago, it’s big enough to get lost in. Find a bar, get a job for cash and tips, you know the drill. Call my office, collect, every Monday morning at eight o’clock sharp. I’ll be waiting.”

“Yes sir.”

The grand plan to stick together and present a unified defense began to unravel a few weeks after the arrests. Joshua Burch soon learned the lunacy of trying to control the competing interests of Malco, his three managers, and thirteen ladies of the evening.

The first to flip was a stripper with the stage name of Blaze. Wary of Lance and anyone connected to him, she hired Duff McIntosh, a tough criminal lawyer and a friend of Jesse’s. Over beers late one afternoon, Jesse made his first offer. If Blaze would plead guilty to one count of prostitution, he would reduce it to a misdemeanor, dismiss the other charges, and let her go with a $100 fine and thirty days in jail, suspended. She would have to agree to testify at trial against Lance Malco and his managers and describe in detail the sex trade at Foxy’s. In addition, she would promise to leave the Coast, sort of a “go and sin no more” farewell. Getting out of town would not be a bad idea after her testimony. Since she was out of work and blackballed along the Strip, she was leaving anyway. After a month of negotiation, Blaze took the deal and disappeared.

Word spread quickly and Duff became the go-to lawyer for the girls. When they realized they could walk away with no jail time and no felony conviction, they lined up at Duff’s office. Through the fall of 1974, he and Jesse met often for beers and conducted business. Jesse offered the same deal. Eight of the thirteen said yes. Two said no, out of fear of Malco. Two others had different lawyers and were still negotiating. One had not been seen since posting bail.

Three months after their meeting in Mobile, Jesse had not heard from Haley Stofer. He had no idea where he was hiding and had no time to search for him. His only hope was for the knucklehead to screw up, get himself arrested, then extradited back to Harrison County where Jesse would beat him over the head with the indictment, promise him forty years in prison, and strong-arm him into testifying against Lance Malco.

It was a long shot.

The other possibility was that Malco found him first. In that case, it was unlikely he would be found again.

In mid-November, Judge Oliphant scheduled another motion hearing to deal with the avalanche of paperwork spewing forth from the typewriters inside the law offices of Joshua Burch. At issue on that day was an aggressive and well-reasoned motion to try Lance Malco separately from his three managers. Burch wanted his star client to go last so he could learn the prosecution’s strategies, strengths, and weaknesses. Jesse opposed the idea and argued that having four trials based on the same set of facts was a waste of judicial resources. More than three months had already passed since the indictments, and it would take another year to try all of them piecemeal. What Burch wasn’t saying was that he believed the prosecution would have a difficult time finding forty-eight jurors who could not be influenced by the outlaws he represented. One hung jury, one mistrial, and the prosecution’s momentum would suffer greatly.

Only a few spectators watched as the lawyers haggled. One of the defendants, Fritz Haberstroh, sat in the back row, no doubt sent by Malco to observe and report. Haberstroh was a floor manager at Foxy’s and a longtime employee of the Malco enterprises. He
had two felony convictions for fencing stolen appliances, and had served time in Missouri before heading south to find work where no one cared about his past. Jesse was itching to get him in front of a jury.

After two hours of often tense argument, Jesse suddenly changed his strategy and announced, “Your Honor, I see that one of the defendants, Mr. Haberstroh, is with us today.”

“He’s my client,” Burch interrupted.

“I know that,” Jesse shot back. “I’ll agree to try Mr. Haberstroh first. Let’s put him on trial a month from now. The State is ready.”

Oliphant, Burch, and everyone else was startled.

“Mr. Burch?” the judge asked.

“Well, Your Honor, I’m not sure the defense can be ready.”

“You want separate trials, Mr. Burch. You’ve spent the last two hours begging for them, so we’re going to have separate trials. Surely you can be ready in a month.”

Jesse glanced at Haberstroh, who appeared pale, stunned, and ready to bolt.

Burch fumbled some papers, then huddled with an associate. For Jesse, it was a rare moment to enjoy watching the great trial lawyer lose his footing.

Burch finally said, “Okay, Your Honor. We’ll be ready.”

Two days later, Keith was leaving the courthouse when a stranger opened the door for him and said, “Say, you got a minute?” He stuck out a hand and said, “Name’s George Haberstroh, brother of Fritz.”

Keith shook his hand and said, “Keith Rudy. A pleasure.”

They walked away from the main entrance and stood under a tree. George said, “This conversation never happened, okay?”

“We’ll see.”

“No, I need your word. Gotta keep this quiet, you understand?”

“What’s up?”

“Well, obviously, my brother is in some deep shit. We’re not from around here, you see. He came down years ago after he got out. Always had a knack for finding trouble. I don’t think he did anything wrong at the club, you know? He was just an employee, doing what Malco wanted. Now he’s facing a pretty nasty indictment. With a bunch of thugs, if you ask me.”

Keith, still in his rookie season, wasn’t sure what to say but didn’t like the situation. He nodded as if to say, “Go on.”

Haberstroh continued, “Fritz knows Malco will sell him out to save his own skin. Fritz prefers to save his first. He can’t do any more time, especially in one of these prisons down here.”

Keith said, “He’s got a lawyer, one of the best.”

“He doesn’t trust Joshua Burch and he damned sure doesn’t trust his co-defendants.”

“We shouldn’t be talking.”

“Why not? I’m not the defendant. You’re not the DA. My brother wants out, okay? He may be stupid but he’s not a criminal and he did nothing wrong at that nightclub. Sure the girls were whoring but he didn’t make the rules. He got none of the money. Malco paid him a salary to do what he was told.”

Keith almost walked away but realized the opportunity. He knew the indictment inside and out because he and his father had discussed it for months. They had spent hours dissecting the criminal activity, the criminals, and the possible trial strategies by both sides. Jesse indicted Haberstroh and the other two managers for the sole purpose of squeezing their balls until they turned on Malco.

The turning had just begun. “What am I supposed to do?” Keith asked.

“Please talk to your father and get Fritz out of this mess.”

“Is he willing to testify against Malco?”

“He’s willing to do anything to save his own neck.”

“Does he appreciate the danger?”

“Of course he does, but Fritz survived four years in a tough prison in Missouri. He’s not exactly a pushover. If he walks, he’ll never be seen around here again.”

Keith took a deep breath and looked around. “Okay, I’ll talk to the DA.”

“Thanks. How can I contact you?”

Keith handed him a business card and said, “Call my law firm’s number in about a week. I’ll have an answer.”

“Thanks.”

“What about the other two managers?”

“Don’t know them.”

“Well Fritz certainly does.”

“I’ll ask.”

The second meeting took place in a coffee shop near the docks in Pascagoula. Keith ditched the coat and tie and tried to look nothing like a lawyer. For George Haberstroh it was easy—old chinos, scruffy deck shoes, a gabardine shirt. He said he worked for a shipper out of Mobile and confessed to visiting Foxy’s on occasion. When Fritz was off-duty they enjoyed beers and burgers as they watched the girls dance. He was aware of the activity upstairs but thought nothing of it. He had never been tempted, claimed to be happily married. Fritz had worked on the Coast for years and had talked openly, at least to his brother, about the gambling and girls.

Keith got down to business with “Obviously, Fritz is not the target here. Lance Malco is the biggest crime boss on the Coast and the DA has had him in his sights for a long time. Fritz can certainly make things easier. Is he willing to take the stand, stare at Malco in court, and tell the jury everything about the sex business at Foxy’s?”

“Yes, but only if he walks.”

“The DA can’t promise leniency, okay? You have to understand how important this is. Most of the hookers will sign a plea deal in which they agree to testify and take a hit on a misdemeanor charge. Not a big deal because, well, they’re hookers. They’ll have credibility issues with the jury. The three managers are different. Take Fritz. When he takes the stand and testifies against Malco, Burch will come after him with a hatchet. First question will be: ‘Have you been promised leniency by the DA to testify in this case?’ It’s imperative that Fritz says no, there’s no deal because there’s no deal.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Fritz is scheduled to go on trial in two weeks, but before that he’ll plead guilty to one count, agree to cooperate with the State, and will be sentenced after the Malco trial. If he cooperates fully, then the DA will recommend leniency.”

“Seems like a helluva risk for my brother. Plead guilty, go into hiding, then go to trial, dodge the bullets there, hope the jury convicts Malco, then hope and pray the judge is in a good mood.”

“At this point everything is a risk for your brother. You ever been to Parchman prison?”

“No. What about Burch?”

“He’s gotta go. If Fritz wants to cooperate and maybe walk, then Burch will only get in the way. Here’s a scenario: Next week, Fritz fires Burch by writing him a letter of dismissal. Send a copy to the DA, file another copy with the court. Then Fritz hires a guy named Duff McIntosh, a guy we know well, good lawyer. He’ll charge you $500 to handle the case. At that point, Fritz is a marked man and lays low. On December thirteenth he’ll show up in court, plead guilty to all counts, promise cooperation, and go hide in Montana or someplace until he has to come back and testify.”

“When is that?”

“Judge Oliphant has set Malco’s trial for March seventeenth.”