The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller (27 page)

After the December 1973 term of circuit court was over, Judge Oliphant continued everything on both his dockets to the new year, and left for Florida and a sunny Christmas. The law business slowed considerably around the holidays. Courthouse clerks decorated their offices and handed out baked goods to anyone who stopped by. Secretaries needed more time off to shop. The lawyers knew better than to ask for a hearing; there wasn’t a judge anywhere. So they partied, one office after another, and they invited police officers, rescue personnel, ambulance drivers, even some clients. The parties were often loud and raucous, with no shortage of heavy drinking.

At Rudy & Pettigrew, things were quieter as the firm gathered for a catered meal and the exchanging of gifts. For Jesse and Agnes, it was a proud moment because all four children were already home for the break. Keith had been lawyering for seven months. Beverly was out of college and contemplating the future. Laura would graduate from Southern Miss in the coming spring. Tim, the youngest, was making noise about transferring to a college out west. He was tired of the beach and wanted to see the mountains. His older siblings were cut from the Rudy mold—disciplined, driven, regimented, focused. Tim was a free spirit, a nonconformist, and his parents weren’t sure what to do with him.

Since he’d left home two years earlier, Agnes had assumed a larger role in the firm. She was practically the managing partner, though without the benefit of a law license. She managed the secretaries and part-time help. She watched the files and made sure
papers were filed promptly. She handled most of the bookkeeping and monitored the fees and expenses. Occasionally, she stepped in to referee a dispute between the lawyers, but that was rare. She and Jesse insisted on good behavior and respectful relations, and the truth was that the four young lawyers liked one another. There was no jealousy or envy. They were building a firm and working together.

The district attorney’s position was full-time, but some vagueness in the statute allowed a DA to keep his old office as long as he didn’t profit from it. The rule was that the firm could take no criminal clients, not even drunks and shoplifters in city court. Freed from that unprofitable law speciality, the four young lawyers were working the civil side and attracting clients.

Jesse stopped by at least twice a week, if for no other reason than to raid the brownies and cookies in the kitchen. And, he liked to remind his busy team that it was still his law firm, though there was never any doubt about that. He spent a few minutes with Egan and each of the Pettigrews and asked about their cases. Since he talked to Keith every day he knew his business. The firm was like a family, and Jesse was determined for it to grow and prosper.

They enjoyed the Christmas lunch, with no alcohol, and laughed at the gag gifts that made the rounds. The party broke up around 3:00
p.m.
with hugs and holiday greetings. Jesse excused himself and said he needed to get back to the DA’s office. Seriously? On a Friday afternoon in December?

He drove to the Biloxi harbor and parked on the oyster shells. He put on his overcoat and waited for the ferry to Ship Island. The trip out there and back always cleared his head, and he made it three or four times a year. The air was cool and a blustery wind made it colder, and he thought for a moment the shuttle might be suspended. He rather liked the rougher Sound with an occasional spray of salty water in his face.

He boarded the Pan American Clipper, said hello as always to Captain Pete, walked past a row of slot machines, and found a seat
on the top deck, away from the other passengers. He faced south, toward Ship Island, which was not visible. It was almost Christmas and the tourists were long gone. The ferry was practically empty. The horn gave a long, mournful blast and they rocked away from the pier. The harbor was soon behind them.

Jesse’s first term was almost over and he considered it unsuccessful. In his project to clean up the Coast, he had barely scratched the surface. Prostitution and gambling were still plentiful in the clubs. The drug trade was increasing. The unsolved murders remained so. He’d won the nuisance case against Carousel, but it was still open and doing a brisk business. He thought he had Ginger Redfield on the ropes but she got away. Her jury had been rigged and he felt responsible for letting it happen. The bluff with Joe Nunzio had gone nowhere. He wouldn’t squeal and Jesse didn’t have enough proof. As he was learning, cash was impossible to trace, and in the shadows there was plenty of it. He had not laid a glove on Lance Malco, the ruling Boss of the Strip, or Shine Tanner, the current number two. His lone win was closing the Siesta, but it was an inside job and he would always be convinced it was a setup. The anonymous tip to the Biloxi police probably came from someone working for Malco. Ratting out the Siesta gave him one less competitor.

In fifteen months, Jesse would announce his candidacy for reelection. He could almost hear the radio ads from his opponent, whoever it might be. Rudy had not cleaned up the Coast. It was dirtier than ever. And so on. The prospect of another hard race was never appealing, but now he had little success to build a campaign on. He had great name recognition and could play politics as well as anyone, but something was missing. A conviction, and a big one.

He got off the ferry at the dock on Ship Island and went for a walk. He bought a tall coffee and found a park bench near the fort. The wind had died and the sea was calm. For a boy who grew up on the water and loved the Sound, he now spent so little time in a
boat. Next year he would do better. Next year he would take the kids fishing, just like he did when they were younger.

Convicting Lance Malco and putting him in prison would now be priority one. Murders, beatings, bombings, and burnings aside, Malco had been operating criminal enterprises in Biloxi for twenty years, and he had done so with impunity. If Jesse couldn’t put him out of business, then Jesse didn’t deserve the job as district attorney.

But he needed the help of another DA.

Two days after Christmas, Jesse and Keith drove three hours north to Jackson and arrived half an hour early at the state capitol for a meeting with the governor, Bill Waller, a former prosecutor.

Waller had served as the DA for Hinds County for two terms, and had made a name for himself going after the notorious murderer of a prominent civil rights leader. In his campaigns, he refrained from using the incendiary race-baiting language of his predecessors. He was considered a moderate who wanted real change in education, elections, and race relations in the state. As a former prosecutor, he had no patience for the crime and corruption on the Coast. And, he had met Jesse Rudy and was thankful for his support.

A secretary said the meeting would last for only thirty minutes. The governor was quite busy and had family in town for the holidays. Another secretary escorted Keith and Jesse into the governor’s official reception room on the second floor of the capitol. He lived in the mansion three blocks away.

He was on the phone but waved them in. The secretary poured coffee and finally left. He hung up and everyone shook hands. They caught up on a few old friends from the Coast as the minutes ticked by.

Keith pinched himself to make sure it was really happening. He
was a twenty-five-year-old rookie lawyer sitting in the governor’s office as if he actually deserved a seat at the table. He couldn’t help but glance around and take in the large portraits of former governors. He absorbed the setting, the powerful desk, the heavy leather chairs, the fireplace, the aura of importance, the busy staff tending to every detail.

He liked it. He might just give it a shot one day.

He snapped back to reality when the governor said, “I like your nuisance case. Read it last night. Supreme court’ll do the right thing.”

Jesse was surprised to know the governor was current with cases on appeal. He was even more startled to learn that the state supreme court was on their side. “Well, that’s certainly good to hear, Governor.”

“A decision is on the way, just after the holidays. You’ll like it.”

Jesse glanced at Keith and neither could suppress a smile.

“Great idea to use the nuisance statute. Can you go after the other clubs and clean up the mess down there?”

“We’ll try, Governor, but we need help. As you know, there’s not much support from local law enforcement.”

“Fats Bowman belongs in prison.”

“Agreed, and I’ll try to put him there, but that comes later. My priority is shutting down the clubs and putting the crime bosses out of business.”

“What do you need?”

“The state police.”

“I know that’s why you’re here, Jesse. I knew it the day you called. Here’s my situation. I’m not happy with my director of public safety. The highway patrol is not well run these days, too much cronyism, a real good ole boys’ outfit. So, I’m cleaning house. A bunch of the mossbacks are taking retirement. I want some new blood. Give me a month and I’ll have my guy in as head of the state police. He’ll come see you.”

Jesse was rarely speechless, but he struggled for words. Keith
piped in with “I read where you’re coming to the Coast in February for a speech.”

“Well, the speech is the official reason. What I really want to do is sneak over to a club and shoot some dice, maybe check out the hookers.” The governor roared with laughter and slapped his knees. Jesse and Keith were caught completely off guard and howled along with their new friend. Waller laughed until his eyes were moist, then managed to pull himself together.

He said, “Naw, it’s some new factory opening up in Gulfport and a buddy of mine owns it. I’ll pose for pictures, kiss some babies, that kinda stuff. I can’t run for reelection, you know, but once politics gets in your blood you can’t give it up.”

“What’s next for you?” Keith asked, somewhat boldly.

“I don’t know right now. Got my plate full with current issues. What’s next for you? I’ve seen you looking around the office. Might try it on one day?”

Keith nodded and said, “Maybe so.”

On January 11, 1974, the Mississippi Supreme Court came to life and issued a unanimous ruling that affirmed Chancellor Baker’s decision. The proof clearly showed a pattern of criminal activity—prostitution—and the lower court did not err in declaring Carousel a public nuisance. The ruling closed the nightclub immediately.

Though it had taken almost two years, Jesse had his first real victory in his war on organized crime. He had shuttered one of the more popular joints on the Strip, and now he could go after Ginger Redfield again. Lance Malco would be next, though he, as always, would be more complicated.

Jesse planned to present the same evidence against Ginger in another jury trial, but never got the chance. A week or so after the court’s ruling, Ginger sold Carousel and O’Malley’s to Lance Malco and left town, skipping bail. With plenty of cash, she vanished from the Coast, with no forwarding address. Months would pass before word filtered back that she was living the good life in Barbados, far from the short arm of any Mississippi law or indictment.

Thumbing his nose at the DA, Lance Malco quickly renovated Carousel, renamed it Desperado, and threw a grand opening extravaganza that lasted a week. Free beer, live music, the prettiest girls on the Coast. The nightclub advertised everything but sex and gambling.

Out of curiosity, Jesse drove by one night during the festive week and stopped in the parking lot, which was crowded. He was thoroughly depressed and again felt like a failure. All of his time
and effort in closing the place had been wasted. Not only was it open, albeit under another name, but business was booming.

On schedule, Haley Stofer arrived at 8:00
a.m.
on a Monday and walked into Jesse’s office without a word to the secretary, who still didn’t like the fact that he came and went as he pleased. He’d been undercover for almost a year and had settled nicely into the routine of playing gofer at Red Velvet while reporting to Jesse. He had worked as a janitor, dishwasher, cook, errand boy, and anything else they needed. He kept to himself, said little, heard a lot, never missed work, never griped about not getting a raise, and with time had sort of blended into the scenery as one of the gang who kept the place going.

Stofer reported that on the Strip the rules of engagement changed with the winds. If there was an arrest, or even the rumor of one, the floor managers clamped down and the “members only” ruse was strictly adhered to. No girl could hustle a man who didn’t have credentials. The only exceptions were the soldiers in uniform. They weren’t cops, wouldn’t squeal on anyone, and couldn’t wait to get the girls upstairs. But once the threat passed, things invariably relaxed and the good times rolled for everyone, members or not. Stofer said that during his one-year stint at Red Velvet, prostitution had increased and there were more rumors of gambling in other clubs.

With Jesse’s coaching, Stofer maintained meticulous records. He kept a daily log of who worked and for how long; cooks, bartenders, waitresses, strippers, hookers, floor managers, door managers, security guards, everyone. He counted the boxes of liquor, the barrels of beer, crates of food and kitchen supplies. He was friendly with the housekeeper, an ex-hooker now too old to charge, and she told wild stories of her glory days. Some nights she labored furiously to keep the sheets clean, and, in her opinion, there was more
activity upstairs than ever before. Stofer was friendly with Nevin Noll, Mr. Malco’s number two, though no one was close to Noll. He knew Hugh Malco and saw him around the club often.

The big news that morning was that he was being transferred to Foxy’s because a bartender had run off with a waitress. Jesse had been pushing this for months and was delighted. From his vantage point behind the bar, Stofer could observe much more.

Jesse wanted the name of every hooker, some of their customers, and a few of the membership cards, if possible.

With the governor quietly pulling strings, it was time to send in the state police. From March through July, four undercover cops visited Foxy’s and bought drinks for the girls. They were disguised as bikers, hippies, truck drivers, traveling salesmen, even out-of-town lawyers, and stopped by on the nights when a certain floor manager was on duty, a guy not known as a stickler for the rules. They had fake membership cards but never used them. They made a total of eleven visits and wore wires during every one. They laughed with the girls as they talked about pricing and such, then backed away at the last moment with a variety of excuses. Stofer watched the crowd closely and could not spot the cops. If anyone was suspicious, it was not apparent.

On July 15, in a clandestine session of the grand jury, meeting for the first and only time in a locked ballroom of a Ramada Inn, the four agents testified and played the audio recordings of their seemingly lighthearted encounters with the girls at Foxy’s.

They were followed by the three prostitutes who were questioned by Jesse Rudy. Up front, he explained to the grand jurors that the three were formerly employed at Foxy’s but had quit two months earlier in a dispute over pay. They were facing charges of prostitution and, with the advice of counsel, were testifying in return for leniency. None of the grand jurors had ever heard a
prostitute speak candidly about her work, and they were riveted. The first one was twenty-three years old, looked about fifteen, and had started at Foxy’s four years earlier as a waitress. Because she had a nice body, she was offered a promotion to stripper, which she took. The big money was made in the rooms upstairs, and before long she was hustling johns and earning $500 a week. All cash. She did not enjoy the work and tried to quit, but the money was too tempting. The second one worked at Foxy’s for five years. The third, a forty-one-year-old veteran, confessed to working in most of the clubs in town and said she was not ashamed of it. Prostitution was the world’s oldest profession. Any mutually beneficial agreement between two consenting adults should not be illegal.

Their testimonies were fascinating, at times salacious, and never boring. Some of the women on the grand jury were judgmental. All of the men were spellbound.

The last witness was Haley Stofer, who testified using an alias. For three hours, he described his career first at Red Velvet, then, and presently, at Foxy’s where he tended bar fifty hours a week and watched the crowd. A blind man could monitor the girls and their “dates.” He presented a list of thirteen women currently active. To hire one, a gentleman had to present his membership card, which in theory meant he could be trusted. Stofer’s second list had the names of eighty-six such gentlemen.

Jesse smiled to himself when he tried to envision the brouhaha that would erupt if that list was ever made public.

Stofer assured the grand jurors that not all of the men cavorted with prostitutes. Some were old-timers who were admitted to the club just in case. The perks of membership also allowed them to do business with their favorite bookies and participate in the occasional poker tournament.

After an exhausting day wading through the seedy side of Biloxi vice, the grand jurors were dismissed by Jesse and sent home. They returned at nine the following morning and spent over two hours reviewing the evidence against the suspects. As
noon approached, Jesse finally called for the vote. By unanimous agreement, the grand jury indicted Lance Malco on one count of operating a “place” used for prostitution and thirteen counts of causing and encouraging women to engage in prostitution. The grand jury also indicted Foxy’s general manager and two floor managers on the same charges, with each count punishable by a maximum fine of $5,000 and up to ten years in prison. The thirteen women were indicted on felony charges of engaging in more than one act of prostitution.

The roundup began at noon the next day when the state highway patrol descended on Biloxi. Lance Malco was arrested at his office at Red Velvet. Two of the three managers of Foxy’s were taken into custody. The third one would be found later. Most of the girls were arrested at their homes and apartments.

When Lance was in jail, Keith drove to the offices of the
Gulf Coast Register
and hand-delivered a copy of the indictments to an editor. Foxy’s was cordoned off with barricades and yellow crime scene tape. Reporters were soon on the scene with cameras rolling, but there was no one to talk to.

Fats Bowman suddenly needed to visit an uncle in Florida and disappeared. Most of his deputies scattered. His office phones rang nonstop but went unanswered.

Three days later, Judge Oliphant called a bail hearing for all defendants and braced for a circus. He was not disappointed. His courtroom was packed beyond capacity and overflowed into the hallway. When Jesse entered through a side door he got his first good look at Lance Malco, seated in the front row, a lawyer on each side. The two glared at each other and neither blinked. The two rows behind Lance were filled with his girls, most of whom did not have lawyers. Uniformed state troopers walked the aisle and asked for quiet. The bailiff called court to order and Judge Oliphant emerged from the rear, assumed the bench, and asked everyone to take their seats.

He began with Lance and asked him to come forward. With
Joshua Burch on one side and an associate on the other, Lance moved to the defense table. Jesse spoke first and argued for a high bond because the defendant was a man of means, had many properties and employees, and was a flight risk. He suggested the sum of $100,000, which, of course, Joshua Burch found outrageous. His client had no criminal record, had never fled from anything, and was not charged, in “this rather flimsy indictment,” with any crime that involved violence. He was a peaceful man, law-abiding, and so on.

As the two lawyers went back and forth, the reporters scribbled as fast as humanly possible. The story was front-page news and would only get better. It was hard to believe that such an infamous mobster, the alleged Boss of the Dixie Mafia, had actually been indicted and arrested.

Judge Oliphant listened patiently, then split the difference and set bail at $50,000. Lance returned to his seat in the front row, chafing at being treated like a common criminal.

Burch argued on behalf of the three managers as Jesse hammered away at them. It was his show, his courtroom, his indictments, and he left no doubt that he was not intimidated by the outlaws and had no fear of them.

Judge Oliphant let the managers go on $10,000 bonds. He cut the girls some slack and set their bonds at $500 each. After a grueling four-hour hearing, he finally adjourned.

The phone calls began the day after the arrests. Agnes took one at home and a husky voice informed her that Jesse Rudy was a dead man. Gene Pettigrew took one at the law firm and heard the same message. The secretary in the DA’s office hung up on an idiot yelling obscenities about her boss.

Jesse reported them to the state police. He knew there would be more. Unknown to his wife, he was now carrying a gun. The
state troopers, in their smartly painted patrol cars, stayed in Biloxi and maintained an impressive show of force.