The boys from biloxi, p.27
The Boys from Biloxi, page 27
* * *
Joshua Burch’s defense strategy was flailing. When he took the phone call from Duff McIntosh and was informed that he, Burch, had been fired by Coot Reed, and he, Duff, was now his lawyer, Burch slammed the phone down and stormed out of his office. He drove to Red Velvet for a tense meeting with Lance, who looked surprisingly well in spite of his mounting cardiac issues. Looks were one thing; his attitude was another. He was livid and accused Burch of bungling the entire defense game plan. Demanding separate trials for himself and his three managers was a boneheaded strategy—just look at the results. It allowed Rudy to put enormous pressure on Fritz Haberstroh and Coot Reed and flip them. Only Bobby Lopez was left and his trial was only weeks away. There was little doubt Rudy was after him too. Lance would be left alone to face the jury with his once faithful employees singing like choirboys and embellishing their testimony in order to impress Rudy and Judge Oliphant with their cooperation.
When he calmed down, Lance fired Burch and told him to leave his office. Nevin Noll escorted him out of the nightclub. As Burch walked to his car, Nevin said, “He’ll be okay once he settles down. I’ll talk to him.”
Burch wasn’t so sure he wanted to be rehired.
An hour later, Bobby Lopez was called on the carpet in Lance’s office and faced his boss, Nevin, and Hugh. He swore he’d had no contact with the DA’s office and was not about to flip. He would stick with Lance regardless of the pressure. He would remain loyal to the end, whatever the outcome. He would take a bullet if necessary.
There was no doubt bullets were being considered. Like all of Malco’s employees, Bobby was terrified of Nevin Noll and considered him a cold-blooded killer. Nevin relished the reputation and had always thrived on the intimidation. During the meeting he glared at Bobby with hot, glowing eyes, the same psychopathic gaze that they had all seen before.
Bobby left highly agitated and frightened out of his mind. He drove home and started drinking. The whiskey settled his nerves, calmed him, and allowed him to think more clearly. He thought of his old pals, Fritz and Coot, and their gutsy decisions to turn on Malco and save themselves. The more he drank, the more sense it made. Going to prison with Lance was certainly better than taking a bullet from Noll, but Fritz and Coot were planning to avoid both outcomes. They would survive the nightmare and start new lives somewhere else as free men.
Then Bobby had a terrible thought, one that almost made him sick. What if Malco decided to eliminate him first and avoid the risk of him flipping and cooperating with Jesse Rudy? In the underworld where they lived and worked, such a drastic move would be perfectly acceptable. Malco had been rubbing out his enemies for years, with impunity, and knocking off a potentially disloyal underboss like Bobby would seem obvious.
By noon Bobby was drunk. He slept two hours, tried to sober up with a gallon of coffee, and forced himself to go to work for the evening shift at Foxy’s.
* * *
Burch was rehired the following day and immediately filed a motion to consolidate the trials of Bobby Lopez and Lance Malco. Jesse was amused by the chaos he was creating on the other side and knew he had the outlaws on the run. He did not object to the motion. Lance Malco was still the target, not his underlings, and he was relieved at the prospect of only one big trial, not two.
On March 3, two weeks before the trial, Burch filed a motion for a continuance, claiming Mr. Malco was too ill to defend himself. The motion included affidavits from two doctors and a pile of medical reports. Jesse was highly suspicious of the move and spent hours with Egan Clement and Keith discussing how to respond. Over coffee, he and Judge Oliphant considered their options. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to agree to a delay of a month or two with a firm date on the docket. The longer they waited, the harder Jesse could squeeze Bobby Lopez.
Jesse did not contest the motion and a trial was set for May 12. Judge Oliphant informed Joshua Burch, in writing, that there would be no more continuances, regardless of Mr. Malco’s medical problems.
At 5:00 p.m. on the fourth day of April, the deadline for filing, Jesse walked down to the office of the circuit clerk and asked if he had an opponent. The answer was no; he was unopposed. There would be no costly and time-consuming campaign. He drove to the offices of Rudy & Pettigrew where cold champagne was waiting.
* * *
Since the FBI’s surprise visit to his office five months earlier, Jesse had seen Agent Jackson Lewis only once. He had dropped by in early March for a quick cup of coffee and some interesting stories about showing up at the nightclubs unannounced and flashing his badge.
In late April, Lewis was back, along with Agent Spence Whitehead.
They talked about the upcoming Malco trial and what a spectacle it would be. They planned to be in the courtroom watching it all.
Lewis said, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the jewelry store robberies, have you?”
Jesse drew a blank and said, “No, I have not prosecuted a jewelry store robbery, yet. Why do you ask?”
“It’s a long story and I’ll give an abbreviated version. About five years ago three people, two men and a woman, strong-armed five jewelry stores, sort of a smash-and-run game. They chose mom-and-pop stores in small towns, none in Mississippi, cleaned out the display cases, hit the road. Not very sophisticated but pretty successful, until the sixth store. In Waynesboro, Georgia, they picked the wrong place. Owner had a gun, knew how to use it, a gunfight broke out. A thug named Jimmie Crane was killed, as was his girl, a hooker named Karol Horton, last known place of employment was Red Velvet. Crane was a recent parolee and living around here. The third guy was driving the getaway car and fled the town, but six people at the first five stores got a good look at him.”
Jesse said, “I missed this story. Again, I have enough crime to worry about around here.”
Lewis slid across a police artist’s sketch of the third suspect. Jesse looked at it and did not react.
Lewis continued, “The Bureau finally tracked Crane and Horton to Biloxi. Two agents spent a few days around here but got nowhere. No one seemed to recognize this guy, or if they did, they kept it quiet. With time the investigation fizzled and now five years have gone by. Two months ago we busted a fencing operation in New Orleans and picked up some clues. Still can’t find this guy, though. Any ideas?”
Jesse frowned and shook his head and did a passable job of showing little interest. He said, “Look, guys, I have enough on my plate right now. I can’t be worried by a string of old armed robberies in other states.”
He gave them a smile, then returned to the composite and looked into the cold eyes of Hugh Malco.
He asked if he could keep the sketch, said he might show it around. They left after half an hour. Jesse made several copies of it and hid them in his office. He told no one, not even Keith and Egan.
* * *
May 5, 1975, one week before the highly anticipated trial of Lance Malco and Bobby Lopez, Judge Oliphant summoned the lawyers to his chambers for a conference. He had promised to hand over the list of prospective jurors and they were eager to get their hands on it. Jesse and Egan sat on one side of the table. Joshua Burch and two of his associates looked on from the other side. All pre-trial motions had been argued and decided. It was time for the battle and the tension was thick.
Judge Oliphant began with the usual inquiry about a settlement. “Have there been discussions about a plea agreement?”
Burch shook his head no. Jesse said, “Your Honor, the State will offer Mr. Lopez the same consideration we made to Fritz Haberstroh and Coot Reed. In return for a plea of guilty, and full cooperation against Mr. Malco, we will recommend a reduced sentence.”
Without hesitation, Burch said, “And we reject the offer, Mr. Rudy.”
“Don’t you think you should consult with your client?” Jesse shot back.
“I’m his lawyer and I reject the offer.”
“Understood, but ethically you have a duty to inform your client.”
“Don’t lecture me about ethics, Mr. Rudy. I’ve spent hours with Mr. Lopez and I know his intentions. He looks forward to the trial and the opportunity to defend himself and Mr. Malco against these charges.”
Jesse smiled and shrugged.
Judge Oliphant said, “It seems to me as though Mr. Rudy has a point. Mr. Lopez should at least be informed of this opportunity.”
Burch replied, somewhat smugly, “With all due respect, Your Honor, I have a great deal of experience in these matters and I know how to represent my clients.”
Almost gleefully, Jesse said, “Don’t worry, Your Honor, I withdraw the offer.”
Judge Oliphant scratched his jaw as he stared at Burch. He shuffled some papers and said, “Okay, what about Mr. Malco. Any chance of a plea agreement?”
Jesse said, “Your Honor, the State has an offer for Mr. Malco. In return for a plea of guilty to the crime of operating a place used for prostitution, the State will recommend a sentence of ten years and a fine of five thousand dollars. All other charges will be dropped.”
Burch snorted and seemed amused. “No thanks. Mr. Malco is not willing to plead guilty to anything.”
Jesse said, “Okay, but he’s facing thirteen other charges of promoting prostitution and ten of his girls will testify against him. Each charge carries a maximum of ten years and five thousand dollars. Same for Lopez. They could spend the rest of their lives in prison.”
Burch replied coolly, “Oh, I know the law, Mr. Rudy. No need for a tutorial. The answer is no.”
Judge Oliphant said, “And you don’t think you should inform Mr. Malco of this offer?”
“Please, Judge. I know what I’m doing.”
“Very well.” Judge Oliphant shuffled some more papers and said, “Here are the lists of prospective jurors. The clerk over in Bay St. Louis is confident that this pool is qualified and above reproach.”
Burch was startled and blurted, “Bay St. Louis?”
“Yes, Mr. Burch. I’m changing venue. This case will be tried next door in Hancock County, not here in Harrison. I’m convinced the jury in the Ginger Redfield trial was tampered with and we’re not running that risk this time around.”
“But no one requested a change of venue.”
“You should know the law, Mr. Burch. Read the statute, I have the discretion to change venue to any district in the State of Mississippi.”
Burch was stunned and couldn’t respond. Jesse was surprised and elated, but suppressed a smile. Judge Oliphant handed each a list of the names and said, “There will be no contact with anyone in our pool. None whatsoever.” He glared at Burch and continued, “When we convene on May twelve, I will quiz the panel about improper contact. Any hint of it and I’ll throw the book at the guilty party. Once we select the twelve, and two alternates, I will lecture them on the criminality of improper contact. Each morning and each afternoon I will repeat my lecture. Am I clear?”
“Crystal clear, Your Honor,” Jesse said as he smirked at Burch.
Part
Three
The
Prisoners
Chapter 35
The courtroom was empty; the lights were off. Big Red, the one-legged courthouse janitor, was fiddling with some wires on the bench. Jesse entered, nodded at him from a distance, walked down the aisle, through the bar, placed his briefcase on his table, and said hello. Big Red mumbled something in return, a man of few words. When Joshua Burch entered through the main door, Jesse asked the janitor for a moment of privacy. Big Red frowned as if irritated at having his important work interrupted, but left anyway.
They sat across the table from one another and skipped the pleasantries. Jesse began with “You’re not going to win this trial, Joshua. I have too many witnesses and everybody knows the truth anyway. Malco has been running girls around here for decades and his party is over. When he’s convicted, Oliphant will throw the book at him and he’ll die an old man at Parchman prison.”
Burch absorbed it and chose not to argue. The bluster was gone. The facts were not in his favor and he’d lost his chance for a hung jury when the trial was moved to Hancock County, away from Fats Bowman and the tentacles of his influence.
Burch said, “You asked for this meeting. What’s on your mind?”
“A plea deal. Lance is a smart man and he knows his luck has run out. A trial will expose many of his nasty secrets. It’ll be embarrassing.”
“His health is not good.”
“Come on, Joshua. No one believes that, and even if it were true, what’s the big deal? Parchman is full of sick people. They have doctors up there. An alleged bad heart is no defense.”
“I’ve discussed a plea with him, more than once. He tried to fire me again, but he’s settled down. I think he’s discussed it with Hugh, not sure about the rest of the family.”
“I have an incentive, something you and he should know.”
Burch shrugged and said, “I’m all ears.”
Jesse told the story of young Hugh’s brief career as an armed robber. The jewelry store heists, the shootout, the deaths of Jimmie Crane and Karol Horton. Hugh’s lucky getaway and his even luckier avoidance of being identified. Five years ago, a lot of time had passed, but the FBI is back.
Burch claimed he knew nothing of the robberies and Jesse believed him. He had never caught a whiff of the story.
He described his recent meeting with the FBI. He handed over a copy of the police sketch and said, “Looks like Hugh to me. If the FBI knew it was him, they would take his photograph to the victims. He’d serve at least twenty years, maybe more.”
Burch studied the sketch, shook his head, mumbled the word “Moron.”
Jesse moved in for the kill. “I haven’t said a word to the FBI, yet. I can keep my mouth shut if I get the deal.”
Burch laid the sketch on the desk and kept shaking his head. “This is ruthless.”
“Ruthless? Malco’s been knee-deep in organized crime for the past thirty years. Illegal liquor, gambling, prostitution, drugs, not to mention beatings, burnings, and who knows how many dead bodies. And you call me ruthless. Hell, Joshua, this is child’s play compared to Malco’s activities.”
Burch slumped a few inches in his chair, then picked up the sketch again. He studied it for a long time and put it down. “It’s blackmail.”
“Call it blackmail, ruthless, anything you want. I don’t care. I want Lance Malco in prison.”
“So, let’s be real clear, Jesse. You’re offering ten years, and if he says no, then you’ll go to the FBI with the name of Hugh Malco.”
“Not quite. If he says no, then I’ll put his ass on trial in Hancock County six days from now and the jury will find him guilty on all counts because he’s dead guilty. Then I’ll go to the FBI with his son’s name. Both will go to prison for a long time.”
“Got it. And if he takes the deal, then you say nothing to the FBI.”
“You have my word. I can’t promise the Feds won’t find Hugh some other way, but they won’t get his name from me. I swear.”
Burch got to his feet, walked to a window, looked out, saw nothing, walked back and leaned on the bar. “What about Bobby Lopez?”
“Who cares? He gets the same deal as Haberstroh and Coot Reed. He pleads guilty, gets probation, a slap on the wrist. Get lost.”
“No prison?”
“Not another day behind bars.”
Burch walked to the table and picked up the sketch. “Mind if I take this?”
“It’s your copy. Go show it to your client.”
“It’s blackmail.”
“ ‘Ruthless’ sounds better, but I don’t care. You have twenty-four hours.”
* * *
Lance Malco stood behind his desk and stared at a wall. Nevin Noll sat in a chair to the side, puffing a cigarette. Hugh stood by the door and looked as if he wanted to cry. Burch sat in the middle of the room under a cloud of smoke. The sketch was in the center of the desk.
Lance asked, “How long would I serve?”
“Roughly two-thirds of the sentence. With good behavior.”
“That son of a bitch,” Hugh mumbled for the tenth time.
“Any chance of getting moved back here to the county jail?”
“Maybe, after a couple of years. Fats could probably pull some strings.”
“That son of a bitch.”
Lance moved slowly to his swivel chair and sat down. He smiled at Burch and said, “I can take anything they throw at me, Burch. I’m not afraid of prison.”
* * *
Burch called Jesse and tried to chat like they were old friends. The favor he wanted was a quiet and quick hearing to get it over with, but Jesse would have none of it. In his finest hour, he wanted a spectacle.
On May 12, a crowd gathered in the courtroom to witness history. The front row was filled with reporters, and behind them several dozen spectators waited anxiously to see if the rumors were true. Every courthouse had a collection of bored or semi-retired lawyers who missed nothing and were adept at spreading gossip, and all were present. Being officers of the court, they were allowed to enter through the bar, mill about with the clerks, even sit in the jury box when it wasn’t being used. Keith was not one of them but he found a chair near the prosecution’s table. During a casual glance at the crowd he made eye contact with Hugh. It was not a pleasant exchange. If looks could kill.
