“Fuller? Why’s he working for a crook like that?”
“I like Jimmy. Anyway, he wants to meet us at the Merigold at six.”
“I got four piles of shit on my desk and a nasty divorce trial first thing in the morning.”
“Since when do you prepare for trial?”
“And I got a room full of blubbering women out there all wanting me to hold their hands.”
“What else is new? We really can’t say no. I’ll be there at four thirty.”
“All right, all right.”
With his ever-expanding girth and natural lack of coordination, Harry Rex did not enter the passenger side as much as he crashed onto the seat and rocked the car from side to side. As soon as he slammed the door he asked, “You think your car is bugged too?”
“I doubt it,” Jake said.
“Kinda weird talkin’ on the phone with the FBI in the background.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I need a beer.”
“It’s four thirty.”
“You sound like my wife.”
“Which one?”
“You gonna chirp all the way to Tupelo?”
“Probably. Any thoughts about the penalties for impeding a federal investigation?”
“Sure. You?”
“Yep. I did some research this afternoon and I think we’re okay. We’re not touching the investigation, if in fact there is one. We’re just playing cat-and-mouse with the FBI.”
“Sounds harmless to me, unless of course we get caught.”
“We’re driving to Tupelo to have a drink with Mack, who, as far as we know, is not under investigation. We have not met with the FBI and do not know what they’re up to. So, we’re fine. So far.”
“Okay, so why are we doing this?” Harry Rex pointed to a gas station. “Pull in there. You want a beer?”
“No. I’m driving.”
“So. Can’t drive with a beer in one hand?”
“I prefer not to. We’re doing this to see if the FBI shows up at the bar so we can confirm it’s the FBI.”
“Brilliant. And how are you supposed to know if and when the FBI shows up in the bar? Ask them to whip out their badges?”
“Haven’t got that far yet. I’ll take a Diet Coke.”
Harry Rex rolled himself out of the car and went inside.
（34）
The Merigold Lounge was one of three well-known bars on the west side of Tupelo, in Lee County, which happened to be wet. For fifty miles in all directions the counties were dry as a bone. The drinkers who lived in those small towns and rural places had little choice but to drive to the big city for refreshments. Back home, most of them continued to support bans on the sale of all alcoholic beverages.
At 6:00 p.m. there were thirteen vehicles parked in the paved lot to the side of the lounge. The main entrance did not face the highway, giving more cover to those who slipped in and out. Of the thirteen, six were sedans, six were pickup trucks, and one was a white van. A quick scan of the license plates revealed that the patrons came from four different counties. Inside the van, two FBI technicians worked the cameras, a Minolta XL with a long-range lens, and a Sony high-def video recorder. Through one-way glass, they shot and filmed every person who entered and left the Merigold.
The problem with the van was that someone had painted custom electric on the outside panels, along with phone numbers. Jake and Harry Rex chuckled at this and couldn’t believe their good luck, nor could they believe the FBI’s sloppiness.
“Well, well,” Jake said as he parked. “They’re already here.”
“Don’t smile for the cameras,” Harry Rex said as they got out and went inside. They found a table with four chairs in a corner and sat with their backs to the wall. A waitress arrived and they ordered beers and a platter of fries. A jukebox near a dance floor played country tunes. The Merigold was a higher-end lounge and not known for bad behavior. Jake had been there a few times over the years. Harry Rex dropped in at every chance. They ignored the others and engaged in what appeared to be serious conversation. At 6:15, Jake glanced at his watch and looked around. There were no obvious electricians. Several of the men even wore ties.
Nick Lenzini sat alone sipping a soft drink and pretending to read a newspaper. Though he had never seen Jake or Harry Rex, the boys in the van had radioed him when they were entering. He was excited at the possibility of finally laying eyes on Mack Stafford, but managed to appear bored. He was quite smug with his success in convincing a federal magistrate to allow wiretaps.