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?”