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.”