“We don’t deal with protection and we don’t get involved in street battles or turf wars. Your license simply allows you to stay in business and behave yourself, more or less.”
“Behave? Everything we sell is illegal.”
“And you’ll sell a lot of it if you keep your prices in line, protect your girls, and keep the fighting and cheating to a minimum. That’s what we call good behavior.”
She shrugged and seemed to agree. “Okay, so we owe two grand, right?”
“Three. Two past and one current. All cash. I’ll send a guy named Gabe around this time tomorrow. You’ll recognize him because he has only one arm.”
“A one-armed bandit.”
“Ha ha. Speaking of slots, that’s where the money is, in case you’re doing any long-range planning.”
“Already got ’em ordered. No limit on the number?”
“We don’t have limits. How you run this place is strictly up to you. Just behave, Ginger.” Kilgore stubbed out his Salem in an ashtray on her desk and turned for the door. He stopped, gave her a smile, and said, “Look, just to give you a little welcome. Your reputation precedes you and may get an icy reception from some of the other licensees.”
“Trouble already?”
“Possibly. Some of the boys know about the State Line Mob and are a bit worried.”
She laughed and said, “Oh that. Well, tell ’em to relax. We come in peace.”
“They don’t understand that concept. They don’t like competition, especially from other organizations.”
“We’re hardly an organization, Mr. Kilgore. That mob is far from here.”
“Be careful.” He opened the door and left.
Chapter 8
After three years of hustling as the law firm’s only associate, Jesse Rudy was ready for a change of scenery. The two older gentlemen who hired him after he passed the bar exam had practiced law at a leisurely pace for two decades and were content to shuffle paper and handle matters that did not require contested litigation. Jesse, though, enjoyed the excitement and challenge of the courtroom and saw his future there. He was almost forty years old, had four kids to support, and knew that drafting wills and deeds would not provide the income he needed. He and Agnes decided to take the plunge, get a loan from a bank, and open their own shop. She worked part-time as a secretary when she wasn’t juggling her duties as a mother. Jesse put in even longer hours and used his contacts from the Point to find better cases. He volunteered to represent indigent defendants and honed his skills in the courtroom. Most lawyers in Biloxi, as in most small towns, preferred the stability of a quiet office practice. Jesse was more ambitious and saw money in jury verdicts.
But his new office on Howard Avenue remained open to all, and he turned away no one in need of a lawyer. He was soon busier than ever and enjoyed keeping the fees for himself. As a sole practitioner, he was not expected to share his income with anyone but Agnes. She kept the books and was better at culling the riffraff than her husband.
Early one morning Jesse was alone in his office. The bell on the front door rattled and he couldn’t ignore it. No appointments were scheduled at that hour, so the disturbance meant another drop-in. He walked to the front and said hello to Guy and Millie Moseley from Lima, Ohio. Mid-fifties, nicely dressed, late-model Buick parked at the curb. He showed them to the conference room and fetched three cups of coffee.
They began by apologizing for barging in but something terrible had happened and they were broke and far from home. They were near the end of a two-week trip to Tampa and back, had been headed to New Orleans for a night on the town when tragedy struck the day before.
It was obvious they were not injured. Their nice car parked at the curb seemed undamaged. As a busy lawyer hustling the streets of Biloxi, he immediately suspected trouble from the shadier side of town.