“Lonnie brought me a beer.”
“It was only ten thirty,” Millie interjected again.
“Yes, dear, it was only ten thirty, and I should’ve stopped. We’ve had this conversation, more than once. I should’ve walked out and gotten in the car, saved our money. Now, feel better?”
“No.”
Jesse had heard enough. These stories were common along the Coast—upper-middle-class tourists in nice cars with out-of-state tags getting whipsawed and duped by card sharks and table cheats. He raised both hands and said, “Look folks, let’s get to the point. How much money did you leave behind at the Blue Spot?”
Millie couldn’t wait to blurt, “Six hundred dollars, everything we had. We can’t afford to buy gas to get home. How could you be so stupid?”
Poor Guy caved another inch or two at this latest onslaught. It was obvious that he’d heard much worse in the preceding hours.
“Can’t we do something?” Millie pleaded to Jesse. “He was nothing but a slick con man who tricked us and stole our money. There must be a law on the books of this backward state.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. All gambling is illegal in Mississippi, but I’m ashamed to say it’s ignored here on the Coast.”
“We just went in for breakfast.”
“I know. This happens all the time.”
They clammed up as Millie cried some more and Guy stared at the floor as if searching for a hole to climb in. Jesse glanced at his watch. He’d wasted almost twenty minutes with these poor folks.
“Tell him the rest,” she snapped at her husband.
“What?”
“You know, this morning.”
“Oh, that. Well, we can’t afford to go on to New Orleans, so we got a cheap room down the road. First thing this morning we went back to the diner because I didn’t sleep a wink last night and I wanted to give that man a piece of my mind and get my money back. But when we pulled up we could see two cops inside having breakfast. I walked in and glared at Lonnie. She gave me a real smart-ass look and asked, ‘What do you want?’
“I said, ‘I want my money.’
“She said, ‘You ain’t starting no trouble. I’ll ask you to leave.’
“？‘I want my money.’
“Before I knew it, the cops were coming at me. They shoved me a little, told me to hit the road and never come back.”
Millie had been quiet long enough. She said to Jesse, “He almost got arrested, on top of everything else. Wouldn’t that just be great? Tough Guy Moseley in the drunk tank with a bunch of winos.”
Jesse raised his hands again and said, “Okay, folks. I’m real sorry about what happened, but there’s nothing I can do.”
“You can’t sue him?” Guy demanded.
“No, there’s no legal cause of action.”
“What about stealing?” she asked. “It was a con game, just waiting for another sucker to come along. Boy did they hook one.”
“Knock it off,” Guy growled at his wife. “You saw those cops. Hell, they’re probably on the take too.”
Jesse suppressed a grin and thought: You’re finally right about something.
She mumbled, “He even took our traveler’s checks.”
“Please be quiet,” Guy said.
But she ignored him and said, “He got in deeper and deeper. I kept saying, ‘Let’s get outta here.’ But, no, Mr. High Roller here wouldn’t quit. The crook would let him win every now and then, just enough to keep him hooked. I got mad and went to the car and waited and waited and I knew damn well he’d lose everything. He finally came out, ready to cry, looked like he’d seen a ghost, lucky to still have his shirt on.”