There were few Republican candidates to speak of at the local level; everyone—conservative, liberal, black or white—ran as a Democrat, and the election would be determined in the primary on August 4.
The reform movement Jesse dreamed of did not galvanize. He had plenty of supporters who wanted change and were eager to help, but many seemed reticent to be identified with a campaign that aspired to such a radical departure from the way things had been done for decades. He was frustrated by this but could not slow down. By July, he had all but abandoned his law practice and spent most of his time shaking hands. From six until nine in the morning he was a lawyer taking care of his clients, but after that he was a political candidate with miles to cover.
He slept little, and at midnight he and Agnes were usually in bed replaying the day and planning tomorrow. They were relieved that, so far, there had been no threats, no anonymous calls, no hint of intimidation from Fats and the mobsters.
The first sign of trouble came in early July when four new tires on a Chevrolet Impala were slashed and flattened. The car was owned by Dickie Sloan, a young lawyer who was volunteering as Jesse’s campaign manager. It was parked in his driveway, where he found it vandalized early one morning as he left for the office. At the time, he could think of no reason anyone would want to slash his tires, other than his political activities. Sloan was shaken by the threat, as was his wife, and he decided to step aside. Jesse was relying heavily on Sloan’s management and disappointed when he got spooked so easily. With a month to go, it would be difficult to find another volunteer willing to commit the time necessary to run the campaign.
Keith immediately stepped into the void, and, at the age of nineteen, assumed responsibility for raising money, directing volunteers, dealing with the press, monitoring the opposition, printing yard signs and brochures, and doing everything else necessary to keep a low-budget campaign afloat. He plunged into the job and was soon putting in sixteen-hour days like his father.
Keith was playing on a semi-pro team in the Coast League and felt like he was wasting his time. He still enjoyed the game but was also accepting the reality that his baseball days were numbered. He was immersed in politics and learning its lessons firsthand. He thrived on the challenge of putting together a campaign and its goal of getting more votes than the opponent. He quit the team, and baseball, and never looked back.
Occasionally he bumped into Joey, Denny, and other old pals from the Point, but he had not seen Hugh Malco in months. According to his friends, Hugh was keeping a low profile and busy working for his father. Keith suspected they were meddling in the local races, but there had yet to be any evidence of it. The slashed tires were the first indication that the mob was getting antsy. And, there was no way to prove who was behind the vandalism. The list of possible suspects was long.
Jesse cautioned his family and volunteers to be vigilant.
Election laws required all candidates to file quarterly reports as to funds raised and moneys spent. As of June 30, Jesse had raised almost $11,000 and spent all of it. Rex Dubisson’s campaign reported $14,000 in income and $9,000 in expenses. The reporting laws were riddled with loopholes, and, of course, covered only those funds “above the table.” No one seriously believed that Rex was relying on such paltry sums. And, since the next reports were not due until September 30, long after the August 4 primary, the serious money was being hoarded with no worries about reporting laws.
The attack began on July 10, three weeks before the election, when every registered household received in the mail a packet of professionally printed materials, including an eight-by-ten sheet with a large mug shot of one Jarvis Decker, a black man with a menacing scowl. Above it, the question screamed: “Why Is Jesse Rudy Soft On Crime?” Below the mug shot was a two-paragraph story of how Jesse Rudy, only two years earlier, had represented Jarvis Decker in a domestic abuse case and “got the thug off scot-free.” Decker, a convicted felon with a “violent past,” had beaten his wife, who filed charges, only to see the case “swept out of court” by the shifty legal work of Jesse Rudy. Once free, Decker left the area and drifted to Georgia, where he was convicted of not one but two rapes. He was serving a life sentence and would never be paroled.