Nine days passed before the Slidell police could identify the victim. His last known address was Brookhaven, Mississippi. The murder went unreported by the Gulf Coast Register.
At first, Dusty Cromwell assumed Clamps had picked up the marijuana and absconded with it. Three weeks after the murder, he received a package, a cardboard box with no sender’s name or address. Inside was a wallet with a driver’s license issued to Willie Tucker, aka Clamps. Under the wallet were his license plates.
The police in Slidell drove to Biloxi and met with Sheriff Fats Bowman, who’d never heard of anyone named Willie Tucker. Fats suspected the boy was another casualty of the escalating tensions along the Strip, but he said nothing of the sort. When it came to mob fights and dead bodies, Fats knew nothing, especially when out-of-town cops were poking around. After they left, he drove to Red Velvet and went to Lance’s office.
Not surprisingly, Lance, too, said he’d never heard of Willie Tucker. There were plenty of bad actors on the Coast and the violence was getting contagious. Fats cautioned him about escalating the fighting. Too many revenge killings and they would attract the attention of outsiders. Knock off one or two here and there and it was business as usual. A gangland war was destined to end up in the press.
Dusty proved to be just as ruthless as Lance. He met with a Dixie Mafia hit man named Ron Wayne Hansom and negotiated a $15,000 contract to kill Lance Malco. The down payment was $5,000, the balance promised after the job was complete. Hansom, who operated out of Texas, spent a month on the Coast and decided the contract was too risky. Malco was seldom seen and always protected. Hansom skipped town with the money, but not before getting drunk in a bar and bragging about killing men in seven states. A waitress was eavesdropping and heard the name Malco mentioned more than once. This quickly made its way up the ladder and Lance was alarmed enough to call Fats, who called an old pal with the Texas Rangers. They knew Hansom and picked him up in Amarillo. Dusty learned of his whereabouts and sent two of his boys to have a chat. Hansom denied any involvement with the plot to kill Malco, and since the Rangers had no proof, he was released. He was ambushed by the two thugs from Biloxi and beaten senseless.
Lance was steamed at the idea of another club owner from the Strip ordering a hit on him and sent word to Dusty that if he wasn’t out of town in thirty days, he, Lance, would put out his own contract. Dusty didn’t back down and said he was looking for another hired killer. Lance knew a few more than Dusty, and for two months things were quiet but tense as the underworld waited for bullets to start flying. The next one went through the front windshield of Lance’s car, with Nevin behind the wheel, and both were hit by shattering glass. They were stitched up at the hospital and released.
Hugh drove his father home and talked of nothing but revenge. He was horrified that a bullet had come so close. Every time he glanced over and saw the bandages he felt like crying. At home, Carmen was a wreck and went back and forth between bouts of near hysteria and fits of anger at her husband for getting so involved in criminal activity. Hugh tried to rein her in, tried to referee between his parents, and tried to allay the fears of his younger siblings. Two days later, he drove his father to his office upstairs at Red Velvet and announced that he was now assuming the role as his bodyguard and driver. He pulled back his jacket and proudly showed his father a .45 Ruger automatic.
Through his bandages and stitches, Lance smiled and asked, “Know how to use it?”
“Of course. Nevin taught me.”
“Keep it close, okay? And don’t use it unless you have to.”
“It’s time to use it, Dad.”
“I’ll make that decision.”
* * *
Lance was fed up and knew it was time to destroy the enemy. He sent Nevin out of town and on a mission to deal with the Broker, a well-connected middleman known for his talent in selecting just the right hit man for any job. In a bar in Tupelo, they agreed on the price of $20,000 to pick off Dusty Cromwell. Nevin did not know the identity of the killer, nor did he want to.