He was at the pool table one evening when Jimmie Crane entered his life. He had never seen him before and no one knew where he came from. Over beers, Jimmie said he had just been paroled from federal prison after four years for smuggling guns from Mexico. Jimmie was a big talker, charismatic, and funny with plenty of tall tales of prison life. He said his father was a member of the Dixie Mafia and ran a gang of bank robbers in South Carolina. One job went bad and his father got shot, barely survived, and was now serving life in prison. Jimmie claimed to be working on a plan to help him escape. Hugh and the others doubted many of Jimmie’s stories but they listened and laughed anyway.
Jimmie became a regular at the Truck Stop and Hugh enjoyed his company. He, too, avoided employment, and said he made good money gambling, though he had always avoided the tables along the Strip. He said everyone in the business knew the Biloxi tables were rigged. He drove a nice car and seemed unconcerned about money. Odd, thought Hugh, for a guy who’d just spent four years in prison.
Hugh had a chat with Nevin, who in turn talked to a private investigator. Jimmie’s stories checked out. He’d been busted in Texas on weapons charges and served time in a federal pen in Arkansas. His father had been a known bank robber. Lance had never heard of him but a couple of old-timers knew his reputation.
Jimmie was convinced a fortune could be made in the weapons trade. Pistols, rifles, and shotguns were being manufactured all over South America, where ownership was not as popular as in the U.S. Notwithstanding the fact that he had just served time for smuggling, he was ready for another foray into the business. Hugh was intrigued and they soon talked of little else.
The first obstacle was cash. They needed $10,000 to buy a truck-load of weapons, the street value of which was at least five times the investment. Jimmie knew the business, the middlemen in Texas, the shipping routes, and the dealers stateside who would buy whatever they smuggled across the border. At first, Hugh was suspicious and thought his new friend was either an undercover agent or a true con man who had dropped in from nowhere and was angling for the Malco money.
With time, though, he began to trust him.
“I don’t have ten thousand dollars,” Hugh said over a beer.
“Neither do I,” Jimmie said, cocky as always. “But I know how to get it.”
“I’m listening.”
“In every small town there is a jewelry store, sitting right there on Main Street next door to the coffee shop. Diamond rings in the window, gold watches, pearls, rubies, you name it. Owned by Mom and Pop, got a gum-smacking teenage girl working the counter. No security whatsoever. At closing time they lock it all up in a safe and go home. The smart ones take the diamonds with them, put them under a pillow. But most of them ain’t that smart, been doing the same thing for years, nothing to worry about.”
“You’re a safecracker too?”
“No, ass, I’m not a safecracker. There’s an easier way to do it and the chances of getting caught are about one in a thousand.”
“Gee, I’ve never heard that before.”
“Just keep listening.”
* * *
They picked the town of Zachary, Louisiana, just north of Baton Rouge and three hours from Biloxi. It was busy enough, population 5,000, with a nice little jewelry store on Main Street. Hugh, in a coat and tie, entered at ten o’clock one morning with his bride-to-be, Sissy, one of his favorite strippers. For her role, she was fully clothed in a plain white dress that plunged a bit low and revealed too much of her ample breasts. Her face was scrubbed of paint and mascara, just a touch of lipstick, hair unteased, the look of a cute little tart, almost wholesome. Mr. Kresky, age about sixty, greeted them warmly and was thrilled to learn they were looking for an engagement ring. What a lovely couple. He pulled out two racks of his finest diamonds and asked them where they were from. Baton Rouge, and they had heard of his store, his wonderful selection and reasonable prices. When Sissy leaned forward and gawked at the rings, Mr. Kresky couldn’t help but take in the cleavage and blushed.