He and Rudd Kilgore, his chief deputy, eventually worked their way to his corner table where they ordered cold beers and a platter of raw oysters. Lance Malco and Nevin Noll arrived on time and the four huddled around the table. More drinks and oysters arrived. The other diners, those from the area, knew better than to try and eavesdrop.
“Haven’t seen your boy lately,” Fats said. No one had seen Hugh in months.
“He’s still at sea,” Lance said. “Taking a break. No sign of the Feds?”
“Nope. It’s been a while. I doubt they’ve given up, though.”
Fats balanced a fat oyster on a saltine, then gulped it down. He chased it with beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Robbing jewelry stores. Where did that idea come from? Something you taught him?”
Lance glared at him and said, “Look, Fats, we’ve had this conversation at least three times. No sense in covering the same territory.”
“Pretty stupid.”
“Yes, quite stupid. But I’ll take care of him.”
“You do that. Ain’t none of my business until the Feds show up. I mean, the boy’s looking at five counts of armed robbery, if and when the Feds ever put two and two together. They’re not a bunch of dummies, Lance.”
A waitress stopped by and they ordered broiled crab claws and stuffed flounder, Fats’s favorites.
The meeting was not about Hugh and his stupidity. The election of Jesse Rudy had them uneasy. They weren’t sure what the new DA was planning, but for them nothing good would come from his election.
“I can’t believe Rex lost that race,” Nevin said.
Fats was swallowing another oyster. “He didn’t do what I told him. He won big last time because he took off the gloves, got dirty. Didn’t do it this time. I think Rudy had him spooked. Threatened him with lawsuits and such, and Rex backed down.”
“What’s Rudy’s first move?” Lance asked.
“You’ll have to ask him. Me, I’d guess he’ll clamp down on the gambling. It’s easier to prove. If I were you I’d be careful.”
“I’ve told you, Fats, we’re not gambling. I have four clubs and three bars and there’s no gambling anywhere. The state liquor boys come around from time to time and have a look. If they see as much as a set of dice they’ll pull the liquor license. Can’t risk it. We’re doing okay with drinks and girls.”
“I know, I know. But you’d better tighten things up, know your customers.”
“I know how to run the clubs, Fats. You and I have been in business for a long time. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. And by the way, don’t let me forget to say congratulations on the landslide.”
Fats waved him off with “Nothing to it. The voters know talent when they see it.”
“Where’d you find that clown?” Nevin asked. As his career flourished, Fats had proven adept at convincing a string of oddballs to jump in the races against him. Running unopposed was a bad idea in his book. One or two opponents, the weaker the better, allowed him to keep his machine well oiled and his fundraising at top speed. The latest opponent, Buddy Higginbotham, had once been convicted of stealing chickens, long before he tried to go straight and became a constable in Stone County. Eleven percent of the voters found him attractive.
They had some laughs telling Buddy stories and enjoyed a smoke. Fats worked a fat cigar while the other three puffed on cigarettes. The platters of crab claws and flounder arrived and covered the table. When the waitress was gone, Nevin said, “We have an idea.”
Fats nodded with his mouth full.
Nevin leaned in a bit lower. “That new place called Siesta, up on Gwinnett, some thug named Andy, been open two months.”