Keith sent a memo to Jesse, who at first was skeptical. Proving gambling was difficult enough when the casinos screened their customers. Proving prostitution would be even more of a challenge. But, as the months of his first year passed, Jesse became more and more restless.
He drove to Pascagoula and met with Pat Graebel, the DA for the Nineteenth Circuit, comprised of Jackson, George, and Greene Counties. Jackson was on the Coast, but unlike Harrison and Hancock, it had never tolerated the lawlessness that made Biloxi infamous. Nine years earlier, in his rookie days, Graebel had been thoroughly routed by Joshua Burch in his defense of Nevin Noll for the cold-blooded murder of Earl Fortier. That loss still stung, mainly because Noll was a free man and doing the dirty work for Lance Malco.
Graebel had nothing but contempt for Fats Bowman, the politicians he controlled, and the mobsters who made him rich. Law enforcement in Jackson County spent far too much time cleaning up the spillover from next door. A year before Camille, a homegrown outlaw opened a nightclub on a country road between Pascagoula and Moss Point. He had a big mouth and boasted that he planned to establish his own “Strip” in Jackson County. He had girls and dice and things were hopping until Sheriff Heywood Hester raided the club one Saturday night and hauled away thirty customers. Pat Graebel played hardball with the owner, got a conviction in circuit court for gambling, and sent him to Parchman for ten years.
The ten-year sentence reverberated through the beer joints and pool halls of Jackson County, and the message was clear. Any local thug with ambitions should either find honest work or move along to Harrison County.
Jesse laid out his plans to go after the Biloxi strip clubs. He needed a handful of honest cops willing to go undercover and get themselves solicited for sex. They would be wired, their conversations recorded, and they would abandon the “date” before the clothes came off. That might be problematic. The girls weren’t stupid, indeed most of them were experienced and had seen it all, and they would immediately be suspicious when their johns walked away at the last possible moment.
Pat Graebel liked the plan but wanted to give it some thought. The chief of police of Pascagoula was a close friend, a tough cop, and above reproach. He liked undercover work and was monitoring drug traffickers. Sheriff Hester, too, would probably enjoy some of the action. And Graebel had close contacts with the city police in the town of Moss Point. It was crucial that they use men who would not be identified anywhere in Biloxi.
A month later, two men wearing wires and using the aliases of Jason and Bruce walked into Carousel on a Thursday night, found a table, ordered drinks, began to admire the strippers dancing onstage, and within a minute attracted the attention of two tarts who’d been waiting to pounce.
“Wanna buy a girl a drink?” was the standard come-on and it worked every time. The waitress brought two tall glasses filled with a red sugary punch concoction with no alcohol. The men drank beer. The tarts removed the swizzle sticks and kept them for payment later. Onstage the dancers were gyrating to a Doobie Brothers song blaring from the speakers. Back at the table, Jason and Bruce ordered another round and the women moved in closer, practically sitting on their laps. One finally uttered the next come-on: “Wanna date?”
Getting down to business, all four enjoyed the bantering about what, exactly, a date meant. Various things. They could pair off and go to a back room for a few moments of privacy, sort of sex-light. Or, if the boys were serious, they could rent a room upstairs for fifty dollars a half hour and “do it all.”
Jason and Bruce were really off-duty, plainclothes policemen from Pascagoula, both happily married. Neither had ever been tempted to enter a Biloxi nightclub. As cops, they watched everything and it was apparent that the traffic was moving to the back rooms and upstairs. In the midst of the loud music, dancing, drinking, and stripping, the hookers were doing a brisk business.
Once the men felt as though they had been sufficiently propositioned, they delayed further action by claiming to be hungry. They wanted burgers and fries, and promised the girls they would catch up with them later. They moved to the bar, ordered food, and watched the girls retreat for a moment, then descend on two more potential customers.