kept his own meticulous records. When he said something like “we figure,” the message was that he knew precisely the share of vice Malco was controlling.
“Maybe so, but the challenge is keeping it. I’m sure you’ve heard of the State Line Mob.”
“Heard of them, but I haven’t seen them.”
“Well, they’re here. We caught a rumor about a month ago that they’re moving in. Seems as though things are getting too hot up on the border and they’re heading south. Biloxi seems attractive, given the business-friendly environment.”
The sheriff waved over the waitress and ordered gumbo, crab claws, and stuffed flounder. When she left, he said, “A nasty bunch, by reputation.”
“Yes, by reputation. We got a guy who worked up there and knows ’em well. They ran him off for some reason, said he was lucky to get away.”
“They got a joint?”
“Rumor is they’re trying to buy O’Malley’s.”
Bowman frowned and looked hard at Kilgore. They didn’t like the news, primarily because they had not been contacted by the new guys in town. The rules of engagement were simple: To operate any illegal establishment in Harrison County, approval had to be obtained from Fats Bowman. Dues were required, and he then spread the money around to the police and politicians. Fats wasn’t bothered by competition. More clubs and beer joints meant more money for him. The gangs could fight among themselves as long as his bottom line was protected.
He said, “You’re pretty good at protecting your turf, Lance. You’ve done a nice job of consolidating. What am I supposed to do?”
Lance laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t know, Sheriff. Run ’em off?”
Fats laughed too and lit a cigarette. He blew a cloud of smoke and put it on the ashtray. “That’s your game, Lance. I don’t regulate the commerce. I just make sure you boys stay in business.”
“And we appreciate it, Sheriff, don’t get me wrong. But staying in business is my goal too. Right now things have never been better, for me and for you, and I’d like to keep it that way. Everybody’s playing by the rules, nobody’s getting too greedy, at least for the moment. But if we allow this gang to move in, there’s gonna be trouble.”
“Be careful, Lance. If somebody gets killed, then there’s the payback. Tit for tat and so it goes. Nothing fires up the do-gooders around here like a gang war. You want your business on the front page?”
“No, and I think this is the perfect moment for you to prevent a war. Put the clamps on these new guys and get rid of them. If they buy O’Malley’s, then close it down. They won’t shoot at you, Sheriff. They’re not that crazy.”
The gumbo arrived in large bowls and the oyster shells were removed. Tip refilled the four beer mugs and the men enjoyed their food. After a few bites, Bowman said, “Let’s wait and give it some time. I’ll have a chat with O’Malley, see what he’ll tell me.”
Lance grunted, smiled, and said, “Nothing, same as always.”
----
O’Malley’s Pub was in an old warehouse one block off the Strip. Two weeks after the meeting at Baricev’s, Deputy Kilgore stopped by one afternoon and went inside. The bar was dark and quiet, too early for happy hour. Two bikers were shooting pool in the rear and one regular was holding down the far end of the bar.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked with a smile.
“Looking for Chick O’Malley.”
The smile vanished. “This is a bar. You want something to drink?”
“I told you what I want.” Kilgore was wearing a coat and tie. From a pocket he pulled out a badge and waved it in front of the bartender, who took a long look.
“Chick’s not here anymore. Sold out.”
“You don’t say? Who’s the new owner?”
“She’s not in.”
“I didn’t ask if she was in. I asked who is the new owner.”
“Name’s Ginger.”
“I arrest women with only one name.”
“Ginger Redfield.”
“Now we’re making progress. Get on
“Maybe so, but the challenge is keeping it. I’m sure you’ve heard of the State Line Mob.”
“Heard of them, but I haven’t seen them.”
“Well, they’re here. We caught a rumor about a month ago that they’re moving in. Seems as though things are getting too hot up on the border and they’re heading south. Biloxi seems attractive, given the business-friendly environment.”
The sheriff waved over the waitress and ordered gumbo, crab claws, and stuffed flounder. When she left, he said, “A nasty bunch, by reputation.”
“Yes, by reputation. We got a guy who worked up there and knows ’em well. They ran him off for some reason, said he was lucky to get away.”
“They got a joint?”
“Rumor is they’re trying to buy O’Malley’s.”
Bowman frowned and looked hard at Kilgore. They didn’t like the news, primarily because they had not been contacted by the new guys in town. The rules of engagement were simple: To operate any illegal establishment in Harrison County, approval had to be obtained from Fats Bowman. Dues were required, and he then spread the money around to the police and politicians. Fats wasn’t bothered by competition. More clubs and beer joints meant more money for him. The gangs could fight among themselves as long as his bottom line was protected.
He said, “You’re pretty good at protecting your turf, Lance. You’ve done a nice job of consolidating. What am I supposed to do?”
Lance laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t know, Sheriff. Run ’em off?”
Fats laughed too and lit a cigarette. He blew a cloud of smoke and put it on the ashtray. “That’s your game, Lance. I don’t regulate the commerce. I just make sure you boys stay in business.”
“And we appreciate it, Sheriff, don’t get me wrong. But staying in business is my goal too. Right now things have never been better, for me and for you, and I’d like to keep it that way. Everybody’s playing by the rules, nobody’s getting too greedy, at least for the moment. But if we allow this gang to move in, there’s gonna be trouble.”
“Be careful, Lance. If somebody gets killed, then there’s the payback. Tit for tat and so it goes. Nothing fires up the do-gooders around here like a gang war. You want your business on the front page?”
“No, and I think this is the perfect moment for you to prevent a war. Put the clamps on these new guys and get rid of them. If they buy O’Malley’s, then close it down. They won’t shoot at you, Sheriff. They’re not that crazy.”
The gumbo arrived in large bowls and the oyster shells were removed. Tip refilled the four beer mugs and the men enjoyed their food. After a few bites, Bowman said, “Let’s wait and give it some time. I’ll have a chat with O’Malley, see what he’ll tell me.”
Lance grunted, smiled, and said, “Nothing, same as always.”
----
O’Malley’s Pub was in an old warehouse one block off the Strip. Two weeks after the meeting at Baricev’s, Deputy Kilgore stopped by one afternoon and went inside. The bar was dark and quiet, too early for happy hour. Two bikers were shooting pool in the rear and one regular was holding down the far end of the bar.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked with a smile.
“Looking for Chick O’Malley.”
The smile vanished. “This is a bar. You want something to drink?”
“I told you what I want.” Kilgore was wearing a coat and tie. From a pocket he pulled out a badge and waved it in front of the bartender, who took a long look.
“Chick’s not here anymore. Sold out.”
“You don’t say? Who’s the new owner?”
“She’s not in.”
“I didn’t ask if she was in. I asked who is the new owner.”
“Name’s Ginger.”
“I arrest women with only one name.”
“Ginger Redfield.”
“Now we’re making progress. Get on
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