Free The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller by John Grisham Page A

For a second he thought about recommending a good divorce lawyer, but they needed to get home for that. He looked at his watch and calmly said, “I have to be in court at nine, so we have to say goodbye.”
    Now Guy appeared ready to cry. He wiped his face and said with a dry voice, “Can you loan us fifty dollars to get back to Ohio?”
    “I’m sorry, but it’s unethical for a lawyer to loan money to a client.”
    “We’ll pay it back, I swear,” Millie said. “As soon as we get home.”
    Jesse stood and tried to be polite. “I’m sorry, folks.”
    They left without saying thanks. He could hear them sniping at the curb when they got to their Buick and could only imagine how much worse the situation would become as they begged their way north.
    He poured another cup of coffee and returned to the conference room where he sat with a view of the street. He was sympathetic to a point, but a good dose of caution would have saved them the time, money, and trouble. Many folks came to the Coast looking for trouble and knowing damned well where to find it. Others, like the Moseleys, drifted through and accidentally bumped into the world of vice. They were innocent lambs in the hands ofwolves and they didn’t stand a chance. There were plenty of Shine Tanners making money by their wits instead of honest work.
    Corruption never stays in a box. It spreads because greedy men see easy money and there is an endless demand for gratification and the promise of a quick buck. Jesse didn’t resent the clubs and bars and the illicit trade they provided to willing customers. Nor did he resent men like Lance Malco and Shine Tanner and their ilk who profited from the vice. What Jesse loathed was the bribery of those entrusted to uphold the law. The corruption was enriching men like Fats Bowman and other elected officials. Most of the police and politicians had dirty hands. The treacherous part was not knowing who to trust.
    The current district attorney, also elected, was a decent man who’d never shown an interest in tackling organized crime. In all fairness, if the police didn’t investigate and go after the criminals, there were no cases for the DA to prosecute. This frustrated the reformers—the honest officials, preachers, law-abiding citizens—who wanted to “clean up the Coast.”
    A month earlier, Jesse met with a retired circuit court judge and a minister. It was a quiet meeting over breakfast in a café with no slot machines in sight. The two men claimed to represent a loose-knit group of civic-minded people who were concerned about the ever-growing criminal enterprises. There were rumors that drugs, especially marijuana, were being smuggled in and were readily available in certain nightclubs. The old-fashioned sins had been around for decades, and though still illegal, they had become accepted in certain circles. But drugs presented a more ominous threat and had to be stopped. The future of the children was now on the line.
    The men were frustrated by the politicians. Fats Bowman was deeply entrenched, ran a well-organized machine, and was virtually untouchable. He had proven that he could buy any election. But the DA was another matter. He represented the State, was considered the people’s lawyer, and thus was charged with the dutyof fighting crime. They had met with the DA and voiced their concerns, but again he showed little interest.
    They floated the bold idea that Jesse Rudy would make an excellent district attorney. He was a well-known product of Biloxi and had a following on the Point, one of the largest precincts in the three-county district. His reputation was stellar. He was considered above reproach. But would he have the courage to fight the mob?
    Jesse was flattered by the idea and honored by the trust. It was early in 1963, an election year in which every office from governor to county coroner would be on the ballot. As usual, the DA’s race was uncontested, for the moment. Fats Bowman was expected to