The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

Grocery, and he often saw Lance there mixing drinks.
    He wasn’t sure what kind of “trouble” Felix was thinking of, but the safest place to lose cash was Jerry’s Truck Stop, a fixture on Highway 90, the main drag along the Coast. In years past, Jerry had actually sold diesel fuel and serviced rigs passing through. Then he added a bar behind his café and offered the cheapest drinks on the Coast. Truckers were delighted and spread the word throughout the region that you could have ice-cold beer with your eggs and sausage. Jerry expanded his bar and was counting his money until the sheriff informed him that drinking and driving were not compatible. There were some wrecks caused by intoxicated truckers; folks were dead. Jerry had a choice—diesel fuel or booze. He chose the latter, took out his pumps, converted his shop into a casino, and began servicing soldiers instead of long-haulers. The “Truck Stop” became the most famous lounge in Biloxi.
    Felix paid the one-dollar cover charge and they went inside to the long, shiny bar. He was immediately slack-jawed at the sight of two lovely dancers shimmying around a pole with moveshe’d never seen. The club was loud, dark, and smoky, with colored lights sweeping the dance floor. They found a spot at the bar and were immediately accosted by two young ladies in heavy makeup, low-cut blouses, and short skirts.
    “How about a drink, boys?” the first one asked as she squeezed between them and pressed boobs into Felix’s chest. The other one came on to Jesse, who knew the game.
    “Sure,” Felix said, eager to spend some money. “What’ll it be?”
    Jesse glanced at one of four bartenders who was ready to mix their drinks. Within seconds, two tall greenish cocktails arrived for the girls and two bourbons for the boys.
    The friendly bartender eagerly agreed and said loudly, “Remember, every fourth drink is free.”
    “Wow!” Felix practically yelled. So, to make the economics work, a fella would need at least eight drinks to call it a good night.
    The green drinks were nothing but sugar water and each included a colorful plastic swizzle stick with a cherry on top. In due course, the girls would collect the swizzle sticks and hide them in a pocket. When the night was over and they settled up, they would be paid fifty cents per stick, nothing per hour. The more drinks they solicited, the more money they made. The locals knew the game and from somewhere the term “B-drinking” had evolved. The tourists and servicemen did not, and they kept ordering.
    The girls were pretty and the younger the better. Because the money was good, and the opportunities for women in small towns were scarce, they headed to the Coast and a faster life. The stories were legion of farm girls who worked the clubs hard for a few years, saved their money, and returned home where no one knew what they’d been up to. They married their old boyfriends from high school and raised kids.
    Felix was with Debbie, a real veteran who could spot a mark, though it didn’t take much in the way of intuition. Felix said to Jesse, “We’re gonna dance. Watch our drinks.”
    They disappeared into the mob. Sherry Ann moved closer to Jesse, who smiled and said, “Look, I’m not in the game. I’m happily married with four kids at home. Sorry.”
    She sighed, smiled, understood, and said, “Thanks for the drink.” Within seconds she was working the other end of the bar. After a few minutes of bump-and-grind, Felix and Debbie breezed by and grabbed their drinks. He whispered, loudly, “Say, we’re going upstairs. Give me thirty minutes, okay?”
    “Sure.”
    Suddenly lonely at the bar and wishing to avoid another pickup attempt, Jesse went to the casino and walked through it. He had heard rumors about the Truck Stop’s growing popularity, but he was startled at the number of tables. Slot machines lined the walls. Roulette and craps tables were on one side, poker and blackjack on the other. Dozens of