window in the kitchen, and watch. Seconds later, he saw a man leave their building, hurry across a small parking lot, and disappear around a corner. White,about six feet tall, medium build, dark hair under a dark cap, age about twenty-five. Mr. Bullington waited a moment, then left through his rear door, and, staying in the shadows, followed the man. He heard the sound of a car engine being started, and, hiding behind some bushes, watched as the killer drove away in a light brown 1961 Ford Fairlane, Mississippi tags but too far away to see the numbers.
Fortier was dead in his bed, but Rita was not. For three days her doctors waited to pull the plug, but she hung on. On the fourth day she started mumbling.
The murders were newsworthy along the Coast but not surprising. Fortier was described as a used-car salesman with a checkered past. He had worked in the Biloxi clubs and had served time for aggravated assault. Rita’s last job was waiting tables at a steak house in Pascagoula, but her trail quickly led to a long career as a waitress at Carousel. An employee who knew them both said their romance had been on and off for many years. In his opinion, she was only a waitress and had not worked the rooms upstairs. Not that it mattered when she was on life support.
Pascagoula was in Jackson County, the domain of Sheriff Heywood Hester, a relatively honest public servant who loathed Fats Bowman and his machine next door. Hester immediately called in the state police and gave the investigation his full attention. His citizens took a dimmer view of gangland shootings than those in Harrison County and he was determined to solve the crime and bring someone to justice.
A week after she was shot, Rita managed to scrawl on a notepad the name Nevin. Avoiding the Biloxi authorities, an undercover cop from the state police hung around the Strip long enough to catch wind of the bad blood between Lance Malco and Marcus Dean Poppy. It was common knowledge that Nevin was one of Malco’s underbosses. It was easy enough to find out that he owned a light brown 1961 Ford Fairlane, which Mr. Bullington identified.
In a surprise attack, Nevin Noll was awakened at three in the morning by a knock on his door. He treated every suspicious knock the same, and grabbed a small handgun from under his mattress. At the door, he was informed that the police had a warrant for his arrest and another one to search his apartment. They had the place surrounded. Come out with your hands up. He complied and no one was hurt.
He was driven to Pascagoula and thrown in jail with no bond. The police searched his apartment and found a small arsenal of handguns, rifles, shotguns, brass knuckles, switchblades, billy clubs, and every other weapon a self-respecting hoodlum might need. The state police and Sheriff Hester attempted to interrogate him, but he demanded a lawyer.
Lance Malco was furious with Nevin for getting into such serious trouble. Lance had authorized the hit on Fortier by ordering Nevin to take care of the matter, but he assumed a contract killer would be called in. Nevin had been pestering him for years to kill someone, said he was tired of the beatings and wanted to step up, but Lance had scolded him away from such talk. He wanted Nevin to stay where he was, at his side. Contract killings were as cheap as $5,000 a pop. Nevin was worth far more than that.
Lance went to the jail two days after the arrest and met privately with Nevin. After a serious tongue-lashing, in which the boss pointed out the stupidity of killing Fortier in Jackson County instead of Harrison County, where Fats was in charge, and after pointing out other obvious mistakes the boy made, Lance asked about the woman, Rita. She was not supposed to have been there. Fortier lived alone and Nevin had assumed he would return late that Saturday night by himself. Nevin was already in the house hiding when the couple staggered in and started undressing. He had no choice but to kill her, or at
Fortier was dead in his bed, but Rita was not. For three days her doctors waited to pull the plug, but she hung on. On the fourth day she started mumbling.
The murders were newsworthy along the Coast but not surprising. Fortier was described as a used-car salesman with a checkered past. He had worked in the Biloxi clubs and had served time for aggravated assault. Rita’s last job was waiting tables at a steak house in Pascagoula, but her trail quickly led to a long career as a waitress at Carousel. An employee who knew them both said their romance had been on and off for many years. In his opinion, she was only a waitress and had not worked the rooms upstairs. Not that it mattered when she was on life support.
Pascagoula was in Jackson County, the domain of Sheriff Heywood Hester, a relatively honest public servant who loathed Fats Bowman and his machine next door. Hester immediately called in the state police and gave the investigation his full attention. His citizens took a dimmer view of gangland shootings than those in Harrison County and he was determined to solve the crime and bring someone to justice.
A week after she was shot, Rita managed to scrawl on a notepad the name Nevin. Avoiding the Biloxi authorities, an undercover cop from the state police hung around the Strip long enough to catch wind of the bad blood between Lance Malco and Marcus Dean Poppy. It was common knowledge that Nevin was one of Malco’s underbosses. It was easy enough to find out that he owned a light brown 1961 Ford Fairlane, which Mr. Bullington identified.
In a surprise attack, Nevin Noll was awakened at three in the morning by a knock on his door. He treated every suspicious knock the same, and grabbed a small handgun from under his mattress. At the door, he was informed that the police had a warrant for his arrest and another one to search his apartment. They had the place surrounded. Come out with your hands up. He complied and no one was hurt.
He was driven to Pascagoula and thrown in jail with no bond. The police searched his apartment and found a small arsenal of handguns, rifles, shotguns, brass knuckles, switchblades, billy clubs, and every other weapon a self-respecting hoodlum might need. The state police and Sheriff Hester attempted to interrogate him, but he demanded a lawyer.
Lance Malco was furious with Nevin for getting into such serious trouble. Lance had authorized the hit on Fortier by ordering Nevin to take care of the matter, but he assumed a contract killer would be called in. Nevin had been pestering him for years to kill someone, said he was tired of the beatings and wanted to step up, but Lance had scolded him away from such talk. He wanted Nevin to stay where he was, at his side. Contract killings were as cheap as $5,000 a pop. Nevin was worth far more than that.
Lance went to the jail two days after the arrest and met privately with Nevin. After a serious tongue-lashing, in which the boss pointed out the stupidity of killing Fortier in Jackson County instead of Harrison County, where Fats was in charge, and after pointing out other obvious mistakes the boy made, Lance asked about the woman, Rita. She was not supposed to have been there. Fortier lived alone and Nevin had assumed he would return late that Saturday night by himself. Nevin was already in the house hiding when the couple staggered in and started undressing. He had no choice but to kill her, or at
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