Read The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller for Free Online

as an ox, and his fists were freakishly quick and efficient. In six weeks of basic training at Keesler, he had already broken two jaws, knocked out numerous teeth, and put one boy in the hospital with a concussion.
    One more fight, and Nevin would be dishonorably discharged.
    It happened soon enough. He was shooting craps at Red Velvet with a couple of buddies on a Saturday night when an argument erupted over a set of suspicious dice. An angry gambler called them “loaded dice,” and reached for his chips. The stickman was quicker. A side dealer shoved the gambler, who had been drinking, and who, evidently, did not take shoving well. Nevin had just rolled the dice, lost, and was also suspicious of the table. Because so many customers were soldiers and prone to drink, Red Velvet had plenty of bouncers, and they were always watching the boys in uniform. Nothing excited Nevin more than flying fists, and he jumped into the middle of the argument. When a dealer pushed him back, he shot a left hook to the man’s chin and knocked him out cold. Two guards were on Nevin in an instant and both got their noses flattened before they could throw a punch. Bodies were flying in all directions and he wanted more. His two pals from the base backed away and watched with admiration. They had seen it all before. Fully grown men, regardless of their size, were nothing but punching bags when they got too close to Mr. Noll.
    The dealer with the stick leapt across the table and took a wild swing. It hit Nevin across the shoulder but did no damage. He hit the guy four times in the face, each blow drawing blood.
    All gambling stopped as a crowd gathered around the craps table. Nevin stood in the middle of the pile of beaten and bloodied men, looked around, wild-eyed, and kept saying, “Come on, come on. Who’s next?” No one moved in his direction.
    It ended without further bloodshed when two bouncers with shotguns appeared. Nevin smiled and raised his hands. He won the fight but lost the battle. Once he was handcuffed, the guards kicked his legs out from under him and dragged him away. Just another night in jail.
    Early Sunday morning, Lance Malco and his chief of security rounded up the two dealers and two security guards, none of whom were in any mood to talk, and replayed the fight. The side dealer’s jaw was horribly swollen. The stickman’s face was a mess of cuts—one in each eyebrow, one on the bridge of his nose, plus a busted lower lip. Each security guard held an ice pack to his nose and tried to see through blurred and puffy eyes.
    “What a fine team,” Lance said with derision. “One man did all this damage?”
    He made each one describe what happened. All four reluctantly marveled at the speed with which they got nailed.
    “Guy must be a boxer or something,” one of the guards said.
    “Sumbitch can punch, I’ll tell you that,” said the other.
    “You don’t have to tell me,” Lance said with a laugh. “I can see it in your face.”
    He didn’t fire them. Instead he went to court and watched Nevin Noll appear before the judge and plead not guilty to four counts of assault. His court-appointed lawyer explained to the court that his client had, only the day before, been discharged from Keesler and was headed back to Kentucky. That should be punishment enough, shouldn’t it?
    Noll was released on a cheap bond and ordered to return intwo days. Lance cornered Nevin’s lawyer and asked if he could have a word with his client, said he might be willing to drop the charges if they could strike a deal. Lance had a nose for talent, be it slick card dealers, pretty young girls, or violent men. He recruited the best and paid them well.
    For Nevin Noll, it was a miracle. He could forget the military, forget going home to Kentucky, and instead get a real job doing what he dreamed of—working for a crime boss, handling security, hanging out in bars and brothels, and occasionally cracking a skull or two. In an instant, Nevin Noll