But the judge winked and said, “If Lemon doesn’t pay, it might get around that he will let one of his men stay in jail. It might reduce his prestige in the fraternity.”
Did we hear someone talking about legalized and licensed gambling? This is it, with a bow from the U. S. District Court.
In recent years the top rulers of the netherworld have disassociated themselves as much as possible from street-level vice and crime, preferring to remain on the sidelines, where their take comes in clean.
The situation in Washington is a pattern and example for the rest of the country, because, for obvious reasons, the tygoons have preferred to have no direct dealings with law-breaking in the nation’s capital.
The method whereby the take from policy, Washington’s chief form of gambling, goes upstairs is unique and ingenious, the product of brilliant legal scheming.
First of all, each local numbers bank is, for the records, completely independent. Its operator, who employs the runners who actually sell the lottery tickets, is supposed to be completely unaffiliated, and it would take a smarter guy than any government lawyer to prove him otherwise.
In the beginning, most of the local banks were really unaffiliated. Since then, on occasion, some have tried to remain that way. This is what happens when they do: The Big Mob sends in “customers” to bet a certain number; then, through its ability to control the daily winning number, that number comes up and the banker goes broke.
But if he wants to play ball, they sell him an “insurance policy” which guarantees him from undue loss—which is prevented by the control of the winning number. His daily premium is the payoff money.
The funniest one happened when a policy salesman asked police to lock him up because one of his clients had a $60 hit which the runner couldn’t pay off—having lost the money playing the numbers. It came about when a cop admonished Lawrence Fields, obviously drunk, to quiet down. Fields begged to be arrested on the numbers charge. The cop asked Fields whether he realized the seriousness of what he was saying. Fields replied, “Nothing will happen. My boss pays protection.”
The boss was identified in court as Sam Beard. Beard claims he is in the pickle business, but he once served 53 months in jail for gambling and 13 months for tax evasion. Fields got 90 days. His client is waiting outside the District jail.