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Expensive Tastes. In public as well as private enterprise, Lafitte has always had flair. His expensive tastes appalled the Government auditors who approved his expense accounts as an informer. He drank only the best wines, smoked only the finest cigars. He rented only Cadillacs, stayed only in hotel suites. His bait was costly and effective. Once, when trying to ferret out some stolen paintings, he set himself up at Chicago's Drake Hotel. Instead of getting down to business right away, he entertained the thief's intermediary over dinner, sent wine, caviar and crêpes suzette back to the kitchen for imagined flaws, then prepared the crêpes himself before the wide-eyed fence. Lafitte refused to rush the business discussion. "Not now," he told the middleman. "See me tomorrow." Convinced that Lafitte was genuine, the thieves delivered the paintings the next day—and stepped into an FBI trap.
As expected, Lafitte's undercover activities made him a prime target for underworld revenge. In 1956, as a matter of self-preservation, he dropped from sight. A year later, he reappeared in Kittery Point, Me., posing as Louis Romano. There he offered to help speculator Ralph L. Loomis out of his difficulties with the Securities and Exchange Commission for $30,000. One deal led to another, and Loomis soon found himself investing more than $300,000 in a pair of Lafitte-organized companies to develop mineral rights and diamond mines in Africa. When the mines produced glowing reports but no acres of diamonds, the Government moved in and indicted its errant undercover man on 15 counts of mail fraud and transportation of stolen property. Lafitte posted a $25,000 bail, and on Dec. 3, 1963, vanished. He was reported in Africa, Europe and the Bahamas.
Lucky Pierre. Two years ago, he turned up in New Orleans, where he answered the Plimsoll Club's advertisement for a manager-chef. He was a stunning success. Local gourmets praised his Dover sole, sighed over his crêpes suzette. Governor John McKeithen visited the club and made Lafitte an honorary Louisiana colonel. Mayor Victor Schiro dined there and gave him an official welcome from the city. Mrs. Lyndon Baines Johnson, too, was impressed by his cuisine. After Lafitte escorted her along a table loaded with his delicacies, she sent him a letter of praise from the White House.
In the end, Lafitte's skill with a saucepan may have been his undoing. Aware of his culinary finesse, the FBI distributed its "wanted" posters to restaurant operators across the country. A New Orleans restaurateur is reported to have recognized Lafitte from a poster and tipped the FBI because the elusive impostor was planning to open a competing French pastry shop.
Even so, Lafitte may turn out to be Lucky Pierre. Although the Government can still prosecute him for jumping bail, its fraud case against Lafitte depends on the testimony of the victim himself. Loomis will be unable to testify against Lafitte. He died a year ago and, as every schoolboy pirate knows, dead men tell no tales.