by David Bishop
“Relax, dollface, we’re just a happy couple returning to our room after a night on the town, dinner, drinks, you know. Play the role. We’re happy and a bit giddy. If we see anyone, keep your hands on me. Walk a little woozy. Don’t look at anyone we pass. No eye contact. You have eyes only for me. Turn toward me so I can be staring at your cleavage. Women we pass will feel uncomfortable and look away. Any men will also look at your cleavage. We’re just half drunk and heading to our room for some late night whoopee.”
“That part’ll be easy, Johnny. I only have eyes for you.”
“We’ll take the stairs and walk up to the third floor, then the elevator to floor six, and walk the last floor to seven. When we get to the room, you’re to say nothing. Follow my lead… . You ready?”
Frances nodded.
“Put on the gloves I gave you.” While she did, Johnny also put on gloves. Then he took her gloved hand and used his other to open the door to the stairwell.
On seven Johnny turned and walked toward room 714. When they were outside the door, he whispered in her ear, “Draw both guns and hold them easy like, gentle on the triggers. I don’t expect anyone’s at the peephole, but I don’t plan to linger at the door. When I step in front of the door, we’re going in. You stay to the side. This game is only for gents, and I’ve got the password. When the door begins to open, I’ll shoulder it and we go in fast. When we’re clear inside, you close the door back to the hall.”
Johnny leaned over and kissed Frances. He then put a hand on her breast and held her firmly against the wall to the left of the door.
Normally a game not run directly by Siegel or Cohen, but in their territory, required a payment of vigorish. The small gang running this game refused that payment. This necessitated an example be made. Johnny would shut down the game and end the disrespect. That would get the word on the street to discourage such behavior by others.
Johnny pushed his hat down a bit, spun around to square his shoulders to the door, and knocked.
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“Joker’s Wild,” Johnny answered back through the door using the open-says-me phrase revealed to him by Moe, the guy who had sold him the site for tonight’s game.
The door started to open.
Johnny hit it hard with his shoulder while swinging up the Thompson machine gun from inside his trench coat.
He sensed Frances behind him. He stepped inside far enough to let her slip in beside him.
There were seven men in the room. No one moved. Their faces stiff.
Frances shut the room door back to the hall.
The man who had opened the door stumbled backward, gathering himself after leaning into a player sitting at the table.
“Who the hell are you two?” asked a guy sitting on the far side of the table.
“No broads, men only,” said the guy next to him. He had barely finished when Johnny held down his trigger, a string of bullets stitching the unbuttoned vest that draped across his chest. Next Johnny took out the guy who had opened the door, the only man standing.
The others put their hands in the air.
“Which one of you is Moe?” Johnny asked. One of the men sitting to the right side of the table spoke.
“I’m Moe. I’m Moe. That’s me.”
Breeze nodded before saying, “Moe, get up and stand against the wall to my right. Don’t move after that.” Then Breeze turned back to the table.
“Okay, you mugs. This is a holdup. Get the rods on the table. In the middle like you’re betting them on the next turn of a card. NOW! Take ‘em out slow. Use your fingers only. No palms.” After they did, he said, “Okay, its money time. Empty your pockets. Put it all in the pot. Now!”
When the table was centered by a messy array of money and guns, Johnny again pressed the trigger on his Thompson. He released it after they had all been knocked off their chairs onto the floor.
Frances slowly stepped around the table adding a single shot into the center of each of their foreheads.
“Leave the guns, honey. Pick up the money. Just the folding stuff. Let’s get out of here.”
“I didn’t know you were going to shoot them. Christ almighty, Johnny,” Moe said. “I didn’t know you were gonna shoot all of ‘em.”
Johnny turned toward Moe and shot him, starting at his crotch up through the center of his head. Frances, following the instructions Johnny had given, stepped over to put a single shot in Moe’s forehead.
“Skip it Doll. No need. He’s checked out.”
“Okay, Johnny, whatever you say.”
“Almost time to blow, Doll. Put your guns on the table, but keep the gloves on. Pick up one of the guns on the table and put it in your purse. Pick two others and give them to me. Move it along, Doll. We’ve been here too long already.”
While she pushed two handguns over toward Johnny, he tossed his Thompson into the mess of chips and guns already on the table. He stuffed the two handguns into his waistband, still wearing his gloves. Frances followed Johnny out into the hallway. He pulled shut the door to room 714.
On the way down the hall, Johnny drew one of the handguns and kept it in the front pocket of his trousers. When they got near the elevator, the house detective stepped out. Johnny shot him. The house dick fell back into the elevator. The door recoiled after hitting his legs, preventing it from closing.
Near the end of the hall, Johnny used the same handgun to shoot a male guest who, foolishly overcome with curiosity, had stepped into the hallway. He went inside the room to confirm the man had occupied the room alone. He had. After that, Johnny rushed back to the still open elevator where he tossed the gun inside on top of the house detective. This would suggest that the shooter or shooters might have headed the opposite way in the hotel hallway than the direction he and Frances were going. The house dick would be the first to be found, then the hotel guest. Their bodies were in plain sight. Conversely, the seven in room 714, might not be discovered for several more hours.
“It’s likely the cops will see this as a murder of a lonely man,” Johnny explained to Frances. “Soon after that, the word of that shooting or some commotion nearby got to the house dick. He came up and the guy who shot the guest, then shot the detective. Our work in room 714 might not get found for hours.”
* * *
“You okay, Doll?” Johnny asked when they got into the alley behind the hotel.
“Sure, Johnny. What do we do next?”
“Toss your gloves against the wall.” When she had done so, Johnny added his gloves. He took out his Zippo lighter, invented in the early 30s, opened the throat on it and dumped lighter fluid onto the gloves. After he used his thumb to spin the ferrocerium wheel a spark lit the liquid naphtha fuel. He then dropped the lighter onto the small stack igniting the gloves.
When they were in his car and a block away, Johnny again asked Frances if she were okay. “You aren’t feeling sick are you, Doll?”
“Oh, no, Johnny, I’m flying. That was a real wingding. Whoaaaaaaaaaa! Whewwwww! Let’s go somewhere and fuck. I’m hot, Johnny. I want you baby. Right now. Somewhere. Anywhere. Let’s do it.”
“Simmer down, Doll. The job isn’t finished. We’re heading up to a little cabin. I set it up by phone two days ago. It’s on the road to Idyllwild in the San Jacinto Mountains above Palm Springs. I know the guy. He’ll swear we’ve been there since I rented it two days ago. He mussed up the bed in the room this morning and sent his maid in to clean. It’ll all check out. I promised him a wad of dough when we get there. He’s an old moonshiner. I’ve used him before.”
“Johnny, why’d we kill Moe? I mean he’s the guy who tipped you. You promised him a job, arranged it with Cohen.”
“Moe had to go, Doll.”
“Why? I just want to understand your business.”
“Couple of reasons, one is Cohen’s reason, the other is my reason. Moe ratted out his current gang so Mickey Cohen could never trust him; he don’t want no squealers. From our point of view, Moe’s the
only person who can lead the cops to us so we can’t afford to leave him behind. Not breathing anyway.”
“I see. Gee, you got all the angles figured, Johnny.”
“I try baby. Now, how much lettuce did we get off the table?”
“Haven’t counted it, but it seemed like several thousand.”
“That’s a good haul. Along with what we were paid to take ‘em out, we’ll have a nice number to add to our retirement fund.”
Frances laughed. “Speed up, Johnny. If we can’t fuck I want to go fast, really fast.”
“We can’t risk being stopped by the cops. Remember, we’re supposed to already be in that cabin in Idyllwild. We need no trouble before we get there.”
“All the angles, Johnny. I love you.” Frances then pushed her feet against the floorboard, raised up her hips, and pulled off her panties.
At the next stop sign, Frances rolled down the window on her side and tossed her panties out onto the hood of the car in front of Johnny’s side of the windshield. They laughed and when Johnny accelerated away from the corner the wind slid her panties over where they snagged for a moment on the radio antennae. After a moment of flapping in the increasing wind as the car sped forward, her panties pulled free and flew behind the car to roll into the gutter as the car sped onward.
Chapter Twenty
June of 1939 slipped past in the monotony of day-to-day living without much of a change. Callie and I continued to see each other regularly. We continued taking walks on the beach when the weather permitted. Dinner and the movies on Wednesdays, and a home-cooked meal at her place on Friday nights became regular events in our lives. We also had dinner with her father most Sundays, at his house or a restaurant. My parents were both dead and I found her father to be an engaging chap. I had met some of Callie’s neighbors and they all knew we were a serious couple. Still, decorum was maintained and I continued to leave her place no later than midnight.
On the broader front, the city percolated along. Mayor Bowron stayed out of scandals and Siegel and Cohen, as well as Jack Dragna, continued doing business without significant interruption from the authorities. The rumors were that they were still buying protection, but no longer at the highest level. I continued to stop by Mickey’s Haberdashery for ice cream a couple times a month. He’d give me tidbits or comments off the record on things I had heard. He also gave me another horse tip. I took it. Made another killing, and then swore I would not do that anymore. Time will tell.
The New York Yankees had beaten the Chicago Cubs in the ’38 World Series and were favored to repeat. The New York Giants had won the National Football League ’38 championship over the Green Bay Packers. The Pack was already the favorite to win it this year. I wasn’t so sure, but I cover the crime beat so what do I know?
While many people didn’t expect the movie industry to keep up with the Academy Awards, they did. The tenth annual Oscar show in 1938 included Spencer Tracy winning best actor for his role in Captain Courageous. Louise Rainer won best actress for The Good Earth. Tracy was favored to win back to back Oscars this year for his role in Boy’s Town; Bette Davis, the odds on favorite, was expected to take home the Oscar for her lead in this year’s Jezebel. The movie business was bigger than ever and the Academy Awards were the top prize in the business.
The Rising Tide Which May Soon Wash Over Us All.
Wednesday, July 26, 1939
While we sit fascinated and enthralled with the happenings in our City of the Angels: politics, organized crime, and the ongoing battles over our beloved gambling ships, the world is simmering and it may soon boil over all of us.
Tonight’s column is one of my longest in memory. Hopefully, you will find it worthy of your time. In writing it, I have strayed outside my normal parameters of crime and entertainment, L.A. style. You and I and all Americans are part of the world. We can no longer ignore what is going on in Europe where, in my humble opinion, the powers are marching steadily and mercilessly toward all-out war.
Germany continues to fine tune its massive, yet still growing, army and air force while the other powers of Europe, primarily England and France, continue a course of pursuing peace through appeasement. England and France have conceded to the demands of Germany’s Fuhrer, Adolph Hitler. Last year (March 1938) we watched Germany annex Austria. Six months later France and England signed away the Czech border regions to Germany at the Munich conference and pressured Czechoslovakia to yield to Germany’s demand for the incorporation of those regions into Germany. Early this year, in violation of the Munich agreement, Germany dismembered Czechoslovakia.
Britain and France trying to avoid looking weak and ineffective guaranteed the integrity of Poland. Hitler is countering this by offering a nonaggression agreement with the Soviet Union to be called the German-Soviet Pact. Essentially, the rumors out of Europe say that Hitler and Stalin will be agreeing to partition Poland between the two powers. Once this agreement is inked, if it is, the runway will be cleared for Germany to invade Poland without concern over intervention by the Soviet Union. I expect this to occur in the not-too-distant future.
All the while, our local war, of sorts, continues. Not too many months ago, District Attorney Buron Fitts, backed up by Los Angeles County Sheriff Biscaliuz, and Santa Monica Police Chief Dice, commandeered water taxis and sailed out to arrest Tony Cornero on board his luxurious S.S. Rex. After brief resistance, Cornero confidently submitted to arrest to again confront the issue in court.
Fitts dragged out the old argument that Santa Monica Bay constituted an “island” body of water and therefore, the dry coastline was not the true coastline of California. As I’ve mentioned in past columns, it is Fitts’s contention that the coastline runs along an imaginary line in the ocean from Point Vicente to Point Dume, the southernmost and northernmost land points which frame the entrance to Santa Monica Bay.
The prior year, Cornero’s lawyers had successfully countered that Santa Monica Bay was not, in fact, a bay at all, but a bight—a large coastal indentation. The court sided with the District Attorney, but Cornero won on appeal. The appellate court had essentially ruled the three-mile jurisdiction of California law effectively ran from the land dock of Santa Monica Bay. Cornero again returned triumphantly to operate his S.S. Rex three miles off the Santa Monica Pier.
The local authorities became further frustrated by their inability to get the courts to recognize their desire to shut down the water taxis that service the gamblers traveling to and from the ships of chance bobbing in the waters off our coast. And, increasingly, they looked to the office of California Attorney General Earl Warren. The reasoning being that the establishment and defense of the California border is a responsibility of the state government.
As a result, California Attorney General Earl Warren is working a new angle. He is charging that Tony Cornero, et al, are contributing to the delinquency of minors by openly glorifying gambling and the evading of the laws of the state, and by inducing them to lead idle and dissolute lives. This ploy does not look promising, but it is a fresh run at a stale problem—at least in the eyes of the anti-gambling league. The Attorney General further argues that this could lead to having floating narcotic ships and floating prostitution ships.
I agree the potential for proliferation of undesirable activities aboard ships is a problem. However, if the state lacks jurisdiction, it lacks jurisdiction regardless of the activities conducted on board ships anchored beyond three miles. The bottom line: regardless of the emotional arguments to justify doing so, the law cannot extend beyond its authority.
I close tonight’s column with the same uncertainty for both our city and our world: what will come next?
Good night Mr. and Mrs. Los Angeles and all the gambling ships at sea… . Good Luck, Suckers. Matt Kile
* * *
Neither Callie nor her father had seen or heard from Frances. The whereabouts of the younger Hopkins daughter hovered as unfinished business, with none of us having any idea how or when it would finish. I th
ink we all knew Frances would write her own finish and that thought frightened Callie and her father.
The S.S. Rex was flourishing and my pal Tony Cornero, braced by his victory in the appellate court, stopped watching the horizon for police boats. I relaxed with him, despite the continued press releases and bold bluster that regularly flowed out of the state capitol and our own city hall.
I went back to continuing to work the L.A. entertainment and crime beats. Adolph Hitler continued to work Europe which he viewed as a row of dominos. Mickey Cohen continued to be the Mickster. Siegel and Dragna continued to work their dealings. Mayor Bowron continued to stay scandal free. And every day, I felt things were going to explode somewhere in town or in Europe, or maybe, more than likely, both. It had been too calm too long and there were just too many things that seemed to be potential detonators.
In August 1939 the detonation came. The ill-defined, but fully expected something. I had heard from Mickey Cohen that Fitts had huddled with California Attorney General Earl Warren to plan a concerted drive against Cornero and the lesser proprietors of the other floating gambling casinos.
I went on board the S.S. Rex to support my friend. Callie insisted on coming along. We rode with Pug on his water taxi and boarded the Rex about noon. The ride out was quiet, the smell of doom floating on the surface of the water. Or maybe, hopefully, we were just smelling salt and the bed of kelp near the mouth of the bay.
Tony set us up in the VIP stateroom on board. We told him what we had heard, but not that it had come from Mickey Cohen.
State Attorney General Warren served legal orders against the Rex and the other three gambling ships bobbing off California, the Tango, Tony’s old ship, the Showboat and the Texas. When none of the four showed the slightest interest in abating their activities, L.A. District Attorney Buron Fitts joined Warren and the two high legal authorities led waterborne raids against three of the ships. They boarded the Showboat, the Tango and the Texas. On board they splintered much of the furnishings and gambling equipment with axes. The equipment, much of it still unbroken, was tossed overboard into the sea. Many of those who worked on the three vessels were taken into custody.