PROFESSIONAL KILLERS (True Crime)

by Gordon Kerr

  Pat Garrett was elected sheriff of Lincoln County in November 1880 on a promise to rid the area of cattle-rustlers. He was a former bartender and buffalo hunter who had befriended Billy back in his saloon days. Now, he had to go out and try to collect the $500 bounty that had been placed on his friend’s head.

  Garrett and the posse he had put together came close to capturing the Kid, ambushing him one night at Fort Sumner and fatally wounding one of Billy’s men. Then on 23rd December they tracked down the Kid and his gang to a stone building at a place called Stinking Springs. The posse surrounded the building and waited for daylight. At dawn a figure stepped out of the building to feed his horse. The posse opened fire, thinking it was Billy, and the man fell to the ground dead. It was the wrong man, though. The posse cooked breakfast, waiting for the cornered men to make a move and Billy and Garrett engaged in a conversation, Garrett inviting Billy to breakfast and Billy laughing and telling him to ‘Go to hell’. He knew, however, that there was no hope of escape and later that day he surrendered. By this time, Billy the Kid was just 21 years old and had killed 21 men.

  He was jailed in the nearby town of Mesila awaiting trial, and while he waited he gave newspaper interviews, adding to his notoriety. He was thrilled by the crowds who gathered outside the jailhouse hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous outlaw. When they did catch sight of him, they were surprised by his youthfulness. Meanwhile, he inundated the Governor with letters asking for clemency. Wallace remained aloof, however, and Billy was sentenced to hang on 13 May by Judge Warren Bristol.

  He was taken to Lincoln and locked up on the top floor of the town’s courthouse, but escaped yet again, killing his two guards while Garrett was out of town. It is thought that the townspeople had some sympathy with Billy due to his work with the Regulators and that they allowed him an hour to remove his leg irons and get away. He borrowed a horse and, apparently, rode out of town singing, returning the horse a couple of days later.

  Foolishly, he did not travel far from Fort Sumner and was still hovering in the vicinity of the town several months later when Pat Garrett and some of his men rode out to question Pete Maxwell, a friend of the Kid.

  When they arrived at the Maxwell property, they unsaddled their horses, had some coffee and then went into an orchard which ran down to a row of old buildings, some 60 yards from Maxwell’s house. Approaching these buildings, they could hear people inside speaking in Spanish. After a short while, a man stood up. He was wearing a broad-brimmed hat, dark waistcoat and trousers and shirt sleeves. He spoke a few words, left the house, jumped the fence and walked towards a nearby house. Unknown to Garrett and his deputies, this man was the Kid.

  Billy walked into the house, took off his hat and boots and threw himself down on a bed to read a newspaper. After a short while, he woke up a friend who was asleep in the same room and told him to get up and make some coffee. He also said he was hungry and asked for a butcher’s knife so that he could go over to the Maxwell house to get some beef. The Mexican gave him a knife and the Kid, hatless and in stocking soles, set off on the short journey to the other house.

  Garrett still did not recognise the Kid as he left the orchard. He and his men retreated a short distance and, in an effort to avoid the houses, approached from the opposite direction. Arriving at the porch of the Maxwell house, Garrett told two of his men to wait there and went into the house.

  It was close to midnight and Maxwell was already in bed. Garrett walked up to the bed in which he was lying, sat down on it and quietly asked him if he knew where Billy the Kid was. Maxwell whispered that the Kid had been there but he had no idea if he still was. Just then, a man sprang quickly into the doorway and exclaimed in Spanish: ‘Quién es? Quién es?’ (Who is it?) When there was no reply he took a step into the room, holding a gun in his right hand and a knife in the other, peering into the darkness.

  As he approached the bed, Garrett leant down and whispered: ‘Who is it, Pete?’ Maxwell did not answer. For a moment, Garrett thought it might be Maxwell’s brother-in-law, Manuel Abreu. Perhaps he had seen the men outside and wanted to know what was going on. The intruder came close and leaned down, both hands on the bed, his right hand almost touching Garrett’s knee. He asked in a low voice: ‘Who are they, Pete?’ At that moment, Maxwell hissed to Garrett: ‘That’s him!’ The Kid, realising there was another man present, raised his pistol about 12 inches away from the sheriff’s chest. He then retraced his steps back across the room, shouting in Spanish: ‘Quién es?’ Garrett wasted no time. He drew his revolver rapidly and fired into the darkness in the direction of the words. He then threw his body to one side and fired again. There was no point to the second shot. Billy the Kid was already dead as he hit the ground.

  Henry McLarty, alias Henry Antrim, alias William H. Bonney, alias Billy the Kid, was buried the next day in Fort Sumner’s old military cemetery. On either side lay his fallen companions Tom O'Folliard and Charlie Bowdre. A single tombstone was later erected over the graves. On it are written the three outlaws' names and the word ‘Pals’ is carved into it. The tombstone has been stolen and recovered three times since being placed there in the 1940s.

  Part Five: Greatest Hits

  The Collingwood Mansion Massacre

  It was autumn 1931, and the city of Detroit was gearing up for the American Legion Convention when thousands of legionnaires would hit town. For bootleggers that meant only one thing, they would also be hitting the speakeasies and blind pigs of Detroit and downing thousands of gallons of illicit booze. Huge orders were being placed across town in readiness and bootleggers were licking their lips at the thought of how much money would soon be rolling into their coffers. Enormous amounts of supplies were being brought into town and shipments were being hijacked and then re-hijacked while the federal authorities ran around like headless chickens trying to clamp down on the illegal alcohol trade. Tensions were running high.

  Meanwhile three out-of-towners, Hymie Paul, Joe ‘Nigger Joe’ Lebowitz, both 31, and 28-year-old Joe ‘Izzy’ Sutker had been brought to Detroit by the Oakland Sugar House Gang, run by Harry Shorr and Charles Leiter. Schorr and Leiter were affiliated to the Purple Gang and employed the three as hired guns to provide armed protection for their booze shipments. Hymie, Joe and Izzy were men of ambition, however, not content to merely play the role of hired guns. They wanted to elbow in on the big money and what better way to do that than to add illegal gambling to their existing bootlegging business. They opened a bookie’s and started to coin it in.

  They hooked up with a gang who were known as the Third Avenue Navy because their headquarters, where they unloaded crates of Canadian Whisky, smuggled in over the border, was in some railway yards close to Detroit’s Third Avenue. But for Hymie, Joe and Izzy rules were made to be broken. However, even gangsters have a code which you breach at your peril and when the trio started to hijack other hoods’ shipments, double-crossing customers and suppliers and reneging on deals, they became an irritant to the movers and shakers who ran the Detroit underworld.

  The trio made a smart move in taking on an experienced mobster named Solomon ‘Solly’ Levine to work with them. Levine was well connected in Detroit, having grown up in the same neighbourhood as the Bernstein brothers, Abe and Ray, two of the leading lights of the Purple Gang.

  All seemed to be going well until, suddenly, their bookmaking business was hit for a payout of several hundred thousand dollars to the East Side Mafia. They were broke and unable to pay out, which was obviously not a good position to be in. Nonetheless, they devised a scheme to raise some money quickly. Purchasing some whisky from the Purple Gang on credit, they watered it down and sold it at a low price, undercutting the market and making a healthy profit.

  No sooner had they done that, however, than the East Side gang came back looking for another big payout on a race that had been fixed. Izzy, Joe and Paul bought another 50 gallons on credit from the Purples, diluted it and sold it again.

  By now they were in deep trouble and
there was usually only one way that trouble of that kind ended. Still, they were optimistic that the Legionnaires Convention would reverse their fortunes and they would be able to pay their now considerable debts. So they spoke to Ray Bernstein, one of the leaders of the Purple Gang, about the money they owed for the whisky they had bought, asking him to give them some more time, at least until after the convention. Bernstein came back to them, suggesting a meeting at which they could thrash out a plan. He hinted that they could work for the Purple Gang again once everything seemed to be sorted out. The trio jumped at the chance to get things back on an even keel and relaxed a little.

  The night before the meeting, Izzy and Hymie took some time off. Izzy sent for his 18-year-old girlfriend, Virginia White, who lived in Port Huron. They went to a club and drank the night away, listening to a band. Hymie went carousing in town and went to bed with the beginnings of a crushing hangover. Joe stayed at the bookmaking joint, working.

  It was there, next day, 16 September, that he received a phone call giving him an address for the meeting. It would be at three in the afternoon at 1740 Collingwood, Apartment 211. The three, accompanied by Levine, left for the meeting at quarter to three, deciding to leave their guns behind. It was, after all, a peace conference and it would be bad form to turn up armed to the teeth.

  They arrived at the Collingwood Mansion apartment house, located in a quiet, residential area on the West Side of the city, at precisely three o’clock, to be met at the door by Ray Bernstein. A gramophone playing inside was switched off abruptly as they entered the apartment, the needle left in the middle of the record on the turntable. The men exchanged pleasantries with Bernstein and another three seasoned Purple Gang veterans who were present – Irving Milberg, Harry Keywell and Harry Fleischer. Although he had a cast-iron alibi for the day, Keywell was thought to have acted as lookout on the notorious St Valentine’s Day Massacre in 1929, while Fleischer was at the time a fugitive from the law, having gone on the run a short time before. At 29 he was a killer whose crimes included assault with intent to kill, armed robbery, kidnapping and receiving stolen property. As for Milberg, he was a crack shot who had, in the past ten years, committed every crime in the book. They were no lightweights these guys.

  Hymie Paul, Joe Lebowitz and Solly Levine sat down on a sofa in the living room, while Izzy perched on an arm. They talked about nothing for a few minutes before Fleischer enquired of Bernstein: ‘Where is that guy with the books?’ They claimed they were waiting for their accountant who would take them through the money that Izzy, Joe and Hymie owed. Bernstein said he would go and look for him and left the room and went outside. Out in the street, he climbed into their car, switched on the engine and gunned it at the kerb, sounding the horn at the same time. Curtains twitched in the neighbourhood windows as people looked out to find out who was making all the noise.

  It was a signal, however, as well as an attempt to cover the noise. As soon as he heard the engine roaring, Fleischer pulled out a gun and fired it straight at Lebowitz. Meanwhile, Milberg and Keywell had pulled out their weapons and opened fire on Izzy and Hymie.

  The three victims were taken completely by surprise, but from where their bodies were later discovered it was evident that they had tried to escape the gunfire. Hymie Paul was found slumped against the side of the couch, eight bullets in his back and head, a cigar still dangling from his fingers. In a corridor leading to the bedroom, Joe Lebowitz was found sprawled on the floor, cigar stub fixed grimly between his teeth. Izzy Sutker lay in the bedroom, a couple of bullet holes in his forehead, close together. Crack shot Irving Milberg had taken care of him.

  They never did make it to the riches they so desired. Izzy had just 11 cents on him, Hymie had $2 and Joe was comparatively rich, with all of $92 in his pocket.

  When the shooting started, Levine was certain he was next, but what he did not realise was that they had him lined up to take the rap for the shooting. Therefore they did not want him to die in the apartment. Perhaps somewhere else, though. The plan was to take him for a ride and dump his body somewhere later. They would then spread the word that he had been taken care of for the hit on the three.

  They ran to the kitchen with Levine where they threw their 38s, serial numbers already filed down, into a bucket of green paint, rendering it impossible for the cops to trace them back to them. They then ran downstairs, climbing into a black 1930 Chrysler, Fleischer arriving a minute or so after them, having pumped another couple of bullets into ‘Nigger Joe’ who had seemed to be still breathing. They sped out of the alleyway at the rear of the house, leaving rubber on the road as the tyres spun and drove fast for a few blocks before jumping out of the car and splitting up. Bernstein handed Levine $400, saying to him he was his pal and telling him to go back to the bookie’s. He would see him later, he said.

  Within an hour, however, Solly had been picked up by the police. He had prepared a story that the three dead men had been kidnapped while en route to a meeting with a well-known bootlegger named Harry Klein, but the police were not convinced, especially as he seemed to change his story each time he told it.

  A massive police hunt was launched and Wayne County prosecutor Harry S. Toy, ordered the round-up of every member of the Purple Gang, even though they offered to surrender. He said he was not interested in doing any deals and he wanted these killers ‘dead or alive’. Phones turned red-hot as people called in with information, most likely members of other gangs who sensed an opportunity to get rid of the Purple Gang once and for all.

  One anonymous tip-off pointed them in the direction of a house owned by Charlie ‘The Professor’ Auerbach. Auerbach, who listed his profession as jewellery salesman, was nicknamed ‘The Professor’ on account of his refinement and polished appearance. But he was a major criminal and was, in fact, the first gangster to be convicted under the Public Enemy Law in 1931. Police stormed the house and discovered Ray Bernstein and Harry Keywell along with Auerbach, his wife and an 18-year-old cabaret entertainer called Elsie Carroll, whom Ray Bernstein had been seeing. Police found guns and tear gas in the house and the women had $9,000 in their possession.

  The following day, they picked up Irving Milberg. While they were raiding his house on West Chicago Boulevard, his wife made the mistake of telephoning to enquire about the welfare of her children from the maid who was looking after them. The call was traced to the house of Eddie Fletcher, another Purple Gang gunman, a few blocks away. Police charged round there and burst in on a card game being played by Fletcher, Abe Axler, another of the Purples, and Irving Milberg. They had a small armoury at the ready – a rifle and five pistols – but they never got a chance to use them and all were arrested.

  Harry Fleischer was never convicted for the murders. He went on the run until 1932.

  The trial was huge. People crowded into the courtroom to see the famous gangsters. The Purple Gang spared no expense in putting their defence together, levying a special tax on local bookmakers of $2 a day that went straight into the defence fund.

  Solly Levine was the main witness for the prosecution and it was an open and shut case, the jury taking a mere 90 minutes to return guilty verdicts on all three. As soon as it was announced, there was a riot in the courtroom as relatives, friends and fellow mobsters screamed hysterically and scuffled with court attendants.

  A week later, all three received mandatory life sentences without parole and took a train to the maximum security prison in Marquette to begin their sentences.

  Irving Milberg served the least time. He died in prison seven years later. Harry Keywell was a model prisoner for 34 years, at which point his life sentence was commuted. He was released in 1965, married, got a job and disappeared. In 1963 Ray Bernstein had a stroke in prison that left him paralysed on his left side and with impaired speech. He had, like Keywell, been a model prisoner and had taught other inmates after he had gained his own high school diploma. The parole board took pity on him and released him in 1964. He died two years later.

  A
s for Solly Levine, he became a hunted man.

  The remaining Purple Gang members wanted revenge. So the police put him on a boat to France. Unfortunately, however, the French did not want him and sent him back. He then tried to go to Ireland, but while he was trying to get it organised, he disappeared.

  Albert Anastasia

  Tropea spills down into the Gulf of Euphemia on the west coast of Calabria in Italy. It was there that Albert Anastasia, or Umberto Anastasio as he was then known, was born in 1902 and where he spent the early years of his life. In his mid-teens, he left Tropea and went to sea with his younger brother Tony, never to return.

  In 1917 as America was about to enter the First World War, the 15-year-old Umberto jumped ship in New York harbour. Shoeless, and without a single possession, he lost himself, with his brother, in the slums of Brooklyn. They had the address of a relative who had already established himself in the new world and they stayed with him until they could find work and earn some money. Eventually Umberto and his brother found work on the New York docks and, at the age of 16, Umberto was a longshoreman, doing the physically demanding work of loading and unloading ships.

  Albert was famous throughout his life for his short temper, and when he lost it death was often the result. His first murder resulted from it. In the early 1920s he became involved in a heated dispute with another longshoreman of Italian origin, Joe Torino. The argument was over who had the right to unload ships with precious cargoes. This could be lucrative work for a longshoreman on the make. Anastasia, now a powerful physical specimen, stabbed and strangled the unfortunate Torino as their dispute escalated and was arrested. Unfortunately for him, there were several witnesses to the incident and he was convicted and sentenced to death. For 18 months he languished in the death house at the notorious Sing Sing Correctional Facility in Ossining, New York, awaiting his turn in Old Sparky, Sing Sing’s famous electric chair.