My Crime Fiction: 'The Small Timer'

The below short story, my first published crime fiction, originally appeared in The Orchard Press Online Mystery Magazine in 2002: 

The Small Timer

 By Paul Davis

The shooting victims were discovered at 9 o'clock that night in an old warehouse along the Delaware River in South Philadelphia. 

I was on a "ride-along" with a Philadelphia police sergeant when his car radio alerted us to the triple homicide. The sergeant, Bill Francini, was the subject of a column that I was writing for the local paper. Not wearing a seat belt, I braced myself as Francini raced for the river. 

Arriving at the crime scene some ten minutes later, Francini pulled into a vacant space among a dozen hastily parked police vehicles. Francini ushered me around to the side of the warehouse bay, where I would not be violating the official crime scene, yet I could observe Philly’s finest do their work. 

Francini called out to his lieutenant and introduced me. The lieutenant looked at me sharply, perhaps placing me from the photo that ran with my column, and then simply nodded. He took his sergeant by the arm, and they entered the warehouse. 

From my vantage point I was able to see the three dead men in the center of the warehouse bay. All were dressed casually. A short, elderly man lay crumpled with his squat legs twisted under his torso. A snarl appeared to be etched across his face and a gunshot wound was visible just above his right ear. 

The second victim had been a big and heavy man. I’m no little guy, but this guy was truly big. He lay face up and stretched out across the ground. He died with a dumbfounded expression on his face, just below the large wound on his forehead.

The third victim sat in an upright position against a wooden crate. Like the other two, he had a gunshot wound to the head. His face retained a goofy grin that looked familiar to me. 

I heard one of the crime scene investigators from South Detectives tell the newly arrived homicide detective that an anonymous caller had dialed 911 and reported the shooting. The scene looked like a professional execution, organized crime style, so the detectives called the city's organized crime intelligence squad and asked for someone to come and help ID the bodies. 

When a detective named McCollum from the squad arrived some 15 minutes later, he quickly walked among the three bodies, sidestepping the spent shell casings and blood puddles. He immediately identified the short, older man - the one the detectives with their usual black humor had nicknamed "Grouchy" - as James "Jimmy First Nickel" Martin. Martin was a known associate of the local mob in his capacity as a receiver of stolen goods. 

McCollum identified the second victim, nicknamed "Dopey," as Joey Aurelio, a strong-arm enforcer for Martin. The third victim, nicknamed "Happy," was dismissed as some small timer, as McCollum, the organized crime expert, had never seen him before. 

"Hey, McCollum," one of the detectives shouted, "This guy should be happy – he’s still alive!" 

 

A month later I entered the Federal Building in Center City Philadelphia and rode the elevator up to the 8th floor. I stood before the FBI’s receptionist, who was securely housed behind a sheet of protective glass. I told her that I had an appointment with Special Agent Frank Kaplan. I had come to interview Kaplan’s protected witness, Harry Sullivan - a.k.a. "Happy." 

I had been granted an exclusive interview with the sole survivor of the warehouse murders, who was now a star witness for the prosecution in the upcoming federal murder and racketeering trial of Francis "Frankie Raven" Ravelli, a particularly vicious mob captain of a particularly vicious crew of thieves, extortionists and hit men. 

Sullivan had granted me an interview, as he liked my column on the warehouse murders, and we knew each other from the old neighborhood. 

I joined the Navy on my 17th birthday and traveled to Southeast Asia aboard an aircraft carrier about the same time the 20-year-old Sullivan was heading to state prison for the first of his many periods of incarceration.

Years later, I would see him at neighborhood bars and clubs, and he would play the criminal insider, feeding me tips for my column. He liked to show me off to his cronies. He was quite impressed with the notion that I had become a writer. Of course, the only other writers he knew were number writers. 

Kaplan came out to the reception area and directed me to a vacant office where I saw Sullivan sitting at a conference table. Sullivan’s head was adorned with a turban bandage, and he used a cane to navigate his way back to his chair after he stood and came forward to shake my hand. I sat on the other side of the table, laid my tape recorder down and took out my notebook and pen. I threw out some obligatory questions about his health and his family before I launched into asking him a series of questions about the events that led up to the warehouse murders.

 

Harry Sullivan was a small-time thief. He was in his early 50s, slightly built with a drawn, pock-mocked face that was framed with longish, unruly and scruffy blond hair. Despite his looks and his profession, he was not a drug addict. Sullivan barely managed to make a proper living from his small time stealing and he often had to supplement his illicit income with a straight job. Despite his failure as a criminal, he yearned to be an arch-criminal, like Willie Sutton the old bank robber. 

Sullivan wanted to be respected. 

Sullivan’s graduation to the big time came on the day he happened to witness a head-on collision between a Volvo and a city trash truck. The driver of the Volvo was killed instantly, and the city workers were unhurt but badly shaken. Sullivan was one of the first to come to the aid of the Volvo driver, but seeing that he was beyond it all, Sullivan's criminal instincts kicked in and he lifted the man’s brown leather satchel from the front passenger seat. 

Sullivan slipped away and sprinted the two city blocks to his apartment. Once there, alone in his kitchen, Sullivan broke the lock on the satchel and dropped the contents on the kitchen table. He cried gleefully at the sight of the assortment of diamonds spread across his table. Sullivan surmised that the accident victim had been a diamond salesman or courier. 

Later, after he calmed down, he placed his haul into a large paper shopping bag and walked three blocks to Jimmy First Nickel’s appliance store. Even though Martin had a reputation of being somewhat tight with his money – hence the nickname that indicated he retained the first nickel he ever earned – Sullivan knew that he was mobbed-up and he was the man to see. 

Martin was sitting behind the counter, talking to his much younger and pretty girlfriend Gloria when Sullivan walked in. He handed Martin the bag and told him how he came to be in possession of the diamonds. Martin, a short, heavy man in his 70s, breathed hard as he rose from his chair and came around the counter to lock the door and hang the closed sign. 

Martin ran his hand through the sparse gray strands of hair that were slicked back across his head as he looked into the bag. Sullivan stood there feeling awkward, smiling a goofy smile at the strikingly beautiful, dark-haired girl. She returned his smile with a cold look of boredom. 

"I’m impressed Harry," Martin said. "This is some piece of work here. Lemme make a call and see if I can unload it tonight." 

Martin mumbled into the phone for a few minutes and then announced that he had arranged a meeting with "the Man." Sullivan felt a surge of perverse pride of a professional thief, but he was also felt fearful of entering the world of big-time crime. 

"I don’t know, Jimmy," Sullivan whined. "I think it’s better wit you as the go-between." 

"Harry, this is the big time! There must be $100,000 worth of diamonds in this bag," Martin exclaimed. "The Man wants to meet you personally." 

 

A few hours, a few beers later, Martin and Sullivan drove in silence to a riverside warehouse. Once inside, Martin introduced Sullivan to a large man named Joey, who lumbered towards them, his hand placed on a gun in the waistband of his slacks. Sullivan knew instantly that this was no major league buyer. He knew that Martin had gotten a bone crusher to help steal his diamonds. 

In desperation, assuming Joey had planned to kill him, Sullivan scooped a handful of the diamonds from the bag and flung them towards Joey’s face. Sullivan then dove for some stacked crates half-heartily, fully expecting to be shot and killed. 

The blast sounded like heavy artillery in the open warehouse bay. Sullivan, surprised not to be dead, scampered up and saw that Joey was stretched out. He also saw two young dark guys, neat dressers, who looked like a hundred guys Sullivan knew from the bars and clubs of South Philly. 

One held a large semi-automatic handgun, a Beretta, Sullivan guessed. The other held a shotgun, which was now trained on Martin. Getting a better look, he realized that the one with the Beretta was Frankie Raven. 

Ignoring Sullivan on the ground, Ravelli smiled cruelly as he held his Beretta to Martin’s head. 

"We’re your life-long partners, Jimmy. Didja think ya could cut us out of this deal?" 

"No, no, please," Martin cried. "I was jes introducing a couple of guys, its small time." 

"That’s not what Gloria told me, ya fuckin’ weasel," Ravelli said as he fired into Martin’s head. 

Martin dropped down to the ground like a hangman’s weight bag. Ravelli then walked slowly with a pronounced South Philly strut to where Sullivan rested against a crate. 

"I know you. You’re a small timer from Donny’s bar," Ravelli said. 

"I’m no small timer," Sullivan scoffed. "This was my job." 

"When you’re right, you’re right," Ravelli said coolly. He lifted the Beretta and pulled the trigger. 

 

Kaplan brought us another refill of coffee just as we were finishing up the interview. Sullivan sat in his chair puffing on one of a long string of cigarettes that he had smoked while telling his story to me. 

"You know why I really want to testify against Ravelli?" Sullivan asked. 

"Well, for starters, I would think his shooting you," I said in response. "And I know Frankie, he will certainly finish the job if given the opportunity." 

"Yeah, yeah, sure. But I really want to get up in court and put that bastard away," Sullivan said. "I want him and everybody else to know that I’m no small timer." 

 

Frankie Raven received a life sentence. Quote the judge, Frankie Raven, nevermore. Sullivan was booked into the federal witness protection program and was moved out west somewhere. 

As he wished, Sullivan received his moment of glory, his proverbial 15 minutes of fame. But I had to laugh when I spied what my editor placed over my column about the trial. 

"Small Timer Testifies Against Mob Boss." 

© 2002 Paul Davis  

Note: You can read my other crime fiction short stories via the below link:

Paul Davis On Crime: My Crime Fiction Stories 

Drugs, Death And Guns: My Philadelphia Weekly 'Crime Beat' Column With Chief Inspector Flacco Of The Philadelphia Police's Narcotics Bureau

Philadelphia, like other cities around the country, has a serious drug problem. 

I recall interviewing Philadelphia Police Chief Inspector Christopher Flacco about the drug problem for my Philadelphia Weekly Crime Beat column back in 2021. 

You can read the column below or the below text:

"Most of your crime is associated with drugs. The stealing and the shootings, the robberies and the home invasions, are committed by people trying to get money for drugs," Philadelphia Police Officer Greg Barber told me some years ago.

Barber explained the effects of drugs as I accompanied him and his partner, Theresa Weaver, and other officers from the Philadelphia Police Narcotics Field Unit South officers as they raided drug houses in Southwest Philly.

I recently spoke to Chief Inspector Christopher Flacco, the commanding officer of the Philadelphia Police Narcotics Bureau, and I asked him if the COVID-19 lockdown has changed the drug scene in Philadelphia.

“It’s remained the same. People still need their narcotics to fill their habits, and they still are selling on the street corners,” Flacco said.

I asked if the introduction of fentanyl has made an impact. 

“The problem with fentanyl is that sometimes people are buying what they think is heroin and it has fentanyl mixed in with it. Their body doesn’t have any resilience to it, and that’s where you get the ODs from,” Flacco said. 

“But when addicts hear about somebody overdosing on a particular street-name drug, like ‘Green Stamp,’ they will flock to buy it because they are chasing that better high. They want the purer, better drug.” 

He said that heroin and fentanyl are addictive and dangerous, as one has to inject it, but fentanyl also comes in pill form, which a user can simply crush and snort. 

Flacco explained that the Narcotics Bureau consists of three parts. One is the Strike Force, which has uniformed officers who patrol either in radio patrol cars or on bikes. They are responsible for suppressing street-level sales. The second part is the Narcotics Field Unit, which has plainclothes officers who are responsible for enforcing narcotics trafficking in drug houses. The third part consists of officers who are assigned to federal and state task forces, such as the FBI, the DEA and the Attorney General’s Office. He said the Narcotics Bureau has an excellent relationship with its state and federal partners.

Dealing with narcotics is incredibly dangerous, Flacco noted, and he mentioned the narcotics operation that resulted in a shootout on 15^th Street in August of 2019 that attracted nationwide news coverage. Narcotic officers served a warrant on a man who then barricaded himself in the home and began firing on the officers. Eight police officers were shot in the standoff before the man surrendered. 

 

“Narcotics bring in a hell of a lot of money, and the dealers are trying to protect their turf with force and weapons. It is a very dangerous business,” Flacco said. 

 

“When we serve search warrants on houses where illicit drugs are being sold, it is not unusual to find numerous illegal weapons in that house, from rifles and shotguns to handguns. 

“Drug dealing and guns go hand-in-hand.”

Flacco said there are various drug organizations that control different corners in the city. He noted that one part of Kensington Avenue is controlled by one organization, and half a block away there is another drug organization. He said there are numerous drug organizations operating in the city, as well as numerous organizations that bring drugs into the city.

“The sale of narcotics is devastating to the community. Neighborhoods are under siege because they have drug dealers out on their street. Neighbors can’t walk on the street and the family can’t sit on the front step,” Flacco said. 

“Drugs are also detrimental to businesses because people don’t want to come into the neighborhoods anymore. And people are afraid of the violence that comes with narcotics. It is a damn disgrace.” 

“Narcotics bring in a hell of a lot of money, and the dealers are trying to protect their turf with force and weapons. It is a very dangerous business.”

Flacco said one can buy drugs anywhere in the city, but the East Division is the genesis. He said the vast majority of the drugs sold in Philadelphia enter and pass through the city through the East Division. The East Division is also the nexus for drugs leaving the city to be sold in outside communities. He added that the drugs in the East Division act as a magnet for homeless addicts who erect makeshift enclosures and use the street as a toilet.

“There is an addicted homeless population of about 400 to 600 in the East Division, which is the 24^th and 25^th Districts. That’s a problem the city is working very hard on rectifying.” 

Flacco said the Narcotics Bureau seized more than 500 illegal guns and $72 million in street value in illegal narcotics in 2020. They also seized more than $14 million in U.S. currency, despite the COVID-19 epidemic.

“There is too much profit in the drug game for them to care about a world pandemic,” Flacco said. 

“Dealing narcotics is a felony, and it needs to be treated with stiff prison sentences and forfeitures.” 

My Crime Fiction: Officer Mack

 The below short story originally appeared in American Crime Magazine. 

Officer Mack

By Paul Davis

Back when I was a teenager in South Philly in the late 1960s, long before I became a newspaper crime reporter and columnist, some of the boys on our corner at 13^th and Oregon Avenue hated cops. 

South Philadelphia was and is the hub of the Philadelphia-South Jersey Cosa Nostra organized crime family, and these teenagers were the sons and nephews of the mob guys. 

I recall that “Crazy Joe” Villotti, the nephew of a Cosa Nostra capo, or captain, refused to go with us and see the film Goldfinger. 

Villotti asked me, “Isn’t James Bond a cop?”   

“No,” I replied. “He’s a British secret agent, a cool spy of sorts.” 

“Yeah, he’s a fucking government guy, so I don’t want to watch the fuck.” 

But for most of the boys on the corner, like me, we saw that there were two types of cops. There were “cool” cops and “prick” cops. 

The cool cops were generally tough guys who could afford to be lenient and understanding at times, while the prick cops were weaker men who we believed made up for their feelings of inferiority by acting stern and officious at all times. 

Police Officer Thomas T. Mack was a prick cop. 

Mack, a short and muscular 30-year-old, began dating Marie Saccone, the attractive elder sister of Chick and Stevie Saccone, two of my friends on the corner. 

Their father was a mob associate and a big-time bookmaker and loan shark. But despite their father being an illegal gambler, Chick and Stevie didn’t hate cops the way Villotti and some others did. 

Mack asked to be transferred to the 3^rd Police District to be closer to Marie. He patrolled Oregon Avenue, a four-lane wide street and major thoroughfare in the predominantly Italian American neighborhood in South Philadelphia. 

He often stopped at JP’s Luncheonette at 13^th and Oregon Avenue for cigarettes and coffee. He would then come out and gab with Stevie, whom he treated like a younger brother. 

Chick would walk away, as he hated Mack. He hated Mack, not because he was a cop, but rather because he thought Mack was a phony and an asshole. 

Mack’s friendliness with Stevie and the other teenagers on the corner ended the day Marie dumped him. 

That very night he arrested Stevie and two other teenagers for drinking beer on the corner. And from that night on, Mack declared war on us. He harassed us nearly every night. We all hated Mack.

On a Mischief Night before Halloween, Mack pulled up on the corner and shouted through his open passenger window for us to get off the corner. 

“Yes, Sir,” we replied in unison. And in unison, a half dozen of us tossed a half dozen eggs at him through his passenger window. We then took off running but not before I saw the furious look on his face and his cap knocked sideways with egg yolk dripping down his face from the cap’s brim. 

I was laughing madly as I ran away from the corner. 

Mack went crazy and zoomed around the streets hunting us. I ran home after throwing my egg at him. My mother asked why I was home so early, and I told her I was tried and wanted to go to bed. 

Officer Frank Grant was a cool cop. We never would have thrown eggs at him. 

Grant stopped into JP’s nearly every night for a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Grant, a tall, gangly man in his late 20s, told funny stories to the owners of JPs and us. 

I recall him telling a story about a drug raid on an abandoned house in the 3^rd District. 

The district captain saw white powder that lay on a sheet of brown paper on the floor in the corner. He wet his index finger and dipped his finger in the powder and tasted it on the tip of his tongue. 

“Is this heroin,” he asked.

He again dipped his finger in the powder and tasted it.

“Is this heroin,” he again asked.     

One of the officers told the commanding officer, “Captain, I think it’s rat poison.”

The captain froze for a moment and then told the officer to drive him to the hospital.

Like many cops I’ve known over the years, Grant was a fine storyteller. When years later I read and enjoyed Joseph Wambaugh, the LAPD detective sergeant who became the best-selling author of The New Centurions, The Choir Boys, and other classic cop novels and nonfiction books about cops, I often thought of Grant. 

Another thing that endeared us to Grant was that he hated Officer Mack and often mocked him. 

One night as I sat alone with Grant at JP’s counter, I told the officer that although my Uncle Bill was a police captain, and my father, a WWII Navy chief and Underwater Demolition Team (UDT) frogman, was a strict law & order man, I hated Officer Mack. 

Grant laughed and said most of the 3^rd District cops also hated Mack.       

Although we had some tough guys on 13th and Oregon, like my older brother Eddie, Joe Villotti and the Saccone brothers, we were more of a party corner, as we hosted various crews of pretty girls that hung out with us 

But the street gang blocks away at the corner of Dalton Street and Oregon Avenue, called the “D&O,” was a crazy crew of violent, drug dealing teenage hoodlums. 

The D&O street gang hated Officer Mack even more than we did. Like us, Mack rousted the D&O teenagers for no reason other than hating them. True, they were hoodlums, but Mack often went overboard, roughing them up after handcuffing them. He then threw them out of his patrol car without even bothering to arrest them.

I suspect that because he was rejected by a beautiful Italian woman, Mack hated Italians. He called the D&O boys and the 13^th & Oregon Avenue teenagers “dagos” and “wops.”

But the D&O teenagers fought back.

I heard Mack went batshit crazy when he drove down Oregon Avenue and saw that the D&O boys had spray painted on the side of a building in very large letters, “OFFICER MACK BLOWS.”

The painted message was the talk of the 3^rd District cops. Mack was widely mocked by his fellow officers.  

One night Officer Mack pulled up to 13^th & Oregon, jumped out of his car, leaving the driver’s car door open and the patrol car running. He dashed into JP’s and shouted to the dozen or so guys and girls on the corner, “Be off this fucking corner by the time I come out, or I’ll lock up all you up.”

I saw his patrol car door open and the car running, so I seized the day and jumped into the driver’s seat and took off. I drove across Oregon Avenue and jumped the curb of Marconi’s Park. 

I looked for, but could not find, the siren. As I drove through the park wildly, I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Mack running and shouting like a crazy man across Oregon Avenue, his service revolver held up into the air.  

I put on the brakes halfway into the park and jumped out running. I ran right into the beefy arms of a Fairmount Park Police Officer, who twisted me around and handcuffed me. He held me for Mack. 

Mack came up huffing and placed his service revolver back in the holster. He took out his “sap,” a short steel rod covered in black leather, and he slapped the sap across my knees. 

The pain was awful, but the worst thing was that I could not clutch my aching knees, as my hands were handcuffed behind my back. I leaned down as the Park cop held me.  

The Park cop asked Mack if he wanted to arrest me, and Mack said no. 

“Do me a favor and drive the kid down to the river and let the punk walk back home.”  

I had to walk from the river on Delaware Avenue and Front Street back up to 13^th and Oregon with swollen and throbbing knees. 

But it was worth it, as I was the talk of the corner that night and Thomas Junior High School the next day. Everyone thought I was a cool guy. The wild hoodlums from the D&O slapped me on the back and called me a “crazy motherfucker,” which was a high compliment from them.

Grant came to JP's the following night and told me that I was lucky that Mack didn’t arrest me or shoot me. He said that Mack didn't probably hoping no other cops would hear that a teenager stole his car.

But the Park cop hated Mack and he called a friend at the 3^rd District and told him the story. The cop in turn told all of his fellow 3^rd District officers. Mack was ridiculed once again.         

Some months later, Officer Grant came into JP's and told me that Mack was fired for beating the son of a South Philly councilman. According to Grant, Mack cuffed the Italian American politician’s teenage son and beat him as he held him against the side of the patrol car. 

The son was what we called a “square” kid, and what the adults called a “nice Italian boy.” He was a good student who didn’t drink beer or smoke pot on the corner with us. 

We didn’t know why Mack singled him out. Mack handcuffed him and threw him against the side of the patrol car. He slapped the teenager in the face repeatedly and delivered a severe punch to the teenager’s stomach. 

The noise and flashing lights on the patrol car drew the attention of several neighbors who called 911 and reported the brutal treatment of the teenager. 

The councilman called the captain, who then ordered an investigation. Mack was subsequently fired. He also faced assault charges from the District Attorney’s office.

“Good riddance,” Grant said.

I laughed and said, “So even in South Philly, there’s some justice. 

© 2024 By Paul Davis  

Note: You can also read another crime fiction short story, The Big Move, via the below link:

Paul Davis On Crime: My Crime Fiction: 'The Big Move'

Former Defense Contractor Pleads Guilty To Attempted Espionage

The U.S. Attorney’s Office, Eastern District of Pennsylvania, released the below information:

PHILADELPHIA – United States Attorney Jacqueline C. Romero announced that John Murray Rowe, Jr., 65, of Lead, South Dakota, pleaded guilty in federal court today before U.S. District Judge John Gallagher to one count of attempted delivery of national defense information to a foreign government, and three counts of willful communication of national defense information.

According to court documents, Rowe, who is originally from Massachusetts, was employed for nearly 40 years as a test engineer for multiple Cleared Defense Contractors. In connection with his employment, Rowe held various national security clearances from SECRET to TOP SECRET//SCI (Sensitive Compartmented Information) and worked on matters relating to U.S. Air Force electronic warfare technology, among other things. After committing a number of security violations and revealing a devout interest in Russian affairs, Rowe was identified as a potential insider threat and terminated from employment.

In March of 2020, he met with an undercover FBI agent who was posing as an agent of the Russian government. During this meeting, Rowe disclosed national defense information classified as SECRET that concerned specific operating details of the electronic countermeasure systems used by U.S. military fighter jets, among other things. Over the course of the next eight months, Rowe exchanged over 300 emails with the purported Russian agent, confirming his willingness to work for the Russian government and discussing his knowledge of classified information relating to U.S. national security. In one email, Rowe explained, “If I can’t get a job here then I’ll go work for the other team.” In another email, Rowe disclosed classified national defense information concerning the U.S. Air Force. In September 2020, Rowe had a second in-person meeting with the undercover FBI agent. During this meeting, Rowe again disclosed classified national defense information.

Rowe was arrested on December 15, 2021, and was ordered detained pending trial. During his pretrial detention at the Philadelphia Federal Detention Center, Rowe made at least three unauthorized disclosures of the same classified national defense information concerning the U.S. Air Force to individuals not authorized to receive it – namely, his brother, son and realtor, which were captured on recorded prison calls.

“It’s abhorrent that Rowe would try to betray his own country for the benefit of a foreign adversary,” said U.S. Attorney Romero. “Safeguarding the U.S. government’s sensitive defense information is critical to ensuring our national security, and anyone seeking to compromise that should expect to be brought to justice by my office and our law enforcement partners.”

“After nearly 40 years working in the defense industry and being entrusted with our country's military secrets, today, John Murray Rowe Jr. admitted to unlawfully disclosing classified national defense information,” said Wayne A. Jacobs, Special Agent in Charge of FBI Philadelphia. “Furthermore, his intent to provide this information to a foreign adversary potentially endangered our national security. The FBI and our law enforcement partners remain committed to bringing to justice those who choose to threaten our nation’s security by disseminating classified information.” 

Sentencing is set for August 22, 2024. The defendant faces a maximum possible sentence of life imprisonment.

The case was investigated by the FBI’s Philadelphia Field Office and is being prosecuted by Assistant United States Attorney Sarah Wolfe and DOJ Trial Attorney Scott Claffee of the National Security Division’s Counterintelligence and Export Section.

Additional assistance was provided by the Lead (SD) Police Department, the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of South Dakota, the U.S. Air Force Office of Special Investigations, and the FBI’s Minneapolis Field Office and Rapid City (SD) Resident Agency.

My Washington Times 'On Crime' Column On Wild West Bank Robbers, A Notorious Traitor, And A Movie Star & Her Gangster Lover

The Washington Times ran my On Crime column on three historical true crime books. 

You can read the column via the below link or the below text:

BOOK REVIEWS: 'The Last Outlaws,' 'God Save Benedict Arnold' and 'A Murder in Hollywood' - Washington Times

 

I’ve recently read and enjoyed three interesting historical true crime books. They cover Wild West bank robbers, a notorious traitor, a movie star and her gangster boyfriend.

 

Tom Clavin has written excellent books about Texas Rangers, Wild Bill Hickok, Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson, all of which I’ve covered here. His latest book, “The Last Outlaws: The Desperate Final Days of the Dalton Gang,” is about three of the four Dalton brothers and their gang, who began stealing horses and graduated to robbing banks and trains.

 

The Dalton Gang is most famous for the simultaneous 1892 robberies of two banks in broad daylight in Coffeyville, Kansas. The gang, consisting of “Grat,” Bob and Emmett Dalton, Bill Power and Dick Broadwell, was recognized by the townspeople, who armed themselves and began a shootout with the notorious outlaws as they left the banks. The epic gunfight left eight men dead, including four of the five members of the Dalton Gang.

 

Mr. Clavin, a fine Wild West historian, writes of the connection and rivalry between the infamous James Gang and the Dalton Gang and the relentless pursuit of the Dalton Gang by Deputy U.S. Marshal Bill Tilghman and other lawmen.

 

There is perhaps no villain more despicable in American history than Benedict Arnold, who betrayed Gen. George Washington and went over to the British in the Revolutionary War. As Jack Kelly notes in his outstanding book about the traitor, “God Save Benedict Arnold: The True Story of America’s Most Hated Man,” Arnold was a brilliant soldier in Washington’s Colonial Army, leading victories at Fort Ticonderoga, Quebec and Saratoga.

 

Mr. Kelly describes the battles well and depicts Arnold as a fearless military officer and leader. He covers the life story of Arnold (1741-1801), describing his life as the son of a merchant trader and background as a merchant, trader and commercial sea captain prior to joining the Continental Army.

One can almost sympathize with Arnold when reading about how poorly the Continental Congress treated the bold and severely wounded soldier and how others took credit for his military successes. Mr. Kelly tells us that Arnold had a special relationship with George Washington, who was impressed with Arnold as a soldier. The general and future president was deeply hurt when Arnold defected to the British.

 

Although Mr. Kelly does not excuse Arnold’s treason, he offers a fair account of his paradoxical character.

 

Actress Lana Turner, the young girl discovered at a drugstore counter who went on to become a bombshell movie starlet, is the star in Casey Sherman’s “A Murder in Hollywood: The Untold Story of Tinseltown’s Most Shocking Crime.”

 

The book covers Turner’s tragic upbringing, and her later rise in Hollywood. Mr. Sherman covers her difficulties with movie moguls and her many affairs with leading actors and others associated with the movie business. The book emphasizes her poor taste in men, including her long, contentious affair with Johnny Stompanato, a con artist, gigolo, blackmailer and gangster associate of Mickey Cohen, the leading mob boss in Los Angeles.

 

Along with Turner’s life, the book also covers the lives of Stompanato and his fellow gangster Cohen. Cohen and Stompanato first thought to blackmail Turner until Stompanato fell hard for her. The book describes the violent rise and fall of Mickey Cohen, the former boxer and strong-arm hoodlum who ruled Hollywood until he was sentenced to prison for tax evasion.

 

Readers of Hollywood fan magazines saw Lana Turner shine as a movie star with a happy home life with her beautiful young daughter. Still, the magazines did not reveal her explosive romantic life with Stompanato. Stompanato was possessive of Turner, and he was extremely jealous and had a violent temper.

 

Stompanato went to England, where Lana Turner was filming “Another Time, Another Time,” and confronted the actress and her young leading man, Sean Connery. When Stompanato pulled a gun on Connery, the future James Bond knocked the gun away and punched the gangster, dropping him to the floor.

 

As the book recounts, Turner tried to break away from Stompanato, but he always managed to pull her back in. Stompanato was later stabbed to death by Turner’s 14-year-old daughter as the gangster was beating the actress.

 

• Paul Davis’ On Crime column covers true crime, crime fiction and thrillers.

 

The Last Outlaws: The Desperate Final Days of the Dalton Gang
Tom Clavin
St. Martin’s Press, 288 pages, $30.00

God Save Benedict Arnold: The True Story of America’s Most Hated Man
Jack Kelly
St. Martins, 320 pages, $29.00

A Murder in Hollywood: The Untold Story of Tinseltown’s Most Shocking Crime
Casey Sherman
Sourcebooks, 304 pages, $27.99

Radical Student Protestors From The 1960s To Today

Broad & Liberty ran my piece on radical student protestors today. 

You can read the piece via the below link or the below text:

Paul Davis: Radical student protestors from the 1960s to today (broadandliberty.com)

I’ve been following the campus unrest and street protests here in Philadelphia and across the nation, as pro-Hamas and anti-Israel protestors block traffic, occupy campus administration buildings and grounds, and fly Hamas flags and anti-Jew banners. 

As usual, the clever and satiric Babylon Bee has the best take on the events. The Bee reported that student protestors reeled back in horror as the police charged them with sticks – deodorant sticks. 

Here in Philadelphia, students at Temple University left their classes and marched with other protest groups all across the city, meeting up at City Hall on April 25th. A hundred or more pro-Hamas protestors marched through Center City, and they then marched to West Philly to Drexel University and on to the University of Penn’s campus where they finally set up an illegal encampment.

The protestors said the encampment was a symbol of pro-Hamas solidarity. The protestors demanded that the University of Penn disclose fully its investments as well as divest totally from Israeli companies.

Jewish students in Philadelphia and across the country are rightfully frightened, as some of the pro-Hamas protestors have threatened them physically. Many people see the pro-Hamas stance as a new burgeoning antisemitism in the United States.

I’m old enough to remember the anti-Vietnam War protests in the 1960s, when college campuses and city streets were filled with student protestors waving Viet Cong flags and burning American flags. There were illegal takeovers of campus administration buildings, vandalism, and clashes with police.

Films of the campus riots alternated with films from the fighting in South Vietnam on local and national TV news programs, and the newspapers carried these stories side by side in print.

In 1968, when I was a South Philadelphia High School (Southern) student, I skipped school on several occasions and took the subway from Snyder Avenue and rode uptown to Temple University. I stood on the sidelines behind the cops and watched the student radicals protest the Vietnam War.

My late older brother was then serving in the U.S. Army in Chu Lai in South Vietnam. According to his letters, the Viet Cong were launching rocket and mortar fire on Chu Lai daily, so seeing the student radicals waving Viet Cong flags angered me.      

The worst anti-war riots took place in Chicago during the Democratic National Convention in 1968. Nearly the whole country watched the TV nightly news in horror and disgust as the police and student protestors clashed.   

President Nixon later effectively ended the anti-Vietnam War movement simply by abolishing the draft. The big anti-war protests ended immediately, leaving one to conclude that many of the anti-war protestors were not so much against the war in Vietnam as they were against personally being involved in the war.

I attended Penn State University at State College, Pennsylvania in the summer of 1972 after I was separated from the U.S. Navy, having served on an aircraft carrier off the coast of North Vietnam in 1970-1971. Although the war was still going on in 1972, there were few anti-war protests worth noting. 

Years later, in 2000, I covered the Center City riots as a reporter during the Republican National Convention that selected George W. Bush to be the Republican presidential candidate.

On assignment for Counterterrorism magazine, I covered the street protests and the clashes between the protestors and the police. I recall standing five feet from several MOVE members who sat in the street and blocked traffic around five o’clock in the evening when hot and irate workers simply wanted to go home.

Even at the distance of five feet, I was repulsed by the strong barnyard smell coming from the MOVE people. I felt sorry for the poor cops who had to lift the MOVE people and carry them to a parked bus where they housed the arrested protestors. Above and beyond their call of duty, to be sure. 

The protestors included the Black Bloc, an anarchist group carrying black flags and dressed all in black, with black bandannas covering their faces. There was also the Clown Bloc anarchist group, along with other professional agitator groups. Local college students also joined the street protests. 

The protests became violent with protesters overturning trash dumpsters, vandalizing parked cars and buildings, and attacking the cops, including assaulting then-Police Commissioner John Timoney. Timoney was on a bike with another bike cop when they attempted to stop a small mob of protestors from trying to overturn a police patrol car. I witnessed a fight that ensued with Timoney and the other cop taking several blows, but they quickly dispersed the group and handcuffed and arrested three or four protestors.

Timoney had previously made the decision to not outfit the police in full riot gear, stating the riot gear was provocative. Instead, he had the police wear standard bike helmets and carry their Raleigh Mountain bikes sideways at chest level to barricade, ram, prod and push back protestors.

So, to me and people of my age, today’s radical students (and older non-student ringers) who support a violent and murderous terrorist group like Hamas is nothing new, as the students in the 1960s supported the Viet Cong, another violent, murderous terrorist group. And the student rioters in Philadelphia in 2000 supported violent anarchist groups.   

It seems to me that the student protestors then and now are pleased to have a cause in which they could feel important, gather in like-minded groups, and avoid the drudgery of attending class, studying, and writing papers. Marching, shouting slogans, and waving enemy flags and hate banners is a grand social activity for these misfits.

And getting arrested is a badge of honor for them, although they would just cry if they were truly treated as harshly as hardened criminals were. They would faint if they were actually locked up with gangbangers, murderers and other career criminals.

With apologies to Jonathan Swift, I have a modest proposal regarding the pro-Hamas protestors causing havoc on university campuses in Philadelphia, New York, and the rest of the country.

I propose that the pro-Hamas, anti-Israel and anti-Jew student protestors be arrested and forced to watch Hamas’s own videos of the horrific and brutal murders, rapes and kidnappings of Israeli defenseless men, women, children, and the elderly on October 7th. 

Then the students should be made to write a paper on why they support Hamas’s acts of brutality. 

But that would be unconstitutional, as being forced to watch the horrific deeds of Hamas, the terrorist group they claim to support, would be cruel and unusual punishment. 

Paul Davis, a Philadelphia writer and frequent contributor to Broad + Liberty, also contributes to Counterterrorism magazine and writes the “On Crime” column for the Washington Times. He can be reached at pauldavisoncrime.com.

Elder Fraud Reports To FBI’s Internet Crime Complaint Center Rose By 14% In 2023

The FBI released a report on elder fraud scams.

Elder fraud complaints to the FBI's Internet Crime Complaint Center for IC3 increased by 14% in 2023, and associated losses increased by about 11%, according to IC3’s 2023 Elder Fraud Report, released April 30.  

This annual publication provides statistics about incidents of elder fraud—or fraud that explicitly targets older Americans’ money or cryptocurrency—that are reported to IC3. The report aims to raise the public’s awareness of this issue and to prevent future and repeat incidents. 

“Combatting the financial exploitation of those over 60 years of age continues to be a priority of the FBI,” wrote FBI Assistant Director Michael D. Nordwall, who leads the Bureau’s Criminal Investigative Division, in the report. “Along with our partners, we continually work to aid victims and to identify and investigate the individuals and criminal organizations that perpetrate these schemes and target the elderly.” 

You can read the rest of the story via the below link:

Elder Fraud, in Focus — FBI