Beyond Remorse

Contents

C H A P T E R 1

C HAPTER 2

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 4

C H A P T E R 5

C H A P T E R 6

C HAPTER 7

C HAPTER 8

C H A P T E R 9

C H A P T E R 10

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 12

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 14

C H A P T E R 15

C H A P T E R 16

C H A P T E R 17

C H A P T E R 18

C H A P T E R 19

C HAPTER 20

C H A P T E R 21

C H A P T E R 22

C H A P T E R 23

C H A P T E R 24

C H A P T E R 25

C H A P T E R 26

C H A P T E R 27

C H A P T E R 28

C H A P T E R 29

C HAPTER 30

C HAPTER 31

C H A P T E R 32

C H A P T E R 33

C H A P T E R 34

C H A P T E R 35

C H A P T E R 36

C H A P T E R 37

C H A P T E R 38

C H A P T E R 39

C HAPTER 40

C H A P T E R 41

C H A P T E R 42

C H A P T E R 43

C H A P T E R 44

C H A P T E R 45

C H A P T E R 46

C H A P T E R 47

C H A P T E R 48

C H A P T E R 49

C H A P T E R 50

C H A P T E R 51

C H A P T E R 52

C H A P T E R 53

C H A P T E R 54

C H A P T E R 55

C H A P T E R 56

C H A P T E R 57

C H A P T E R 58

C H A P T E R 59

Bibliography

This book is dedicated to the boys—

Robert

David

Patrick

Daniel

Quote—Chief Lear Reed Kansas City Police Department—1941

"Nightly, a steady flow of humanity cruised the

bars, taxie dance joints, strip joints, and gambling

dens; which lined either side of Twelfth

Street. Every form of sin was on public display.

Crime does not happen. It is plotted, planned, a

nd devised. It is a business."

C H A P T E R 1  

The month of March in the Midwest can be compared to the political climate of Kansas City—completely unpredictable. It can go from a sub-zero temperature to a wonderfully warm summer day within twenty-four hours. Those were the thoughts of Detective Lieutenant James R. O’Malley of the Kansas City Missouri Police Department as he sat with his partner, Detective Sergeant John Walker, in the parked cold vehicle at Nineteenth Street and Grand Avenue on surveillance. They had been sitting now for the last three hours watching the door of a run-down hotel called the Chelsea Arms. They were hoping to spot a murder suspect that they had a warrant for who was known to frequent this hotel.

The wind picked up, blowing cold hard-hitting ice pellets against the unmarked police vehicle. Detective Sergeant Walker turned on the engine and adjusted the heater. Getting cold, Jimmy; do you think our man will show?

We can only hope, John, replied O’Malley.

Lieutenant O’Malley, at forty-five years of age, had sat on so many surveillances, waiting for suspects to show themselves, that he had lost count; maybe a thousand or two in the last twenty years. In those twenty years, he had seen a corrupt police department develop wherein an investigation revealed thirty percent of his fellow officers were convicted felons and ex-convicts. The city was still being run by remnants of the Pendergast Political Machine, and the North-End gangsters still ruled their empires. Through it all, he had maintained his integrity. He could hold his head high and not look over his shoulder to see who was after him or who he owed. Finally, after the department being mired in a state of corruption called Home Rule, the State of Missouri had enough. The citizens voted out Home Rule and voted in state control of the Kansas City Missouri Police Department. The new Chief of Police was cleaning up the department, but he had a long way to go.

Thinking on the reasons for such corruption within the police department and the city, Lieutenant O’Malley thought it due to the following: the depression, the Eighteenth Amendment to the Federal Constitution, and the Volstead Act. These three things did more to make crime a business than any other curse this country ever suffered. It brought into existence the worst criminal gangs ever known. It caused more corruption than anything else did. It resulted in more killings than at any other time. Nothing has ever resulted in as much graft in law enforcement. No other single thing ever poured as much cash into the coffers of the gangsters and politicians.

Sergeant Walker spotted the movement first, as the south side door of the hotel opened and a short, white male peeked out into the darkness. He was wearing a long black overcoat, dark trousers, and a black apple cap pulled down over his face, making positive recognition of the wearer impossible at any distance over ten feet. With quick movements and no hesitation, he headed for a 1938 Packard parked at the curb. The man entered the driver’s side and started the vehicle motor. He then exited the car and started cleaning off the front windshield. Upon completion, he re-entered the vehicle on the driver’s side.

Walker looked at his partner, Lieutenant O’Malley. Both now recognized this guy. He wasn’t the suspect they were looking for on the warrant, but another gangster from the north-end of the city by the name of Vincent Pastrio. This criminal was wanted for the ambush shooting of a police detective two nights ago as the detective moved in to arrest him for peddling narcotics. Pastrio waited in a darkened alley until the detective passed by him; he then shot the officer twice in the back with his pearl handled .32 caliber revolver, known by most police officers as a Saturday Night Special. Pastrio then made good his escape. Unfortunately for Pastrio, the detective lived long enough to identify his assailant.

Both O’Malley and Walker exited their vehicle with guns drawn, running toward the gangster’s vehicle. Pastrio observed the men exit their vehicle and knew at once they were cops. He gunned his vehicle forward but slid into the curb, stalling his movement. He then desperately tried to reverse the vehicle, but was held by the snow and ice with his tires spinning.

Pastrio pulled his revolver and fired once at the closest detective, striking Walker in the right knee, putting him on the ground screaming with pain. Pastrio, momentarily forgetting about the second officer rushing toward him, stepped out of the vehicle and took deadly aim at the officer on the ground, yelling some unintelligible curse at the downed cop. The instant Pastrio pulled on his revolver’s trigger, his head exploded as he was hit by the .38 caliber bullet fired by Lieutenant O’Malley. The limp body of Pastrio fell to the cold street, jerking now with spasmodic convulsions. His revolver struck the ground and spun on the ice towards the feet of Lieutenant O’Malley. The lieutenant retrieved the weapon and placed it in his pocket. O’Malley looked around for someone on the street to call an ambulance. However, there was nothing but an empty street. He then picked up his partner and walked to the hotel lobby, where he startled an elderly gentleman who was half asleep at the registration desk. O’Malley seated his partner in one of the chairs and demanded, Call an ambulance now! A police officer has been shot. Then telephone the Police Department and tell them that Lieutenant O’Malley has been involved in a shooting.

Lieutenant O’Malley then returned to his partner’s side and started administering first aid. He could now hear the whining sirens in the cold March air.

C HAPTER 2  

The hospital, a large beautiful structure set on the corner of Twenty-eighth and Main Street, was run by the Franciscan Nuns. They were considered to be some of the best caregivers in the city. They had their hands full with Detective Sergeant John Walker, a red-headed Irishman of fifty-two, who had made the Vatican extremely happy, as he and his wife had a total of twelve offspring.

All twelve were visiting his room as he laid in an uncomfortable hospital bed with his leg in traction. The surgery on his knee looked satisfactory and he should make a good recovery, although it would be a long one.

This chaotic looking situation greeted James O’Malley as he entered Sergeant Walker’s room. John, how does it feel to be able to stay in bed and take a piss at the same time?

Kiss my ass, O’Malley. You’re just lucky you were slower getting out of the car than I was or your ass would be in this bed, not mine! Both Walker and O’Malley broke out laughing. Then O’Malley pulled out a fifth of Tennessee whiskey from under his overcoat and handed it to his partner. As Walker was accepting the liquor, his wife Mary grabbed it, stating, Not until you have healed and are back home.

Mary Walker, a short woman of five foot with some middle-age weight, had a light complexion and the softest blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. She reached up and gave O’Malley a hug and kiss, stating, Jim, it’s going to be several months before John goes back to work. How are you ever going to get along without him?

I’m going to be lost, Mary; John has been the only partner I’ve had for several years.

One of the nurses, a large boned woman with an Irish accent, entered the room and announced visiting hours were over for the night and all needed to vacate the room so Mr. Walker could rest. Mary gathered up all the children, conversed with her husband, then said goodbye to O’Malley and left the room, leaving only O’Malley and Walker in the room. O’Malley pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He stretched out his six foot two inch frame and crossed his legs at the ankle, put his hands behind his neck and stated to his partner, Pretty damn careless of you to run straight at that crazy son of a bitch.

I didn’t think of it as being careless until he shot me; but hell, I’ve been needing a vacation. I can work the stiffness out in my back yard. What kind of shit came down from the Captain over this?

He was really pissed off over me shooting one of the North-End’s ‘bagmen’; like they won’t get another ten minutes after they found out he was dead. The captain showed no concern over you getting shot; maybe he was just pissed over getting out of bed in the wee early morning.

Jim, that brings me around to you, pal. You need to be careful. You have not only made numerous enemies in the underworld but within the police political machine. They will both be after you, especially with no one watching your back.

A nun entered the room and gave Detective Walker a shot in the arm and then looked sternly towards O’Malley, leaving no doubt it was time for him to leave. O’Malley watched Walker slowly close his eyes and enter a drug induced sleep. O’Malley picked up his hat and coat and left the room.

As Lieutenant O’Malley walked out of his partner’s room towards the elevators, he started reminiscing again about the political climate in Kansas City during the last several years, and the image it had left upon the police department. The department seemed unable to live down that reputation.

Tom Pendergast had built the political machine that represented evil, and its destructive influence had spread to the highest of Missouri’s government. Under the Pendergast machine, Kansas City was pushed into a vortex of wide-open prostitution, gambling, illegal drugs, and after-hour joints with all the trappings of vice. The machine used payoffs, kickbacks, and violence to build its power base. Gambling filled its coffers, and blackmail of the citizens and politicians kept them in line. Illegal gamblers and their gambling operations paid protection money to keep operating. Under the table tributes were made to the machine by all businesses in Kansas City, or they did not operate.

Election days had been marred by shootings and ballot boxes stuffed with ghost votes. In the election of 1936, sixty thousand illegal votes were known to have been cast for members friendly to the machine.

Certainly, it is always pointed out that the machine does wonderful things for the citizens.

It provided thousands of jobs during the Great Depression by manipulating politicians to build public projects such as the City Hall building. But it was the machine that was the main benefactor because of all the kickbacks from favored contractors and business connections: