L.A. Noir: The Struggle for the Soul of America's Most Seductive City

Fortunately, Daryl Gates was a fast learner, for he soon discovered that there were many evenings when Bill Parker was unable to drive himself home. Parker was a drinker—a heavy one. During the day, he was brilliant and disciplined—“a real iron ass,” says Gates. Liquor never passed his lips. But nighttime was different. Out having dinner, after giving his speech, Parker sometimes loosened up and started drinking—and kept drinking. According to Gates, he drank “until his words slurred and stairs became a hazard.” Disciplinarian by day, drunkard by night—it was a difficult balancing act. It was also a dangerous one.

In the fall of 1950, the day before Chief Parker was due to testify before the Kefauver Committee in Los Angeles, Captain Hamilton got a tip that the underworld was planning to take out the chief. The rub-out was supposed to happen that very night. That evening, Chief Parker was scheduled to address the Breakfast Club, a prominent business and social group, at its clubhouse in Atwater Village. Coming from downtown, the chief would typically pass through Griffith Park. The hit was supposed to occur on one of its secluded roads.

Parker reacted to the news of the planned hit calmly. Instead of canceling his appearance, he simply instructed Gates to choose a different route. He didn’t even leave his wife at home. Instead, Helen sat in the backseat, holding a loaded shotgun. Gates and Parker arrived safely, but even though Hamilton had arranged for extra security at the event, Gates remained antsy. After arriving, scanning the crowd, and seeing no unfamiliar faces, Gates went outside and waited in the car. A few hours later, as things were winding down, Helen Parker came out to the car—without her husband. The minutes passed. Finally, a concerned Gates got out of the car and went to look for the chief. There was no sign of him in the hall. Worry turned to panic. Gates ran outside to alert the extra officers Hamilton had positioned outside the venue. The frantic officers searched the hall—no Parker. Finally, they found him, in a hidden barroom nursing a bourbon.

      AS THE KEFAUVER HEARINGS PROGRESSED, the Treasury Department’s Bureau of Internal Revenue found itself increasingly embarrassed. Warren Olney’s Special Crime Study Commission had documented a striking indifference on the part of the bureau’s San Francisco office to the activities of well-known crime figures. Meanwhile, the Kefauver Committee’s chief investigator (himself a veteran of Olney’s working group) was closing in on Mickey Cohen.

The most incriminating information came from the committee’s hearings in Miami, where senators had heard testimony from a West Palm Beach bookmaker/real estate mogul named John O’Rourke. Like other big bookmakers, O’Rourke routinely “laid off” particularly big bets on other bookmakers around the country. He was also a big gambler in his own right. Mickey was a favorite partner. When quizzed about how much business he had done with Cohen, O’Rourke came up with an eye-popping $3 million figure. O’Rourke also told the astonished committee members that he’d lost roughly $80,000 to Cohen, without ever meeting Mickey in person.

When Cohen himself appeared before the committee, he was asked about this $3 million sum. Mickey insisted that the figure was misleading: $3 million was the total sum wagered, not his profit. But that still left $80,000 undeclared gambling profits. Embarrassed by such revelations, in early 1951, the Bureau of Internal Revenue commenced a vigorous investigation into Cohen’s finances. A federal grand jury was soon summoning Cohen associates for closed-door hearings.

From the start, Mickey sensed trouble.

Cohen had long maintained that he was a gambler, not a gangster. Now, he told his reporter-acquaintances that he was done with even that. “Every-thing is going to be legitimate…. I’m tired…. I want to keep things peaceful,” Mickey told the press. Brother Harry reemerged too, informing the press that he’d purchased a drugstore in Tucson and that Mickey was going to manage it. Wife LaVonne was reportedly supportive; the Arizona state pharmacy board was not. There were other signs of divestment too. The Los Angeles newspapers were buzzing with rumors that Mickey was in negotiations to sell his armored Cadillac, first to President Juan Peron of Argentina, then to Mexican President Miguel Aleman Valdes. Mickey was also sighted dining at a Sunset Strip nightclub with the Reverend Billy Graham.