I had just returned from Viet Nam, didnt really have anything together mentally. I was a Green Beret, having been wounded three times during my three tours of duty in country. It was that feeling of isolation that kept my head into some very dark spaces. The only thing I had going was that I was a funny guy and appeared to be out-going. Inside, things were very dark. La Valley College was something I knew that I needed to do, as there was not anything in my life to look forward to. My last injury in Viet Nam was the shattering of my left hip in 164 places. There was no way that I could remain as an active member of the Special Forces. I medically retired from the US Army in 1967.

Journalism & Jack

Upon entering LA Valley College, I simply went to classes and got bad grades. I was placed on academic probation after the first semester, so the GI benefits would be taken away like thief in the night if I continued on this course. I started thinking about what I wanted to do. I took a broadcasting class and some journalism. The broadcasting class turned into my 35 year profession. The journalism was a totally different world. These guys were not what I would consider macho types, but mostly the guys with glasses, really the kind of guys I would avoid in High School. I remember meeting the editor of the Valley Star, which was the student newspaper. What a geek. Tall, thin, glasses and really made me think there would be no way that I could get through this adventure. Some very strange things happened. I was also taking photo-journalism, so I ended up being one of the photographers for the paper. Jack Fairbrother asked me for a ride home one evening, after putting the weekly edition to bed. Well, okay, but this is going to be a boring night. We got to his apartment and he invited me in for a beer. What the heck, I love a cold one. With a couple of beers, Jack really started joking around. The guy was about as quick as I was with a one-liner. That is really saying something. My humor had always gotten me endeared to people that I would have never thought I could reach. He and I had a great evening and really started getting to know each other. He became my best friend. We were inseparable. I didnt have a job at that point and was barely making it on the GI benefits, so I took him up on his offer.

Jack worked as the senior night auditor for the Century Plaza Hotel in LA. He worked from 11:00 pm to 7:00 am, five nights a week, which two of the nights were Friday and Saturday. There went my social life, but it was a pay check. At the Century Plaza, literally more than a hundred thousand dollars a night were generated from food and beverage from a multitude of restaurants and bars. It was our job to audit each and every check for total, tax and tip. Working with us was a guy named Nick Napolitano, who was Jacks room mate. Nick was sort of a loose wheel kind of guy. He looked like he was into somethings that would make me uncomfortable. We were such a good team, we would penny balance the night spread sheet about 4:00 am and be home before the sun came up. I would usually go back to Jacks apartment for a couple of hours of sleep before we had to go back to college.

Introduction to Cannabis

It was a late Saturday night and we had just arrived at Jacks place, knowing that we had Sunday off. Jack asked me if I had ever smoked marijuana. I hadnt, as I saw many soldiers get killed from being stoned and not watching their asses. This wasnt Viet Nam, so what the hell, let me try it. From there, Jack was not only funny, but hysterical, whether that was eating the 10 pound bag of Oreo cookies, or just talking. We became even closer. I always notice that it was Nick Napolitano that got the dope, from a closet. Well fine, I was not paying anything for it, so I smoked it. One evening Nick was not at home and it was just Jack and I. Jack told me to hang out as he was going to go get a pizza to bring home. I wandered into the bathroom, but noticed that a linen closet was not really closed, but partially opened.  There it was. Probably 20 pounds of marijuana, right there, both in bundles and in dime bags. It was pretty obvious that Nick was selling the stuff. Jack arrived with the pizza and I confronted him about what I had accidentally found in the partially opened closet. Jack said that both he and Nick sold dime bags to make some fun money. He said that Nick got the stuff, but I should never mention it to him, as Nick was strange and had some pretty seedy friends. I told him I would never mention anything.

 A Drug Dealer?

Evidently, Jack was very much involved in this business with Nick. Their partner happened to be the late night manager at the Century Plaza Hotel. He was a Mexican guy named Al Cortez. He was a good hotel manager, but there was something in his eyes when he asked Jack and Nick to come out with them, leaving me alone in the auditing room. Sometimes they would be gone for an hour, sometimes 10 minutes. I never really hit it off with Al Cortez. It may have been my years in combat that helped me develop a second sense about people. But Al Cortez was like being close to a rattle snake. Nick was not far off the mark, but sort of like being around an angry dog.

Let us jump a little forward. I found a girl friend, who would later become my wife; a beautiful Tahitian lady, who was a student at LA Valley College. She and Jack really hit it off and she became part of our happy little gang. I was then living with her, so I didnt spend that much time at Jacks place. By then, I had quit the Century Plaza Hotel and had gotten a paid internship at a local rock and roll radio station. Radio had become my passion. When we got together with Jack, it was at Dianes place, or a good place to eat. There was always the dope, so we had great times.

Drifting Apart

Jack and I never really drifted apart, but things changed in his life. He got a better job at the Beverly Hills Hotel as their chief night auditor. He was off on Thursday, so we would meet weekly for breakfast at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Great breakfast and it was free. One morning, we walked out to his car and mine. The employee parking was at the far end of the hotel, really up a little road past the bungalows. It was very secluded. Jack told me to get in his car, as he wanted to talk to me privately. He then admitted that he was in over his head with Nick Napolitano, who he still lived with. He said that he had gotten involved in getting dope across the border. Al Cortez, the late night manager and Nick, still both at Century Plaza started the business. It seems that Al Cortez, being from Mexico had been in prison for some criminal activity. He got out of jail, got his green card and came to LA. He had lied his ass off to gain employment at the Century Plaza Hotel. This was a bad dude. He was very much tied to the Mexican organized crime syndicate. Jack said he was really worried about getting busted and sent to prison. Evidently at that point, the business also included bringing heroin. Jack wanted out, but he was very worried about Al and Nick killing him as he knew everything and could send them to prison for years. He didnt know what to do. I told him to get his own place and just not contact these guys ever again.

Jack got his own place in time, which was about another month. I remember visiting Jack at the old place. Nick and Al were also there. There was another guy, who I knew had just gotten out of prison. The jail tattoos and the look of a snake was all I needed. His name is Ron Frisby. I wont ever forget his face. Jack and I continued to have our weekly breakfast, on Thursday morning.

The Sinister Plot

One evening I got a call from Jack, who by that time had his own new apartment. Nick had rented a home in the Hollywood Hills. Jack came over to my then fiancés place. Jack said that he had been robbed, at gun point last night at the hotel. He said his bank always had $10,000.00 and he simply gave them the money. Something was fishy, but I didnt know what it was. Jack said that Sgt. Estell from Beverly Hills PD was investigating the robbery. Jack said that they thought he might be a part of it. The hotel believed Jack, so he continued to work there. He was scared, not because he thought he might be robbed again, but something else. Jack then took an emergency week off and went to his home in Dalton, Illinois. He never told me why. He called when he returned and we planned our weekly breakfast at the Hotel. Tuesday night, really early Wednesday morning I awakened from a sound sleep and knew something had happened to Jack. I knew it was bad, but had no reason for knowing. I am just not into all of that psychic stuff. Diane, my fiancée also awakened with the same feeling. I called the Beverly Hills Hotel Wednesday night, just to make sure that our breakfast was still on. Jack was not there. He was there the night before, when both Diane and I were awakened with that ominous feeling. Diane and I got up early Thursday and drove to the employee parking lot and Jacks car was no where to be seen.

I received a call from Sgt. Estell the next day. He wanted to talk to me about Jack. I went to Beverly Hills PD and Estell ran down what he thought had happened. Jack had taken flight, probably with the $10,000.00 dollars. He said that he had no concrete evidence to support that, but just had a gut feeling. He asked me if I had heard from Jack. I told him that I had breakfast with him the previous week and that I had also been informed of the robbery. I said that I didnt think Jack had anything to do with it. That ended the meeting.

Psychic Adventures Begin

About a week after Jack went missing, Diane and I were sitting at her house and watching TV. Something told me that I knew where Jacks car might be. He could have taken it to LAX and taken off for Dalton, a suburb of Chicago. Diane and I got on my Harley and rode to LAX. If you have ever been to LAX, there are literally thousands of vehicles there, in many assorted places. Dont ask me why, but something told me to turn into the long term parking lot, which was uncovered, right in the middle of the airport at that point in history. I pulled into a row and there it was. It was Jacks 1967 Dodge Dart. I went to the airport police station and told them that I found a vehicle that was a missing persons car and that person was being investigated for a robbery at the Beverly Hills Hotel. The airport cops usually have three of four key rings in their patrol vehicles, containing hundreds of keys. The airport cop went through two full rings of keys until he found one that opened the car. The car was empty, but there was the smell of Cherry Blend tobacco, which was strange, as Jack didnt smoke a pipe. He locked the car up and the airport cop said he would call Sgt. Estell at Beverly Hills PD. Diane and I took off. Where the communication went south, I dont know. Evidently Sgt. Estell was never called. I didnt call Sgt. Estell, as it was his job, not mine.

During the time that Jack went missing, I called Jacks father and mother in Dalton and they said they had not heard from him in weeks. I asked them if they had a set of keys to the Jacks car. Jack purchased the car, with his father in Dalton. Mr. Fairbrother had an extra set of keys. I asked him to send them out to me. I would take the car and put it in my garage for safe keeping. He sent the keys and I went with Diane, back to the airport and the car was still sitting there. The car had been there for two weeks. I thought maybe it was being staked out, just waiting for Jack to come back. I started the car, paid the parking and drove it to my garage in Hollywood. There it sat. I knew that Jack would call me when he got back, screaming that his car had been stolen from the airport and for me to come and get him. That call never came.

A Strange 4^th of July in No-Where

It was July 4^th, 1967 or 1968 and Diane and I decided to take a nice long motorcycle ride. We were in the Hollywood Hills, but I decided we should go out to the Newhall area and ride in a canyon named San Fransaquito Canyon. I used to go out there while in high school and have truckers buy us beer. That was years before, but I never forgot the road, as it went to lake Elizabeth, which was pretty darned nice. Diane and I were in the canyon, which was completely deserted. Going up the canyon, there was a side dirt road, which went down to a little stream. I didnt know that then, as the road could only be seen if you were going the opposite way. Something told me to slow down. There was the dirt road. I had to make a u-turn to gain access. We went down the road, which was about 250 yards from the canyon. Diane and I got off the bike. There was a broken down barbed wire fence, almost like it had been knocked down, or just fell from age. Diane and I smoked a cigarette, but both of us felt really uncomfortable and got back on the bike and came home.

The Cover-up Begins

This time frame is about a month since Jack went missing and about six weeks since the robbery. Strangely enough, Nick Napolitano called me, out of the blue. I never had any contact with him from the time he got his place in the Hollywood Hills. He was only living about a mile in the canyon from us, but I didnt know that. He said he had to see me and I had to come over to his house. He said it was about Jack and the robbery. I got in the car and arrived to a Spanish style house, built right on a hill side. He said to follow him downstairs. We got there and there was a Spanish style steamer trunk in the hall way. I thought it is was just for decoration, until he opened it. It was filled with money, bundled in the way they were at a bank. He said that Jack had brought him the money and told him that he was not robbed, but took the money and told the story that he was robbed. I asked Nick if he had any further contact with Jack. He said no. I didnt say anything, as I really didnt trust Nick. I asked him what he was going to do. He said nothing. I told him to call of he heard from Jack. I left.

The Homicide Detectives Want You

The next afternoon, the phone rang. On the other end was Sgt. Mac Rona from Sheriffs Homicide, downtown. He said that he got information from Sgt. Estell at Beverly Hills PD that I was Jack Fairbrothers best friend. He asked me to come down to Sheriffs Homicide. He said that he had also called Nick Napolitano and wanted him there. I said I would be right down. About 15 seconds after I hung up the phone with Sgt. Mac Rona, Nick called. He was freaked out. I told him that I would pick him up and we would go together.  We got into Sgt. Mac Ronas interrogation room. There was another Sgt., but I cant recall his name. He was Ronas partner. Mac Rona said that they had found the remains of a 20+ male in the San Fransaquito area. I didnt say anything, but Nick started squirming. Mac said that he needed to know if we could recognize anything they took from the body. As he was saying that, he pulled an open larger evidence manila envelope out from under the desk and the contents spewed across the table toward me. I got them and get them on the desk. Nick looked like he was going to faint. It was Jacks personal effects. It was his Elgin watch, Spiedel band and a turquoise ring. I knew the watch, as Jacks father had given it to him when he left Illinois. I also knew the ring, as I was with Jack in New Mexico when he bought it.  I told them it was Jack. Nick said he couldnt be sure. The cops said that was all and we could go. Sgt. Mac Rona looked at me and handed me his business card. On the back was the message; Call me when you get rid of Napolitano immediately, day or night.

On the way back to Nicks house, I asked Nick what he was going to do with the money. He said he didnt know, but I should keep my fucking mouth shut, or there could be some trouble in my life.

More Homicide Detectives

I called Sgt. Mac Rona and he said for me to get back down to Homicide. I arrived late in the afternoon. Mac and his partner took me to the County Morgue. They had the attendant pull out Jacks remains. Sure, it was Jack. The body was badly decomposed, but I knew his blue suit and the tie. Once again, I was with Jack when he purchased the items at Zackary All.  They then said that we needed to spend some time talking.

We were back in the interrogation room. I told Sgt. Mac Rona everything that I have described in the previous paragraphs, not leaving out anything. He then shocked me and said that Diane and I were no further than 20 yards from Jacks remains. The remains were next to the stream, down that little dirt road. He said that the body had been dumped from his car and then the vehicle was driven to LAX and left. I told Sgt. Mac Rona I had the car in my garage. He was aware of Nick Napolitano, Al Cortez, Ron Frisby and the drugs and the supposed robbery at the Beverly Hills Hotel. He didnt know that I had found the car and taken it to my garage. He called Sgt. Estell at Beverly Hills PD about the missing money. A side bar; when Sgt. Estell arrived at the Nicks house, there was no money and Nick said that he would have no idea why the Sgt. thought he might be involved. He said that Jack and he had no contact after Jack left the Century Plaza and moved to the Beverly Hills Hotel. Estell left it at that, but the investigation was just getting under way.

Sgt. Mac Rona and his partner followed me to my garage. As soon as they opened the car door, they both said the smell was blood. I wondered why I hadnt noticed. They said that dried blood had the sweet smell of Cherry Blend tobacco. That is why I didnt know it was blood. Also, Jack had shag carpet installed in the car, months before. It was crimson and copper in color. The cloth seats were also crimson in color. That is why there was no blood noticeable. I then told the cops what I thought happened. I told them being awakened about 4:00 AM Tuesday morning, knowing that something had happened to Jack.  I thought that might have been a bad dream as I pictured Jack walking out to his car and as he got in, someone called his name. He turned his head and was shot. Sgt. Mac Rona said he had heard it all, but that is probably exactly what happened. Jack was shot in the head with a 45 caliber handgun and was killed instantly. He was then driven to San Fransaquito Canyon and dumped. I told him that I had a feeling it was Al Cortez and Ron Frisby. I have no idea how I knew it was them, but I did. They Homicide guys got a tow truck up there and they came into the house. Diane was there and they stayed about two hours. Why in the hell they didnt immediately arrest me, I dont know. I seemed to know exactly when Jack was killed, where he was killed, found his car at the airport was 20 yards from the body and knew everything Jack was involved in. Mac Rona was a strange one. I dont know if he ever believed in precognition, esp., or any of that other far out stuff, but he accepted what I said. He said they would never know where Jack was killed, as they only had the body. They knew how he was killed. From conversations with Sgt. Estell, they surmised that Ron Frisby came into the Beverly Hills Hotel about 3:00 AM, pulled a gun and robbed Jack. Al Cortez and Nick called Jack and told him that if he ever talked about their drug business, they would make sure he was convicted for stealing the $10,000.00. Evidently, after Jack took the emergency leave for a week, Cortez freaked out and they went and killed Jack that Tuesday morning. What their problem was it that there simply was not any evidence tying these guys to Jacks murder? I said what about Napolitano? They said that he would be under surveillance, both my Sheriffs Homicide and Beverly Hills PD. They said the same thing would be the case with Cortez and Frisby. I asked them point blank if I was a suspect. They said no. Sgt. Mac Rona said he had never had a set of circumstances like this, but he believed Diane and me.

A Plot to Kill Me?

What was strange is that my contact with the Sheriffs Department and Beverly Hills PD simply disappeared. I never had any further contact with Nick Napolitano. About two months later, I had transferred to Valley State College and live in a dorm. That was about 28 miles from my fiancées house in the Hollywood Hills. I was usually staying the nights during the weekend with her. I left her house on Sunday night about 11:30 PM. Since I rode a Harley, which was a pretty loud motorcycle for a neighbor hood. Diane lived on a hill, so I dead rolled the bike down the hill. Since it was quiet, I heard a car start up above me and could see a car following me without lights. I started the bike, went down Coldwater Canyon to the freeway to get back to Northridge. I was in the number two lane and there was a car keeping pace with me in the number four lane. I couldnt tell what kind of car it was, but as soon as I made the transition from the 101 to the 405, the can was still there. I sped up and the car sped up. I was doing about 85 mph and then the guy made his move. He pulled up along side my bike. It was a 1967 blue Buick Rivera, with white leather top. My God, it was it was Al Cortezs car. I knew it because he took us all to the parking lot of the Century Plaza Hotel the day he bought it. It was teal blue and with the white upholstery and white leather top, it was a beautiful vehicle. I couldnt see the passenger, but I knew the driver. It was Ron Frisby. I assume it was Al Cortez in the passengers seat. I let the Harley loose and got to about 100 mph. I got about two car lengths in front of the Riviera. He kept coming, gaining on me. My exit was Nordhoff, which was coming up. I was real worried, as there would be traffic lights and I couldnt outrun him there. I got off, blew the red light and turned left, there was a Dennys right past the freeway. I looked and there were two LAPD motorcycle cops parked there. I pulled in, and in the place and told the cops what had happened. They immediately got up and searched for the Riviera. They came back in about 15 minutes and said they didnt find the car. They said they would follow me to my dorm. They did. I went inside and locked the door. I called Sgt. Mac Rona the next morning and told him about it. He said that Frisby, Napolitano and Cortez were still being investigated. They said they would pass along the information to Devonshire Division of the LAPD and to watch for the vehicle in their patrol area. About a week later, I was in a friends room, which over looked the parking lot. In a darkened corner of the lot was that same Teal Blue, white top Riviera. I immediately called LAPD. They rolled, but by the time they were there, the vehicle was gone. A month later, while traveling down Nordhoff Avenue, there it was, the Teal Blue, white topped Buick Rivera coming up on my side. Once again, I was on the Harley. I immediately took side streets, still being followed by the Riviera. Devonshire Division of the LAPD was in a shopping center. I pulled into the shopping center, still being followed by the Riviera. I jumped off the bike and ran into the Division. The desk SGT. knew who I was. I told him that I was being followed. He got a couple of units to search the neighborhood, but they didnt find the car. They escorted me back to the dorm. That was the last time I ever say the Riviera.

Going Aloha . Real Fast !!

In 1971 I moved to Hawaii and never had any further contact with Al Cortez, Ron Frisby or Nick Napolitano. I did call Sgt. Mac Rona and he said the investigation was still open, as it was a homicide, but they just couldnt get any evidence on any of the three.

It is now 2003 and the murder was never solved. The mystery remains.