Al Moreno - L.A.’s Last Street Cop: Surviving Hollywood Freaks, the Aryan Brotherhood, and the L.A.P.D.s Homicidal Vendetta Against Me

L.A.s Last Street Cop

Surviving Hollywood Freaks, the Aryan Brotherhood, and the L.A.P.D.s Homicidal Vendetta Against Me

Copyright 2020 by Al Moreno

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This edition published by Highpoint LIT, an imprint of Highpoint Executive Publishing, New York, New York. Michael Roney, President and Publisher, Maya Ziobro, Development Editor. For information, write to .

First e-Book Edition

ISBN: 978-1-7344497-1-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Moreno, Al

L.A.s Last Street Cop

Summary: This gripping memoir vividly recounts the career of a gifted and fearless Los Angeles police officer in the late 1970s and early 1980s as he battled gangs and dealt with multiple homicidal situations on gritty city streets. It culminates in his vocal stand against corruption within the L.A.P.D., and the political retribution that ensued, including a dirty internal investigation and the murderous vendetta of a violent member of the Aryan Brotherhood.Provided by publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-7344497-1-6 (e-book)

1. Memoir

Library of Congress Control Number: 9781734449709

Cover and interior design by Sarah M. Clarehart

eBook formatting by Rajkumar Natarajan at Sky Global Services

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED to the 23,000 (and counting) police officers killed in the line of duty since 1791 throughout our country, in all jurisdictions. And to their mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, and friends.

Please visit the Officer Down Memorial Page at www.odmp.org.

Semper Fi, my brothers and sisters.

Al Moreno

Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesars

and unto God the things that are Gods.

Highpoint LIT stands alone in the cut, color, clarity, and carat

of manuscript development.

Dear Lord, thank you for my indomitable faith and your

celestial forgiveness. For truly, without your love, I would have perished into darkness.

But the Consuls brow was sad,

And the Consuls speech was low,

And darkly looked he at the wall,

And darkly at the foe.

Their van will be upon us

Before the bridge goes down;

And if they once may win the bridge,

What hope to save the town?

Then out spake brave Horatius,

The Captain of the Gate:

To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his gods,

And for the tender mother

Who dandled him to rest,

And for the wife who nurses

His baby at her breast,

And for the holy maidens

Who feed the eternal flame,

To save them from false Sextus

That wrought the deed of shame?

Thomas Macaulay, Lays of Ancient Rome

February 1982

I WAS JUST LYING THERE on the couch in the living room when a group of monstrous, heavily tattooed white men walked in armed with knives and sawed-off shotguns. What was really strange was they all looked at me as they slowly filed by but made no attempt to take the two-inch .38 backup I carried on the job or my .44 Magnum Smith and Wesson. The firearms were lying within my reach next to me on the floor. But I was frozen in placeno matter how hard I tried, I couldnt move.

Then came the horrid screams and cries for mercy as the Aryan Brotherhood gang members systematically slaughtered my little brothers, my sisters, and my mom.

It was the most vivid and horrifying dream I ever had.

For years, I had this recurring nightmare and similar ones as well. I went into a paranoia of sorts but fortunately recognized I was teetering on losing my mind. So I immersed myself in my faith and started working out twice a day instead of falling into the axiomatic trap of alcohol and drugs to sedate my overwhelming psychological pain and fear.

I went nowhere for months, not even my usual Saturday night date with Maria Elena, the beautiful Mexican foreign-exchange student I met when I was working Hollywood Division a few years back. One Saturday as I sat in Moms carparked in front of the house listening to the radio and armed with Rosco and Gun-zalez (my two-inch .38 and .44 Mag)I called her and told her what was going on. That angel drove over and joined me in the car, bringing a picnic of wonderful homemade sandwiches, chips, a pint of tequila, and a six-pack of the Champagne of Beers, my favorite, Miller High Life.

I looked into Maria Elenas magnetic brown eyes and told her everythingmy whistleblowing, the terrifying fight with the Aryan Brotherhood and the death threats, and the vendetta the department unleashed against me. Her full lips parted and she gasped, Al, your L.A.P.D. sounds as corrupt as our Mexican police. Then she tried to change the subject. It wasnt because she didnt care; she just wanted to take me away from my living nightmare, a nightmare that was the consequence of fulfilling my childhood dream of wanting to became a twenty-first-century Praetorian Guard.

The Praetorians' Vision

OCTOBER 10, 1975Our Los Angeles Police Academy class, 8-75, was at the halfway point to our scheduled graduation dayand we didnt know shit about almost anything.

At this point, eight cadets had dropped out, six men and the only two females in the class. We were now down to fifty-six. Everyone was chomping at the bit because for the next four weekends, we were each going to work as a third man in an A-car (two-man patrol car) in one of the departments eighteen geographical divisions.

It was an intimidating experience. I was assigned to work my Friday and Saturday p.m. watches at Wilshire Division. I got to Wilshire Station early to familiarize myself with the station. I walked into the watch commanders (W/C) office and introduced myself to Sergeant II Frank Windsor.

Windsor was old school with thirty-plus years on the job. Six foot four, lean and handsome, he looked immaculate in his navy-blue uniform sporting his Sergeant II chevron on the upper sleeves. The lower part of his uniform sleeve was covered from the cuff to the elbow with diagonal hash marks denoting four years of service per hash mark. He had a full head of pure white hair, a heavily wrinkled face with piercing blue eyes, and a soft but deep voice. He would have made a much richer character than Theodore Roberts who played Moses in the 1923 Cecil B. DeMille film, The Ten Commandments.

I expected him to give me the standard rookie treatment we were all accustomed to at the Academy. As I started to introduce myself, he raised his arm in a just a moment gesture while he spoke to two other officers about some police business.

A few moments later, he wheeled around and asked, Military?