Her Name Was Whiskey

As a reporter assigned to cover the federal beat in Phoenix, AZ., one of the beats was the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Paul Mohr was the special agent in charge of the FBI. He reminded me of Peter Falk, the actor who played a detective on television. Paul was slow-moving, slow talking had a great sense of humor, and was totally dedicated to law enforcement.

I would pay my daily visits to the FBI office on Central Avenue and got to know some of the agents on a personal basis. They would even invite me to birthday parties at the office or in the nearby Playboy Club, a place where many of the agents enjoyed hanging out. They learned to trust me as a reporter and would often call me when they had a bank staked out that they thought was targeted for a robbery.

Mohr would warn me not to burn them.

'You're one of the good guys,' he reminded me. 'Stay that way.' I promised I would.

Several of the agents were also poker players who played at the casinos in Scottsdale. One Friday afternoon I had made plans to play poker at the casino when a phone call came to me. It was from Mohr. He told me a bank robbery was going down on Yarnell Hill near Wickenburg.

'We're on our way to the scene,' he said. 'There are two robbers in the place, a guy and a gal, and they're holding the bank manager hostage.' He hung up the phone and I gave my City Editor Vic Thornton the news.

Vic hurried to my desk. 'Get on the story,' he said. 'This sounds like a good one.'

For two minutes I did nothing. Then I dialed 411 and got the phone number of the bank. I let it ring...and ring...and ring. Finally, someone picked up the receiver.

'Hello,' a female voice said, 'this is Whiskey. Can I help you?'

Incredibly, I found myself talking to one of the bank robbers!

She told me they were holding the bank manager hostage, adding quickly, 'We're not gonna hurt her. We'll let her go in a little while.'

She also told me that she and her boy friend were high on Southern Comfort and 'we popped some pills. Cops surround the place, so it doesn't look like we're going to get away.' And she laughed.

I asked her about herself. She was an art student, she said. She met the guy who planned the robbery. He was an ex-con and 'we fell in love. We were gonna hit the bank and move to Mexico and live happily ever after,' she said. 'But I guess that ain't gonna work out.'

She told me she was 19 years old.

I said, 'Whiskey, give it up. You still have a life ahead of you. Just let the hostage go free and surrender.'

She said that wouldn't work. She was in love with her partner. She said after they freed the bank manager they would bust a cap. That translated to killing themselves.

Before I could answer, a voice came on the line. It was a police officer. They had cut into the line and he ordered me to leave the line immediately. Police orders. I held the receiver for a long time before hanging up.

Thornton and several reporters had gathered around my desk. They knew I was onto something big. I wrote the story. My interview with Whiskey was published on page one.

At 5 p.m. when I left the newspaper, the standoff between Whiskey, her partner and about 50 law enforcement officers, including the FBI, was still underway. A live radio broadcast was underway with one of the Phoenix radio stations. I headed my car to the casino in Scottsdale.

Suddenly the radio announcer cut into the program. 'They have released the bank manager...she's walking out the door...I hear gunshots inside the bank...one...two...' There was a long silence. Then he said, 'It's all over.'

I pulled my car to the side of the road. I cried.

Then I did a U-turn and drove back to the office. Thornton was still at his desk. Without a word, I went to my typewriter, inserted a sheet of paper, and wrote the lead paragraph for a new story: 'Her name was Whiskey and she would not reach her 20th birthday.'