THE RETURN OF HUNTER S. THOMPSON: AN UNTOLD STORY OF NAZI HUNTING

By j. michael moriarty

Very simply, it was time to bring back Hunter Thompson. The question was what would he do?
I thought he would enjoy coming back as a Nazi hunter. Something he would be good at.
A commitment he would gladly make. So I have given him that opportunity. And guess what. He does not disappoint. He is 100% on board, along with his childhood friend Jordan.
Non je ne regrette rien. No regrets.
This book is a memorial to the real Nazi hunters who dedicated their lives to finding the war criminals of the Third Reich who escaped justice at the end of World War II.
Their efforts have been herculean. Thank God. They have shown the world the level of commitment needed to bring war criminals to justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098329396

Book preview

THE RETURN OF HUNTER S. THOMPSON

Copyright © 2020 J. Michael Moriarty

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used ficticiously.

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-09832-938-9

ISBN eBook: 978-1-09832-939-6

Dedication

The offer was to take a trip to Aspen Colorado. It was only 700 miles. Why not. It’ll be fun. So we went. Sometime in the seventies.

We didn’t meet Hunter Thompson but he was around, we heard. I know we stopped at the Jerome Hotel and visited the J-Bar, a Gonzo hangout. Still, truth is I never saw him. I think my brother Tom did. He was more tuned in to the scene.

Other times we visited and there was talk of Woody Creek, but that was it. Just talk. It was more fun to hang out at Maroon Bells or the Roaring Forks Design Conference with girls from Wisconsin and California.

We did go visit the Rolling Stone offices in San Francisco in the 70s but same thing, no Hunter Thompson, just chaos caused by the capture of Patty Hearst.

Looking back, sure, we should have moved heaven and earth to meet Dr. Gonzo.

So, now we do the make-up meet and greet. We visit with Hunter as he moves into a most interesting journey. And we travel with him chasing Nazis wherever they are.

Dedicated to brother Tom for introducing me to the world of HST.

Acknowledgements

Family first always. Jan is at the top. She has allowed me to be a bit of a recluse for the last three years since I started my writing on Hemingway and Hunter Thompson. There are many more stories to be told.

My children Mac and Sheila endorse this quest, as do brothers Tom, Jim and Don.

Special thanks to Ann Mactier who is one of the greatest proponents of reading in this world. Ann turns 98 this year and still lectures as grammarian to all who come her way. We all have more to learn, for sure. I plead nolo contendre. No contest.

It has been three years since the death of Irish writer Frank Delaney. Much of my writing comes from inspiration from Frank and my father-in-law, Allan Mactier, who provided me an opportunity to learn about the world and so much more. I also wish to honor the memory of John B. Keane for creating Writer’s Week in Ireland.

Finally, I want to acknowledge the help and advice from my friends. They all know who they are. Special thanks to Lu for being so helpful in manuscript preparation and editing. And thank you to Sonya for her work efforts.

Intro

This book is a memorial to the real hunters who dedicated their lives to finding the war criminals of the Third Reich who escaped justice at the end of World War II.

Their efforts have been herculean. Thank God. They have shown the world the level of commitment needed to bring war criminals to justice.

Non je ne regrette rien

Contents

Chapter 1

Ravens in Russia

Chapter 2

Buenos Dias Puerto Rico

Chapter 3

Windy City Nazis and California Stealing

Chapter 4

No Hall of Fame for this Nazi

Chapter 5

Bohemian Crown Jewel Repo in Jersey

Chapter 6

Derby Day Road Trip

Chapter 7

Discriminating Thieves

Chapter 8

Cuba meets Hollywood

Chapter 9

Them East End Boys

Chapter 10

Nazis Come to Key West

Chapter 1

Ravens in Russia

I woke up and found

myself in a New Jersey motor hotel. Out the window I could see New York City. Then I knew I was okay. All I needed was a ride to the airport.

They said the airport closed last night due to weather. That’s how I got to where I am. There appears to have been too much Wild Turkey Bourbon and Hank Williams music at a local saloon which I must have ended up at due to its name, The Kentucky Hideout.

Now it was time to get back on track. Go to London. Meet Hunter at the El Duque, The Duke Hotel. That’s where Tom was. He would be our mentor as we start this mission.

The note from Hunter only said: Meet me at the Duke. Get started. See ya. H.

I knew what was up. It was time to carry out our promise to Sister Ansilio. She told us about the bad men who started World War II. She said they were Nazis. Hunter and I were in second grade. From that time on we have been committed to hunting down Nazis when we grew up. It was like a sacred vow we made in second grade with sister. She said she would pray for us at the same time she prayed for her brother who was killed in action at Omaha Beach.

It looks like her prayers are being answered.

Hunter just got out of the Air Force. Honorable discharge. And I am taking leave from my job teaching college math at the University of Michigan.

On the plane to London, I was asked if I wanted a drink. I said sure, You can’t go wrong with gin and tonic. Ok. Ok.

A single. Or double?

Double.

Double G &T it is.

Wow, Double G & T. I am going to Londontown for real. Here, here. All rise. May it please this honorable whatever.

I arrived at the London airport the next morning and I saw a man holding a sign that said: MR. JORDAN – Duke Hotel. I told him that’s me (my first name). When I arrived at the hotel I was taken to employee quarters for some rest.

Hunter would arrive a couple hours later and then we meet with Tom, our teacher and mentor.

Tom Charlebois was a real terrorist in the eyes of the Third Reich. A sit down with Tom was in order. We would hear details and plod through the information presented by this hotel manager who was a French partisan during the war. Hell, he was a rebel of the first order. Hated Nazis, of course. Part of the Underground. The Resistance.

My friend Jim Bob Ross says every Frenchman seems to have been in the Resistance. Slight exaggeration, Jim Bob. All I know is Tom is the real deal. He was probably with Hemingway in Normandy during D-Day. And Papa would surely confirm Tom is the True-Gen, which is Hemingway-speak for real deal.

The arrival of Hunter was all that was missing. And then he arrived.

Ok to call me Hunter over here. My namesake is from Scotland. A doctor no less.

Tom told Hunter and me the deal. Nazis in Puerto Rico. Who knew. Several. How could that be we wondered. But no answer. No matter. Our job was to find them. No catch and release for these guys.

Where would Nazis hide in PR? You wouldn’t believe. Right out in the open. Shipping food. Exporting booze, making rum.

Well rum dum dum. We’re coming for the scum. And so that’s what it was.

Promises made. Time to step up. Do your duty. Man of your word. Ok.

But before any trip to PR there was work to do here in England. In London. At the Tower. The Bloody Tower. Brother Tom gave us enough info that it looked like a small job as Nazi work goes. I hesitate to say simple.

Ok. Ok. Tom, we got this. We’ll be back for the packet on PR. I need to cover my bases. Lay some traps. Eliminate the tracks, Hunter said.

Ok, Hunter. Do your thing and let’s get this phony Beefeater.

Check. Later, Tom.

Hunter told me it was Bletchley Park time. A visit to Willie Boy. William Ridley Horwithy.

The drill was to meet at one of a football club’s fan friendly pubs. Arsenal or Tottenham. Shooters at Arsenal. Always shooters. Ritual stuff at the Bletch. An old days thing. Explained later. Somewhere.

His opening line was always the same. I’m not just another Horwithy. Laughter just his. That’s ok. His only joke really. Was a racehorse’s name.

At the Tottenham footballers pub, it was always singing time. Buy a drink for the house then everyone sang Hava Nagila. That was the club anthem. The song they sing at White Hart Lane.

Then the obligatory double G & T. Just say it. Just say it. See? It’s cool.

Finally, back to business. Just then two uniforms appear. Come with us. Willie Boy shows us the way out the back door. Through the kitchen. Part of the drill. We have started.

My name is Jordan Jarvey Josin, Trey J, Hey J, Jordo or Jonzo.

Jordo the detail guy. You know, math major. Recruited to go to Harvard as a junior in high school. Parents tried to throw out mail. I didn’t belong at Harvard. Wrong. Concentrated in math at Harvard.

Details. So we went with some security folks to Bletchley. Didn’t know why. Not for us to know. Must be for them. They have the stuff.

We’ve got nothing. Really. And we are unknown. We went to public school mainly. Before that Catholic school for a while. Long enough to meet the good sister. But Hunter had no religion and mine was old school. Yes, the only Jew in Catholic school. So what. They didn’t know. I didn’t care.

In the back seat of the stretch car we looked at photos of our Tower target.

Willie Boy gave us the lowdown on how it came to be, etc. We didn’t care. Just wanted to get the show on the road.

Prior to this my efforts were minimal. Just intel stuff. As a college instructor, I could always make time to help on investigative missions. Michigan provided me great resources at a world class university.

But now Hunter’s Air Force gig is over. HT is out and we will do our business together.

The target is 40 years old. Born in England. Father fought in World War I. True believer in Great Britain. Mommy different story. German all the way. Hated England. Admired the Third Reich. Never crossed the line, but did convince her kid to cross the line in WWII. Kenton Murray is a veteran who now works as a Yeoman Warder at her majesty’s Tower of London. A Beefeater.

Old Murray is one of the Ravenmasters at the Tower. A real birdman.

The Tower keeps at least six ravens at all times. Sometimes a few extras. This goes back to Charles II in the 17th Century. Although they are usually a bad omen, not at the Tower. Just the opposite. If they leave, then disaster!

Our Nazi is the Ravenmaster. The Ravenmaster is a son of a bitch. Those birds are a bad omen for him. Edgar Allan Poe made that pretty clear over one hundred years ago in 1845 with the publishing of his poem, The Raven.

The raven mocked the sad man and made him feel bad about his loss of Lenore.

So, then, why does the Tower need ravens and a Ravenmaster? Answer is, it doesn’t. Therefore,