A few hours before the infamous monster William ‘Willie Haggart’ Moore was himself clinically mowed down by the assassins’ bullets in April 2001 he was waiting in the yard outside the office of a well known PNP activist and ‘area don.’
Moore was seated on his bike and he was stewing inside. He had been waiting to see his counterpart who exercised more direct clout with PNP government ministers especially when it came to the handing out of government contracts.
A few days before, the don had promised him a car and he had told him to come by that day to pick it up. ‘Willie Haggart’ (real meaning, hog-heart) should have known that the don, with his small army of killers always at his beck and call, could afford to make empty promises.
Three hours and still no don, no getting him on his cell phone.
Nearby was a police squad car. No surprise there as the don controlled significant sections of the police division in his area of influence. Haggart screwed up his face, said ‘fuck!’ to no one in particular then rode off in a huff.
As he did so, the fast spinning wheels of his bike blew back a rush of sand and dirt as two policemen who were standing by their car covered their eyes as the fine debris stung their faces. Peeved by it, the policemen rushed inside their car and gave chase.
What followed next was a scene right out of a movie. They caught up with him on Windward Road and as he looked back in response to the ‘whaa whaa’ of the siren, he accelerated and the cops gunned the car to keep up with him.
Through down town then along Spanish Town Road the chase continued. Moore was in fact enjoying it as fear was the fuel which drove him into the frenzy he lived for, and would eventually die for.
At Collie Smith Drive he made a dangerous hard right then opened up the engine as he headed northwards. The cops car was right on his heels. At the landmark at the top of Arnett Gardens know as Big Tank, Moore decided that enough was enough. He had a firearm in his waist but had no intention of pulling it on policemen.
Suddenly he stopped, sprung the bike around, threw it down and faced off with the policemen as they exited the car. ‘Whey di blood claat onnu want wid mi!’ he said as the cops came out in a crouch, guns on him.
‘Yu dust wi up wid dirt and just drive off so. Put up yu hands!’
‘Fuck you!’ replied Haggart.
‘Whey yu name?’ asked one in a shout.
‘Fuck you!’ he again said then added, ‘A shoulda tell di boss bout di fuckery onnu gwaan wid.’ In a quick flash both protagonists realised that they were serving a common master. The cops apologized and drove off. Haggart remounted his bike and rode the short distance to Black Roses Crew HQ.
It was all fun as he related the chase to his friends, Ned ‘Big Bunny’ Hinds, Albert ‘Blacka Douche’ Bonner and a few hangers on at HQ. Inside he was still mad at the Don for dissing him by not showing up, not answering his phone and not delivering on his promise of a brand new car.
They all heard when the car drove up and saw the three men who came at them with guns drawn. All who were there recognized them as policemen but in plain clothes. Blacka was the first to respond as he said ‘legal holder’ to indicate that he was licensed to carry a firearm.
It came sudden, the barrage of shots as the three men were riddled with shots. One man was shot in the finger and he was lucky enough to run away and later relate the story to me. One of the ‘gunmen’ went over to a crawling ‘Willie Haggart’ and finished him off execution style.
So did he live and so did he die. And still the narrative has it Haggart and his friends were killed by gunmen. Well, they did in fact have guns but…
Now we know that rogue policemen are not exactly uncommon in the Jamaican setting. Of late the chickens have been coming home to roost.
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