Chapter 19
During the early morning of October 9th, 1934, a Ford Tri-Motor airplane landed at the Little Rock, Arkansas airport.
After the Tri-Motor parked on the flight line, two Little Rock cop cars drove over and parked near the plane.
The door to the Tri-Motor opened, and Bureau of Investigations Agents Kelly, Handson, and Henderson got out of the plane with suitcases. With them was newbie Agent Kenny Williams who had just turned twenty-three two days ago.
Then four Bureau of Investigations Agents rushed over to the waiting two cop cars and got inside them.
The two cop cars drove off and headed to the Little Rock Police Station for a little meeting.
It was in the middle of the night. The night sky was clear, and the full Moon was out across the Woodland, Arkansas countryside.
Bureau of Investigation Agents Kelly, Williams, Austin, and Henderson and a posse of eight Woodland cops raced in a convoy of three Fords headed south on Route 14. The Woodland police had a tip from an anonymous woman caller that Hud Hudson and Ester were hiding out in a farmhouse outside town.
The three cars slowed down then pulled over to the left side of the road.
Agents Kelly and Williams got out of their car with the three other Bureau of Investigation Agents.
Agent Kelly eyed a dirt driveway fifty feet up ahead.
The eight Woodland cops got out of the other cars. They walked over to Agent Kelly.
“We’ll head to the farmhouse through that clump of woods over there. Again, only Hud Hudson and Ester Walker are supposed to be in that house,” Agent Kelly told everybody.
They all looked and saw that clump of woods to the right of the dirt driveway.
“At the end of those woods in the front yard to the house. We have the element of surprise on our side. But if he fires, don’t hesitate to kill Hud or Ester,” Agent Kelly added and looked serious.
Everybody nodded that they understood.
Agent Williams looked scared, and Agent Kelly noticed.
“Don’t worry. I was scared during my first one. You’ll be okay,” Agent Kelly said then patted Agent Williams on his shoulder.
“I’m okay,” Agent Williams said, but he still trembled inside.
“Let’s move out,” Agent Kelly quietly told everybody.
Agent Kelly led the way and walked toward the dirt driveway.
After they rushed past the dirt driveway where the farmhouse was visible, they headed into the patch of woods.
They immediately hid behind some trees.
Agent Kelly motioned for everybody to stay put and quiet.
They all did.
Agent Kelly peeked around his tree and could see the farmhouse through the trees. He saw that the light was on in the living room and saw the shadow of someone inside. He motioned for everybody to move out to the farmhouse.
Everybody cautiously moved through the woods and headed to the front yard of the farmhouse.
An occasional sound of someone stepping on a small tree branch was heard. But it was not loud enough to worry about Hud or Ester detecting their movement.
The sound of a Thompson machine gunshot out from inside the farmhouse. The Bureau of Investigation Agents and cops froze in their steps. Then more machine-gun fire and bullets pelted the trees causing the Agents and police officer to duck down and hid behind trees.
“You’ll never catch me alive, Special Agent Kelly. Never!” Hud Hudson yelled out the living room window then fired more from his Colt 45 and then fired the Thompson machine gun.
“How the fuck did they know we were coming?” Agent Kelly quietly said and looked pissed.
Bullets sprayed the trees and chips of wood flew everywhere.
One of the Woodland police officers dropped to the dirt dead.
Agent Kelly and the others crouched behind trees and fired bullets back at the farmhouse.
Agent Williams peed his pants and was embarrassed.
Then it was quiet for a few minutes.
The Agents and cops started their cautious, slow trek through the front yard and headed to the farmhouse.
But tragedy struck, and the house exploded due to a propane gas leak.
Agent Kelly and the others ducked down while flaming pieces of the house flew at them. They were lucky the pieces missed them, but they could feel the intense heat.
It took hours of waiting, but the Bureau of Investigation and the police finally found the badly burnt bodies of Hud and Ester.
Even though the two bodies were burnt beyond recognition, they concluded they had Hud when they found his beloved Colt 45 pistol near his body and noticed a large nose. Ester had her beloved Thompson machine gun near her body.
One of the Woodland cops searched the inside of Hud’s Hudson that was parked around the back a reasonable distance from the house. It survived the explosion.
During the search of the car, the cop found a black and white photo of Hud, Ester, Harold, Jack, and Willie sitting around a table with a turkey dinner in the glove box. He also found the receipt for the Hudson made out to Ester Walker from the Wooten Hudson dealership in St. Louis.
And then that same officer found some other interesting items. He found road maps for Missouri, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, and Illinois tucked under the front seat. On each of these maps was a penciled “X” showing the cities they robbed banks or jewelry stores.
Then in the back seat, that officer found two glasses on the rear seat of the Hudson.
A photographer for the Arkansas Democrat newspaper snapped a picture of the burnt farmhouse for the newspaper.
Later the Bureau of Investigation lab checked out those glasses and found fingerprints belonging to Hud and Ester. So the Bureau of Investigation used those fingerprints, the guns, the car registration in Ester’s name, and the photo of The Hudsters with the turkey to confirm the pair of public enemies were finally dead.
So the vast majority of the newspaper headlines all across the nation had similar headlines that read something like “Hud Hudson and Ester Walker Burned to Death from Fiery House Explosion.” The article also included that Arkansas Democrat picture of the burnt farmhouse where Hud and Ester reportedly were killed.
Back at the Bellwood Police Station, Chief Ronnie Pettine had his morning paper folded while he sat down at his desk with his first cup of coffee.
He took a sip of coffee while he opened up the paper. His eyes widened the second he saw the “Hud Hudson and Ester Walker Killed in House Explosion” headline above a black and white photo of the charred farmhouse in Woodland, Arkansas.
His desk phone rang. He stared at the headlines and photo. His phone continued to ring. He picked up the receiver.
“Chief Pettine,” he answered into the phone.
“Chief. Did you see that Henry Hudson was killed?” Mildred replied from the phone.
“Yes, Mildred. I did.”
“What a horrible way to go,” she replied.
“Yes Mildred. Now, I have to return to my police work,” Ronnie said then he hung up his phone.
Ronnie got a smile while he stared at the photo and headlines. “Well Henry, I hope you burned in excruciating pain for a while. You fucking bastard,” he said then took another drink of his coffee. He started to read the article about the incident over in Woodland.
Over in that abandoned farmhouse in Winston, Tennessee, Harold and Jack sat around the living room drinking whiskey.
They listened to a radio that they stole from a rich guy’s house in Winston last night.
The news came on the station.
“We have breaking news. It was just confirmed by the Bureau of Investigation that famed members of The Hudsters gang were killed,” the radio commentator said from the radio.
Jack and Harold looked at each other and looked worried.
“The Bureau of Investigation claims Hud Hudson and his partner Ester Walker were killed when a farmhouse they were hiding out in Woodland, Arkansas exploded,” the radio commentator said from the radio.
“Fuck!” Jack said while stared in disbelief at the radio.
“Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Rick Kelly stated that the farmhouse suddenly exploded while he was about to raid the house to arrest Hud and Ester. The explosion was believed to come from a propane leak,” the radio commentator added.
Harold turned off the radio and looked worried at Jack.
Harold and Jack started pacing back and forth and looked scared for the first time they began their life of crimes.
“We need to get the hell away from this neck of the woods,” Jack told Harold.
Harold nodded in agreement.
Later that night, Jack stole another Buick for Harold.
Then before the sun rose that morning, Jack and Harold drove off in separate stolen Buick’s in different directions.
Harold headed off to Arizona while Jack headed off to the mountains of Montana.
March 1935 rolled around.
Over in Cincinnati, Ohio, Bruno Lorenzo sat behind a desk where there were two forged drivers’ licenses for the State of Ohio in front of him.
His Uncle Alfonzo, seventy-five years old and bald, worked on some other forged documents at his desk across the room.
His desk phone rang. “Bruno,” he answered the phone.
Bruno listened to the caller, and his eyes lit up with a little joy.
“It’s so good to hear from you,” Bruno said into his phone then listened to the caller.
“Of course, I can help you. Come on by the office at four, four, sixteen west Fifth Street,” Bruno said into the phone then listened to the caller.
“That sounds reasonable. I’ll see you in a few days,” Bruno said then hung up the phone.
“Well I’ll be,” he said then picked up the two drivers’ licenses and stood up.
“I’m done with these Uncle Alfonzo,” Bruno said while he walked over to his uncle’s desk.
“Who was on the phone?” Uncle Alfonzo asked while Bruno walked over to him.
“An old, trusted friend that needs our work. In fact, he might be a regular customer,” Bruno said then handed his uncle the two drivers’ licenses.
Uncle Alfonzo looked at the licenses. “You’re doing great. I’ll make a successful forger out of you in no time,” he said.
Bruno strutted back to his desk, looking proud.
Another year had passed, and it was 1936.
Harold had managed to successfully stay in Arizona under the assumed name of Robert Moore. He found a job as a ranch hand and hated the manual labor but knew he did not have a choice.
Up in the mountains of northwestern Montana, Jack found a cabin to live and used the assumed name of Bucky Adams.
Then in July 1938, Harold got drunk one night at a bar in Phoenix after he got fired from his ranch-hand job. While he was drunk, he bragged about his adventures with Hud Hudson. Some of the fellow drunks thought he was full of it, but an off duty police officer, named Bruce Noone at the other end of the bar thought this might be true.
He really thought it might be true when he noticed that Harold walked with a limp with his left leg.
So later that night, Bruce tailed Harold out of the bar and to the sleazy apartment building where Harold lived.
The following morning, Harold stepped out from his apartment and planned to find another job. He walked down the sidewalk with his left leg limp.
“Hello Harold Pyle of The Hudsters,” Bruce called out from behind Harold.
Harold turned around. “Hello there,” he said, not thinking then his eyes widened the second he saw Bruce in his cop uniform. He whipped out his Colt 45 from under his suit coat.
But Bruce was faster and fired his 38 Special and put a bullet straight through Harold’s heart.
Harold hit the sidewalk dead.
The news of Harold Pyle’s death hit the newspapers all across the nation.
But since Jack was recluse up in the mountains of Montana, he did not hear the news.
But Cindy read the newspaper article about Harold in Bellwood, Missouri. She cried all night.
The years passed, and it was now 1941.
Jack still managed to survive in his mountain cabin in Montana.
But now he was getting bored and restless, and his money was almost gone.
So Jack headed out of the mountains and went into the nearby town of Stagecoach. He planned to steal a car then head off to Denver to rob a bank. He was in desperate need to increase his savings.
Jack successfully managed to steal a 1935 Ford sedan.
He then drove out of the town of Stagecoach then headed off to Colorado.
He eventually arrived in Denver a few days later and found the First National Bank of Denver.
After a day of staking it out, Jack rushed into the bank with his old Thompson machine gun.
“This is a holdup!” he yelled then fired his Thompson spraying the ceiling with bullets.
The tellers and customers froze in fear while Jack strutted up to one of the tellers.
Another teller discreetly pressed the alarm button on the floor with his shoe.
Jack handed one of the tellers a paper bag. “Give me all your money,” he said while he kept his Thompson aimed at everybody nearby him.
After the teller shoved in as much cash as he could, he handed Jack the bag.
Jack took the bag and ran to the front doors of the bank. He ran outside the bank.
Once Jack got outside, he saw eight Denver cops waiting for him with pistols and their own Thompson’s ready.
Jack pressed the trigger of his Thompson machine gun. It jammed. Jack squeezed the trigger numerous times. It was still jammed. He dropped the Thompson to the ground and held his arms with the bag of loot in the air.
“You finally got me,” Jack told the two cops that cautiously walked over with their revolvers drawn and ready to fire.
“I’m the famous Jack Jenner from The Hudsters,” said Jack while the one officer handcuffed his arms behind his back.
“Sure you are,” the officer said, not believing Jack.
But two days later, the Denver police confirmed that they arrested Jack Jenner of The Hudsters gang.
Jack was soon convicted of robbery and murder in the Federal Court in Denver. The judge sentenced Jack to die in the electric chair.
While Jack was in prison, he was a celebrity amongst the other inmates.
During one day in February 1942, while on death row, Jack stood at his cell bars to get a glimpse of the only world he could see – other jail cell bars.
Then an inmate next to Jack asked him a few questions from behind his cell bars.
“What was it like to be a member of The Hudsters,” the inmate asked Jack.
“Actually we had a blast. We robbed hard, and then we partied hard,” Jack said, then paused while he reflected for a moment. “I remember the first time we went to Springfield to fence our first jewelry heist, Hud, Ester and I got drunk. Hud and I took turns fucking her. Then Ester wanted me to take a picture of Hud and Ester naked in the bed,” he said.
“Did you?” the inmate asked.
“Of course, I did. Don’t know what happened to that photo since Hud and Ester died back in thirty-four. That Bureau of Investigations Agent Kelly must have it and had been beating off to it,” said Jack with a smirk.
“Some people believe they’re still alive,” the inmate said.
Jack thought about his comment for a few seconds. “Naw, they burned to death in that explosion. If they were alive, Hud would have contacted me years ago,” he said and believed that to be true.
Jack went back to his bunk to take a nap.
During the next day, the story about that naked picture of Hud and Ester circulated throughout the prison. Some of the guards even asked Jack about what they heard. Jack confirmed that that story they heard was accurate.
Some of the tabloids picked up on this story in a few years. Many wondered who might own that photo.
Two months later, on April 8th, 1942, Jack Jenner was strapped in the electric chair.
He showed no remorse or fear just before he was electrocuted.
That was the reported end of The Hudsters gang for the history books. And the Bureau of Investigation estimated that the total loot from all The Hudsters jobs was over $200,000.
But then on November 10th, 1958 over in Pikeville, Illinois, retired eighty-one-year-old physician Albert Harvey was in his bed in his bedroom.
Albert was frail and week and dying of lung cancer, and he knew it was a matter of time before his life on this Earth would be over.
His nurse Elizabeth Watson that he hired to care for him three months ago entered the room with a fresh glass of water and some pills for the pain.
“How you feeling today, Doctor Harvey?” she asked while she placed the glass of water by his bedside table.
Albert looked up at Elizabeth. “I know I don’t have long, so there’s something I need to confess,” he told her in a low and weak voice and looked sincere.
“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked and pulled up a chair and sat by the side of his bed.
“There’s something I did back in January nineteen thirty-five that I need to confess. Something that I feel really guilty about,” Albert said in a low voice.
Elizabeth listened while Albert made his deathbed confession.
After he confessed, Dr. Harvey closed his eyes and took his last breath on this Earth.
Ten minutes later, the Pikeville police arrived in response to the call Elizabeth made about Albert dying.
Elizabeth told the two police officers what Dr. Harvey confessed before he died.
“Sounds like one of those conspiracy theories to me,” one of the officers told Elizabeth.
“Yeah, maybe he was delusional,” the other officer added.
The next day, Elizabeth was still bothered by what Dr. Harvey so she drove to Springfield.
Once she got into town, she went to the Illinois State Register newspaper office. She told reporter Kevin Lowe what Dr. Harvey confessed.
He printed an article about his confession, but it was perceived as tabloid and did not raise any concerns. The majority of the people across the country still believed Hud Hudson and Ester Walked died in that farmhouse explosion in 1934.
Then on November 12th, 1958, over in St. Louis, sixty-five-year-old Agnes Moore drank her morning coffee in her nightgown.
She was doing her usual routine of reading the morning newspaper before heading off to the hospital to start her nursing shift. Then her eyes widened in a little shock when she read a small article buried in the middle of the newspaper. She looked worried to death.
“Oh, dear. What am I going to do?” she asked herself while she stared at the article.
She got up and rushed out of the kitchen and got dressed in her nursing uniform.
On her way to the hospital, Agnes stopped off at a real estate office. She went inside to get an agent to sell her house.
After she left the real estate office, Agnes reported to work at the hospital. She immediately went into her supervisor’s office to inform her boss that she’s planning to quit and retire in two weeks.
Then on July 14th, 1958, Agnes Moore moved to a home another on Montvale Street in Gibsland, Illinois. For some unknown reason, she was paranoid and became a recluse in her retired life. She would spend her days spying on her neighbors every move from the windows of her house.
But after Dr. Harvey’s deathbed confession, conspiracy theories started across the country. Many people believed that Hud and Ester framed their deaths, and they escaped capture and lived for years.
For over ten years, people would call their local police departments claiming that Hud Hudson was their neighbors. The police would check out these suspicions and could not find Hud Hudson in their towns.
So nobody could prove that the two public enemies were still alive after that farmhouse explosion. History remained as it was documented that Hud Hudson and Ester Walker died in that farmhouse explosion.
But that did not stop the conspiracy theorist that started to make a living stating otherwise.
On July 9th, 1969 Ronnie Pettine finally retired as Police Chief of the Bellwood Police Station. He was sixty years old, and he wanted to enjoy life a little before his health deteriorated.
He saved his money and bought a brand new red Cadillac. He was proud of his car and washed it every week.
Then on the morning of August 9th, 1969, he walked out of his house in his suit ready for church.
He walked over to his Cadillac parked in the driveway. His eyes widened in shock when he saw the tires of his car were slashed on the passenger side of the car.
He walked around to the driver’s side and saw those tires were also slashed. Then he wanted to scream the second he saw that the driver’s side had numerous scratches from the front all the way to the rear of the car.
He recalled his dog barking late last night, but he thought nothing of it at that moment. Ronnie was pissed and figured that some of the local thugs of Bellwood were paying him back for being such a hard-ass with them.
He went back into his house with clenched fists.
Meanwhile, a pristine 1953 green with green interior Hudson Hornet drove on the highway east of Bellwood.