Moore/Walker Drug War

More than 10 years ago, Michael “M&M” Moore was busted in a drug raid by the Detroit police department. In order to avoid prosecution for three brutal drive-by shootings he committed, M&M exchanged valuable information about the 19th street posse for his freedom. The information led to the arrest of fifteen key members of El Coya, the largest drug gang in South Michigan. After testifying as the star witness for the district prosecutor at the year long trial, he moved back to central Alabama to escape being killed by the street gang he double crossed. M&M left Detroit with a trunk full with over 12 kilograms of Colombian white cocaine and one hundred and ninety-seven thousand dollars. Because most of his family still lived in the Marion, M&M built a very large house in Lincoln Heights, a largely rural housing addition out on Highway 5.

Because of his experience selling drugs in the big city, taking over the small unorganized drug trade in Marion was easy. Three days after arriving, he flooded Marion, Greensboro and Uniontown with his product. Six months later, he assumed control of his family’s small drug enterprise and develop it into one of the largest and ruthless illegal enterprises in the history of Alabama. Use to a life of violence, drugs, guns and other gang-related activities, the 35-year-old quickly became the king of Pickens Hill, the known drug area in Marion.

Soon, the family influence grew and they operated a total of twelve of the known sixteen crack houses in Marion alone. The Moore’s family story is not uncommon in rural Perry County, where only five county deputies patrol 2,700 square miles each day. The small towns in the county have their own police departments, but they are very small, short on manpower and firepower. Since last January, Chief Hogan investigated five gang-related homicides and more than 30 drug-related drive-by shootings.

Some people say that it started the day after the police station was destroyed; however, it had already picked up steam by then. With the absence of strong law enforcement, the dealers started working around the clock to beat the others at taking control of the crack business in the city. There were drug related stabbing and beatings in Marion almost nightly. Many of the once vacant lots became crack dens where the addicts hid to smoke.

Jackson Walker and his family owned and operated three crack houses on Schwann Drive, Beverly Place, and Columbia Street northeast of the Yakima Steel mill. The Walker/Graham family worked in the area since 1958 when Oscar made and sold moonshine from the family farm. However three years ago, as crack infiltrated the small town, the family decided to delve into the illegal enterprise. Six months before the police station was destroyed, Jackson’s trailer was shot up in a retaliatory drive-by shooting.

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG.

Gunshots rung out in the middle of the night as an angry member of the Moore family discharged five rounds from and nine millimeter

Shit, shit, get the kids woman.’

Jackson pushed his girlfriend out of the bed on the floor. Crawling into the bedroom closet, he retrieved his gun from the lock box and returned to the bedroom.

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG.

Those four shots came busting through the picture window in the living room and lodged in the wall over the bed in the master bedroom. There were nine people sleeping inside the singlewide trailer, including an infant. Jackson immediately called his family to get help. Jackson called Turley Graham, his first cousin from Fort Wayne, for assistance. A few days later, three suburban full of heavily armed members of the Walker/ Graham family drove to Marion and set up camp out at the Walker’s farm. Because of the rise in violence between drug dealers, the Walker family was prepared to take the law into their own hands.

‘Man, we got to get those motherfuckers before they get us.’

‘Nah, Turley, just be patient and wait our time will come then we’ll smoke ever last one of them. Right now, we need to increase our territory.’

‘Ain’t much territory to take over here in this small ass town. Man, you need to make a move on Uniontown.’

‘Look, Turley, I know what I’m doing. I’m going to run that fool out of town by taking over this town first; then I’ll think about Uniontown.’

Six months later, Jackson Walker was on the corner of Washington and Smith Street selling crack. Dennis allegedly beat him up pretty badly, stomped and kicked him until he lay unconscious in the street.

However, just hours before Jackson Walker lay badly beaten in the ally on Smith Street, three figures stood in the shadows under the pecan tree on the courthouse lawn. The drug dealers had taken over the town and the residents were scared.

‘Hey, wait one fucking minute, man. I didn’t sign up for the electric chair.’

The first man stepped back from the group. Placing his hand on the first man’s shoulder to calm him down, the second man continued to talk.

‘No, I am not saying that I want to kill him. I need him alive. If we kill him, he will not be able to do what we need him to do. The two families are already on the verge of war, so like he said let’s give them a push. Just hurt him real bad and make sure he knows that the beating came from the Moore family, okay?’

He looked at the first man and then shoved an embroidered black leather jacket and a large envelope towards the third man. Taking the jacket, he push the envelope away refusing to take the agreed upon fee. The third man laughed.

‘That is all right, I will do this for free. Call it the retribution of a recovered drug addict. Just trust me. The best way to rid Marion of this crack problem is to start a drug war. By the time I finish I will have the two families killing each other every day like they did back in the day when I lived in Chicago. Just remember our deal, Mayor. I will never be arrested for this and no one can ever know that I did it.’

He looked at the two men and extended his hand. Each of the men shook hands and left.

Moments later, a dark blue 1972 Dodge Charger slowly crept toward the corner of Washington and Smith Street just as Jackson began setting up. The car slowed down and parked in the alley off Main Street behind the Rexall drug store. Reaching under the front seat, he retrieved a pearl handled pistol and shoved it into his waistband.

‘I’m tried of these guys selling this stuff. They’re doing nothing but taking over this town.’

The hooded driver spoke into a recorder.

‘I still can’t understand how they get fooled into using that stuff.’

Inside the car, the gunman pulled the mask down over his face and placed the recorder inside the glove compartment. Opening the door of the car to get out, he pulled on the leather jacket with the Moore family crest on the back. The target was Jackson Walker, an important member of the Walker family. As the stealthily figure neared the tiny brick building, he zipped opened a black leather case and withdrew a large wooden pool stick. After folding the case and storing it in the pocket of the jacket, he retrieved the gun from his pants holding the barrel tightly in his hand.

‘I have to make sure he sees the name and emblem.’

The masked man whispered as if someone was listening. Sneaking up on the unsuspecting drug dealer, he violently attacked Jackson. Jumping him from the rear, the masked man slammed the butt of a thirty eight pistol against the top of the surprised victim’s forehead. The blow knocked Jackson off the chair and sent him sprawling forward across the ground.

Dazed, he looked up at his attacker, but he could not see clearly because blood was running into his eyes from the gash on his forehead. However, he recognized the green cross and flaming sword of the Moore family crest.

‘Why you come in on my turf and hit me, you motherfucker. I’m gonna to kill your ass for that, bitch.’

Still shaken from the blow, he got up off the ground, his legs still wobbly and unstable, and didn’t see when the attacker moved behind him. Suddenly, he heard the gun explode next to his ear.

‘BAM’

‘Shit, I am shot!’

Screaming but only dazed from the blow from the barrel of the gun against his left temple, he fought to remain conscious and standing on his wobbly legs. The masked man struck him hard again. This time slapping the gun hard against Jackson’s right temple, the masked man pulled the trigger on the gun.

‘BAM’

Jackson felt a sharp strike against his head then heard the shot again. Right before he lost conscious, he crashed like a cut pine tree in the forest to the concrete. He landed hard face first breaking his nose and dislodging most of his front teeth. Like a frightened dog, a warm stream of urine run from under his twitching body and puddle on the ground beneath him.

Not finished with the job, the husky masked man roughly drug Jackson’s limp body down the street to the alley. Upon hearing the gunshot, everyone rushed into the streets to see what happened. Once in the alley, he undressed the young man, strapping him face down across an old saw horse. Pulling Jackson’s legs apart, the assailant tied each of them to the sawhorse. He kicked him hard in the groan.

‘Wake up, bitch. I want to hear you beg for mercy before I blow his brains out.’

He slapped Jackson hard across the face with the butt of the pool stick shattering his jawbone.

Jackson gained consciousness and slowly blinked his eyes. The blood stung as a small river from the gash ran down his forehead into his open eyes.

‘Man, why don’t you just kill me and get it over.’

Although his face hurt from the blow, he forced himself to talk. He still couldn’t see well but before he blacked out, he read the name on the jacket.

‘Dennis, you’re a bitch ass motherfuckers; it takes a punk like you blindside me like this. At least, I’ll die like a man, but you will still be a pussy, bitch.’

Jackson spit on the man’s right foot.

The man whispered as he slowly circled around his victim.

‘Wrong; I am not going to kill you. I am just going to teach you a lesson, boy. After today, you will be MY BITCH and everyday I want you to remember how you became my bitch. Marion belongs to the Moore family. You need to join us or next time, I WILL kill you.’

Immediately, Jackson groaned from a hard blow from the trunk of the pool stick across his exposed buttock. Suddenly he felt a hard object rammed against the tight lips of his anus.

‘Man, don’t! Stop, STOP, OH PLEASE STOP!!’

His pleas fell on deaf ears. The last thing Jackson heard before he passed out from the pain of having a pool stick continually shoved up his rectum was the man laughing and urinating on his face. The assailant finished brutally abusing and degrading the limp body and left his nude body tied across the sawhorse. Fifteen minutes later, the EMSA medics slowly untied him and rushed him to the hospital. Three days after Jackson was released from the hospital, he murdered Dennis and the drug war started.

Dennis brother, M&M was killed next when Kendrick Walker, Beatrice and Cedric Graham and two others intercepted him as he arrived home from one of his crack houses. The house was far out in the country. Because there were no street lamps, the only thing M&M could see driving home that night was what the headlights from passing cars would light up. He’d never noticed the dark colored Tahoe sitting unseen in the shadows waiting for him.

‘Hey, ain’t that the Hummer. What color is that? That it's him. That’s the motherfucker right there.’

‘Ok, we got to be quick. Beatrice, you make sure you got the truck in the drive in five minutes. Come on Cedi let do this.’

Putting the black ski mask on their head, the two men confronted M&M as he exited the SUV. They walked up to him and try to talk to him, first. M&M ignored them, and walked around the back of the vehicle.

‘He’s going around back of the car! Get him!’

As he reached the tire on the rear, he was met by the other man, holding an AK submachine gun. M&M stopped just feet from him, placing his right hand behind his back like he holding something. It was too dark for them to see his hands.

“Show me your hands, bitch fore I put a cap in you right here!”

Again, he ignored the gunman, and walked back around to the front of the SUV. As he listened to his voice a chill shot down M&M’s spine. The now masked man pointed the AK at his head and cocked it ejecting a shiny brass bullet into the air. M&M’s heart stopped as the worst case scenarios ran though my head. Some much adrenaline rushed though his body it felt like his heart was both stopping and racing at the same time. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Seconds went by, but they felt like hours as they forced him into the house shooting a couple rounds into the door to scare him.

‘Get the fuck inside…NOW BITCH!!! Where’s your safe; take me to it.’

The gun man rammed the barrel into his side, shoving his face hard against the wall at the same time wrapping duck tape around his wrist. The other gunman rounded up the rest of the people in the house, going room to room waking them up and marching them into the den. He led the gunman into the office and nodded toward the desk where the safe was. Roughly push him down on the sofa, the gunman walked over and inspected the safe. M&M was overcome with emotions as he watched the other gunman lined his family up against the wall tapped, blindfolded and gagged. He looked at each one of them; his eyes hurtfully apologizing for the mess his lifestyle put them in. The sight made him willing to do whatever the men wanted. Yanking him to his feet by his hair, they turned him around where he’s back was to his family.

‘I got money in the safe; just leave my family out of it.’

Firing three rounds over Michael’s wife head, the gunman turned the still hot barrel around to M&M. He could feel the heat drifting from the barrel as it rested close to his face. His heart was still racing as questions sprinted through his mind when she screamed and the children started crying.

What happened? Was any one hurt? Did he just shoot my wife shot?

A few more seconds went by. It felt like days. He gave the man the combination to the safe. Later, the men laugh loudly as the gray door opened revealing how much money and drugs were stored inside. A wave of relief came over him when both men left the house to take the loot to the waiting vehicle. He tried his best to comfort his terrified family. Maybe, they were going to just rob him and not kill him. He hoped they would not come back in. A few minutes later, using two AK47 with silencers, they returned, opened fire and executed M&M and his entire family, including three children and his mother in law. They wrecked the inside of the house and then pummeled the bloodstained house with eight Molotov cocktails, setting it on fire.

After burying the charred remains of their family, fifteen members of the Moore clan drove out to the Walker family farm on Lakeland road. The Walker farm was targeted for a specific reason. This was the main compound of the large family ran drug enterprise. The main house was built on a large open area about two miles inside the largely wooded farm. However, this shooting was not just some random act. The Moore family pulled in front of the house, looked around the place to see who was there and was met by the grandfather holding a hunting rifle.

‘Get your ass off my property. Ya’ll ain’t got no business here.’

One of them yelled back from the truck.

‘We got no beef with you, old man, where them kids of yours.’

‘They’d over in Marion in that supped up truck of Junior.’

Pulling about 100 yards from the porch, they lit up the house with a spot light. This went on for what felt like forever. Grandpa Graham stood there with his rifle on his shoulder, looking through the scope, keeping it on target. Soon, it started getting heavy. The rifle had twin 30 round magazines and the combined weight of the clips and the gun were really starting to wear on the old man. Finally, his tired finger pulled the trigger, hitting the driver of the lead truck square in the right eye. His head dropped against the steering wheel blowing the horn signaling he was dead.

The shootings lasted about 30 minutes, ending about 1:45 p.m. About eight miles away from town, three hundred and fifty seven shots were fired at the two-story brick house on the farm, blasting through a first-floor window and punching holes in the bricks of the house. Four of the Moore family was killed and three more were badly wound by Oscar Graham, the patriarch of the family before he was killed while firing back from the living room. He was the only Walker that was killed because he was the only one at home at the time.

After burying Grandpa, the Walker Family struck back hard about 1:30 a.m. the next week. They ran a propane truck through the front door of Ingrid Moore’s house on a tree-lined stretch of North Latimer Avenue. Once the truck entered the home, it exploded killing Ingrid, his wife and his son. One home on Marion Junction Court and one on Wilbert Court were also targeted. In all, seven homes own or operated by the Moore family were hit. Ten members of the Moore family were killed along with seven from the Walker family in a gun battle in the center of downtown. The killings continued through out the summer. The total body count was fifty seven; the highest ever record number of murders in the three month span of summer.