Undercover Pittsburgh narcotics detectives and uniformed officers brawled early Friday morning inside a South Side bar with what police say were armed reputed members of the Pagans motorcycle club.
Pagans and police threw punches, the two sides grappled and shoved one another and a sergeant deployed pepper spray in the close confines of Kopy’s Bar on South 12th Street, according to criminal complaints.
A customer at the bar recorded several videos of the altercation, in which both uniformed and plainclothes detectives can be seen fighting with men in leather vests, some officers with Tasers in hand.
One man in plainclothes shouts, “I’m a [expletive] cop,” as he shoves a vested man to the ground and then stands over him, shouting, “You’re a [expletive] [expletive]…why don’t you [expletive] grab on to me again!”
The man on the ground says, “I didn’t!”
Police said they recovered two guns from the defendants and three large knives from the bar floor after the 12:43 a.m. melee.
[WARNING this video contains strong language]
Copies of original BS Police reports at ending of story
There was no indication that anyone was seriously hurt during the knock-down, drag-out fight, although one defendant — Frank Deluca, 36, of Greenfield — was taken to UPMC Mercy before being brought to jail. A mug shot showed Mr. Deluca had two black eyes, with one swollen shut, and bruises on his forehead.
Also arrested were: Erik Hertzrater, 28, of Hampton; Bruce Thomas, 61, of Allentown; and Michael Zokaites, 28, of Shaler. They were all charged with aggravated assault, conspiracy and riot.
The police paperwork describes a madhouse scene in which the defendants, who did not seem reluctant in the least to confront police officers, engaged in a wild free-for-all of punches, kicks and shoves.
Four narcotics detectives were working undercover inside Kopy’s, the target of complaints about being a site for drug dealing, when things took a violent turn, police said. Six men, at least some of whom were decked out in jeans jacket vests with “Pagans” written across the back, walked in and sat in the back near the pool table.
At some point, one of the detectives overheard a customer say, “Those guys are cops” while gesturing at the officers.
The narcotics officers realized their cover was blown. The Pagans members stared, Detective Brian Burgunder wrote in the complaints.
One detective walked over to the club members “and confirmed to them that we were, in fact, police officers and we were not there to infringe on anyone’s good time,” the complaint said.
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Two members of the Pagans group left. The four remaining men went out the back and then reappeared at a table right behind the detectives.
Things were cordial at first, police said. The groups shook hands multiple times. But Mr. Deluca started screaming and then pushed one of the detectives, police said.
By then, Sgt. Matt Turko and another uniformed officer had arrived.
Detective Burgunder said Zokaites — listed by police as 6-foot-3 and 280 pounds — punched him and another detective in the head and face, prompting another detective to punch and tackle Zokaites.
Detective Burgunder said he grabbed Mr. Deluca, felt a gun in his waistband and yelled a warning. Deluca — at 5-foot-8 and 175 pounds, the smallest of the bunch — would not listen to police, the complaint said, and started kicking and punching.
Sgt. Turko unleashed his pepper spray, which hit both the defendants and his fellow officers.
Detective Burgunder yanked Mr. Deluca by his ponytail, but, police said, he continued to fight and was taken down after being punched in the face multiple times. Police said a gun was found in his waistband. Police said Mr. Thomas and Mr. Hertzrater were also taken into custody by force.
Mr. Hertzrater also had a gun in his waistband, police said. Both he and Mr. Deluca had permits to conceal carried weapons, according to the complaint.
Elizabeth Pittinger, executive director of the Citizen Police Review Board, said Saturday that her organization opened an inquiry into the incident.
“The content of the video I saw raises questions as to the professional conduct of the officers involved,” she said.
The police bureau’s code of conduct requires that officers “be professional, polite, and civil.” It also requires officers “maintain decorum and command of temper and refrain from the inappropriate use of harsh, coarse, profane or uncivil language.”
Source: Post Gazette Jonathan D. Silver: jsilver@post-gazette.com, 412-263-1962 or on Twitter @jsilverpg. Shelly Bradbury contributed.
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[…] Police use excessive force on members of Pagans Motorcycle Club: Maybe its time they start getting i… This meant one of two things: Either they were gonna let me become a hang-around or they were gonna kill me. AFTER HOURS The Hollywood chapter, which had about ten members who lived all over L.A., threw a regular party called Green Hell. (Sometimes the Vagos refer to themselves as Green Nation.) Plus Loki has sort of a Satanic vibe, what with his horns and all. They also flaunt the number 22, since “V” is the 22nd letter in the alphabet. Green Hell went from 2 a.m. to 6 a.m. at the clubhouse. It was a moneymaker. The guys would go to bars and strip clubs, recruit guests, and offer late-night work to the strippers. There was a cover charge and a cash bar, a pool table, a couple of stripper poles. It drew a big crowd. Hollywood people always showed up. The band Matchbox 20 came one night. The Guns N’ Roses drummer, too. Even a few movie stars came. People liked the underground feel. I don’t think most realized that it was a Vagos party or that if things jumped off, there could be serious violence. My job was to stock the bar, watch the gate, work the door. At one Green Hell, a guy from the Armenian Power gang was making trouble, and when we tried to throw him out, he put up a fight. I knew I had to put hands on him to avoid blowing my cover. A few of us escorted him to the street and threw him into a parked car, which caused his head to smash the side-view mirror. A few days later, during church—what outlaw motorcycle gangs call weekly chapter meetings—a bunch of Armenian guys came to the clubhouse when I was watching the gate. One of them said, “I wanna talk to Lars.” Lars came out, they walked down the block, and within a few minutes they’d brokered a peace deal. Everything was cool. A few months later, in the parking lot of a nearby restaurant where they all hung out, the Armenian guys showed me a trunk full of machine guns. On another church night, I was outside by the gate when I looked up and saw a car rolling by. Then a hand with a gun emerged from the sunroof. Blap-blap-blap-blap-blap! I heard the zing of a bullet as it went past my ears. We never figured out who it was. By that point it was late spring, and I’d gotten more backstops in order: a place to live, some address history. My Harley had California plates, and I had a truck registered to my undercover name. I’d rented a little apartment in a North Hollywood fourplex near Victory and Lankershim with its own garage. I’d park my ATF vehicle, a small GMC truck, a few blocks away and walk to my undercover place and slip in through the alley. Sometimes Vagos would come by to hang out or see what I was up to. I had an ATF cover team in place about 50, maybe 60 percent of the time, doing drive-bys, but a cover team can’t really save you in this type of role; it just keeps an eye out from time to time and cleans up if things go bad. My best friend from the academy, Frank D’Alesio, was doing the same sort of infiltrating with the Vagos in Las Vegas at the time. It was a coincidence, but we used it to our advantage. Being an Italian American from a Rust Belt city with a mafia presence, Frank portrayed himself as a connected guy with side hustles across the country. He told them that he had a business associate from back East named Koz who was hanging around with Vagos in Hollywood, and I told the Hollywood Vagos about Frank. The Vagos have a rule that’s basically “if it doesn’t have to do with the club, it’s no one else’s business.” Frank and I figured if we followed the rules, maybe they’d respect us enough to do business together. We would talk at night to keep our stories straight. Pretty soon Frank and one of his informants were making runs to L.A. We’d see each other at Vagos functions, go on errands together—taking packages from Point A to Point B, that kind of thing. We knew better than to ask what was in the packages; it was way too soon for that. The head of the entire Vagos organization was a scraggly-haired, bald-domed guy called Whitey who was in his fifties and wore a cowboy hat and Fu Manchu. He looked like the comedian Gallagher, or a clown, which is funny because he’d brag that he was the first person to play Ronald McDonald in a commercial. He lived in the San Gabriel Valley. I remember one time he made me and Frank try to sell a bunch of videos of him riding around on a motorcycle. Anything to make money for the gang. We took the tapes to ATF, got some cash, and brought it back to Whitey. […]
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