By Ray Stern
By Ray Stern
By New Times
By Amy Silverman
By Stephen Lemons
By Stephen Lemons
By Monica Alonzo
By Chris Parker
While Cole Bailey Jr. kept an eye out for his taxi, all hell was breaking loose inside River City Pockets. Police reports and witness statements describe a scene that quickly escalated from a shoving match between two women to an all-out brawl. (It should be noted that all of the suspects in the incident that unfolded maintain their innocence in the murder of Cole Bailey Jr.)
A group of skinheads, who'd frequented River City off and on, were playing pool at a nearby table while two of their girlfriends looked on -- Cassandra Woods (known as Aryan Angel, according to the tattoo on her back) and Kelly Coffman, a plump redhead who was stepping out on her husband while he was in prison. Woods, a skinny, dirty blonde, picked a fight with another customer, a young woman she suspected had been flirting with her boyfriend, Samuel Compton.
Compton is big and brawny. He has "White Power" tattooed on his back, and he carried brass knuckles in his pocket. Compton had had trouble controlling his aggression in the past, and had gone to prison for assault. When the bouncer stepped in to intervene in the fight between the two girls, Compton got into a row with the bouncer. A female bartender emerged from behind the bar to assist the bouncer and found herself knocked to the floor and repeatedly kicked in the face by Woods and Kelly Coffman. She was kicked so savagely that the blood vessels in her eyes burst.
Compton's friend Chris Whitley, one of the leaders of their skinhead crew, Unit 88 Skins, came to his friend's defense, as did Brandon Miller, a short, chubby guy whose nickname, Bulldog, is inked on his forearm, and Justin LaRue, whom police describe as a new recruit into the movement. Off-duty bouncers jumped in to help, and soon skinhead bodies were flying across pool tables. Someone broke a pool cue over a bouncer's back. One of the bouncers conked Compton on the head with a pool ball. Whitley and Miller knocked another bouncer to the floor and kicked him in the face. Whitley ripped off his shirt and shouted his name and prison identification number, asking anybody in the bar if they wanted a piece of him.
Someone yelled that the cops were coming, which allowed the bouncers to regain control. The bloody skinhead horde was ejected onto the sidewalk just a few feet from where Cole Bailey Jr. was standing.
When the group of bloodied and irate skinheads spilled out into the parking lot, Cole Bailey Jr. couldn't help but look.
Sammy Compton began goose-stepping and yelling, "White Power! White Pride!" Then Sammy's attention turned to the skinny guy by the wall. "What the fuck are you looking at?" he asked Cole. "Nothing, I'm just waiting for a cab," Cole answered back. Compton approached him and suddenly pounded him between the eyes with brass knuckles.
Bailey's glasses flew off, and he crumpled to the ground before attempting to get up and run. He only made it a few yards before the pack of skins descended on him, slamming him against the plate glass window of a pet shop, and punching him until he fell to the ground again. They kicked through his skull with steel-toed boots. They shattered his jaw and nose and eye sockets. Cassandra Woods egged them on. "Beat the nigger!" she yelled, as Miller, LaRue, Compton and Whitley stomped Cole's skull against the pavement.
Then, as quickly as the beating had begun, it was over. The skinheads piled into a red Honda and drove off into the night. A young woman who witnessed the attack from a corner of the parking lot ran up to Cole Jr. and grabbed his hand. She told him to hang on, to squeeze her hand. He did once, then let out a rattling last breath. The girl's friend ran into the bar to call 911. A bouncer emerged and ran to Cole's side. The young man's face was so bloodied that the bouncer later told police he couldn't tell what nationality Cole was. Cole Jr. was taken to the emergency room at John C. Lincoln Hospital and pronounced dead at 9:20 p.m.
I've seen dead bodies before," Cole Sr. says, "but I was horrified. He was so disfigured. I was horrified and enraged that someone would do such damage. It was so extensive [that] the intention could only have been murder."
The night Cole Jr. died, Bailey was at the Bunny Ranch in Tucson, trying to work logistics for a photo shoot of a bunch of g-string-clad strippers for Playtime magazine. Once the shots around his motorcycle were completed, Bailey went inside to his office and sent a few e-mails before calling it a night. He awoke the next day to phone messages urging him to call Detective Paul Dalton of the Phoenix Police Department.
"I thought maybe they were looking for someone who had been in one of my clubs," he says. Bailey called Dalton and was given the devastating news.
"Are you the father of Cole Adrian Alan Bailey?" Bailey says Dalton inquired. "Your son died last night," the detective continued.