Shortly before 10:00 p.m., Diaz stood up. He approached two patrons sitting at the bar in the front of the lounge, brandished a gun equipped with a silencer, and demanded they hit the floor. He fired once to prove his point, pegging a light fixture over the stage.
Wielding a second gun, Toro mounted the stage and demanded every wallet, watch, and piece of jewelry in the room. The three men herded their victims into the men's bathroom and slammed the door shut. Bartenders and patrons listened as their assailants dragged something heavy across the floor a cigarette machine it turned out and shoved it against the door. They heard arguing and then gunshots.
Hidden beneath the bar, trembling, a dancer heard them too. Before leaving, the robbers noticed her. They demanded she open the cash register. It jammed. The thieves, seemingly panicked, fled.
Hearing silence, the bathroom hostages broke out. The shaken dancer breathed a sigh of relief. Their valuables, along with cash from the bar and one register, were gone. And in his office, Joseph Nagy, manager of the Velvet Swing, had been shot dead.
A short news brief in the Miami Herald the following day mentioned Nagy's killing. But the police could garner almost nothing to share with the press. The lounge was dark and the assailants unknown. The men spoke in Spanish. The two victims first approached by Diaz could describe him only as slight of build, with Latin features. Frustrated detectives took fingerprints and collected casings from three different caliber weapons. They found a fourth, unfired gun in the office and a fragment of steel wool from a silencer. But the crime would remain unsolved for nearly four years just another murder during Miami's most violent era.
On Wednesday, December 13, Angel Diaz is scheduled to die for his role in the Velvet Swing killing, one that nobody but the criminals witnessed. Barring a legal miracle, he will be the fourth person executed in Florida this year, the most since 2000. Diaz has been appealing his sentence for twenty years. Although it's not surprising that a man known for sneaking out of prisons would argue against his conviction to the last breath, Diaz's trial was a mess. That has left some people feeling uncertain not about whether he's a murderer but about the sentence, and whether the process was just.
Born in Puerto Rico in 1951, Angel Diaz married while still in high school and dropped out during his third year. At age 17, he was arrested for heroin possession. At age 24, he shot and wounded a police officer during an armed robbery and was sentenced to five to eight years in prison. While incarcerated, Diaz participated in a drug rehabilitation program. In 1978 he fatally stabbed the program's director nineteen times and was convicted of his murder. Only a year into his fifteen-year sentence, he beat a corrections officer to near death, escaped prison, and fled to Miami. Two months later, he drew his gun in the Velvet Swing.
In February 1981, Miami cops nabbed Diaz for unrelated assault and firearms charges. He gave them an assumed name, Emilio Baez, and posted bond. Before police grasped his real identity fugitive murderer from Puerto Rico he jumped bail and fled north. Federal firearms agents caught up with him in Middletown, Connecticut, and arrested him on a warrant for illegal possession of a .25-caliber pistol. The feds soon discovered his history and indicted him on weapons charges in a circuit court in Hartford.
One week later, Diaz again escaped from jail.
In the Hartford Courant, authorities called it "the largest jailbreak in recent state history." Diaz and three inmates assaulted two guards and then used a floor buffer to break a window. Scaling a wall and a twelve-foot fence, they stole two cars and fled the scene. Caught three days later at the Home and Travel Motor Hotel in Meriden, Connecticut, Diaz spent just two years in jail before getting into trouble again. In July 1983 guards found a loaded .38-caliber Derringer under a mattress in his cell. This time they took him to Leavenworth.
Back in Miami, the newly formed Cold Case Squad of the Miami-Dade Police was on the verge of solving the mystery of the Velvet Swing murder. A single fingerprint on a matchbook connected Diaz to the scene. There was also a bar patron's statement that a photo of Diaz "could fit the description of the person who robbed me."