Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs

by Thompson, Tony

  Tony Thompson is the bestselling author of Gangland Britain and Gangs, and is widely regarded as one of Britain’s top true-crime writers. He has twice been nominated for the prestigious Crime Writer’s Association Gold Dagger for Non-Fiction, winning the coveted title in 2001 for his book The Infiltrators. He is the former crime correspondent for the Observer and appears regularly on both television and radio as an expert on matters of crime.

  OUTLAWS

  Inside the violent world of biker gangs

  TONY THOMPSON

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2011 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK Company

  Copyright © Tony Thompson 2011

  The right of Tony Thompson to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  Epub ISBN: 9781444716634

  Book ISBN: 9781444716610

  Hodder and Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Preface

  Patch Rules

  The End

  Part One: Genesis

  1. Mayhem in the Midlands

  2. Biker’s Dozen

  3. Siege

  4. Killzone

  5. Life on the Lam

  6. Inside Man

  Part Two: Size Matters

  7. Money, Money, Money

  8. Forlorn Angels

  9. Emerald Isle

  10. Reincarnation

  11. Blood Feud

  12. Payback

  Part Three: World Travellers

  13. In the Line of Fire

  14. The Fat Mexican

  15. A History of Violence

  16. Daytona

  17. Two Tribes

  18. Down Under

  Part Four: Brothers in Arms

  19. Patch Over

  20. Evolution

  21. Absolute Power

  22. Moving Target

  23. Call to Action

  24. Public Relations

  Part Five: Legacy

  25. The Next Generation

  Coda: LL&R

  Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  Picture Acknowledgements

  Picture Section

  Index

  For Harriet

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a true story. However, in order to protect sources, many of who remain active members of the one percenter world, some names and identifying details have been changed.

  God Forgives, Outlaws Don’t

  Outlaws MC motto

  A one percenter is the one of a hundred of us who has given up on society and the politician’s one-way law. This is why we look repulsive. We are saying we don’t want to be like you or look like you, so stay out of our face.

  Look at your brother standing next to you and ask yourself if you would give him half of what you have in your pocket or half of what you have to eat. If a citizen hits your brother will you be on him without asking him why? There is no why. Your brother isn’t always right but he is always your brother! It’s one in all in. If you don’t think this way then walk away because you are a citizen and don’t belong with us.

  We are Outlaws and members will follow the Outlaws way or get out. All members are your brothers and your family. You will not steal your brother’s possessions, money, woman, class or his humour. If you do, your brother will do you.

  Outlaws MC creed

  PREFACE

  In early April 2009, Daniel ‘Snake Dog’ Boone broke the code of silence he had honoured since his late teens and agreed to talk to me about his life in an outlaw motorcycle club.

  To most people, such clubs are nothing more than an anachronistic throwback to the sixties, populated by paunchy, ageing men with cottony beards and grungy leather jackets, who love to ride their motorcycles and enjoy a good party. The code of silence says different, and members are left in little doubt about the penalties for breaching it. ‘Three can keep a secret if two are dead,’ is a common saying among the Hell’s Angels, while their rivals, the Outlaws, simply state: ‘Snitches are a dying breed.’

  Eager to keep the general public in the dark about what really goes on, the major international clubs – the Angels, the Outlaws and the Bandidos – spend an extraordinary amount of time and energy cultivating a positive public image. They deliver toys to children at Christmas, raise money for worthy charities and complain that the police endlessly persecute them, simply because of their nonconformist lifestyle. Such harassment is, they insist, wholly undeserved.

  Boone knew better. In the course of twenty-three years, he had seen the small back patch club he joined in Leamington Spa at the age of nineteen evolve into something utterly unrecognisable. Slowly but surely, his club turned into a gang – becoming part of an international biker brand steeped in criminality, that put him on the front line of a vicious global conflict that has cost hundreds of lives in dozens of countries.

  I had written about motorcycle clubs many times over the years and had always considered myself something of an expert. As Boone began to relate his story, it struck me that, in reality, I knew almost nothing. The sheer scale of his activities, the high level of complexity and rigid hierarchy of the networks involved, the depths of depravity and the backdrop of extraordinary violence around which his life revolved took my breath away.

  I knew the bikers had started out as idealistic rebels, gotten involved in low-level drug dealing and prostitution and then expanded into mainstream criminality. I also knew that the pursuit of profit had ultimately led the clubs to declare war on one another, first in America then with new battlefronts in Canada, Australia, Scandinavia, Germany, Ireland, Spain and Turkey not to mention much of central Europe. One thing I hadn’t grasped was just how much those wars had changed everything.

  In his early days with the club, Boone had loved to ride his motorcycle purely for the freedom of it, heading off whenever and wherever the mood took him. By the time he came to leave, it was simply too dangerous for him to ride anywhere unless he was part of a much larger group escorted by security cars at the front and rear.

  Under orders to remain armed at all times – his black 9mm semi-automatic pistol was rarely out of reach – Boone increasingly felt as though he were living in a military compound. Even if he was just popping out for cigarettes, he could never leave his fortified clubhouse without checking the CCTV cameras to make sure there was no ambush waiting or that his vehicle hadn’t been booby-trapped.

  Depending on the alert status issued by the club’s high command, there were times when he was unable to contact his family for days or even weeks at a time. Regardless of the security situation, he was forbidden to speak to them about any of his club activities or duties, all of which had to take preference over family birthdays, anniversaries and other special occasions. Virtually every aspect of Boone’s life was governed by a code of conduct and a series of rules, the most cruc
ial of which were printed in a compact booklet that commanded as much respect as the Holy Bible. Aside from a few minor variations, every club in the world operates under a similar set of rules.

  For a long time, it was a life Boone would not have traded for anything. He snorted his way through a mountain of drugs and sank endless gallons of beer. He indulged in threesomes and foursomes and gangbangs by the score. He was shot, stabbed twice and came under fire more times than he could remember. He evaded numerous car bombs and snipers and samurai sword-wielding assassins and somehow lived to tell the tale.

  What I liked most was that, throughout his time with the club, Boone seemed to have an extraordinary knack for getting to the heart of the action. Whether he was inadvertently setting off the Great Nordic Biker War during a visit to Denmark, under siege in Canada in the company of a gang enforcer with multiple murders to his name, visiting the site of Australia’s most notorious massacre or nearly being shot at point-blank range in a Florida clubhouse after unwittingly insulting the club’s international president, Boone had seen it all.

  Over the years, he personally traded vast quantities of narcotics, stole and fenced hundreds of motorcycles, bought and sold guns, set up elaborate frauds and even participated in regular armed expeditions that went out ‘hunting’ for members of the enemy.

  Not all members of biker clubs are criminals, but those that are exert massive influence over the trade in cocaine, cannabis and methamphetamines, right from manufacture and importation down to street level sales. According to the FBI, Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs collect one billion dollars in illegal income every year. Having infiltrated major ports around the world, they are able to ease the passage of guns, drugs and other contraband into Europe and North America. They also dabble in extortion, prostitution, protection and fraud. In recent years, bikers in Australia have expanded their repertoire to include the illegal trade in exotic animals.

  To put this domination into context, it is worth noting that the notorious Gambino family, once headed by ‘Dapper Don’ John Gotti and one of five New York-based syndicates that controls organised crime in the city and beyond, has at most 200 members. By contrast, the Hell’s Angels currently have around 3,600 members spread throughout thirty countries on six continents. Together, the Outlaws and the Bandidos have a further 4,000 members in at least sixteen countries. The bikers operate on a global scale most gangsters can only dream of.

  It is a network that continues to grow and evolve. Some of the very newest clubs, like Australia’s Notorious and the German chapters of the Mongols, have dispensed with the motorbikes altogether and are out-and-out criminal organisations.

  In the course of researching this book, I made an official approach to the Outlaws MC hoping to interview a former member in order to clarify some of the club’s history. The request was categorically denied. The club’s business, I was told, is no one’s business except for members of the club itself.

  Boone saw things differently. He still feels enormous loyalty to his club and his many tattoos attest to the fact that it will always be a part of his life, yet he is willing to risk death-threats from his former comrades to reveal the inner workings of this hidden, secretive world. His motivation for speaking is his concern about the future of the biker movement that has been such a major part of his life.

  His story starts in a small village in Warwickshire, England but it could have started anywhere. United by their love of biking, brawling and brotherhood and their desire to live as outsiders, it tells how young men all over the world evolve from social misfits to organised criminals and cold-blooded killers. This is the story of how bikers are born and made, and how and why they die.

  Tony Thompson

  London 2011

  PATCH RULES

  Bikers can be found riding en masse in every city in every country across all four corners of the planet. Often they are drawn together because they are fans of a particular make or model of machine, or because they live in a certain area, but more often than not they bond simply through the sheer joy of riding. Many such clubs identify themselves with ‘patches’ or ‘colours’ sewn onto their jackets, but what untrained eyes see as random choices over positions and designs are actually the result of delicate and lengthy negotiations within the complex world of international biker politics.

  The majority of organised bikers belong to MCCs (Motor Cycle Clubs) and wear their patches on the front or side of their jackets. Joining such a club is easy and requires little in the way of ongoing commitment. Patches are available for purchase by anyone who turns up to a rally or meeting and the main goal of the club is to enhance the social life of its members.

  At the other end of the scale are the MCs (Motorcycle Clubs). The absence of that one letter makes a world of difference. An MC is about more than brotherhood, more than camaraderie; it is less a club, more a way of life. MC patches cannot be bought, only earned, a process that can take many years. To be accepted by an MC you have to be prepared to give up everything and anything and make the good of the club your number one priority.

  MC members wear a three-part, back patch, sometimes sewn directly onto a jacket but usually emblazoned on a leather or denim cut-off. The club name appears at the top on a curved bar known as a ‘rocker’. The club colours are in the centre while a bottom rocker will name the territory. Prospective members wear only the bottom rocker as a mark of their reduced status.

  The major MCs also sport a diamond-shaped ‘1%’ patch on the front of their colours. This originates from the 1947 drag race meeting attended by thousands of bikers in the small town of Hollister, California – an event that descended into a massive, drunken riot. When the American Motorcycle Association defended the reputation of its members to the press, it insisted that ninety-nine per cent of bikers were well-behaved citizens, it was just that last ‘one per cent’ who were nothing more than ‘outlaws’. The term caught on and MC gangs have called themselves ‘one percenters’ ever since.

  It is impossible to overstate the importance of a set of patches to an MC member. They are his most prized possession and the loss of them under almost any circumstances is an unbearable disgrace. Patches are absolutely sacred and it is no exaggeration to say that MC members consider them worth fighting for and, if necessary, dying for.

  With painfully few exceptions – such as when two new clubs emerge from an unclaimed area at roughly the same time – no new MC will ever wear a bottom rocker laying claim to an occupied area, unless they are prepared to declare outright war on the current incumbents. (When the Mongols MC launched in the early 1970s, their members wore a ‘California’ bottom rocker, much to the annoyance of the Hell’s Angels who not only dominated the West Coast state but also considered it sacred: the gang had been founded there in the aftermath of World War Two. The Angels warned the Mongols to remove the rocker. The Mongols, composed mostly of Hispanics who had been refused entry to the HA on account of their race, stood their ground. It took seventeen years and dozens of murders on both sides before the Angels eventually agreed to a compromise.)

  The one percenter gangs not only control their territory but also, to some degree, oversee the activities of all other biker clubs within their area. Nothing happens without their say so and any potential threat to their superiority, no matter how small, is dealt with harshly. If you have any doubts that this is indeed the case, I suggest you try the following experiment: gather together a group of male friends (women are generally not allowed to join back patch clubs), equip yourselves with large motorcycles – ideally Harley Davidsons – and choose a club logo. Stitch your colours and a square MC patch to the back of a leather jacket with the name of your club above and the name of your county or state below.

  Hold elections to appoint a president, vice president, secretary, treasurer and sergeant-at-arms (responsible for club discipline) then go out riding as a group and get yourselves seen by as many people as possible. Within days, possibly within hours, you and your friends will be intercepte
d by the massed ranks of whichever MC is dominant in your area.

  If you are lucky and show sufficient reverence – that is, if they feel you can drink and party and fight and fuck with the best of them – they will invite you to a meeting at their clubhouse, explain the error of your ways, request that you stop wearing your patches (or charge you a hefty weekly fee in return for permission to wear an altered version) and then lay out the rules for your future conduct.

  Far more likely, however, is that you and your friends will be stomped and beaten and chain whipped to a pulp, your patches and possibly even your bikes will be confiscated. Your fingers or ankles will be broken (to prevent you from riding a bike in future) and you will be told in no uncertain terms that your little club no longer exists. Period. The seized patches will be burned or hung upside down behind the clubhouse bar and the bikes will be stripped down for spares or resold. And if you even consider going to the police, you’ll just make an enemy of every other MC in the world and instantly prove that you didn’t have what it takes to make it in the scene anyway.

  This scenario becomes even more certain if the dominant club in your area is one of the big three, international gangs or if your patches feature a ‘protected’ colour combination: red on white for the Angels, black on white for the Outlaws, red on yellow for the Bandidos. Coming too close to the designs of one of the big gangs would bring even more trouble – all three are trademarked and protected by international copyright law.

  The issue of showing appropriate respect to an MC applies even when it is crystal clear that there is no threat. In August 2010 a sixty-three-year-old bike-riding preacher from Altoona, Pennsylvania was beaten and robbed by members of the Animals MC after failing to seek permission to wear a back patch which featured a red cross on a white background along with the words ‘Shield of Faith Ministries’.