Jerry Langton Three-Book Bundle

by Jerry Langton

  Whether Murdock decided against killing that fourth target or not, he was apprehended on an earlier extortion warrant. After he was interrogated, the Hamilton cops played him an audiotape of his buddies, the Musitanos. The cops had bugged the Gathering Spot, their pizza restaurant on James Street North, and had recorded them talking about Murdock. They laughed at him, described what a scumbag they thought he was and joked about how much better off they’d be if he somehow met with a tragic accident. Murdock broke and turned informant. In exchange for his testimony, he received a 13-year sentence.

  The Musitanos were immediately arrested. Both were charged with the murder of Papalia, and Ang was also charged with the murder of Barillaro. The whole ugly story came out. Murdock said that, despite the promise of $10,000 and a big bag of coke, he only received $2,000. “But I would have done it for free,” he testified, because of his love for the family.

  Pat Musitano

  The Musitanos — who, in court as well as on tape, made no secret of their disgust with their former employee — surprised the court by entering guilty pleas for conspiracy to murder Barillaro. In exchange, charges related to Papalia’s murder were dropped. They were both sentenced to 10 years.

  In the space of about a year, the Hamilton — and therefore Ontario — Mafia had effectively ceased to exist. Johnny Pops was dead. The only other man capable of leading, Barillaro, was dead. The Musitanos, flawed as they were, were also behind bars. What was left of the Magaddino Family were under so many legal restrictions and police surveillance that they were essentially handcuffed, and unable to act. But, in truth, there wasn’t anybody in Hamilton or elsewhere in Ontario that was up to the task.

  At least, there wasn’t anyone among the Italians. There were still bikers. And, with biker-hating Papalia out of the way, they were more free than ever to wear their colors and operate their businesses. But there were problems there. The Outlaws were allegedly getting most of their coke from the Italians, and that source had effectively vanished. Satan’s Choice, which had the most to gain because they could get an almost unlimited supply of cocaine from Quebec, were taken out of the picture at almost exactly the same time because of arrests linked to the bombing of a Sudbury Police station.

  K-9’s life was spared just in time for him — and the rest of his former gang — to be thrown behind bars. The chapter’s clubhouse on Lottridge Street was taken by the Crown as evidence. Satan’s Choice ceased to exist in Hamilton.

  The resulting power vacuum affected the streets profoundly. Just months earlier, the province had been literally awash in cheap and easy vice, and now it had dried up almost completely. Keep in mind that most of the drugs that organized criminals were dealing — cocaine, methamphetamine and still a little heroin — were extremely addictive, and that their other services (including gambling, prostitution and loan-sharking) were also in great demand. The people who used these products and services were suddenly desperate for a new source.

  Although deprived of their obvious way into the city — K-9’s Satan’s Choice — Hells Angels were smart enough to take advantage of the situation in a big way. Hells Angels national president Walter Stadnick, through the Sherbrooke Chapter, got in touch with a Niagara region drug dealer named Gerald “Skinny” Ward. An all-time tough guy whose criminal record began when he was 18 years old and listed 21 different convictions by 1999, Ward had been allegedly selling Magaddino-supplied coke received through Hamilton for years.

  But he was no biker. He didn’t even own a motorcycle. He was just a local guy who sold drugs. Hells Angels reached out to him and he was delighted to hear from them. After a few meetings, Ward quickly became the top coke dealer in Hamilton and Niagara. “Ward was never a biker,” Len Isnor, a biker specialist with the Ontario Provincial Police (OPP), told me. “But Stadnick said, ‘You’re a Hells Angel now,’ and so he became one pretty quickly.”

  Gerald “Skinny” Ward.

  In London, the Coates brothers and their friends were doing a decent business, much to the chagrin of the local Outlaws and the old Annihilators (who had become Loners, then Rock Machine and who were now prospective Bandidos).

  In Toronto, Hells Angels supplied the Para-Dice Riders, and what was left of Satan’s Choice. And, of course, there were still vestiges of Satan’s Choice in Oshawa, Keswick, Simcoe County and Thunder Bay, and the enviably disciplined Kitchener Chapter, remained largely unscathed under the leadership of wily Andre Watteel.

  Combined with the independent dealers throughout Northern Ontario, that put a lot of Hells Angels-friendly manpower in the province, even if there was not a single chapter there.

  But it wasn’t enough. Stadnick wanted Ontario — his own home — for his Hells Angels. So in the summer of 2000, he made a move unprecedented in size and cunning.

  With a few exceptions due to bad blood, Stadnick offered Hells Angels membership to every significant motorcycle club in Ontario. And he made them an offer they could barely refuse. He offered Hells Angels membership patch-for-patch to these gangs with no questions asked and no probationary period. Take the deal, and you were a full-patch Hells Angel.

  It was remarkable, and not just because it promised instant riches selling cocaine. It represented a chance to be a member of the premier organization in the field. And that is a big lure for many bikers, who crave the fear and respect their bikes and jackets inspire. It can hardly be overstated how much prestige the Hells Angels brand carries in the outlaw biker world. Isnor, who likened it to being invited to play for the Yankees after toiling in obscurity for the Royals or Pirates, put it succinctly: “Nobody makes movies about the Outlaws.” To many, it was like winning the lottery.

  Stadnick made the offer directly to Satan’s Choice, the Para-Dice Riders, the Vagabonds, the Red Devils, Last Chance and the Windsor-based Lobos. Satan’s Choice, Last Chance, the Lobos and all but 13 members of the Para-Dice Riders jumped at it. The fiercely independent Red Devils politely declined. So did the Vagabonds, who were still smarting from treatment meted out by Hells Angels to their president, David “Snorkel” Melanson, after he ran afoul of their drug-distribution network.

  And Stadnick, through neutral representatives, let it be known that the offer was also open to any and all Outlaws and Bandidos, except the Ontario West Chapter. Stadnick made it very clear that he refused to negotiate with them.

  The Bandidos — who had been Rock Machine just a year earlier — were especially responsive. Why should they be prospects for this club in Texas with a silly cartoon Mexican on their backs when they could be full-patch Hells Angels just by agreeing? Both chapters that Stadnick made the offer to — Toronto and Ontario East, based in Kingston and Ottawa — agreed. Even Paul Porter, president of the Ontario East Chapter, who had been one of the founders and primary leaders of the Rock Machine during their vicious war with the Hells Angels in Montreal, changed sides. In his final message before donning his new colors, Porter wrote on a bikers’ message board: “Hello to all the RMMC. I wish you all the best with your new colors. ’Bye my brothers.” The only holdout of any significance in either chapter was Toronto Chapter president Frank Raso, an old Loner. He’d had enough of changing patches and left the outlaw biker world entirely.

  Of course, the offer was made to the chapters, but not to everyone in them. Every chapter had a couple of guys who didn’t meet Stadnick’s standards and they were told in no uncertain terms that their presence was no longer desired. Denied Hells Angels membership and without their old clubs, those rejects accounted for more than a few disgruntled bikers on the streets of Ontario.

  Even a few Outlaws, who had basically ruled Ontario’s biker landscape since Satan’s Choice founder Bernie Guindon landed in prison in 1977, considered Stadnick’s offer. With so many arrests, the club had fallen into disarray with just 70 members in Ontario, and many openly mulled the idea of jumping to the bigger ship. Negotiating with Billy Miller, Raso’s replacement in Toronto, some Outlaws — notably Dave “the Hammer” MacDonald of Hamilton a
nd Shaun “Cheeks” Boshaw of London — agreed to patch over. And others, like Mario Parente’s old friend and reputed No. 2 Kevin Legere, were openly considering it.

  Then Parente stepped in, warning the remaining Outlaws that jumping ship could result in extremely dire consequences. “Most of these guys are what we called ‘paper Outlaws.’ They were bikers first and foremost and the patch, the Outlaws name and organization, didn’t mean all that much to them,” Isnor said. “If it wasn’t for Parente, who was an Outlaw through and through, they probably would have folded.”

  For support, Parente called James “Frank” Wheeler, the Outlaws international president in Indianapolis. Wheeler issued his own warning to the remaining Outlaws, and even met with Hells Angels boss Ralph “Sonny” Barger, who agreed to get Stadnick to stop pursuing Ontario Outlaws for membership in exchange for a promise of peace.

  But it was too late. The long run of the Outlaws at the top of a polyglot of biker gangs in Ontario came to an end on December 29, 1999 in Sorel. Outside the shabby Hells Angels clubhouse was a virtual wall of tough guys gathered from puppet clubs — the notorious Rockers from Laval and a local group called the Rowdy Crew. Just beyond them was a scattered throng of police and media types. They knew something was up, but they had no idea what or how big it would be.

  A day earlier, Ontario Solicitor General David Tsubouchi — who had caught wind of what was going down — called a press conference at Queen’s Park, Ontario’s capital building. He announced the formation of a new police task force, the Biker Enforcement Unit (BEU). Then he claimed that outlaw motorcycle gangs were his “top priority” and vowed that it would “not be an easy ride” for them in his province.

  Some came by chartered bus and some came by car, but the most conspicuous came by Harley. Even the most experienced and jaded cops were shocked to see Bandidos and Outlaws come to this summit. Then when the Hells Angels rather obviously moved in a well-marked industrial sewing machine, it dawned on them what was happening. And when the bikers started walking out of the clubhouse with brand-new Hells Angels patches — complete with top and bottom rockers — they realized that Ontario was now Hells Angels territory. They counted in the neighborhood of 180 of them. And they noticed that their bottom rocker simply read “Ontario” rather than individual chapters. Maybe it was a half-realization of Stadnick’s dream of a single rocker for Canada, or maybe it was because they were dealing with too many chapters in too short a time to order enough rockers.

  All of the new Hells Angels were recognized by at least some of the cops. And, of course, everyone knew who Guindon was when he came out of the clubhouse, appearing proud of his new jacket. But not everybody was that impressive. Many of the cops present were surprised that Hells Angels — considered the gold standard among bikers — would accept such lowly gangs as the Lobos and Last Chance into their up-until-then-exclusive club. These were, after all, guys they called “mumblies” because of their drug-addled speech.

  But what they didn’t understand was that Hells Angels were thinking strategically, not tactically. They were after numbers and cities of importance. Any chapter, they believed, could be improved.

  The following day, Hells Angels had chapters in Thunder Bay, Sudbury, Simcoe County, Keswick, Kitchener, Oshawa and Toronto East that had formerly been Satan’s Choice. The former Para-Dice Riders clubhouses in Toronto Center and Woodbridge now sported the winged skull. Last Chance gave them a small operation in Toronto West that was still looking for a clubhouse and the Lobos entrenched them in Windsor, an important border crossing. The former Bandidos provided more strength in Toronto (the members there were absorbed by the former Para-Dice Riders in Woodbridge) and Kingston. As a tip of the hat to Porter’s weighty status, the Kingston Bandidos were given the Hells Angels’ elite “Nomads” title, even though they contravened the original Nomads requirement by having a clubhouse. In this case, the title referred to their powerful status. The Hells Angels who had been operating in London quickly set up a clubhouse and chapter there. And from a strategic, financial and (at least for Stadnick) personal standpoint, Ward and his friends in Niagara Falls were persuaded to buy motorcycles and leather jackets and become the Hells Angels Niagara Chapter. They were to share Hamilton’s rich drug market with Watteel’s Kitchener Chapter.

  That was a total of 13 Hells Angels chapters — admittedly of varying quality — in a province that had had none a day earlier. In fact, Toronto had a greater concentration of Hells Angels than any other city in the world.

  Opposing them were largely dispirited Outlaw chapters in London, Sault Ste. Marie, Simcoe County, St. Catharines, Toronto, Windsor, Woodstock and, at least in theory, Montreal. The only club even close to being their allies were the last remaining Bandidos just outside of London. And they were hardly organized or trustworthy enough to make much of a difference.

  It was a tense time. Hells Angels had invaded Ontario and were determined to make it theirs. The Outlaws had an even stronger desire to hold onto the province that had been theirs for a very long time. Many of them prepared for the war that, despite the promise of peace, seemed inevitable.

  Chapter 2

  The Reincarnation of Satan’s Choice

  It’s 1977. A very different time. All of the post-World War II euphoria has been used up. Years of Vietnam, Watergate, unemployment, recession, inflation and labor unrest have exposed some nerves. It’s an angry, violent time — a ridiculously hot summer that sees strikes, recession, riots and serial killers dominating headlines. Crime rates are skyrocketing. Punk rock is emerging. It’s ugly. It seethes.

  Crime in Canada is burgeoning. The Mafia — usually Italian, sometimes Irish — supplies the goods. They take care of the drugs, the girls, the guns and everything else. But they are facing a big manpower problem. It’s becoming increasingly clear that the Mafia members’ kids are way more interested in spending their dads’ dirty money than they are in making more of it.

  While a generation earlier, there was a surfeit of good Catholic boys ready to lay their lives down for the family, by the late ’70s that supply had dried up. The sons of those same Catholic boys were now running real estate offices and car dealerships in the suburbs, getting clean money from businesses their dads had paid to start up.

  Their mass exodus left the Mafia largely bereft of talent. The foot soldiers that remained were generally old, psychotic, stupid or some combination of all of those things.

  But drugs still needed to be sold, strippers still needed agents, prostitutes still needed to be driven around and recalcitrant debtors still needed to be punished. So the Canadian Mafia started to turn to other workers.

  It’s 1977. It’s Canada. White trash abounds. And over the last couple of decades, when white men started considering a life outside the legal norms, they began to grow their hair long, wear leather jackets and start riding motorcycles.

  Starting in earnest in the mid-’60s, outlaw motorcycle gangs emerged all over Canada. Although they all had different names, they all basically looked and worked exactly the same way. They had been doing the tough jobs for the Mafia for years, and in many places they had even eclipsed their former masters and had become the dominant crime organizations.

  A few years earlier, Quebec alone had, by police estimates, no fewer than 350 motorcycle gangs. But the big boys saw there was lots of money to be made, so they had consolidated down to no more than a couple of dozen.

  The rest of Canada had a similar environment — lots of little biker gangs engaging in small-time crime, but none with any kind of real dominance.

  Except in Ontario. In the mid-1960s, a charismatic young man from the Oshawa area named Bernie Guindon started a new gang. A championship-quality boxer and a natural leader, Guindon (known as “the Frog” to his friends, associates and enemies) and Satan’s Choice quickly began to dominate Southern Ontario’s motorcycle gang milieu.

  They were actually the second club in Ontario to be called Satan’s Choice. But the first version was a very
different kind of organization. Don Norris, one of the early members who joined the club after buying a 1952 Triumph from the Saddle Tramps, another Scarborough club, described it in his book, Riding with Attitude: I hooked up with Satan’s Choice and a year later I became president. That would be 1959 or ’60. There was only one chapter back then, about 45 members. We hung out at Aida’s restaurant at Kingston Rd. and St. Clair Ave. There were no initiation rituals. You just needed a motorcycle and $3 for the patch.

  He described the life of the club: Party, party, party. And some ongoing rivalry with other clubs. The Black Diamond Riders tended to try to wipe out other clubs. I was beaten up a few times. We were treated with respect by people, given a wide berth wherever we went. They saw your patch and they stepped aside.

  They disbanded in 1963. Norris, like most former members, drifted in and out of various Toronto-area clubs. He was approached one day in 1965 by an old friend, Guindon, who was by then president of an Oshawa club called the Phantom Riders, to see if he wanted to be part of a newer, bigger club. He had gotten some other area gangs — the Canadian Lancers, the Throttle Twisters and the Wild Ones (not to be confused with the later Hamilton gang of the same name) — to join his club. This new superclub, he said, would be called Satan’s Choice. Norris thought it was cool, but decided not to join because of his family.

  This second incarnation of Satan’s Choice was much rougher. They rode Harleys and wore leather jackets and fought with, chased off or forcibly retired gangs like the Golden Hawks, the Chainmen and the Fourth Reich.

  They became notorious nationwide in August 1968, when an undercover reporter from the Globe and Mail infiltrated a Satan’s Choice party at a resort town called Wasaga Beach. He watched them party and he took pictures. The event that caught the nation’s attention and outrage was a game in which a live chicken was set loose in a mob of bikers. They tore the terrified bird to shreds, and a prize was awarded to the participant who emerged with the biggest piece. It caused widespread scorn and outrage, but no criminal charges.