Jerry Langton Three-Book Bundle

by Jerry Langton

  Almost as soon as they arrived, the Popeyes found themselves in charge of a very large area of downtown Montreal, but — as the Dubois connection dwindled and later disappeared altogether — they had nothing to sell.

  That didn’t last long. Just like the Outlaws in Ontario, Hells Angels were looking to expand northward. The Outlaws — founded in Chicagoland and later headquartered in Detroit — took the natural step eastward into Southern Ontario. The eastern branch of Hells Angels, however, was based in Manhattan (the former Aliens were the regional bosses), so it was logical for them to look north to Montreal. It was not only much closer than Toronto (a four-hour drive north as opposed to a ten-hour drive west), but at the time, it was also bigger, more cosmopolitan and had a far larger drug market. And, back then, language wasn’t a big problem as there was always an English-speaker around to translate.

  Hells Angels had been scouting Montreal for a gang to align with for a few years, and one source told me that it was the well-connected Devil’s Disciples who were at the top of their list until the Popeyes effectively got rid of them. So, when Hells Angels came to Montreal, they came to Laval.

  It was an immediate success for the Popeyes. No less than Hells Angels U.S. national president and celebrity Sonny Barger came to visit. He was so taken with Buteau in fact, that he personally gave him his patch and anointed him as the only Canadian to be allowed to wear the “Hells Angels International” patch.

  On December 5, 1977, a wild party in Laval ushered in a whole new era of organized crime in Canada. That night, 35 members of the Popeyes patched over to Hells Angels (the others were chased off). With the founding of the Hells Angels Montreal Chapter, the second of two American supergangs had been established in the country. The era of biker wars had begun.

  The situation became even more tense in February of 1978, when the Montreal Satan’s Choice made the decision to patch over and become the Outlaws Montreal Chapter. They had seen other former Satan’s Choice chapters in Ontario flourish as Outlaws, and realized that what was left of the Choice would be no match against Hells Angels, should they decide they wanted to run the town by themselves.

  The patch-over put both American gangs in La Belle Province, both operating in, and vying for, dominance in the city of Montreal.

  Chapter 4

  Mayhem in Montreal

  Maybe they knew it, and maybe they didn’t, but on the chilly afternoon of February 15, 1978, Robert Côté and a close friend whose name was never released walked into the wrong bar. At the corner of Saint-Hubert and Castelnau in Montreal’s Villeray neighborhood, not far from Jarry Park, sat Brasserie Joey. The locals knew it was a place where the Popeyes — now known as Hells Angels — had hung out for years.

  But Côté and his associate weren’t from the neighborhood. They were from Saint-Henri, not far away, but very different. And they were Outlaws. They sat near the window, drinking beer and chatting. Nobody else in the bar talked to them, or even looked at them.

  Before long, a group of Hells Angels and their supporters walked in and confronted the two men. To their credit, the pair of Outlaws didn’t back down. They argued with the locals until they were physically ejected from the building.

  Once outside, they stood in the street flinging threats, insults and rude gestures at the people inside. They probably should have left. Minutes after their forcible ejection, a large, light-green car covered in grime and frost drove up. The front passenger-side window opened and someone fired a volley of shots at the Outlaws. Côté was hit in the head. His friend was lightly grazed. Wisely, he fled the scene. The green car sped away, skidding in the gray snow.

  Côté died five days later. The shooter was later identified as Popeye-turned-Hells Angel Yves “Apache” Trudeau, who finally found his calling in life after failing at so many things before. He didn’t look like the other Hells Angels in Montreal, and nobody would have guessed he was the club’s enforcer and primary weapon. While most of the rest of the chapter were big brutes — including some 350- and even 400-pound behemoths — Trudeau measured just five-foot-six and, by his own admission, tipped the scales at some 135 pounds. And while all the other Hells Angels had long hair and huge beards, as was the biker style at the time, Trudeau was generally clean shaven except for modest sideburns and only traded his Elvis-style pompadour for a sedate parted-at-the-side look well into the ’80s.

  Côté’s death would be just one of the 43 murders the tiny biker later admitted to committing. Ironically, later in life, after he was admitted into the witness protection program, he would go by the name Denis Côté.

  Desperate for a show of strength, the Outlaws threw a lavish funeral for Côté. More than 300 Outlaws — many from Ontario and Outlaw strongholds in the U.S. such as South Florida and Detroit — attended, including three convicted felons the Montreal police would later arrest and hand over to immigration.

  As is biker tradition, the riders in the procession were helmetless. The cops didn’t ticket them. In fact, one told me they appreciate the gesture as it allows them to photograph the bikers’ faces and get an approximation of their individual status by what spot in line they have.

  Less than a month later, Hells Angels struck again. And the Outlaws clearly hadn’t learned to stay on their side of Mont-Royal Park. Gilles Cadorette, president of the Montreal Outlaws, decided to show his friend Donald McLean his newly customized Camaro. It was a heck of a car — assembled in nearby Saint Therese, Quebec, perfected in his driveway in Montreal — and Cadorette wanted to show off it and his newfound wealth to a younger and very impressionable new member.

  The problem was that he did it while visiting his girlfriend on rue Bordeaux. The two men hopped into the customized sports coupe, which he’d left parked in the street, allowing it to be tampered with. Cadorette turned the key. That completed a circuit that sent electricity to a blasting cap that ignited a couple of sticks of dynamite duct-taped to the floor of the Camaro right under the driver’s seat.

  Boom! Cadorette was blown into a number of unrecognizable pieces. McLean was badly hurt.

  If the border between the clubs was between the west and east sides of Montreal, Hells Angels violated it on April 25. Although it may be hard to believe now, two Hells Angels — Denis “Le Cure” Kennedy and an unnamed associate — actually knocked on the door of the Outlaws’ Montreal clubhouse at 144 rue Saint-Ferdinand and, unbelievably, were let in. Kennedy didn’t look like most of the other ex-Popeyes. He was clean shaven, had relatively short hair and was thin. He was also considered talkative and charming. But he wasn’t there to make friends. He and his associate pulled out a couple of handguns and started firing. Kennedy’s gun jammed, but his friend kept on shooting until he’d spent his entire magazine. Then they ran. None of the Outlaws inside were seriously injured, but they were too shocked to pursue the gunmen. And they got the message.

  At about 11 p.m. the day after, a short but tough Outlaws prospect named Anathase “Tom Thumb” Markopoulos was sent out for smokes. The nearest convenience store, Dépanneur Paul, was closed, but the owner was still in the store, cleaning up and getting ready for bed. Markopoulos pounded on the door. She looked up and recognized him. The Outlaws — two buildings over — brought in a lot of business, so she thought she’d open up for the young man. She also knew he’d get in trouble if he came back without whatever they sent him for. So she put down her broom and headed towards the door. Before she got there, she saw a big, pale-green car pull up behind Markopoulos. The passenger window opened, and she could see a handgun sticking out. The man in the car pumped six bullets into Markopoulos, who fell and died before the woman could get the door unlocked.

  The Outlaws who’d sent Markopoulos out heard the shots and interpreted it as the beginning of a police raid. Instead of coming to their prospect’s defense, the members inside grabbed all the weapons, drugs and cash they could and fled in various directions.

  The Outlaws were spooked, and Hells Angels kept the pressure on. The night after M
arkopoulos was murdered, full-patch Outlaw François Poliseno took his 19-year-old girlfriend Suzanne Harvey out for a drink at Brasserie Industriel on busy rue Notre-Dame. The place was bustling, but that didn’t prevent a masked man from barging in and spraying Poliseno and Harvey with bullets from a handgun. Both were very seriously injured.

  Other bar patrons described the car to the cops when they arrived. Soon thereafter, they stopped a large, pale-green car just outside the Hells Angels clubhouse. In it, they found Kennedy, a friend he called “Gross Plotte,” a mask, a toy gun, binoculars and a bulletproof vest. Later on, the police determined that the bullets fired at Poliseno and Harvey were from the same gun that shot up the Outlaws’ clubhouse.

  It was a sloppy move, and one they would learn from. In the future, Hells Angels shooters got into the habit of disposing of their weapons at the scene of the crime, reducing the chances of being caught with it or having two crimes associated with each other.

  The Outlaws eventually struck back — but ineffectively. On May 12, 1978, a then-minor Hells Angel named René “Canisse” Hébert stepped out of the clubhouse. Someone shot at him from a car. Three bullets missed, one lightly grazed him.

  Later that month, Paul Ringuette, a Hells Angels associate, beat Jean Gonthier, an Outlaws supporter, to death in Saint-Vincent-de-Paul prison. Corrections officials told the media that the two argued over a hockey game, although both were Canadiens fans. In addition to assault and bank robbery, Riguette had murder tacked onto his crimes. He served 18 years. And it was later determined he was involved in the notorious Hanna Buxbaum murder plot in St. Catharines, Ontario in 1984.

  In the next few months, two Hells Angels associates and one Outlaw died, but it’s unlikely they had anything to do with the war. René “Balloune” Francoeur wasn’t with Hells Angels, but had been talking to president Yves “Le Boss” Buteau about joining. Before he could, he was beaten to death by an unidentified drug dealer when he tried to pay him with counterfeit U.S. currency. Similarly, Hells Angels member Adrien “Pistasche” Fleury was shot when he tried to steal an unaffiliated biker’s Harley. The aggrieved man just happened to have a shotgun handy. Not long after, Outlaw François Ouellette died when his car rolled over after losing a wheel as he drove to his Chateauguay home. Maybe a Hells Angel loosened his rim, but there’s no firm evidence to support it.

  Up to this point in the war, the Outlaws had taken it on the chin. They were attacked and killed all over Montreal. They had lost a president, their very clubhouse had been violated and shot up. But in October, they pulled off a victory that may have seemed minor at first, but put the Hells Angels’ overall effort back for many years.

  On October 12, two Americans — one from Miami, the other from Detroit — showed up at Le Tourbillon, a Rosemont bar frequented by Hells Angels. The men were tall and muscular, but their clean-shaven faces, short haircuts, lack of tattoos and outfits (innocuous khaki canvas slacks and nylon windbreakers) indicated they weren’t bikers. In fact, the Hells Angels inside the bar were absolutely convinced the two men, who had made only token attempts to hide the fact they were following them all week, were undercover cops.

  A hush fell over the bar as the two stepped into the bar nonchalantly, and looked around. They spotted a bunch of bikers in a booth, and approached. On one side of the booth, there were three big toughs who were wearing full Hells Angels colors. They were with three other, less impressive-looking biker types. One of them was actually so small, the Americans weren’t sure if he was actually with the others.

  The biggest and oldest of the Hells Angels, Louis “Ti-Oui” Lapierre, got up to confront them. He was tired of being followed by these two and wanted to get rid of them before his meeting. Besides, he hadn’t done anything wrong and they didn’t have anything on him.

  He didn’t get a single word out before one of the Americans he was confronting pulled a handgun from under his jacket and shot Lapierre in the chest from point-blank range. The other pulled out a sawed-off shotgun and started pumping lead pellets into the men in the booth. He and his partner continued firing and firing until they were sure all the men in the booth were dead. Then, like professionals, they dropped their weapons and ran.

  Of the three Hells Angels in attendance, Jean Brochu died immediately. Lapierre and Bruno Coulombe were badly injured, but survived. Their guests — a trio of Wild Ones from Hamilton, who were in Montreal to talk about a working agreement at the very least — fared little better. George “Chico” Mousseau was also dead by the time police showed up. Gary “Gator” Davies lingered a while in hospital, but later died. The only one of the Wild Ones who survived was the little guy, their leader, Walter “Nurget” Stadnick. He had managed to slide under the table, a fact that escaped the assassins’ notice.

  He rode back down the 401 to Hamilton, alone and frustrated at his inability to make a lasting connection with a big-time club. Hells Angels had been foiled in their attempt to forge a beachhead in Ontario. With the Outlaws and Satan’s Choice still large and in charge in that province, they — in particular, Buteau — were looking for smaller, unaffiliated gangs to deal with. One of them was the Wild Ones. The incident set back their plan, but they remembered Stadnick, and reached out to him frequently after the Le Tourbillon massacre.

  The war went on. Hells Angels sent their wild beast, Trudeau, after Brian Powers, a well-liked and respected former Outlaws president who was still on good terms with the club. On November 10, Trudeau found out where Powers lived, waited until he knew he was at home, and knocked on the door. Powers answered. Trudeau shot him nine times, mostly in the head, dumped the gun and ran.

  Again, the Outlaws tried to make a show of force at the funeral. Of particular interest to Hells Angels (and police observers) was the fact that among the mourners were members of two major Toronto gangs: the Para-Dice Riders and the Vagabonds. The police and media took that as an alliance between those clubs and the Outlaws in an effort to keep Hells Angels out of Ontario.

  At the funeral, an informant identified Outlaw Roland “Roxy” Dutemple as the instigator behind the Le Tourbillon shootings. As was now becoming habit, Hells Angels sent Trudeau out after him. On December 8, while walking around in the west end, Trudeau and a friend spotted a man they thought might be Dutemple. They weren’t entirely sure, so Trudeau walked up to him to get a better look. The man looked at him angrily. Trudeau asked him (in French): “Are you Roxy?” But before the man could answer, Trudeau shot him in the head.

  In the clubhouse the next day, the other members showed him a newspaper article that identified the man he murdered as William Weichold, a non-biker who just happened to look a lot like Dutemple. Trudeau is said to have laughed at his mistake and argued that he should be paid for the hit anyway.

  He eventually killed the real Dutemple on March 29, 1979, by planting a bomb in his car. Five days later, Trudeau traveled to the Fabreville neighborhood in Laval, just north of Montreal, and knocked on the door of Robert Labelle, president of a Laval gang called the Huns. There had been a rumor that the Huns were going to patch over to the Outlaws. As soon as Labelle opened the door, Trudeau shot him twice in the face, killing him.

  He struck again on May 9. Outlaws rising star Robert McLean — who had survived the car bomb that had killed Cadorette — and his girlfriend Carmen Piché went down into the alley between their Verdun apartment and climbed onto his customized 1963 Harley. The spark of the dynamo that flashed when he kicked the starter activated a bomb that blew the bike and both riders into a million pieces. It had been planted by Trudeau, fellow Hells Angel Jean-Pierre “Matt le Crosseur” Mathieu and president Buteau himself.

  The war was not going well for the Outlaws. Other than the Le Tourbillon incident, they had inflicted little pain and suffering on Hells Angels, while they had been gunned down like targets in a shooting gallery.

  Chapter 5

  Where Jimmy Lewis Died

  It was insanely cold as I drove into Hamilton. Still, I parked a few blocks
away from the Hamilton Police Service’s central station on King William Street, just so I could walk and see how my old hometown was looking. To be perfectly honest, it looked rough.

  There were some new restaurants, but it mostly looked run-down and bereft of truly sustainable money-making businesses. I was reminded of a conversation I had with Luther when we were deciding where to meet that day I met Parente in Burlington. Since it was centered geographically between all of us and we were familiar with it, I had suggested meeting somewhere in the Hammer. He audibly scoffed, and asked “Why go into the toilet if you don’t have to?” As a native, I was a little offended. But as someone walking through downtown about a week later, I had to admit he had something of a point.

  I was there to meet Sergeant John Harris. He’s the biggest, most intimidating cop I’ve ever seen. At six-foot-seven, the former University of Minnesota defensive end towers over lawbreaker and law-abider alike. Other cops talk about seeing him emerge from his car and watching everyone in a vicious confrontation immediately fall silent and still. He relishes being the biggest man in the room, says it makes his job a lot easier, but his quick wit is probably a better weapon. It puts everyone, on either side of the law, at ease.

  And he’s the most knowledgeable person I have ever met in law enforcement when it comes to biker gangs, especially in Ontario. I called him to tell him I was in town. Rather than talk to me in a coffee shop, conference room or interrogation room like other cops do, Harris prefers to have me interview him while he’s working. That means I have to wait for him to arrive in his giant white Suburban. And it also means that we will occasionally stop at crime or emergency scenes.

  Once I was inside the huge SUV, he asked me if I had a few minutes before we start. I told him I did. He called down another sergeant who wanted me to sign a copy of my book Fallen Angel. Harris signed it, too. Apparently, the sergeant had a friend in Liverpool who, like many non-Canadians, thought Canadian streets were crime-free. And he wanted my help in proving him wrong.