The following day, the Midland Outlaws got their first chance to meet up with Harry ‘Taco’ Bowman, international president of the Outlaws and one of the most notorious and dangerous bikers on the planet.
Based in Detroit, Taco lived and breathed the biker ideal and controlled the Outlaws’ empire with an iron fist. At the same time he lived in an affluent suburb, sent his children to private schools and, when not on his bike, drove around in an armour-plated Cadillac.
Taco had been appointed international president in 1984 and demonstrated his absolute ruthlessness right away. Hearing rumours that a member of the club was thinking of talking to the police about the whereabouts of a fugitive, Taco decided that something needed to be done. To alleviate his concerns, he asked Wayne ‘Joe Black’ Hicks, then the vice-president of the nearby Toledo chapter, to track the man down and kill him. Ultimately, Hicks was unable to find his target but Taco was so impressed by the man’s dedication that he appointed him president of the key chapter in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
By 1990 Hicks had become regional president of Florida, with the responsibility for overseeing the activities of all six chapters in the state, many of which were heavily involved in the drug trade and bringing in massive profits for the club overall. Maintaining absolute control of this territory was absolutely essential.
Taco’s biggest fear came not so much from other clubs – though they were a constant concern – but from members of his own club ratting out others to save themselves. With all the Outlaws getting involved in increasingly serious organised crime and the authorities increasingly conducting prosecutions under the RICO laws, striking a plea bargain and testifying against former club members was often the only way to avoid a draconian sentence.
Taco launched an aggressive campaign to prevent this from happening within his club. He issued t-shirts and patches that read ‘snitches are a dying breed’ and made it clear that anyone who conspired against the club would not live to regret it. One member who decided to testify to a grand jury was lucky to escape with nothing more than a severe beating and the revoking of his membership.
Although the Hell’s Angels had chapters in Florida, they could see the value of the area from a commercial point of view. In the early 1990s, they formed an alliance with a small club called the Warlocks who began selling drugs on the Angels’ behalf. Taco was furious and immediately declared war on the club. He became even more incensed when he learned that a former Outlaw, Raymond ‘Bear’ Chaffin, had defected to become president of one of the Warlock chapters. He ordered Hicks to track Chaffin down and kill him.
A probationer named Alex ‘Dirt’ Ankerich was offered the job and eagerly agreed after learning that, if completed successfully, he would immediately receive his full patches. After gathering intelligence on his target for a night, Ankerich shot Chaffin in the back of the head four times as the Warlock president worked on his bike in the garage adjacent to his home – his body was found by his twelve-year-old daughter when she returned home from school.
The murder was reported to Hicks, who in turn reported it to Taco, who in turn complimented Hicks on the quality of his work. Ankerich was told that he had not only earned his patch but was also entitled to a set of ‘SS’ lightning bolts as he now belonged to an elite group of Outlaws who had committed murder on behalf of the club. Newspaper articles on Chaffin’s murder were copied and sent out to other Outlaws chapters around the world.
In March 1992 during Daytona Bike Week, Irwin ‘Hitler’ Nissen, a one-time Outlaws probationer who had failed to make the cut, got into a fight with James ‘Moose’ McLean, president of the gang’s Atlanta chapter. Taco heard about the fight and ordered Nissen to be brought before him.
The following morning Murphy and another Outlaw Christopher ‘Slasher’ Maiale took Nissen up to a hotel room where Taco greeted him with a solid punch to the face. Then, while Murphy held Nissen down, Taco put a knife to his ear and threatened to kill him if he ever raised his hand against another Outlaws officer. Taco then told Murphy and Maiale to give Nissen a sound beating and then throw him off the third-floor balcony of his room. Nissen survived but with severe injuries including a shattered ankle.
Under Taco’s rule the Outlaws went from strength to strength. It was he who had personally supervised the opening of the club’s first European chapter and he was determined that this international growth should continue, both overseas and at home.
On New Year’s Eve 1993, just three months before the Midland Outlaws arrived, Taco arranged for all the Outlaws in Florida to attend a huge party at Fort Lauderdale. ‘It’s time to put a stop to these clubs that are enemies,’ Taco told them. ‘This is the year that we are going to be more rottener than ever before.’ Hostilities would be escalated and there would be no tolerance for the Hell’s Angels or their sympathisers.
When Taco met with Boone and the rest of the Midland Outlaws he greeted them warmly and posed for photographs. He seemed genuinely interested in their ongoing war with the Hell’s Angels and eager to give them advice about how they could maximise their income through his personal connections in the drug trade. More than anything he made a solid case for the club to become a prospect chapter for the AOA so they could come directly under his wing.
‘You guys have done well against the Angels. We’re impressed,’ he told them. ‘But now it’s time to take it to the next level. You should consider patching over. We could use guys like you in England. That way the Angels would know that if they mess with you there, they are messing with the AOA everywhere in the world.’
It was an offer the Midland Outlaws had more or less expected, but one which none of them was willing to act on at that time. They were still getting used to the idea of being one club and suddenly having enough power to be players on the world MC stage. Although they found the AOA to be kindred spirits in many ways, they had also enjoyed partying with the Bandidos.
Another possibility for the future, and one that had been the subject of much discussion among club members at all levels, was that they should retain their own brand and expand internationally themselves. It had started out as a bit of a joke during some of their travels, telling smaller clubs that they would be welcome to apply for a charter from the Midland Outlaws, but as time went on, Boone and many of the others began to realise it was a genuine option for them all. It would be tough surviving internationally without the support of an existing club, but it was far from impossible. In the meantime they would attempt to maintain good relations with as many clubs as possible, no matter how trying it could be at times.
The Midland Outlaws, like most MCs, had strict rules when it came to members and their patches. They had to be worn or kept with the member at all times and could never be left unattended except inside a locked safe. In Florida, Boone quickly learned that the AOA was far more relaxed. It was, for example, permitted to leave patches in the clubhouse and head out without them.
With the AOA’s rules over patches far more softer than those in the UK, Boone felt able for the first time ever to leave his patches in the Florida clubhouse while he went out shopping for some Harley Davidson accessories, taking advantage of the exchange rate. He had noticed some trade stalls down one of the back streets a few blocks from the clubhouse and headed there. He soon realised he was being flanked by two men, one of them an Outlaw who had been at the clubhouse the previous day, though he hadn’t actually spoken to him.
It was clear they were lining up for an attack, so Boone decided to take the initiative. He was sure it was all some simple misunderstanding but if he made any sudden moves or spooked them they might take him out of the game before he’d had a chance to explain. He turned and headed towards him arms spread out at shoulder height with palms wide open. Then, in his best English accent, greeted them warmly.
‘Hello chaps. How are you? Do you remember me from yesterday?’
The two men looked at one another.
‘No,’ said the taller of the two.
‘I
’m from Outlaws, England. We met at the party.’
‘Where are your patches?’
‘I took them off and left them in the room because it’s so fucking hot. Is there some kind of problem?’
The only problem was that Boone was completely unaware that Taco had ordered any members of rival gangs turning up during Daytona week to be killed on sight.
‘We clocked your Pagans’ ink. We were going to take you round the corner and shoot you.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. We hate Pagans. It’s a good thing you said something. You’d be dead by now.’
‘You’d have just shot me right there?’
‘Yeah. We’ve got a ’gator farm we use to dispose of the bodies. You wouldn’t believe how many have been dumped there. Guess you won’t be joining them after all.’
‘Guess not.’
Following that narrow escape, Boone took his patches with him wherever he went, no matter how hot it was.
The Brits spent their days travelling around Daytona, meeting up with other groups of bikers, enjoying the sunshine and drinking as much as humanly possible. A few days into their trip they met up with a group of lads from Australia and hit it off like a house on fire. The Oz gang were also called the Outlaws and just like the Midland boys, they were a separate group from the AOA.
Based in Hobart in Tasmania and Melbourne in Victoria, the Australian Outlaws wore a patch that depicted a horned skull with a rope noose hanging down beside it. As the beers flowed and the anecdotes went back and forth, the Australians told how some of them had actually been present during the notorious Milperra Massacre of 1984 where the Bandidos had fought the Comanchero, though luckily no one on their side had been hurt during the fighting.
‘They knew who they wanted to kill that day,’ said one. ‘And they went after them. It was truly horrible to see.’
The Australians explained that they were officially prospecting to join the AOA but that they had been prospects for the last fifteen years. At this point, the Midland Outlaws had firmly placed any notion of joining the AOA on the back burner but the idea of having to wait fifteen years for the dubious honour turned their stomachs. The more they thought about it, the more unfair the situation seemed to be. And the more beer they drank, the more their new-found Australian friends agreed with them.
Talking until the early hours, a new plan was hatched out. The Australians would join forces with the British club, all under the British patch. With one fell swoop, both gangs would suddenly go international and have representatives on both sides of the world.
Rainer was moving through the bar of Daytona, trying to mingle with as many people as possible. When he came across the Brits and the Australians and they told him their news, he went as white as a sheet. The following morning, following a consultation with Taco himself, the Australians were presented with their AOA patches, which had been produced overnight in a special rush order.
The celebrations went on until the early hours of the morning. The Australians realised that, had it not been for the Brits, they would have had to wait around for many more years before being brought into the fold. Although the Midland Outlaws felt a slight tinge of sadness at the thought of not being able to take their own club overseas, they soon got over it in the old fashioned way – by drinking themselves into oblivion.
On one of these nights, Taco’s right-hand man, Wayne Hicks (who had been busy organising various events during the first few days of the festival) came along to meet Boone and the others. He was a solid man with a short black beard and tiny intense eyes that he normally hid behind dark glasses. Despite his enormous gut you could tell he remained physically powerful and certainly not a man to mess with.
He too pushed the idea that the Midland Outlaws would be welcome to prospect for the AOA. And once again the visitors had to explain, as tactfully as they possibly could, that they had not yet made up their mind about what to do in the future.
Boone and the others remained in Florida after Daytona finished, visiting other chapters up and down the coast and getting to know other key figures from the region. Although they were not members of the AOA and therefore unable to sit in on any of the church meetings, it soon became clear that the level of criminality going on around them was far more intense than anything they had previously experienced.
Not only did the local Outlaws trade drugs, they also extorted money from various local businesses and held the whole place to ransom. They were considered by many to be public enemy number one and they were proud of it. Once upon a time this might have terrified the Midland club members. Now they found themselves fully embracing and even emulating that kind of behaviour. Running short of money one day, Boone and Link came up with a plan to rob a couple of drug dealers they had seen blatantly selling crack in downtown Orlando, using the guns they had been issued with the minute they set foot in the Daytona clubhouse.
The only way to party all night and drink all day was to consume increasing amounts of drugs. It was a philosophy that had worked well for Boone in the UK and one that he intended to stick to during his time in Florida. Although drugs were usually plentiful, every now and then the supply ran dry. When Boone discovered himself short on one occasion, he decided the best man to ask would be the guy in charge.
The next time he saw Taco in the clubhouse, he approached him, ‘Get us some coke will you?’
Taco smiled, ‘What do you think I am, a fucking drug dealer or something?’
‘Of course not. But get us some coke.’
As soon as Boone opened up the small package, he knew it wasn’t going to do it for him. Instead of the fine powder he had got used to there was a kind of damp sludge. Boone went straight back to Taco.
‘I need to have a word with you,’ said Boone.
‘What is it? I’m kind of busy, man.’
‘I need a word in private.’
‘No, man, whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of my brothers.’
Boone pulled out the drugs packet.
‘I don’t want this. I want my money back.’
Taco held his smile but strain started to show at the corners of his mouth.
‘What, man?’
‘I don’t know what this stuff is but I wanted coke. This isn’t any good to me. I want my money back.’
‘Are you trying to say I’m ripping you off? That’s coke. That’s what we have down here. Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my brothers?’
‘No, I just want my money back.’
Taco stared at Boone for a long while then burst into a chuckle, ‘Sure Dog, whatever, you can have your money back.’
It would be some time before Boone realised just what a lucky escape he’d had, and that Taco had had men killed for far less. Had Boone been a member of the AOA his attitude towards Taco would have got him killed on the spot, but because he was from England and part of a different club, not yet full members of the organisation, Taco decided he was happy to give him significantly more leeway than anyone else would have been entitled to. It didn’t last long.
One evening, a group of the Midland Outlaws were sitting in the clubhouse chatting, laughing and drinking away with the AOA boys when Taco came in looking even more stressed than usual. He sat down with a beer and began talking to Daytona chapter president Stephen ‘DK’ Lemunyon, not really paying much attention to anyone else.
All of a sudden Taco leapt to his feet and began moving towards Boone. He threw a table to one side, fished his gun out of his trouser belt, pulled back on the slide to chamber a round, and then pointed the weapon directly at Boone’s face, his finger tight on the trigger.
‘That’s it man,’ he screamed. ‘You’re dead. You’re fucking dead. I don’t let anyone talk to me like that. You think you can come in here and disrespect me? You think you can come in here and verbally abuse me? This is my house! I don’t have a drugs problem. I haven’t fucked up my face you piece of shit. I’m gonna fucking kill you right now you limey
sonofabitch!’
Most of the time Flyball moved as if he was in a bit of a daze, but this time he moved like greased lightning, racing over in a flash and putting himself right in the line of fire, directly between Taco and Boone.
‘Hey man, put the gun down.’
‘Out of the way soldier,’ barked Taco.
‘I can’t do that. I can’t let you shoot him. He’s a guest.’
‘You’re my fucking soldier and I’m telling you to get out of the way.’
‘I’m not moving. You’ll have to shoot me first. I’m not moving until you put that thing down.’
‘Out of the way right now or I’ll shoot you too.’
‘No, man. You ain’t shooting anyone today.’
The gun Boone had been issued when he arrived at the clubhouse was tucked into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. It had all happened so fast that he hadn’t had time to reach for it, hadn’t expected to have to reach for it. And now here he was, sitting in a chair with the international president of the AOA pointing a gun at his heart. Even with Flyball in the way, there was every chance the bullet would pass right through and still kill him. And the worst part was that Boone had no idea what he had done, no idea at all what was going on.
Caz hadn’t moved quite as fast as Flyball but now he too came over to see if he could resolve the situation without bloodshed. The whole clubhouse had fallen silent.
‘Dog, what did you say about him?’
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You must have said something.’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Think. Come on Dog, think.’
Boone screwed his eyes tight shut and racked his brain. ‘Dozer asked me what time we were going out to eat.’
‘And what did you say?’
Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs Page 19
