For the Hell’s Angels it was as if all their worst nightmares had come true. Their domination of the UK biker scene was now well and truly over. With a head count approaching 250, the UK chapters of the AOA had at least one hundred more members than they did.
The change of name also required a change of organisation: elections were held to find new officers and Stuart ‘Dink’ Dawson was elected as the first national president of the AOA in the UK.
The Angels responded in a wholly predictable fashion: they began recruiting heavily, targeting more small clubs around the country and cherry-picking the best potential prospects, desperately hoping to get to them before they could be approached by the Outlaws.
Although the Angels could still claim to be the best known MC in the world, they were no longer the only international club operating in the UK. For the first time, new bikers who wanted to be part of a global operation had a choice. Any club that had a problem with the Angels in the past or feared a hostile takeover now had an alternative route they were able to consider.
20
EVOLUTION
In June 2001 the Motorcycle Action Group, a lobbying organisation that campaigns on behalf of bikers throughout the UK, called for the Bulldog Bash to be scrapped on the basis that the Hell’s Angels were unfit to host it. Neil Liversidge, chairman of the group, received a series of death threats soon after speaking out but ultimately his request fell on deaf ears after both Stratford District council and Warwickshire police backed the event stating it had never caused them any problems during its fifteen-year history.
Regardless of what the Angels might get up to the rest of the time, the Bulldog Bash was famous for being almost completely trouble free. Every regular attendee knows the story of the man who lost his wallet with £200 in it, went to the lost property office expecting nothing, only to have it returned with all his cash still inside. The 2001 event was the biggest to date, attended by almost 25,000 bikers, and featuring performances from the likes of Terrorvision, Reef, Feeder and The Fall. Despite heavy rain turning many of the campsites into little more than muddy bogs, the four-day festival still passed off without a hitch.
Trouble came in the dying hours. On the Sunday afternoon, as the Bash was winding down, a small group of French-Canadian Hell’s Angels who had been enjoying the festivities were heading towards London on the southbound carriageway of the M40 in a three-bike convoy when they suddenly came under attack.
A dark coloured saloon that had been following them for a short time suddenly accelerated and moved into the middle lane alongside them. A handgun appeared at the passenger window and a number of shots were fired before the car raced off. One of the bikers was hit in the leg three times but managed to stay in control of his machine long enough to pull over to the hard shoulder four miles south of Barnhill Services, between junctions 11 and 12. The thirty-one-year-old was taken to hospital but refused to speak to the police or provide them with any information and discharged himself the following day.
News of the incident spread through the ranks of the Outlaws like wildfire, though no particular chapter or individual was willing to claim responsibility within the club. The general consensus was that it was likely the work of a former member of the Outcasts, a club that had only just joined the fold, and revenge for the murders at the Rockers Reunion a few years earlier. ‘Whoever it was, they need to get down the shooting range,’ Boone told a friend. ‘That way, next time round, they might do a better job.’
With little in the way of leads to go on and an uncooperative victim, the police quickly wound down their investigation. So far as they could tell, it had been an indiscriminate, motiveless attack on a motorist and had no particular link to either the Angels or the Bulldog Bash. It would be six years before they realised their mistake.
* * *
There could be no doubt about it: the Outlaws were changing. The constant pressure to obtain more and higher quality weapons to defend themselves against possible attack, to pay increased dues as a result of their AOA charter as well as more regular demands for additional payments to cover other expenses was pushing an increasing proportion of members into criminality.
There were still plenty of completely legitimate businessmen and law-abiding bikers in the club but Boone couldn’t help feeling that they were becoming a minority. As the Hell’s Angels had discovered many years earlier, having trusted brothers in other countries made it much easier to arrange deals across international borders and procure everything from precursor chemicals for the manufacture of amphetamines to guns and military grade weapons.
Dink, the national president, personally coordinated much of the drug traffic, arranging for representatives from chapters across the country to travel to north Wales in order to pick up supplies from him on a regular basis. Dozens of Outlaws were spending time in and out of prison for offences ranging from drug dealing and assault to firearms offences and vehicle theft. One even opened up his very own cannabis farm in a remote town in Wales.
Boone’s long-term girlfriend, Alice, had long struggled with his commitment to the club and the fact that she always took second place in his life. Now, his increasing involvement in criminality and regular brushes with the law proved too much and she finally decided to leave. Boone felt torn. He had considered leaving the Outlaws for Alice, but ultimately he wasn’t ready to make the break. Instead, he knuckled down to business.
He carved out a reputation for himself as a cool head in a crisis and would regularly get calls from importers linked to the club who had encountered a last minute problem and needed someone to step in and sort it out. ‘We need you to put the wheels back on this Boone,’ they would say. ‘You need to fix this for us.’ He would have to drop everything and take on a huge amount of stress but would be well rewarded for his trouble to the tune of tens of thousands of pounds each time.
Around this time, Elif came into Boone’s life. A drop-dead gorgeous brunette with a dazzling smile and an appetite for trouble, Elif felt no qualms about involving herself with a senior Outlaw. Having clocked Boone’s patches at a classic bike show in the north of England, she had made a beeline for him in the beer tent.
‘So tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?’ asked Boone.
‘Ah, Snake Dog, you don’t want to know.’
‘Does that mean you’re a police officer?
‘No, I’m not a police officer!’
‘Tax inspector?’
She giggled, flashing the most perfect set of teeth. ‘No, I’m not a tax inspector either.’
‘Then I don’t get it. Those are the only things I’d be bothered about.’
‘You really don’t want to know.’
‘Ah shit, you’re not a journalist are you? That might be a problem.’
‘No. That’s not it.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I’m an air hostess.’
Boone was taken aback.
‘An air-hostess? That doesn’t seem like it would be a problem. I bet you look great in your uniform.’
‘You don’t understand. I’m a long-haul air-hostess. I’m away for ten days at a time then I’m only back for four. Most blokes don’t like it because they miss me too much.’
‘I think I love you,’ said Boone.
‘What?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, that sounds perfect. Let’s face it – after the honeymoon period is over, you don’t really want to see each other all the time, do you? After ten days of you being away, I’d really look forward to seeing you. Then we’d spend time together but I’d be more than happy to get rid of you on the fourth day and get on with my own stuff. You must have felt that too.’
‘Well, I guess … I’ve never thought about it that way before, but maybe you’re right.’
Elif lived in Worcester, which meant that if he wanted to go home with her that night, Boone would have to ride through at least one Hell’s Angel stronghold. With tensions high and the Outlaws on their guard for retaliatory attacks, Boone decided to do the sen
sible thing and got a prospect to drive them home in the club van.
During the journey, Elif kept bringing up the subject of her ex-boyfriend. He had a temper, she explained. He was pretty crazy and had turned into something of a stalker. Boone wasn’t interested. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to tell you anything about my exes and you don’t need to tell me anything about yours. It’s not relevant and it’s none of my business. I’m sure the bloke’s got his issues but at the end of the day there are two sides to every story so let’s just leave it at that.’
Within a couple of weeks the relationship was full-on, although as Elif had predicted she spent most of her time away from home so the couple only spent a few days together at a time. It suited Boone down to the ground. A few days of intense passion followed by a chance to get on with the rest of his life with no hassle. They were good times – the best of times.
The honeymoon period came to an abrupt end one morning at Elif’s house, when Boone was woken by a noise from outside. Concerned that someone might be attempting to steal his bike, he got up and peered out of the window to see what was going on.
‘It’s probably just my ex,’ yawned Elif, ‘he comes round every now and then. He doesn’t have a key. He won’t do anything. You probably know him anyway. He’s a biker too. They call him the Terminator.’
Boone was suddenly jerked wide-awake, ‘The Terminator? You mean Jed from Ashfield?’
‘That’s right.’
‘From Ashfield Hell’s Angels?’
‘Yes.’
‘For fuck’s sake! Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’ve been trying to tell you. You kept shutting me up.’
‘But you didn’t tell me he was a Hell’s Angel! Is he likely to turn up here?’
‘Well, he comes round every now and then. He’s trying to get me back but I just want to be rid of him.’
Boone realised he could easily die in this situation. Not only was he in the midst of enemy territory, he was with a woman who had been intimately involved with one of the most notorious fighters in the whole of the Hell’s Angels. And the Angel was still sweet enough on this girl to turn up every now and then to check her out. Boone had no weapons, nothing to protect himself with. The Angel would have far better knowledge of the area than he did. He would also be able to call in reinforcements far quicker than Boone could summon backup. Boone didn’t want to be a coward, but this was about common sense and self-preservation. There was no need to put himself in a situation that he couldn’t escape from, just for the sake of a woman. He had to get out of there.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Home.’
‘It’s two am. Is it because of him?’
‘Yes. Well no. Not technically, no. It’s not because he’s your boyfriend, it’s because he’s a fucking Hell’s Angel. If anything happens between me and him, the whole fucking club has to get involved. And I don’t want people getting shot and stabbed just because I’m going out with you.’
A few weeks into the relationship, Elif mentioned that her best friend Susan who lived in New Zealand was going to be coming to England for a few days and wanted to see some of the sights. Would Boone, she wondered, be able to act as tour guide and perhaps even put her friend up for a few days? As soon as he saw a picture of Susan, Boone agreed. And from the offset he was happy to have her staying at his house. She was good company and seemed at ease with his lifestyle. He had no reason not to trust her. Then, three days after she arrived, Susan dropped her bombshell.
‘Elif told me not to say anything to you, but I feel I have to tell you. My boyfriend is the president of the Hell’s Angels chapter in New South Wales.’
‘Fucking hell. I thought there was something about you. The way you seemed at ease with the whole biker thing.’
‘He’s coming over for the Bulldog Bash and I thought I’d come early and do a bit of sightseeing. It’s not a problem is it? You’d really like him you know. He’s just like you. I’m sure you’ve got loads in common.’
‘I don’t want to hear this.’
‘I mean it. He does so much to protect the club but he just ends up with a reputation for being vicious. I get the feeling you’re like that too aren’t you?’
Boone knew exactly what she meant, but he still didn’t want to hear it.
Boone wasn’t too worried about the Hell’s Angels knowing his home address because he figured they already had access to that information. He had lived there for such a long time that the details had been recorded countless times on court and electoral records. For as long as he could remember he had had defences in place which meant that if the Angels or anyone else came calling, they would be unlikely to leave alive.
With an untraceable firearm to hand, he would use it and then immediately call the police, claiming that someone had tried to shoot him and there had been an accident, that he had managed to grab his attacker’s weapon and use it in self defence. Boone had made sure that his plans were widely known within Angel circles. But he still always looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear when he left his front door. And the legacy of the time he spent in Canada was that he always checked underneath his car before starting the engine.
Although he didn’t known Susan that well, Boone reckoned he was a good enough judge of character to see that she genuinely didn’t mean him any harm. He weighed up his options. He hadn’t taken her to the clubhouse, where it would have been assumed that she was there to spy, scoping out the security systems and the number of Outlaws that were there. But if the rest of the Outlaws were to find out he had been harbouring the partner of a senior Hell’s Angel, there would be all sorts of implications. He would be accused of fraternising with the enemy and, in the absence of any evidence to the contrary, would be liable to have his patches pulled or even be kicked out of the club completely.
Susan herself would suffer the most serious penalties. She would be kidnapped and tortured until she told the Outlaws everything she knew. The fact that her own boyfriend, a senior HA, was coming to the UK later that week would inevitably go against her. She would be used as bait to draw him into a trap where he would be severely beaten, possibly killed. She would be repeatedly raped by certain members of the club who had a predilection for that sort of thing.
Boone couldn’t stomach any of that happening. Not once had Susan asked questions about the club or shown any interest in obtaining information that could prove detrimental to members. The only person who was truly at risk was Boone himself. He was happy with that, or at least as happy as he could be. He decided to confide in Caz.
‘Has she asked any questions about the club?’
‘No, nothing like that at all.’
‘Well at the end of the day, it’s your life that’s on the line. You’ll be the first one who gets it if this is a set up.’
‘I don’t think it is. I’m happy. I trust her.’
‘Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to take some time away from the club. I’ll tell everyone that you’re on a mission or something. You don’t come in for any reason, not even the mandatory stuff. Whatever happens, you stay the fuck away from the club. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone see you with her.’
For Boone, it felt like a massive weight had been lifted. Susan had a long list of places that she wanted to visit – Canterbury Cathedral, Stonehenge, Warwick Castle – and Boone was more than happy to travel around with the girls and show them the sights. He had always liked the idea of having two women on his arm.
‘It must be great having all this on your doorstep,’ said Susan.
‘You’d think so, but I never do any of this stuff.’
For the first time since joining the Pagans almost twenty years earlier, Boone found himself questioning his commitment to the MC world and its values. Nearing forty, he had lived long enough and made enough of his own mistakes to realise that each club had its share of idiots, troublemakers, egotists and cowards. Then there were the intellige
nt ones and the tacticians, and they didn’t all join the same club. He was starting to see that, in many ways, the actual patch was immaterial to the person. It was an unsettling thought.
21
ABSOLUTE POWER
The years that followed the shooting at the Bulldog Bash saw the British contingent of the AOA grow in influence. With more manpower than any other country in Europe, and two lucrative festivals – the Rock and Blues and the Ink and Iron – bolstering the amount of funds that could be sent back to the mother chapter, Boone’s club had become a force to be reckoned with.
Dink was spending increasing amounts of time and money travelling the world, meeting other national presidents and coordinating activities between the various chapters. In 2003, his hard work was rewarded with his appointment as the first ever European President of the AOA, a title that confirmed his status as the most powerful Outlaw outside of America. Around this time, he was spending up to £20,000 per year on foreign travel, visiting Philadelphia, Chicago, Florida, Germany and Mexico in 2006 alone.
For Boone and the other rank and file members of the Outlaws, this elevated status came at a hefty price. The pressure to bring more and more money into the club – through legitimate or illegitimate means – was growing. A new line of designer biker merchandise, branded SYLO, was launched and brought in some much-needed cash – proving popular with associates of the Hell’s Angels, until they realised the letters stood for ‘Support Your Local Outlaws’. Behind the scenes, Dink and other senior members of the club were continuing to coordinate the distribution of drugs between chapters. As before, individual members were tasked with selling off small amounts and returning the profits to the club.
In late November 2006, the Outlaws became the first major international biker gang to open up a chapter in the Far East – with the granting of a full charter to a club in Okinawa City. Motorcycle gangs had been a huge part of Japanese culture for over half a century, threatening the obedient status quo of the nation since the end of World War Two. Legend has it that the early gangs were formed by fearless Kamikaze pilots not ‘blessed’ with the opportunity to die for their emperor, and desperate for new kicks. They were joined by thousands of anti-social young punks who customised their bikes, removing the mufflers to maximise the ear-splitting revs, earning them the nickname kaminari-zoku (thunder tribes).
Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs Page 24
