Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs (24 page)

In the meantime, Geoghagen stayed at Nolan’s house in Fort Lauderdale with another founder member, Michael Cave, who Nolan had told to watch over his new old lady. Geoghagen was having a hard time finding a job as a topless dancer, so Cave told her to get a job as a nude dancer instead. She explained that she was uncomfortable dancing totally nude so Cave proposed a novel solution. He would put a dog collar around Geoghagen’s neck and make her dance around the house naked until she felt comfortable. To emphasise that he was serious, he told her that if she ever tried to run away, he would find her mother, stick a baseball bat up her arse and take pictures. It was clear he wasn’t kidding: Geoghagen applied for a nude dancing job that same afternoon.

Nolan was released from prison in September 1980 and he and Geoghagen moved to Tuscon, Arizona, where he had been ordered to serve out his parole away from the rest
of the club. Nolan had led Geoghagen to believe that she would be treated to a thirty-day ‘honeymoon period’ during which she would not be required to work as a prostitute. Nolan had also told her that he would refrain from bringing any other old ladies home during the honeymoon. Neither turned out to be true.

Nolan became increasingly violent. On one occasion, when Geoghagen appeared upset, Nolan asked her what was wrong. She replied that her feelings were hurt because Nolan had not taken her out to dinner as he had promised, a few days earlier. Nolan flew into a rage, punched her in the eye, threw his boot at her, and forced the money she had earned in prostitution that night down her throat and made her swallow it. Another time, Geoghagen could not find a bag of marijuana, which she had hidden somewhere and which Nolan wanted to sell. Nolan punched her so hard with his fists on her chest and back that he broke one of her ribs.

A few weeks later, Geoghagen went out of state to visit her sick mother. Nolan could not go with her because of the terms of his parole, so he told her that if she did not come back, he would kill her stepfather, who was her mother’s sole caretaker. Geoghagen asked Nolan if she could buy her freedom, and he said that it would cost her $125,000 to be free, but that she could not pay him with her prostitution earnings – her only income – because that money was already his anyway.

By March 1981, Geoghagen was living on tenterhooks, worried that she was going to be the next one to end up dead. After another argument while out at a bar, she became convinced that Nolan would kill her the moment they arrived
at their home. At a stop light, she jumped off the back of Nolan’s motorcycle and began to run. Nolan ran after her. When he caught up to her he punched her repeatedly in the face until she agreed to get back on the motorcycle. He held her by the hair until they got home. Once in the driveway Geoghagen, who was terrified that Nolan would kill her right there and then, started to scream, hoping that one of the neighbours would help her. As Nolan hollered at Geoghagen to shut up, he grabbed her by the chin and squeezed, lifting her off the ground. Nolan’s crushing grip broke Geoghagen’s lower jaw, and she passed out.

Geoghagen’s jaw had been broken in half. She stayed in hospital for six days while she had a pin surgically implanted near her chin and her mouth wired shut. During her stay, Nolan brought another old lady to the hospital to visit Geoghagen. As he stood over the battered Geoghagen, Nolan said to the other old lady: ‘You see what I did to her? … I’m in love with her. I don’t even like you mother fucker. Go ahead and piss me off.’

One night, soon after Geoghagen got back from the hospital, she got out of bed and saw Nolan in the living room orally sodomising his latest old lady who was just thirteen years old. Dismayed by what she had seen, she gathered up all the pills she could find in the house and tried to commit suicide. Nolan found her unconscious and could not contain his anger at what she had done. He dragged her from room to room and beat her for more than three hours with the heavy buckle of his belt, leaving her covered in a mass of blue and purple bruises and welts.

The next day Geoghagen escaped with the help of a friend and soon made her way back to her parents’ house in
Florida. Her horrified mother and father called the police, and Geoghagen, who had finally been pushed too far, eventually agreed to make a statement. Nolan missed Geoghagen straight away, but it wasn’t her company he longed for, rather the income she had brought him through her prostitution. He quickly made arrangements with another Outlaw friend to purchase another woman to make up his losses, but also began making arrangements to move the gang into a whole new area of business.

Prostitution income had been on the decline for some time when Nolan decided to expand the Outlaws’ activities into narcotics trafficking. As with the sex trade, strict rules of conduct were introduced, partly to maximise income but also to protect the club (as far as possible) in the event of a bust. For the most part, Outlaws only dealt with other Outlaws in order to reduce the risk of detection. On the occasions where Outlaws dealt with outsiders, they would ensure their association with the club was well known in order to intimidate the new customer into remaining silent. Drugs were dealt directly from the clubhouse and also while members of the gang were travelling or on regional, national or local runs.

As had been the case with Geoghagen, old ladies were drafted in to assist the trade by weighing and repackaging the drugs prior to resale, and sometimes by smuggling contraband into prison. The move into a new business area was a huge success and the monies flew in almost as fast as the bikers could launder them. The Florida Outlaws subsequently used the proceeds from the sale of narcotics to purchase at least one of their clubhouses and its members became increasingly affluent.

Five years before Boone and the other Midland Outlaws arrived in Florida, Nolan and five other members of the Florida Outlaws had been jailed following what turned out to be the longest federal trial in the state’s legal history.

Previous murder, rape and kidnapping trials had fallen apart because witnesses tended to have poor memories or vanished shortly before they were supposed to testify. Eventually, the authorities had utilised RICO legislation, a set of laws first introduced in the 1970s in order to combat the Italian mob, which allowed them to prosecute the likes of Nolan for directing others to commit crimes that he himself did not personally take part in.

It wasn’t the first time the legislation had been used against a biker gang. In 1979 the target was the Hell’s Angels, pursuing them as a criminal organisation rather than a collection of individuals who sometimes got involved in criminality. Sonny Barger was arrested along with dozens of other HA members and charged with a range of activities including drug trafficking, prostitution and the attempted murder of two police officers. But the case was poorly prepared with no independent corroboration of what the witnesses and informers were alleging. Barger and the others were cleared of all charges scoring a massive PR victory in the process.

In the past, the FBI had massively underestimated the power and sophistication of the biker gangs so when it came to the Florida gang, no one wanted to take any chances. This time round, the case was rock solid and the government got the victory it so greatly desired. By finding the six men guilty, the jury was essentially accepting the government’s argument that the Outlaws acted together to
run a criminal enterprise that was supported by prostitution and drug trafficking. Although this did not make the group illegal, it meant they were clearly identified as an organised crime gang, not as they claimed a group of bike enthusiasts.

But although the old guard were all gone, the new generation of Outlaws in Florida were smarter and better organised than ever before. And, as the Midland boys were about to find out, they were every bit as deadly.

By the time the Midland Outlaws had collected their bags and emerged into the arrivals terminal, they were feeling considerably more apprehensive about what was to come. They had already made the mistake of underestimating the situation in Canada and had been determined to be better prepared this time around, but somehow no one had found much time to do their research.

With only the chilling words of the immigration officer to go by, Boone had to assume (despite it being Daytona Bike Week with tens of thousands of other bikers in the area) that they were once again stepping into the middle of a war zone. The fact that their patches read ‘Outlaws’ meant it would be impossible to escape being associated with the AOA. They would be considered prize scalps by any of the gang’s enemies.

If the Midland boys hoped for reassurance from the man who came to collect them from the airport, they were sorely disappointed. Instead, the man in Outlaw colours striding towards them looked like a throwback to the hippie days rather than a biker, and wore baseball boots that were so worn that his toes showed through and the soles flapped up and down as he walked. He spoke in an agonisingly slow drawl, sounding like Forrest Gump played at quarter speed. Boone was immediately reminded of the films
Deliverance
and
The Hills Have Eyes
.

‘Myyyy naaame issss Flyyyyy Baaaalll’ he told them, before leading the group out into the car park where a battered old VW camper van with no side window was waiting to take them away. He was so scruffy and laid back the group assumed he was just a prospect. In fact, he turned out to be President of the Orlando chapter.

Flyball seemed relaxed, singing along to the radio as they drove out of the airport down towards Daytona Beach but every member of the Midland Outlaws was on edge, scanning the road ahead and behind for any signs of the HA. Finally Boone worked up the courage to ask the question that was on everyone’s lips: ‘Do you get many Hell’s Angels around here?’

Flyball moved slowly, as though he were underwater. He turned down the radio. ‘Hell’s Angels?’ He then began to sing again, a kind of mock gospel spiritual. ‘Oh Lord, won’t you send me an Angel. Please Lord, send me an Angel. Hell with it. Send me two of the mother fuckers and I’ll shoot them both.’ With that he reached down and turned the radio up once more.

Boone and the others looked at each other, none the wiser.

‘Is that a no then?’ asked Boone.

Flyball smiled, ‘There’s no Hell’s Angels round here man – none in Florida. If they ever show up, they know they’ll get shot, so they stay away. What we have here are Warlocks, but not for much longer. You guys relax. You’re on our home turf. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

Although the Brits were exhausted from their long journey, they had significantly more energy than they had when they arrived in Canada. The minute they got to the
clubhouse they all trooped out of the camper van and headed straight for the bar. They were all delighted to see that the prospect serving drinks was someone they had met in Canada the year before.

It was more club than house, with loud music blaring away and people standing around drinking and chatting. Boone tried to say something to the barman but he could not make himself heard. He leaned in to try again but to no avail. In the end Boone tried shouting, raising his voice to its loudest just as the music ended.

‘I said are there any fags in this clubhouse?’

Bikers from around the country all stared at him open-mouthed as the next music track began and filled the awkward silence. The prospect leaned forward. ‘I told you before Boone, we don’t call them fags here, we call them cigarettes.’

‘Oh yeah, right. Sorry.’

Later that evening, as the visitors began to relax and get into the swing of things, their Florida hosts explained that it was getting close to the designated time that one of their Lounge Lizards would be calling the clubhouse for a chat. It might, they suggested, be a nice boost to his morale to chat to some overseas one percenters.

The call from ‘Smitty’ came in and the phone was passed round a few of the Florida bikers, for a few rounds of ‘Hi, how are you?’ before being passed to Boone. The pair chatted briefly about the biker scene in the UK and how the Midland Outlaws came to be visiting the US, before Boone decided it was time to ask some questions of his own.

‘So what are you going to be doing for the rest of the evening?’

Having spent time inside, Boone expected Smitty to describe a typical prison routine with a sloppy meal in a large refectory followed by lights out at a seemingly ungodly hour. The answer surprised him. ‘Well I’ve just finished my washing and ironing. I think I’m going to cook myself a pizza tonight, that’s what I feel like, then I’ll watch a film and after that I guess I’ll go to bed.’

Boone sat up, his jaw dropping a little in shock. ‘Fuck me, talk about having an easy life. I thought American prisons were supposed to be tough. I mean, that sounds more like a fucking holiday camp.’ All around him, members of the AOA were frantically waving their hands and shaking their heads in an effort to get Boone to stop, but he was on a roll. ‘You wouldn’t last five minutes in England mate. We have proper prisons there. I can’t believe they make everything so easy for you.’

There was a long, long pause before Smitty eventually replied. ‘Well, they tend to give you a few more privileges, when they put you on death row.’

Boone felt himself flush crimson. ‘Ah. Shit. Sorry about that man. I didn’t realise.’

‘No problem brother, I know you didn’t mean anything by it.’

Flyball later explained that Smitty – one of four Florida Outlaws on death row at the time – had been jailed on four counts of murder and one count of attempted murder, after allegedly breaking into the home of a man who had assaulted his old lady. A woman who survived the massacre by playing dead had identified Smitty as the assailant, but he had an appeal coming up and hoped to eventually be cleared of the crime.