Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs (38 page)

Both the Angels and the Outlaws are building up their Irish chapters, cherry-picking the best members from existing, independent clubs and making them offers they can’t refuse in order to get them to switch sides. And with both of these gangs expanding in Ireland, it is very possible that the feud between them will ignite there too.

Sporadic trouble has also broken out among the existing Irish gangs (which goes to show that the presence of the big international MCs isn’t always necessary for violence to ensue). Back in 1994, three members of the Chosen Few shot Devil’s Disciple member Stephen Murphy in the head and left him to die in a field at a bikers’ convention in Carnew. Five years later, the former leader of the Disciples was given a five year suspended sentence for possession of a gun and ammunition. The man claimed to have armed himself because of a feud with a rival group known as The Brotherhood.

In August 2010, a meticulously planned attack on thirty-two-year-old biker Gary Lee was put into motion in County Wicklow. The three guard dogs – two Rottweilers and a Staffordshire Bull Terrier – which had been purchased by the target only a few weeks earlier as an extra layer of protection, were quickly rendered useless by slabs of heavily drugged meat.

Once the coast was clear, the assault team silently smashed their way into the isolated cottage at Rathduffmore, near Knockananna on the Carlow-Wicklow border of Ireland. The sole occupant, hunting enthusiast Lee, had his wrists bound with cable ties and was then beaten about the head and face with the butt of a pistol. His attackers demanded to know where he kept his legally owned
firearms – two shotguns and a rifle. When Lee refused to talk, they blasted a bullet into his arm by way of encouragement. This proved highly persuasive and Lee soon gave up the location of his gun safe.

But this was no simple robbery. As well as access to his guns, the men also wanted Lee’s MC colours. A former member of the Devil’s Disciples he had recently joined a new club, the Celtic Demons, and was proudly wearing a three-piece patch with a bottom rocker that read ‘Ireland’ in spite of the fact that several other clubs in the area had warned the Demons not to do so.

The attack was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Despite his restraints Lee managed to make his way some 200 yards up to the road to the house of a neighbour who helped to raise the alarm. Three days later, a pipe bomb was discovered in Lee’s home and army bomb disposal experts had to be called in to remove it.

These days, MCs have extensive connections throughout the world through which they can access confidential personal data – including addresses and phone numbers. One man left Ireland because he feared he would be attacked by members of a hostile MC. Within a week or two, they rang him at home in the US to say, ‘You don’t think we don’t know where you are, do you?’

The gangs that make up the Alliance – the Devil’s Disciples, the Freewheelers, the Road Tramps, the Vikings and the Chosen Few – have been recruiting heavily, bringing in fresh manpower, their own, younger generation of bikers ready to fend off attack. Most observers believe it highly unlikely that the Alliance can win the turf war, or stem the growth of the big syndicates, given these gangs’
international clout, but the fact that they are prepared to try shows that they are demanding to be taken seriously.

Another potential biker feud is simmering in mainland Europe, where eighty particularly brutal members of the Bandidos in Berlin, all from an ethnic Turkish background, left the club together in early 2010 and patched over to Hell’s Angels. The group is now known as the Hell’s Angels Nomads Turkiye.

The move came just months after the Angels and the Bandidos signed a peace agreement to end more than three years of bloody fighting between the clubs which saw deaths on both sides. The fallout (including potential retribution by the Bandidos) would be bad enough, but what makes the situation particularly troubling is that a far greater enemy of the Hell’s Angels has arrived on the scene – the fearsome Mongols MC.

Based in California, the Mongols have been long-time rivals of the Hell’s Angels. In 2002, the two clubs clashed at Harrah’s casino at Laughlin, Nevada, in a very public brawl that left three bikers – one Mongol and two Hell’s Angels – dead. CCTV footage of the incident sent shockwaves around the world and cemented the Mongols’ reputation as aggressive ‘sons of bitches’, happy to take on the Angels. As their fight song attests, the Mongols have never shied away from a good scrap:

We are Mongol raiders, we’re raiders of the night

We’re dirty sons of bitches, we’d rather fuck and fight

Hidy, hidy, Christ Almighty, who the fuck are we?

Shit, fuck, cunt, suck, Mongols MC!

The club now has chapters in Italy and Germany, and strong alliances with other gangs lined up against the Big Red Machine. These days, they are regulars at Daytona and pictures of members displaying their colours alongside the Outlaws are common on the websites of both clubs.

The German contingent of the Mongols is based in Bremen and is a motorcycle gang by name only. Founded in October 2010, the chapter is composed of a local crime syndicate of Kurdish immigrants called the Miri clan. They dress in t-shirts and jackets decorated with Mongol colours, but when founding president Mustafa B went out for a spin on a red Honda Fireblade (capable of 180mph) with a licence only two weeks old, he lost control, crashed into a tree and died on the spot. Mustafa was the only member of the club to have a motorcycle licence and his demise is unlikely to inspire others to follow in his footsteps. Instead, when the gang move around the city, they travel by car.

The association with the American club is important as it provides an infrastructure and trading channels to assist the group in profits from the drug trade and other criminal activity. Most of the members of the Bremen Mongols chapter also have extensive police records. Ibrahim M, the man investigators believe succeeded Mustafa B as the head of the club, has been associated with no fewer than 147 crimes, ranging from grievous bodily harm to illegal possession of a weapon.

In Sydney, Australia, intelligence officials are increasingly concerned by the links between Lebanese crime cells and bikers, with Lebanese membership growing in the previously white-only Sydney Hell’s Angels and the Comancheros.
In 1997, the president of the Parramatta Nomads (a Sydney MC) handed over control of his gang to nightclub owner and alleged underworld figure Hassan ‘Sam’ Ibrahim. Not only was Ibrahim from a Middle Eastern background, he had never even been a biker. Despite this, he instantly became president of the club, bypassing the usual hangaround and prospect stage. The Parramatta Nomads went on to become one of the most notorious criminal gangs of the nineties until a fallout among the leadership led to a split in 2007 and the formation of a new club, Notorious MC.

Led by former Nomad Allan Sarkis, the members of Notorious are mostly from a Middle Eastern background and although the club is structured like a traditional outlaw motorcycle gang, only a tiny proportion ride bikes. Its members are sometimes called ‘Nike bikies’, for wearing expensive trainers, fashionable t-shirts, being clean shaven and listening to RnB, Hip Hop and Rap – a far cry from the traditional biker uniform of dirty jackets, leather boots and beards. The gang has been linked to a significant number of bombings, shootings and murders as part of ongoing feuds with the Hell’s Angels, the Bandidos and the Comanchero.

Having once appeared to be on the verge of dying out, biker clubs are now enjoying a massive international resurgence. They even have their own hit television show, courtesy of FX’s
Sons of Anarchy
. While MCs around the world continue to deny large-scale involvement in organised crime, the birth of clubs like the Bremen Mongols and Notorious is further proof that those who are involved can clearly see the benefits that discipline, codes of conduct and
brotherhood bring to those who wish to make profits from illegitimate means.

Whatever the future holds for the biker movement, one thing is for sure; the new generation promises to be even more ruthless than those of the past.

In September 2010, Boone took Sally to Amsterdam for a belated birthday celebration. At twenty-four weeks pregnant she was reluctant to fly anywhere, so the pair chose a destination that could be easily reached by train. It was their last chance for a child-free break and they were both determined to enjoy themselves.

After three days, Sally was thoroughly exhausted by the endless rounds of shopping and sightseeing and opted to have an early night. Boone watched a little television but still had energy to spare and eventually decided to head back out and get a few more drinks at a quiet Thai-run canal-side bar that had become one of his favourite spots in the city. He was just about to call it a night when three men walked in, two of them wearing black leather cut-offs bearing the unmistakable red and white colours of the Hell’s Angels. As they moved around to search for seats, Boone could see that one man was a prospect, the other a full member, and that both were from Sweden.

The full patch Angel approached the bar close to where Boone was sitting. When he was an arm’s length away, he suddenly stumbled and reached out to steady himself, his hand brushing firmly against the back of Boone’s shoulder.

‘Sorry,’ the Angel said.

Boone ignored him.

‘I tripped on the bar rail.’

Boone looked down, then slowly turned to face the Angel. He had recognised the ploy immediately. It was almost identical to the move that one of the Road Rats had performed on him when he had fled to London after Rabbi had been shot.

‘There is no bar rail.’

The Angel smiled. He was full of swagger and confidence. ‘You’re right. Actually, I was checking to see if you had patches under your jacket. I think you’re a club member.’

Boone shook his head. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘Well you look like a club member.’ The Angel reached over and gently lifted the sleeve of Boone’s jacket. ‘And you’ve got tattoos like a club member. Why are you lying to me?’

Boone finished the last of his beer in one long swig. It was clear the Angel wasn’t going to let it go. He had to give him something. ‘Well I used to be a member of the Pagans, but that was a long, long time ago.’

The Angel stiffened visibly. In America, the ongoing war between the Pagans and the HA had flared up again and was costing dozens of lives. Boone saw the man’s reaction and moved quickly to diffuse the tension. ‘Not the American Pagans, the English Pagans.’

‘English Pagans? Never heard of them.’

Deeply offended, Boone fought a losing battle to stay calm.

‘Well it was a long time ago,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘And since then, the club has changed its name. They’re now called the Outlaws.’

‘Outlaws!’

Again the Angel stiffened. Tall and slim with a mop of neatly styled blonde hair, he was in his mid-twenties and his patches were new so Boone figured he had only recently become a full member and didn’t have much experience. He had clearly got used to people being so intimidated by the patch that they would bend to his will. Boone decided to go the other way.

‘Fuck it. Tell you what, let’s you and me go outside right now and get this over with.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m one of the original members of the Outlaws in the UK and now we’re AOA. It seems you have a problem with that so why don’t you and I step outside and dance.’

Seeing the aggressive change in Boone’s body language, the prospect had rushed over and was now hovering directly behind his fellow Angel, ready to join the fight at a moment’s notice. The other man remained sitting in the corner, watching with detached interest. Yet despite the odds being in his favour, the Angel was clearly alarmed by Boone’s willingness to take him on. Perhaps he had assumed the man at the bar was a member of a more minor MC. Either way, his initial bravado suddenly and rapidly deserted him.

‘Well hang on a minute. Let’s not be hasty. You’re not club any more, right?’

‘No, I’m not club any more.’

‘Well, in that case, there’s no problem.’

‘Whatever. I’m just leaving anyway.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘What’s it to you? I thought you said there was no problem.’

‘With me, no, but the members of the local chapter might want to talk to you, find out why you’re here.’ The prospect took a step closer, making it clear that Boone wasn’t going anywhere without telling them what they wanted to hear.

‘Okay. Sure. I’m at the Grand Krasnapolsky.’

‘You might be bullshitting me. We’re going to need to know which room you’re in. We’re going to need to see you put the key in the door.’

It was nearly two in the morning when Boone, the two Angels and the third man crossed over the narrow canal bridges, through the edge of the red light district towards Dam Square. Along the way Boone had been planning his escape strategy, thinking through the layout of his hotel room. Although he had not seen the Angel make any phone calls to bring in reinforcements, he was convinced that once they confirmed where he was, it was only a matter of time before the whole fucking Amsterdam chapter of the Hell’s Angels was on his doorstep.