Read Online Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs by Tony Thompson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tony Thompson
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repeatedly kicked in the head, ending up with a fractured skull and permanent hearing loss. The Angels have had a healthy fear of the north London gang ever since.
The gang cemented its reputation for violence in 1983 ata party in the quiet village of Cookham, Berkshire in an incident that made front-page headlines and that Boone remembered reading about all too well. A queue of bikers had formed to have sex (possibly consensual, probably not) with a young brunette who had been partly undressed and then staked out Red Indian style on the ground inside a tent. Fighting broke out when someone started taking pictures of the proceedings. The ensuing battle, chiefly between six members of the Road Rats and twenty-four members of the Satan’s Slaves, involved axes, knives, guns and chains.
Two Road Rats were killed early on – both stabbed in the heart – but the remaining four fought on for another half hour, slashing and beating the Slaves back and eventually forcing around twenty to barricade themselves in a nearby cottage. The Rats had just managed to set the building alight when members of the Windsor Hell’s Angels, who were hosting the event, intervened, wanting to know what was being done for the dead and wounded.
The Pagans had been to parties attended by the Road Rats every now and then but had never really had much to do with them. The Rats were notorious for falling out with pretty much every other club in the country at one time or another and Boone couldn’t help feel a little uncomfortable as he realised who was standing beside him. Boone was a big man but the Rat towered above him and was almost as wide as Boone was tall. Seeing the rising tension in Boone’s eyes, the man raised an open palm to reassure him.
‘No need to stress mate, I know exactly who you are. I just had to check. You’re Boone from the Pagans, right? I’m Mick. Just keep your head down. You’re fine and your bike is safe.’
‘What’s going on? Am I in trouble?’ Boone’s first concern was that somehow he was being accused of bringing trouble into the territory of the Rats, something they were unlikely to welcome.
‘Nah mate, you’re fine. You just need to keep your head down. You’re going about this the right way. Don’t talk to too many people, don’t tell them where you are. Do you have somewhere to stay?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got a friend with a place near here.’
‘Good. Once you’re inside, don’t leave for any reason. Stay indoors the whole time. We know exactly what’s happened. The world and his wife are out looking for you guys at the moment. You need to stay off the radar.’
An hour or so later, Boone made his way to the home of the club associate who had agreed to put him up. He received a warm welcome from the man himself but his girlfriend was clearly unhappy with the situation. Though she didn’t say anything directly to Boone’s face, it was clear from her body language and general demeanour every time she laid eyes on him that she wanted him gone as soon as possible.
Unable to leave the property, the sheer boredom of life as a fugitive set in far quicker than Boone could ever have imagined. Reports were coming in from around the country about various members of the gang being rounded up, and now only a handful was left. Boone had no long-term plan and knew full well that the police would not cease looking for him. The hopelessness of the situation soon started to get to him and after only a few days he began to sink into deep depression.
The flat had a large balcony that provided a panoramic view across London as well as a close-up look at the streetsand houses on the other side of the main road. The flat’s owner had a mild obsession with military equipment and had filled an entire wall with an impressive display of replica swords, pistols and machine guns. Early one morning, while the owner and his girlfriend were arguing in the kitchen about how much longer Boone would be staying, he pulled
The gang cemented its reputation for violence in 1983 ata party in the quiet village of Cookham, Berkshire in an incident that made front-page headlines and that Boone remembered reading about all too well. A queue of bikers had formed to have sex (possibly consensual, probably not) with a young brunette who had been partly undressed and then staked out Red Indian style on the ground inside a tent. Fighting broke out when someone started taking pictures of the proceedings. The ensuing battle, chiefly between six members of the Road Rats and twenty-four members of the Satan’s Slaves, involved axes, knives, guns and chains.
Two Road Rats were killed early on – both stabbed in the heart – but the remaining four fought on for another half hour, slashing and beating the Slaves back and eventually forcing around twenty to barricade themselves in a nearby cottage. The Rats had just managed to set the building alight when members of the Windsor Hell’s Angels, who were hosting the event, intervened, wanting to know what was being done for the dead and wounded.
The Pagans had been to parties attended by the Road Rats every now and then but had never really had much to do with them. The Rats were notorious for falling out with pretty much every other club in the country at one time or another and Boone couldn’t help feel a little uncomfortable as he realised who was standing beside him. Boone was a big man but the Rat towered above him and was almost as wide as Boone was tall. Seeing the rising tension in Boone’s eyes, the man raised an open palm to reassure him.
‘No need to stress mate, I know exactly who you are. I just had to check. You’re Boone from the Pagans, right? I’m Mick. Just keep your head down. You’re fine and your bike is safe.’
‘What’s going on? Am I in trouble?’ Boone’s first concern was that somehow he was being accused of bringing trouble into the territory of the Rats, something they were unlikely to welcome.
‘Nah mate, you’re fine. You just need to keep your head down. You’re going about this the right way. Don’t talk to too many people, don’t tell them where you are. Do you have somewhere to stay?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got a friend with a place near here.’
‘Good. Once you’re inside, don’t leave for any reason. Stay indoors the whole time. We know exactly what’s happened. The world and his wife are out looking for you guys at the moment. You need to stay off the radar.’
An hour or so later, Boone made his way to the home of the club associate who had agreed to put him up. He received a warm welcome from the man himself but his girlfriend was clearly unhappy with the situation. Though she didn’t say anything directly to Boone’s face, it was clear from her body language and general demeanour every time she laid eyes on him that she wanted him gone as soon as possible.
Unable to leave the property, the sheer boredom of life as a fugitive set in far quicker than Boone could ever have imagined. Reports were coming in from around the country about various members of the gang being rounded up, and now only a handful was left. Boone had no long-term plan and knew full well that the police would not cease looking for him. The hopelessness of the situation soon started to get to him and after only a few days he began to sink into deep depression.
The flat had a large balcony that provided a panoramic view across London as well as a close-up look at the streetsand houses on the other side of the main road. The flat’s owner had a mild obsession with military equipment and had filled an entire wall with an impressive display of replica swords, pistols and machine guns. Early one morning, while the owner and his girlfriend were arguing in the kitchen about how much longer Boone would be staying, he pulled
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