Read Online Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs by Tony Thompson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tony Thompson
Ads: Link
a long-barrelled pistol from the living room wall and went out on the balcony to get some air. He saw a postman down below going about his rounds and suddenly the world in front of him turned into an ultra-realistic video game. Boone held the weapon between both hands, lined up the postie in the sights and gently squeezed the trigger.
The report of the gun was as loud as thunder and a jet of bright yellow flame shot out from the end of the barrel. The postman’s body slammed to the ground just behind a parked car as the sound of the blast echoed into the distance. ‘Holy shit,’ gasped Boone. ‘I’ve fucking killed him.’
The owner of the flat came running out onto the balcony, half undressed. ‘That’s it. You’ve got to go. You’ve got to go right now. What the fuck is going on?’
‘I’ve killed the fucking postman!’
‘You what?’
Boone nodded towards the street and both men gingerly looked over the balcony, just in time to see the terrified postman on his knees, cautiously peering up over the bonnet of the parked car, trying to work out where the shot had come from.
Boone was overcome with relief. The man had dived for cover like a pro and Boone was convinced he’d hit him. It was a fairly rough area though – perhaps postal workers received combat training. He turned back to his reluctanthost. ‘What the fuck are you doing with a loaded gun on your wall? You’re just asking for trouble.’
‘It’s a replica. It’s only got blanks in it. They all have.’
‘You’re fucking insane!’
‘I’m insane? You’ve got to go. You’ve got to get out of here right now.’
The postman was back on his feet now and had been joined by a few other bystanders. They were looking upwards and pointing in the general direction of the tower block.
Boone grabbed his things and rushed out of the flat, his heart pounding like a timpani. He hesitated for a few moments, unsure whether he should take the lift or the stairs and eventually decided on the latter. By the time he reached the bottom, breathing heavily, a small patrol car was just arriving on the scene. He made a run for it but he had no chance. He was soon overpowered, arrested and on his way back to Warwickshire.
Link seemed to have fared better. He had headed down to Cornwall to hide out with members of another club, the Scorpio MC. Over the years the Pagans had made good friends with many groups of bikers across the country but none more so than the Scorpios who were based in the popular tourist town of St Austell.
The two clubs first got to know each other when a Pagan called Sparky was serving time in Exmoor prison and found himself sharing a cell with the then Scorpio president, Mark ‘Snoopy’ Dyce. The two men got on well and stayed in touch once they had been released. Invitations to party with each other’s clubs were accepted and soon extended toother members. Within the space of a few months, the Scorpio and the Pagans had become like sister clubs, making regular runs to see one another, exchanging bikes and tokens and getting completely trashed during weekend-long drink and drug-fuelled benders.
It seemed almost fated to be – both clubs had chosen blue on white as the colour combination for their patches. Personal friendships blossomed, both between the men and the old ladies in both groups. They became, in essence, one club: de facto chapters of the same gang, but for the distance between them and the fact that they operated under two different names.
During one trip to Warwickshire, the Scorpios even assisted the Pagans in shutting down a small MC that was threatening the Pagans turf, joining the vicious attack on the smaller club and helping to snatch away the patches of its members.
With the benefit of hindsight though, hiding out with the Scorpios wasn’t all it was cracked up to be – in fact, Link would later conclude, he could not have picked a worse place to be or a worse time to be there.
As soon as he arrived,
The report of the gun was as loud as thunder and a jet of bright yellow flame shot out from the end of the barrel. The postman’s body slammed to the ground just behind a parked car as the sound of the blast echoed into the distance. ‘Holy shit,’ gasped Boone. ‘I’ve fucking killed him.’
The owner of the flat came running out onto the balcony, half undressed. ‘That’s it. You’ve got to go. You’ve got to go right now. What the fuck is going on?’
‘I’ve killed the fucking postman!’
‘You what?’
Boone nodded towards the street and both men gingerly looked over the balcony, just in time to see the terrified postman on his knees, cautiously peering up over the bonnet of the parked car, trying to work out where the shot had come from.
Boone was overcome with relief. The man had dived for cover like a pro and Boone was convinced he’d hit him. It was a fairly rough area though – perhaps postal workers received combat training. He turned back to his reluctanthost. ‘What the fuck are you doing with a loaded gun on your wall? You’re just asking for trouble.’
‘It’s a replica. It’s only got blanks in it. They all have.’
‘You’re fucking insane!’
‘I’m insane? You’ve got to go. You’ve got to get out of here right now.’
The postman was back on his feet now and had been joined by a few other bystanders. They were looking upwards and pointing in the general direction of the tower block.
Boone grabbed his things and rushed out of the flat, his heart pounding like a timpani. He hesitated for a few moments, unsure whether he should take the lift or the stairs and eventually decided on the latter. By the time he reached the bottom, breathing heavily, a small patrol car was just arriving on the scene. He made a run for it but he had no chance. He was soon overpowered, arrested and on his way back to Warwickshire.
Link seemed to have fared better. He had headed down to Cornwall to hide out with members of another club, the Scorpio MC. Over the years the Pagans had made good friends with many groups of bikers across the country but none more so than the Scorpios who were based in the popular tourist town of St Austell.
The two clubs first got to know each other when a Pagan called Sparky was serving time in Exmoor prison and found himself sharing a cell with the then Scorpio president, Mark ‘Snoopy’ Dyce. The two men got on well and stayed in touch once they had been released. Invitations to party with each other’s clubs were accepted and soon extended toother members. Within the space of a few months, the Scorpio and the Pagans had become like sister clubs, making regular runs to see one another, exchanging bikes and tokens and getting completely trashed during weekend-long drink and drug-fuelled benders.
It seemed almost fated to be – both clubs had chosen blue on white as the colour combination for their patches. Personal friendships blossomed, both between the men and the old ladies in both groups. They became, in essence, one club: de facto chapters of the same gang, but for the distance between them and the fact that they operated under two different names.
During one trip to Warwickshire, the Scorpios even assisted the Pagans in shutting down a small MC that was threatening the Pagans turf, joining the vicious attack on the smaller club and helping to snatch away the patches of its members.
With the benefit of hindsight though, hiding out with the Scorpios wasn’t all it was cracked up to be – in fact, Link would later conclude, he could not have picked a worse place to be or a worse time to be there.
As soon as he arrived,
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