Read No Angel Online

Authors: Jay Dobyns

Tags: #General Fiction

No Angel

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For Mom, Dad, Gwen, Dale, and Jack—you are my heroes.
And for Jaime, without whom this book would not have been possible

Contents

Bikers, Cops, and Motorcycle Clubs Involved in Operations Riverside and Black Biscuit

Note to the Reader

      

PART I. THE END

1. Birdcalls

      

PART II. THE BEGINNING

2. My sucking chest wound

3. “You’re looking at the loves of my life is what you’re looking at.”

4. Hoedown at Harrah’s

5. Black Biscuit BBQ

6. Rudy wanted to know where I did my time

      

PART III. THE MIDDLE

7. Too broke for Sturgis, where Timmy learned the fine art of fetching sauerkraut

8. Jesus Hates a Pussy

9. First night in Mesa

10. I wanna what?

11. Why’d Jack give me that rock?

12. Teaching Teacher

13. Feeding Smitty his cake

14. “Fuck your guns!”

15. Good-bye, Carlos

16. We want you

17. Gimme a B! Gimme an I! Gimme an R! Gimme a D!

18. Five years in the desert

19. Arresting Rudy Kramer

20. Hello, JJ

21. Pep talk

22. “Motherfucker, if I ever see you in this town again I will fucking bury you in the desert where no one will ever fucking find you.”

23. Inhale … Exhale … Inhale … Exhale …

24. Jingle bells, Batman smells, etc.

25. The Solo temporaries

26. Will you be mine?

27. “9-1-1! 9-1-1! Get out of the house!”

28. The Iron Skillet

29. “Look, lady, it’s not like I don’t give a fuck what you’re saying, but I don’t give a fuck what you’re saying.”

30. Hoover’s hit

31. No more Solos

32. Big Lou and Gayland Hammack run some game

33. “Get me that brown mustard, not that yellow shit.”

      

PART IV. THE END, AGAIN

34. Hydroxycut highway

35. Bottom rockers are us

36. Call to arms

37 ….

38. Hate and money

39. The bust

      

Epilogue

Where Are They Now?

Plates

Author’s Note

Glossary

Acknowledgments 

Black Biscuit Task Force Members and Associates by
Agency
(alphabetical by last name)

Note: The men and women listed below are the principal players found in
the text. The Acknowledgments section at the end of the book contains a
comprehensive list of officers involved with Black Biscuit
.

ATF

Chris Bayless, special agent, aka “Chrisser” 
Carlos Canino, special agent, aka “Los”
Vince Cefalu, special agent, aka “Vinnie” 
John Ciccone, special agent 
Greg Cowan, special agent, aka “Sugarbear” 
Jay Dobyns, special agent, aka “Bird” 
Alan Futvoye, special agent, aka “Footy” 
Steve Gunderson, special agent, aka “Gundo” 
Daniel Machonis, group supervisor, aka “Mach One” 
Jenna Maguire, special agent, aka “JJ” 
Tom Mangan, special agent, aka “Teabag” 
Joe Slatalla, special agent, aka “Slats” 
Jesse Summers, special agent, aka “Summer Breeze”

OTHER LAW ENFORCEMENT

Gayland Hammack, sergeant, Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department

William Long, detective, Phoenix Police Department, aka “Timmy”

Shawn Wood, sergeant, Arizona Department of Public Safety, aka “Woody”

 

ATF INFORMANTS

Pops (given name not provided)

Michael Kramer, Hells Angels member at Mesa, Arizona, and San Fernando Valley, California, charters, aka “Mesa Mike”

Rudolph Kramer, Solo Angeles member, aka “Rudy” (no relation to Michael Kramer)

Hells Angels by Charter (alphabetical by last name)

Note: As above, the men listed below are only the significant players found
in the text. Many more Hells Angels are mentioned in the pages that follow
.

ARIZONA NOMADS, FLAGSTAFF, ARIZONA

Dennis Denbesten, member, aka “Chef Boy-Ar-Dee” 
Donald Smith, member, aka “Smitty”

CAVE CREEK, ARIZONA

Ralph Barger, member, aka “Sonny,” “Chief” 
Daniel Danza, member, aka “Dirty Dan” 
Daniel Seybert, president, aka “Hoover”

MESA, ARIZONA, AKA “MESA MOB”

Kevin Augustiniak, member 
Gary Dunham, secretary, aka “Ghost” 
Paul Eischeid, member 
Robert Johnston, president, aka “Bad Bob,” “Mesa Bob” 
Mike Kramer, member, aka “Mesa Mike” (transferred to San Fernando Valley, California, charter during the case) 
Calvin Schaefer, member, aka “Casino Cal”

PHOENIX, ARIZONA, AKA “HOTHEDZ”

Robert Mora, member, aka “Chico”

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

Pete Eunice, member, aka “Dago Pete,” “Ramona Pete”

SKULL VALLEY, ARIZONA, AKA “GRAVEYARD CREW”

Rudy Jaime, member

Robert Reinstra, vice president, aka “Bobby” 
Joseph Richardson, member, aka “Joey,” “Egghead”
Theodore Toth, president, aka “Teddy” 
George Walters, sergeant at arms, aka “Joby”

TUCSON, ARIZONA

Douglas Dam, member, aka “Doug” 
Craig Kelly, president, aka “Fang” 
Robert McKay, member, aka “Mac”
Henry Watkins, prospect, aka “Hank”

Hells Angels’ Old Ladies

Dolly Denbesten (wife of Dennis Denbesten) 
Staci Laird (girlfriend of Bobby Reinstra) 
Lydia Smith (wife of Donald Smith)

Other Suspects of Note

Alberto (last name unknown), vice president, Mexican Solo Angeles, Tijuana, Mexico 
Robert Abraham, gun dealer, Bullhead City, Arizona 
Tony Cruze, member, Red Devils, Tucson, Arizona 
Tim Holt, machinist, Mohave, Arizona 
Dave “Teacher” Rodarte, president, U. S. Solo Angeles, Los Angeles, California
Scott Varvil, school nurse, mechanic, Kingman, Arizona

Arizona Motorcycle Clubs and Charter Locations
(alphabetical after Hells Angels and Solo Angeles)
HELLS ANGELS
*
 

aka “Big Red Machine,” “Red and White,” “81” 
Arizona Nomads (Flagstaff), Cave Creek, Mesa, Phoenix, Skull Valley, Tucson

 

SOLO ANGELES

aka “Orange Crush” 
Arizona Nomads (Bullhead City, Phoenix, Prescott)

AMERICANS

Page

DESERT ROAD RIDERS

Bullhead City, Lake Havasu City

DEVILS’ DISCIPLES

Tucson

DIRTY DOZEN (DEFUNCT)

Phoenix

HUNS

Tucson

LIMEYS

Charter location unknown

LONERS

Globe

MONGOLS

Phoenix

RED DEVILS

Tucson, Phoenix

SPARTANS

Phoenix 
Vietnam Vets Statewide

Major Motorcycle Clubs Traditionally Adversarial to the Hells Angels
BANDITOS

Texas, western states, international; aka “the Red and Gold,” “Bandits”

MONGOLS

California, western states; aka “the Black,” “the Black and White”

OUTLAWS

Midwest and Southern states; aka “OLs”

PAGANS

Eastern states

ROCK MACHINE

Canada (absorbed by Banditos)

VAGOS

California; aka “the Green,” “Greenies”

*
Note: the charters listed are only for Arizona. As noted in the text, the Hells Angels have
charters in approximately twenty states and twenty-six countries.
 

The worlds of undercover cops and outlaw bikers are colorful and unique, and each possesses its own language. If at any time you’re unclear about the terms found on the following pages, please consult the glossary found at the back of this book. 

If I must choose between righteousness and peace, I choose righteousness.

—THEODORE ROOSEVELT

   

If you’re not making mistakes, then you’re not doing anything. I’m positive
a doer makes mistakes.

   

—JOHN WOODEN

UCLA MEN’S BASKETBALL COACH, 1948–1975

THE END
BIRDCALLS

JUNE 25 AND 26, 2003

TIMMY LEANED CASUALLY
against the rear fender of my black Mercury Cougar, a cell phone on his ear and a smile on his face. The bastard was typically calm. Twelve months I’d been his partner, in and out of harm’s way, both together and alone, and the guy never looked stressed. He was as self-possessed as a rooster in a hen house—my polar opposite.

I paced in front of him, rehearsing what I was going to tell our Hells Angels brothers. I shook the last smoke out of a pack of Newports. “Shit.” I lit the cigarette, crumpled the pack, and threw it to the ground. It was 10:00 a.m. and I’d already emptied the first pack of the carton I’d bought that morning.

Timmy said into his phone, “I love you too honey cake. I should be home soon.” He’d been saying things like that going on five minutes.

I stared at him and said, “The fuck, stud? Come on.”

Timmy put a finger in the air and continued on the phone. “OK. Gotta run. Love you guys. OK. See you tonight.” He snapped his phone closed. “What’s the drama, Bird? We got this.”

“Oh, you know. Nothing really.” I pointed at the guy lying facedown at our feet. “Just that if they don’t buy it, then we’ll end up like this asshole.”

There, in a shallow desert ditch, was a gray-haired Caucasian male, his head split to the white meat. A pile of brains had oozed to the ground where Timmy had put Joby’s .380. Blood droplets, sprayed into the sand and dirt, made small, dark constellations. His blue jeans were splattered with purple, quarter-sized splotches. His wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape, his hands were limp. It was already over 100 degrees and the promise of coagulated blood and exposed matter had begun to attract flies.

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