Langton - Outlaw biker: the Russian connection
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- Book:Outlaw biker: the Russian connection
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- Publisher:HarperCollins Canada;HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
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- Year:2013
- City:Eastern Europe;Toronto;Russia
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Outlaw biker: the Russian connection: summary, description and annotation
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Outlaw Biker is the sequel to the bestselling Biker by Jerry Langton. In Outlaw Biker, Langton explores the world of Russian and eastern European organized crime syndicates and how they have established an unshakeable grip on crime in North America through the use of overwhelming violence and fear tactics Biker ended with protagonist Ned Aiken in a witness protection program, but tempted by the lure of easy money. In Outlaw Biker, he succumbs to it. First as a drug and weapon runner for the Russian Mafia, then as a respected and vital part of a Midwestern gang, Aiken again becomes deeply involved in organized crime. In it, he must avoid the dangers posed by law enforcement, the bikers he ratted on in the previous book as well as ambitious members of his own gang. Through his experiences, the reader is not only engrossed by the exciting storyline, but also informed of how these gangs work and the threat they represent. From its violent beginning to its shocking conclusion, Outlaw Biker is a thrilling and revealing look at a subject many are interested in, but few know much about.
Langton: author's other books
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Thomas Barker
Walter Roberts
Dave Nichols
Richard Deadeye Hayes
Jerry Langton
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Outlaw Biker
The Russian Connection
Jerry Langton
Table of Contents
This book, like everything I do, is for Tonia and the boys.
Acknowledgments
Although Outlaw Biker is a work of fiction, it would be incorrect to think of it as a one-person effort. Id like to thank all of my sources who told me stories about life in the places the book talks about, but Im pretty sure they wouldnt want me to mention their names here. I would also like to thank my wifes friend Gulnara for introducing me to many different cultures from the former Soviet Union; my wife and kids for their patience; the team at Wiley, especially super editor Don Loney; and, of course, Leta Potter, without whom nothing gets done.
Chapter One
It was a surprisingly desolate place considering it was in the middle of a big city. Ned knew that Detroit had fallen on some really hard times, but he was shocked at the utter emptiness of this part of the city, just outside the downtown core. He watched for any sign of human activity. It was as though some kind of epidemic or radiation had devastated the place. He kept the windows rolled up and the doors locked.
There were, of course, lots of reminders that this had once been a very busy placethe empty factories with their broken windows, abandoned cars, piles of trash and boarded-up houses gave mute testimony to thatbut there were no people. He thought he saw a stray dogmaybe a coyotehunting what were probably rats in a pile of trash.
He wondered exactly why his new friends from workChuck and Bobhad sent him to this almost post-apocalyptic zone. His instructions were to deliver a package, which he guessed contained cash, to an address the GPS that they had supplied him with said was now less than a quarter-mile away. But he couldnt figure out why anyone would want to be out here and he began to get nervous about the kind of people who would be waiting for him.
He had managed to avoid thinking about it in any kind of depth for the whole trip. But ever since he had left Wilmington almost ten hours ago, he had been nagged by the feeling that he might be in the middle of a setup. How well did he know Chuck and Bob anyway? He had quickly spotted that they were operators. Ned could tell from their cars, clothes and behavior that they were obviously guys with something going on. They were small-time to be sure, but they could easily have some big connections.
And Ned woke up and went to sleep every day knowing that there were more than a few peoplemaybe those very connections who supplied Chuck and Bobwho very badly wanted to see him dead. Neds testimony had put a lot of bikershis former brothers in the Sons of Satanaway, some for a very long time. The FBI was hiding him behind a new identity, but he knew the Sons of Satan and their allies were everywhere, and Ned also knew that moving him from the Midwest to the east coast was no guarantee that someone wouldnt hunt him down.
The FBI guys were pretty smart about it, though. Delaware didnt have any Sons of Satan chapters. In fact, none of the major biker clubs had a clubhouse in the state. But that didnt mean bikers only went there for a bit of R&R.
Traditionally, all of Delawares organized crime was run by the Philadelphia Mafia. But after the successive failures of Little Nicky Scarfo, Johnny Stanfa and Ralph Natale to keep their men in line and out of prison, their power was waning, especially on the fringes of their empire. By the late 1990s, a sizeable chunk of the drug trade in the tiny state was controlled from a distance by bikers: Pagans from Maryland or Hells Angels from Virginia. There was no love lost between the two clubs, but both had been known to ally with the Sons of Satan depending on which way the winds were prevailing.
Chuck and Bob, the two guys Ned worked with in the mailroom of a credit-assessment agency, could very easily have been paid to deliver him to the Sons of Satan. They had, after all, sent him on a trip here, to the Midwest. Detroit, Ned knew, was traditionally the heart of Outlaws territory, but he also knew that the Sons of Satan were never very far away.
Sweating, he stopped the car. He didnt pull over; he just threw the car into park. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. Ned realized that there was a very strong possibility that he was being sent to his death. He thought about it. Who the hell were Chuck and Bob anyway? He didnt even know their real names. Why should he trust them? All he wanted to do was make a quick buck and break up the boredom of his job. And when these two Serbian guys who worked with him recognized his biker tattoos and offered him a pile of money to deliver a small package, he thought it might be fun.
But then he thought about the odds. If Chuck and Bob knew that the Sons of Satan wanted him dead, they would certainly have made a move by now. And they didnt seem smart or sophisticated enough to pull something like this off. If they wanted to kill him, they wouldnt put him in a car with a GPS and a thick manila envelope and send him so far across the country; theyd just whack him in the head with a crowbar. He actually couldnt help laughing to himself as he pictured itChuck laying on the beating and Bob going through his pockets.
Ned wanted to get the hell out of the neighborhood. Even the plan hed made to legitimize the trip wasnt relieving his anxiety. If he couldnt trust Chuck and Bob, then he sure as hell couldnt trust the people at the other end. But a life of drudgery was no life. Live free or die.
He quickly looked around. The street was deserted. He picked up the envelope and tore off a strip. Cash. Lots of it. Ned threw the transmission into drive. A couple of blocks later, he saw exactly where he was headed. The building looked a lot like all the others in the arealow and broad with that bit of ornate flair you dont see in buildings made after a certain era. Unlike the others, it had all of its doors and windows intact. But thats not what made it stand out. While its neighbors were surrounded by trash, piles of tires or abandoned vehicles, the area around this building was cleaned up. The parking lot sported a number of luxury cars and SUVs, all of them modified to some degree and some of them painted in outrageous colors.
Ned parked in an open spot between a bright purple Cadillac SUV and a snow-white Corvette. He got out of the car and noticed that he wasnt alone. A young man who looked big with a shaven head and a mustache sat in a small, late-model BMW with an aftermarket spoiler on the trunk. Ned nodded at him. The man did not acknowledge him; instead, he pulled out a cell phone and started to make a call.
Ned approached the door, which was solid steel, black and windowless. Ned noticed one of those cheap, white, boxy video cameras mounted about ten feet up. It was pointed directly at the space in front of the door. He looked directly at it, smiled and resisted the urge to wave. There was an intercom system beside the door. Ned pressed the speak button and said, Delivery.
Ned heard a long buzz and the lock mechanism activated. He pulled the door open and walked in. Before his eyes could adjust to the darkness inside, someone threw a cloth sack over his head and pulled him to the ground. He was rolled on his stomach and his hands cuffed behind his back. A hand grabbed the collar of his sweatshirt and Ned was pulled roughly to his feet. Orders were barked in a language Ned didnt know and the sack was secured around his neck. One of the men grabbed him by his left bicep and guided him deeper into the building. The men began talking to each other and one kept giggling. Ned identified at least four distinct voices. He heard a door open. The man leading him stepped down. Careful, a heavily accented voice said to Ned. Stairs.
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