Pat Matter - Breaking the Code

Patrick: To Trish, my wife who never lost faith and has always been there for me.

Chris: To my children, Rachel and Matthew, I am so proud of both of you.

Breaking the Code

A True Story by a Hells Angel President and the Cop Who Pursued Him

Pat Matter & Chris Omodt

F I R S T E D I T I O N

ISBN: 9781939288684

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014940507

eBook ISBN: 9781939288738

2014 Pat Matter & Chris Omodt

No part of this publication may be translated, reproduced or transmitted by any means, in whole or in part, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. Publisher and editor are not liable for any typographical errors, content mistakes, inaccuracies, or omissions related to the information in this book. Product trade names or trademarks mentioned throughout this publication remain property of their respective owners.

Published by The Real Deal, LLC.

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Prologue

Grim Reaper

Gramps

The Family Business

Thunder

Bona Fide

A Way of Life

Outlaws

War

Enoughs Enough

Getting Close

Fuck with It and Find Out

Indictment

Busted

Starting to Roll

Fucked

Against the Grain

A Deals a Deal

WITSEC

A New Start

Sandstone

One Hell of a Story

Choices

Afterword

Pats booking photo from DEA the morning of February 15, 2002.

Pat Matter? The short, but solid man walking into the sally port, the secured entryway of the Anoka County jail, turned towards me. Im Chris Omodt, detective with the Hennepin County Sheriffs Office.

Yeah, I know who you are. The reply took me by surprise. In retrospect, knowing all that I now know about Patrick Joseph Matter, founder and twenty-year president of the Minneapolis chapter of the Hells Angels, it should not have. Pat knew his business. He ran it well and he ran it with a tight fist. And knowing his business meant knowing about guys like meguys who had been investigating him for years.

Pat had just spent the night at the Anoka County jailValentines Day, 2002. I had helped put him there. Five years before, just one day shy of five years, as a matter of fact, my special operations detail was able to tie two kilograms of cocaine to Pat. Hed had it hidden in a friends garage. The garage had been broken into in the middle of the night. The thieves came to steal six Harley-Davidson motorcycles but they took the cocaine, too. That was a bonus for us. Wed been investigating the recent rash of motorcycle thefts in the Minneapolis-St. Paul metro area but the stolen coke was about to put us on to something bigger.

After the theft, all hell had broken loose. At Pats direction, a private investigator was hired. Flyers were posted in the neighborhood bars offering a three-thousand-dollar reward for information on the stolen bikes (no mention of the cocaine, of course). Then Pat and his guys took to just beating people up for information. The thieves were in over their heads but you cant say they hadnt been warned. Each stolen bike had a Hells Angels support sticker on it: This bike belongs to the Hells AngelsFuck with it and find out.

Eventually, one of the thieves would come forward. Wed get other guys to talk, too. The scope of our investigation grew and we began looking closely at Pat Matter and his entire operation. I learned all I could about him. Its my way. When Im investigating someone, I become intensely focused. Pat might have known who I was, but I could guarantee I knew more about him. I knew all about his youth in Fort Dodge, Iowa. I knew about his time with the Grim Reapers Motorcycle Club and his entry into the Hells Angels. I knew about the arrests and the jail time and the bar fights and the shootouts. I knew hed lost a best friend in a hail of bullets in Fort Dodge and I knew hed almost been killed himself when a rival gang blew up his truck in Minneapolis. Pat had quite a history.

He had quite a run of success, too. Wed come to learn that his drug distribution business ran into the multimillions of dollars. His Hells Angels chapter was the envy of other outlaw motorcycle gangs. And his custom motorcycle shophis one business that had eventually become legitimatehad been featured nationally in countless cycle magazines. I couldnt help but admit to myself some respect for the man, even as I cuffed him and led him out of the county jail and into our waiting car.

U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agent Jeff Harford drove, while Pat and I sat in the back. We were headed to the DEA where Pat would be processed. From there it would be to the U.S. Marshals office downtown and then an appearance before a magistrate in federal court. It was strange to be sitting next to the man Id been after for so long. I could have met him the day before, during the arrest at his cycle shop, but I had remained out of view, in a vehicle across the street, ready to assist if the arrest had gone badly. But Pat had been cooperative, even polite.