Andrew Rule: In the brutal world of outlaw motorcycle gangs, every dog has his day

Outlaw motorcycle gangs are a ruthless racket rigged to favour the powerful, manipulative and greedy — and the lowest in the ranks are expendable pawns. The bitter truth is, it’s tough at the bottom.

It’s dog eat dog in the pressure cooker world of an outlaw motorcycle gang. Patches and place names change but the punchline stays much the same: every dog has his day but when the sun sets for him, he’s roadkill.

In the ruthless hierarchy of the pack, the leader stands over the rest right up until they turn on him.

In one notorious gang, the top dog’s authority was tested when a rank-and-file member called him exactly that — a “dog”.

That tiny three-letter word could be a death warrant or a ticket to the intensive care ward. In this case the gang member who bagged the boss was subjected to punishment that might make an IRA terror squad wince.

While two others pinned him down, the heaviest man in the crew stomped on his legs until they were pulped. With criticism silenced, the president stayed put for the time being.

Outlaw motorcycle gangs run rigidly on fear of punishment and reprisals. Picture: Supplied

Outlaw gangs thrive on these savage displays of violence for two reasons.

First, the few at the top of the food chain want everyone below them to be compromised by committing the sort of serious crimes that an undercover agent cannot. This deters insiders from co-operating with police.

Second, those at the bottom are keen to catch the selectors’ eye. Like football recruits laying tackles and kicking goals at training, they’re desperate to prove themselves worthy of full gang member status.

So the hungry and ambitious youngsters do the dirty work and spill blood for those who use them to wreak havoc, create fear and, ultimately, make money for bosses up the chain.

The result is an organisation run rigidly on fear of punishment and reprisals — as long as each “soldier” is willing to obey the hierarchy, even if it’s against his own future interests.

After a recent marathon murder trial in which outlaw gang members provided a rare glimpse into gang culture, one longtime observer quipped, “it’s tough at the bottom”.

Those low in the gang ranks or hanging around the fringes can discover a bitter truth: they’re expendable pawns in a ruthless racket rigged to favour the powerful, manipulative and greedy.

During the murder trial, once-trusted members lifted the curtain on the secrets of one of the most feared outlaw gangs.

They described a crime machine running on intimidation, heavy drug trafficking and debt collection, its greed enforced with guns and acts of savagery like the leg-breaking described above.

These were frank accounts from men who had finally turned on their “brothers”, speaking candidly about how the gang operates and the rules governing it.

The debtor had started running and refused to stop and so the collector shot him in the buttocks and the leg as a warning. Picture: Savusia Konstantin

One witness told the court that in his time with the club he had bashed, stabbed and shot people for it. He even outlined how he’d agreed to carry out a contract killing.

The witness had put a tracking device on the proposed victim’s car. He ultimately abandoned the plan because the target rarely left the city where it would be hard to get away from a shooting because of multiple security cameras in the CBD.

This was fortunate for the target, as the man telling the story had proved “willing” well before joining the gang.

He told the court about shooting a man who owed him money for drugs.

The debtor had started running and refused to stop and so the collector shot him in the buttocks and the leg as a warning.

One year, he conceded, he was paid to shoot two people — but not to kill them. He wounded both, exactly as requested.

Evidence aired in the trial underlined how the outbreak of teenage car thefts ties into serious organised crime, especially arson and shootings.

Gang members said that stolen cars, which they call “hotties”, are vital for torching buildings and shooting enemies.

The only real loyalty in outlaw motorcycle gangs is to the dirty money that flows to the top. Picture: Cade Mooney

Such cars were generally supplied by others — notably by exploiting crazed teenagers who do aggravated burglaries to get the keys to steal cars in return for drugs or small amounts of cash.

One gunman told the court: “To be honest, (the gang) mainly used stolen cars to … probably shoot people, kill people.”

Stolen being disposable, they made committing crimes easier to plan because the gunmen or arsonists would torch a getaway car when they ditched it.

But not every car was “a hottie,” the witness said. In one case the crooks didn’t need a stolen car because someone offered them his car on condition it was burnt afterwards so he could claim insurance.

The gangs used a network of encrypted devices, generally known as Ciphr phones, no longer legally sold in Australia but undoubtedly still in use.

Sometimes, members would meet in person — often at an outer suburban gym, a Dandenong strip club, a nature reserve or certain restaurants.

Those low in the ranks can discover they’re expendable pawns.

Security was tight but so was the surveillance that police mounted on the gang and its associates. What the members imagined were confidential discussions, in fact often reached police.

In one instance, the future of the gang’s notorious boss was frankly discussed in a secretly recorded conversation that might have led to fatalities if it had leaked.

A listening device installed by police in one gang member’s car recorded him talking with another member about the leader’s future — or possible lack of it.

First witness: “How do reckon it’s going to end? Do you reckon (he) will retire or you think c---s are going to kick him out?”

Second witness: “I don’t see him retiring”.

First witness: “You reckon he’s going to be like 60-years-old and trying to tell us what to do.”

Second witness: “Nah, cause if he retires, remember he’s going blind, if he retires, he loses all power. No one will be his friend.”

Asked in court about where that conversation was heading, the first witness played it down.

“Hypotheticals. Frustration. We are saying, ‘What do you think will happen in the future?’,” he said, ducking the inference they were considering getting rid of the boss.

Junior members were regarded as unproven, so the less they knew, the less they might reveal if they were indiscreet or arrested.

Even patched members were not all fully trusted.

But a key witness pointed out there was more to being trusted than just keeping quiet; there was the constant motivation to commit violence to curry favour upstream.

Those most willing to commit violence were trusted most, with the “very willing” rising fast through the ranks. Not that the reward for doing so meant much more than a ready supply of strippers and cocaine.

Those made into members were usually given “patch parties.”

The witness said the gang president controlled debt collection, often done for commission on behalf of others who were owed money.

Members could not do whatever they wanted, only what the president ordered. To disobey could be fatal.

Kerry Giakoumis, a Hells Angels associate from Adelaide, walked into the gang’s Nomads chapter clubhouse in Thomastown in the early hours of June 10, 2020.

The theory is that his body was removed some time later, after an attack by a senior Angel with a long history of violence.

The circumstances are unclear because no one is talking. But the dead man’s South Australian comrades, some of whom travelled to Melbourne with him, are known to be angry.

So far, that disgust has not translated into anything to help police and no charges have been laid. Giakoumis’s killer is protected by tame “soldiers” whose lives he undoubtedly considers equally disposable.

It’s the same in the other “one percenter” gangs: the only real loyalty is to the dirty money that flows to the top.

The gang members disagree with theorists who state that criminals ignore consequences. It appears they do not ignore them if the consequences frighten them.

When asked who would be directed to carry out violent crimes on behalf of the president, one witness replied: “Whoever he tasks. Whoever is assigned to it. Or whoever’s around, I guess.”

Asked why they did not carry out work without direction, he replied bluntly: “Consequences”.

The trial also provided insights into how the justice system could be gamed.

One witness testified that gang members (and other criminals) stashed guns to use as a bargaining chip if later charged. The idea being that they “recover” the guns to win a lighter sentence for helping police. A seeming win for both sides.

Kerry Giakoumis’s killer is protected by tame ‘soldiers’ whose lives he undoubtedly considers equally disposable.

The same witness revealed that the system could be stooged through lengthy overseas stays. At one stage, he said, he took a holiday and then stayed away much longer because of a looming extortion case.

It paid off. After his eventual return, he wasn’t prosecuted for the extortion. And he had other tricks to beat the system, such as cooking up a stronger bail application with the help of lawyers and drug counsellors.

Asked to explain a bail application in which a drug counsellor’s report said he was using cocaine, cannabis, ecstasy, methamphetamine and pills, he admitted the report had been deliberately exaggerated.

“The drug counsellor told me to say it because he said I can’t use a drug counsellor if I don’t have a bad drug habit. So, I had to, um, you know, make the story more colourful,” the witness said.

Another witness told the court that his journey into the gang began when he talked to the gang boss about his prospects. The boss told him that joining the club was not going to make him rich, and was “more about being a brotherhood.”

The witness had become a nominee, to be assessed by the gang while he decided whether the outlaw life was for him.

Kerry Giakoumis entered the Hells Angels Nomad chapter clubhouse in Thomastown in June 20202, but what happened next is unclear as nobody is talking.

As a nominee, he stood in a suburban driveway and shot up a vehicle with a high-powered weapon to scare someone who owed money.

He was patched into the gang for that one brazen act, he said. It was only later he realised how much jail time he risked to collect money for people taking no risk at all.

Even harder than getting into the gang was getting out of it in one piece, he said. He decided he wanted out when he realised he was a pawn in someone else’s game and could be sacrificed at any time.

Leaving the club could bring terrible repercussions. But he had noticed that members with obvious drug problems were simply kicked out because they were embarrassments, so he staged his own supposed drug abuse with social media images of himself with drugs and paraphernalia to give the impression he was an unreliable addict.

He lived to tell the tale but others might not have.

It’s tough at the bottom.

Originally published as Andrew Rule: In the brutal world of outlaw motorcycle gangs, every dog has his day