Chapter 10 – Wheels of Rage by Kurt Saxon

Since the money is not backed up by gold or silver, it must be backed up by the people’s confidence in the government. The bikers are of the opinion that anyone who has confidence in the government has the social awareness of a cockroach.

One of Big Mike’s church friends fretted over the money situation until he decided to exchange his Federal Reserve notes for Mexican gold. He runs a janitorial service and often hires Big Mike’s troops so they all got gold fever.

The janitor is imbecilic, even when sober, so the bikers decided to wait and see if he could make the exchange before trying it themselves. Naturally he screwed it up but brought back lessons in how to combat Mexican swindlers and the drinking water. He was unsuccessful in both and his anti-Greaser tirades were very instructive to the bikers.

He had taken ten thousand dollars to Mexico and had managed to contact some people who had gold for sale. A couple of sleazy characters came to his hotel room with the gold. He made sure it was real and paid them off and invited them to stay for a few drinks and a prayer.

He was not sure if it was during his fifth or sixth trip to the john since they came, but they switched the gold. When he got back across the border he found several bars of iron and a metate for grinding corn for tortillas.

Big Mike decided to get his contacts through a club sponsor in Marana, Arizona. In the meantime, they needed a lot of cash for the transaction.

Turkey was the man he chose for this one. Turkey was a part time counterfeiter who just printed enough to make ends meet. He robbed supermarkets on the side, so he would not have to work full time at anything.

He was a righteous biker and did not involve the club in any of his enterprises. Big Mike approached him and talked him into printing up a few million in hundreds. He did the basic printing and left the dye job to a bunch of the bikers.
Before dying, the bills looked like play money. After the black and two shades of green were printed on, the bills had to be dipped individually into a brownish, yellowish, greenish tint. Next they had to be blotted between two paper towels to remove the excess dye. Then the bills were put into the oven for about two minutes to get all the moisture out. When dry, they were wrinkled a little bit and rubbed with ground coffee to make them look aged. The finished product was beautiful and felt real nice.

They printed up three million and salvaged two. The bikers partied while they worked and a lot of beer equaled a lot of rejects. Big Mike’s two children got hold of a lot and flushed at least a half a million down the toilet.

When the job was done Turkey decided to plunge and he took a million to Palm Springs. Through some mishap the Secret Service men caught him and threw him in jail.

Big Mike was enraged, because, as he puts it, “Counterfeiting is no crime these days. If I forge your name to a check on your bank account, that’s a crime. But if I forge it on a piece of blank paper or a bubble gum trading card, it isn’t a crime because those things aren’t backed up by anything of value. The silver certificates were backed up by silver but the Federal Reserve notes are worthless so there was no crime.”

Big Mike thought it best to leave Turkey in the pound and leave right away to exchange the counterfeit money for gold. Turkey would keep until they came back wealthy unless the club bondsman could arrange for some reasonable bail.

His first step for the trip was to contact his sponsor in Marana. The sponsor was a right-winger but one of the few who had any sense. He was an old vigilante who had sent them six hundred dollars when a couple of renegade Iron Crosses ran out on their bail. The club would have been crippled financially if they had to raise the money then, so Big Mike was sincerely grateful.

He wrote the sponsor a glowing letter of thanks. The sponsor wrote back that he was just a seventy-year-old preacher living in a one room shack in the desert and invited the club out for a party. Big Mike and several of the bikers stormed over there to party and the old preacher drank them all under the table.

He did indeed live in a one room shack but outside was an Olympic sized swimming pool. There were a lot of other buildings around the house with concrete floors. He put the bikers up in one of them and they figured an army could be quartered on the property.

When it got around that the old preacher had given the Iron Cross six hundred dollars, all the political pigs began rooting around for a handout. First to be contacted in the search for the sponsor was Ginch.

Ginch was never accused of brilliance. He was so dumb that he had been known to ask other people what he was thinking about.

He got a call for Jim Warner, of Warner and “Morrithon,” Inc., the Bobbsey twins of the right wing. Ginch told him how to reach the old preacher and the old preacher invited him to Marana.

Warner acted so weird the old preacher called the clubhouse. He said to the biker who answered, “Hey, this Jim Warner. What’s with him? The young Mexican I got working for me won’t be around him. He says when that guy walks down the street all the dogs sit down. Is he queer?”

The biker answered “Well, naturally I don’t know from personal experience, not being of that persuasion. But the guys got a joke about him. They say if the goose should replace the handshake, he’d run around with his pants down.”

When Big Mike called the old preacher about contacts for buying gold, he said he knew lots of Mexican underworld types. He could speak fluent Spanish and as a one-time regional head of the Arizona Minutemen, he had a line on all kinds of talent on both sides of the border.

He offered to help them plan the money-gold exchange and set up the contacts. He also agreed to put them up for a few days at his place and rehearse them in how to act in Mexico.

Big Mike chose Noah, Pinocchio, Paranoid George, Ginch, Ape, Ten gun, Muskrat, T.R., Gargantua, Russell and Indian. They took the camper and ten motorcycles and made a midnight run to Marana.

They roused the old preacher out of the sack just before dawn and he let them in and broke out the beer. After several hours of partying, they went out and played in the pool until lunch about three that afternoon.

During and after lunch the old preacher lectured them on tourist etiquette in Mexico. The only Spanish any of the bikers knew was what they had learned from Los Angeles street signs, so he tried to teach them a few basic phrases.

While the old preacher went on with the Spanish and etiquette lessons the bikers all slept like babies. The lessons would have been lost on them anyway but the old preacher had a captive congregation so he raved on about Mexico, politics and religion.

Noah should have paid more attention. When he had gone down through Tijuana some excitable Federales had shot up his Datsun Jeep. He figured he must have made some breech of etiquette but never learned what had them so bent out of shape.

Two days later, with the Mexican contacts agreed on time and place and the entry permits in order, the bikers took off for Nogales. Noah and Ape stayed back and put on black business suits. With their strange looking bearded faces and the starched white shirt fronts they looked like two mules peering over a whitewashed fence. They were to pose as missionaries and meant to cross over several hours after the bikers.

When the bikers were about five hours ahead, Noah and Ape got into the camper and headed south. When they got to Nogales they went right past the American border guards but had to stop for the Mexicans.

The Mexican border guard examined their permits and out of curiosity, asked Noah what they meant to do in Mexico. Noah waved his bible in the guard’s face and said, “We’re on a mission for the Lord High God. We’re here to bring the word of the Lord to sinners. We’re going to drive Satan down to Guatemala or someplace.”

Ape chimed in, “Yeah, we’re gonna give you people a break.”

The guard answered, gently, “We have churches in Mexico, Senor.”

Ape said, “You do? No shit, man; I didn’t know that.” And he didn’t.

The guard was puzzled by the odd pair but waved them on. As they headed down the road, he looked at his partner and, tapping his head, he said, “Loco bastardos!”

Part of the plan was that the bikers were to wait in Magdalena, the first town past Nogales. They were not there an hour before they had a full scale riot going.

They had gone into a combination restaurant and cantina and sat down at a table. They did not know they could have ordered a fair American style lunch or decent Mexican food. Instead, they ordered burritos and tamales and other Mexican garbage they were familiar with in California.

Indian liked the weaker chili sauces he was used to. There was a bowl of super hot sauce on the table and he put it all over his burritos. After one gulp of the real stuff, he was clawing the air.

He was afraid to drink the water, so he ran to the bar and downed a customer’s beer. The customer was one of a dozen soccer champs touring the area and was in the cantina profiling for the peons. Indian would have paid for the beer but the soccer types loved a brawl as well as anyone, so the thing was on.
The soccer player punched Indian in the chest and knocked him over the table Big Mike and Ginch were eating at. In seconds all the bikers were up and hurling themselves at the soccer types.

Big Mike was yelling, “No weapons. No weapons.” The old preacher had lectured him on the danger of getting into trouble and staying years in a Mexican jail. Besides, he wanted his troops to make a good impression wherever they went in Mexico.

Both groups were, by nature, strong, aggressive and able to take a lot of punishment. So aside from throwing punches and tables and chairs at each other, there was little damage done except to the cantina.

A squad of Mexican police rushed in swinging clubs and were attacked by both bikers and soccer types. The chief got to the middle of the room a and fired a couple of shots into the ceiling.

The fighting stopped and the chief yelled, “All Yankees to jail, now.”

Big Mike hollered back, “We’re not going to no goddam Mexican jail, man. Your guys started it anyhow. And if you shoot any of us, our whole club’ll come down here from L.A. and tear this town apart.”

The chief was not much afraid of that but he knew if he started shooting he would not only kill a few Yankee hoodlums but also some Mexican sports heroes. That would bring him shit from all directions. Like a typical cop anywhere he just wanted to go home to his wife and children that night and have a job to come back to in the morning.

He said to the bikers, “Okay, no jail. Out of town. Out of town now.” Then he yelled at the soccer players in Spanish and the two groups separated.

When Noah and Ape got to Magdalena they did not have to search long before they heard the noise of the crowd on the other side of town. They drove there and it seemed as if all the townspeople had turned out to watch the bikers.

While waiting for the camper they were doing all kinds of motorcycle stunts for the people. The police were between the people and the bikers and the people were screaming “Ole!” and “Yankee go home!” and everyone was having a good time. The soccer team was yelling insults and throwing an occasional rock.

When the camper made its way through the crowd the bikers all swung in behind it. Then they all gave the finger to the town and roared off down the road to the gold contact.

The gold was to be brought to a little village about a hundred miles south of Magdalena. The contacts had said they could bring close to a million dollars worth of gold and the camper was to be used to smuggle it back in the States. Noah and Ape figured they could get back into the States without being searched with their pose as missionaries.

When they got to the village, Big Mike rented the whole top floor over the cantina by the village square. Then, inscrutable Oakie that he is, he divided the counterfeit money equally among his troops.

The bikers figured they might have to wait around a few days until the contacts could raise all the gold. In the meantime, they went on a spending spree that set the little village on its ear. They all bought the loudest serapes and big Mexican sombreros and by nightfall they looked like the most godawful bunch of clowns ever seen.

Paranoid George took up with the only prostitute in town and she led him to her room. After making out and partying with her, he went to sleep and she rolled him.

She took the money and decided to pack and leave her pimp. The pimp saw her going down the stairs of the little hotel by the cantina. He knew she had been with a biker and heard they were all throwing American hundred dollar bills around. He understood she was heading out when he saw her suitcase. His status as the only pimp in the village would be shot to hell unless he took to peddling his goat. He blocked her way and grabbed her purse.

When he saw the great wad of hundred dollar bills he was so amazed that she was able to grab the loot back and run. She tore into the cantina waving the wad of bills in from on her with the pimp chasing after.

Big Mike and some of the bikers were lounging around the bar and saw the woman come in. They sized up the situation immediately. They had seen Paranoid George with her and figured he had given her the money to hold for him and this Mexican bandito was trying to take it.

While Indian wrenched the money away from the prostitute, Big Mike and the others took care of the pimp. The gang stomping they gave him was a work of art. It would be retold and embellished when other bikers made their poor boasts on the subject.

When the pimp woke up in the infirmary hours later, the first thing he did was to call his brother. This brother was a captain at a nearby militia post.

The pimp told him the Yankees had been spending like madmen and if they all had as much as the one his woman had serviced, there would be thousands. He said they were probably bank robbers and it would be a legitimate thing to bring a squad of men and relieve them of their booty. They could easily keep half or more for themselves.

While the pimp was arranging things with his brother, three Mexicans wearing trench coats got there with the gold. Big Mike took them to the main room upstairs and all the bikers followed.

Just then, Paranoid George lurched in yelling that he had been robbed. Indian handed him what he had taken from the prostitute and he sat down on the couch and began counting it.

At the sight of his money the three Mexicans drooled. Then they emptied three brief cases onto the table. The gold was wrapped in newspaper and as they unwrapped the bars, Big Mike weighed them on a scale he had brought.

When he finished he said, “Hey, man, there isn’t over eighteen grand here. You told the old guy you’d bring about a million.”

The Mexican who could speak English said, “We could not get a million in gold, Senor. We thought the old one was mad. We have sold him gold before but not in that amount.”

Noah chimed in, “Yeah, but you’re not selling it to him; you’re selling it to us. You should have brought more. We did. Show him, guys.”

The bikers took out their money and threw it on the table. Then they each took some of the bars of gold and put them in their pockets.

At the sight of all that cash, the Mexicans went wild. They were laughing and pounding each other on the back and jabbering excitedly.

Big Mike interrupted their glee and said, “What’s the party about, you guys? You’re not gonna get all this money.”

The spokesman said, “Oh, but we are, Senor.” Then he signaled his dumbest looking honcho and the fellow pulled out a Thompson sub-machinegun from under his trench coat and pointed it at the bikers.

The other two Mexicans went over to the table and started stuffing the money into their brief cases. Big Mike looked at the gun for a minute then he walked over, snatched it away and hit the gunman in the mouth.

The spokesman looked on in shocked surprise while his partner continued madly packing the bills away. Even when he saw Big Mike holding the gun, he went on with his work and the spokesman angrily whacked him on the side of the head with a brief case.

Big Mike said to the spokesman, “You know, your gunny isn’t very swift. A Thompson won’t fire with the bolt in the forward position. It has to be pulled back, like this.

“When you guys get back to the city with your money, I suggest you buy another Thompson and some ammo and practice. Only people who don’t practice make the mistake of leaving the bolt closed. Sloppy.”

The spokesman said, “You mean you will still give us the money?”

Big Mike replied, “Sure, I’m all heart. Besides, we might do business again.”

The spokesman thanked him profusely over and over while Big Mike counted out the money. Being good natured, he rounded it out to twenty thousand. He did not intend to take it back to the States anyway but he was not going to just give it away.

When the spokesman pocketed the money, he and his partner began to punch and kick the disarmed gunman. He turned on them and beat them both up while the bikers laughed and drank beer.

While the Mexicans were fighting there was a banging on the door. Ginch opened it and the bikers saw a Mexican Army captain, the pimp with his face all bruised and puffed and two privates with rifles at port arms.

The captain shouted something in Spanish and the pimp translated, “He say Yankee imperialismo all arrest.”

Big Mike stuck the Thompson in the captain’s face and said to the pimp, “Tell him he’s full of shit.”

The other bikers had all drawn forty-five automatics and pointed them at the doorway. Noah went over and disarmed the privates and gave them each a wad of bills.

Then they invited them in and treated them each to a bottle of beer. A mob of about fifty soldiers were milling around outside the building and Big Mike sent the pimp to tell them to cool it until their captain came down.

When the pimp came back, Big Mike and he talked, with occasional interruptions from the captain. From what Big Mike could make out of the pimp’s sketchy English, the Mexicans wanted to avoid a fight. They had planned to jail the bikers and take the money but now they would be content just to get the money.

The captain did not like the looks of the armed and obviously proficient Yankee killers. When the bikers examined the trashy rifles and laughed and gave them back to the privates, the captain was even more unnerved.

The pimp told the bikers that if they did not give up the cash the captain would have the border closed. They could not escape and when they were captured they would never get out of jail.

Big Mike said, “Okay, you can have the cash. And I know you mean to keep all or most of it. But if we don’t get back across the border, I’ll tell your officials how much you took and you’ll have to account for all of it.

“Now what I’m going to do is this; I’m going to pour gasoline on the cash and take it outside. Then I’m going to have my boys take off while I stand over the money with a torch and if any of your boys get trigger happy, it’ll burn before you can reach it.”

Then Noah said to the captain, “Some of your men probably don’t care nothing about the money. Just so they don’t start shooting, anyway, you’re going up the road a piece until he gets out and catches up to us.”

The pimp translated that and then he and Ginch were sent down to get he gas can out of the camper. They had a little row with some soldiers who wanted to arrest Ginch and some others who wanted to stomp him. The pimp told them all to hang loose and he and Ginch soon came back up with the gas.

The bikers put the money in a waste basket and drenched it. Then they made a torch out of a stick by tying a towel around it and drenched that too.

They all went outside and Big Mike lit the torch. Ginch poured the cash on the ground and kicked it around so it would all go up at once if lit.

Big Mike stood over the money holding the torch high and pointing the Thompson at the soldiers while the bikers roared out of the village. Noah and Ape hustled the captain to the camper and the three gold dealers split in the opposite direction.

When the others were well away, Big Mike went to his bike and started its engine. Then he threw away the torch and raced down the street while the soldiers broke and pounced on the money, fighting like dogs over a bone.

When he got about a mile up the road he found the bikers waiting for him. They could hear a lot of shooting in the village and when they let the captain go, he went running and screaming back to the action.

The bikers unloaded the gold bars and their weapons into the camper and Noah and Ape dressed back into their black suits and drove off. They all sped back at ninety miles per hour until they reached Magdalena and then they slowed only enough to get by the law.

When they were through the town they revved up again and sped the last leg of the distance to the border. The plan was for the camper to get to the border crossing just before the bikers arrived. The bikers would then crowd in, causing a loud disturbance as a diversion and the camper would most likely be waved through without being searched.

While passing some bikers, Noah accidentally nudged Indian’s handlebar and Indian went off the road and end over end into a meadow. He could have regained his balance when nudged had his rear wheel been free from oil. But he had let his chain oiler adjusting screw get loose and his rear wheel was as slippery as glass.

Indian was an expert at laying a bike down at ninety miles per hour and he would do it at the slightest provocation. He had had more wrecks than anyone else in the club.

Noah skidded to a halt and ran over to Indian and kicked him to see if he was still alive. Indian was knocked out and had a bad cut on his forehead but he had no broken bones. His scooter was pretty badly banged up, so they loaded it into the back of the camper and put Indian up front.’

It was three in the morning when they got to Nogales. They stopped the camper a few blocks from the border check station and unloaded Indian and his bike. When he was safely seated behind Ginch, the bikers tore madly after Noah and Ape.

Noah drove right by the Mexican guards and stopped on the American side. The bikers roared up and surrounded the camper and Big Mike and the others pulled Noah and Ape out and proceeded to give them pretty realistic thumping.

The American guards put in a quick call to the police and fired a couple of rounds into the air to get the biker’s attention. Then Paranoid George and Ginch walked back to get Indian’s scooter while Big Mike raged at the guards.

He really put his heart into it as he yelled, “Those dirty bastards run our brother off the road. Look at his goddam face and wait ’til you see his bike. A couple of the guys are getting it now.”

Noah butted in with, “Oh, but Sir, it was an accident, Sir. We even offered to take the poor motorcycle person to a hospital. But these people want to kill us and I tried to tell them that’s no expression of Christian love . . .”

At this time two squad cars pulled up and the bikers were soon surrounded by police. The guards told Noah and Ape to take off and that they would hold the bikers and give Noah at least a half hour to get away.

Noah took the time to dramatically bless the guards and the police and even the bikers. Then he started the unsearched camper and drove off.

They went around the corner and waited the half hour for Big Mike and the others. Then Paranoid George and Ginch wheeled Indian’s bike up and loaded it into the back of the camper and they all headed for home.