"The prospects who stole the bike didn't know whom it belonged to. The guys who told them to steal it probably knew it was mine. I had the registration by the back license plate in a clear round glass tube. The guys tearing it down for parts that night had everything unbolted, but when they got to the registration holder, they knew they were in deep, deep shit. Rather than return 'Sweet Cocaine', they dumped it into the Oakland Estuary.
We rounded up everyone who was responsible, tied them up, and took them over to my house on Golf Links Road. Sharon was supposed to keep an eye on them, but it was a good thing we tied them up because it was so late at night that Sharon kept falling asleep clutching her gun. Every half hour or so, the front door would open and another accomplice was tossed into the living room. When we found the last guy the punishment began. One at a time we bullwhipped them and beat them with spiked dog collars, broke their fingers with ball peen hammers. One of them screamed at us, 'Why don't you just kill us and get it over with?!'. Then we took their motorcycles, sold them, and disbanded their club. Moral of the story- don't get caught stealing a Hell's Angel's bike. Especially if it's the president's."
F*** Yes.
