No Angel (44 page)

I’m glad they asked me. I was forced to look in the mirror and assess who I was and what I’d done. Only recently have I been able to offer honest answers. Being an undercover agent had become more than what I did for living—it was what I’d become. This had to change.

In the beginning I thought of the Black Biscuit case as a classic Good-versus-Evil struggle. I knew the brutality and intimidation brought by the Hells Angels was real. Violence was their way of life. The pursuit of preventing violence was a way of life for some ATF agents like Joe Slatalla and me. Our team of elite investigators was an ideal adversary to the Hells Angels, and everyone on the task force was proud to throw themselves into taking down such an evil organization.

But as we’ve seen, things aren’t always so cut-and-dried. I went in deep and realized that the Hells Angels weren’t all bad—and I wasn’t all good.

As I became Bird and abandoned Jay Dobyns, I dived headfirst into a sea of lies. The Angels will point out that all I did was lie to them, and although that is mostly true, I can say with a clear conscience that I didn’t cheat them. I didn’t put guns or drugs in their hands and I didn’t force them to commit or confess crimes. The world had enough
real
bad guys—I didn’t have to go around inventing them.

The Angels had a lot to say about me in the aftermath of the case, very little of it good. The odd Angel gave us respect, saying we’d gamed them fair and square, which I believe we had. According to his initial interviews, Joby refused to believe I was a cop unless I sat down with him and said the words myself. Bad Bob Johnston, after receiving a plea-bargained probation, told the press that he didn’t agree with our tactics, but he grudgingly acknowledged that we were very good at what we did. Dan Danza, after turning informant, said he thought
we
were the real tough guys for doing what we did. He might not have agreed with the law, but he saw the adrenaline-fueled logic in being an undercover cop. I still regard Danza as one of the toughest guys I’ve ever met, and his compliments remain some of the highest I’ve ever received from anybody.

But mostly the Angels downplayed our successes. They raged that Timmy and I had never become actual Hells Angels. They circled the wagons, protecting the murderers and criminals we exposed. Bobby Reinstra now maintains that in the immediate aftermath of the Mongol murder ruse, he and Teddy became convinced we were cops. I don’t believe him, but I guess hindsight’s always 20/20. In the end, the Angels got it both ways. They claimed the high ground while never relinquishing the low, maintaining their coveted and hard-fought outlaw status while beating the law. They remained misunderstood American rebels while we, who stood and fought for order and decency, were cast as overzealous cops who’d thrown all of our cautions and ethics to the wind. In nearly every respect they won.

For two solid years the side of my personality known as Bird had developed into my rock and stone. He was the one I could always count on. But by belittling him, the Hells Angels took this accomplishment away from me too.

As I said, dark days. I turned to the only things I had left: God, friends, and family. I didn’t deserve their allegiance, and why they hadn’t abandoned me I’ll never know. But there they were. I turned to them and saw with new eyes what was good in my life. I realized that only by the grace of God did I have these good things. I came to accept that whatever had been bad in my life was done by my own hand. It wasn’t my job, it wasn’t ATF, and it wasn’t the Hells Angels that had transformed me into the worst version of myself. It was I alone who had done that.

I don’t know when I realized these things, but when I did, everything changed.

I remember waking up one day no longer concerned with death or retaliation. If the Hells Angels wanted to do something bad to me, there was little I could do but be ready. If ATF wanted to treat me as an outcast, all I could do was stubbornly refuse. In my life I’d endured a bullet through the chest and countless beat-downs; I’d held ticking time bombs and had dozens of guns pointed at my head; I’d gone undercover with murderers and rapists and larcenists, spending a good portion of my life with society’s most despicable elements. It had been an odd but full life. That day I realized that in spite of its bureaucracy, I loved ATF and its noble mission. I loved my fellow agents for their unacknowledged and selfless sacrifices. I realized that my long life of strange experiences had been genuinely wonderful and satisfying.

I woke up that day wanting to trade some of my righteousness for a patch of peace. This, too, was a revelation. My sense of determination—some might call it my arrogance—had allowed me to confront challenges that other people simply couldn’t or wouldn’t. I realized that I was proud of the chip I carried on my shoulder. I began to accept myself for who I was. Bird no longer defined me, but he lived inside me; he’ll never again be the main player, but he remains a dear part of who I am.

I realized the thing that had been most dear to me: the honor and privilege of facing my challenges alongside the most courageous law enforcement officers and family members one could ever imagine or hope for.

With all my love and respect to those who’ve guided me, encouraged me, accepted me, and stood with me—to call you my friends or family is an understatement. You’re much more.

You’re my heroes.

Was it worth it? Would I do it again?

If I could have looked into the future and known the life I now enjoy …

ABSOLUTELY, YES.

From innocence to experience. Who knew an all-American kid would end up being so good at busting gun- and drug-runners.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

Case agent Joseph "Slats" Slatalla. Always a friend, sometimes a rival, Slats ran our
Hells Angels investigation, code-named Operation Black Biscuit, with an unwavering
hand – even when we butted heads about how to achieve our objectives.

 

 

I never got a single tattoo specifically to enhance my undercover work – but they sure did help.
And as the Hells Angels case progressed and I lost myself more and more in the role of
outlaw biker, my love of ink went to the next level.

 

 

Rather than endear ourselves to the Hells Angels as freelance had guys, we formed a
legitimate charter of the Solo Angeles, a Mexican motorcycle club, and cosied up to
the Hell's Angels as peers.

 

 

Our act was so convincing, it fooled not only our adversaries but also local
law-enforcement agencies ignorant of our operation. In fact, it fooled the
local cops so badly they started investigating
us
.

 

 

Undercover every day. Even the kids who lived near our Phoenix undercover
house got the Jay "Bird" Davis treatment.