By Markus Deggerich and Holger Stark
The Angels have so far managed to defend their Berlin territory against the Bandidos, who have penetrated into the northern part of the city and the surrounding state of Brandenburg. A stairway leads up to Angelplace, the Angels' new clubhouse near Charlottenburg Palace, which allows those inside to monitor anyone approaching the building. So-called "prospects" and "hang-arounds" -- potential members going through a trial period -- guard the entrance. They search unannounced visitors and size up outsiders with a look that reflects the biker group's motto: "God forgives, Angels don't."
Inside the clubhouse, a man who calls himself Angel Buddy laughs about sayings like that. The only things that count for bikers, he explains, are "honor, respect, camaraderie and the love of their bikes." He insists that the stories about boozing, brawling hooligans with more horsepower than brainpower are all exaggerated, products of the overactive imaginations of journalists and the police.
Buddy, 43, has been a member of the Angels for eight years, and he sings the group's praises. "Conflicts between individuals are always conflicts for the group," Buddy explains, as if the Angels were the musketeers of labor welfare. "If someone is out of work, we find them a job. We don't like it when members just hang around." And the rumors about brothels, weapons and drugs? "Anyone caught dealing drugs," he says, taking a sip of his mineral water, "gets thrown out."
Misunderstood or Murderous?
Investigators have a different take on things. Police officers in Berlin describe members of the biker clubs as "criminals on wheels" and fear that the struggle for dominance is becoming increasingly merciless. Anyone who makes the mistake of tangling with an Angel in front of the new club knows exactly what he is getting himself into. "He's risking it all," says an investigator with Berlin's State Office of Criminal Investigation, "and he can expect retaliation."
The most recent exchange of fire between Bandidos and Angels took place over two minutes on a Saturday afternoon in early February on a market square in the city of Cottbus, southeast of Berlin. This time the roles were reversed -- the Angels were hunting down a Bandido. The Bandido in question, 25-year-old Andre S., feared for his life and fired his pistol five times. His 27-year-old attacker, Robert H., was hit and two bullets became lodged in his upper body. Only emergency surgery saved his life.
The Angels launched their attack on the Bandido despite the fact that he was with his 22-year-old wife and their 11-week-old son. The woman was also hit. From a car, the attacking Angels threatened to kill her and the baby. Until then, attacks on or in the presence of a biker's family were considered incompatible with "biker honor."
During the ensuing search of the apartment of the "president" of a Brandenburg Bandido chapter, police officers shot the man's dog. The "president," however, observed the code of silence and kept quiet, just as all bikers do -- except Rolf D.
A Biker's Life
The former Bandido, fearing for his family's safety, has given extensive testimony. His fellow bikers discovered that their treasurer had been dipping into the club's coffers. On May 19, 2007, they drove to D.'s house. "They wanted to beat up my wife," he says. "I was shocked."
According to D.'s descriptions, the biker clubs are little more than criminal gangs. He said that the Münster gang also had a so-called "tomato box," into which "all revenues from the businesses with cocaine, weapons and women" were paid. At times, there were up to up to €70,000 ($110,000) in this slush fund, which functioned like an in-house bank. High-ranking Bandidos could borrow money from the fund to finance their own businesses, but they had to repay the loans and contribute a share of the profits.
D. also testified about the Bandidos' weapons, which he said included submachine guns, hand grenades and sawed-off shotguns. "I didn't know anyone who didn't have a weapon," he told the court. When they went to outside parties, according to D., the Bandidos would hide guns and drugs at the party locations first -- so that the bikers would always be clean if they were stopped by police on the way to the gathering.
D. and his Bandido accomplices supplemented their incomes by working as debt collectors. He was given free rein, as long as he received the permission from -- and gave a cut of the profits to -- the head of his chapter. A club owner from Westphalia paid the biker a few hundred euros to call on a shipping agent, who was "worked over until he stopped moving." On another occasion, D. and four fellow bikers went "hunting for Angels" armed with submachine guns and shotguns. The men parked their Opel Omega near a highway. When a couple of Angels came roaring by, D. and his accomplices followed their hated rivals in the car and fired at them from the windows.
"It's a constant back and forth," says D. Nevertheless, the battles often escape the notice of the public and the authorities, as gang members usually manage to have their gunshot and knife wounds treated by doctor friends.
Dying for Sport
In May 2007, the turf war became deadly for Robert K. According to D.'s testimony, as one of the few Angels living in Bandido territory, Robert K. had become a repeated target of reprisals. At the beginning of last year, D. said, one of the leaders of the Bandido chapter in Münster decided that he wanted to acquire the motorcycle club's most sought-after decoration, so he allegedly ordered the deadly attack on Robert K.
The award the Bandido leader was interested in is the so-called "expect no mercy" patch that is sewn onto the biker's holy of holies: his leather jacket. Only those who have mortally wounded an Angel with a gun or a knife qualify to wear the patch on their jackets. Robert K., it would seem, was murdered for a mere piece of fabric.
The Münster court is expected to hand down its verdict next month. The rule of law will prevail, but calm will not. The police expect further deadly attacks, knowing full well that the brotherhoods accept no laws or court decisions other than their own. The states of Berlin and Brandenburg have even established a special commission to address the biker problem. Its first task is to investigate the investigators, as raid on a biker gang in the German capital recently had to be cancelled because someone had tipped off the bikers beforehand.
Police concerns are not unwarranted, according to Rolf D., who says that the gangs are "effectively networked." D., who has entered the State Office of Criminal Investigation's witness protection program and now lives with his family in an undisclosed location, has no illusions about his own future. "They've declared open season on me," he says.
Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan
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