PAGANS IN HELL
Along the bar at Diamonds pub in Lindenhurst, New York, they gathered by the dozens—barrel-chested bikers whispering furtively. They’d been filing in since 9 a.m., filling the gravel parking lot with vans and cars with license plates from as far off as New Hampshire and Ohio. They’d called ahead to reserve tables. By that afternoon, February 23, 2002, the Long Island waterfront bar was overflowing with One-percenters, over 70 guys with fiery patches on their denim vests—the colors of the Pagans.

In the middle of the bar, Dennis “Rooster” Katona held court. The 36-year-old sergeant at arms out of Pittsburgh passed around a map of a catering hall called the Vanderbilt down the road, where the Hells Angels were holding their annual Hellraiser Ball, a two-day motorcycle-tattoo expo. The map had the Vanderbilt’s exits marked on it. Two guys named Mangy and Rhino were partying there—former Pagans who’d jumped ship to the Angels without returning their colors.

“Find ’em,” Katona said. “And take their jackets…by force if you have to.”

The Pagans nodded and shook each other’s hands. Anticipating the worst, two had recently completed their wills. Others were wearing bulletproof vests. When Katona gave the word at roughly 3 p.m., they filed out into 10 vans, armed with baseball bats, ax handles, and knives. They had a bone to pick.

Until 1999, Long Island was Pagan territory. That year the cops busted 30 of them for weapons possession and conspiracy—small-time crime that added up. (“Among other things, they were extorting $20 per shift per stripper from topless dance clubs,” says a Nassau County police official.) The arrests left a power vacuum in Long Island, and the Angels took over. More than 25 Pagans had since traded in their colors for the Angels’ skull and wings. For Katona and the others, it was pure humiliation.

When the vans arrived at the Vanderbilt—a suburban, white-columned hall usually reserved for weddings and bar mitzvahs—the Hellraiser Ball was hopping. The 12,000-square-foot marble floor was packed with nearly 1,000 bikers and tattoo artists, boozing at the bar or mingling at the T-shirt booths. Upstairs the blues band Little Wolf was jamming, while celebrity Angels like Chuck Zito of Oz signed autographs. There by Zito’s side, the Angels’ founding member and international leader, Ralph “Sonny” Barger, was signing copies of his new book, Ridin’ High, Livin’ Free.

Out front the Pagans unloaded quickly. The first group, led by Katona, charged through the white doors into the catering hall, where Angels were selling merchandise and handing out wristbands for the $25 cover. As soon as they stepped inside, the Pagans attacked—swinging clubs at anything moving.

In a split second, the party turned into a combat zone.

Eight-foot-long exhibition tables were hurled aside. Screeching mothers tossed their kids out of harm’s way. Angels sprinted for the action from all directions, armed with anything they could get their hands on. Guns. Knives. Bare fists. One Pagan landed an ax handle on the side of an Angels’ face so hard it made a popping noise. The Angel staggered, blood pouring out of his eye.

In the middle of the melee, a gunman drew a pistol. He held it firmly and fired five shots directly into the crowd.

In the pandemonium, Robert Rutherford, a 52-year-old Pagan postal worker, felt a numbness enveloping his body. White dots obscured his vision. He collapsed. Fellow club members dragged him out into the parking lot. As they desperately shoveled him in the back of a crowded van, bikers swarmed around, sprinting in all directions to avoid the cops.

In the van Coney Island Joe DeMatteo, a Pagan and a Nam vet with a Purple Heart, felt Rutherford’s chest. There was no pulse. DeMatteo started pumping his rib cage.

“Go! Go!” he yelled, the blood covering his hands and face.

ALL-OUT WAR
As the Pagans fled, 100 police cruisers and two helicopters swarmed the scene. When they stopped and searched all 10 vans as well as the Vanderbilt, they found nearly 500 weapons, including a loaded Uzi, handguns and knives, a lipstick container with a hidden blade, plus “a large amount of cocaine.”

Eleven rioters were taken to local hospitals—five with gunshot wounds and six with stab wounds. The cops hauled in 73 Pagans for weapons charges and gang assault, plus one Hells Angel—Raymond Dwyer, the alleged gunman, a 38-year-old local tattoo artist charged with second-degree murder. Rutherford, a Pennsylvania Pagan, died from a bullet and a knife wound to the chest.

The battle for the Northeast had begun.