$2,200, Las Vegas Hell’s Angels and… me?
After stealing from the wrong man, a recovering addict faces decades of invisible punishment from criminal networks — until he risks everything to expose the truth.
I have a compelling story of desperation, fateful choices, and a three-decades-long journey toward redemption while resisting the unrelenting harassment from the Hell’s Angels.
This is a story I never wanted to tell. For a long time, I didn’t have the words — just wounds, paranoia, and an overwhelming sense that I was being hunted. Years passed before I realized: I wasn’t just paying for a crime. I was living in the aftermath of one bad choice that rippled across decades. Through addiction, betrayal, and intimidation by forces far larger than myself, I found something more powerful than fear — redemption. If you’ve ever made a mistake and thought it defined you, this story is for you.
My narrative follows my life’s path from addiction and financial ruin in 1990 Las Vegas, through an unwitting entanglement with a dangerous outlaw motorcycle gang, to my ultimate struggle for transformation.
It exposes the insidious tactics of the Hell’s Angels while offering a powerful message of hope, resilience, and relentless endurance.
While going through a painful divorce, battling drug and alcohol addiction and financial ruin following a failed scheme by my brother, I finally got my truck back.
Without an explanation as to why one or two days max turned into eight, I returned to my vehicle and was surprised it started.
I went to a bar shortly thereafter to think about how I’d survive with no money or job.
I stuck my last $10 bill into a slot machine for a “free beer” and eight chances at a royal flush.
While taking my chance to hit it big, and with my mind on my troubles, I overheard the bartender speaking about a man named Charlie who had just left with over $2,000.
“I hope Charlie gets home OK. He just got paid over $2,000.”
On that fateful night, I made a terrible choice. I intentionally sought him out, helped him to his door, and pickpocketed that drunk man.
It would take 25 years of unimaginable tribulation to finally realize the man I stole $2,200 from that night was connected to the Hell’s Angels.
This, however, was the final catalyst in the puzzle to understand more about the reason I was continually followed by unknown forces.
What followed that fateful night, up until this writing, was a 32-year journey of unraveling the truth as I uncovered the dark world of murderous, drug-dealing gangs. Any reports I made to law enforcement were ultimately unable to curtail their continual harassment, intimidation, and threatening tactics.
There are a host of reasons why investigating and catching Hell’s Angels committing these crimes is extremely difficult. One reason is they have many methods of “blending into the community.”
A subject I expose in great detail, by exploiting their tactics, in my upcoming book: $2,200, Las Vegas Hell’s Angels and… me?
—Years later—
In 2012, the day before the presidential election, about 25 Hell’s Angels rode past me on motorcycles all wearing their jackets, grinning and sneering. The first one gave me a death salute and was accompanied by someone I actually recognized. He put his finger to his throat in a sort of snap salute-style gesture, elbow extended — a typical signal of murderous intent by way of a throat-slicing gesture.
I was taken aback, and wondered, Why are these guys messing with me?
—Years later—
Around 2017, I came to a clear and mind-destabilizing realization: the Hell’s Angels, who had been harassing me, had an actual reason.
Prior to this epiphany, during my years of ignorance of the magnitude of that direful choice, along with my misplaced anger, I had made a complete fool of myself and turned law enforcement against me with my behavior, which I now regret.
My anger stemmed from not knowing who was following me or why. I was seeing so many people continually observing me in a manner consistent with law enforcement surveillance techniques. When I continued to observe this over the course of several years, it became incredibly frustrating, particularly because I was not able to understand a reason for such a level of interest in me. I was not committing any crimes, and when I called LVMPD to ask if I was under investigation or if they would like to talk with me, they said flatly, no.
After taking responsibility for my past actions, and when I repented and was turning my life around, the Hell’s Angels used military-style tactics — surveillance, intimidation, and control — to terrorize me, my family, neighbors, and even our animals on a continual basis for years, and continue to this day as I write this.
I no longer carry guilt for what I did 34 years ago when I took Charlie’s money. After decades of relentless punishment, I now formally acknowledge to them: “That debt has been fully paid — with overcharges and compounding interest.”
Instead, I’ve redirected my energy toward exposing how they maintain their drug empire: by manipulating and exploiting impoverished communities, using compartmentalization to protect themselves, and abandoning the very people who allow themselves to be used — people who, in the end, need rescuing more than punishment.
That day, in March of 2025, after my house was pelted with rocks from midnight until 3:00 a.m., disturbing my family and animals, I reached a breaking point. Along with several other urgent and compelling factors, I made the decision to organize years of notes and evidence — and to finally tell this story, which isn’t just mine alone.
It’s a story for anyone who has ever felt the boot heel of criminal gangs, felt lost, yet believed in second chances.
It’s a compelling story of the effects of changing course, God’s forgiveness, and the power of second chances.
It’s a clear message of hope and a beacon for those who have made mistakes, even incredibly stupid and sometimes “lasting mistakes,” and are seeking a second chance.