I was supervising my work crew on a tree-trimming job when Big Todd called my cell phone and told me to get to Buckshot’s place. Apparently Terry the Tramp had just authorized the Hemet chapter to roll on the Sons of Hell in Lake Elsinore, and my work truck was needed to carry the war chest. Just when I was starting to think the gang war had been pushed to the back burner, the heat had suddenly been cranked up again. Here might be one last chance to nail the Vagos on a RICO, one final opportunity to put a stake through the heart of the operation that refused to die. I left the job site, hopped in my truck and called John Carr on the road to Buckshot’s place. He didn’t pick up. Shit. I punched in the ATF field office and found myself talking to Special Agent Jeff Ryan. “Where’s Carr? I need to talk to him, man. It’s important.” “Special Agent Carr is unavailable,” said Jeff. “Where the hell is he?” “I don’t know.” “Well, what should I do? We’re about to roll on the Sons of Hell.”
