The Good Guy
Death threats be damned, undercover cop Jay Dobyns isn't running anymore
by Leo W. Banks
On Aug. 10, 2008, the Dobyns family home burned after someone set a bookcase on the back porch on fire.
Jay Dobyns looks at the rubble at his feet, and brother, it's a mess. Everything is black and busted up. The blaze was six months ago, and the place still stinks of smoke. This used to be his Tucson home. He steps through the broken glass and the ashes, not talking much, because what in the hell is there to say?
And for Dobyns, not having much to say is a trick.
He's a special agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, author, public speaker, former UA football player and Internet celebrity known for his undercover work in the deepest penetration ever made of the Hells Angels motorcycle gang.
If you Google his name, you won't find much middle ground. Opinions on him range from true American hero to out-of-control cowboy cop who not only loves being at the center of the action, standing up to his knees in Adrenalin River; he needs it.
You see, all through his life, Dobyns has known only one way to take on anything--with grinning, arms-wide leaps off the highest ledge.
Now, at 47, his house gone from an arsonist's match, his family badly shaken by their 3 a.m. escape, Dobyns is watching his back against outlaws sworn to kill him.
I ask what goes through his mind when he looks at this wreckage, and he says, "I think to myself, not with regret, but as an honest question, 'Jay, how could you have let your life get to this point?' There has to be an easier way."
This is big. Dobyns in an act of self-reflection? It's not his strong suit.
Twenty years of undercover work dulls your capacity for self-reflection, makes it a dangerous luxury. Doubt yourself for an instant, let your mind wander to a decision made a year ago, 10 minutes ago, and you're likely to be down-by-the-river, broke-dick dead.
Does this mean Dobyns is a changed man? Does this mean he's found redemption?
The operation is codenamed Black Biscuit. Dobyns is lead undercover, working mainly with a Phoenix cop named Timmy, and a street informant known only as Pops. Their job is to get as close as possible to the Hells Angels, pretend to be their friends, see and hear everything they say and do, then betray them.
"Most people are intimidated by the Angels' reputation for violence," says Dobyns. "But we put ourselves out there as alpha dogs, and they were impressed by that. It worked because we came in balls out."
Dobyns' cover is as Jay "Bird" Davis, a knee-capper for a made-up biker gang called the Solo Angels. The world in which he lives, for 21 months, is dangerous and hyper-violent, and he describes it in a book, co-written with Nils Johnson-Shelton, called No Angel: My Harrowing Undercover Journey to the Inner Circle of the Hells Angels.
It will be published by Crown and available in bookstores on Tuesday, Feb. 10. Twentieth Century Fox already has bought movie rights.
Unless you catch your Zs on a prison cot, the book isn't bedtime reading. It has chapter titles like "Jesus Hates a Pussy." And "My Sucking Chest Wound."
Dobyns tells of characters who beat a woman unconscious after she insults them; when she awakens and insults them again, they allegedly beat her more, drag her into the desert, stab her repeatedly and try to cut off her head and stick it on a pole. But the knife can't cut through her spine. So they give up and leave her dead on the ground.
The book describes beat-downs and gang rapes, with almost all the action taking place in Arizona. He tells of an Angel approaching him at a biker rally near Flagstaff and offering Dobyns entertainment for the night--the biker's own teenage daughter and her best friend. The girls might be all of 16. At first, Dobyns is puzzled, then he figures it out. Bird's a debt collector, gun runner and supposed hit man--but not a drug addict. In other words, he has his act together.
"In the biker world, I was a catch," he writes.
Black Biscuit ends in 2003. Two other books have been written about it, but Dobyns wants to go deeper into the personal side of a long undercover job, the impact it has on an agent's psyche, on his family. After banging with the boys for weeks at a time, he tells of returning to Tucson and shedding his biker vest to coach his son's T-ball team and reconnect with wife, Gwen, who, increasingly and justifiably, wants her husband home, her family restored, the great stress lifted.
At one point, at an Angels' meeting in Mesa, Dobyns' cell rings. It's his son Jack, who chirps, "Hi, Daddy!" Keeping in character, Bird says, "Whassup? Big Lou there?" That's code for "put your mother on the line."
Eventually, inevitably, the divide between his two lives blurs, and Dobyns morphs into the worst version of himself, into Bird Davis--paranoid, fearful, always amped, swallowing a six pack of Red Bulls and three Starbucks lattes daily, along with fistfuls of speed-like diet pills that yank his eyes back into his skull in a cold, dead stare.
A year after Black Biscuit ends, Dobyns and other agents listen to surveillance tapes of four men talking. Dobyns recognizes three of them, not the fourth, and this guy's messed up. He's babbling, barely making sense. Dobyns hands the headphones to fellow agent Jenna Maguire, plays the fourth voice and says, "Who the f--- is that ?"
Maguire says, "You don't know?"
Dobyns says no. Maguire smiles and says, "That's you, Jay."