According to Gangster Report.com Taco Bowman of the Outlaws MC has died.

In his heydays he was arguably one of the most powerful outlaw motorcycle gang bosses of all time. The guy literally had an army of hillbillies from the Midwest to Florida ready to shoot, stab, slice and dice anyone who got in his way. Under his reign the Outlaws were deep into gambling as well as huge in narcotics.

'Taco' Bowman, ex-head of Outlaws biker gang, dies at 69

https://www.detroitnews.com/story/n...s-motorcycle-gang-dies-at-69/3080234002/

Former HA George Christie had a story about them.
http://www.georgechristie.com/uploads/5/6/5/3/56530065/published/img-1979.jpg?1489801684

Terre Haute Penitentiary Bike Show: Part 2...
​This was a big event for me. Not only would I be spending the day with three of my club brothers, I was about to meet members of the Outlaws who I had been hearing stories about for years.
I had been instructed by senior Hells Angels to keep my wits about me and take the Outlaws seriously. It was some of the best advice I have ever been given.
Before the day ended, I would have personal and private conversations with three international Outlaws Motorcycle Club leaders, two former and one current.
But there was the bike show to deal with first. After each of us from outside the prison was patted down, we surrendered our IDs, which would be held until we left the prison.
We were each issued a blue bike show T-shirt to identify us as cleared guests. The prisoners wore the same exact shirt, but in red, to identify them as prisoners.
Next came the tedious bike clearance process. All bikes in the show had to be inspected for contraband. The gas was drained from each, and then the bike was pushed into the recreation area to await judging, and the awarding of the official prison bike show trophies.
Meeting the Outlaws left an impression. They were no-nonsense men who seemed just as excited to meet me as I was to meet them. It took only a few minutes to understand the strong bond our two clubs had built behind the walls of this maximum-security prison.
After all the introductions and handshakes, I was approached by an unassuming man of small stature. His greying hair looked as if he was between haircuts. He wore a wily smile beneath a Fu Man Chu mustache. Eye to eye and an arms length apart, we greeted each other with a firm, warm handshake.
“Hey, George. I’m Stairway Harry.”
I had been hearing his name in outlaw circles for years. He wasted no time getting down to business.
“The Outlaws want to go to Sturgis this year. What do you think?
That year was the Sturgis Black Hills Motorcycle Rally’s 50th anniversary. A real milestone in motorcycle culture. With half a million people expected to attend, the Outlaws understandably wanted to be part of it.
But of course, the outlaw world had imaginary boundaries. Cross them, and you could find yourself paying a tax, up to and including your life.
The Outlaws had always had Daytona Bike Week in their home state of Florida. For a decade, the Bandidos had been gracious enough to share Sturgis, their national run, with the Hells Angels.
Stairway Harry, a former international leader of the Outlaws, posed the question of Sturgis in a brilliant way. He didn’t demand, but he made a clear signal to take the inquiry seriously. Now it was in my court.
I respectfully explained that I didn't have the authority to make that call. To be honest, even if I had, I would have stalled. There had been lots of blood spilled between the Outlaws and the Hells Angels.
There was a lot to consider. In fact, inside the walls of the maximum-security prison, there was an inmate—another former Outlaw international boss, James “Big Jim” Nolan. Many people held him responsible for starting the conflict between the two clubs by murdering two HA members and a X-member in a Florida Outlaws clubhouse (and then dumping the bodies in a quarry).
Although he didn’t know it, Big Jim and I had our own history. In the late seventies, as he was on the run and in hiding from those murder charges, I located him in a rundown housing tract in the Arizona desert.
Big Jim had no idea how close he came to staying forever just where I found him. But after a lot of contemplation and reflection, I had gathered my things and slowly made my way back to California.
That was more than ten years prior, and I wasn't sure what to expect or how I would feel when we finally came face to face. Inside the prison, I was reunited with my club brothers and the prison staff started the day with an all-you-could-eat brunch.
Sturgis was the main topic of conversation. Not just at our morning meal, but throughout the day. It didn't take long to see beneath the bike show, to what the real agenda was.
As we made our way out to the recreation area, the prisoners had already begun the bike judging. A blond giant of a man made his way out of the cluster of bikes and began walking toward me. Without saying anything, my brothers guided me toward him.
We shook hands, Big Jim and I. We made small talk until Big Jim finally asked me to join him for a walk around the track. In prison etiquette, that’s a way to explore ideas and—at times—resolve problems.
As we walked, Big Jim never mentioned the murders, just some of the charges for which he was now doing a very long sentence. I saw no reason to mention his hideout in the Arizona desert. Instead, we talked about how to put the bad blood between the clubs behind us. We agreed it was time.
He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “You know there isn’t much I can do from in here, but I’ll do all that I can.”
That ended the conversation and pretty much the day. It was time for the afternoon count and none of us visitors would be allowed to exit the prison until every prisoner was back in his cell and accounted for. Stairway and I finished the afternoon together in light conversation. Just before we went our separate ways, Harry made it a point to let me know that Harry “Taco” Bowman was just up the road in a motel. Taco had taken over Harry’s position as international Outlaw President.
If we had been playing chess, it would have been my move.
There was no way I wasn’t going to that motel to see Taco, and Stairway damn well knew it. If it was a dare, I took it.
Within the hour, I was walking across the parking lot of the motel where Taco and his entourage had settled. As I made my way toward them, I was stopped and surrounded by Outlaws. A dark and somber member asked me, in a heavy Southern drawl, “What do you want?”
“Tell Taco George Christie wants to talk with him.”
He looked me up and down. “Wait here.”
The remaining Outlaws milled around me, talking about the day’s events. Taco emerged from a room, with his jet back hair held back by his trademark black headband. He was smiling broadly.
The circle of Outlaws surrounding me opened up as Taco approached. I used the opening as an opportunity to gain some control. I walked toward Taco so that we met outside the circle of Outlaws.
Although, I had shown up unannounced, Taco didn’t seem surprised. After our introductions and some small talk we got down to business. We both had hardliners in our clubs, old timers who thought any cooperation was a bad idea. Taco and I had a lot of work to do if sharing the Black Hills Run was going to happen without someone getting shot.
I couldn’t begin to count the phone calls, or calculate the time Taco and I spent on the phone over the months leading up to Sturgis. We put out one small fire after another, beating down rumor after rumor. But it was well worth every second of our time to see Hells Angels and Outlaws walking the streets of Sturgis shoulder to shoulder. That peace cemented a friendship between Taco and I. Well, at least until law enforcement told me that he had sent a hit man to Ventura on an unsuccessful mission to take me out. In 2002 Taco told me he never gave that order, but that’s another story.

At a meeting in 1994, Outlaws regional president “Mad Mike” Markham was criticized for failing to take action against the Hell's Angels.   Markham, however, was reluctant to take on the Hell's Angels because the two clubs had peacefully coexisted in his region.   An Outlaw from Markham's region, Harold “Bullwinkle” Brewington, suggested an alternative:  attack the Hell's Angels in California.   Markham liked the idea and told Brewington that he would bring it up at the next regional presidents meeting.

At a meeting near the end of 1994, Bowman, apparently adopting Markham's idea, announced that the Outlaws would take the war against the Hell's Angels to California.   Bowman planned to send a group of trustworthy Outlaws to California to conduct surveillance on, and possibly assassinate, either Sonny Barger, the international president of the Hell's Angels, or George Christie, a national officer.   Ultimately, Murphy and Brewington were selected for the mission, but Murphy, uncomfortable with Brewington, went to California alone.

Murphy stayed in Ventura, California, for four days, locating and mapping out Christie's residence.   He returned to Florida, but, after the Daytona Outlaws were arrested on federal RICO charges, Bowman directed Murphy to bring the map to Tennessee.   Murphy presented his report at a meeting in Tennessee, and Bowman thanked him for his service.   Eventually, Bowman dispatched other Outlaws to follow up on Murphy's findings, but Christie was never harmed.

More recent picture of Taco

Thousands of Outlaws attend Dayton funeral for notorious former international leader

https://www.daytondailynews.com/new...rnational-leader/b7wjodbpTBrj4ADbYK0MNO/