"First they took on the Hells Angels and won big," says one law enforcement expert. "Next up, the Outlaws. They're trying to set up shop in Philly and Bucks County."

The Outlaws—a Midwest-based national gang, and one of the four largest in the country—should study recent history, according to an associate of the Pagans. He cites the brief war between the Pagans—the region's oldest, biggest and toughest biker gang—and the Hells Angels, who tried (and failed) to establish a local chapter in West Philly.

That short biker war left one Hells Angel leader dead, two others beaten and hospitalized, the Angels' West Philly clubhouse vandalized, and the local chapter disgraced and dissolved.

One former Pagan, whom we'll call G, says the war was really all about coin.

"The bottom line was money," says G. "Some Pagans patched over to the Hells Angels out of New York 'cause they thought they'd make more money with the Angels."

The Pagans now control illegal biker businesses throughout the local underworld. Police say the Pagans and their associates are involved in prostitution, loan sharking, extortion, bookmaking and the manufacture and distribution of meth.

G brags that when he was a Pagan he made a small fortune in the drug business. "We manufactured meth. We didn't buy from nobody. There wasn't a middle man. We didn't go to the mob. We manufactured our own, sold our own. We controlled the business. Tons of money. Forty, 50 grand a week was no problem whatsoever."

Now the Pagans are getting busy infiltrating legit businesses like construction companies and auto repair shops, corner bars and tattoo parlors.

But the Pagan source of power remains unchanged. "Fear," G says, is what the bikers are all about. "Power and fear. I mean it's priceless," he says.

The latest Pagan incident clearly illustrates G's point. About six weeks ago, according to eyewitnesses and a noncriminal associate of the biker underworld, a group of Pagan enforcers—"yard dogs"—showed up at a Philadelphia tattoo convention. (Yard dog is prison slang for a weightlifter who bench-presses massive amounts of metal so he can more easily pummel fellow inmates.) They were there to spread their gospel of fear, and to make clear that Philly is now firmly under the control of the Pagan nation.

"They showed up in force and were ready to clear out the place," says one insider. The Pagan yard dogs were there to scour the convention floor in search of anyone with Hells Angels colors or paraphernalia.

The police and hotel security seemingly ignored the enforcers. Most of the crowd didn't know they were there. But two members of the Warlock motorcycle gang, one pushing a baby stroller, left the convention as soon as the Pagans arrived.

The Warlocks are still another regional biker gang, a former rival and sometime ally to the larger, more powerful Pagan nation.

"The Warlocks got the message," an eyewitness says. "They disappeared. Either they were told to leave or they knew to leave. The Pagans are pissed off at the Warlocks right now," the insider tells City Paper. "If that dipshit with the baby stroller thought that would stop the Pagans from giving him an ass-whooping, he was wrong."

The Pagans are said to be furious that some Warlocks split from their old gang and joined the Outlaws, thereby giving the Outlaws a foothold on Pagan home turf.

One yard dog reportedly materialized alongside a vendor who was selling tattoo ink. The vendor noticed the enforcer and said to another customer, "Man, it's getting hot in here."

The enforcer picked up a bottle of orange ink—the same color used in Hells Angels tattoos. He glared at the vendor for a long minute, pocketed the orange ink, and walked away.

"The message was clear," an eyewitness says. "This is Pagan territory and if you're Hells Angels, Warlocks or Outlaws, don't fly your colors in this town."