"I'm familiar," Willa replied, passing the photograph back to Olinger. She wanted the whole file and had trouble stamping down enough patience to avoid simply leaving her open hand extended in askance. Rangers had the highest levels of clearance in the state; before the disbanding of Company B, she had been working with classified information from all DFW area police departments, and partially redacted FBI and CIA files - which had frankly been suspicious to her, though there hadn't been time to investigate any further. The file in his hands was within her jurisdiction, Willa was sure of it, but it wasn't as though there was a Chief for her to petition, or a judge who would order Olinger to hand it over. Patience was the only option, helped along by the awareness that even this file would only be a starting point, a supplement to the more comprehensive one she would undoubtedly have to assemble herself as the investigation continued.
For the time being she could make reasonable guesses as to the contents. Motorcycle clubs were no stranger to illegal activity; a fair few had been involved with drugs, murder, violence, or property destruction, even before the chances of getting arrested for their lawless lifestyle had plummeted into the single digits thanks to the viral infestation. Seventy was big. Big enough for there to be more than one man at the helm, even bigger when considering the smaller scale of the uncontaminated population and the way that criminal activity managed to bleed out from those genuinely culpable into the lives of those who loved them. She knew it from past cases; she knew it from her own life. Discounting those who went so far as to align themselves as customers, how many people had known what Bode and his family were doing, but turned to look the other way because of their fondness for one of the Coldirons? How many people would these Hellhounds have influence over, when it came down to whether or not to turn them in to the law, particularly now that so much of it had become somewhat martial?
"When you say mass killings and terrorist activities..." Willa left her question open ended, looking to both men in turn for elaboration. There was a lot of grey area between a drunken fuck with a hunting rifle who shot his wife and kids and whomever had given them safehome after she'd left his sorry ass, someone who took semi automatics into a crowded place to make a point or get their fifteen seconds of fame once they'd turned the pistol on themselves, and a suicide bomber with enough explosives to take out a city block, and enough belief in their cause to die for.