Hash (20 page)

‘The only problem was my friend was so broke he couldn’t afford to pay me a consultancy fee. I looked at the longer term and broke my own golden rule and agreed that he should pay me a 25 per cent mark-up on every plant that produced decent enough weed for him to sell on to a handler. I think it will turn out to be a very lucky move because once he gets going I will rake in a very healthy monthly retainer from his sale. I’ve also persuaded him to use the offcuts to produce hash as well, so it looks set to be the answer to all his financial problems.’

In some ways, Tig seems to see himself as some kind of Robin Hood depriving the rich, evil gangs of drug importers by encouraging everyone he knows to ‘grow their own’. But of course there is a financial incentive from every person he helps, so it’s not quite the charity he likes to make out it is.

‘An old friend of mine recently told me I was like the saviour of the pot industry in this country. I like that description. It suits me down to the ground. I am a gentle
old soul and all I really want is to make sure everyone is happy and rich!’

After our initial meeting in a pub in south London, Tig takes me to a nearby home-grow factory in the loft of a large semi-detached house in Lewisham. The owner greets Tig like a long lost old friend and he is equally polite to me. This is not anything like I had previously experienced inside the secret criminal underworld of hash.

We climb the staircase to a landing where a special attic ladder is sitting leaning against the wall. I can feel the heat wafting down from the loft immediately. Above me ultraviolet lights buzz lightly. We go up the ladder and find ourselves entering a netherworld of pot plants. They fill every inch of space apart from a narrow passageway through the middle of the loft area. It’s baking hot. Almost like a sauna or a steam-room.

‘The only problem with these sorts of operations is that they are a high fire risk,’ explains Tig. I am not surprised. It feels as if one lit match would ignite and explode instantly.

Then Tig agrees to pose for a photo for my book on condition he disguises his face. ‘I am immensely proud of this one. It’s like my baby. I have nurtured this “grow” so carefully and now look at the result.’

It is certainly a stunning scenario. Dozens upon dozens of seeding cannabis plants reaching at least three foot in height make the attic feel more like a jungle than a suburban loft in a nondescript Victorian house. The smell is not so much overpowering as all-consuming.

As I descend the ladder I feel a bit dizzy from inhaling the air in the loft. Tig and I then head downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Tig’s openness, even in front of his ‘client’, is almost disarming. He treats the other man like a friend and persuades the man to pose for my camera with a disguise on.

‘Yeah. I always tell people that the fire risk is very high on an operation like this. You have to be very careful. A couple of months back I helped set up one grow factory. Two weeks after I left some idiot lit a cigarette in the plant room and the house was turned into an inferno in minutes. Luckily the guy running it got out okay. I just hope the owners of the house [it turns out to have been rented] were insured because there wasn’t much left of it.’

Naturally, Tig prefers to avoid any contact with the police. ‘The police have their job to do and I have mine. One of the most important aspects of my consultancy business is to ensure that the factory is 100 per cent discreet. I explain to my clients that it’s not just about growing plants. They have to be very careful whom they tell about their operation. They must never allow visitors to their house anywhere near the growing rooms and most important of all, they need to make sure their neighbours don’t have a clue what is going on. The neighbours are the ones who most often end up informing the police.’

However, Tig says he is excited by the ‘new challenges’ he faces with his plans to encourage clients to make hash from their cannabis plants as well as grass. ‘It makes such good
economic sense. You can double your income virtually overnight by simply using the remains of each plant to make hash. I just can’t work out why it was never done before.’

But, I point out, doesn’t producing hash mean a completely different kind of customer? ‘Good point,’ agrees Tig. ‘Most people either smoke weed or hash. The hash smokers here in the UK seem to be on average older than the grass users. Quite frankly, that’s good news for me because most of my contacts and customers are middle-aged and I know I’d much rather be flogging hash to middle-class, middle-aged folk than walking into a squat with a bag of pungent weed.’

Back in that ‘home-grow’ house in Lewisham, owner Ronnie explains why he brought in the ‘consultant’ in the first place. ‘Tig is a bloody genius. He helped me set this up from nothing, literally. He nurtures the plants as if they are his children. It’s a very organic process and he is the key to its success.’

Ronnie admits that the ‘grow’ has been set up in the attic of his house for ‘commercial and personal’ reasons. He explains: ‘I like a good smoke but I lost my job three months ago and, quite frankly, I am hoping that I can grow enough weed and produce enough hash to pay my way through life and get a good smoke thrown in for free!’

Ronnie says his wife knows all about the grow, but since the house itself is owned by his in-laws, he is keeping it a secret from everyone else he knows. ‘Look, I know they’d be pretty angry if they knew what I was up to and I also don’t want my mates knowing because they’d be round here all
the time trying to get me to give them some free smoke. No way!’

Just then Tig gets a call on his mobile. He mutters a few brief words before clicking it off. ‘I’m off to take my daughter to the zoo.’

And with that ‘The Consultant’ disappears back into the ‘normal’ world to take his child to a nearby zoo. I get the impression that Tig likes to stay in touch with that
other
side of his life.

Foreigners – mainly eastern Europeans – are accused of more than one in four of all crimes committed in the UK. Astonishingly, they also make up nine out of ten drug suspects and are responsible for more than one in three sex offences. And according to one newspaper investigation Polish, Romanians and Lithuanians are the most likely of all foreigners to be prosecuted by the police.

The figures back up fears of an ‘immigrant crime wave’ and officials believe that it’s not helped by the ease with which so many eastern Europeans are able to get into Britain with false identities, which hide their criminal past.

But nowhere illustrates this problem more than Albania. The collapse of law and order in that country has created a criminal element even feared by the Italian Mafia. I met Albanian hash baron Ivan in the UK through an introduction from a British gangster called Jerry, who warned me in
advance that Ivan was ‘a right fuckin’ nutter’. One of Jerry’s team of drug smugglers was stabbed in front of his eyes with a Samurai sword when another Albanian called Dimitri ‘got upset’ during a meeting in the Albanian port of Vlorë just a few months earlier.

Jerry explained to me: ‘They are the maddest, baddest people I’ve ever met. Step out of line and they murder you – literally,’ he says. ‘The Albanians are the ones we all fear. They’ve got a stranglehold on virtually all the hash that comes in from east of Albania. You cross them at your peril.’

He’s talking about hash smuggled from places such as India, Nepal, Afghanistan and the Lebanon. A lot of it is now primarily controlled by Albanians once it enters their country en route to the lucrative western European and US markets.

Jerry brought Ivan to a pub near Braintree, in Essex, to meet me. It’s clear from the start of our meeting that Ivan is reluctant to talk and he’s only there to keep his British friend Jerry happy. It’s a bit like treading through treacle speaking with Ivan at first, despite his fine grasp of the English language.

Initially, he just sits and listens as I make harmless small talk with Jerry. Eventually I change tactics and ask Ivan out of the blue how he got into the hash ‘game’. He says: ‘I come from a long line of smugglers in Albania. In the village where I grew up that was the only way to make money. My family controlled everything that went in and out of the area. That’s how we Albanians make our living. We charge people to bring their drugs through our territory. Why not?’

Jerry had already provided some of Ivan’s backstory, so I knew that Ivan and his gang first began dealing in hash when a team of Turks tried to avoid paying them for the rights to pass through their area of Albania. ‘We don’t like Turks much, so we asked them for a lot of money for permission to come through our area. They sneered at us and tried to avoid paying.’

The clash with the Turks ended in a bloodbath. ‘We drove the Turks out and stole their hash.’ From that moment on, Ivan and his gang began ‘taking over’ all shipments that came through from the east. ‘Ivan convinced other Turkish gangs that they should sell on the hash to him so he could then take control of it from the moment it got into Albania,’ explained Jerry, who seemed remarkably unperturbed by the Albanian way of operating.

Ivan nodded his head slowly in tacit agreement with what Jerry was saying but he still seemed reluctant to talk directly with me.

I noticed that Ivan didn’t drink alcohol. When I asked him why he said he was a Muslim. I didn’t pursue that line of questioning because it was clear he did not want to talk about religion.

So I then asked him how often he came to the UK to ‘do business’. Ivan’s reply stunned me: ‘Oh, I live here half the year. I use a different identity because I spent some time in prison in Albania and the British would not allow me in if I used my real name. I like the life here in England but I also like to be back in Albania sometimes to make sure my friends do their jobs properly.’

Ivan then proudly announced he had two girlfriends – or ‘wives’ as he called them – in the UK and two other wives back in Albania. ‘It’s perfect. Yes?’ he smiled. ‘Most men would like to have my life, I am sure.’

A few moments later, Ivan spotted an attractive woman at the bar and looked across intently in her direction. ‘But then again there is always room in my life for another woman.’

I asked Ivan how he managed to hold onto that lucrative hash route from Albania to the UK. ‘It’s not easy but I have many friends in high places, so I can always get my shipments through without any problems.’

How can you just ‘take over’ a business that travels across numerous borders and checkpoints before it even gets to the UK? ‘Oh, that is easy. As I say, we know the right people to pay to make sure the hash is delivered here without problems. It’s a good system together and most of the time it works well.’

He turns to glance up at Jerry, who’s just returned from the bar with some fresh drinks. ‘Jerry is the only man in England I trust. He is a good man.’

Jerry throws in a smile for good measure.

Ten years ago, few people knew anything about Albania. Today, its gangsters have become so notorious for violence they are said to have even given the Italian Mafia a run for their money.

In the north of Italy, the Albanians are rumoured to have taken the prostitution racket away from the country’s toughest
Mafia branch, the ‘Ndrangheta. In the south, they control the drugs, guns, prostitution and human trafficking across the Adriatic and have forced an alliance with local Mafia groups. Even priests who work with women sold into sexual slavery must travel with bodyguards in case Albanian kidnappers take revenge.

UK investigators suspect the flood of hash into the country from the east is a direct result of Albanian criminals working under false identities in Britain.

Back in that Essex pub, Ivan knocks back his Coca-Cola and suggests we talk outside while he has a cigarette. It is bitterly cold but neither Jerry nor I is going to argue with Ivan.

In the pub garden, Ivan clearly feels it is safer to speak and he begins to explain in more detail about his gang. ‘We are all related. We don’t trust most outsiders. But no one fucks with us, eh Jerry?’ He continues: ‘We have the route from Albania to here airtight. Nothing gets in and out of my part of Albania without me knowing about it.’

‘But why hash?’ I ask.

‘Because more people use hash than anything else, my friend. It’s just another commodity to us. Hash. Coke. People. We will bring anything in if there is a demand for it. But hash is the biggest business, so we make sure we control it.’

Many of the British gangsters I have met down the years seemed to live in fear of Albanian mobsters like Ivan. ‘They’re animals, son,’ one old-time south London drug baron told me. ‘They shoot first and ask questions later. Horrible, cold
people. They don’t work to rules. If you upset them you’re dead. Simple as that.’

So, how does the hash get in here? I ask.

Ivan’s eyes narrow. He looks across at Jerry, then takes a long drag of his cigarette. ‘I cannot tell you that then all the scum would try to steal my business.’

So I try a different tack. ‘What happens when you lose a shipment of hash?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Is it the responsibility of those who are in charge of it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do they have to pay you back its value?’

‘Of course.’

‘And what happens if they do not pay you back?’

‘Then we don’t use them any more.’

Albania’s emergence as a chilling criminal ‘power’ has evolved since 1990. Following the collapse of the old Communist regime, 80,000 of them turned up in Italy within months. Albanian gangs quickly branched out from ferrying their countrymen across the Adriatic. Customs officers in Puglia, Italy, say every drug smuggler they catch is Albanian, often a refugee working off the cost of their US$500 passage.

Albanian criminal gangs have developed into sophisticated – and little understood – organisations profiting from globalisation. In the mid-1990s, the Albanian Mafia even brought over hash-growing experts from other countries to help introduce the crop to Albania. Ivan claims that about one-third of the hash he now handles is grown in Albania.