The Guv'nor (14 page)

What with Kenny not saying much and me dreaming away, I nearly forgot why we were down there. But as we drove out of Epsom and up on to the Downs, I was back on the ball again and ready to go.

There were a couple of travellers already waiting for us at the arranged place. I gave Kenny a minute with them to sort out the business, then I got out of the motor and followed them further on to the Downs, where I could see half-a-dozen trailers parked up. The way they'd set them up made a nice little private ring, so we'd have plenty of time to square things off if Old Bill stuck his nose in.

I didn't want any messing – straight in, straight out. So off comes my jacket and shirt and I'm into a bit of quick shadow boxing to loosen myself up. An Irishman from the other team slipped over and said, ‘Would you want to say hello to Paddy before yis start?'

I gave him a look. ‘Say he-fucking-llo? 'Scuse me, pal, but I take it you're joking. In half a minute I'm going to knock seven bells of shit out of your mate, so, no, I don't want to say hello.'

You've got to understand how I'm grafting here. If I have a few words with the guy and he turns out to be sound, it's going to take the dairy off my feelings. When we're fighting, I'll be thinking, ‘He ain't such a bad bloke, I'll take it a bit steady,' and that's no way to think when there's four large at stake. No, what I have to do is hate – and I mean really
HATE
. From the top of my head right down to my ankles. This man in front of me has interfered with my wife, he's interfered with my kids. Bastard.

So that's what I'm doing when Paddy Bury steps out from behind one of the trailers and shapes himself up, ready for the off.

I suppose we were pretty evenly matched; roughly the same build and about the same age, but does he hate like I do? No, he doesn't. Kenny gave me a slap on the shoulder and I was into Bury like a fucking lunatic. I gave him such a flurry of short vicious jabs that he must have wondered where they were coming from. He backed up to give his head time to clear, but I kept after him. He tried to nut his way out of it, but as he put himself off balance I stuck two blinders into his ribs, then, as his guard came down, hit him full-square on the point of the chin and down he went. I'm not going to let him get up again. As he struggled to get on his feet I hit him on the side of the
head and he collapsed on the ground spark out. Three minutes start to finish. A bit one-sided? Of course it was, just like most of the fights I have.

By the time I got myself dressed and Kenny had sorted the pay out, my hands were looking a bit puffy but, apart from that, not a mark. As we walked away, Paddy was just sitting himself up on one arm. He looked well cross-eyed and by the dribble running from the corners of his mouth I'd bet a pound to a pinch of shit that his jaw was busted both sides. That's the luck of the draw. A nice day out and a nice little earner for three minutes' work.

What I could never understand was reading about bare-knuckle fights they had years and years ago that went on for a couple of hours. It strikes me that they couldn't have been going at it too strong. If a man's fighting for that long with unprotected hands, they'd be smashed to bits and his knuckles would be up around his elbows. As far as I can remember, the longest cobble fight I ever had was about five minutes.

While we were at the races, I was introduced to Ritchie Anderson, the Scotchman who'd helped out when we thought we had aggro at the White Swan. I'd spoken to him on the phone but hadn't met him until then. He was a decent bloke, knew his way around and was well in with some sound people. He said, ‘I heard about the fight just now. I'd have been over but I couldn't leave the pitch. You're as good as I'd heard. Me and you could do some business. Keep in touch.' And that was that. We blew a few quid on one of Kenny's certainties, the
three-legged
one at the back, and headed for home.

It went a bit quiet for a while and we didn't get any challenges. Plenty down the Swan, but there wasn't any money in that, just wages on the door. My name was being put up all over the place now, so I was a bit surprised when we got a tasty offer from the gypsies living behind the car lot. I thought I'd wiped out all their boys. Still, it didn't matter where it came from; I was ready. A couple of days before the fight, Kenny and me were sitting in the caravan he used for an office, when this tinker and his half-dozen backers came in to check me out. Well, they didn't say that but that's what they were up to. Arrogant bastard, full of himself. This was another one who was going to break every bone in my body.

To give him his due, he looked a bit handy, but didn't he know it. His mouth was getting my back up but I didn't say anything. I just let Kenny do the business. He agreed that this was going to be an ‘all-in', and I thought, ‘Lovely … this
leery
get don't deserve a straightener.'

On the day of the fight, I'd wound myself up. I don't mind somebody having a go at me, but I don't want to hear what they're going to do before we start. So when I walk up the yard I'm in a pretty evil mood. Hennessey, or whatever his name was, was leaning against the caravan giving his mates plenty of old rabbit. He looked at me, looked back at his mates, and I just caught the last bit – ‘fucking wanker'. That's all I needed. Stuff the ring. I tore into him there and then and didn't even take my coat off.

My first couple of belts threw him back against the caravan and his head bounced off the window, smashing the glass. A couple more knocked him clean over the tow bar and he went down. He's on all fours and he sort of half-turned and looked up at me, so I kicked him in the face. He rolled over and put his hands over his face, but that didn't protect him because I knelt on his chest and punched the back of his hands until the blood was running out from under them and he stopped moving.

By this time, we had got ourselves up between the caravan and the shed. He lay there moaning. All the other tinkers pushed past me to help their boy, and Kenny said from behind me, ‘You got to the off a bit soon, mate … they ain't put their money in yet.'

‘Don't worry,' I said, ‘these lads won't rump us. Right, which of you six mugs is still holding the bet money?'

One of them said, ‘Fuck your money, you took him when he weren't ready.' I shoved Ken out of the way with one hand and knocked the other fella out with the other. ‘Don't tell me to fuck the money,' I shouted at him, but he was already spark out. That was it – they all came at me at once.

The space we were in was only about 4ft square so the five of them couldn't mix it all at once, though they tried. I nutted the first one bang in the mouth and his false teeth flew out. He stumbled back but with the others all trying to get at me he got pushed forward so he got another one. Then I just waded into them all. The last one standing put his hand up in a sort of surrender, shouting, ‘Leave off, you'll get your money.' The punch in the mouth I gave him taught him to keep his guard up.

They're all over the place – lying down, sitting down, and one's leaning against the shed. I just said, ‘Bring that dough over tonight or fucking else,' and walked away with Kenny.

They came back that night – not with the money but with shooters. Luckily, there wasn't anybody on the site otherwise it might have been worse than it was. They blew a load of windscreens out
and peppered the sides of a few decent motors, then fucked off before the law turned up.

Kenny phoned me at about four o'clock in the morning and told me what had gone down. So I dressed, got in the car and drove over there in twenty minutes. Kenny didn't want to know about going after this lot, reckoning it would only cause more aggravation for him. But, as I told him, if he'd been living on the car lot he'd be dead now, so he should just tell me which caravan the main tinker was in and I'd sort it. Stroke of luck – this geezer lives on his own, so no wife or kids to worry about.

Have you ever noticed how flimsy they make caravan doors? Wouldn't keep a cat out. I climbed over the fence, crept through all the caravans until I got to the right one, and then ripped the door clean off. The bastard's got my fingers round his throat before he's half out of bed.

When you see these tinkers round the streets, you wouldn't think they had a pot to piss in. Don't believe it, it's all front. Stick your head inside one of their trailers and the quality gear will knock your eyes out. Most of the silver and porcelain on display wouldn't look out of place in a top antique shop. In public they want to look fuck-all. Amongst their own they want to look top dog.

I said to him, ‘I want ten large out of you now or, on my lad's life, I'm going to smash you to fucking death.' And I meant it. This is where deterrents like hanging and long sentences fall down. I wasn't thinking, ‘Oh dear, I'll get into serious trouble for killing this man.' It never entered my head; it did after, but not then. ‘Come on, c**t, get it now.'

He got off the bunk and I could see his legs were like jelly. He dug around in a fancy cut-glass cabinet and pulled out a roll of notes. He only had seven grand. I told him, ‘I'm going to walk you round this site until I've got the lot, so start thinking where we're going first.' What a state he looked. He was stark bollock naked, he'd pissed himself and was shaking like a leaf. Then he remembered he had another stash down by the stove. He thought I was going to rob the lot, but I just took my three and flung the rest on the floor. This was a debt, not a robbery.

Before I left, I marked his card. ‘You boys are all hard men, I know that, but don't even consider making this into a war you can't win.' Then I smashed up a shelf full of china that probably set him back two grand. Spiteful bastard, aren't I?

I settled with Kenny and we didn't have any more trouble from that lot. In fact, they pulled out not long after, but they took the word with them because nobody tried to rump us in that way again.

I think I've mentioned that I've never been a liberty taker. I've hurt a lot of guys in my life, but they've asked for it; either for money on the cobbles, or in the clubs or pubs where somebody fancied their chances and offered me out. But like everything, there's always an exception, and this incident is the one and only.

There was this fella by the name of Jimmy Briggs, a good
money-getter
and game as a bagel. I was driving down Roman Road and saw him walking along, head down and looking a right misery. Mind you, he hadn't been long out of a ten stretch; he got nicked on a robbery. All the others got away, but Jim didn't try and do himself any favours, he kept his mouth shut and did the full lot. Good stuff, Jim.

So I gave him a toot on the horn and over he came. I said, ‘You've got some face on you. What's the matter, lost a tanner?'

He said, ‘Hello, Len, you gotta be joking, I never had a bleedin' tanner to lose, I'm skint. Trouble is my boy's in Stamford House and I can't afford to get down to see him.'

‘No problem, Jim, I've just had a result. Cop this pony, and buy him some fags and sweets and I'll run you down there.' Silly sod got all emotional, but I've got time for people who look after their own like he did.

We had a decent visit with his boy. It seemed funny being back in the old school, though. Afterwards, we stopped in a pub, had a few bevvies, then another. We sank a few more in Riley's up the Angel and finished up in the Green Man back in Hoxton. We'd had a good day, we're laughing and singing and well tanked up. Jimmy started chatting up this bird. She wasn't my cup of tea, all tits and peroxide, a bit too flash really.

Anyway, we'd met up with a few more mates by now and decided to go back to Riley's. I said, ‘Come on, Jim, we're off somewhere else.'

‘OK, Len,' he said, ‘with you in a minute.' No problem. Then this bird sticks her oar in.

‘He's not coming with you, he's staying with me.'

I gave her a bit of a funny look. ‘Do what, sweetheart? Jim makes his own mind up.'

‘I don't care,' she said, ‘he's fucking well stopping with me.'

I wanted to give her a smacked arse, but I held back. ‘'Scuse me, you saucy prat, don't you swear at me.'

Then Jim has to open his gob. ‘Don't you have a go at my bird, Len, or I'll put one on you.'

His bird? He's only known this woman for five minutes and he
wants to fight for her honour. ‘Jimmy,' I said, ‘we've had a lovely day. We've seen your boy. I've fronted you so's you could treat him. I bought your drinks all day. I don't begrudge you a penny, but you're going to spoil it all for that piece of skirt?'

What does he do? He swings one at me. Now I'm mad. I'm very pissed and I've lost my rag. I pushed him away but he tried to dig one into me again. That's it. I got him by the neck and dragged him outside. I let him go and he kicked me, so I hit him on the chin. He went arse over bollocks and when he jumped up I could see from the way his jaw was hanging that it was broken.

He stood there spitting blood. I've lost my head by now. I punched him twice in the face, broke his nose, hit him again in his jaw and he went down. As he lay there I flung myself across him and punched his head half-a-dozen times.

Now I've broken my own thumb and little finger so I can't punch him any more. He was choking on the blood from his jaw, so he arched upwards, pushed his head back and as he did that I nutted him right between the eyes. I'm ashamed to think back on how I battered that man. I know he started it and I know he was big enough to look after himself, but I went way over the top. I knelt beside him and looked at his bloody face; then I was aware of screaming, shouting and kicks and blows raining down on me as people from the pub tried to stop me doing any more damage. I was finished, though, and sickened by what I'd done.

The state of his facebrought me to my senses. I punched everybody out of the way, and fucked off in the motor. I found out later that a few blokes carried him to St Mary's Hospital, that was only 20 yards away. While the porters were rushing about like lunatics, Jimmy died on the trolley. Lucky for him and very lucky for me, the doctors managed to bring him back to life. His jaw was broken in five places, his nose and a few ribs were broken, and his skull was fractured from where I nutted him, but, thank God, the surgeons managed to patch him up.