‘10.6 million clear.’
‘And this year?’
‘12’
‘Is that good?’
I thought it was fucking fantastic but it was clear that he didn’t.
‘Much more and we start to step on toes that will bring down a lot more heat. Most of our cash is in small amounts. That keeps the major crime boys off our back.’
He smiled. Cold.
‘Nice strategy. I approve. I reckon twenty five million tops in Scotland before we have to change the way we do things.’
Twenty five. Christ that would be hard work. The organisation would have needed to double again to get close and that was a lot of organising and recruiting.
‘Not your worry,’ he said. ‘How do you fancy south of the river.’
For a second I was lost. South of what river?
‘Giles is moving north and his number two isn’t up to it. I don’t see anyone better for the job. That is if you fancy it?’
I knew who Giles was. Giles Taylor and he ran south London. That meant I had just been offered the second largest patch in the organisation next to north London.
‘Think about it.’
With that he hit a buzzer, the suits reappeared and my time was up.
On the way back to my hotel my head was spinning. This was an altogether different scale. I knew Glasgow and I could get by with the rest of Scotland but London was foreign territory and not without its share of heavy hitters. In Glasgow shooters were thin on the ground. In London they grew on trees.
This was a different game on a different ground.
In my hotel room I fell back on to my bed and let my head wander. I suspected this was another offer I couldn’t refuse. Martin was more than capable of running the operation in Scotland and, if I showed a lack of ambition, or worse, a lack of gratitude, I would get short shrift.
I went for a walk but I knew my time in Glasgow was up and when I got back to the hotel I made the call and said I was in.
Chapter 17
I didn’t go back to Glasgow that weekend. In fact I didn’t see Glasgow again for near on eighteen months. London was a cold turkey job. There was no induction. Giles pissed off to the north and I took his seat the day after my meeting at the council house.
I relied on Martin to mothball my homes back north and keep things going. I had him ship me my clothes and a few bits and pieces. When the package arrived I realised, not for the first time, that when it came down to it, I really needed very little of my worldly goods to move on.
I was based in Blackheath in an apartment not far from the grass. From day one I was Jock unless the person was face to face with me when I was Sir. I had a learning curve that made going to the moon look easy. I knew no-one, I knew little of what was going on and my reputation was worth zip.
For a fortnight I tried to get up to speed and used what charm I had to try to endear myself to the people I needed day to day. This failed in a big way. They just took the piss. The final straw came as I was unwinding over a pint in the local, three weeks to the day since I had taken over.
Giorgio, my number two — he was the one that wasn’t up to the main man’s job — a fourth generation Greek with a first generation accent, was leaning on me for a bigger cut or he was for the off. He knew I needed him and was striking while the iron was burning a hole in my shirt. He wanted double what he currently got and since I had the same deal in London as in Scotland this would come straight out of my pocket.
I listened and tried to reason with him but the more I talked the more it sounded like a negotiation. At one point I got up and went for a slash. The urinals were all occupied so I used a cubicle.
As I let go I heard a familiar voice enter and I listened as Mike Ashby, Giorgio’s minder, gobbed off about how his pay was just about to double.
I realised that Giorgio had already pocketed the increase he was asking for. This was going nowhere good and I needed to act. I pulled the chain and exited, nodding a hello to Mike who suddenly looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. I walked up to Giorgio and said ‘Let’s take a walk.’ He objected but I told him I needed some air to consider his position and he stood up to follow me out.
It was a clear night and we walked towards the heath talking nonsense but keeping the nonsense around Giorgio’s demands and he followed like a lap dog.
We entered the heath and the street lights lost the battle with the dark. Giorgio wanted to know where we were going but, before he finished the question, I squared up to him and gave him my best Glasgow kiss — a head butt to the forehead. He went down in a heap and I lashed out with my foot and caught him in the face. Something broke and he screamed and tried to get up. I lifted my foot and brought it down on his hand and crunched half a dozen bones. He howled and, for good measure, I kicked him in the groin.
I bent down, grabbed his hair and pulled his head up.
‘You’re gone by tomorrow. I mean gone.’
Chapter 18
How is the clock doing? Not long. I need to speed up.
News of the incident with Giorgio spread like wildfire and I was eyed with a combination of suspicion and respect.
Giorgio left London — although to this day I have no idea where he went. I appointed a young lad called Spencer Cline as my number two. This managed to piss off about half the team I worked with, as Spencer was a new recruit I had employed on Martin’s recommendation. Spencer had worked with Martin in London for a few years and I needed someone who was loyal to me and not the old school.
I dumped the nicely, nicely approach and went for the cold heartless bastard approach. I found I was good at it and kicking backsides was something I seemed to do well.
I re-organised the set up and appointed ten direct reports, each with their own remit. We met every Monday at 10.00am and Spencer was charged with taking the notes. He encrypted them and sent them out on the Tuesday. This was business and I had a target in my head — make south London number one.
This took balls. London wasn’t like Glasgow. You could walk a quarter of a mile in London and be on someone else’s patch. You could walk another ten yards and be in your grave. This was truly Long Good Friday land and, with one mind on how it all finished for Bob Hoskins, I had to get down and dirty.
I went after local gangs with a simple offer — join or cease to be. This led to more pitched battles than was good for a man. We fought where needed and some months we could be found knife in hand, gun in back pocket for fifteen nights straight. We rattled cages in a big way and we didn’t always win. But we won enough and a year after I joined we overhauled the north as the biggest earner.
I didn’t stop there. In less than eighteen months I was running out of steam south of the river. Most of the gangs that mattered were either on our side or were gone. Gaining new income was proving tougher. We set in motion some big jobs but these took time and were risky. So I turned my attention to the East End.
Technically this was north of the river but Giles was in no shape to tackle it. Unlike myself, Giles had taken a more laissez faire approach to his new job. After all it was already the biggest so why bust your nuts trying to grow it. As such he let a mean little fucker called Graham Stern go unchecked and he was now in control of most everything east of India Dock.
Graham was half German on his dad’s side and couldn’t have been more at home had he put on jackboots
