left the house, I bent
down to tie a shoe lace. The initial blast wave caught me in the backside and
threw me into the basement well that sat beneath my front door. Out of the way
of the main explosion I survived but was rendered deaf in one ear and suffered
second degree burns to a fifth of my body. I had more cuts and bruises than
could be counted and my Rolex was branded into my wrist. To this day I still
carry the imprint of a watch on my skin.
I spent three months in hospital, all the time fearing
that the boss would finish the job. But he had gotten sloppy in his old age and
word was everywhere that he was behind the failed attempt on my life. He went
to ground. I might have been known as ‘the bastard’ but at least I was a fair
bastard and rule number one in our game is don’t shit on your own doorstep.
Two days before I left hospital a young man called
Greg McAllister took a walk in Hyde Park with his pet Labrador . It was a routine he had been repeating for a
fortnight and, as he had done for the previous fourteen mornings, he uttered a
polite good morning to an old man in a jogging suit flanked by two human four
by twos. Only this time he took a small pistol from his coat and emptied the
gun into the old man before running off.
I was now in charge of the UK and had no
intention of stopping there.
Chapter 19
Sometime after I left hospital I was given a copy of
Little Caesar starring Edward G Robinson to watch while I was laid up. Robinson
plays Riko, probably one of the best known gangsters in movie history. I loved
the movie. No – I adored the movie. Robinson became a bit of a role model. He
took no shit.
There is a scene where he suspects that one of his
gang is feeling guilty and about to go to confess all to the priest. Riko’s
solution was to gun the gang member down on the steps of the church. I must
have watched that movie a hundred times and I made it clear that I no longer
wanted to be known as the bastard or Jock - and soon I was the new Riko.
People thought I was off my head but I loved it.
I had just entered my fourth decade and was one of the
main players in my game. Life was sweet and I set about making myself
comfortable. I called Martin down from Glasgow and put him and Spencer on the day to day stuff.
I thought Martin might object. After all he had
happily grown roots in Glasgow and, apart from the odd phone call, he had been a
stranger. He surprised me by jumping on a train and joining me.
I muscled up with bodyguards that were smart enough to
know how to defend me and thick enough to do it regardless of the danger to themselves.
I bought a pile in the country and adopted the landed gentry motif with
consummate ease. Shotguns, wellies, hounds and a Land Rover Defender - I was
lord of the manor – in true Only Fools and Horses style. I probably looked like
a tit but I didn’t care - the money was rolling in and I was well smart enough
to keep things on an even keel. At least I thought I was.
Eleven forty eight and twenty seven seconds – time flies when you’re telling a good story.
For five years I made hay and rolled in the folding
stuff for fun. I had the sense to stay out of Ireland but Wales and Scotland were
mine. The north east of England held out for a while but a face to face (by face to
face I mean fifty odd on each side) in South
Shields and we sorted it out.
I know I wasn’t the only criminal in the country. I
was one of thousands but I was nearer the top of the tree than rolling in the
manure at the base of the trunk.
A year later Carl Dupree rolled up at my manor. He
stood on my lawn, took out a spray can and wrote in six feet letters, bright
red six feet letters: : ‘The End.’
That’s when things got weird and I mean plenty weird.
Chapter 20
The sun rose on the red lettering on my lawn as three
gardeners cut out the turf and replaced it with less offensive grass. Dupree
had done a runner of extraordinary speed and grace. I didn’t know his name
down to tie a shoe lace. The initial blast wave caught me in the backside and
threw me into the basement well that sat beneath my front door. Out of the way
of the main explosion I survived but was rendered deaf in one ear and suffered
second degree burns to a fifth of my body. I had more cuts and bruises than
could be counted and my Rolex was branded into my wrist. To this day I still
carry the imprint of a watch on my skin.
I spent three months in hospital, all the time fearing
that the boss would finish the job. But he had gotten sloppy in his old age and
word was everywhere that he was behind the failed attempt on my life. He went
to ground. I might have been known as ‘the bastard’ but at least I was a fair
bastard and rule number one in our game is don’t shit on your own doorstep.
Two days before I left hospital a young man called
Greg McAllister took a walk in Hyde Park with his pet Labrador . It was a routine he had been repeating for a
fortnight and, as he had done for the previous fourteen mornings, he uttered a
polite good morning to an old man in a jogging suit flanked by two human four
by twos. Only this time he took a small pistol from his coat and emptied the
gun into the old man before running off.
I was now in charge of the UK and had no
intention of stopping there.
Chapter 19
Sometime after I left hospital I was given a copy of
Little Caesar starring Edward G Robinson to watch while I was laid up. Robinson
plays Riko, probably one of the best known gangsters in movie history. I loved
the movie. No – I adored the movie. Robinson became a bit of a role model. He
took no shit.
There is a scene where he suspects that one of his
gang is feeling guilty and about to go to confess all to the priest. Riko’s
solution was to gun the gang member down on the steps of the church. I must
have watched that movie a hundred times and I made it clear that I no longer
wanted to be known as the bastard or Jock - and soon I was the new Riko.
People thought I was off my head but I loved it.
I had just entered my fourth decade and was one of the
main players in my game. Life was sweet and I set about making myself
comfortable. I called Martin down from Glasgow and put him and Spencer on the day to day stuff.
I thought Martin might object. After all he had
happily grown roots in Glasgow and, apart from the odd phone call, he had been a
stranger. He surprised me by jumping on a train and joining me.
I muscled up with bodyguards that were smart enough to
know how to defend me and thick enough to do it regardless of the danger to themselves.
I bought a pile in the country and adopted the landed gentry motif with
consummate ease. Shotguns, wellies, hounds and a Land Rover Defender - I was
lord of the manor – in true Only Fools and Horses style. I probably looked like
a tit but I didn’t care - the money was rolling in and I was well smart enough
to keep things on an even keel. At least I thought I was.
Eleven forty eight and twenty seven seconds – time flies when you’re telling a good story.
For five years I made hay and rolled in the folding
stuff for fun. I had the sense to stay out of Ireland but Wales and Scotland were
mine. The north east of England held out for a while but a face to face (by face to
face I mean fifty odd on each side) in South
Shields and we sorted it out.
I know I wasn’t the only criminal in the country. I
was one of thousands but I was nearer the top of the tree than rolling in the
manure at the base of the trunk.
A year later Carl Dupree rolled up at my manor. He
stood on my lawn, took out a spray can and wrote in six feet letters, bright
red six feet letters: : ‘The End.’
That’s when things got weird and I mean plenty weird.
Chapter 20
The sun rose on the red lettering on my lawn as three
gardeners cut out the turf and replaced it with less offensive grass. Dupree
had done a runner of extraordinary speed and grace. I didn’t know his name
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