Being a pornographer since the early Sixties has given
me a unique insight into corruption. This corruption, I discovered reaches
the highest levels. Once you have walked into Scotland Yard with a brown
paper envelope and paid off the head of the OPS (Obscene Publications
Squad) then you will never be the same again. Meeting Chief Inspector
Alton (I am not sure of the spelling of Lesley’s name) was an educative
experience and in his cups he told me many things that an old square like
him should not have done. He trusted me and I never intended to ever break
my vow of silence but one thing made me change my mind: This was my false
conviction for the murder of a Soho gangster Gerry Hawley. In prison this
Brixton secondary school (Santley Street) boy became educated and my
education made me realise that my conviction was unsafe and unsatisfactory
because I was surrounded by police corruption at the time and the jury at
the trial new nothing of this or why I had killed Hawley. I made a new vow
that I would never pay the OPS again and that I would devote the rest of
my life to fighting corruption. From now on I would try to expose the
truth about the corruption that existed at Scotland Yard and how the
filthy lucre went “upstairs” to the highest levels of government. My
purpose was to overturn my conviction. It is not nice being a “murderer”
and one can never become an ex murderer!
Since I have tried to expose the people at the top I
have had more than one further attempt on my life! I say further attempts
because the reason I killed Hawley in 1969 was because he had picked up a
contract to kill me. The order had “come from above” as Les would often
say. !969 is a long time ago but if the truth came out it would damage the
credibility of the British government and the state even today. The “down
fall of Scotland Yard” was bad enough and Inspector Les got twelve years,
Inspector Bill Moody (OPS) eight, but these old squares kept silent about
corruption at higher levels in the Home Office - and according to Les even
the Home Secretary was on the take! Les and Bill Moody served out their
sentences in the “country club” Leyhill played golf and were allowed out
into the town and got to see their wives at weekends! Moody was a model
prisoner and became the altar boy! I know that the above allegations I
have made above are true because during a pornography trial at the Old
Bailey I was visited with a well known QC who told me that I “was a victim
of corruption at very high levels”
I got to know Les well and we would often meet at a posh
country pub, which had a very good restaurant, in Surrey a short drive
away from his home in Esher. I would receive a phone call about a meet and
I would put the proverbial brown paper envelope in my pocket and drive
along the A6 to meet him. Sometimes I used to play tricks on him and he
got very annoyed on one occasion when a regular at the pub, an ex army
officer, assumed that because I was with Les that I was a detective. I
went along with it and when he asked me if I had nicked any villains
recently I said that I had nicked some bank robbers that week. “A ready
eye on a jug, caught them bang to rights” I had joked. Les’s ex military
acquaintance started trying to play a game where he tried to work out the
slang that I was using. “We have to know all the underworld slang I told
him so that we can catch the villains.” During this episode I could see
Les was getting very annoyed. He was getting drunk as usual and I carried
on in spite of his disapproving looks while ordering him and his friend a
drink. In Lesley’s case a “Double Ding Dong!” as he would say. I always
thought that this term for Bell’s whiskey sounded rather ridiculous but
used it in his company.
When we entered the restaurant he reproved me for
imitating a police officer and I replied “what was I going to do then tell
him that I was a pornographer!” I was enjoying myself as I usually did
when I delivered my pay offs and I thought that he had to stand for my
jokes because he always wanted the money and also I always paid the bill.
Sometimes in a moment of drunken generosity he would spin a coin to see
who paid for the wine, of which he would drink copious quantities even
after several double whiskeys.
I liked him to become inebriated because then he would tell me what was
going on in the corrupt world of Soho and the OPS. One thing that puzzled
me was that he often complained when I accused of him of “making a
fortune” that “We (the OPS known as the “dirty dozen”) don’t get all of it
and a lot goes “upstairs.” At first I thought that he was referring to
senior police officers at the Yard but then I realised that they were
people that he did not like, people who came from a different social class
whom many police officers despised. Over the years, since my conviction in
1969, pieces of the puzzle fell into place and I found out that the Home
Office referred to the practice of accepting corrupt payments from the
pornography business as “farming.”
I was shocked myself but the nothing surprised me now.
I always remember my father’s reaction after he had said
to me that I would get nicked one day because I was living a flamboyant
lifestyle, driving a Jaguar, wearing handmade suits and eating out in the
most expensive restaurants. I said “Dad I can’t get nicked because I am
paying Scotland Yard.”
“Don’t be silly” he replied. “We have the finest police force in the
world.”
I knew that was true once but not now and the corruption had infected the
body politic and spread to the highest levels. I knew that the corollary
of censorship was corruption. This was true of any popular commodity that
the public consumed.
I told him about how I used to meet police officers from
the OPS in pubs and so on and how I would slip them a brown paper
envelope. The reason corrupt police officers always ask for payment in a
brown paper envelope is because if they are arrested by honest cops then
they can say that they thought that the envelope contained information and
that you were an informer.
“How do you know that they are police” my father, an ex army warrant
officer in the 19/21st Queen’s Lancers had asked. “Oh I know I had replied
because they sometimes leave their warrant cards in the window of their
cars to avoid parking tickets and to let other coppers know who they are.”
Dad still was not convinced until I took him along one day and introduced
him to a detective constable in the OPS and let him go to the toilet to
hand him the brown paper envelope. I told the OPS detective that I would
send my father if at anytime I could not make it. Actually I was rather
disappointed that at a time that I wanted to impress my father that Les
did not turn up himself but sent someone of the lowest detective rank.
The reason that the hit was put on me in 1969 was
because I had broken the terms of my unwritten licence which eventually
caused what became known as “the downfall of Scotland Yard.” Les had told
me when giving me “a license” that I “must not sell by mail-order and I
must not export.” I was an entrepreneur but I eventually did both! When I
was arrested in Amsterdam for exporting English pornographic films into
the Dutch porn-shops (which were then illegal) it resulted in n Interpol
enquiry. I had caused it and I knew too much. It was told by another
corrupt OPS detective sergeant Roy that it was Les who had put the
contract on me but in my opinion the order had “come from above.”
In the Sixties I started to supply the Soho shops, first
drawings in sets of ten then later photos. When I delivered my drawings to
the little Frith Street sex-shop Tommy had always said to me that if I
took some photos then he would always take some. My hobby had been
photography since the age of fourteen and I bought a Jobo tank and
developed my first roll of black and white film at that age. I had
photographed my erotic drawings and printed them onto bromide paper at
nineteen. In the Early Sixties I discussed with a friend Tony using our
girlfriends as models for the sets of photos I told him that I could sell
to the Soho shops. The girls were both about nineteen and beautiful,
Sandra was dark and Pauline blonde and both had long hair down to their
shoulders. The first pictures that I took were lesbian pictures of them
and when I took them round the Soho shops, packed in sets of five in
cellophane, most of the twenty two shops took them. I remember sitting on
the Tube coming home to Tony’s small dingy flat in Norwood South London
with a few hundred pounds in cash in my pocket and this was a lot of money
in those days. I became successful quickly and soon Tony and I started
posing with the girls too producing hardcore pornography. The shops began
ordering more and more of my work. I was creative and used props and
uniforms and when I did some “nurse sets” orders went through the roof.
This is when it was suggested to me that it was about time that I started
to pay the porn squad.
I went into the Longshop in Old Compton Street and the
guy in the backroom looked at me through the hatch in the wall and gave me
a sly grin. The backroom was crowded with “punters” leafing through sets
of photographs that were in boxes labelled singles, groups, les, pissing,
flag, fem dom and so on. Every taste was catered for and Sixties Soho was
the centre of a successful pornography trade that catered exclusively to
customers all over Britain and even abroad.
“You are doing all right now Mickey and it is about time you got a
licence,” the guy said.
“What do you mean” I answered naively.
“Everyone pays the dirty squad, don’t they?”
He said in a low voice so not as to be overheard by the throng of
customers in the backroom.
I felt a surge of anger and defiance rise up in me. I was proud to have
registered a company Nestville Photography Ltd and my new found status as
a company director. I was doing legitimate photography too, and I thought
that it should be legal anyway. This was the Swinging Sixties and people
were talking about legalisation in Europe. I had heard whispers about
“paying Old Bill” and people had given me hints and now suddenly I
realised that it was true.
“Fuck off,” I replied angrily. “Tell them to fuck off.”
The guy behind the jump looked at me in surprise. “But Mickey everyone has
to pay” he pleaded. I turned my back on him and waked out the shop into
the dark Soho night heading for the tube at Leicester Square. I was not
going to pay. I was a Brixton boy who had been in trouble as a youth for
stealing cars I did not like the police because they had beat me up. A
vivid image flashed through my mind of my face covered in blood.
I still carried on supplying the shops but the next time
that I delivered some new photo sets to a shop in Old Compton Street I saw
a Ford Cortina coming down a one-way street towards me. I had been warned
by “Chico” in the Moore Street bookshop but I had ignored him.
I drove off. And a high speed chase developed as I sped through the West
End with four members of the porn squad behind me I a GT Cortina but I was
a good driver and lost them. I was laughing at the time and the chase was
exciting but when I went round the Soho shops again most of them would not
order.
“The porn squad won’t let us order from you” was a common refrain and they
had to obey except for one or two rebels like Flash Mick in St Anne’s
Court!
I led the OPS a merry dance for over a year and me a guy called Evan whom
I sent round the shops posing as a new “smudger.” In the end they caught
up with me.
I was living in a rented house in Stoke Newington and
had two children by this time, a girl Laura aged two and a bit and a newly
born son Billy who was asleep in his cot downstairs. I was awoken by a
loud knocking on the front door. I knew immediately that the OPS had
tracked me down. I looked at my wife Sandra and gave her a last kiss as
the OPS smashed their way into my house through the backdoor using a
sledge hammer. The bedroom was suddenly filled with detectives who dragged
me out of bed dressed only in a vest! I was bundled downstairs into a
waiting Q car the screams of my wife and child echoing in my brain.
In the car which drove at high speed through the early morning London
streets I was wedged in between two large men.
One of them turned towards me and joked “Moody told us that you was a big
bastard! How tall are you Mickey?”
“I’m five foot nine and a half,” I answered.
I thought that I would flatter them and said”Fucking hell you are big
blokes in the porn squad”
“We are not the porn squad son we are the “Heavy Mob” from the yard.”
“Bloody hell,” I replied I thought that you were the Dirty Dozen!”
They cracked up at this and started laughing.
One of them said,” Moody told us that you were six foot and a right hard
man.”
“Well I did a bit of amateur boxing” I replied warming to these now
friendly guys.
“Where is the porn squad then?” I asked.
“They are behind us.”
One of them turned to the other. “I am going to see that cunt Moody when
we get back”
I sensed that they did not like Moody much.
“We were requested on the raid by Inspector Moody of the porn squad and we
will hand you over to him when we get you to the other end” one of them
said informatively.
“They wont beat me up, will they?” I asked
“No son we will make sure of that. There are no marks on you now and that
is how it will stay.”
I pleaded not guilty and was remanded to Brixton prison
for trial at the Old Bailey.
When I came up for trial I had a visitor in the Old Bailey cells Inspector
Bill Moody of the porn squad. The screw opened the door and a scruffy, sly
looking man stood there. “I’m Bill Moody Michael and I would like to help
you.” He said grinning.
“You are fucking bent you bastard,” I shouted at him. “And I am going to
tell the judge when I get upstairs I the court room,”
Moody stayed calm. “Look there is more to life than stepping on the
accelerator. And if you plead guilty you will only do a year out of
eighteen months.”
“How do you know what I am going to get? I replied full of doubt.
“Because I have had a word with the judge and he said that he will give
you eighteen months if you plead guilty. Look you will be out in nine
months with the remand time knocked off! Don’t be silly all your life son
and give me a tinkle at the Yard when you get out.”
The judge gave me eighteen months as Moody had promised and I went to
prison.
Prison was a violent place and if you backed down you would quickly become
a serial victim of extortionists and bullies. Law and order stopped at the
prison gates. I was transferred to Chelmsford prison in Essex. One day the
News of the World did a story about “Big Jeff” the millionaire
pornographer and took aerial pictures of his mansion.
I realised that they were talking about Evan the guy I had sent round Soho
when the shops were told by the OPS not to do business with me because I
had told him to call himself Jeff. It was obvious to me that he had set up
in business on his own.
I received regular visits from my wife Sandra and she would bring me money
and hash which I smuggled in to make life a bit easier.
One day in the workshop a prisoner started flicking pieces of metal at me.
I told him to stop and he replied “Who you talking to cunt!”
“I said that I would see him in the recess later”
The guy replied”all right cunt I will muller you”
Then a voice rang out. “No you won’t be seeing him but me.”
His name was Gerry Hawley, a Soho gangster who later gave the other guy
the beating of his life.
We walked around on exercise together every day and went to the gym
together. I promised to see him when he got out.
I was happy to have Gerry as a friend because I did not know whether Evan
Philips was a Kray front and they were very strong in prison. I knew this
because one day a guy called Big Smithy got stabbed on the exercise yard.
Joey Holland went up behind him a plunged a homemade knife into his back.
Big Smithy turned around and picked up Joey as if he was a baby, even
though he was a six footer and athletic. Smithy got him by the scruff of
the neck and the seat of his pants and began smashing his head out on the
prison wall. By the time the screws arrived Joey’s head was smashed and
the wall was red with his blood. I asked Gerry what it was all about and
he told me the Krays had sent a message to Joey telling him to kill Big
Smithy because they said that he was a grass.
I remembered Bill Moody’s words: “There is more to life than stepping on
the accelerator Mickey. When you get out give me a tinkle.” I thought to
myself that I needed protection if I was to continue my career as a
pornographer.
My discharge came around and I went around to Evan’s
house posh house in Kew and after a bit of arguing he gave some money “a
one off payment” to start up again. He told me that he was “playing the
game now” and paying the porn squad for a licence. I asked him if he was
working for the Kray firm and he denied it saying “those two will never
get out of prison.”
I told him that I intended to start paying too and he said that he would
have a word with his man on the OPS.
I moved into a hotel in Bayswater Terrace and hired two
rooms, one in which I put my equipment in. I did a photo shoot with Sandra
and another model dressed up as nurses. They sold like hotcakes and I was
back in business again. The first time I went round the Soho shops they
all gave me a brown paper envelope for playing the game and keeping
“schtum.” I was not expecting this and I felt good that they were paying
me for keeping silent and when one of the shopkeepers “Fat Bill” suggested
I meet a member of the porn squad in order to get a licence I agree. I did
not fancy going back to the hell hole of an English prison again or being
asked for protection by some Soho gangster!
I met Roy, a sergeant detective in the OPS in a small
coffee bar in Walker’s Court next to the Walkers Court bookshop where Fat
Bill had a partnership with two other guys Ben and Brian. It was the
biggest shop in the Soho formerly called the Kenny Lynch Record Centre.
I sat waiting for Roy and he turned up a quarter of an hour late. He sat
down and I ordered him a coffee. He grinned and said. “I have read a lot
about you Mickey Muldoon and you look just like your picture.” He had
white even teeth and thick dark hair. He was fit, handsome a spoke with a
slight cockney accent. He was friendly and said that he knew my uncle Sid
who worked as a barman in the Cricketers at the Oval. Sid had one arm, the
other being blown off in the Blitz. From the way Roy spoke he obviously
identified with the working classes and tried to emphasise he that came
from the same background as me.
“I will try to get you a licence Mickey,” he said but the governor thinks
that you are a bit of a gangster…”
“I’m a photographer, a company director “I protested.
“Look I will see what I can do and have a chat with Les, the governor.” He
promised.
Fat Bill said that he would ask me to start paying just to see whether or
not I would co-operate and play the game.
“First you will see me for a few months, pay me a tenner a month for
starters and I will look after you. Nothing goes on in the office without
me knowing so you can work without fear of having your collar felt while I
get to know you and sweeten things up with Les.”
I looked into his eyes and he seemed genuine. Here I was the guy who was
not going to pay bent coppers, hoping that Roy would be able to get me a
licence.
Later Fat Bill said to me that”if you were not paying Old Bill then you
would have to pay someone like the Krays!” He then told me a story about
how “a little firm” came into the Walkers Court Bookshop and ask him to
pay protection and he had gone to the meet where he supposed to start
paying and pulled a hand grenade out of the bag and said” Do you want to
be paid because I am already paying Old Bill” and he never had any trouble
after that!
Bill I and became friends and we used to go out to the Toscana an Italian
restaurant in Dean Street for lunch and sometimes in the evening for
dinner as well. Bill introduced me to the owner Walter an Italian. The
restaurant was a meeting place for the Soho fraternity and I met a lot of
interesting people there. We used to stay in when the restaurant closed at
three and business was often done.
The time arrived when I was supposed to meet the head of
the OPS Chief Inspector Alton. Roy told me that the meet would be in a pub
near Scotland Yard, next to the Passport Office in Petty France. Roy would
be there to introduce me. I turned up at the pub at the appointed time
around twelve. No-one was there and I felt uncomfortable at the bar and I
ordered a beer which I sipped while waiting. I was glad when Roy walked
through the door, smiling and walking straight up to me. I had been
waiting half-an-hour and had the feeling that I was under observation by
the regulars at the bar whom I suspected the majority to be coppers from
the Yard.
I ordered Roy a drink and he said that “Les” would be there soon and
repeated the line that Alton thought that “I was a bit of a gangster.” It
was true that I knew the Krays whom I had met in prison when serving time
for the porn offence and that I had gone to see them at the El Morocco in
Gerrard Street. I had gone to see them because I was afraid of snubbing
their invitation and to find out what they wanted. Actually I had met Evan
Philips there (Jeff) and now that he was paying the OPS and doing well I
wondered whether the Reggie Kray had put Evan on to me and if Evan was
really working for the Krays.
I had gone to the El Morocco and had been greeted by
Reggie Kray who extended his arm straight out, gangster fashion and shook
mine. I was wary but he acted friendly and invited me to sit at a special
table “with the chaps” where all drinks were on the house. Other Kray gang
members sat around and I spoke to a few of them including Tony Lambrianou
(whom I would later meet when serving a life sentence.) The club was
luxurious and Reggie had gestured around at all the “punters” some of whom
were famous show business people such as Stanley Baker and Barbara
Windsor.
Reggie said “All the punters are down there but you can sit here with the
chaps.” He pointed to a young guy playing the piano and remarked “That’s
Ronnie’s boyfriend but don’t say anything because he gets the right
needle.” There was that hint of menace in his voice and I thought to
myself that I certainly would not make any disparaging remarks! During my
drink with the chaps Reggie had introduced me to Evan Philips whom he
described as “a rich boy whose father had bought him the Glynn Martin
accommodation bureau in Shaftsbury Avenue for something to do.”
Reggie sitting next to me had said in a friendly way “Don’t trust him yet
though because we don’t know the full SP.” As I sat next to Reggie I had
been wary but Evan, who spoke with a middle-class accent slightly tinged
with Welsh, was friendly.
However when I left the El Morocco the doorman Punchy Smith picked an
argument with me. He followed me as I went to my car which was parked in
Shaftsbury Avenue. As I got in he took out a gun I drove straight at him
and he had to dive out of the way. I wasn’t going to intimidated by the
Twins and I knew that if I shoed any sign of cowardice I would have to
start paying them “protection.” I was paranoid and on my guard for a few
months after but received no threats or any other sign.
After a few phone calls during which he never mentioned
the “Punchy” incident I started to see Evan socially and often went to
restaurants with him with our wives, both of whom were called Sandra. He
started to work for me as “Jeff” soon after I got arrested by the OPS and
sent to prison for eighteen months.
All this was going through my mind as I stood at the bar at the pub in
Petty France. I started to deny the “gangster” tag with Roy and explained
how I been summoned by Reggie Kray and why I had gone. Roy laughed “You
made your reputation in the Ville as a hard man, didn’t you and had a few
fights, its all on your record and that is why Reggie wanted to get to
know you. Don’t worry I will explain all that to Les. I know that you are
not a gangster.”
I was eager to emphasise that all I wanted to do was to make photos and
films and supply the sexshops.”
“Don’t worry Mickey, I know that you are a bit of an artist, all that
painting, drawing and photography you have done since you were a kid.” It
was amazing how much he had learned about me from my record. Roy gave me a
reassuring smile. I was eager now to pay and get a licence and give the
brown paper envelope in my pocket to Les and get my “licence”
Suddenly the door opened and a large, tall red faced man wearing a Mac,
suit and tie entered the door of the pub.
Roy nudged me and said “Les has just entered, that’s him.
Les came over to Roy and shook hands but ignored me except for a dirty
look. I felt slightly humiliated.
But then Roy spoke “I would like to introduce you to Mickey.”
Alton replied to Roy but turned his back on me and was not friendly at
all. Roy nudged me and said in a low voice. “Buy him a drink.”
I turned to the big man and said “Can I buy you a drink?”
I was relieved when he replied “I’ll have a Ding Dong” and turned abruptly
back to his barely audible conversation with Roy. Evidently they were
arguing and Roy was putting my case for a license!
Alton already looked a bit inebriated when I ordered a round of drinks
including a “large Ding Dong.”
I was right, Alton did look a bit worse for wear. His face was red and he
had the roseate complexion of the heavy drinker. I looked around the bar
and everyone seemed to be knocking back the drinks. I looked at the clock
and closing time was not that far off. The brown paper envelope was
burning a hole in my pocket and ironically I was eager to give my cash in
a subservient manner to the large blustering, florid alcoholic head of the
porn squad who still seemed to be arguing with Roy.
Suddenly he turned to me and said. “Roy has told me that you are all right
but I have my suspicions that you are a bit of a gangster.”
I looked Alton in the eye and pleaded my case. “I’m not a gangster, I am a
photographer and filmmaker and that is all I want to do. I assure you.”
I had dressed smartly for the occasion with a tie but wore a leather
jacket.
Alton looked at the jacket a look of ridicule on his face. “Bit of a
leather boy are we?” he said with a smirk.
“No” I denied the accusation “This is the latest style now.” I kept my
temper and realised that he was deliberately insulting me to see if I
would become angry.
“Bit of a hard man aren’t you, had a few fights in the recess, know the
Kray twins.”
I protested my innocence.
I bought another round of drinks and Alton seemed to be softening his
attitude towards me. “All right then I am going to give you a chance for a
trial run, but any gangster nonsense and you will be out.” He looked at me
threateningly.
“Don’t be silly” I replied I am just a photographer and just want to get
on with my job and earn a bit of money.
“I’m going for a piss”, he replied and he walked off lurching slightly
towards the toilets.
Roy looked at me and gave me a lop sided grin, showing those white even
teeth. “Go into the toilet and give him the envelope” he said.
Alton stood in the toilet his hand against the wall, steadying himself
while pissing. I went straight up to him and taking the brown paper
envelope from my pocket I extended my hand offering him the money.
H gave me a bleary look but made no attempt to take it. I glanced at the
toilet door worried someone would come in.
I stood there what seemed like ages then the drunken head of the porn
squad mumbled.
“I don’t know if I am making a big mistake here” he said slurring his
words and swaying.
The toilet walls were green, the urinal covered with the yellow lime of
the many drinkers who had pissed on the walls. The ammonia stench of stale
urine assailed my nostrils as I wondered whether someone would come in and
if Les would gracefully relieve me of my cash. Strangely no-one entered
while Alton and I were in the toilet.
Then he suddenly extended his hand and took the envelope muttering “You
behave yourself or you will be out as quick as you got in.”
I walked out into the fresh air of Petty France leaving
Roy and Alton at the bar and found my car, got in and drove half pissed to
my flat in Stockwell Road, South London.
The flat was shabby from the outside, over car showrooms, but luxurious
inside.
My wife Sandra looked at me expectantly and smiled and I hugged her saying
in triumph:” I met Alton gave him the bread. We have got a licence! Let’s
go out to the Toscana for dinner tonight.”
Sandra smiled at the news of our newly found security. “Great Mickey I
will phone Daphne to baby-sit.”
Edited: 1 June 2007
So now I had a licence: One day Alton said to me” Come
up the office and see me. There are a few things that I want to spell out
to you about your licence.” It was weird the way he talked, as if the
licence was an official one issued by the Home Office! In a way it was but
then I did not know that then.
“What do you mean Scotland Yard” I said surprised.
“Yes come over to New Scotland Yard. You know just round the corner from
where we met in Petty France.”
“But how do I get in?” I replied with doubt.
“Simply walk in through the front door and take the lift up to the fifth
floor. Walk along the corridor and my office is down the passage on the
right.”
I found Scotland Yard with the revolving metal emblem outside and starting
walking towards the front door. The situation was surreal and I had the
feeling that the gods were laughing at the amusing situation they had
placed me in.
I walked in the front door went over to the lift and pressed the button
for the fifth floor. The door opened and there was the corridor. I was
getting paranoid walking down the passage. No-one had stopped me and here
I was in the Yard. What was I doing here? Suddenly a man smoking a pipe
emerged from one of the offices and came towards me.
As he neared he greeted me with “Good morning Michael!” I had never seen
him before in my life but I realised immediately that he had read my
record and recognised me from the photo.( Later I learnt that it was
Commander Drury who was to be grassed on by Jimmy Humphries the nightclub
and porn shop owner.) and sent to prison.
“Good morning,” I answered politely” I am looking for Chief Inspector
Alton’s office.”
“It is over there on the right” the unknown detective replied, puffing on
his pipe
I knocked on the door and Lesley Alton’s voice answered “Come in.”
I walked in and Les was sitting behind a desk.
“Sit down!” he ordered brusquely.
I sat down and he began to speak laying down the rules of my licence: “No
mail-order, no exporting, no underage girls and you are to give me a copy
of every film that you make and a set of each of the photos.”
I sat there paying attention like a private listening to his commanding
officer.
“I will also be coming over to your flat in Stockwell on an official
visit. Also when you ring up the office, if you need to contact me you
will say that it is Mr King. Have you got all that?”
I had also brought a brown paper envelope with my monthly payment inside.
I put my hand inside my pocket and brought it out. “Do you want this now
“I had asked waving it in the air? This was filthy lucre and he was paying
attention to me now.
Just leave it on my desk,” was the laconic reply and that will be all for
now. And remember no more gangster stuff, knocking out people and all
that.”
“Okay Lesley,” I replied “but that was because he owed me some money and
would not pay me and called me a cunt.” I realised that Les knew
everything that went on in Soho. It was true that I had knocked out one of
the shopkeepers, a flash guy, big with muscular arms who had told me to
fuck off when we argued over a long outstanding bill. I often used to see
him posing outside Bill the Dustman’s shop in Frith Street. After I had
taught him a lesson I found out from Bill that it was his brother-in-law!
I had to be the hard man on the Soho turf or people would take liberties.
Now here I was trying to make Alton think that I was meek and mild! I
don’t think that he was fooled much though. I trained with weights and
looked muscular and fit. I also had a couple of scars from old prison
fights. I started amateur boxing at fourteen because my father thought
that I was gay and made me go!
Lesley’s voice broke my reverie. “Well in future just let me know about
any problems that you have and I will sort them out for you.”
“Thank you Lesley,” I replied with a smile. “So I did not have to be my
own policeman anymore” I thought.
Les did not return my smile but replied dismissively. “All right that will
be it for now. I will see you next month.”
“What up here in the office? I replied.
“I will phone you and make a meet,” he replied.
I stood up glad to be leaving.
Out in the fresh air I walked up the road to Petty France where I had left
my car.
As I drove home I laughed at the bizarre situation that I found myself in.
The more I supplied the bookshops of Soho the more I learnt because the
guys in the shops loved to talk shop to someone who had a licence like
themselves.
I got to know all the guys in the bookshops and some of them had a
surprising history and I realised that some of the porn squad had their
own shops or a share in a shop, in which they had placed their own man.
Bill the Dustman had been nicked by Bill Moody for stealing a carpet out
of a hostel when he worked as a dustman.
Bill was a big jolly cockney lad who liked to spend most of his life in
the pub while his mate Tommy worked in the bookshop in Frith Street.
He asked me to meet him one day for a drink.
“I meet Bill Moody on your manor. You know in Bedford Hill, south London,
and The Bedford. You know don’t you?
I knew the pub which was opposite Clapham North Tube station and turned up
there to meet Bill.
Bill was propping up the bar. He was a large man with an impressive gut
from too much beer and food.
He introduced to his wife, a chubby red faced woman in a fur coat who
greeted me with “Hello love, pleased to meet you,” shook hands and then
went back to sit at a table with her girlfriend while Bill stood at the
bar talking men’s business. Bill was in there nearly every day and when he
had downed a few pints his big cheery face would light up and he would
begin to talk shop.
“Yeah, Bill’s a good geezer; I mean he caught me bang to rights when I
nicked a carpet out of a hostel. I just rolled it up and put it on the
cart! He said with a grin, pulling back his double breasted grey suit
exposing a nice freshly laundered shirt and an expensive tie, waiting for
my laugh. He brushed his hand through his cropped greying hair and rubbed
the stubble on his chin.
I laughed on cue and thought that he did not look much like a dustman now
with his expensive suits, a Rolex clad wrist, and a two carat diamond
glinting on his little finger that signalled his nouveaux riche status. I
always knew when he was in the pub because his brand new Ford Executive
would be parked outside.
My approving laugh encouraged him to go on about Inspector Bill Moody.
“Yeah, he tracked me down to the dustcart and do you know what we ended up
going for a drink together. He was the first Old Bill that I ever gave a
drink to. Do you what I mean like?”
I laughed again and glanced over at his wife who was always dressed in her
long Mink coat, her gin and orange on the table in front of her an
incongruous lipstick stained Players Weight in her mouth. I did not smoke
and hated the acrid smell. My clothes stunk of it if I stayed too long in
the Bedford chatting and reminiscing with Bill but I liked to get the
information.
“Yeah, Bill helped me out and we started to meet for a drink. That is how
I got into the porn game when Bill got on the porn squad he got me the
shop in Frith Street and got me a licence. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean Bill, I said but he nicked Sandra when I was
in the nick even though I kept schtum,” I replied remembering the time
when Sandra had carried on my business when I was serving my time.
“Not very nice when he would not let me earn a living? I continued with a
touch of anger.
Bill’s face fell and he looked at the floor. “Bill told me about that.
There was nothing he could do. The order came from above.” he said
defending his friend.
I looked doubtful, here it was again that phrase “It came from above” as
though God had ordered it.
“What do you mean? I asked.
Bill moved in closer and put his hand alongside his mouth, his forefinger
alongside his nose so no one could lip read him and spoke in a whisper.
“Bill told me that it’s the Home Office that tells them what to do. But
don’t ever say so to anyone.” His face took on a serious expression and he
moved back to his position at the bar.
I realised that I had learned something important here. “Okay Bill” I
replied with a smile. I would never say a word.
Bill knew that he had impressed me with this important nugget of
information.
One eyed Jimmy ran a shop in Greek Street and had a glass eye. He had a
big shop with a large backroom with hundreds of sets of photographs all
over the wall and it was obvious that he could never have taken them down
in a hurry and never had to do so.
He always paid up on time giving me a brown paper envelope with “Greek”
written on it in marker pen. The preliminaries over he would light one of
his King Edward cigars, stick a tooth pick in the end, and holding the
toothpick between his teeth., Puffing on his cigar?” revealing gold teeth
then take out a bottle of Five Kings Greek brandy.
“Want a drink Mickey? He would ask and I would usually have one for social
reasons. I would also smoke a bit of weed in his shop. I never smoked
tobacco just pure herbal cannabis in a single paper. Sometimes the punters
leafing through the sets of photographs would sniff the air and glance
over but Bill never seemed to mind except for a mild rebuke.
“That stuff does not half stink Mickey,” Jimmy would say a smile on his
thin lips.
“Yeah so do those fucking cigars” I would reply and he would laugh and
take a sip on his brandy, staring at me his glass eye dull and lifeless. I
thought “If someone could invent a realistic looking eye whose pupil
dilated and closed then Jimmy would be the first one to buy it.”
(He introduced me to a Master Sergeant in the US air force stationed at
Ruislip and from then on I always had a supply of King Edwards and
American alcohol in my house. I gave films in exchange that the air force
boys used to watch the sergeant reporting back on the audience response).
One-eyed Jimmy used to know the porn squad well and he would let them use
a flat for their stag shows up in Oxford Street where they watched films
and entertained hookers and models.
“Yeah do know the Greek model Gina well they had her down there the other
night and she gave them all a blow job but got really pissed as usual.”
One eyed Jimmy looked at me a smirk on his face. “And they all fucking
pissed all over her, yeah pissed all over.” He repeated for emphasis. “And
do you know what that dirty bitch said?”
“No” I said encouragingly waiting for the punch line.
“She said that she thought that it was fucking beer. You know that they
were pouring their drinks over her!” He laughed slapping his thigh.
I laughed my approval. “Is that why they call them the Dirty Dozen?” I
quipped.
Jimmy laughed out loud at this and a few punters looked over but then went
back to their search for the fantasy that they were looking for. At
frequent intervals a customer would approach the till and Jimmy would take
a fiver for every set, wrapping them in a plain brown paper bag which he
would seal with sellotape from a machine on the counter, his cigar in his
mouth, large diamond ring, gold watch and cuff links, glinting as he added
the money to a large roll that he stuffed into his back pocket.
Continued 1 June 2007
The phone was ringing I picked it up and it was Roy on the other end.
“Have you got your Xmas booze yet?
“No I said I have not.”
“Well then” Roy replied I know where to get some really cheap. Look I will
pull up outside your place about two o’clock and give you a bib on the
horn. You just follow me up okay.”
“Okay Roy! I will be looking out for you.” I replied.
At around two o clock Roy pulled up outside my flat in his Mark 2 Jaguar.
I went downstairs saying to Sandra that I was going to collect my Xmas
booze and would be back in a couple of hours.
I spoke to Roy through the window of his Jaguar. “Hello Roy all right? I
said. Where are we going?”
“It is over at Peckham” he replied through the window of his Jag. “Just
follow me up and when we get there just don’t say anything then the chaps
in there will think that you are Old Bill.” He laughed. “It’s an LF and I
gave them a licence when I was on the Fraud Squad!”
I followed Roy’s Jag through Brixton and Camberwell over to a Peckham
backstreet where we pulled up outside a firm. The name Rangelines Ltd was
over the door. It was busy with men unloading and loading vehicles with
cases of spirits. I got out of my car and we stood on the pavement for a
moment.
Roy said to me “All spirits are a pound a bottle. You can have as much as
you like.”
We walked into the warehouse and a guy that knew Roy came up to him.
They spoke together and the guy turned to me and said” You just choose
what you want and someone will wheel it out to your car.”
I walked around the warehouse and started to pick up boxes of whiskey,
brandy, vodka and gin. There was a good selection of top branded goods and
soon my Ford Executive was loaded, including the boot, back and front
seats. I recognised one of the loaders whom I had seen during my time in
the Ville and he gave me a funny look but I don’t know whether he
recognised me or not and ignored him. I paid the boss of the Long Firm a
pound for each bottle that I had taken and he stuffed some boxes of nuts
into the car.
Roy said “I’ll see you later and drove off.”
As I drove home to Stockwell I realised that the corruption did not stop
at the porn squad and that bent detectives moved from squad to squad. It
was becoming obvious to me that the corruption was widespread!
Roy liked a drink and we would go to various pubs and
clubs in Soho but he never bought a drink as the publicans all knew that
he was a copper and it was always on the house. One day we went to the Wig
and Pen Club, frequented by writers it was said. The drinks piled up on
the bar in front of us as everyone wanted to buy us a drink. Then the
landlord was calling time up and people were trying to get in one more
drink before closing time
Roy pulled out his warrant card and shouted” I am extending the licence of
this establishment for another hour.” A big cheer went up and more drinks
arrived. Later I staggered out of there seeing double. Roy could drink
like a fish!
Roy also liked a meal and we would go out to restaurants together. He
lived in Five Oaks Green in Kent and sometimes we would go to restaurants
around his area. He loved French cooking, as I did, and we enjoyed la
cuisine Francais in some of the best restaurants. The meals were washed
down with expensive wine and we usually finished up with a Napoleon
brandy. We had long conversations about the porn business and the Soho
scene and slowly I was getting the whole picture about who was who and who
owned what, including pubs, strip joints, brothels, blue film shows and of
course the sex shops.
The phone was ringing and it was Alton. “I will see you in the Fox and
hounds at twelve.” He said with authority.
I turned up at Midday Alton stood at the bar with another guy whom I did
not recognise.
Alton turned to me and introduced me to the other detective as Sergeant
Philips who was evidently on the porn squad. We went over to a window seat
where Les and his colleague settled themselves on stools. It was
understood that I would buy every round!
I went over to the bar and ordered two double Ding Dongs on the rocks and
two beers. I poured both the whiskeys into one glass and went over to the
two thirsty detectives. Les started gulping down his drink immediately and
every time I bought the drinks I did the same thing! It was not long
before Les was looking a bit pissed. When he went to the pissoir I
followed and gave him the brown paper envelope. He staggered as he came
back to where we were sitting.
Suddenly he turned to the sergeant and said “Get me a car, phone and get
me a car.” I knew that he was feeling a bit worse for wear because of the
enormous amount of alcohol he had consumed!
When the sergeant had gone I started to speak to the inebriated Les. “Les
can I have a licence for a shop” I asked. I had always wanted my own shop.
It was a real money maker and I could use it as a warehouse in Soho to
supply the shops and possible have some processing equipment in there too.
“Come on Les, can I have shop? I pleaded.
“No more shops in Soho,” Les replied.
“Ahh Les….”
“Victoria is the new place…if you behave yourself…where is my car? Les
slurred out the words.
Suddenly he gave an involuntary spasm and despite him holding his mouth
closed a thin trickle of vomit trickled down the trench coat that he was
wearing.
I took the silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit and wiped
off the vomit, stuffing the soiled cloth into his pocket.
“Come on Les. Let’s get you outside,” I said.” The fresh air will do you
good.”
Alton was a big man and with an enormous effort I managed to manoeuvre his
huge bulk out into Peter Street and prop him up against the wall of the
pub.
As luck would have it I spied a taxi parked on the corner of Wardour
Street. I waved and beckoned to the driver, who was off duty eating a
sandwich. But he gave a sign that he was not interested in taking a
passenger who was obviously drunk.
Just at that moment I spied an acquaintance called Joey Janes who worked
in a bookshop approaching down Berwick Street.
I gestured to Joey to come and help me but when he saw Lesley Alton, whom
he obviously recognised, he shook his head and carried on walking.
“Joey I shouted look” I pulled a twenty pound note from my bankroll in my
back pocket and waved it at Joey. “Look just give this to the taxi driver
at the end of the street and tell him that is a present from me and he
will get his fare as well if he takes my passenger, who is ill, home to
Esher in Surrey.
Joey nodded “All right my boy” he said and walked along to the end of
Peter Street where the taxi driver was still parked on the corner of
Wardour Street. I saw the taxi driver take the cash and Joey beckoned but
sped off.
With a supreme effort I got my shoulder under Les’s saying “Look Les I
have got you a taxi all we have to do is get to the end of the street.” I
half carried the Head of the Porn Squad down Peter Street.
As I pushed him into the back door of the waiting taxi a big pile of brown
envelopes and cash poured onto the floor and the taxi driver’s eyes bulged
in surprise. I scooped up the cash and the envelopes and stuffed them back
into the big poacher’s pockets in Les trench coat.
“Take him to Esher, Surrey” I said to the taxi driver and he will give you
the fare and a nice drink at the other end.”
I laughed to myself as the taxi drove off up Wardour Street.
Continued 6 June 2007
I walked down the alley called Greens Court and into Monty’s shop. I knew
that it was one of Mason’s shops. The mysterious Mason had several shops
in Soho and all of them were earning a fortune. Monty was Jewish like most
of the people who worked for Mason. Monty looked at me through the serving
hatch in the wall that separated the front of the shop, which contained
legal material, and the inner sanctum of the backroom where all the
material books, photos and films where illegal. He pulled a string that
released a bolt and I entered the backroom. The room was full of customers
searching through the photos on the counters, which, like all the
bookshops, were placed in long wooded boxes labelled “singles, couples,
trios, groups, les, flag, juve, bondage, homo and animal. The juvenile
photos were real but most were old for the simple reason that if someone
sold underage (under sixteen) material to a shop, the shopkeeper had to
inform the porn squad and they were busted! I looked at a picture of a
young girl with an old man.
Monty looked over his glasses at me “I don’t like them with blokes, just
solo is all right. Do you know who she is with?”
“No” I replied with interest.
“It was her father!” Monty said with a chuckle. “Dirty bastard.”
I chuckled along with Monty. Then I noticed a photo of a middle-aged man
above the inside of the serving hatch. The caption “Do not serve this
man,” was written above the photograph .Customers had to look through this
hole in the wall to gain access to the backroom.
“Who is that guy? I questioned Monty.
Monty gave me a knowing look over the top of his glasses and rubbed his
pot belly. That’s Cyril Black the MP. (Don’t remember if this is the right
name) He used to come into the shops buy some porn then stand up in
Parliament with it. He’s an anti- porn campaigner who tries to get the
shops closed, but he can’t get served anywhere now!” Monty said with a
satisfied look on his face.
Where did you get the picture? “I asked.
“The dirty squad,” Monty replied.
I noticed that the Danish magazines that used to be on prominent display
had been taken down. “Hey where are all the Danish mags gone? I asked.
“Oh! We got the tip off that the Danish ambassador is coming round the
shops and the order is to take them all down until after he goes back to
Denmark.”
“Why is that Monty?” I asked.
“Because the Danes are complaining that it gives their county a bad image”
He sniggered. “Dirty Danes, they fucking legalised porn over there. The
mags are fucking legal out there and you can buy them in the newsagent.”
Monty looked indignant realising that he would be out of a job if this
happened in England.
I laughed to myself. From what I could hear a lot of countries were
following Denmark’s lead as sex crimes had fallen dramatically.
“Might happen here too” I said to Monty to get his response.
Monty’s face grew angry. “It will never happen here” he said indignantly.
“Do you know why?” he was raising his voice now and a couple of punters
looked over. He noticed this and lowered it to a normal pitch...
“Why Monty?” I pressed. I wanted to know why because I wanted pornography
to be made legal because then I would be one hundred per cent legitimate
myself.
“There is too fucking much money in it that’s’ why,” Monty said with
A snort of derision at my apparent naivety. Little did he know that I
wanted it legalised myself.
I walked around the corner to Walker’s Court past Raymond’s Revue Bar and
into the big front of the Walkers Court Bookshop. Ben looked through the
hatch and seeing it was me pulled the rope to unbolt the door to the inner
room. The backroom was very busy indeed with three co-owners Ben, Brian
and Bill manning the tills and serving constantly. I knew that they wee
taking a fortune because I supplied them and knew just how much they were
earning from my publications alone.
Fat Bill greeted me with a smile. “Hello Mickey. Do fancy going over to
the Toscana for lunch “
Bill looked at me his eyes reduced by his glasses to currants in a bun,
dancing with glee at the prospect of food.
He always reminded me of Billy Bunter but, of course, I never told him
that! “Okay Bill. Yes I fancy a meal.” I replied.
Bill turned to Ben and Brian. “Me and Mickey will be off to the Toscana in
a minute. All right?” Bill said to his partners.
They were busy serving and Brian replied all right Bill” and went back
serving.
Ben looked through the hatch. “Hold on the governor is here,” he said
pulling the bolt.
To my surprise Alton poked his head in the door and said, surveying the
crowded backroom with a smile of approval. “Everything all right! If
anyone wants to see me I’ll be in the Fox and Hounds.” He gave me an
approving look and I tried to smile.
Bill, Ben and Brian all nodded in obeisance and I realised then that it
was Les who ran Soho.
24th June 2007 continued
Joey James worked for Bernie who owned a large number of
bookshops and other establishments such as flats that he rented out to
business girls. I got to know Joey socially and although he was sixty four
his wife was only twenty four. His wife was about the same age as my wife
Sandra and as they got on together we would go out to eat or to the
Playboy Club in Park Lane. When I walked into Joey’s shop there was a guy
looking at the books, Joey did not greet me with his usual good humour but
was serious and seemed a little bit frightened. Then the big guy
introduced himself and I knew why because as soon as he said “Bernie” I
knew that I was talking to a very powerful and supposedly ruthless and
violent man.
I did not know why he wanted to take me “to lunch” but I
nodded and he guided me just a few feet into the Italian restaurant next
door. The owner obviously knew Bernie as he ran about drawing out chairs
and acting in an obsequious manner as though Bernie was the King. I looked
at Bernie who people called” the King of Soho.” He was smartly dressed in
a three piece suit and looked every inch the Jewish businessman.
Bernie looked at me and asked me if I needed any help in getting a
licence.
I smiled and thanked him and said that I was already paying someone from
the OPS Alton.
He nodded at this piece of information. He was a connoisseur of Italian
food and introduced me to some dishes that I had never tried before. After
the meal he said that he wanted me to accompany him and we walked through
the streets of Soho to a pub in Seville Row. It was past closing time but
the door opened as soon as Bernie peered through the glass.
We entered a big salon and sitting around the tables were groups of men,
Jews, Maltese, Greeks and Irish. Everyone nodded at Bernie and now at me
but no general conversation took place between the groups all who seemed
to know each other. I was the new guy here and some gave me hard looks
that I returned with equal intensity. I wore a three piece blue chalk
stripe suit with two vents. I swept back my jacket and stuck my thumbs in
the pockets of the waistcoat. I looked down and noticed that my black
leather handmade shoes were very shiny. I looked the part, a Soho hard
man: one of the chaps... I was only five feet nine but very muscular and
trained hard on the weights. I was beginning to think that Bernie had
brought me here to use me as a bit of muscle. I did not mind, even though
he had not asked me because he was a powerful guy and I wanted to be his
friend.
There were bowls of pistachio nuts on the table and the Greeks and Maltese
were continuously cracking them open. I reached down took some and started
to eat the little salty nuts myself. It was the ritual of cracking open
the little shell and prising out the green nut without breaking it.
The room now contained several groups and as no new people were arriving
everybody seemed to be waiting for someone.
Bernie was not saying much but then the door opened and a guy in a light
coloured trench coat opened the door and entered.
Bernie turned to me and said in a low voice “the governor of West End
Central.” His eyes met mine and the look implied that I was now the keeper
of some terrible secret.
I looked at the non descript man in the trench coat who did not seem to be
drinking a lot but made frequent rips to the toiled in which he stayed for
some time while people from the tables got up and visited the toilet.
Then it was Bernie’s turn and he got up and visited the toilet too.
Everyone sat there until the business was over and the “governor” had
left. As he walked out his poacher pockets bulging I realised that the
corruption in Soho did not start and end with Scotland Yard but the
uniform man in West End Central was playing the game too. It was a
peculiar meeting with Bernie and I did not see much of him after that day.
I expressed my surprise to Joey that Bernie had asked me to go with him to
the meeting in Seville Row but he did not seem to want to talk about it
but just repeated “Bernie is a very powerful man.” before he switched the
subject matter.
My children Billy and Laura were getting bigger now and I wanted to get
them into a private school. I was poor as a kid and went to Santley Street
Secondary Modern in Brixton. I remembered seeing “rich kids” in their
smart little uniforms and running after them with my mates, name calling
things likened “posh kid I am going to hit you,” and throwing stones as we
chased them enviously up the road.
My kids were going to get the best chance in life and with this in mind I
drove up Kings Avenue and into the driveway of the big mansion, set in
leafy grounds which I knew to be a private school.
Soon I was sitting in the large front room which was the head mistress’s
study and she was asking me questions.
“What is your name?
“Michael,” I answered in my posh voice.
“And your surname?”
“Muldoon” I replied awaiting the inevitable question.
“What part of Ireland do you come from?
“I was born here and so was my father ,it was my grandfather who was
Irish.”
The head mistress with her plummy accent studied me through her
spectacles. “And what part of Ireland did he come from?
“I am afraid that I don’t know I replied.
All I knew about him was that they called him flash Mick and he was a
money lender and owned a library and a greengrocers shop in Lark hall lane
in South London.
The woman was speaking again.
How old is your daughter Mr Muldoon?
“Er, nearly four,” I replied.
“And what is your occupation?
“I own a film processing laboratory” I replied.
“Oh I see,” she replied.
My big brand new car was outside and my handmade suit, shirt, shoes, gold
watch and diamond ring broadcast my wealth. I knew that I could afford the
fees.
“Well Mr Muldoon it is far too late for your daughter to come here because
one has to put their name down before birth.” she said in a superior way
smiling condescendingly on this working class boy from Brixton. My vision
of my daughter dressed in the smart little uniform of this posh school
vanished in a puff of disillusion at my lowly origins.
I had been in a flat with Brian once near Holloway prison, a council flat
and over the mantelpiece was a picture of Alton, Ben and Brian on horses,
dressed in all the riding gear. I was surprised t see this fraternity
between off duty coppers and sex shop owners and Brian had informed me
that they “all sent their children to the same schools” and fraternised
together. I never took things this far the same as I never went to the pub
in Soho Square where the OPS and shop keepers drank together.
The head mistress was speaking to me. “I can recommend
another private school in Streatham”
I drove out of the big mansion and onto the South Circular and up to the
address that the woman had given me. Soon I was seated inside the cosy
little study talking to the principal who was a tweedy looking woman in
her Sixties.
How old is your daughter?
“She is nearly four,” I replied.
“Oh you have left it a bit late, haven’t you Mr Muldoon?”
I had a disappointed look on my face and was beginning to think that I was
not going to be able to get my daughter into the school. Having a daughter
in a private school was a status symbol that I wanted. I could show people
in Brixton that I was rich and I knew that I wanted it for that reason and
not just to give my daughter a better chance in life. I wanted everything
that rich people had.
The principal was talking to me. The fees are £??? So much a term. (I
can’t remember) I smiled because I was being accepted and the sum was
quite reasonable and affordable.
“Do call me Michael wont you?” I replied. Yes madam I can write you out a
cheque now. Not for the term but for the whole year.
The woman’s eyes lit up and I thought that this was more like it, “money
talked!”
I pulled out my gold Parker pen and signed with a flourish. I had got the
pen from Brian who regularly bought gold, silver and precious things from
a character that would visit the walkers Court shop. I myself had acquired
watches, rings and pieces of expensive jewellery for my wife and bargain
prices.
My diamond sparkled as I put the pen back into my pocket.
I was pleased as my daughter would now start at the school in a few weeks
time!
“Have you any other children Michael? The kind looking woman was asking
me.
“Yes a boy William who is nearly three I smiled.
“Well would you like him to come to nursery school? The principal asked.
“Oh I did not realise that he could come I smiled pleased at the thought
that he could come too.
I pulled out my cheque book again and paid other years fees for my son
too. The principal gave me the address of the school outfitters and Sandra
took both my children there the next day
Continued 3rd July 2007
As I walked around the Soho sex-shops my films and
photos were in every shop, I was supplying about eighty per cent of the
material sold in the bookshops. Not for nothing had Alton given me the
code name “Mr King” for I was the porn king of Soho. I made a delivery of
new sets of photos every week and a new film every month. I was prolific.
I went around Soho every week to obtain orders on new
material but this particular week I was told that the order had come from
the OPS that no-one was to sell hardcore. The OPS would telephone the
shops to say that a raid was imminent and that no stuff was to be left in
the shops. Most of the shops obeyed but one or two rebels like Flash Mick
in St Anne’s Court disobeyed and worked out of a suitcase that could
quickly disappear. Flash Mick had a special chute under the counter into
which the suitcase would be put in the event of a raid and two touts
acting as lookouts at either end of the alley St Anne’s Court! When I
walked into his shop the Irishman’s eyes lit up in amusement because he
was fucking the system.
“To be sure I am earning a fucking fortune be Jasus” he said with a broad
smile. The two carat diamond ring on his pinkie flashed and glittered and
as he laughed a gold tooth glittered too in his mouth.
He knew that I was of Irish descent and that I really hated the corrupt
porn squad and resented paying them money like he did.
He ordered twice his usual order because the punters went round to his
shop knowing that he would not obey the order not to work. Another guy in
St Anne’s Court also was a rebel and worked out of a suitcase too. When I
walked into Bobby Katz’s shop he was laughing too because he was earning
double his usual take. He was a Jewish guy who I had become really
friendly.
Bobby liked to drink and we would go to Muriel’s in Soho and drink until
the early hours of the morning. We were regulars at Muriel’s and when we
entered we would be slagged off by Muriel, the lesbian owner and Ian
Bannen her queer partner.
“Hello Doris” Muriel would greet me “have you sucked off any big cocks
lately?” This was a typical greeting and the rule was that one did not get
offended and merely laughed at the old dyke or her partner the queer Ian.
When he had imbibed a few whiskeys Bobby’s head would start to turn at a
360 degree angle and he would emit a kind of snorting sound. This was
ignored by me and everyone else.
Bobby was an ex inmate of Belsen and when he was inebriated he would tell
us about his life in the labour camps.
“They wanted unpaid labour, slaves to work in their factories. There were
brick buildings, flats in which we lived and every SS officer was assigned
a certain number of Jewish slaves and he got paid for the labour which we
did.” When Bobbie spoke there was a respectful silence and he would show
us the tattooed number on is arm that identified him as a slave of the
Third Reich. The stories of cruelty and suffering that he would tell in
his cups remained in my psyche forever we would drink until the early
hours of the morning and stagger out into the Soho night to drive home,
blind
Drunk.
One of the regulars was Francis Bacon the painter and I would often join
his circle because Francis was fascinated by pornography and loved to talk
about it, He would squeeze my knee and come onto to me because he liked
muscular guys like me. I also enjoyed his company and he would buy every
round of drinks while regaling us with tales of his queer love life and
the art world. One particular story I liked was when he received a
commission to do a painting. He sat down in front of the canvas but the
sitter wanted a bigger canvas. He hen got a huge canvas but would not let
the commissioner see the work until he was paid thirty six thousand
pounds. He then revealed a tiny portrait in the middle of a huge canvass!
When I went to one of the biggest shops in Soho. Mason’s
shop in Moore Street I was told to go out of the door and enter the first
doorway on the right and go up to the first floor. I followed the
directions, walking past a sign that said “model second floor” and knocked
on the first floor door as instructed. The door was opened by Chico who
smiled and said “Come on in Mickey.”
I entered the crowded room which was full of punters leafing through sets
of photos, books and films. I realised that they were earning a fortune.
Serving all the eager punters were Monty, Chico and Bobby Vinn who smiled
and nodded a greeting. The order was massive because they were working
during the shut down.
However the enterprise came on top when Monty saw a shop lifter stuffing
some sets of photos into his inside pocket.
“Hey you” Monty shouted and with this the thief jumped straight through
the window and landed with a shower of glass onto the Soho pavement in
Moore Street. Unluckily for Monty, Chico and Bobby Vinn a passing
uniformed police officer was in the vicinity and came running over to lift
up the man on the pavement. As he did so the stolen photos and so on fell
out onto the Soho pavement of Moore Street. The police officer marched the
punter back up the stairs and rapped on the door indicated by the punter
thief.
When the door was opened Monty, Chico and Bobby Vinn had blended into the
punters.
The police officer said “Look when you tell me who is running the show
here, then the rest of you can go home.”
The punters did no say much but all eyes swivelled onto the three Jewish
entrepreneurs.
The uniformed man said, pointing at Monty, Chico and Bobby Vinn. “All you
lot can go home but you three remain here for questioning.
The Porn Squad was called in from the Yard and the guilty three were for
the high jump because they were not playing the game in breach of their
licence.
I went into Chico’s shop a week
Later and he told me that the Porn Squad had fined them a few grand for
disobeying orders.
“Did you pay? I asked.
“We had to Mickey” he replied.
Continued 8th July 2007
As I entered Walker’s Court Bookshop Fat Bill greeted me
with an excited look on his face. “Woofy is waiting for you at Lyons
Corner House. He met a girl called Susan, a right dirty bitch. Blimey”
Bill wiped his brow, and took a breath. He was panting, his little black
eyes dancing with glee behind his spectacles. “I had her in here, stuffed
a fucking great dildo up her arse and cunt, and she fucking loved it! Go
on down to Lyons where Woofy is hanging onto her for you. She is fucking
hot.”
I walked out of Walker’s Court Bookshop, turned right into Walker’s Court,
and crossed Berwick Street, down Wardour Street, hurrying towards Lyon’s
in Leicester Square. I certainly wanted to meet this girl and my cock was
already signalling little twinges of anticipation.
I reached Lyon’s Corner House and peered through the window. Woofy saw me
and smiled and got up from the table where he was sitting with a beautiful
girl who had long blonde hair down to her shoulders. Woofy shook my hand
and I gave him a fiver. He said, “She has been waiting over an hour to
meet you and I said that you are the top man.”
“Thanks Woofy” I replied. “I won’t forget this.” Woofy was a tout who
worked in Soho every day and who was useful in many ways because he knew
everyone and everything.
I walked up to the table where the blonde girl, who wore a bright red suit
with a short skirt and red high heels, sat. “I’m Mickey,” I said as I sat
down.
The blonde who wore bright red lipstick to match her ensemble smiled,
showing a gleaming row of white teeth. “Woofy told me all about you,” she
said.
“Really” I replied” I hope that it was all good.”
“He told me that you make the blue films and that is why I am here!” she
said with a blush and a nervous laugh.
As I gazed into her blue eyes and listened to her I detected a slight
Northern accent.
“So what do you do at the moment” I asked, curious as to why a girl like
this wanted to be in dirty films.
“I am a hairdresser” she replied” I work in a shop in Brixton, in the
parade, just before the Town hall.
I knew the shop she descried. “Why do you want to be in the films?” I
asked.
“Because I like sex” she said with a laugh. As she spoke I notice that her
top lip curled slightly. She was really dirty I knew that immediately and
I wanted to get her somewhere alone.
“Come on” I said. Standing up. “Where do you live?
“Lordship Lane Dulwich” she replied.
I got my car out of the Denman Street car park and drove towards South
London. There was a sense of urgency in my driving and because of the way
Susan looked at me I knew that I was going to fuck her. I looked over at
her and at her thighs which were revealed by her short skirt riding up. I
noticed that she was sitting on her heel and that she was grinding her
cunt up against it. My cock became rock hard and I said to her.
“I am going to fuck you when we get to your place”
She laughed nervously, blushed and moved up and down again on her heel.
I pulled up outside her flat in Lordship Lane under a tree and got out.
Our hands clasped each other like lovers as we walked up the path of the
house. She took her keys out of her bag and quickly unlocked the door and
we went up the stairs to her first floor flat. I could see her little
black knickers that were halfway up her arse and my cock was already hard
and sticky. As we got inside the room we embraced passionately and she
pressed her lips so hard against my mouth that our teeth ground against
together. In her bedroom I got my cock up her quickly and she gasped with
pleasure as I began fucking her.
“Oh yes, oh yes,” she kept repeating.
I began turning her around and bent her over her single bed. Her buttocks
were white, round and smooth and unblemished. I noticed that she was a
natural blonde and that she had a few freckles on her milky white skin. I
was worked up now and began talking dirty to her. “You are a dirty girl
aren’t you?”
“Yes I am, a dirty girl” she gasped obviously loving this game.
“Do you know what I do to dirty girls like you?
“No” she said wriggling and pressing her cunt against me. “I smack their
bums until they are really red and then fuck them up the arse.” I replied
now really carried away.
I started to smack her milky buttocks and she started to go red
immediately.
She turned her face towards me and asked” Are you doing this because you
know that I like it because you like it?”
The way she said this blew my mind made me reach the point of no return
and I pushed my cock into her arse and came and came and came.
She really was a hairdresser and very highly sex. What the psychiatrists
of the day called a “nymphomaniac. After that day I used her to make
thousands of photographs and dozens of films. I also used to use her flat
as a location.
I had been paying the OPS for a couple of years now and often wondered
what sort of protection I had. One eyed Jimmy had introduced me to a
couple of Greek girls who worked in Soho and I had taken them to Susan’s
flat along with Gordon Smith, who worked for me, and a male performer whom
I had never used before. The two girls were pretty with dark wavy hair and
large breasts. When the guy that I had not used before took his trousers
off everyone saw immediately that his penis was diminutive. One of the
girls looked at it in dismay making a face of disapproval, pointing at it.
Gordon had a smirk on his face and a satisfied expression as he paraded
his manhood in front of the girls. I was wondering what to do when there
was a loud knocking on the door.
“Mickey, it’s the police came Susan’s voice.
“Oh fuck off” I replied thinking that she was joking.
“It really is the police cried Susan plaintively.
Then a gruff male voice said “open this door now or we will break it down.
We know what you are doing in there.”
I walked up to the camera, took out the film and hid it. Then I shouted “I
am making a glamour film.” Before opening the door.
Two detectives entered neither of whom I had seen before. One of them
pulled out his warrant card and said I am DC Smithers of the Obscene
Publications Squad and this is DS Symons from Peckham.
“Pleased to meet you, now as I said I was making a glamour film and that
is not against the law is …”
“Shut up will you” Smithers said. Cutting me short. “You were reported by
a member of the public who could see through the frosted glass in the
bathroom. He phoned the police at Peckham.”
I knew already that making pornography was not an arrestable offence and
that the porn squad had the monopoly of investigation no matter where the
situation was.
Smithers looked at me with a knowing look on his face. “I would like to
speak to you alone in the other room.” I followed him glancing round at
the worried looks on the performer’s faces. Gordon’s face had turned a
sickly white and the new boy was trembling. It was all so amusing. I
followed Smithers and his colleague into the other room and he closed the
door. Once inside all pretence was dropped.
“Okay Michael I know that you are paying into the office and I am just
going to give you and the others a verbal warning before I leave. My
advice is to pack up your gear and get out of here and don’t use this
place again.
I smiled surprised at how open Smithers was in front of the Peckham
detective who seemed to find Smithers’ behaviour quite natural and also I
was quite pleased to discover that my licence really did work. I put my
hand into my back pocket and without taking out the big roll of notes
peeled off forty quid which I then took out and offered to the two
detectives.
“No Mickey, you are already paying, there is no need…”
“Go on” I pleaded extending my hand with the filthy lucre. “Please take it
and have a drink on me.”
The notes quickly disappeared into the officers’ pockets and we all began
moving into the front room where all the actors and Susan stood looking
nervous and afraid.
Smithers spoke with authority addressing Susan. “This is your flat young
lady and because you did not know what it was going to be used for, all I
am saying to you is do not let your flat be used in this way again.” He
then turned to the others. “My advice to you lot is to get your things
together and go home.”
With that Smithers left the room and walked down the stairs with his
brother officer. I stood there listening as their car started up and drove
away.
“Go on you” I said to the new boy,” off you go while you have the chance.
With that he scuttled out of the room. I grinned at the others and noticed
that the colour was returning to Gordon’s face.
“We can finish off the film now” I said to the surprised crew.
As I drove away after completing the shoot Gordon gave me a funny look.
“You are paying the police, aren’t you?
“Don’t be silly Gordon,” I replied, “it is just because making pornography
is not an offence and it is only if you are caught publishing it that they
can do anything.”
Gordon looked at me a smirk on his face. “If you think that I believe that
bollox…”
“It is not bollox Gordon it is the truth” I protested.
Continued 13th July.
The phone was ringing and I picked it up.
Voice: Hello Mickey, this is Gerry. I am out.
I was stunned and at first I did not know what to say to this voice from
the past. Yes I had given him my telephone number.
“Where are you?” I asked.
I am in the Falcon in Soho.”
“Okay son I will be right over” I replied.
I walked out of the flat and got into my car and drove down Stockwell Road
to the Embankment. I was in Soho in fifteen minutes and I drove into
Denman Street car- park, left the keys in the car and jumped out, the
attendant who knew me as a regular customer waved. He would park my motor
as usual.
I entered the Falcon pub and Gerry was there at the bar. Soon we were
chatting and reminiscing about old time and about our time in the nick.
The alcohol loosened my tongue and soon I was boasting about being the
biggest pornographer in Soho.
“You need a new set of clobber” I said to Gerry.
The little Jewish tailor sat in his workshop in Wardour Street on the
second floor crossed legged sewing by hand the garments of the self
proclaimed aristocracy of Soho. “The chaps” as they were called all had
their suits made by this little Jewish tailor. Gerry stood there while
Hymie stitched the liners and stiffeners directly onto his body. Then came
the ritual of ripping off the arms.
Gerry loved it all and I was treating him right because I wanted him to be
my muscle in Soho, my soldier who would defend me without equivocation I
any gangsters tried to put protection on me.
Back in my flat I gave him a nice stake and wished him the best of luck
then he explained to me that he did not want a job at the moment but was
going to spend some time with his girlfriend Pamela. I understood that at
the moment all he could think about was sex!
Being an entrepreneur I quickly became tired of the terms of my “licence.”
The first rule I broke was no mail-order. Roy said to me that nothing went
on in the office without him knowing about it and he would be my inside
man for a small monthly fee. So I started the mail-order business. First
of all I had a front company selling soft-core films by post and then
after an interval I sent a mail shot offering hardcore. I started to hire
out cheap offices in run down areas of London. Soon I was making a fortune
and opening letters filled with banknotes.
Every thousand customers were allocated a different address and I had an
addressed, stamped letter ready saying that this is a notification of a
change of address and in future to use this new address.
Months went by until the first one came on top and I got the tip off from
Roy as promised. It was early one morning
“Don’t go over to Peckham today,” Roy’s voice said on the phone. The
landlord has identified you and said that you drive a big American car.”
Then the phone went dead.
I shouted out to my wife Sandra that I was going out on urgent business
and ran downstairs and jumped into my Toyota Crown and headed for Peckham
and the rented office that Roy had warned me not to visit. As I drove I
pushed a button and the electric aerial went up, I looked through the blue
tinted windows and admired a reflection of my car in a shop window as I
stopped at a set of traffic lights. The white walled tyres looked cool. It
did look like an American car. I was nearing the office now and I knew
that the porn squad were inside robbing all my customers’ money and
waiting for me to pick up my mail. I pulled up across the road. I took out
a pair of small, but powerful binoculars, from the glove compartment and
waited for the postman. I waited over an hour. I smoked a pipe of hash and
listened to some Floyd then I saw him approaching. I took out a business
card with the address printed on and a phoney company name and then
approached the postman.
“Excuse me” I said showing the card. “I am in a bit of a hurry and have
just left the office. Do you think that I could have my mail?
The postman gave me a large amount of envelopes secured by an elastic
band.
“Thank you” I said and walked across to my car and drove off to one of my
other rented offices in Catford and collected the mail, then off to the
last one in Clapham North. The last one was was never raided, because it
was a small lock-up shop I had secured from Bill the Dustman and he had
arranged for me to pay a small sum to the governor at Clapham nick. There
I picked up a sack containing a thousand names from the Peckham office. I
went to the sorting office in Venn Street Clapham and posted them as
sorted mail. I knew that they would get there by tomorrow morning and the
porn squad officers waiting for more of my money to drop through the
letterbox would be disappointed. I wish that I could see their faces!
I was doing well now and wrote a letter to my sister and brother-in-law in
Australia that I would give them a stake in my business if they would come
home.
Collecting my mail I noticed a letter with the tell tale blue lines
showing through the envelope-it was a prison letter. I opened it and much
to my surprise it was from Gerry who was in Wandsworth Prison and enclosed
was a Visiting Order.
I entered the big iron gates of Wandsworth Prison this time as a visitor
and not as an inmate. This hell hole had a reputation for being the
toughest prison in England. They screws were fond of beating up the
inmates. I was glad that I was not one of them.
The visiting room was crowded and as I waited for Gerry I noticed a guy
with whom I had fought in the recess in Pentonville when I did 18 months
for publishing porn. His name was Dougie McKinnon a professional boxer who
had been immortalised in the film A Kid for Two Farthings. A brassy blonde
was visiting him and he was kissing her across the table. I nodded in
respect and he nodded back. Then Gerry came walking in. He was a tall,
muscular guy with a thick neck and handsome good looks. He sat down and I
asked him if he wanted a tea or coffee. We sat drinking a cup of tea
served by the WVS who always seem to be aged old ladies and with whom one
could exchange a few pleasantries in the midst of so much suffering. Wives
and girlfriends wiped away tears, angry words were exchanged and children
stared in puzzlement as their dads remained behind when the brief visit of
twenty minutes ended...
“So what happened?” I asked Gerry.
He looked at me and grinned. “I had a row with my girlfriend Pamela and
she called the Old Bill. Anyway when they arrived I chinned them and I
ended up being charged with GBH!”
“I supposed that you were pissed at the time?”
“Yeah I was. Look Mickey can you help me. I need a letter from an employer
to say that I was working and to give me a bit of a reference.”
“Sure Gerry. I will do that.”
A screw walked up to the table. He had a slashed peak and tried his best
to look like an SS officer. “Your time is up Hawley. End of visit.” He
growled.
Gerry looked at me the anger showing in his reddening features. He got up
saying ”see you pal” and was led away with a rattle of keys.
Outside the prison I breathed a sigh of relief and got into my car quickly
driving away from Wandsworth Common and the grim old Victorian prison.
Later I got a letter from Gerry’s solicitor and I said that I had employed
him for a few months and that he was a hard worker who had a problem with
alcohol. I added that he should receive a sentence where he could be
treated for his drinking problems. I typed it all out on my company
notepaper and sent it off.
I got a letter of thanks from Gerry telling me that his solicitor had used
it in court and he had got a light sentence of 21 months. I felt that I
had done him a big favour but he had lied to me and if I had known what he
had really done I would never had helped him.
The flat next door to me was empty and it was up for sale. I wanted it for
my brother-in-law so I went to the estate agents in Streatham High Road,
drove my car up onto the pavement outside and walked into the offices.
The estate agent was also a car dealer as I had seen the same name outside
a car dealer’s showrooms. I explained that I wanted the flat next to mine
for my sister and brother-in-law.
The estate agent looked at me and said”sorry but the flat has been let.”
“Look” I said “I will give you a year’s rent now if you let me have it.” I
took out my cheque book and my gold Parker pen and started to write the
cheque.
The estate agent looked at me and picked up the phone. “Tell the client
for the Stockwell Road flat that we made a mistake because the flat has
already been let.
I gave the cheque to the estate agent who said. “What do you do for a
living?”
“I am a photographer” I replied
“Oh an artist, I see no wonder you are so emotional.
As I drove home with the good news I realised that money could buy most
things in life.
It was a hot summer’s day as I headed for Pett`s Wood in Kent. Susan sat
beside me in the car and Pat and Ginger and Gordon were in the backseat...
I looked down at Susan’s white freckled legs as her skirt rode up to
reveal her thighs. My cock gave a little stir and she noticed me looking
down at her legs and gave me a sexy smile. We were off to make a film in
the countryside on a nice summer’s day and everyone was in a good mood.
Gordon was saying something to Ginger about acid, which I understood to be
LSD.
“What did you say” I asked with curiosity.
“I said that there were some magic strawberry fields going around” Gordon
said.
“Do you mean LSD” I replied a cautionary tone to my voice.” You want to
keep away from that stuff haven’t you heard about the guy that tried to
fly and killed himself?”
Gordon and Ginger started giggling and Gordon relied. “Yeah everyone’s
heard about the guy but no-one seems to know who he is. The Beatles are
always on it and they write their best material when they are tripping.
“Strawberry Fields forever” he started to sing in a fairly good imitation
of the Beatles.
“It is fucking dangerous stuff and it sends you crazy” I retorted.
“What if I said to you that me and Jimmy are on it now and that we are
tripping” Gordon replied.
Ginger giggled “Yeah and me too”
“Oh fuck off you are just fucking having me on,” I replied with disbelief
because both of them seemed their usual self and the papers had been full
of scare stories about bad trips and so on.
Gordon held out his hand and there were two tiny tabs in his palm. “There
you are these are strawberry fields,” he said.
“What are they like? I asked in curiosity.
“Great” Gordon replied “everything is so beautiful out here in the
country.”
“Can you get a hard on when you are on them?” I enquired.
“Well I always do” Gordon laughed.
“Well give me one then” I said impulsively stretching out my hand over the
front seat towards him.
“Don’t take them Mickey” Pat said a worried look on her face.
I popped the little pink tablet into my mouth. It was so small that I
couldn’t see it having a great effect. Soon everyone’s faces were taking
on a rosy glow and as I looked at the girls I could see the desire on
their faces and smell their hot little cunts. My cock became hard like a
rock and began to push against my trousers. I started to feel Susan’s legs
and put my hand up her skirt. “I feel so fucking horny” I exclaimed.
Gordon and Ginger laughed their approval in the back seat and only Pat
seemed a bit nervous. As I looked at her beautiful face in the mirror I
wanted to fuck her.
I looked at the petrol gauge and saw that I needed petrol. I pulled in at
the nearest petrol station and began to fill up. “Anyone want anything?” I
asked.
I walked over to where they sold drinks and ordered three cokes and two
packets of crisps. On the way back to the car I spotted two attractive
girls. Soon I was chatting to them. “You are lovely looking” I said to one
of them.
“Do you think so? “She replied smiling at my flattery. Her lips seemed to
be really red and luscious like ripe fruit and I could see how white her
teeth were and how pink her tongue was inside her mouth. My cock became
hard and I wanted to fuck her there and then in the garage. “I am making a
film today” I said with a smile.
“What kind of film” the girl replied her mate giggling.
“A sex film” I said do you want to be in it?
“I don’t even know you” The girl replied.
I drove off in the car chortling at my audacity. “Fucking hell I don’t
even know them, never seen them before and I asked them if they wanted to
be in a sex film.”
Everyone laughed.
We were near Pett’s Wood now and I pulled off the side of the road. I
opened the boot and took out my Bolex 16mm cine camera and some film.
“Come on this way “I ordered climbing over a fence. The land was deserted
and I guessed that it was some kind of nature reserve as it stretched for
miles. We walked further and further until we were away from the road and
in a deserted spot. “This will be fine” I said. I sat down and the others
looked at me expectantly. I pulled out my pipe and began to fill it with a
bit of Lebanese red that I had scored recently then I realised that I was
tripping. I noticed that the grass looked really green and the flowers
that dotted the Kent countryside were so colourful and bright, their sweet
perfume filling the air, the sound of birds singing and bees buzzing. I
saw the world with a sense of wonder and awe that I had never experienced
before. I felt a tear roll down my face. “It is so beautiful I said to the
others.
Gordon smiled “Yes it is isn’t it.”
“Hey is it all right to smoke when you are tripping?” I asked Gordon.
“Of course” Gordon replied.” You can do anything that you like. Everything
is possible.”
I lit up my pipe and deeply inhaled. I felt a sense of peace and had the
urge to start filming. I loaded a spool of film into the Bolex and began
winding it up.” It was brilliant this camera. No Batteries just a reliable
clockwork motor made by the Swiss.” I thought.
“What I want you to imagine” I said to them all “Is that you are out in
the countryside with your girlfriends. You have brought them out here, to
this deserted place in the hope that you will be able to have sex with
them. First I want you all to walk down that hill until I shout stop, and
then when I make this sign-I began to twirl my arm above my head- begin to
walk back up the hill towards the camera.
As they walked down the hill I began to set the camera up on the tripod. I
looked through it and got them in the viewfinder and they were laughing
and chatting. I pressed the button and the clockwork motor began to whir
reassuringly. They reached the bottom not knowing that I was already
filming them. Through the camera the scene was of two pretty girls out
with their boyfriends in the countryside. “Stop” I shouted. I had them in
the viewfinder and focused in. I made the twirling signal and they began
to walk up the hill towards me. The girls looked pretty and their skirts
and their petticoats fluttered in the slight breeze. Both had ribbons in
their hair and tied their long hair back as I wanted. They stumbled a bit
on the grassy slope because they still wore their stilettos. They giggled
and the boys held their hands and steadied them. As they neared me I
shouted “Just walk past the camera and sit down there on the grass.
Through the camera the girls looked inviting their skirts riding up and
showing glimpses of their knickers. “Just start kissing and fondling the
girls “I instructed. “Take you time, and girls, push their hands away at
first and play hard to get. What I was getting now was a realistic
enactment of the contemporary Sixties girl who had to put up a bit of
resistance before she would let you do anything and it was this lead up to
the sex that I found so erotic. “Put your hand inside their blouses now.
Girls let them feel your tits and put their hand inside your bras. Now
girls let them start feeling up your skirts, that’s it keep kissing each
other. What a pretty sight it was the girls lying back in the grass their
petticoats up. “Now slide your hands inside their knickers. Don’t take
them off yet but just pull them to one side to show their cunts. The
girl’s blouses were open and their knickers pulled to one side: Pat’s cunt
was slightly hairy with the colour the same as her brown hair while
Susan’s was blonde. I could see that both their cunts were wet and
glistening with love juice. “Get their cocks out”, I said. The girls took
out the boys massive cocks which were stiffly erect. “Now play with them
and smile at each other. That’s it; now begin licking around the top.” As
I looked through the camera I was a voyeur unseen, watching two young
girls and their boyfriends having sex. My cock started to get really hard
and I felt it go wet and sticky inside my trousers. When this happened I
knew that I was getting some erotic footage that would turn people on.
“Now change over partners” I commanded. The girls smiled at each other and
changed boyfriends as though it was the most natural thing in the world
but I knew that this was crossing the line of acceptable behaviour and I
was depicting the taboo. “Now fuck “I said. “That’s it, this is a film so
you can fuck them as hard as you like. Now change partners again. Now Pat
you hold Gordon’s cock as it goes into Susan and Susan you suck off
Jimmy.” I had the couples doing every sexual permutation I could think of
then I shouted: “Cut, that’s it. All we want now is a finishing scene. I
want you to run after the girls as they run away from you naked. The boys
had done so much fucking and had both come twice that their penises were
flaccid and flopped between their legs. “Okay roll them” I shouted and the
girls ran down the hill with the boys chasing them but the peculiar thing
was as they ran their floppy penises became erect!” I thought that running
after naked females and watching their bouncing buttocks had evoked an
instinctive response. It certainly looked great on the film.
On the way back to London I pulled out some banknotes and paid everyone
off for the day’s work.
Pat turned and said. “I don’t really want the money Mickey.”
I was surprised and asked. “Well why do you do it then?
“Just for the fun of it” she replied.
“Okay it is all right to do it for the fun, but one day you may need the
money. I want you to open a Post Office savings account and stick the
money into it.”
I handed her the money and she gave me a little smile and put it into her
handbag. I dropped her off at the end of her road in Tulse Hill and then
the two boys at East Dulwich railways station. Alone with Susan in the car
I could tell that she was getting horny again because she was sitting on
her heel and grinding her crotch into her shoe. I pulled up outside her
flat in Lordship Lane and looked over at her. “I have got to get home”
said. “It’s getting late. I promised to take Sandra out for a meal.
“Oh just come in for a little while” she said looking at me with a really
lustful expression.
“Look if I come in I will just fuck you up the arse and go” I said my cock
getting hard at the thought.
Susan looked at me and replied” Come on then.”
I followed her up the stairs to her flat, looking up her skirts, seeing
the way her tight black knickers went up her crotch and arse. Inside her
flat I bent her over an armchair and pulled up her skirts, pulled down her
black knickers to just below her bum and pushed my wet cock into her anus.
She gave a sigh of pleasure as it went in. This was the first girl that I
had ever known who preferred anal sex. Her anus was tight around my cock
as I thrust in and out. As I neared orgasm I shouted. “You dirty fucking
bitch, you love my big cock right up your arse don’t you?”
“Yes I love it,” she gasped her breathe coming faster and faster and her
eyes rolling up in her head. I pulled her long blonde hair making her look
round at me.
“I am going to shoot my hot spunk right up your arse,” I exclaimed
excitedly. “Do you want that?
“Oh yes, Mickey” she groaned “Oh yes!”
I shot my spunk right up her arse my legs going weak as I shot my load. I
pulled out my dripping cock, the spunk going all over my trousers and
stopping off at the tiny bathroom halfway down the stairs where I washed
my cock and wiped the spunk off my trousers with Susan’s flannel. I got in
my car and headed home.
Sandra would be waiting for me and as I had promised to take her to an
Italian restaurant, the Toscana tonight. I looked at my watch. It was only
half seven…
Updated 16 July 2007
Another rule that I broke was the “no export rule”. I had
sold photos to a guy called Walter and I knew that he had sold my
photographs in Hamburg. I thought that I could do some business myself so
I went over to Hamburg and the red light district but did not find any
contacts there but I had heard that the red light district of Amsterdam
had bookshops.
My plane touched down at Schipol and I went outside and caught a taxi into
Amsterdam. A walk around the Seedijk soon discovered numerous porn shops.
I realized here was a new market for me. I got a plane home and collected
box tops from my best selling films and a copy of each one then I caught
the next plane out and started to tour the shops. One of the first shops I
went to was the Souvenir Shop in the Seedijk where I showed the owner the
box tops of my titles. He was very interested and also spoke a bit of
English and told me to come back at about 6pm and meet him outside the
bookshop.
I went back to my hotel the Port van Cleefs and collected the 8mm films. I
returned to the Souvenir Shop at 6pm and Henk was waiting for me. I
climbed into his car and he drove me to his house. Inside one of the rooms
an 8mm projector had been set up and several Dutchman, whom I understood
to be bookshop owners, were the audience. My films were put on and there
were gasps of obvious surprise and approval as they saw that some of my
titles were in colour.
The Dutch bookshop owners made big orders on the films that they had seen
and promised me cash if I could deliver.
I went back to London and realised that if I could deliver then I would be
getting thousands of pounds per delivery.
I contacted a guy I knew called Andy whom I paid £200 to take the films to
Amsterdam and leave them in the left luggage department of Amsterdam
Centraal Railway Station. I duly collected the two suitcases full of films
and went to the Souvenir Shop and informed Henk that I had the order and
it was now in Amsterdam.
That night I met him at his house again.
The Dutch sex shop owners were waiting for me and paid up in cash. I left
Henk’s house with my pockets stuffed with large denomination Guilder
banknotes. This was better than Soho where the shopkeepers often expected
credit.
In the morning I visited a Dutch bank in the Damrak and pulled out my huge
wad of Guilders. I said that I wanted it all changed into Sterling. They
did not have enough so I took what they had and went to a second bank to
change up the remainder. Then I went to Schipol and caught another plane
back to London Airport my pockets bulging with money. I was earning a
fortune now, the Soho shops, the mail-order and now the Amsterdam Seedijk.
I was becoming rich beyond my dreams.
Walkers Court Bookshop did not have a toilet and I felt like a piss. I
walked across the alley to Jimmy Humphries bookshop. It was one of the few
shops in Soho that I did not supply. I said “Hello” to the stocky guy in
the legal upstairs shop. “I just want to use the downstairs toilet for a
piss” I said to the guy walking towards the staircase that led down to the
illegal shop downstairs.
The guy immediately stepped in front of me and blocked my way. “Fuck off
you cunt” he snarled giving me a hard look.
“Do you know who I am” I said.” Mickey Muldoon I make the films”
At first I thought that he did not know who I was and that I was just a
punter.
“Fuck off cunt” he replied and he moved aggressively towards me and threw
a punch which I dodged. Then I hit retaliated punching him squarely on the
jaw. He fell down the stairs and lay at the bottom unconscious. I had
knocked him out.
I went out of Walkers Court into a coffee bar around the corner and had a
long piss-I was bursting. Then I walked back to Walkers Court Bookshop and
told Fat Bill that I had just knocked out a guy in Jimmy Humphries shop.
“Fucking hell”, he replied “Jimmy is supposed to be a bit of gangster and
I think that the guy you knocked out was his father.” Brian and Ben were
listening and their faces took on serious expressions. They could have
told me to leave the shop but they did not. Underneath the counter was a
collection of weapons. I took a baseball bat and put it within arms reach.
I would not use weapons unless they tried to use them on me. Sure enough
two of Humphries men walked into the shop about twenty minutes later. One
was Nosher Powell the sometime actor and Humphries hard-man, the other I
had not seen before.
There were all snarls and bluster, shouting and so on “Why had I taken a
liberty with Jimmy’s old man?”
Nosher Powell always wore a badly fitting wig. I turned to him and said
“Your barnet looks great today Nosher. He glared at me as I stood my
ground stareing him in the eyes. With that the two of them turned on their
heels and left.
I laughed “What a pair of tossers” I exclaimed in my best Cockney accent.
I never heard anymore about it but suspected that Humphries was copying my
films and that is why his father did not want me to go downstairs.
The telephone was ringing. I picked it up and the scared voice of Lenny,
the guy who delivered my merchandise to the shops blurted out.
“I have been nicked. Some coppers arrested me in Walkers Court and took
all my stuff.”
“What” I exclaimed pissed off. “How come I was paying if they nicked Tommy
my delivery guy?” I thought.
“Don’t worry Tommy” I said “I will sort it out.”
“Please God Mickey, I could not stand going to prison.”
“You won’t go to prison and if you did it’s only a carpet.”
“I couldn’t stand it Mickey. Please God help me”
I thought to myself “What a soft bastard.”
I chatted to Bill and he reckoned that the detectives were from Saville
Row.
I went to see Bernie and took him out to lunch in his favourite Italian
restaurant.
He told me that he would make a couple of phone calls and that I had to go
and see Frankie Albert, who arranges all these kinds of deals. It would
cost me a few hundred quid.
Frankie Albert always stood on the corner of Frith Street and Romilly
Street just opposite Tommy’s bookshop. A few Soho faces used to hang out
here too on the street in the Summer time. Tommy Harris the fem-dom
filmmaker and his brother Martin. I went up to Martin with whom I got on
well. He owned a nightclub in Gerrard Street and I had been there for a
drink a couple of times. Where do I find Frankie Albert? I asked.
Martin who always had his sleeves rolled up to show his well muscled,
tattooed forearms and bulging biceps gestured towards a thin looking guy
standing on the opposite corner who was dressed in a suit and wearing a
tie even on this hot Summer’s day. “That’s him over there” he said.
I walked across the street to meet this Mr Fix It and go between the
Gentlemen of Soho and the police.
“Hello” I greeted Frankie shaking his hand. “I have a problem I want
sorting out. My man was nicked by some cozzers from Seville Row nick, I
think it was, delivering some smudges to Walkers Court bookshop, and I
would like to straighten it out.”
“Okay” Frankie said but it will cost you” he said moving around on his
feet like a boxer.
“Okay no problem” I answered.
He told me what to do and to go a pay a visit to a firm of bent solicitors
in Shaftsbury Avenue who would be appointed to defend Lenny.
I met the solicitor’s clerk in the Inns of Court where I handed him a
brown paper envelope. He laughed and chatted and shared the pipe of hash I
lit up. He told me that Lenny would be fined a small sum of money because
the police would tell the judge that he was an informer who gave them
valuable information and was now assisting them with their enquiries on an
important case. I looked at this solicitor’s clerk through stoned eyes and
took an immediate liking to him. He was slightly built and wearing a three
piece suit with a stiff collar with long hair down to his shoulders. We
met a few times after that and he said that I should give him a ring if I
had any future problems.
I walked into a shop in Duck’s Lane and saw a new magazine on the shelf. I
had a habit of looking at other people’s work when I went around the shops
to collect money. I noticed the nervous look on the shopkeepers face as I
started to leaf through the pages then I saw some pictures of Pat and
Susan in the book. I angrily tore all the copies of the magazine off the
bookshop shelf.
“What are you doing?”
“Who sold you this magazine because he has stolen my pictures?”
“Albert Teal” came the reply “and he won’t fucking like it when he hears
about this.”
“Listen you fucking mug” I retorted “If I catch you selling any of this
magazine again I will smash this fucking shop up with you in it” I said in
a rage.
I had heard of Alfie Teal and knew that he had the reputation for being a
gangster but I also knew that I had to stop this now or I would be ruined
by this parasite.
“Give me his fucking phone number” I demanded.
“I don’t have it,” the shop keeper answered becoming afraid now and
cowering away from me.
“Give me it or I will smash up this shop now” I retorted “and fucking
Muller you.”
With this threat the frightened man pulled out a book and gave me the
number.
Leaving the shop I went round all the shops in Soho but only one other had
the magazine. I walked in and confiscated them all. I suspected that Alfie
Teal owned these two shops.
When I got home I told Sandra in an angry outburst what had happened.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Listen” I replied. I picked up the phone and phoned the number I had
forced out of the shopkeeper and a gruff Cockney voice answered.
“Listen Alfie it is Mickey Muldoon here. You know why I am phoning….”
“You flash cunt I will do you, you cunt.” Alfie shouted down the phone.
“You are right out of order and if it is fucking war you want, then it is
war.” I shouted.
“I’ll kill you…” he threatened
“No I will fucking kill you next time I see you in Soho” I spat out the
challenge and slammed down the phone.
I had used my best gangster talk and knew that I was convincing. I looked
at Sandra and she smiled her approval. She loved it when I acted hard.
“Are you going to kill him?” she asked kissing me.
“I will if he keeps on stealing my work” I replied.
We fell onto the bed and had mad passionate sex.
Sandra was turned on by violence.
I met Alfie in the middle of Walkers Court and he handed me a package
containing the printing plates.
“Thanks Alfie” I said cheekily but why did you smash them up I could have
used them.
“Don’t fucking strong it son” he said with a snarl.
I laughed and tightened my hand on the blade I had in my pocket. Then
turning I walked away.
The streets of Soho were a hard place and if you showed any weakness the
parasites would bleed you dry.
I pulled up outside the offices of the contact magazine, got out of the
car onto the pavement of this dingy little backstreet and pressed the
doorbell marked Personal Advertiser. Two likely lads were running the
small publication that was sold in all the Soho shops and I was here to do
business. They wanted photos of girls to illustrate their publication and
I wanted performers for the films. They handed me a lot of letters from
would be models.
As I left they said “Here take these” and handed a box containing a
thousand copies of their magazine.” They are for free.”
I knew that they wanted me to distribute them because they got money to
forward on people’s letters, as I drove away in the car I thought about
the free ad they had inserted in the Personal Advertiser for me and
wondered if I would get any replies.
One of the first I received was from a couple up in Kings Lynn, Norfolk.
The couple said that they wanted to be in the blue films and enclosed a
photo of “the wife” knickerless with legs wide open over the arms of an
armchair
I drove up to Kings Lynn with Susan. When we arrived we discovered that it
was an aircraft base. I pulled up outside the house, which was rather like
a small council house and the front door opened immediately by the woman
in the photo.
She seemed pleased to see us and her husband a balding man with spectacles
warned me to look out for military police when I asked if I could bring in
my lights and camera equipment. The guy told me he was a flight sergeant
in the Royal Airforce and said he flew the Vulcan V Bombers.
Continued 22nd July
The telephone was ringing. I picked it up and the scared
voice of Lenny, the guy who delivered my merchandise to the shops blurted
out.
“I have been nicked. Some coppers arrested me in Walkers Court and took
all my stuff.”
“What” I exclaimed pissed off. “How come I was paying if they nicked Tommy
my delivery guy?” I thought.
“Don’t worry Tommy” I said “I will sort it out.”
“Please God Mickey, I could not stand going to prison.”
“You won’t go to prison and if you did it’s only a carpet.”
“I couldn’t stand it Mickey. Please God help me”
I thought to myself “What a soft bastard.”
I chatted to Bill and he reckoned that the detectives were from Seville
Row.
I went to see Bernie and took him out to lunch in his favourite Italian
restaurant.
He told me that he would make a couple of phone calls and that I had to go
and see Frankie Albert, who arranges all these kinds of deals. It would
cost me a few hundred quid.
Frankie Albert always stood on the corner of Frith Street and Romilly
Street just opposite Tommy’s bookshop. A few Soho faces used to hang out
here too on the street in the Summer time. Tommy Harris the fem-dom
filmmaker and his brother Martin. I went up to Martin with whom I got on
well. He owned a nightclub in Gerrard Street and I had been there for a
drink a couple of times. Where do I find Frankie Albert? I asked.
Martin who always had his sleeves rolled up to show his well muscled,
tattooed forearms and bulging biceps gestured towards a thin looking guy
standing on the opposite corner who was dressed in a suit and wearing a
tie even on this hot Summer’s day. “That’s him over there” he said.
I walked across the street to meet this Mr Fix It and go between the
Gentlemen of Soho and the police.
“Hello” I greeted Frankie shaking his hand. “I have a problem I want
sorting out. My man was nicked by some cozzers from Seville Row nick, I
think it was, delivering some smudges to Walkers Court bookshop, and I
would like to straighten it out.”
“Okay” Frankie said but it will cost you” he said moving around on his
feet like a boxer.
“Okay no problem” I answered.
He told me what to do and to go a pay a visit to a firm of bent solicitors
in Shaftsbury Avenue who would be appointed to defend Lenny.
I met the solicitor’s clerk in the Inns of Court where I handed him a
brown paper envelope. He laughed and chatted and shared the pipe of hash I
lit up. He told me that Lenny would be fined a small sum of money because
the police would tell the judge that he was an informer who gave them
valuable information and was now assisting them with their enquiries on an
important case. I looked at this solicitor’s clerk through stoned eyes and
took an immediate liking to him. He was slightly built and wearing a three
piece suit with a stiff collar with long hair down to his shoulders. We
met a few times after that and he said that I should give him a ring if I
had any future problems.
I walked into a shop in Duck’s Lane and saw a new magazine on the shelf. I
had a habit of looking at other people’s work when I went around the shops
to collect money. I noticed the nervous look on the shopkeepers face as I
started to leaf through the pages then I saw some pictures of Pat and
Susan in the book. I angrily tore all the copies of the magazine off the
bookshop shelf.
“What are you doing?”
“Who sold you this magazine because he has stolen my pictures?”
“Albert Teal” came the reply “and he won’t fucking like it when he hears
about this.”
“Listen you fucking mug” I retorted “If I catch you selling any of this
magazine again I will smash this fucking shop up with you in it” I said in
a rage.
I had heard of Alfie Teal and knew that he had the reputation for being a
gangster but I also knew that I had to stop this now or I would be ruined
by this parasite.
“Give me his fucking phone number” I demanded.
“I don’t have it,” the shop keeper answered becoming afraid now and
cowering away from me.
“Give me it or I will smash up this shop now” I retorted “and fucking
Muller you.”
With this threat the frightened man pulled out a book and gave me the
number.
Leaving the shop I went round all the shops in Soho but only one other had
the magazine. I walked in and confiscated them all. I suspected that Alfie
Teal owned these two shops.
When I got home I told Sandra in an angry outburst what had happened.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Listen” I replied. I picked up the phone and phoned the number I had
forced out of the shopkeeper and a gruff Cockney voice answered.
“Listen Alfie it is Mickey Muldoon here. You know why I am phoning….”
“You flash cunt I will do you, you cunt.” Alfie shouted down the phone.
“You are right out of order and if it is fucking war you want, then it is
war.” I shouted.
“I’ll kill you…” he threatened
“No I will fucking kill you next time I see you in Soho” I spat out the
challenge and slammed down the phone.
I had used my best gangster talk and knew that I was convincing. I looked
at Sandra and she smiled her approval. She loved it when I acted hard.
“Are you going to kill him?” she asked kissing me.
“I will if he keeps on stealing my work” I replied.
We fell onto the bed and had mad passionate sex.
Sandra was turned on by violence.
I met Alfie in the middle of Walkers Court and he handed me a package
containing the printing plates.
“Thanks Alfie” I said cheekily but why did you smash them up I could have
used them.
“Don’t fucking strong it son” he said with a snarl.
I laughed and tightened my hand on the blade I had in my pocket. Then
turning I walked away.
The streets of Soho were a hard place and if you showed any weakness the
parasites would bleed you dry.
I pulled up outside the offices of the contact magazine, got out of the
car onto the pavement of this dingy little backstreet and pressed the
doorbell marked Personal Advertiser. Two likely lads were running the
small publication that was sold in all the Soho shops and I was here to do
business. They wanted photos of girls to illustrate their publication and
I wanted performers for the films. They handed me a lot of letters from
would be models.
As I left they said “Here take these” and handed a box containing a
thousand copies of their magazine.” They are for free.”
I knew that they wanted me to distribute them because they got money to
forward on people’s letters, as I drove away in the car I thought about
the free ad they had inserted in the Personal Advertiser for me and
wondered if I would get any replies.
One of the first I received was from a couple up in Kings Lynn, Norfolk.
The couple said that they wanted to be in the blue films and enclosed a
photo of “the wife” knickerless with legs wide open over the arms of an
armchair
I drove up to Kings Lynn with Susan. When we arrived we discovered that it
was an aircraft base. I pulled up outside the house, which was rather like
a small council house and the front door opened immediately by the woman
in the photo.
She seemed pleased to see us and her husband a balding man with spectacles
warned me to look out for military police when I asked if I could bring in
my lights and camera equipment. The guy told me he was a flight sergeant
in the Royal Airforce and said he flew the Vulcan V Bombers.
Audrey was hot for sex and I realised that she was the dominant one in
this relationship. John just went along with her sexual demands like the
masochist that he was and loved it. Susan started whipping John’s arse
while he was fucking Audrey and and he came. I looked through the camera
and I was the fly on the wall unobserved as everyone abandoned themselves
to their sexual desires. I had noticed that when Susan was really turned
on that her eyes rolled up so that the whites of her eyes showed and that
she was obviously in a state of ecstasy.
I made a good film and took some brilliant photos and Audrey was keen for
me to come up to Kings Lynn again. Her husband had obviously enjoyed
having sex with the beautiful Susan and he was just as keen.
On the drive back to London Susan knelt on the front seat and sucked me
off while I drove.
On the second trip to the RAF base Audrey wondered whether she could
appear in a film because her inner thighs and genitalia were red raw. She
explained as her husband stood there that she had “six sailors staying for
three days!”
I realised that Audrey was indeed a nymphomaniac! I went ahead and made a
film and some sets of photos and they sold really well. Audrey just looked
like an ordinary housewife and dressed like one and I supposed that was
the appeal.
I had started to write erotic stories too and illustrated them with
photographs. I had Gordon making the books in his house in Brixton. One
day the phone rang and it was an agitated and scared Gordon on the other
end.
“Mickey, I have just been raided by the porn squad!”
“What” I exclaimed angrily. “How could the porn squad raid one of my
employees when I was paying.” I thought angrily.
“Okay I will be right over” I shouted down the phone. I drove over to
Gordon’s house at top speed my tyres squealing my dissatisfaction and
screeched to a halt outside Gordon’s.
Gordon opened the door, a worried look upon his face and brushed back a
forelock of hair that had a habit of falling over his eyes. “Yeah this guy
from the porn squad raided me, took all the equipment and the negs and two
hundred books that I had just printed.”
“Are you sure that he was from the porn squad? I demanded.
“Yeah, he showed me his warrant card and said that his name was Sergeant
Simmons.” Gordon rolled his protruding eyes which reminded me of a fish
and in retrospect I realise that he was suffering from Grave’s disease.
“Yeah and he really frightened my Mum the bastard. Mickey she wont allow
any books to be made in this house again.”
“Don’t worry I will find out who this fucking cunt is and get them back
and you can start again.” I said with a laugh. The pretence that I was not
paying the police had been dropped a long time ago.
“But where am I going to do the books?” Gordon said with a plaintive
whine, wringing his hands. “I need the money and I have just lost two
hundred books and the negs.”
“Don’t worry I will get all the stuff back” I said confidently.
Back home Sandra greeted me. “What’s up?” she asked looking at the angry
expression on my face.
“Some bastard raided Gordon’s and took all the equipment and books.” I
replied.
picking up the phone and dialling Roy’s number.
Sandra stood there listening to my conversation.
“Roy, its Mickey” I said “Some bastard called Sergeant Simmons has raided
Gordon’s house and nicked a load of books!”
“Oh that cunt, well Mickey he is a bit of a loose cannon and I can’t
really do much about what he does as he works on his own.”
“Well fucking hell” I said surprised “That’s charming. I have never heard
of this bollox before.”
Roy chuckled and I pictured his wolfish face grinning about my indignation
about being raided by the lone wolf of the porn squad.
That very evening the phone rang “Sergeant Simmons here,” said a voice.
“What do you want” I said my voice becoming angry.
“I have some books and negs here belonging to you and I want four hundred
quid for them.”
“Fuck off and stick them right up your fucking arse” I shouted down the
phone. “You will get fuck all from me and they cost less than that to make
you mug!” I slammed down the phone. Sandra laughed at my outburst. And
seeing the funny side of the absurd situation I started laughing too.
“Come on lets go out for a meal” I said.
“Okay” Sandra replied “I will see if Thelma can baby-sit.
I was really getting lots of money now and Kenny, my brother-in law and my
sister Kathleen were living in the flat next door with their small baby
Nancy. Sandra and Kath got on well together and Kenny and I were old mates
so life was fine. We got some weights and started to work out regularly
and practice martial arts. I had developed a bit of a gut from all the
good food that I was eating but was getting back in shape with regular
training.
I had leased a former clothes factory in the East End of London and turned
it into a processing lab with two 16mm film processing machines. The films
were split down the middle into 8mm after being printed one up and one
down on an Uhler optical printer that I had imported from Michigan USA.
Kenny worked in the lab processing films sometimes assisted by Sandra. I
edited the films and cut and spliced them. Everything was running
smoothly.
I was having lunch with Fat Bill in the Toscana one day and he was eating
cream cakes which he loved and could not resist despite of his obesity.
“Mickey how would you like to get a clean record?” he asked.
“A clean record. I would love it.” I replied laughing in disbelief “But
how would that be possible.
“Remember what I told you?” Fat Bill replied a cunning smile on his face.
“Everything is possible with money!”
I was surprised realising that his proposition was serious. “How is it
possible I asked?”
“Well it will cost you a few grand but your record would be removed from
the records office and destroyed.” Bill said smiling at the amazed
expression on my face.
“Yeah, but what about my fingerprints” I questioned.
“They will be destroyed too!” Bill said.
“And if a copper who has nicked me in the past recognises me?”
Bill laughed his face smeared with cream reminding me of Billy Bunter
again. “He could not prove it because all copies of your record and
fingerprints would have been destroyed. I have had it done and so have
Brian and Ben. I mean keep schtum and don’t ever mention it” Bill smiled
wiping the cream off his face with a serviette. “I will see about yours
and find out how much the guy wants, Okay?”
“Right Bill,” I said excited by the fact that I could become a respectable
person again. Now that I had money I was ashamed at the sins of my youth.
It did not sound very nice,”shop breaking, housebreaking and taking and
driving away. I was a company director now and proud of it.
“What did you do to get a record Bill? I asked Bill curious, pouring him a
glass of Sicilian red that Walter, the owner of the restaurant called
“Mafia wine.”
“We were all jewel thieves” he said a look of excitement lighting up his
face and his black eyes, reduced to little black currants, dancing in
merriment.
I listened attentively nodding my approval as I wanted to hear about his
adventures.
“Brian is a jeweller and we used to visit jewellery shops in Switzerland
and, other places on the Continent, Austria, France and we would take a
photo of a piece, a ring usually in the window and Brian would make up a
gold shank, then he would mount a zircon instead of a diamond and we would
do a switch.”
His face was excited as he reminisced and I just listened.
“We would all dress up, posing as rich tourists with our wives and go into
a shop and ask to see the rings. Then we would palm the real one and give
the moody one back to the shopkeeper. It was funny to see them putting the
moody one back in the window.” Bill smiled. “That is where we got the
money to buy the shop. It was the Kenny Lynch Record Centre before we got
hold of it.”
Later I met a guy, a friend of Bill’s Pip who did the shop deal and he
told me that the Church of England owned Walker’s Court and a lot of
property in Soho! We were sitting in Raymond’s Revue bar at the time with
one of Raymond’s girls. Pip had a fetish for tall dancing girls and this
particular one was black and about six foot. Pip was a friend of Paul’s
and sometimes he would come over for a chat.
Pip was rich and later I accompanied him to his penthouse suite where the
lift opened directly into his apartment. The showgirl’s eyes lit up in
amazement because the floor was completely covered in white fur and trays
on stands were all around the room containing all different kinds of
sweets and chocolate.
Pip walked over to the full size bar at the end of the room and went
behind it. “I have every kind of drink here. What would you like?” he
asked with a challenge.
I thought of some esoteric drink and came up with “Calvados.”
“Calvados it is Pip said with a smile pulling one of the many bottles down
from the shelf and pouring me a glass.
I sipped it and savoured its strange taste. I had not had it before and
had read about it in a Simenon detective novel!
The showgirl and Pip had Sambucas which Pip lit and the girl watched as
the drinks burnt with a blue flame.
Afterwards Pip got the girl on the bed which was on a fur covered dais
raised from the floor and fucked her. Afterwards he called her a taxi and
she left.
“It is not the money” he said with a smile. “It’s this.” And he pulled out
his massive cock.
I see I said laughing. Pip was always getting out his huge cock and
sometimes would bang it on a table as if it were a truncheon!
Continued 27th July
Gordon and I went to Heathrow in order to catch the flight
to Amsterdam. He had two suit stuffed with 8mm films. I was accompanying
him on the flight but only carried hand luggage.
When we went to check in our luggage at the airport of course Gordon’s
heavy suitcases attracted a surcharge. I was standing next to him in the
queue and the women checking in the luggage asked me if I would have some
of Gordon’s luggage on my ticket and I said no.
Gordon went red with embarrassment and was forced to pay a hefty
surcharge. When we landed at Schipol I went through customs first and I
exited the airport and waited for Gordon to come through. I could see him
approaching the customs barriers pushing his heavy suitcases. He did look
really worried and suspicious and I thought “Oh why did I let him do it he
is going to get a pull. Why didn’t he get a porter?”
Gordon heaved the two suitcases up onto the customs counter and the Dutch
customs man made a sign to open them!
“Oh! Fucking hell” I thought. “He is going to get caught.
He looked over at me a helpless scared expression on his face and I gave
him the thumbs up sign through the glass doors.
The customs man opened the first suitcase and began pulling out boxes of
films, all which were illustrated with hardcore pictures on the boxes!
I made a quick dash to the taxi rank and said “Take me to the Hilton.”
At the hotel I booked in and then made a telephone call to directory
enquiries. Eventually I contacted an advocate to whom I explained that a
business colleague of mine had just been stopped by the customs at Schipol
and I would like to arrange for him to be represented. After the phone
call I felt satisfied that I had done what I promised if things went
wrong.
In the morning I awoke late and the first meal that I had was at
lunchtime.
I ordered a steak, French fries and side salad, plus a bottle of
champagne.
I was halfway through my meal when a guy approached me at the table. As
soon as I saw him I thought “copper.”
He spoke to me “I am detective Van Huren and I would like a few words with
you.
“What about? I replied, looking up at him and trying to appear
unconcerned.
“I would like you to come to the police station for questioning.” He said.
“What for?” I asked the meat in my mouth becoming tasteless and difficult
to swallow. I poured out a glass of champagne. Then I noticed that Van
Huren’s jacket had opened and a British passport was protruding from his
inside pocket.
“Hey,” I exclaimed angrily. “You have got my passport in your pocket!”
Van Huren hastily pulled his jacket shut. “This is not England.” He
replied. Come with me now.”
“Look I am finishing my dinner” I replied thinking about his “This is not
England” remark that he thought that the British police did not go to
people’s hotel rooms and search them without permission. “If only he knew”
I thought.
“Come with me now or I will be forced to remove you in handcuffs.” The
detective said becoming angry at my attitude.
I got up slowly knowing when I was beaten and followed him outside where
he ushered me into a small saloon parked in the Hilton car park.
He drove fast and I said “Could you slow down please because I don’t want
to die in Holland in your little car.”
He became angry again and I smiled to myself. He obviously was sure of
himself and I was getting worried about what Gordon might have said and
regretted sending him.
At the police station van Huren started to interrogate me.
“Your friend Gordon…”
“He is not a friend but a business colleague I interjected sharply.
“He says that he works for you and that you are the boss.”
“Well I am not the boss and I work for myself selling legitimate films” I
replied. “He is lying. I had bought a briefcase with me containing
brochures for glamour films which I sold in Britain and I knew that he had
looked at them when he searched my hotel room.
“Look I have a statement from Smith saying that you are the boss and that
you are paying Scotland Yard.”
I was shocked at Smith’s treachery and realised that I was now in a serous
situation but I kept my cool laughing and slapping my thigh. “Paying
Scotland Yard! And you believe this nonsense!”
Van Huren looked a bit unsure but said. “You sat next to him on the plane
and you knew what business he was in.”
“Look of course I sat next to him on the plane because I knew that he
wanted to sell videos to the Dutch wholesalers, the same as me. I told
you. He is a business colleague.”
“His allegations will have to be checked by Interpol and I am suspicious
that you are the big boss of Soho as Smith alleges in his statement.”
“Look I have got a plane to catch tonight.” I replied getting worried.
Van Huren picked up the phone “Schipol” he said.
He then spoke in Dutch but I was able to understand that he had contacted
British Airways and cancelled my flight to London.
“I have cancelled your flight, now are you going to tell me the truth or I
will send you to prison.
“I am completely innocent and I came here on legitimate business on behalf
of my company Nestville Photography Ltd.” I replied.
“If you tell me the truth I can help you get a short sentence or even a
fine for evading customs duties “Van Huren said an eager look on his face.
I knew that he thought that he was onto a big case here. “I have told you
the truth” I said emphasising the word “truth.”
I spent the night in a Dutch police station and next morning was driven in
a van handcuffed. The guard put a chain through my cuffs and led me into
the court building.
I entered a large room with several people in plain clothes sitting behind
a large table- one a woman. On the table were Gordon’s suitcases open so
that one could see the hardcore covers on the boxes. “Venus Films” “Threes
Company” shouted the header illustrated with a picture of Pat and Susan
licking a large cock.
The woman picked up the film and handed it to me. “Have you ever seen
this?” she asked.
“No never,” I replied. I then took a silk handkerchief from my breast
pocket and wiped it clean of fingerprints before handing it back.
This brought smiles of amusement from all gathered.
“Why did you do that? The woman questioned me.
“To wipe off my fingerprints” I said in a matter of fact way.
Afterwards I was taken to a prison in the van and led out in handcuffs. I
was taken into the prison when everyone was locked up and shown a cell.
“This is yours” the guard said kindly in English “while you stay with us.”
He pulled aside a plastic curtain showing me a shower and toilet.
“Yes it is fine” I exclaimed. I realised that in England I would be
shitting in a foul smelling chamber pot, without the luxury of a shower,
but it was hard to be enthusiastic in the circumstances!
He closed the door. I took off my sweaty clothes and had a shower. Later
that night I heard the sound of doors opening and closing. The door was
opened and a convict poured me a cup of cocoa.
“Goodnight Englishman” he said and I summoned a smile.
The next morning I managed to obtain some writing materials and sat down
to write:
“Dear Sandra, I have been arrested on suspicion of importing pornography
into Holland. Gordon Smith was arrested at the airport with a load of
porno films and he told a lot of lies, saying that he was working for me
and that they were mine. Don’t worry I am innocent and expect to be home
in a couple of weeks.
In the meantime keep my business going until I come home
Lots of love to you and Billy and Laura
Your loving husband,
Mickey”
Continued 29th July
Life is boring locked in the little cell. The windows
are frosted and I cannot see out but can hear sounds of children playing
outside in the town of Haarlem. I climb up onto the window sill and can
just see out the slit of an air vent. Seeing the kids reminds me of my own
Laura and Billy at home in England.
I have ordered the Telegraph and some groceries from the prison canteen
and when the door opens and my newspaper arrives I sit there reading my
newspaper from cover to cover, even the obituaries.
Out on the exercise yard next day I meet a prisoner who can speak English
and he tells me that if I can get Smith to withdraw his statement then the
prosecution won’t have much of a case. He says that the best way to meet
Gordon is to go to Mass on Sunday morning.
At the beginning of Mass the priest gives a sermon about the universality
of the Roman Catholic Church and how we have two English brothers in the
congregation! When he turns his back I turn around and spot Smith sitting
several rows back and made strangling signs with my hands which brought a
titter from the Dutch prisoners.
As the guards return and we file out from the front rows I hiss at Smith
“Withdraw your statement you grass or I will fucking kill you when you get
back to England!”
This brings smiles of approval from the other prisoners who start giving
Gordon dirty looks. “No one likes a grass it seems that this is also a
universal trait among the accused,” I thought.
I also find out that if you give a note to the cocoa boy then he will pass
it to another prisoner. I also think that Smith will give the note to the
guards or that the trustee prisoner may be a grass too so I sit down and
write a note.
“Dear Gordon,
How could you do this to me? Why don’t you tell the truth and own up like
a man. All you have to do is to say that you were frightened of owning up.
Please man don’t let me spend all this time in prison as I have a wife and
family.
Mickey.”
When the cocoa boy dished out the cocoa that night I gave him the note to
give to Gordon.
Meanwhile I am taken to the police station in a van and locked in a cell
without windows for most of the day. I am thirsty but the water fountain
in the cell merely gives a small trickle and goes off. After what seems an
eternity a guard comes and takes me into a room and a detective comes in.
He shows me photographs and asks me to identify the guys in them if I
recognize any of them. I see several of the Dutch shop keepers with whom I
am doing business but I keep a straight face and move my head from side to
side and they take me back to the cell where I lose all sense of time.
This happens several times during my incarceration but I laugh at their
threats and inducements and make the Dutch detectives angry. I am glad
that Smith had never been to any of the shops and that he cannot identify
any of the guys in the photos.
Back in the prison and attending Mass on Sunday morning the prisoners file
out from the back this time. As I return to my cell I see Smith standing
in front of his cell door staring into space with a worried look on his
face. By now everyone knows that “he grassed on the other Englishman” and
he is reviled and treated with contempt by the other prisoners. Seeing him
makes me want to hit him and I quickly move up on him and he does not see
me until I am right on top of him. I punch him hard on the jaw and his six
foot overweight body hits the landing of the Dutch prison with a thud. He
lays there unconscious as I quickly mount the iron stairs up to the fourth
landing to my cell. Other prisoners have seen me and give me approving
glances and talk excitedly among themselves. “The Englishman has knocked
out the other prisoner…”
I go into my cell and bang the door and pick up my newspaper. As I sit
there reading the broadsheet I hear all the doors in the wing being
slammed shut this is a lock down and I know that the guards will be coming
for me after they lock everyone in their cells. I feel exhilarated by the
action but stay calm as several pairs of feet begin clattering up the
stairs towards my cell. It is the guards accompanied by the director of
the prison.
“You want to be a hard boy” he says in English “and now you will go to
another prison where all the other hard boys are. Get all your things
together”
I grin as I get my things together because I have been in the hardest
prisons in the world where I have seen people killed on the landings so
this talk does not frighten me. In fact I am getting bored and life is
exciting again.
The guards cuff me up and manacle me with chains and lead me outside
accompanied by the muffled cheers and banging of the other prisoners who
know that the Englishman is going.
Surprisingly the other prison is only next door. We enter the old
Victorian building and I they take me straight in and up the stairs. The
landings are built in a circle so that a guard sitting in a glass
observation box in the centre of the ground floor can see all the other
cells. I realise that it is built on the principles of Jeremy Bentham’s
Panopticon and wonder at the marvel of this English genius whose
philosophy had led to this building being erected in Haarlem in the 19th
Century...
The guard is accompanied by a prisoner who says “Welcome to the Coupol!”
and explains that the guard has brought him because he can speak English.
The guard opens the door and I notice that there is no shower or toilet
but no chamber pot. I ask for a chamber pot but the prisoner and guard
laugh saying “Just ring the bell and your door will be open straight
away.”
“Well it is certainly different from English prisons” I thought where if
you ring your bell a screw will shout “Get on your pot laddie” and if you
keep on ringing you will be visited mob handed and beaten up. I smiled at
the guard and prisoner as they closed my door wishing me good night. In
the night I woke feeling like a piss and rang the bell and sure enough the
sound of feet approached immediately and the cell door opened and I was
directed to the toilets which wee situated on each landing. I returned
sleepily to my cell and the door was locked again. I was beginning to like
the Dutch because they treated one with respect. I fell off to sleep
remembering the “slopping out” in Pentonville and the smell of piss and
shit that filled the whole prison.
I awoke in the morning and the prisoner came to my cell and told me that I
had an interview with the governor. When I walked into his office he
smiled, shook my hand warmly and beckoned me to sit down. He looked at me
and exclaimed “How young you look for your age!” I smiled flattered.
“Maybe it is your hair” he continued.
I had long hair down to my shoulders.
“Now is there anything that I can get you during your stay with us?” He
enquired with impeccable English.
“Food” I replied.
“There is a shop on the wing and you will be able to go there and order
every week,” he replied.
“Oh I see” I said happy with the prospect of getting some decent food.
“What about clothes?” the governor asked with a smile.
I had not brought many clothes with me because I had not been planning to
stay long.
“Well I could do with some shirts and underwear” I replied.
With that the governor picked up the telephone. He spoke rapidly in Dutch
while explaining to me that he was phoning men’s outfitters. “A men’s
outfitter will visit you with a selection of clothes and you will make
your choice.” He said.
He was so nice and I marvelled at the difference between the attitude of
the prison systems in the respective countries of England and Holland.
Later I visited the prison shop and was able to order newspapers, fruit,
food and a litre of milk each day. It was amusing putting the empty
bottles outside my cell door and hearing someone collecting them a putting
a fresh one outside. I was reminded of the milkman in London. The chaps
back home would never believe this I knew.
The prisoners also played football in middle of the Coupol, as the big
circular prison was called. Much against my better judgement I was
persuaded to play one day and as I am absolutely useless at football I
made a fool of myself. The Dutch guys were surprised repeating the words
Georgie Best and pointing at me.
“Yes Georgie Best” I replied “he is very good but I can’t play football. I
remembered my schooldays, being very immature physically when I refused to
engage in the rough and tumble of the game and smoked a fag in rebellion
on the sidelines.
I was a bit better at volleyball being a strong server and good at setting
up the ball. We used to play out on the yard during sports periods.
Exercise was also a daily routine that I enjoyed, walking around the
prison yard and talking.
I got to know a lot of other prisoners all of whom discussed their cases
and what went on in the Dutch underworld. There were a few foreign
prisoners including myself and one six foot German bank robber Hans, who
limped along telling how he fooled his wife into thinking that he was a
businessman but he used to go out everyday with his briefcase to “work”.
Every time he got short of money he would drive over the Dutch border and
rob a bank at gunpoint. One day he emerged carrying a bag of cash and was
confronted by two armed police officers. One shot him in the leg
immediately and he did not fire his gun but when the other aimed directly
at his chest and he saw his finger tightening on the trigger he shot him
dead. He got nine years for manslaughter but the prosecutor thought that
the sentence was too light and was appealing to make it longer. Another
guy whom I got to know very well and who was my constant companion on the
exercise yard was Leonard. His brother owned a nightclub and he was
involved in some violence with a gangster who tried to make his brother
pay protection money.
I was visited by the solicitor I had retained for Smith and I told him
that I no longer wished him to act for Smith but for me. He showed me
Smith’s statement and I had to laugh when he described himself as an “out
of work musician” who had met a stranger in a Soho pub and the man had
offered him £200 pounds to take two suitcases to Amsterdam” and the only
difference to the cover story that I had made up for him was that the
stranger was me!”
“He is lying” I said to my advocate “and I can prove it because I think
that if you take a careful look at the films you will see Mr Smith.” I had
to laugh at Gordon’s stupidity and now I could prove that he was lying.
I also wrote a letter to the Obscene Publications Squad at Scotland Yard
explaining that Gordon Smith was telling lies about me and that they
should search his flat.
My day arrived in court and Gordon Smith was proven to be liar as it was
heard that he appeared in the films and that Scotland Yard detectives had
found a large quantity of pornography, including book making equipment in
his flat.
When I took the witness stand I spoke of his ridiculous story about me
paying Scotland Yard and how they were the finest police force in the
world and incorruptible.
People in the court nodded and grinned when I said this, turning their
eyes to look at Smith as though he was the biggest liar on Earth. “If only
they knew that he was the one telling the truth!” I thought.
The court ordered my release and I was on a plane back to London that
night having spent six weeks in the Coupol.
I felt uneasy as I touched down in London because I knew that I had broken
the unofficial contract of my licence by exporting films into Holland. I
had sparked an Interpol enquiry and there would be repercussions I knew
that.
There was someone ringing at the doorbell I look out of the window and
there stood Gerry on the pavement in Stockwell Park Road looking up at me
grinning.
“It is Gerry “I said to Sandra and I went down to the front door to meet
him. We shook hands and soon he was sitting on the settee telling me all
about Wands worth and how certain people were sending heir regards to me.
We ending up having a few drinks too many and he ended up sleeping on my
settee that night. Next day I went out and found him a flat near Tooting
Bec Common and paid the rent on it for three months. He agreed to work for
me and I thought that I could use the flat to make films as well.
He told me that I was getting a bit fat and had put on a bit of weight so
me him and Kenny started to work out together. Gerry was super humanely
strong and as he spotted for me I thought back to the old days when we
would work out in the gym together.
He would come around my flat quite a lot and was good playing with the
kids.
A shopkeeper in Soho asked me to come in partnership with him and open a
shop in Lisle Street. I knew that the shop would be a big earner. When I
walked around Soho to collect my money I had Gerry by my side and I also
arranged for him to make the deliveries.
Nothing seemed to be happening about the Holland business until about a
couple of weeks had passed and I realised Gordon would be back soon. Then
I received a phone
Call from Alton telling me to meet him in the Tulse Hill Hotel which was a
pub that I had me him in before in Norwood Road and near where Gordon had
lived.
I waited in the pub which was run by an ex boxer and sat at a table
waiting for Les.
He was late as usual and then his big bulky frame entered and he looked
around and spotted me waving. He glowered as he walked towards my table
and I got up and greeted him obsequiously with “Shall I get you the usual
Les?”
Alton nodded and I went made my way to the bar ordering “a White Shield
and a large Ding Dong.” Alton was still glowering when I made my way back
to the table and placed my drink down in front of him. The pub was busy
and everyone chatted away no one noticing the meeting of the pornographer
and the head of the Porn Squad.
I said down and bowed my head waiting for the tirade of abuse and a big
fine.
Instead Alton was quite calm but his first words were chilling. “Smith is
your responsibility and I want him brown bread. Do you understand you
idiot?
“Yes Lesley” I replied realising that he expected me to execute poor old
Gordon. I picture Gordon’s fat greasy features and his mournful expression
like an old St Bernard dog and pictured myself garrotting him until those
fish eyes popped out of his head.
“I am going for a piss.” Alton said and got up and then I am going home.
He will be back on Tuesday and you know that you have to act quickly.
As soon as Les disappeared into the toilet I got up and entering I took
out the brown paper envelope and gave it to him. He did not say thank you
and turned on his heel and left without a word. I felt humiliated but
grateful that I still seemed to have a licence.
Unbelievable the phone rang on Tuesday and it was Gordon crying on the
other end. “I am so sorry Mickey! I couldn’t take it. They locked me up in
a cell without lights and no water…and I broke down… I just snapped …and
it al came out” Gordon blurted between sobs.
“Yeah I know” I replied”they did it to me too and I should have never of
let you go. Look! Forget all that now. You will be questioned soon and I
want to meet you to discuss what you are going to say to Old Bill.”
“Okay Mickey! Where shall I meet you?
“In the car park at the Tulse Hill Hotel I replied. As I said I realised
that Alton had made a visit to Gordon’s flat in Norwood Road probably to
question Yvonne and discover how much she knew. I was glad that I had not
told her anything.
I got a big knife out of the kitchen drawer and put it down my waistband
then took a pot of pepper out of the cupboard and put that in my jacket
side pocket.
I realised how easy it would be to kill Gordon and how stupid it was for
him to agree to meet me in a lonely unlit car park. He was a lamb to the
slaughter.
6th August 2007
I was walking along Old Compton Street with Gerry and as we turned into
Frith
Street Martin Harris and his brother Tommy stood chatting on the corner
and they greeted me and Gerry with a respectful “all right.” But I noticed
a strange look in their eyes when they saw Gerry.
I said to “Gerry do they know you?”
“Everybody in Soho knows me Mickey!”
I had not realised before that Gerry was “a face” and I realised that I
really did not know much about him at all.
As we walked across Shaftsbury Avenue into Gerard Street a tall lanky guy
approached and I recognised him as one of the Kray firm Tony Lambrianou.
As soon as he saw us he stopped and shook hands.
“All right Mickey” he rasped extending his hand straight out in the manner
of the Krays, shaking hands but keeping one at a distance.
“Hello Gerry” he said his handsome Latin features cracking into a good
imitation of Humphrey Bogart, slitting his eyes and pulling his lips tight
against his teeth.
“Fancy going round the Log Cabin?”
Gerry looked at me and said “Want to go Mickey?”
“No” I replied because I hated these clubs where “the chaps” spent long
hours drinking, posing and talking. “No but you go with Tony”
“All right see you later Mickey” Gerry said as he walked away with Tony
Lambrianiou. They were both dressed in suits and ties and polished shoes
looking very neat and tidy but some how too smart. Styles had not changed
much since the Twenties for the chaps and these two would not have been
out of place in an old gangster film. As they walked they tensed their
bodies and swaggered a bit sending out an inherent menace and pedestrians
moved out of their way.
By the time I had toured the twenty two Soho bookshops I was loaded with
cash. I decided to buy some cans of 16mm film stock in Ilfords. I went in
and downstairs to the trade counter. I was well known in Ilfords and
George knew exactly what I wanted and came back with two cans of double
perforated 16mm film.
As I got out the money he gave me a worried look and said “Hey that Tony,
who used to work for you came in here the other day and he looked like the
invisible man, all wrapped in bandages.”
“What happened to him then?” I asked. I was curious to know because Tony
used to work for me doing film processing but when I discovered that he
was copying my films I gave him the sack.
George looked at me a serious expression on his face. “He would not tell
me. Said that he had had an accident but did not want to talk about it!”
I remembered pointing him out to Gerry the other week as a guy who had
pulled a stroke on me and he had said “Shall I do him Mickey.”
I said “No he has learnt his lesson by me sacking him.” I did not want him
hurt because he had kids.
I remember Gerry’s look of disappointment “You ought to let me do him
Mickey because he is out of order, taking liberties.”
I wondered if Gerry had hurt him against my orders.
Ritchie Jackson was sitting in the armchair and he took another large gulp
of neat whisky from the lead crystal glass. A bottle of Kentucky bourbon
stood on the table next to him. He was red in the face, his florid
features contrasting with the light blonde of his hair. Gerry stood behind
him a contemptuous expression on his face. Ritchie had begun to argue with
me, his features bellicose, but I did not mind because he was a boyhood
friend with whom I had shared many adventures and good experiences. I knew
that he was drunk and that he had developed into an alcoholic over the
years.
Suddenly Gerry began to argue with him and Ritchie turned towards him and
said.
“You are just Mickey’s yes man!” and sneered with a typical flaring of the
nostrils.
“Who are you talking to cunt” Gerry growled angrily. “Don’t talk to me
that way or I will fucking knock you spark out.” And he moved towards
Ritchie.
“No you won’t Gerry” I said, holding up my hand, Ritchie is a very good
friend of mine.
Gerry looked at me for a moment as if he was going to challenge me a
dangerous glint in his eyes. “Okay Mickey I’m going home now.”
When he had gone Sandra looked at me smiling because she liked the fact
that I could control this hard case but I felt that the dangerous look in
Gerry’s eyes was threatening.
The winter was once again upon us and I was driving down Bedford Hill
Gerry beside me when a driver behind flashed his lights. I looked in the
mirror at the driver behind who was gesticulating for me to stop but I
just ignored him and carried on. He flashed me again.
“What’s up with the mug behind?” Gerry growled looking back.
“Nothing just ignore him” I replied. But even though I did not want any
trouble, as I turned into a narrow road which was blocked by traffic, the
driver of the car behind who had been flashing me jumped out and came up
behind my car.
Gerry was straight out of the door.
“Hold it Gerry he is only a mug” I shouted not worth any trouble.” I knew
that driving around with number plates was like having one’s address on
the back of the car.
Too late Gerry swung his fist which connected to the irate driver’s jaw
and he fell down in the snow. Gerry then ripped open the man’s jacket and
took out his wallet and searched through it until he found the poor guy’s
identity. Gerry stood like a game hunter his foot on the slaughtered
beast. The aggressor now the victim stared up lying submissively in the
snowy gutter.
Gerry bent down and waved the driver’s licence triumphantly in the
prostrate man’s face.” John Smith is a cunt! What are you?”
The man moaned and Gerry kicked him. “What are you cunt? Say it!”
“I’m a cunt” the frightened man repeated now reduced to a pathetic bundle
lying in the snow.
“I shouted “Leave him alone the Bill will be here shortly.”
With the mention of the word “Bill” Gerry stopped.
“I know your name and address and if you fucking grass me I will fucking
kill you understand?” he threatened.
Gerry then came towards the car and got in and I drove off.
“Gerry” I said “Why did you do that you could see that he as only a mug.
And I’m telling you that Old Bill will be up there soon.”
I stopped outside Stockwell Tube and said “Look go back to your flat and
stay there out of the way for a bit. I will say that I just gave you a
lift if anyone reported my number plate.
Gerry got out the car. “Okay Mickey.” And he disappeared into the tube
station.
As he went I began to have doubts about Gerry and whether his violent
behaviour would get me into trouble. I needed a hard man on the mean
streets of Soho but not someone who I could not control.
The phone was ringing and I picked it up.
“Meet me at eight tonight at the pub on the A6.”
“All right” I replied feeling uneasy at Alton’s voice and the curt way he
had spoken to me.
Alton stood at the bar waiting for me. “The usual?” I inquired.
He nodded his head. “Have you seen Roy lately” he questioned me.
“No” I lied haven’t seen him for a couple of months. In fact we had been
out to dinner together that week and Roy had been briefing me on the
developing fall out from the Dutch affair and evidently an Interpol
enquiry was taking place.
“Well I don’t want you to see him, or talk to him anymore.” Les said
lowering his voice.
“Why not?”
“Because he is the enemy now” Alton said cryptically. “Come on let’s have
something to eat.” he said walking towards the dining room.
We sat down at a table and he began t talk. “There is a big enquiry going
on because of Smith. Do you know where he is?”
“No I don’t” I said “ I’m not used to killing people but I did try, but he
got away.”
“I will have people looking out for him and as soon as I find him I will
contact you and then you will know what to do.”
Stared at Les saying “Yes I will do him next time, brown bread.”
“I thought that you was a gangster” Alton said in a mocking tone “and now
you are acting like a soft bastard. You were always threatening to kill
people now here is your chance.”
I just hoped that Gordon had gone to Australia or somewhere because he was
a walking dead man.
Susan knelt on the floor and pulled up her skirt and pulled down her
knickers revealing her milky white buttocks. She was a natural blonde and
a sprinkling of freckles were dusted across her pale skin.
I pushed down her waist so that she arched her back and I could see the
moistening lips of her vagina. I raised my hand bringing down my large
palm across the whiteness, tinting it immediately with carmine. She gave a
little gasp of pleasure.
“Suck her cunt you dirty bitch” I commanded bringing my hand down again.
As I spanked her my fingers pushed inside her moist cunt so that I held
her by her pubic bone.
Sandra sat on the settee, legs open, her dress pulled up to reveal black
stockings and suspenders.
Her eyes were closed and she had a feline expression of satisfaction on
her face.
I pushed Susan’s face deep into Sandra’s crotch and she licked and sucked.
I spanked her harder and harder and Susan’s buttocks turned a cherry red
colour. She was moaning now her breath coming faster and faster, her eyes
rolling up into her head
The sign I had come to recognise as ecstasy. Suddenly she shuddered and
moaned in her first orgasm. I got up and sat on the settee and Sandra sat
on my cock facing frontward.
“Now suck her lick and suck her cunt while you lick my balls.” I
commanded.
I was really enjoying myself and Sandra was too. We fucked like that for a
while and all the time I could feel the exquisite sensation of Susan’s
tongue licking as my cock went in and out.
“Let’s all go up stairs to the bedroom” I said. I got up and the two women
followed carrying their glasses of wine. We had drunk quite a lot of the
Gevrey Chambertin but were not drunk, just merry. In the bedroom we all
lay on the King size bed, Sandra on her back her legs open. Susan knelt,
without being told, between her thighs, thrusting her buttocks into the
air inviting more flagellation. I picked up one of my slippers that lay
beside the bed and brought it down across Susan’s already red buttocks
with a crack. She moaned in approval and began sucking Sandra’s cunt,
making loud noises of abandon.
I stood up on the bed my cock rigid and began rubbing my cock around
Susan’s anus.
“Suck her cunt harder. I love hearing those dirty noises, now I am going
to fuck your arse.” I said.
Suddenly the spell was broken and Sandra said angrily. “No you are not
going to fuck her arse.”
Susan looked confused but Sandra kissed her on the lips in a hard embrace
and they began writhing around on the bed. My cock was deflated now and I
was forgotten as the two girls discovered lesbian love.
I sat in the 007 bar in the Hilton with Gerry sitting at my right. Joey
sat opposite and we were talking business.
Gerry nudged me “Look at that bird over there she is beautiful.” His
handsome features lit up with a smile.
“Well go over and chat to her” I said wanting to see if he had the
courage. I looked at him straight in the eyes and he understood.
With that he got up and walked over to where the girl was sitting with
another girl and a guy. The two girls looked like sisters and were
beautiful with dark Latin features.
Joey turned to me. “Your boy he looks mean. The tattoos on the fingers.”
I laughed. Gerry’s fingers were tattooed ACAB on one hand and LOVE on the
other. He was a big muscular man with wide shoulders and moved like an
unleashed tiger. Gerry was making the right impression in Soho and that
was the idea. I would have him running the bookshop that I as opening in
Lisle Street soon.
“Yes Joey” I said no one will take liberties with us when he is around.
“Where did you meet him? Joey asked.
“In prison” I replied suspecting that Joey all ready knew the answer to
his question.
Joey nodded. “This new shop that you are opening.”
“Yes Gerry will be my man in the shop” I caught the eye of the waiter.
“Waiter can you get me a bottle of champagne and take it over to that
table to the young man in the suit and tie.” I said. Gerry was always
immaculate with pressed white shirt, tie and polished shoes and I noticed
how smart he looked as the waiter delivered the champagne in a bucket and
placed it on the table with a flourish.
Gerry looked over at me a broad smile on his face and I gave him the
thumbs up sign.
“I think that you are going to become rich with this new shop. I mean
already, you won’t have to go over to Amsterdam and take chances again.”
Joey looked at me a question in his eyes. I knew that he was Bernie’s man
and that everything I said would be going back to Bernie. I already was
earning lots of money but the entrepreneur in me kept on suggesting new
ideas where I could create more money
And I was already toying with the idea of setting up a factory in Holland
where I could process films to supply the shops. In Amsterdam it seemed
the demand was even greater than Soho.
“No Joey I will be satisfied with the new shop. No more taking chances”
“Yes it has made waves that are still washing over us from the other
side.” Joey said.
Gerry had got u and walked over to our table. “Why don’t you come over and
pull the other girl Mickey. They are Brazilians and really hot” He smiled
down at me ignoring Joey.
“No Gerry because I am discussing some important business with Joey here
and it looks like to me that her sister is all ready with this other guy.”
“No he is only some mug that they met here. Come on Mickey.” Gerry stood
there rubbing his hands together in a washing motion.
“No I can’t. You go and enjoy yourself.”
Gerry reluctantly returned to the table.
The talk between me and Joey went well.
No more drinks were being served and the chicken sandwiches that one had
to order to get a drink lay half eaten on the table.
“Shall we go my boy?” Joey said.
“Yeah sure” I replied and rose to my feet to go. Me and Joey walked
towards the foyer and Gerry was walking towards there too. I could see him
talking to the girl and the guy who seemed to be shaking his head and
offering Gerry a pound note.
Suddenly pandemonium broke loose. Gerry had the unfortunate guy by the
neck and was stuffing the pound note down his throat. He then knocked out
the guy who fell to the floor and lay there like a limp rag.
“Oh my God,” Joey was saying a frightened look on this face. “Lets get out
of here.” And he scuttled towards the exit.
I followed Joey and glancing back I saw Gerry ripping the phone out of the
hand of the cloakroom attendant and then out of the wall.
I ran down the stairs helping Joey.
“He is crazy already, this guy” Joey was saying.
Then we were in the car park running around unable to find my car in the
confusion.
“Here it is “I said spotting it. We climbed in and I drove around and up
the exit ramp.
At the top of the ramp loomed a large shape. It was Gerry.
“My God, don’t let him in, drive on” exclaimed Joey in panic.
“I can’t” I said pulling up.
Gerry opened the door and jumped in beside me. He was laughing with
excitement. “Fucking mug, he was drinking all the champagne and offered me
a pound. I made him eat it, the fucking cunt.”
“I paid for it, Gerry” I replied “I did not want anything.”
“Yeah but he fucking drank it all” Gerry complained.
Joey was silent in the back. We would have gone for a meal but I knew that
was out of the question now. “I’ll drop you off Joey” I said as I headed
up Park Lane towards Maida Vale where Joey lived.
When I got near Joey’s he said. “This will be fine Mickey, drop me here.”
It was about a quarter of a mile from his flat and I knew that he did not
want Gerry to know where he lived.
“Funny old cunt, ain’t he? Gerry said.
“No he is all right and one of my best friends.” I replied.
I was becoming uneasy about Gerry’s behaviour.
“Look Gerry next time you want to give someone a slap, ask me or make sure
I am not around” I said. “I don’t any unnecessary trouble.”
“What when I am running the book shop?” Gerry questioned me.
“That’s different,” I replied but you have to be in the right and someone
has to be right out of order. No strong arm stuff. Old Bill won’t stand
for it.”
Gerry looked disappointed.
“I’ll drop you off at Balham. I said.
8th August 2007
“The new man wants to see you up the office” I recognised
Sergeant Creighton’s Scottish accent.
“What’s happened to Les?” I asked a feeling of insecurity passing through
my brain.
“He has gone to work at London Airport” Creighton replied. “Come over at
nine o’clock sharp in the morning. Don’t be late because the new governor
is a bit of a stickler for punctuality.”
The next morning I parked my car in Petty France and walked down to New
Scotland Yard. The metal emblem turned around as ever outside New Scotland
Yard and once again I walked past it into the building and travelled up to
the fifth floor.
Creighton was waiting to meet me. “Hello Michael” the governor will see
you in a minute.”
I felt the brown paper envelope in my pocket. It was reassuring, my
insurance and money was always welcome I knew that. As I waited outside
the office my heart began to speed up in spite of myself and I breathed in
deeply in an effort to slow it down.
I looked at my gold Bulova and it was one minute to ten. As the hand moved
onto the hour a gruff voice shouted “Come in.”
I entered the office and was confronted by a tall angry looking man of
athletic appearance who I had never seen before. Evidently this was the
new Head of the Obscene Publications Squad.
“So you are Muldoon are you? You stupid fool!” the Chief Inspector greeted
me.
“Yes I am” I replied curtly ignoring the insult.
He gestured to some large boxes that stood on the table. “These were sent
back by the Dutch police. They are yours aren’t they?”
“No they are not mine. I was accused of importing those films into
Amsterdam but a Dutch court found me not guilty. They are Gordon Smith’s”
My glib answer made the new man angry and he assumed a boxing stance and
put up his hands to attack me so I put up mine too.
“You think you are a hard man, don’t you?” He said sparring up to me. “But
I would knock you out in the first round!” He pointed to an array of
silver cups in a case in his office. “I am a boxing champion.”
“Really” I taunted “I have had a few knockouts myself!”
With this he started to rant. “You had better watch your step from now on,
because no one is going to help you. I will be trying to get you my old
son, and my men will get you. You can count on it. Now get out you bloody
fool.”
As I turned to leave I spat out some parting words angrily. “I may have
been a fool but I can keep schtum, unlike some of the people you trust
with yellow streaks down their backs.” I was thinking of Evan Philips, who
used to work for me, who I knew would confess under interrogation and he
had a licence and had been in the News of the World. I knew that I could
not be broken.
Creighton opened the door and walked down the stairs at the end of the
passage. I followed the words of the new Head of the OPS going through my
brain. “My men will get you.”
As Creighton descended the stairs I took the brown paper envelope out of
my pocket and offered it to him.
“Why don’t you be my man in the office?” I said trying to tempt the
sergeant with the money. “I usually give this to Alton. Why don’t you take
it?”
“No I can’t Michael. This man has said no one can do business with you in
the office and I can’t.”
As I walked out of the Yard past the metal emblem turning around I
suddenly felt afraid.
I phoned up Roy. “Roy do you fancy a meal?”
We went to Sheekeys and I started off with two dozen large Colchester’s.
I told Roy what had happened and he looked at me with a serious look in
his eyes.
“Nothing has changed and the new man won’t make any difference because
there is too much money in it.” Roy said his expression changing a wolfish
grin revealing his sharp white teeth.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “But he would not take my money. What about
my licence?
Roy grinned “The man taking the money now is your old friend Bill Moody.”
“But he is on the Murder Squad now isn’t he? I said confused.
Roy leaned closer. “Yes but he is running the show again now.”
“Oh I see” I replied. The waiter approached and placed my steamed Turbot
on the table then Roy’s Dover Sole. He poured out the Chablis into our
glasses.
When the waiter had gone Roy continued. “Go and see Bill and he will
arrange everything for you.”
I drove past the Bedford and Bill’s car was outside. I had not been there
for a few months but as soon as I walked in the saloon bar and he saw me,
Bill’s big florid features lit up in a welcoming smile.
“Hello Mickey, me old son. How are you all right?”
“Yeah! I’m fine Bill. How are you?”
Bill’s wife, still wearing her mink coat, nodded to me and smiled then
went back talking to the friend I had seen her with before. Nothing had
changed! Bill was like a fixture in the pub.
“Don’t go over the shop much these days Bill?” I commented.
“No I just take the rent off of Tommy and he is satisfied and so am I.”
Bill laughed passing his hand over his swelling belly.
“Look I heard that Bill Moody is doing the business now?” I inquired.
“Yes everything is under control and Bill is running the show.” Bill the
Dustman verified what Roy had told me.
“Well I had better start seeing him then” I said.
“He will be in here about eight.”
“Okay I will come up for a drink then. Only a small one though because I
am training again now. I want to get fit.” I said excusing my absence.
“Get fit! “ Bill laughed. “I get fit lifting these up and down!” And he
gestured to his pint of brown and mild.
“See you tonight then Bill.” I promised.
Out in the fresh air I wondered why a guy like Bill could lead such a
boring life, propping up the bar everyday. I knew that he was there most
of the time in the Bedford Arms because I went that way home and his big
Ford Executive was usually parked with its wheels up on the kerb.
“It is all sorted” I said with a grin to Sandra as I walked into my living
room. My two kids came running towards me and I sank down onto the big
soft carpet to play with them.
“So what’s happening?” Sandra asked. “I know that you were getting worried
about this new bloke after he threatened to nick you. “
“As Roy said. There is too much money in it.” I laughed. “Everything is
the same and the new guy does not know what is going on. The flash, stupid
bastard.”
Laura looked at me reproachfully. “Daddy that’s a naughty word and you
shouldn’t say it.”
“Okay sweetie, you are right. I won’t say it again.”
Billy laughed. “I say it in school to the others boys.”
“Well you shouldn’t, and if the teacher hears you she will tell you off.”
Sandra said wagging her finger at my son but smiling at me.
“I’m seeing Moody tonight; he is running the show now.”
“Moody I don’t like him at all, or trust him one bit.” Retorted Sandra.”
He nicked me when you were in prison. He is a scumbag.”
“I know baby” I replied but I have to have a licence.”
Later that evening I drove up to the Bedford and parked my car near Bill’s
driving up onto the pavement on my kerbside. If you parked normally
another car might hit yours on the narrow Larkhall Lane.
Inspector Bill Moody of the Murder Squad stood at the bar next to Bill the
Dustman. They looked like close friends and they were. I knew that. I
wondered at the strange relationships that create friendships between men.
“Hello Bill” I said to Moody and he held out his hand which I shook. The
two Bills had both had a few pints and like most drinkers in their cups
were affected by a peculiar bonhomie.
I felt Bill the Dustman’s arm around my shoulders in a masculine embrace.
Bill laughed and his wife, sitting in her usual place laughed too smiling
in the men’s direction. “Mickey’s all right.” Bill chortled at his private
joke.
Inspector Moody still held my hand and showed no sign of releasing it.
“Mickey I have always wanted to say this to you…”
“What’s that Bill? “ I asked looking at the inebriated detective with
curiosity.
“Sandra, I did not want to do it but they made me. The order came from
above. I had no choice. Do you know what I mean?”
I looked at Bill and believed him. The order had come from above from him
who had to be obeyed. “Of course I know what you mean Bill.” I replied
pondering on the identity of those who control the police.
I put my hand into my pocket feeling the brown paper envelope. “I have got
a present for you here Bill.”
Moody’s face lit up in a smile. “I will look after you all right Mickey.”
Later I followed him into the toilets and as we stood pissing I slipped
him the filthy lucre.
24th August 2007
So now I had a licence again but Roy had left the Porn
Squad, he told me, to join A6 the anti corruption unit. This meant I no
longer had my own man inside the OPS and I was paying an ex member of the
OPS who was now head of the Murder Squad. The situation was becoming
increasingly bizarre but it had been that way from the time I had started
paying.
The phone was ringing and I picked it up to hear the sound of Roy’s
unmistakable gravely voice. “Hello! Mickey! How’s it going?”
“Fine.” I answered thinking of Roy’s new job on A6.
“Look I want you to do me a real favour Mickey.”
“Sure, fine anything. What is it?”
“Can you get me a hundred rollers and five hundred sets and 50 dildos?”
Roy questioned.
“Of course but when do you want them? I asked surprised.
“Today ASAP!”
“Where do you want them delivered to?” I asked.
“Come over to the nick in Tottenham Court Road. Drive up Tottenham Court
Road and it is on your left. Then take the first turning on the left past
the nick and the first left again. You will see my car parked in the yard.
Park up behind it. How long do you think that it will take you?” Roy asked
an eager tone in his voice.
“A couple of hours mate.” I answered.
“Okay I will be looking out for you. Just give a toot on your horn when
you get into the yard.”
“Okay will do.” I said as the phone went dead.
As I drove to my processing laboratory in the East End I gunned the
accelerator, ignoring the angry bleeping of overtaken motorists behind me.
Doing seventy through the Rotherhithe tunnel I felt the rush of
adrenaline.
I rang the doorbell and after being observed the spy-hole Kenny opened the
door blinking in the light.
“Thought that it was Old Bill!” Kenny exclaimed with a laugh.
We went through the light trap into the lab where everything was bathed in
the red of the safety lamps. “No I have just got a big order and it is
wanted like yesterday!”
“All business is good business already.” Kenny said as I went into the
store room to get the order.
Driving up Tottenham Court Road a wave of paranoia hit me as I saw
Tottenham Court Road police station. And Alton’s words “Roy is the enemy!”
flashed into my mind. I drove around the back of the station and turned
left into the police station. Roy’s jag was parked in the yard and I
pulled up behind him and sounded my horn.”
As the sound of the horn died away I was reminded that here I was sitting
in the back of the police station with a load of porn! “Was it a set-up?”
I thought as the seconds ticked away. Nervous I got out of my car and
slammed the door with some force. If he was looking out for me he would
hear it. I looked up at the windows but no-one showed. Suddenly a six foot
plus copper in a uniform emerged fro the back door and walked down the
steps towards me, an angry expression on his face. He disliked me on
sight, I could tell that as he took in my expensive clothes, jewellery and
big new car.
“Who are you? He demanded belligerently.
“I have to meet someone.” I replied as politely as I could.
“And who might that be?” questioned the big, broad shouldered copper.
At that moment, much to my relief, Roy walked out of the back door and
down the steps.
“He has an appointment with me.” Said Roy interrupting the confrontation.
“And who are you? Questioned the uniformed man.
“It is confidential!” replied Roy dismissively.
The big copper walked away a scowl on his face. Roy was dressed like me,
like one of the West End chaps and, as it happens, had his suits made by
the same tailor, Hymie in Wardour Street. He stood leaning on his Jag, a
wolfish grin on his handsome face. He passed his hand through his thick
cropped dark hair in a typical gesture. “Got the gear?” he asked a twinkle
in his blue eyes.
“Yeah Roy I have it all here.” I answered pleased that everything was all
right.
“Well put it in my boot” Roy said opening it up and jump in the front
seat.”
I sank down in the luxurious leather upholstery of his Mark 2 and ran my
hand over the polished walnut fascia of the dashboard regretting that I
had got rid of my Jag.
“What’s the damage son.” Asked Roy smiling a bargain.
“Rollers are the wholesale price £4 each, sets are four a pound, dildos,
£3 each plus a ten per cent discount for cash.” I said.
Roy did some quick mental arithmetic and pulled a thick wad of new notes
out of his inside pocket and began to count them out into my hand. “Now
don’t spend them all in one go because the serial numbers are a bit hot.”
He said with a chuckle.
“What?” I said indignantly.
Roy’s chuckle became a laugh. “They came from a jug, my end of a tip off!
Just break them in bits and pieces. Spread them out a bit. You will be all
right”
As I drove home through the Wild West End I ruminated on all the scams and
skulduggery going on in the heart of London.
26th August 2007
Kenny and I were going through a backstreet in Streatham
when I noticed two attractive girls looking out of an open upstairs
window. One of them was a light skinned black girl and the other a
brunette.
“Look at those two chicks up there” I exclaimed to Kenny and pulled the
car into the curb. We got out and stood on the pavement looking up the two
girls.
“Can we come up for a coffee?” I said smiling up at the black girl.
The girl came down and opened the door with a smile. Inside the cheap
looking flat with flyblown furniture we played the game of chatter until
we came onto the girls.
“What’s your name?” I asked the black girl.
“They call me coloured Pat,” she replied.
“Coloured Pat that’s a funny name. Do you mind if I just call you Pat” I
said looking down at her thighs which were revealed by a short black
skirt.
“I bet that you are married” Pat questioned me looking down at her exposed
thighs and reading my sexual interest in her.
“No me and Kenny just live down the road in Bedford Hill by the Common.” I
said
“I don’t believe you.” She replied laughing in an attractive way, her
white teeth emphasised by her coffee coloured skin.
I noticed that her breasts were firm and shook when she laughed.
“Come on lets go down to our flat it is only two minutes drive.
I drove the car towards the flat wondering whether Gerry would be in Pat
sitting beside me and the other girl Gloria in the back.
I pulled up outside and we all went in. Gerry was out. “Who wants a drink
I asked?”
I poured out a couple of glasses of wine for the girls and one for me and
Kenny.
Soon I was rolling around on the bed with Pat and Kenny with Gloria. She
let me feel her tits and kiss her but I could not get my hand in between
her thighs which she held firmly together.
“It is the wrong time of the month” Pat explained
“Me too” Gloria said.
“What are you two synchronised. I said joking.
We did not get anywhere that night and when the girls had left we went
home and fucked our wives.
I phoned Laura, a young model who I had used in the films and she agreed
to come down to London for the day. I picked her up at Charing X station
and we drove to the flat in Balham. I had told Gerry that we were coming
and he opened the door with a smile when he saw the attractive looking
girl. Inside the flat I took off my clothes and she began to suck my cock
while Kenny took photos.
Gerry became excited and started to undress and I smiled in approval. He
had an enormous cock and was soon fucking the girl who really enjoyed sex
especially when she got paid for posing. She was turned on and her cunt
really wet.
Gerry stopped fucking and got down on his hands and knees by the bed and
began sucking and licking her while she was bent over, her buttocks in the
air sucking my cock. I could see Gerry’s face in between her buttocks.
“Fuck her arse Gerry” I said. “She loves it.
It was Gerry’s first porno shoot but he performed like a seasoned stud and
I got some really good material.
Sandra brought one of her girlfriends around the flat one day called
Eileen. She said that they were going out for a meal later. Eileen kept on
trying to pick up Billy but he did not like her and kept struggling to get
away. Then she tried to kiss him and he head butted her.
Eileen screamed the blood running down her face.
“Oh God! Get some ice quickly” I said urgently and Sandra rushed out to
get some.
“What did you do that for?” I asked my son feeling guilty because I had
taught him to fight and to use his head.
“She would not put me down and I don’t like her” he replied.
“Go up to bed now” I commanded. “I have told you never to hit people
unless they hit you.” I said looking at Sandra who was giving me an
accusing look while holding an icepack to Eileen’s nose.
When Eileen’s nose had stopped bleeding they left Sandra saying “I have
got to take her home.”
When I looked out of the window I saw them both driving away in their own
cars. Sandra in her Lancia sports and Eileen in a Merc. I wondered what
she did for a living. I had met her boyfriend and we had gone out to
restaurants together. Evidently they had a flat at Marble Arch and I
noticed they had plenty of cash to spend but never found out how they
earnt a living.
Gerry picked up Kenny’s Karate board and threw it into the air. As it came
down he hit it with one powerful blow and it broke in two!
“What the fuck did you do that for Kenny” said angrily his nostrils
flaring, his eyes fixed on Gerry.
“It was stupid wasn’t it? A silly stupid board”! Gerry said
contemptuously.
Kenny walked out of the room angrily and did not return.
“Where’s he gone the silly cunt” Gerry said with a laugh that was more
like a growl.
“You should not have done that Gerry” I said reproachfully.
Gerry steamed into the punch bag with his bare fists. “I know that he does
not like me” Gerry complained.
Indeed Kenny did not like Gerry and he had told me so and neither did his
wife my sister Kath. To tell you the truth I was growing tired of his
company and his desire to visit my home all the time. On the other hand my
kids liked him and he would play with them and they called him “Uncle
Gerry.”
Kenny was a good fighter in spite of his size and I know that he would not
back down if it came to it.
Gerry stood facing us while Sandra and I lounged back. in our armchairs.
Gerry’s face was excited. He pulled up his sleeves and I noticed that his
shirt sleeves were stained red with blood.
“Guess how I got all this claret over my shirt!” Gerry exclaimed in his
deep gruff voice emphasising the “word” claret as though he relished it.
“No” I replied glancing at Sandra who was looking at me.
“Well I met this geezer on the Tube, going back to the flat at Balham. He
kept staring at me and I stared back.” Gerry’s face turned hard as though
he was reliving the Tube train experience and staring the unknown person
down. “Do you know what I mean, like.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean” I replied expecting Gerry to describe one of
the many fights he had in his life.
Gerry’s eyes gleamed as he continued. “Anyway I think that he was a
fucking iron hoofter.”
“Really I said thinking I knew what was coming next.
“Anyway I got off the train and he got off too, the fucking poof. So I
began walking up Bedford Hill towards the flat and, do you know what he
began following me.”
Gerry’s eyes began to narrow as he remembered. “He followed me right up to
the flat. I opened the front gate and he walked up the path. So I opened
the front door and he followed me into the flat.”
I was surprised now and I shot glance at Sandra who had a strained worried
look on her beautiful face that made her brow crease into lines between
her eyes.
“I said to him I know what you want. Bend over the bed and pull down your
kecks, and he did! Then I walked over and took out my blade, fucking
striped the cunt, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh right across his harris. Should
have heard the poofter scream. He pulled up his pants and the claret was
spurting out and run out” Gerry started to chuckle, then to laugh, the
ears rolling down his cheeks.
I looked at him masking my horror with my hand, shaking my head and for
the first time I realised that he was a maniac. I stared a Sandra who now
looked frightened then back at Gerry. “I bet that taught him a lesson” I
said forcing a grin to my face. I had met guys like him before in prison
and had always concealed my fear. Never let them know that you are afraid.
Also I had always acted the hard man to Sandra and I had to continue to do
so.
When Gerry had left Sandra turned to me. “He is dangerous Mickey. I don’t
want him around the house.”
“Okay” I replied. “Me neither but I don’t want to fall out with him
because he will be my man in the shop I am opening soon in Lisle Street.
“I don’t want him round here he is mad and Kath said he threatened her.”
Sandra was afraid now and so was I.
“No one said anything to me. Okay I will see about it” I replied. “I can
control him. Don’t worry.”
“Look Gerry! What I want you to do is to go up North to visit the
bookshops up there to see if you can get any business.” I said smiling.
Gerry looked at me and nodded. “All right pal anything you say.”
“I will give you some samples and some addresses of shops were you might
get some orders” I said.
Gerry sat in the passenger seat and Sandra was in the back. I was nearing
Kings Cross station
“I don’t want you round our flat anymore Gerry.” Sandra suddenly said.
“I think that is up to Mickey not you a silly woman.” Gerry retorted
turning in his seat.
“Who do you think that you are talking too?” Sandra replied.
“I am talking to you” Gerry replied.
The fear rose up in me but I turned to Gerry and said “Don’t speak to
Sandra like that!” I was just pulling into the station and I pulled up the
car.
“Are you talking to me? Gerry said angrily.
“Yes I am talking to you” I replied and jumped out of the car and onto the
pavement and as Gerry got out I squared up to him putting up my fists.
Gerry stared at me angrily as I moved towards him ready to fight. I was
afraid but had overcome my fear and called a showdown.
Gerry held up his opened palm. “I don’t want to fight you Mickey.” He said
becoming calm.
“Well I don’t want you round my flat anymore. I have a wife and family and
need my privacy.” I said
“Okay Mickey.” Gerry said reluctantly shrugging his shoulders.
“Well that’s it then. We won’t fall out but you stay round the flat and I
will phone you. You phone me if you want anything. You will be running the
shop soon. Okay?
“Okay Mickey” agreed Gerry and he walked away towards the entrance of the
railway station his shoulders slumped in defeat.
I was pleased with myself because I resolved the situation.
Sandra looked at me a proud look in her eyes. “I knew that you would fight
him she said. You can do anybody.”
“Yeah” I boasted I have knocked out bigger guys than him” but I wondered
what would have happened if we had fought. I did not reckon my chances.
One eyed Jimmy looked at me and took a sip of his whisky and puffed on his
King Edward that he held between his teeth by a toothpick stuck into the
end of the cigar.
He gestured to some photos of Pat that hung on the wall. “They sell like
hotcakes. She is a right little raver and so beautiful. Everyone would
like to meet her.”
I puffed on a three paper joint of pure weed and the seeds popped as I
inhaled.
A few punters glanced round but quickly went back to rummaging through the
boxes of photos on the shelves searching for their favourite sexual
fantasy.
“I bet they would. You dirty load of fuckers” I replied sucking on the
joint so that the end glowed red. I knew that Jimmy’s mates were the Porn
Squad.
“No Mickey we just want to take her out to some nice restaurants and
clubs. She would be well treated. Why don’t you introduce me?”
I looked at Jimmy into his one good eye that was sparkling with excitement
of the prospect of meeting Pat the model who he had seen doing so many
things sexual.
“She never takes it up the arse does she?” enquired Jimmy.
“No and she only drinks soft drinks” I said.
“Really well that’s all right I will treat her right” he said with a
pleading look.
“I will ask her” I promised and it will be entirely up to her but I don’t
want anyone taking any pictures of her” I said with emphasis.
“Mickey of course not it is just for social occasions. You know having a
beautiful girl around.”
“Okay Jimmy” I said “I’ll ask her. I put down my drink and walked out of
the shop into Greek Street as I walked towards Walkers Court the clip
joint girls were on the corner. They never seemed to recognise me even
though I had passed their red lit doorways hundreds of times. I did not
like these girls because they ripped people off.
“Fancy a good time love” one girl dressed in a really short mini skirt and
high heels called out.
I ignored her disappearing into the Soho night. Signs on doorways promised
“young model upstairs second floor.” The prostitutes might be as young as
promised but at least they performed a sexual service.
30th August 2007
The phone was ringing “Hello Mickey, you know who this is?”
said Roy’s voice.
“Of course” I replied wondering what he wanted.
“Listen Mickey I am sorry to give you the news but there is a price on
your head!”
As Roy finished the sentence I felt a spasm of fear go through me but I
kept my cool. “How much is it? I answered cockily. But my stomach was all
butterflies.
“Ten grand! Answered Roy.
“Ten grand is that all I am worth! I joked. “Who put the contract on me?”
I wanted to know who wanted me dead.
“The Fat Man” answered Roy
“The Fat Man” I repeated the name incredulously. The Fat Man was Evan
Philips who used to work for me and whom I knew very well. I knew that he
was too timid to do anything like putting contracts on people.
“The Fat Man would not dare do such a thing he is too soft and just wants
a quiet life.” I questioned Roy’s information.
“Well Mickey, it’s not him but Les. Les is controlling the Fat Man now and
he is always down there. He does everything he is told.” said Roy
convincingly in explanation.
Now I believed him. “Okay I said thanks for the warning.”
“Okay take care” said Roy and put the phone down.
The words “take care” took on a powerful meaning now and I poured myself a
whisky and took a big gulp then sat down. I felt strange like a condemned
man. My mind went into overdrive. “What should I do now? Should I run?
Give up my business now. Put a contract on Alton?” I listened to my mind
racing and the fast beating of my heart. I could hear my kids chattering
away upstairs and Sandra laughing. What was I going to say to her? Should
I even tell her?
