Tag Archives: Hampshire police

London Boy Johnny Mack | Injustice = Miscarriage | The Ending

This week’s “London Boy Film” blog by Johnny Mack is the concluding part to his own, true life and harrowing story of police injustice !! Of being arrested at gunpoint for a crime he had not committed, in front of his own kids, to then finding out that his wife has also been arrested, and all this carried out by a police force armed with no more evidence than some would say a long, petty and sadistic memory !! …..and at what cost?  Who pays? I’ll leave it for Johnny to tell you:

 

Injustice = Miscarriage | The Tragic End

 

Miscarriage of justice. This happened to Johnny Mack when he was falsely arrested, along with his beloved wife Carol on a a charge of armed robbery.

A story of injustice & it’s consequences !!

 …Cont’d

Being completely naked and having a size twelve boot pressed down on your windpipe isn’t much fun. Nor is having a submachine gun pressed so hard to the side of your temple that it leaves a lasting indent of a gun barrel. You think that the recipient of such police treatment would be a terrorist, murderer or a child-killing rapist. In my eyes I would be the first to agree that those types deserve that sort of reception when being arrested.

However the powers that be had decided that I Johnny Mack warranted a reception of that calibre.

The big question I hear you ask is why did he get that cruel treatment? Some of you may say. “Well what does he expect, after all he is a gangster?” Some of you will presume the police had every right to come bursting through my front door with guns drawn its acceptable. But some of you may say “Let’s hear this geezer out first before we make an opinion.”

You are all right to think what you like; it isn’t my intention to sway any you from your thoughts and opinions. I have learned over the years that it is indeed none of my business what anyone thinks of me. Everyone is entitled to have an opinion, regardless of what it is. My only intention in writing this blog is to bring out the truth about something that happened to me many years ago. That saying “What goes round comes round” comes to mind, as I get further into this story.

It was complete and utter mayhem inside my flat that winter’s morning. There were now lots of uniformed officers trudging all over the place pulling everything to the floor in their wake. The armed response unit having done their job of restraining me were now putting away their weapons. I was still naked flat out on my front with handcuffs restraining my arms behind my back. They were pulled so tight that my hands were swelling up and going purple from lack of blood circulation.

My arms were used to pull me to my feet; the pain I experienced was so bad I nearly went through the roof. As I was screaming my head off in agony I glimpsed my eldest son and daughter looking on at the treatment I was receiving. (Their poor little terrified faces still haunt me to this day.) The police were trying to get a pair of jeans on me so that they could remove me from the house. Even that simple task they couldn’t get right. I ended up being dragged down the stairs then across the estate with my balls exposed to all and sundry. And believe me it was bloody freezing which added more embarrassment to my situation.

Now I’m squeezed between to fat coppers in the back of a squad car still with my hands cuffed behind my back. I was in so much pain that, if it weren’t for the fact that I am one stubborn bastard, I would have begged them to release the cuffs. But my pride wouldn’t allow me to give these bastards the satisfaction of me asking. When I did eventually have the cuffs removed it took more than three days to regain feeling in both hands. I still had no idea what I was being arrested for. By law I should have been given a copy of their search warrant and read my rights when being arrested. But of course these bastards thought I didn’t deserve the correct procedures and so the mind games began. As we are pulling into the back of Shanklin police station the detective sergeant complete with a Jack Frost hat and moustache turns, smiles and says “Armed robbery” nothing more. My first thoughts were that someone from my past had turned super grass and now I was part of the round up of those named. My conscience was clear because I hadn’t committed any crimes here on the rock so therefore on that basis I had nothing to worry about, or so I thought. But all of a sudden it became crystal clear why this was happening to me. Like a bombshell striking its target, it dawned on me that a few years earlier I had been threatened by the police not to come back to the rock. This threat came after I got nicked for flooding the place with counterfeit notes. For those of you that have been following my blog know I had been arrested, sentenced and done my time for that crime. But now it was dawning on me that the sentence I received for that crime wasn’t enough to satisfy the police. They were now intent on following through with their threat which was to make my life hell if I stepped foot on the island.

The drink driving offence had blown my alias and they now knew who I was and where I lived. But in all fairness I never believed they would follow through with their threat. At the time I thought it was just angry coppers with resentments making idle threats, which at that time was common. But to actually go through with their threats was a shock to the system to say the least. Where I come from in London, if a gangster got a not guilty at court the coppers would treat it like a game of cat and mouse. The law would bide their time, use different tactics and in the end eventually get their man. But what was about to happen to me, even the London police wouldn’t stoop to those levels to get their man. Even if the gangsters who persistently outwitted the police; they would wait their time and play them like a game of chess until they got him. But at the end of the day whatever happened on both sides of the fence, there was always that underlying respect for each other. In most cases they wouldn’t go to those extremes of threatening to make someone including their family’s life a living hell.

Well the Isle of Wight police did stoop to those levels and my family and I were about to get a taste of living hell.

Most of what went on while I was in their custody is explained in my second autobiography “Landed on the Moon” so I won’t go into too much detail. However what I will tell you is that I was being arrested for an armed robbery on a local post office. At the time I had no transport, not even a bike and whereas my wife did not drive we used public transport to get about. (Basically we were skint!)

When I was being interviewed I was refused legal representation but I went ahead with it because, for once I was completely innocent. I had nothing to hide and only wanted to get this out of the way as quick as possible. They gave me details about the armed robbery, such as the getaway driver was a woman. They told me the time and date of the robbery and in return I gave them the perfect alibi of where I was at that specific day and time. And that was, I had been in a dentist chair receiving treatment seventeen miles away at the exact time of the robbery. I explained I had no transport and that my wife did not drive. She also had an alibi for the time of the robbery, which was, she was at home with our three kids along with my mum and dad. My parents had popped in to drop off Christmas presents for the kids and stayed for more than two hours.

After me telling them where I was at the time of the robbery I knew they would check with the dentist. Once that was confirmed I thought I would be released and allowed to go back home. But no that was not to be the case and it wasn’t long before I realised they were seriously gunning for me.

As far as I knew my wife and kids were at home while our flat was being turned upside down. But I was about to get a nasty shock when the Detective Sergeant on the case stuck his head in through the hatch of my holding cell.

I asked him what he wanted and with the biggest smirk a face could contort he said. “By the way I forgot to mention that we have nicked your wife and you’re kids are going to be put into care”

My reaction was fierce to say the least because she was completely innocent as I was. He walked off laughing to himself knowing he had hurt me badly, to the point that I was in tears. The very thought of her banged up in a police cell was to me, like hell warmed up and I could do nothing. Mad thoughts of my kids being taken screaming into foster care were whirling through my mind; I was a broken man at that point.

I insisted on having my solicitor present because it was obvious they had no evidence against me. But those slippery bastards found some wine bottle cleaner in crystal form while searching my house. They claimed it was drugs and therefore I was to be charged with possession of drugs with intent to supply.

To cut to the chase with this story, I was taken to a special court at 8pm on Christmas Eve. There they asked the court to remand me to prison so that they could get tests done on the bottle cleaner. However my solicitor was having none of it and told the court that in all his years serving the court he had never witnessed such treatment to a man.

The court gave me bail in the end and told the police to get the tests done ASAP. I was so relieved to get bail and only wanted to see my wife and family. Arriving home I found my wife in tears and her dress covered in blood. She was so upset that she couldn’t talk to me and locked herself in the bathroom.

I found my kids huddled together in the front living room amongst the wreckage the police had left behind. The Christmas tree had been snapped in two and all the kid’s presents were opened and strewn all over the floor. Some had been trodden on and were in a thousand pieces. I thought, how could anyone be so cruel because my kids were in the room as they ripped their presents apart, fucking animals!

The next shock came when I realised my wife and I had no clothes, the police had taken them for forensic testing. To hammer the nail into my coffin they also took all our Christmas money, again for forensic tests.

Eventually my wife came into the living room after cleaning herself up. She told me of her nightmare of being interrogated by those heartless bastards. When they arrested her she had just realised she was pregnant. They never gave her anytime to dress when they took her. All she had on was a loose fitting green dress and a pair of sandals. She never had a chance to put any underwear on or even a warm coat. After the bastards interrogated her and put her back in the cells she miscarried our unborn child. She was bleeding badly but she was too embarrassed to ask a male copper for a sanitary towel. She was in one hell of a mess and didn’t realise what was happening to her. In the end she got the attention of a female cleaner who gave her a towel. But because she had no underwear she could not hold it in place and spent the next four hours with her legs tight together.

When she got home the miscarriage came to it’s peak and what was left of our child went down the loo.

Did my wife or I deserve to be treated in this way…?  No we did not, in fact no one deserves that type of treatment, not even an animal.

To know the full story you’ll find it in my book ‘’Landed on the Moon” available from Amazon and my own website.

Stay tuned for other instalments of the life and times of Johnny Mack and believe me I have plenty to tell.

Ta-la for now guys

Johnny

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London Boy – Injustice = Miscarriage Part 2

Well I don’t know who has been anticipating the publication of this continuing story of johnny’s the most this week. London Boy fans, Me, or the Hampshire police constabulary? What I do know is that this second instalment is not to be missed. You also get a word from the London Boy himself, as Johnny introduces personally this week by video. Enjoy…. 

 

Miscarriage of justice. This happened to Johnny Mack when he was falsely arrested, along with his beloved wife Carol on a a charge of armed robbery.

A life long, a life lost. A story of injustice & it’s consequences. The police in this country and rightly so, possess many powers. However, with great power comes great responsibility !! WHO IS RESPONSIBLE ?

There are slight timing issues with this video and for that all of us at London Boy apologise. However you’ll be glad to know that nothing is lost and the passion for this story to be told and heard still shines through.

There I was, now living on the Island (The Rock) with my family starting afresh and away from crime and drugs. Back in London the false rumour of me being stabbed and dying over in Spain had worked a treat. There was only one person who knew of my whereabouts and that person was family. It was that person who kept their ear to the ground for what was going around on the criminal grapevine. Then promptly let me know the score that my plan worked.

I had no choice but to go to these extreme measures because, me quitting the criminal fraternity wasn’t an option. You see; with regard the firms illicit dealings, I’d been around so long that I knew way too much about what had gone down. Over the years I had witnessed so many things that me leaving would make some of them very nervous. But more importantly if for some reason in the distant future I had decided to go rogue. I would have been in a position to name everybody that was involved in everything. In the firms eyes it would be much safer to run me out to Epping Forest. There waiting for me would have been a pre-dug grave where I would receive my pension award; a bullet to the head.

But of course I would not dream of such a thing because these people were like family to me. I had known most of them since I was that cocky 10 year old that they took under their wings. They taught me everything I needed to know to be able to survive in the harsh world of the criminal fraternity. Included in their teachings was the real value of the word respect and believe me they taught me well because respect, I had plenty of.

But I had broken all the rules by having and hiding the fact that I had a big drug problem. I became paranoid that they would find out about it and if that happened, I’ll be dead in hours of them getting wind of the news. I had been playing with fire back then and knew it only too well. But even knowing what would happen to me if they found out about my problem. My addictive personality was so strong in me that it was beating my will power hands down. I just couldn’t stop myself so it would have only been a matter of time before the shit hit the fan. So when my then wife took my kids away to the rock, it took her doing that to gain the strength I needed to get myself clean.

Spreading that rumour about my death may have worked for most people. I knew the firm wouldn’t have accepted it hook line and sinker. No far from it, because they would have been too sceptical to swallow it straight away. The more time I stayed away off the radar the more they would come to terms with it.

But now I was clean off the drugs and away from the mayhem that crime produces. For the first time in my life I felt alive and free with the added bonus of no more looking over my shoulder. Once I accepted the fact that there was no going back, I tried to live the life of a law-abiding citizen. Though we were skint and living in what resembled a shed where the only heating was a hole in the wall masquerading itself as a tiny coal fire, I was happy. We had 2.2 kids, meaning my youngest son Danny was just a baby. The place was so cold at night that ice formed on the inside of the windows. Some nights we would wheel his cot into the tiny kitchen and light the gas stove just so he could be kept warm.

During the daytime I found myself beach combing and collecting firewood for the fire, real survival shit. The things I would find on a beach especially after a big storm hitting out in the channel was amazing. Some of the stuff was re-saleable and some I would keep for myself. I was now living a life that only a little while ago was totally alien to me. and adjusting to it, I knew would be a huge challenge.

My second autobiography “Landed on the Moon” which is all about my life on the Isle of Wight was named appropriately. Basically because they were the first words to pass my lips when I arrived here on the rock. And don’t get it in your head and think that the book is boring and all about red necks and vegetables because you would be well wrong. Part of this story is published in that book with the highlight of the storyline being me seeing the light that completely changed my life.

I got myself a job at the local shipyard still working under an alias. But because I didn’t have proof of my national insurance number I had to pay at an emergency income tax rate, being one third of my wages. I couldn’t believe I was working 50-60 hours per week for less money then I would spend on a normal night out at a pub back in London. So every penny I earned went on food and coal (Lots of it ha ha) By the end of the winter I had burnt everything that could be burnt from the inside of the shed, doors, cabinets, even the fucking wardrobes. Out in the garden I cut down the whole surrounding 6ft x 3ft hedge, including the apple & plum trees and burnt the fucking lot for warmth. If you are a tree huger then I’m sorry if I’ve upset you by that comment, but where needs be, needs must. But once the summer came along it was a different story. The shed now seemed to take on a different aura because minus that hedge it now had a sea view with lots of sunshine making it a cool place to live.

Cut to the chase after a year or so the local council offered us a top floor three bedrooms flat in a town called Ryde. When I mentioned the location of my new future abode, the locals in my pub pulled long faces and started shaking theirs heads in disapproval. I’m thinking what the fuck is it with my new address that makes these red necks react like this? They go on to tell me that my new flat is situated in a really bad area and on a very bad housing estate that has a very bad reputation. “Scum bags and criminals only get to live there” one local tells me. At that moment in time the very thought of being wrapped around scum bags and criminals almost felt desirable. Since I arrived on the rock I had been wrapped around these local vegetable loving inbred red necks and if I’m to be honest, they were doing my nut in! So when they offered us the flat I thought I would take a quick look at the place before we were officially meant to. The idea being was to see if there was any credibility to the local’s claims about the place.

Well, when my old man drives me onto this so-called hostile no-go scum bag only housing estate I couldn’t believe my eyes. To me it looked like a holiday camp with beautiful lush green lawns; beautiful trees and a lovely kid play area including the sand. Back in London a play area like this one would have been dismantled scrapped for metal value and the sand sold on to a builder or whatever. I compared this place to a housing estate back in South London and this place came out with 15 stars +

So when we started to settle in at our new abode it wasn’t too long before the local criminal fraternity began getting nosy. Word had got round the estate that a cockney wide boy had moved in and they wanted to give me the once over to check me out. They wanted to know all about me and where I’m a tight-lipped fucker they got told in no uncertain terms where to go. I had to laugh at some of these lemons because they seemed to be caught in a time warp. Adorning their heads with Mullet style haircuts was supposed to be the in thing. As was drainpipe jeans with big jackboots to match were to them the height of fashion. But the worse thing about most of them was that they were shy of a bar of soap and allergic to water. Those that suffered from this allergy thought getting soaked in a rainstorm was the equivalent of taking their monthly shower.

There was a bonus about living with locals, who were either inbred or slightly backward, especially where crime and drugs were concerned. For instance they hadn’t a clue about organised crime nor did they have any structure with their law breaking. With them it was all about robbing their own, house break-ins and petty theft. When I first met one of the Island’s top faces who was supposed to be the main man for that particular part of the island. My first impression of him was that he was a shilling short of a pound with an ego the size of a house.

When I think back to those days in the mid eighties, If my then wife had not left London with the kids I would definitely have ended up on a mortuary slab. I suppose there is not many ex husbands who can say that they’re ex wife saved their life. Regardless of our differences later on in life I am still indebted to her for making that decision to move out of London. I understand now she didn’t do it so that I would sort myself out, she done it purely for the kids’ welfare. When she moved to the rock taking the kids I managed to find the strength to get clean off the drugs by going cold turkey. I also realised that a life altering change that was within me was now way overdue showing itself.

I made the tough decision to leave the firm, which meant turning my back on crime to live the life of a normal person. My reason for these all important life changes was simple and that was because I loved my kids more than anything.

Every change I’ve made in my life has had a knock-on effect and me giving up crime and drugs done exactly that. Apart from writing novels and screenplays and of course let’s not forget my blog. Today I find myself helping others such as alcoholics/addicts and criminals to turn their lives around. And I do this, not by giving them advice because me giving advice is not a good thing. I do it purely by sharing my own experiences, strengths and hopes with them. Because of my past, most of my clients relate to me when they first meet me. One thing is for sure and that is they can never say that famous phrase “You don’t understand”

After a couple of years living in my no go, scum bags only three bedroom flat, my anonymity was blown when I got a tug by the police while driving my car. By this time I had not touched a drug but found solace at the bottom of a bottle of booze.

I had been on an all day bender when I stupidly decided to drive the half-mile to my home. One of the red necks had grassed me up to the law, not because they were on an anti-drink and drive campaign. No far from it because the geezer who grassed was a frequent drink driver himself. He had done it because he hated “Overners” (People who are born off the Island) and was jealous of our ways and ideas.

Anyway I fell out of the car when they opened the door to arrest me. The blood sample they took from me came back as having one of the highest readings ever recorded on the island. Of course here in the UK drink driving is a criminal offence and that meant a court appearance. Going through the police process of being charged and assessed for court brought to light my true identity.

Within three days of the incident I got an unexpected visit from a couple of police officers. I recognised both of them from my previous exploits on the rock a few years earlier. I was reminded of the warning given to me back then that if I ever stepped foot on the rock my life would be made hell.

Because I had such a high alcohol reading from my blood sample I could have lost my liberty let alone my driving license. So after getting that visit from the local police I knew they were after putting me back inside. I wouldn’t mind because if that happened I would of only got a couple of months and with our sentencing laws here in the UK I would have been out in two to four weeks. My biggest upset was that they knew where I was now. And from experience I knew that they could set me up on more serious charges if they put their mind to it. In this case if it weren’t for the fact that I had saved a family of six in a house fire a few weeks before I appeared at court I would undoubtedly have gone to prison. Because of my heroics I was banned from driving and given a fine.

Because of my driving ban I decided to get rid of my car. After all there was no point having a car sitting out on the driveway for the next couple of years. We were struggling a bit financially and the money got from my car sale dwindled very quickly.

I started to do a bit of work for a local builder, not much just a few hours here and there. To make ends meet I started to buy and sell a few bits and pieces at auctions. It didn’t make a lot of money but it was enough to get us through. Having three kids at that time was quite expensive to feed and clothe them, so all I earned went straight into the kitty.

It was getting close to Christmas and my then wife who was good with money had already bought little presents for the kids throughout the year. This saved us that last minute run-around trying to find the cash to pay for prezzies.  Not only did she manage to get all the presents, she also got the food and nibbles, the sort of things you have at Xmas time. So we may not have had money but we had a full larder of food and drink to see us over the festive season.

We was also coming up to out wedding anniversary and for that we never really went too crazy. We would stick to a card or a bunch of flowers with a promise of a belated honeymoon once we got flush again with cash. So as you can gather we were skint but we weren’t going to go hungry. The way we saw it, was providing the kids were catered for at Christmas then we were happy. Most of you that are reading this will understand and relate to having hard times financially at the festive period.

On our wedding anniversary (being 23 Rd December), we were to experience something that would change our lives forever. It came right out the blue and was totally unexpected. I was a reformed villain, having no contact or involvement with other criminals nor was I wanting to. However the powers that be decided that was not the case and decided to make my life hell.

It was around six in the morning when I was woken by the nozzle of a sub-machine gun being jammed into the side of my head. A twenty stone police officer complete with body armour was kneeling on my spine screaming at my wife and me. The duvet covers being thrown back exposing my wife’s and I nakedness in front of six armed police officers. My two-year-old son screaming his head off as he witnesses police with their weapons drawn drag his teenage sister from her bed. My ten –year old son petrified by being held to the floor by two burly coppers.

I’m going to leave it their guys and next week is the name and shame time for the Hampshire Police Constabulary.

So don’t miss it !!

Ta la for now

Johnny

Johnny Mack – The Counterfiets London 1981

Well guys, I’m back with another installment of the life and times of Johnny Mack. My apologies for getting a bit waylaid with last week’s blog by turning this counterfeit story into three parts. london boy counterfietmoney
Johnny’s opening to the Counterfeit Money scam can be found at “The Office Part 2”

“The counterfeits” London 1981

 

As I’ve already explained the UK was awash with snide banknotes, everybody was at it! Well everybody I knew that is. It got so competitive that small crews were having to head out of the city into the suburbs’ caning small stores’ gas stations and the like. Using a £20 snide note they would usually purchase something that cost under a £pound and then pocket the change. Where there’s a small gang with 4-5 in it, each member could easily hit as many as a hundred plus small retail outlets in a day. But as I’ve already said small businesses had cottoned on to these little crews traveling the length and width of the UK. Most had installed counter measures’ such as ultra-violet lights and pens that could detect a snide note in seconds.

CCTV became the best measure used for putting a stop to these little crews. Over a short time it became the best deterrent in the war against the counterfeiters. Even if they had passed a few over the counter and got clean away, they were now getting rounded up at a later date because the law had recognised one or more by viewing the tapes. That meant if they got nicked for passing one note, they would end up getting nicked for every note they had previously passed. If the law already knew of them, the counterfeit squad would sometimes put them on “Obo” (Observation) The aim being that the crew who were passing them would eventually lead the squad to the bigger fish that were supplying them.

The laser printer quickly became obsolete thus putting an end to widespread distribution. But of course you still had the odd few that would try their luck by using mugs to pass them over the counter. But they never reined for long and would usually end up getting banged up when one of their own mugs grassed on them.

However for me it was completely different because the notes that were about to come my way were printed using forged printing plates. They were of the highest quality, having everything from the right paper inclusive of the watermark, right down to the silver strips. They even fooled the banking system for a while because they could withstand all the tests including the ultraviolet etc. The firm that had these plates didn’t want to use them for single purchases. No far from it because they had bigger and better plans for their product while it lasted.

My involvement came one night when a pal of mine I hadn’t seen in a while got together for a drink. He trusted me enough to tell me what he was up to and also knew I could be a potential client.

He showed me two crispy brand new $100 notes and laid them out on a table in front of me. With a big confident grin he asks me to pick out the snide one. I wasn’t that familiar with US currency, having only used it a few times when working as a taxi driver. So in fairness I couldn’t really tell the difference just by looking at them. However it was the feel and smell of them that triggered it for me. Just touching them made me think that both were genuine. I had to admit that they had me fooled because I couldn’t tell the difference. When he pointed out the one that was the snide, I asked him how could he tell which one was which.  What he said next got me really excited because this was starting to look like a nice bit of business for me. “The serial numbers Johnny, the fucking numbers, that’s the only way I can tell” It must be obvious to you all what my next question was to be…Yep you got it “How much and how many.” That’s when he told me that there was as much as I wanted so long as it exceeded the minimum amount, which was $10,000 real. For that amount I could buy $100,000 snide, giving me $90,000 profit, nice little earner wouldn’t you say?

The only problem I saw here was how was I going to get shot of them to make that sort of profit? The safest way was to sell them on, yet that would only make me the most $10,000 profit, so I had to think…and think fast at that. I went and saw Johnny McAvoy who was the brother of “Brinks Matt gold robber Mickey McAvoy. Johnny was gob smacked after I showed him one using the same technique as my pal done to me. He couldn’t pick the snide either and ended up buying $100,000 snide for $20,000 real. But when he got back to me, he told me that the only way he could earn a decent profit was to buy a $1,000,000

He was right; the safest way to move them on was to sell in bulk. But when you’re doing that amount of business the price of purchase has to come down. You see I was acting on behalf of my pal, then I was selling to Johnny who would then sell them on to another and no doubt he would do the same and so on. You can only have one middleman, not three or four because the profit margins diminish rapidly. I got back in touch with my pal asking him if he could get me UK pounds rather than US dollars. He said that plates for UK currency were being made as we spoke but once they were complete only selected people were to get a crack at them. What he meant by that was his employers only wanted buyers who would buy shit loads at a time. It was so bloody frustrating having access to all that cheap dough, yet not having the money to buy it. They knew what they were doing all right, by only wanting to do business with those who could shell out a minimum of  £250,000 real.

For that amount they would get a £1, 250, 000, a clear million pound profit if used in the correct way. The thing was, though I couldn’t get the type of dough needed. Yeah I hear you, why didn’t I spread it around with the guys in the office. The thing was, as I’ve already said there was only room for one middleman and apart from that my pal ask me to keep it tight-lipped.

To cut to the chase I ended up working for this little crew by becoming a delivery boy. Without meeting anyone apart from my pal, I had no idea who I was working for. The money earned from being a courier was worked out on a percentage basis, so the more you dropped off the more you got. My first few drops were all to foreigners who would fly in one night and ship out with there parcels the next.

Most of the business was conducted in hotels. I would check in to a pre-paid plush room under an alias, then await a call from reception. The geezer I was to meet was probably the same as me, a courier. There was little conversation between us apart from key words that identified us to each other. So all in all it was strictly business, which suited me fine. I won’t bore you with the details on how the money was exchanged, but lets just say it was done in such a way that both of us were happy.

There was never anymore than the two of us doing business but during my first few drops I had my gut feeling that I was being watched. I suppose where I was coming away from these exchanges with a suitcase full of genuine cash. They needed to be sure I could be trusted and not be one of those who would have it away on their toes. It was a well-put together firm I was involved in because they made sure I only knew what I needed to know, real professionals.

I’m sure if I had got tempted and decided to have it away on my toes with the loot, I doubt I would have got very far. But I’m old school which means I have respect for those I work with and wouldn’t dream of turning anyone over. I have said in my earlier blogs about gaining respect; it had to be earned over years by being loyal and trustworthy. How else do you think I ended up carrying huge amounts of cash for this firm? It certainly wasn’t because of my pal saying I was a sound geezer. No far from it because it went deeper than that, they most definitely had me checked me out via the criminal fraternity. For all I know I could have known them but they decided not to make themselves known. You see, I didn’t need to know who was behind this set up, just as long as I got paid, which I did. So I only needed to know what I needed to know and that was it, these guys were real pros and I loved that.

I can talk openly about this because I got nicked in the end, but escaped custody and went on the run. In fact I escaped twice and during that time I brought the Hampshire police to shame, well not the entire force, just a few of their officers. But in the end they won the day by making sure I was brought to book.

They never caught me bang to rights on the counterfeiting operation, I was grassed up, but in my case it felt more like a betrayal.

In next week’s blog I’ll tell you all about that betrayal and how it affected me. Because one thing is for sure I come out of that with a different outlook on my future within the criminal fraternity.

Till next week, take it easy guys and be lucky.

Johnny