The Little Boy From The Lane

By Roland Louis

This is the story of John Byrne’s rise from the dark streets of the lane in West London to being a major player in the world of drugs, prostitution and protection in the late sixties and seventies in one of the poorest places to be. It tells how John takes himself to the top of the London underworld with the love of his life, Mary. Together they become king and queen of London's violent underworld where life lasts as long as you can make it last.
John soon discovers that being a top gangster has its faults and is entrapped by both the British and Irish governments in to working for them. This takes John on travels across Europe and South America trying to stay one step ahead of the legal services trying to take him down.
The journey of life makes John realize that it can be a very lonely place when the chips are down. Mary struggles to see life as John does, where you can lose your life by just walking down the same street as the king of London, Mr John Byrne.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781908374905

Book preview

9781908374905

Chapter One

The Early Days

Five o'clock in the morning walking back into the street after a great night out with the firm. We had been out up in the west end; this was our life – money, birds and fucking drugs. We loved it.

At seventeen I was the top bloke ahead of the older wankers in the street. No one fucked with me (John Byrne): no one. I hadn't had the luxury of proper schooling. In my early years, from about the age of thirteen, I hadn't been to school at all and strangely enough I could see my school from the shithole I called home.

In my early teens I had a job on the Market called The Lane; it was one of London's most famous markets for fruit and veg, and second-hand goods. See, in the sixties where I was brought up our parents had no choice but to clothe us in second-hand clothes as our dads spunked all the money from their navvy jobs in the pubs. Working in the Market taught me lots about life as you could get anything from a Market trader anything. Plus, they looked after you as their own. I worked for a family called the Prices, one of the biggest Market trading families in West London.

Linda, my boss, was a hard nose cow but taught me the lessons of how to make money and fuck people over.

I had joined a local boxing club, run by a Paddy from Cork whose name was Jim. From my first couple of training sessions Jim knew I was a good fighter and could take pain. That was when I first realised I was going to be someone big, I was always put up against the older boys and never lost a bout. We won everything at our club. We were the Way Finders, the best London could offer, and I was the main attraction; the one everyone in London wanted to fight but could not beat. Looking back, I should have made a career out of boxing but the glamour of crime had won my heart and boxing was not going to make me money; drugs and being a gangster was.

I could see the moons reflection on the cobble stones of the road and the early morning dew made the stones look like a floating mirror, or was the puff I had just had with Mary doing fucking things to my head.

Mary. I thought I had been fucking the little slag for the past two years; her mouth could do things no other bird I had shagged could do. Still, I didn't love the little cunt. She was just in my company as she was on tap when I needed a good fuck after being out with the boys for the night. Always ready, was my Mary. She wouldn't dare look at another man as she knew I would cut her fucking eyes out.

I first met Mary in the Market. She worked two stalls from me and was what I would call at right looker. I remember I was thirteen and she was fourteen when we first met but at that time I lived for boxing and had no time for girls. It wasn't until I was fifteen that me and Mary had got together. See, I was going up the ladder in the boxing circuit and needed a nice bird on my arm to show off. All the top boys had a good looking girl; my Mary just happened to be the best looking girl. Mary wasn't the first girl I had slept with. She was a slag called K-Ross; to this day I still don't know her first name.

It was a sunny day in June when Dennis, a mate from the boxing club, said he knew a little slag that was up for anything. Would I like to join him? All I can say is that it was over very quick and I'm ashamed to admit that while I was losing my virginity to her, she was painting her nails, so it must have been like swinging a sausage in the Albert hall.

As I walked past Mick's house I could hear his dad shouting out, 'Some cunt has cut my Michael, them Avenue cunts.'

I just thought, no way. I left Mick with some south London brass at the court club in Mayfair. I knocked on the window of Mick's rat infested basement shithole and asked his dad what the fuck was he on about.

'It's Michael, them Avenue counts got him at the bottom of St Margaret's Road. John, they've cut him up really bad. He's in Charring Cross, being pieced back together as we speak.'

I said I would fly up to the hospital to sort out the old Bill and make plans to sort this shit out.

The Ave boys were another bog team within the borough; like us but with 300 top blokes twice our size. But they didn't have the gang land back up like us. We never stepped on each other's toes out of respect for our Irish families. See, our mums were snagging their dads – fucking strange but true.

Mick was a great mate; he just had a shit home life. His dad was a proper Paddy; work, beer, bed. He also used to beat his wife and kids like mad, until one day Mick had seen enough and cut his dad's face on the check. From that day Mick had become the man of the house and his dad knew not to mess with him.

I knocked Ian up, the only non-Irish decent family in the road apart from a couple of nigger families which knew to stay away from me and any white face in the street.

Ian was what I would call a prick, but very likeable. He had an apprenticeship with a car company, building cars. I'm not sure what the fuck he did, but he was good to have around as my little side kick as he was 100% legal, had a nice car – taxed and insured – and had never been in trouble with the old Bill ( someone you would love your daughter to be with ). Sadly, Ian just didn't have the balls, nerve, whatever you want to call it, to be a man about town. All Ian ever wanted was to have a good job, a nice wife and a nice car. If we were talking about another person, I wouldn't even piss on them if they were on fire, but Ian had been my mate from an early age. I think we were both around five when we first met at play school.

I knocked Ian up and we made our way to Charring Cross hospital. Inside the hospital I got Ian to find out about Mick, as Ian was a very polite bloke and wouldn't attract any old Bill. I stayed outside and rolled a joint and chatted to a couple of nob hungry nurses. Ian came back out and said that Mick was in no danger but his back was in a mess. They had left his face alone, but Mick had told Ian that he was attacked because someone from our firm had disrespected the Aves tuff by spraying shit on Big Smiler's door.

'Fuck this,' I thought. 'Why would someone in our firm do such a childish act? We stopped doing those silly things when I was ten.

See, at seventeen I was more of a man then most of the blokes in our road would ever be. I had taken on the best and beaten the best. I was a fucking loose cannon and life was cheap to me. I had more money than most would have in a lifetime. I never could see myself working like our fathers for the big Irish building companies, digging fucking big holes and pissing all the wages in the pub; no, that was not me.

From an early age I was going to be a gangster, someone who was feared. I started off by picking on the biggest cunt in a crowd, and never feared anyone and never feared pain. Pain to me was a stepping stone to never feel it again. I would, in my early days, start on a mate's bigger brother, and use my favourite tool – a mini bar imported from France used for that Chinese shit.

I had climbed to the top as I was uncontrollable. No was not a word I would accept. If I wanted something, I took it – whether a car, a bird or money. I didn't give a fuck about anyone or anything .

I told Ian to take me to Big Smiler's gaff as I needed a chat with him. Big Smiler was in his twenties with a live in tart who had two of his bastards, both girls.

We drove to the Aves and Smiler was doing some drug deal with some niggers, something I would never do. Entertain the third class race, I hated the black cunts.

Smiler invited us in to the shit hole he called home. 'Fuck me,' I thought, 'it's like being in the forties not sixties.'

Nothing had been done to it in years. Smiler poured a large brandy for himself and me, which I declined. I didn't want to drink with the bog cunt. I asked him why he had had Mick cut up and straight away Smiler informed me that he hadn't, but he knew who had set the whole thing up and was collecting the counts as we spoke.

'Fuck this!' I'm being treated like a fucking mug. I smashed Smiler in the face with my prized bar and held him on the floor. I could see part of his head was wide open to his skull.

'Look, you cunt, I'm tired and fucked off. Who the fuck are you talking about? I was told you ordered it.'

'No, John, not us,' Smiler, poor cunt, was losing consciousness at this point and I knew we had to sort him out as I didn't want a murder on my head. Ian called an ambulance and we waited in the living room for his boys to bring the cunts to me. I got his tart, Sam, to clean him up, and put a towel around the wound until the ambulance arrived.

Smiler was off on his way to hospital and four of his boys came into the living room.

'Quick, John, we've got the pricks you're after in the van.'

Me and Ian walked over to the van, opened the back doors and could see these white teeth. I knew that they were fucking niggers, but I didn't recognise their faces and their speech was very funny.

I asked one of them who the fuck he was.

He said, 'Char, man, we are the boys from hell. Go fuck yourself.'

This was music to my ears; some silly drugged up nigger trying to be hard on my manor.

'Love this bloke,' I said to Ian.

I knew Ian wouldn't be up for any fun like tormenting two blacks, but I never pressured Ian, as from our early years of friendship Ian never tried or wanted to be a smart arse.

I told Smiler's boys to take them over to the cut (canal) and I would meet them in half hour with some of my boys to teach them respect. I got back into Ian's car and we made our way back to our road to collect a couple of thick heads I used for my dirty work. I didn't like getting my hands dirty on lower races like niggers, packis and dagoes( Spanish and Italians).

We headed back to the cut with Simon and Patrick, two good blokes, both 24 years old and very handy.

When we arrived at the cut Smiler's boys had the niggers out of the van in a derelict office block which used to be a printers in the early forties.

'Right, lads' I said, 'you think you cunts can come over to this side of London and start a gang war?' And with that I ordered Patrick to cut the biggest nigger across his hands, to get me in the mood. I liked the way niggers bleed and the fear in their eyes really excited me.

I informed them both that they would die that day but they would do it to each other as us whites didn't like getting our hands dirty on niggers.

I told the pair to undress. As they did I asked which one wanted to be the bitch.

'What the fuck are you on about?' one of them said.

'Boys, you fucked up tonight, so you're going to fuck each other now.

'No fucking way,' they screamed.

'Yes, boys, you are or we cut your cocks off and if you make me get a hard on I will spare one of you. That's my word, so the quicker you get on with it the sooner I can decide which black cunt between you I decide to let live.'

'Fuck it, Winston,' one of them shouted, 'let's just get on with it, man.'

'No fucking way, Leroy, me not doing it!'

I interrupted them and said, 'You have 10 seconds to decide boys, or we cut off your dicks and leave you here to bleed to death.'

I couldn't believe my eyes. Winston then seemed right up for it, his dick was hard and ready to go.

'Well, Leroy, it seems you're the bitch. Bend over, son, and take it like a man.'

As Winston was fucking Leroy I whispered into Patrick's ear to cut both their throats as when the old bill found these two they would put it down as a sex act gone wrong and wouldn't try looking for anyone else. Patrick and Smiler's boys held the two niggers down and cut their throats. As we watched the pair gasp for air their eyes started to stick out as air, or lack of it, was starting to take its toll. Within 20 seconds they were both lying dead in their own blood.

'Good night's work,' I thought. We said our good byes, and me and Ian went back to Mick's house to collect some clean clothes and collect him from Charring Cross. I stopped at Mary's to tell her to be at mine by 12 noon, as I wanted a good fuck after a hard nights work.

Poor cow, she had no life with me as if she breathed wrong she knew I would kill her, but fuck it, I liked fucking her. She was eighteen and had only fucked one bloke – me, so she was good meat. We collected Mick from the hospital and drove down the Fulham Palace Road, the three of us not talking at all. It was strange but that night would change the three of us for life.

We got back to the manor and went back to Mick's for a breakfast; a proper Paddy's feast of a fry up. Mick's mum, bless her, a great mother, she asked Mick to promise her that he would pull away from the firm, which to my disbelief he agreed to do. At the time I thought it was just to shut her up but the coming months and years would prove me wrong.

Ian got up from the table in the kitchen and politely told Mick's mum what a great breakfast she had made but he needed his bed as he had to work on Monday and had had no sleep over the weekend. And off he went down the road a couple of hundred yards to his mum's house. I stayed at Mick's for a while, and told his dad that was it; we had sorted out the bit of trouble and moved on, and not to go on about it anymore at work or in the pub, or I would have to make him pay for having a big mouth. Looking back, I thought Mick's dad was a good bloke but no he was just like the rest of the Paddy's; work, drink, bet and a quick fuck with the misses.

I got home, turned the TV on to watch the news, and was glad to note that they hadn't found the two niggers at the cut yet.

Mary called around noon on the dot and went straight to my room to get into my bed.

I sat on the edge of the bed and said, 'Mary, would you be able to ever love me?'

She replied, 'I