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very early on the name of the game was survival. Many witnessed violence, either within their family or around them when they were youngsters. The education they received was poor and some of them didn’t stand much of a chance. Most turned to crime to get money, pure and simple.

      Many of the men included in the book dislike each other with a passion. There is one man in particular, whose name I won’t mention, shoved a gun up a ‘rival’s’ nose. That rival is also included in the book. After seeing his photograph, the man I was interviewing decided to pull out. I explained to him that he didn’t have to like the man or associate himself with him in any way, shape or form. The fact of the matter is that they are both hard bastards and I wanted them both in the book. He is not a fool and rose above his hatred. He shrugged, ‘Yeah, fuck him!’

      After that I quickly learned to be diplomatic, and careful who I told was included. Each man would sneer and say the same thing, ‘I’d do ’im any day – he’s not a hard bastard.’ So I decided not to show any of them the photographs or to tell them who was in the book. Not because I was bothered about upsetting them, but because I didn’t want them to decide to pull out.

      Ronnie Kray had a little black address book full to bursting with telephone numbers of all the conmen, murderers and tough guys from all over the country. After we married, I kept a copy of the book in case it was lost or stolen in Broadmoor. I automatically assumed that everybody in the book knew each other, but they didn’t, they all knew Ron. He was the kingpin in the middle – the ‘colonel’.

      Occasionally, I had to telephone these men for various ‘bits of work’. They were villains from as far afield as Wales, Scotland, Ireland and the USA. I got to know them all. Some of them were crazy and unhinged, but they became my friends and, from them, I made more friends. Now I’ve got a Thomson local directory – the Who’s Who in the criminal fraternity! The more I got to know them, the more they intrigued me.

      I started asking them questions – not about how many people they’d killed or whose body had been buried in which motorway foundations. I wanted to know what made a hard man. What makes a man dangerous? Size? Heart? Love? Money? Passion? Loyalty? Or was it all of these things rolled into one? Is there a link between them? Are there similarities? What makes a man kill? What makes him different? What drives a man to go all the way? Is it in his background? Was he bullied as a child? Is it situation or circumstance? I wanted to interview men who have fire in their bellies and passion in their souls. Those who’ve got something going on beneath their tough exterior. I wanted to know what makes them tick. Do they have to learn to kill or is it just natural? The questions were endless.

      Not all the men I interviewed are from the underworld; there are also law-abiding, straight-up tough guys. Some of the men found it difficult talking about themselves. Some were shy and awkward. But after a couple of visits, they relaxed and started to open up. They’d protected themselves for so long and never let anyone close enough to see them vulnerable or exposed.

      Although they were tough men on the street – they can have a row, and can kill – the one thing they were really nervous about was being interviewed and the thing they hated most was the tape recorder. Then it dawned on me that when someone is nicked, the first thing the Old Bill say is, ‘You are not obliged to say anything but if you do, it may be taken down and used in evidence against you, blah … blah … blah … ’ Every single one of the men was suspicious of the tape recorder. They kept looking at it. It made them uncomfortable and they became ‘legal’ experts, as if defending themselves. Their voices changed and they started trying to talk in a ‘solicitor’-type voice – ‘Oh no, I proceeded down the road in an orderly fashion. Those nasty handcuffs are chafing me!’ At that point I’d stop the interview, turn the tape recorder off and just get them to relax for a bit.

      What’s missing from this book, because words don’t do them justice, were the men’s many gestures. On numerous occasions during our conversations, they’d leap up from their seats and demonstrate with clenched fists exactly how they’d whacked someone, or emphasise the venomous thrust when stabbing a victim. But they never did it to brag or show off; it was simply so that I could get it exactly right. It was then that I saw these men come alive – when they reenacted their many murderous attacks.

       The question I’m asked continually – and usually it’s more of an accusation than a question – is: ‘Aren’t you glamorising crime by writing about these people?

      ‘Aren’t you glamorising crime by writing about these men, by letting them tell their stories, by giving them airtime?’

      The answer to that is: ‘No, I’m not.’

      No, no, no!

      I don’t write my books in a tongue-in-cheek way. I am fully aware that some of the things that some of these men have done is unacceptable.

      Films like Snatch and Lock, Stock … do much more to glamorise crime than I do. Those films are definitely tongue-in-cheek – they describe horrific crimes but put a joke or two in so that makes it OK. And everyone thinks it’s OK. I tell it how it is, how it really is. I don’t sugar-coat it. Because this isn’t a glamorous world to be in. I think that often it’s an extremely unpleasant world to be in. But people have always been fascinated by it, since the days of Robin Hood or Dick Turpin, and they always will be.

      This is how it is.

      So many of the men I have met have ended up spending the best part of their lives in prison – what a waste! As a result many of them have have lost their wives, their children, their homes. They end up with virtually nothing … and no one.

      I can count on the fingers of one hand how many people in this world have come out with a fortune – most haven’t got anything but diddly-squat.

      I don’t glamorise crime. Ron and Reg were big time but, in the end, even if you are big time, one of three things are going to happen to you – either you will go to prison for a very, very long time, and like Ron you’ll end up dying in prison; or, like Reg, they’ll let you out just in time to die.

      Or you’ll end up being popped in a country lane.

      I know many people in this parallel world and some of them are in their sixties, even their seventies, and they’re still ‘at it’. They still need the money. They’re always looking for The Big One, the one that will set them up for life so they don’t have to do it any more. That’s the problem.

      I like to call them the ‘weekend millionaires’. You can always tell if they’ve been up to something because, come the weekend, they’ve got the Rolexes on, they’ve got the Armani suits on, they’re being Charlie Big Bollocks in the pubs buying everyone a drink.

      But if they can’t keep up that lifestyle, then they have to go on to do another blag, or whatever it is they do. In fact, far from being glamorous, it’s a very stressful world to live in. I think through writing these books and interviewing all these people, the thing that comes out of it most is that there’s really nothing like a straight pound note.

      So no, I don’t think I’m glamorising them. Those who have stumbled on to the wrong side of the law, well, not one of them says it’s a good world to be in because it’s not.

      But this is the truth. This isn’t Lock, Stock and Smoking Bollocks. This is real. I tell it how it is. I tell it from the hip. And these men have been included in this book because they’re going to tell you how it is.

      There were two questions that came up time and time again while I was writing Hard Bastards. Everybody I spoke to wanted to know which one is the toughest and why? I know who’s the toughest. I hope that you can read between the lines and draw your own conclusion as to who is the ultimate hard bastard in Great Britain.

       HARD BASTARD

      

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