The Devil (30 page)

That same night, someone blew up Dwight's car. It was fair retribution for trying to embarrass me in such a fashion. My pride and ego were still a little bit dented, so I plotted to cut off one of Dwight's ears as well. Fortunately for the little scally, I ended up bumping into Marsellus, who had recently got out of prison, and he persuaded me to leave it.

My return to the underworld took a deadly serious turn. In the year 2000, the police informed me that there was a £30,000 contract on my life. ‘Here we go again!' I thought. I said to the officer, ‘Fair enough. Now can you tell me who it is? King Kong or Mickey Mouse?' In other words, were they seriously dangerous people or just kids messing about? The bizzy was not at liberty to say.

Within hours, I'd found out that the man who had issued the contract was a guy called Derek Sweeney, a member of a nightclub security crew from Everton – a staunch nigger-hating gang. The Herd and I were being blamed for firebombing his house, an incident in which his two daughters had been tragically injured.

I got hold of Sweeney's right-hand man and said to him, ‘Look, I sympathise with what happened to Derek's family, cos I'm a father too, but somebody's just thrown my name into the hat. If you check my Mo, you would know that when I have a problem with someone I go and sort it out face to face.'

The guy said, ‘Don't worry about it, Stephen. I know that's not your style. I'll sort it out.'

I took him at his word and said, ‘As you know, I would normally kill a man who put a contract out on me, but because I'm a father myself and I understand I'm going to let it go.'

However, the dispute escalated, and Herd houses were firebombed in revenge. My mate Neo had an asthmatic child who needed oxygen to help with breathing problems. Once the petrol bomb made contact with the oxygen, the house exploded. They all just about got out with their lives. Franny Bennett's house was also firebombed. And a house which they thought was mine was attacked, too.

Then, one night, I heard a crash downstairs. I looked out the window and saw flames coming up from below. I spotted someone running away and thought it was probably a junkie. Dionne was babysitting all the young girls in our family but had luckily taken them to her mum's for the night. As I walked down the stairs, I thought to myself, ‘This means war.'

I called a meeting with Sweeney via his right-hand man, who said, ‘He wants you to meet him at Littlewoods, as it's all camera'd up.' As Sweeney approached, I saw that he was only around five feet four inches and about five stone soaking wet. The first thing I did was turn my back on him as a mark of disrespect. If he'd wanted to, he could have stabbed or shot me, but I knew as soon as I saw him that he didn't want to have it with me. I looked at him and said, ‘Derek, you've put £30,000 on my life and you've petrol bombed my house.'

‘I wasn't responsible for your house,' he replied. ‘I'm telling you that wasn't me. It's down to somebody trying to mix it between us.' There was a possibility that this was true, but I didn't believe him. He then said, ‘Anyway, I don't care whether
I
live or die.'

I said, ‘What about your two kids that survived the fire? Do they care whether you live or die? Because I've got a daughter who cares whether I live or die. Now, I've heard that you're a good little 'un and that you can go hammer and tongs. Well, I'm a good big 'un, and I can kick you up and down the length of this fucking street and beat you to a point where you're just about alive. If you don't believe I can do it, let's go, lad. Let's go.'

All the time I was talking to him, I was looking into his eyes and into his soul – the Devil persona and the dark looks were in full effect. Usually, when I was like that – breathing down someone's neck with smoke coming out of my nostrils – my target melted like fucking butter in front of a fire. This is no brag, just fact. I said, ‘These are my words of iron. I didn't burn your family. I don't accost wives. I don't accost any family member. I keep it just between me and my enemies. You can check my track record. If I'd a problem with you, I would've attacked you there and then on your doorstep. I wouldn't have set your fucking house on fire.'

I could see he was beginning to realise that my words of iron held great truth. As one family man to another, I made him a deal. ‘Look,' I said, ‘the job on my house has been superficial. There's not really any great damage. So I'm prepared to draw a line here and now. You don't step over that line again. If you do anything to me ever again, I will come for you with everything I've got, and I won't stop until you're in a box. It's up to you. Do you want to make a deal with me?' Derek agreed that he would withdraw the contract on my life and swore that nothing else would happen to me or my family. True to his word, nothing else did.

It was around the time of all the firebombings that the Herd slowly started to disintegrate. One incident in particular signalled the beginning of the end for our crew. Two carloads of us were ambushed by a rival door crew over a misunderstanding. Lads with balaclavas and pickaxe handles ran over and started attacking the cars. I was sitting in the back seat by the window when one of them smashed it in and started waving a bat at me. Our driver panicked and drove off, not giving us a chance to fight back. One of our crew by the name of Wanda was left behind, and they stamped all over him. Later, we found out that our attackers were from a security firm from Everton called Dynamite Security – all bad racists with something to prove. Of course, there had to be some retaliation for this attack.

Soon after, one of Dynamite's mob called Shelley Birkenstein was shot in a nightclub. I knew nothing about it – it was someone else in the Herd who set up the contract. Ironically, Shelley was a mate of mine, even though he was part of the other firm. The other twist in the tail was that the shooter was a guy called Hassan. When he went back to his Herd paymasters for his fee, they murdered him. After that, it was evens. But the upshot was that there was too much heat on everyone, and the Herd scattered.

On top of all of this, the Rock Star and I fell out because of a dispute between our families. My nephew Grantley had been shot in the head by a kid who was best friends with the Rock Star's brother. It caused a great division between me and the Rock Star, forcing us to take opposite sides. We spoke about it on long early morning walks to try and find a solution. But when more shootings took place, I knew it was time for everybody to head for the hills. At that time, I had around 18 grand in cash lying around the house. I called the Rock Star and said, ‘I know that things are a little bit tight with you at the moment, so I'm giving you nine grand so you can get off. Pay me back when you can.' I moved over the water and the Rock Star to southern Europe, and we kind of lost touch.

To this day, he still hasn't paid me back the nine grand. People have tried to poison my mind against him, but I believe in my heart of hearts that we will always be friends and brothers, and that we can one day pick up where we left off. The Rock Star's my last connection with Andrew John. He was Andrew's protégé and like a little brother to me. He is a tremendous person in his own right. I've got a lot of time and great respect for him.

36

PROBLEM-SOLVER EXTRAORDINAIRE

Like an alcoholic trying to stay on the wagon, I steeled myself to give up crime for a second time. I threw myself into building up my security company. Chris manned the desk, and I was the problem-solver extraordinaire dealing with the intangibles. A typical intangible involved dealing with corrupt contractors nicking loads of gear and trying to cover their tracks by blaming our firm.

One time, a site agent tore a strip off me after £40,000 worth of white goods went missing. I suspected it might be him, so I went to his house that night. The second I saw his face, I knew he was guilty. I said, ‘If you've got the goods, I will take them back and won't shop you to your bosses. If you refuse to let me in, I will come in anyway, and if I find the goods, I will blow you up.' If someone behaves like that towards me, I have full licence to treat them like the worst bitch in the street. Gratitude is a burden but revenge is a pleasure. It felt good to get my own back.

The business grew. I had 500 lads working for me, and we were hired to do security for a £200-million office complex. I told my guards that I would give them a £500 reward if they called me whenever a thief tried to bribe them into turning a blind eye. One day it paid off, and I got a call from one of my guards. Apparently, he had been approached by a lad from one of the haulage firms who wanted to nick £10,000 worth of cobblestones from the site. Acting on my behalf, the guard agreed to let the lad into the site at midnight to collect the cobbles. Little did he know that I was hunched down by the checkpoint, lying in wait.

The lorry pulled up and the driver said, ‘I'm here to collect the cobblestones.' That was my cue. I launched myself at the cabin like a gazelle, jumped across to the driver, smacked the keys out of the ignition and took the lorry hostage.

When I jumped back out of the cabin, the driver came out after me. He was a bit of a big lad, so I gave him a kick straight into his guts that doubled him over on his hands and knees. I then got him by the hair and said, ‘You've chose the wrong nigger to try and rob, mate. This is Stephen French's site.' I then fined him £5,000 and confiscated the wagon as collateral. Later, the big brother who owned the haulage firm threatened me with all his gangster connections if I didn't give the lorry back.

I said, ‘Listen, mate. I don't care if you're connected to King Kong himself, cos King Kong's got fuck all on me, you understand? If you want to come here, I'm ready. Talk is cheap.'

Finally, the elder brother paid me £3,500 and we shook hands. I believe he made his younger brother work off the debt in the end. As promised, I gave the guard his £500 reward, Chris got £1,000 (although he had no idea where it had come from) and I spunked my £1,000 in the casino. I also gave the site agent £1,000 as a gesture of goodwill and to remind him of my part in the whole affair. In the event that he was on another multimillion-pound project, the chances were that he'd hire us again, as we had shown ourselves to be a trustworthy and honest security firm. That's why I had the most jobs and the most exclusive contracts with builders. All I was doing was a good job and going above and beyond the call of duty when necessary, without impugning anybody's reputation. These stories illustrate how battles can be won without firing a single shot. It's what I like to call good captaincy – good piloting of the ship. Isn't that what you want? No casualties and total victory? Can it get better than that? No, it can't.

Our security business Chrymark Security soon reached a turnover of four million quid. But I was missing the action and craving my former life. I resisted, but in the end I substituted crime for another addiction – cocaine. It was bad. It took over my life for about a year, and I went low. To make matters worse, Chris had managed to break two legs messing around on a motorbike. We took our eye off the ball, and the security firm began to suffer. Then we fell out over a property venture. While I was in my cocaine stupor, I suspected Chris had gone behind my back on a property deal. First, I found out that he had used our company funds to help buy a £4-million property development, although it was only a small amount for a deposit that he later paid back. Second, I believed that the deal had only gone through because my contact owned the building. And third, Chris turned to me to save the day when the deal was about to collapse.

Meanwhile, Chris had been named Entrepreneur of the Year at an awards ceremony for local businessmen. I congratulated him and telephoned his mum and dad to tell them the good news. However, during his acceptance speech, he failed to mention me at all. One of the lads with us nudged me and said, ‘You deserve that award as much as Chris does.' That was something that stuck with me.

Chris really began to distance himself from me. I was still in a cocaine stupor – my home life was in tatters, and I was very ill. I knew I had to come off the stuff. Within 21 days of stopping, it was out of my system, and my head began to clear. I started to get very suspicious about Chris and his secretive behaviour. As it turned out, I discovered that he had two new business partners and had completely cut me off. Disappointment, betrayal and despair – all superseded by furious anger – coursed through my body.

I'd always promised Chris that I'd never use violence against him, so we agreed to sell Chrymark. I settled on a fee of 250 grand for my share. I also wanted a share of the property portfolio, so I went to my solicitor to get his advice. It turned out that Chris had also paid a visit to Enzo, but my solicitor's loyalties remained with me, and he told Chris, ‘You danced with the Devil. Now it's time to pay the piper.'

Chris accused me of blackmail and threatening his father, which was totally untrue. The police heard about the tension between me and Chris, and stopped me from flying out to watch Liverpool in Istanbul in the 2005 Champions League final. They thought I was going to damage Chris, who also happened to be going. Eventually, he agreed to pay me £1.3 million. Despite the conflict, I've got a lot of love for Chris, even though we are still poles apart.

In 2005, I switched my interest to property development full time, which is something I am still involved in today. I play the stock market and the Lloyd's insurance market. At my leisure, I still do debt recoveries, arbitration and act as a security consultant. I work when I feel like it and on average earn £250 an hour – more on a good day. Sometimes I can earn up to £5,000 for a half-day's work. And yes, the taxman's getting his. I ain't going to make the mistake of stealing his money.