Paul Ferris was one of Britains most

feared gangsters for twenty-five years.

Now, in Villains, Ferris reveals the real
inside story of the villains he met and
worked with, the common thugs and bigtime players that surrounded him and the
world of violence and fear he lived in every
day of his life.
In Glasgow, London and Manchester, Paul Ferris
knew and worked with the biggest gangsters in
the UK everyone from Arthur Thompson in
Glasgow to the Adams family in London and Rab
Carruthers in Manchester. Villains is the story of the
hard lives of hard men by someone who knows. Theres
jewel heists, crime families, new stories about Glasgows
Godfather, Arthur Thompson, a secret meeting with
loyalist Mad Dog Johnny Adair, the Glasgow hard man
who loved bingo, and much more.
And, when it comes to villains, it takes one to know one.

BLACK & WHITE PUBLISHING

7.99

Cover design: www.henrysteadman.com

Photograph: Photolibrary.com

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Villains

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Villains
IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE

PAUL FERRIS
&
REG MCKAY

BLACK & WHITE PUBLISHING

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First Published 2006

This editon rst published 2010
by Black & White Publishing Ltd
29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

10 11 12 13

ISBN: 978 1 84502 291 4

Copyright Paul Ferris and The Estate of Reg McKay
All illustrations copyright Mirrorpix 2006
The right of Paul Ferris and Reg McKay to be identied as the authors
of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,
without permission in writing from the publisher.
The publisher has made every reasonable effort to contact copyright holders
of images in the picture section. Any errors are inadvertent and anyone who,
for any reason, has not been contacted is invited to write to the publisher so that
a full acknowledgment can be made in subsequent editions of this work.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Typeset by ReneCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk

Printed and bound by Cox & Wyman, Reading

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The Ross Street San Toi

aka The Bowery Boys
You will never be forgotten

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION VILLAINS?

xi

1 OLD SCHOOL

2 NO SCHOOL

3 ALL THAT GLITTERS

13

4 HERE TODAY . . .

22

5 IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER

29

6 THE SHARK PUP

35

7 HUNTING ALONE

39

8 SHARK WATERS

44

9 DAN, DAN, THE DESPERATE MAN

49

10 THE CLOWN

52

11 COUSIN JOHN

59

12 A WEE VISIT

64

13 TOO PROUD

69

14 MOST WANTED

76

15 THE SPECTRE RETURNS

81

16 POSTED MISSING

86

17 ARTORROS TOURS

93

18 POKEY IN THE EYE

100

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19 OVER AND OUT

106

20 RED AND GREEN SHOULD NEVER BE SEEN

112

21 OLD PALS AND DODGY INVITATIONS

121

22 MAD DOG DAZE

125

23 TWICE BETRAYED

135

24 JONAH NO PALS?

140

25 BAD KARMA

148

26 LONDON CALLING

158

27 WISE IS AS WISE DOES

165

28 JAW, JAW OR . . .

170

29 PRICELESS LOVE

178

30 BLOODY FREEDOM

186

31 CHILDS-EYE VIEW

193

32 ONE VERY SIMPLE MIND

202

33 THE CONSIGLIERE AND THE CONMEN

208

34 SPIES, LIES AND WEE PIES

216

35 CURSED

226

36 A WAKING NIGHTMARE

231

37 ONE-WAY TICKET

236

38 VILLAINS

242

WHERE ARE THEY NOW

244

INDEX

247

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Introduction
Villains?

Who the hell am I?

Who the hell are you?

Do you ever catch yourself asking that question? Maybe in lonely,

quiet moments? When things have gone wrong? When things
have gone right? Or maybe just when youre too drunk or too
stoned to do anything else but listen to your favourite music and
think dark thoughts in the dark?
Not just your name, address, job, friends, family and hobbies
but who are you really? You know, that bit of you that thinks like
only you can. The bit that is truly alone at times with your successes, your failures, your regrets, your pain and your joy. Who the
hell is that?
Of course, if I could answer that question, this would be the
intro to a book on philosophy not true crime. But who the hell
wants to read a book on philosophy? Not me.
Whoever the real you is surely is inuenced by what you do and
who you know. Its not the whole story, of course, but its a bit of
it we can touch, see, describe. Thats my kind of philosophy.
What do I do? Well, Im a writer now but, most of my life, Ive
been up to villainy. Who do I know? All sorts of people but more
than my fair share of villains. Thats who this book is about the
villains I have known and who have inuenced me for good or ill.
Here youll meet gures some youll have heard of and others
will be brand new to you. Theyll have somehow slipped by you

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unnoticed deliberately slipped by you unnoticed but here we

tell their tales of the street for the rst time.
Yes, youll meet one or two characters Ive written about before
but dont turn away from them if you have read about them
before. This book contains new tales funny, tragic and sometimes
very bloody ones. Its real life real life that has made me think,
made me who I am who I really am.
With great reluctance, a few names have been changed to protect the guilty. They know who they are. So do we. But in Villains
case the guilty have also been helpful telling true accounts that
have never been told before, often of crimes that remain unsolved
crimes the cops are still very interested in.
It seemed a fair trade-off to us to change a couple of names to
get into the underbelly of these scenes. If we had refused to do it,
the truth would never emerge. Burying the truth is the job of bent
cops not writers like us who always stick to the principle of keeping it real.
Villains is stacked full of people who live beyond the law but
they are not all the same. Why should they be? Are all footballers,
bizzies, taxi drivers, working girls, homeless folk, scribblers the
same as each other?
Villains isnt just about my friends. Sometimes its about my
enemies. But its always about people Ive learned from. Some
taught me what is the right thing to do others what never to do.
Youll have to make your own mind up.
Villains is about the mad, the bad and the sad all as different
from each other as it is possible to be. The one thing they have in
common? They are all villains. Trust me in this. Well, it takes one
to know one.

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1
Old School

Swinging lead kissed his cheek.

WhzzzzzwhoOOMP.
Just tell us where he is, right? The speaker stood in front of him, a
hammer in one mitt, jabbing the air at him with the other.
WhzzzzzwhoOOMP.
Youre a stupid little bastard. Look at the state of you.
Theyd jumped him as he walked down a lane on his own teamhanded, like they usually did. Maybe thirty or forty he hadnt stopped
to count. Too busy ghting and losing this time. A jagged slash ran
down one cheek, the blood drying black and crusty. One eye was closed,
mottled navy and purple. Skin apped loose from a split lip. One arm was
aching and useless and he held it up with his other hand, suspecting it
was broken but praying hed only ripped some tendons.
Weve given you a doing already. And were no nished yet.
WhzzzzzwhoOOMP.
The lead inched closer to his face. The swinger was off to his blind side
but he knew who itd be. The lead was a heavy lump of metal used in oldfashioned sash windows. Most guys just used them as coshes but this
bastard kept it on the thick cord sash and liked to swing it at skulls. He
knew who the lead swinger was all right. He knew all of this big mob
every one. They were older than him men, really but hed grown up
in the same neighbourhood, knew what they were capable of.
Tell us, for fuck sake, or well nish you. The speaker opened his long
thick coat to show his usual array of steel a butchers cleaver and a
sword.
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Next to him, one of the team laughed high and shrill, drawing a longbladed knife. The small teenager stared straight ahead and said his usual
nothing.
WhzzzzzwhoOOMP.
He knew who they were looking for. Sinatra, a mate of his whod
jumped in when three of the team had been beating up some old guy.
Nobody messed with Sinatra and the three had come off very much second best. To add insult to injury, Sinatra and his mates had turned over
an illegal gambling joint that this mob were meant to be protecting. Now
this was a revenge raid payback time. All they wanted was to know
where Sinatra was. He knew. Their wee group always knew each others
whereabouts. But his wee team didnt work with anyone else not the
cops or ugly mobs like this lot, no matter what they threatened. The small
teenager stood, staring straight ahead, and said nothing.
WhzzzzzwhoOOMP.
YOU LOOKING FOR ME, YA PRICKS? The shout came from the
end of the lane. It was Sinatra and his other mates, tooled up and teamed
up. Well, all four of them were there, hefting open razors and meat
cleavers. Some passing citizen must have given them the word on the
small teenagers predicament and, as usual, theyd dropped everything
and come running to help a pal.
He looked around, seeing fear in the eyes of the big mob. All theyd
hoped to do was ambush Sinatra on his own but now they had the whole
team to face thirty versus four. Bad odds? He turned towards the lead
swinger and kicked him swiftly in the balls. It was now thirty against
ve. He knew who hed bet on and he wasnt proven wrong.

Once upon a time, there were ve wee boys pals as close as you
can get. None of them would ever be described as tall ever. But
big men they were all so big they were going to change the face
of organised crime. In the hungry 1930s they were just nippers,
scraping to get by in the hard-lands of Glasgow. It was never easy
never easy for anyone. But they had a plan they were going to
stick together.
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old school

Ross Street was their pitch. Just off the Gallowgate, round the
corner from Saltmarket, walking distance from the Green. It was
old Glasgow, reeking of the gallows, prisons, slaughterhouses,
pub after pub and the outdoor hustle-bustle of the Barras market.
It was the kind of area you could catch anything diphtheria,
pleurisy, TB and too many did, perishing young. Not these ve
amigos. They might have been wee but they were tough and had
parents who made sure they took their cod liver oil and orange
juice supplements. Theyd live till they died and that was some
time away.
It was a violent place where kids learned to battle with sts and
feet as soon as they could walk. Brutal? That was the way of the
place. You either battled it or bottled it and, once you bottled it,
youd be relegated to the bottom of the food chain. Permanently.
Not a good place to be in that place in those days.
As individuals, this lot learned to handle themselves very well,
thank you. Poverty had seen to it that Glasgow was a city of small
people. But, even among that tiny urban tribe, these ve were
smaller still. No matter they just fought harder.
No one can recall how they came together as a group but come
together they did and, by their teens, they were well known as one
of the most feisty gangs on the streets. So well known that they
were given a name the Ross Street San Toi among themselves
and close associates. In the annals of Glasgow street life, theyd be
given their other name the Bowery Boys.
There was John Sinatra Sawyers, who got his nickname for
looking like Ol Blue Eyes himself but he was one of the best street
ghters in a city of street ghting men. Sinatra came from a long
line of brothers, each as well known as the other. Now he was
going to take their endeavours on to a new, higher plane.
John Pudden Pen Clarke was so called because his family
came from that part of Glasgows infamous Garngad area. Pudden
Pen was a hard patch and he was top boy. The nickname was a
badge of honour, in other words. God help the individual who
thought it had something to do with stodgy sweets.
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James The Gent Cannon had a suave, mannerly approach with

the ladies and no little success but, if anyone thought he was just
a fanny bandit, they were in for a big shock. The Gent was a gent
with the ladies and would be a smooth operator with the whole
world till someone crossed him. That was a different matter
entirely.
Jimma Swiftly Hill was sallow skinned with jet black hair.
Some folk thought he was Spanish or Italian but he was as
Glaswegian as the River Clyde. No mistaking where his street
handle came from. The boy could sprint faster than anyone a
handy skill when youre involved in street battles and a bit of daylight robbery. By all accounts, with an easier upbringing and a bit
more money around the house, Swiftly could have been a competitor of Olympic standard.
Last but not least was my old man Willie Ferris. Funnily
enough, though he wasnt the shortest of the group, he was always
referred to as Wee Ferris. Maybe it had something to do with his
readiness to tackle anyone no matter how much bigger or older
something that never left him. Right from the start, Wee Ferris was
fascinated by cars even in those days of very few motors. He
became the groups driver the best in the city, so they said.
If some talent scout had scoured the streets of Glasgow to come
up with the best gang possible, they wouldve recruited the same
ve boys. The Ross Street San Toi were the tops and no mistake.
From an early age, they got organised. They had to. In those
days, the Billy Boys, the Norman Conks and other mobs numbered hundreds among their members. They were ve boys.
That day in the lane, it had been a battalion of the Billy Boys.
There was nothing sectarian about this even though the Billy Boys
identied with Protestants. It was street warfare, simple as that,
and the Ross Street San Toi were well outnumbered. They had to
be organised.
They got organised in another way. This ghting for ghtings
sake malarkey wasnt for them. They wanted to make a few quid
and went about it in their usual way with planning, cunning and
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old school

sheer audacity. Warehouses, banks, ofces on payday, the Ross

Street San Toi never missed a trick. The turning-over of an illegal
gambling den that had so infuriated the Billy Boys was another
familiar trick. They knew the folk in charge couldnt go to the
cops. All they should have had to fear was the Billy Boys who
were taking a protection tax from the place every week. Yet the
Ross Street San Toi feared no one and this was when they were
still too young to vote.
They were the envy of other players, some of whom grumbled
about how the Ross Street San Toi never got caught. Well, they did
but it was seldom and, when they did, they never got shopped.
Apart from being good, they had a major weapon in their armoury
a moral code.
They never gave trouble to those who didnt deserve it. They
helped weaker folks when they could. They protected women,
children and oldies. They never dealt with the police, preferring
instead to dish out their own form of street justice. They minded
their own business and expected other people to mind theirs. They
didnt boast or show off. They were as close as blood brothers and
would go to the line for each other, not needing to be asked.
Call it old fashioned? It certainly is now. Old school? Certainly.
But it served them well. Want a good reason to stick to the code?
They rarely got grassed. People, even ordinary citizens, liked and
trusted them.
The Ross Street San Toi were villains all yet they lived moral
lives and knowing that helped me through the darkest of times
villains, sure, but good guys too. Its easy to get a guide from a
good persons example. But not all villains have good sides I
learned that from them too. One right bad bastards coming your
way now.

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2
No School

It didnt look like the Devils Lair but thats how some people
thought of it. A small at in the Anderson area of Glasgow, close
to the cop shop, most people would rather die than pay it a visit.
But some things in life are just so important you have to take
action. Me, I was going into the Lair.
There was trouble on the street not that there was any big surprise about that in Glasgow at any time and there wasnt back
then, around 1990. The decade before had been a wee bit fraught.
Id opted for a life of crime rather than a life of grime, shifting
cases of booze into hotels, clubs and the like. After a short period
of freelancing in jewellery-shop robberies with some mates, I got
diverted by some payback. A big ugly mob called Welsh had
stolen my childhood by their violent bullying. So, now that I was
in long trousers, I got them back a throat slashed here, a bit of a
scalping there.
Arthur Thompson, the so-called Godfather of Glasgow, was
impressed. Hed been ghting a twenty-ve-year feud with the
Welsh clan that had resulted in much bloodshed and many deaths,
including that of his own mother-in-law in a car bomb. So the
Thompsons recruited me. I thought Id joined the big league.
There followed a few years as their bagman and equaliser, being
chased for a score of attempted murders, tried for a shooting and
nally being set up with drugs by the police and proving that in
court. They were busy years but then I walked away from the
Thompsons to do my own thing, certain that Arthurs son, Fatboy,
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had grassed me to the cops. Well, whod hang around in that

company?
Out on my own, I teamed up with Bobby Glover and Joe
Hanlon, ne guys you could trust all the way, and the citys street
players, as well as the bizzies, were a wee bit worried. I didnt
have to go looking for trouble. But this was personal. Not mine,
you understand, but of two close pals of mine same thing really.
Neily the Bomb was top man in Glenochil Detention Centre
when I had served a spell in there. Through him I got to know his
brother Kevin ONeil really well and I liked the pair of them. Their
middle brother William, known as Wid, I didnt know so well but
he was connected so thats all that mattered to me.
Wid had gone to some house to buy temazepam or Jellies as
theyre called on the street. Not my kind of recreation but so far so
good. In spite of what you see in the Hollywood version of life,
visiting a drug dealer is more often like visiting a pal than some
sleazy transaction. If youre going to buy drugs, then do so from
someone you know, someone you trust just as you would in
other aspects of life.
So no doubt Wid was standing there, his new purchases stashed
carefully away, swapping banter with his dealer. Then everyone
went silent. The Lord of the Rings had just walked into the at.
Also known as Hammy the Poof and worse, his mammy knew
him as Martin Hamilton. Im sure she loved him dearly. Arent our
mammies just so bloody unconditional in their love no matter how
badly we act? Want a homage to mothers everywhere? No better
example than Hammys mother. He was worse than bad. He was
pure evil.
There was no problem in my mind about Hammy being gay.
There are just as many gay men and women on the street as
anywhere else. But Hammy liked extras with his nookie, especially when it involved him inicting pain a lot of pain and he
fancied Wid big time.
The pair of them had been in the same jail at the same time.
Hammy in jail is like a pig in shit right at home. Hed take over
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the drug dealing, ensuring that his need for a massive daily intake
of Valium or Blues was met and he would be on a good earner as
well. By 1990, the jail dealer was king simple as that and, as
everyone knows, its good to be king.
In my too many years in jail, Ive only chanced upon two guys
who paid for sex. One liked to think of himself as the original
Essex Boy but really he was a fat, steroid-poisoned backstabber by
the name of Jason Vella. The other was Hammy.
Hammy would watch the new, young boys come in and decide
who he fancied. No courting rituals from him, just stark choices
it was a blowjob for a tenner bag of smack or get kicked into hell
and raped for good measure. The Lord of the Rings didnt make
idle threats.
In jail, hed made it obvious that he fancied Wid ONeil. Young
Wid ran for cover and used references to his brothers, Neily the
Bomb and Kevin, to keep the sadist off his back literally. But now
they were both out and in the same dealers at and Hammy was
making his wishes plain.
A grand, he said, eyeing up young Wid.
What?
A grand for a blowjob. And Hammy smiled well, what he
passed off as a smile.
Wid ONeil was out of there in a ash. Before he cleared the
close, he was ramming Jellies into his gob like they were jelly
babies. Hed bought them to sell on at a prot but now he was
using them to blur out the vision of Hammys rampant knob and
his evil smirk.
Wid knew Hammy wouldnt take no for an answer. Not now
hed made such a direct approach and offered him money for sex
even if hed only been joking about the grand. Joking that was
about as close as the monster would get to foreplay. He just took
what and who he wanted.
Wid wasnt a ghter but his brothers were. Neily the Bomb
understood his wee brothers predicament instantly when he
phoned. There was going to be big trouble. Neily contacted me for
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help and I was glad to. Wid ONeil was in big shit and no doubt.
Hammy had this habit of taking young guys hostage, stripping
them and repeatedly buggering them over a period of days and
nights. He didnt admit to being gay in fact, he denied it but
hed let the world know what hed done to his victims, adding this
stigma to their already deep-seated problems.
His game wasnt new. Ron Kray had done precisely the same
thing many years before. He denied being gay too at that time.
Like Ronnie Kray, Hammy was feared but no one respected him.
Our rst task was to get hold of Wid. If he was with us, then
wed stop Hammys evil plans. Me and a guy called The Hamster
no relation to Hammy, of course an all-round good guy, swept
up to the Wids house in Balornock in the north of city. No sign.
Fearing that the young bloke had already been lifted by Hammy,
we drove at speed to the only place I knew you could usually nd
the beast his mammys house. The man who terrorised the
streets was denitely a mothers boy. Nothing wrong with that but
it seemed to contradict the rest of the way he lived his life. After
all, Im sure his old dear knew nothing about his rapes.
It was just a bog-standard wee at in Anderston but people
hard people really thought of it as one of the most dangerous
places in Glasgow. Maybe it had something to do with Hammy
always packing a gun and never hesitating to use it. To be honest,
there were other places Id rather have visited but a pals wee bro
was in trouble. Walking away simply wasnt an option.
With The Hamster planted outside under strict instructions to
come bursting in if I wasnt out in twenty minutes, off I trotted.
When Hammy opened the door, the look of shock on his face was
a picture.
Whit the fuck do you want? he asked and I could tell by his
voice that, just by turning up there at his mammys house, I had
unnerved him. First blood to Ferris.
Want a word, Hammy, I replied. Can I come in?
Hammy let me in and, as he showed me into his room, I could
hear his mother moving about in the kitchen. With the curtains
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pulled tight shut, there was hardly any light in Hammys bedroom
but, as my eyes adjusted and I began to see properly again, I
couldnt believe what I was seeing. The place dripped with icons
of saints, holy medals and rosary beads. The beast had religion big
time.
Paul, what do you want? His eyes shifted from side to side,
nervous as hell as that I had turned up at his place not a common
occurrence.
How you doing, Hammy? I said sitting down, uninvited a few
feet across the room from him. Its nice to be nice. And thats what
it was like for ve or ten minutes just small talk. You didnt rush
guys like Hammy. He was likely to go off on one. I wanted to
resolve the issue for sure but with the minimum trouble. As we
spoke, I could see that lying beside him was a big revolver. It
would be the real thing and loaded for sure. Hammy was like that.
After a few minutes, I got to the point. I hear youve been
speaking to Wid ONeil.
So what? he got as close to a growl as that shrill voice of his
would allow. As he spoke he moved his hand, edging the revolver
closer to him.
Well, theres a problem, I replied slowly pulling a knife out of
my waistband.
His eyes widened and his jaw tightened.
Aw, dont worry, Hammy, I reassured him, Im no going to
use it. Just showing you this is all Im carrying. I held the blade by
its handle, dangling it in front of me.
Hammy must have thought I was mental, walking into his
pad to raise an issue armed with just a knife. There are those who
wouldve agreed with him. But time had been of the essence
when Neily belled me and I hadnt been carrying. No problem, I
reckoned.
Is Wid some pal of yours then? Hammy asked.
Me? No, no. Hardly met the guy.
So whit you pushing your nose intae ma business for?
His brothers are good friends of mine, I replied, picking at my
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nails with the point of my big chib well they needed a manicure
and letting my last words sink in. Very good friends.
Hammy knew what that meant mess with them and theirs
and he was messing with me. If he was going to go off on one, now
was the time.
Give us a look at your shooter, I asked.
Whit? Youd think Id just asked to sleep with his mother such
was his tone of horror.
Just give us a wee look.
Naw.
Whats the problem?
I dont trust you. That was rich coming from him and for the
rst time I noticed he was shaking still looking as mean as fuck
but his ngertips were quivering and there was a tremor in his fat
lips. And my mas in the next room. That was a white ag.
Hammy was telling me there would be no trouble from him.
Given his psycho nature and the imbalance in weaponry, I took
that as him backing down.
Fair enough but the point is this Wid ONeil better not be
harmed, Hammy.
Hes no.
What?
Hes no harmed. Hell no be harmed.
Where is he then?
Fucked if I know, Paul. Havent seen him since I bumped into
him this morning in that at.
Endgame.
Outside, The Hamster was waiting for me as I knew he would be.
He reckoned he was two minutes away from coming crashing
through the door. Just as well he didnt. I wouldnt have wanted
Hammys mammy to get a big fright. Poor woman had enough to
contend with. Later, we caught up with Neily and Kevin. They had
found Wid all right, safe and sound at least safe from Hammy.
Wid had been found on Clyde Street in the city centre, running
at out as fast as he could. It was the terror of Hammy, no doubt
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exacerbated by the Jellies. He was in a hell of a state for days,

weeks.
Funny thing was the brothers had found Wid before Id
knocked on Hammys front door. Id taken the risks for nothing.
Not that I expected any gratitude. It was just one of those things
you helped mates with and theyd help you in return. But the bold
Wid was arrested a short time later on a robbery charge. He is the
worlds worst robber, always ending up in the nick, always broke.
This time he offered to trade with the cops hed give them information on me if theyd go easy on him.
Wid ONeil didnt have any info on me apart from what hed
read in the newspapers and rumours he heard on the street. Thats
not the point, though, is it? Biggest mistake he made was telling
his brothers about his proposed trade with the cops. They
promptly disowned him and told me. That would be the last time
Id help Wid ONeil. Mind you, where he was going I couldnt
help him anyway. Twelve years in the jail for a failed robbery.
Some big-time criminal, eh? But certainly a man of his times no
code, no friends, no loyalty, no standards, no bottle, no school.
Maybe I should just have left him for The Lord of the Rings.
Theyd make good company for each other.
But there were better people about the street, thats for sure.
And sometimes people let you down big time without meaning to.
They just couldnt help themselves. You can learn from both, as
well soon see.

12

villains - B format

26/4/10

2:20 pm

Page 13

3
All that Glitters

Its a fucking goldmine, Paul. Mobina, one of my Asian pals, was

holding his large Jack Daniels in both hands, leaning across the
table and talking to me in a conspiratorial whisper in spite of the
fact that there was only him and me in my at.
Gold? Of course I was interested. Theres gold there?
Aye. Aye, there is some gold, his emphasis all on the word
some and his sour expression explained the rest. But its the
stones, man. You should see the fucking stones.
What? Diamonds?
Mobina nodded his nut like it was in danger of falling off. Big
fucking diamonds. Like youve never seen.
Now I was very interested.
Mobina had some family working in a top-secure Customs and
Excise facility in London where they held a lot of valuable goodies conscated from people entering the country through
Heathrow and Gatwick. For the obvious reason of it posing too
much of a temptation, its location is kept secret even within The
Knock, as the Customs call themselves after their code for action.
But he claimed to have inside contacts and, even better, they
wanted to make an extra wage for themselves. Perfect.
Mobina was getting drunker by the minute but he still managed
to explain that his relatives place of work was a store for all the
conscated valuables taken off mule passengers ying in from
South Africa, Nigeria, Japan, China, all over the world. Whatever
they got caught with, only things of extreme value were lodged in
13

Paul Ferris was one of Britains most

feared gangsters for twenty-five years.
Now, in Villains, Ferris reveals the real
inside story of the villains he met and
worked with, the common thugs and bigtime players that surrounded him and the
world of violence and fear he lived in every
day of his life.
In Glasgow, London and Manchester, Paul Ferris
knew and worked with the biggest gangsters in
the UK everyone from Arthur Thompson in
Glasgow to the Adams family in London and Rab
Carruthers in Manchester. Villains is the story of the
hard lives of hard men by someone who knows. Theres
jewel heists, crime families, new stories about Glasgows
Godfather, Arthur Thompson, a secret meeting with
loyalist Mad Dog Johnny Adair, the Glasgow hard man
who loved bingo, and much more.
And, when it comes to villains, it takes one to know one.

BLACK & WHITE PUBLISHING

7.99

Cover design: www.henrysteadman.com

Photograph: Photolibrary.com