The Guv'nor

The Guv'nor

Lenny McLean

Language: English

Pages: 226

ISBN: 1857825705

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Lenny McLean was one of the deadliest bare-knuckle fighters Britain has ever seen. He had dear, powerful friends, but he also had terrible enemies. So much so that he has two bullet wounds in his back, and has been stabbed repeatedly—always from behind. Lenny, however, is also a warm, grizzly bear of a man, whose main weakness is an overwhelming desire to put the welfare of his mates ahead of his own well-being. In this autobiography he tells of how the mafia flew him to New York to take on their greatest bare-knuckle boxer in a multi-million pound illicit challenge bout. The Mafia's man lasted less than three minutes. When the IRA fronted up a London gang in a money-laundering scam, Lenny was brought in to intimidate the terrorists. The IRA, not surprisingly, backed off. Lenny's most serious trial came when he was accused of murder. Fighting to prove his innocence against a minimum sentence of 25 years, Lenny never gave up, and went on to be found not guilty. After deciding to retire from the violent life, Len turned his hand to acting, having parts in The Fifth Element and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

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time. Come your release day, they quietly open the door and shove you out. Well, not quite. A couple of the screws did have the decency to drop us off at Ipswich Station, but that was all. No brass band, nobody out front waving us goodbye. Just a quick ‘Bugger off and don’t come back.’ As we left Ipswich well behind and the train roared towards London, I looked out at the woods, little streams and green fields, and I thought, ‘Fuck the countryside – we’re on our way back to the East End.’ You

shadow boxing to loosen myself up. An Irishman from the other team slipped over and said, ‘Would you want to say hello to Paddy before yis start?’ I gave him a look. ‘Say he-fucking-llo? ’Scuse me, pal, but I take it you’re joking. In half a minute I’m going to knock seven bells of shit out of your mate, so, no, I don’t want to say hello.’ You’ve got to understand how I’m grafting here. If I have a few words with the guy and he turns out to be sound, it’s going to take the dairy off my

shout.’ This mob was still hollering and playing up so I shouted, ‘Oy! Shut it, all of you. Pack it in and calm down. Now listen … listen.’ As I said that the whole lot were like a load of school kids; they stopped shouting and sort of grouped round me. And I thought, ‘Lenny, you’ve got the bastards.’ All of a sudden, I slipped into them. I pulled a nice little cosh out of my pocket and went through the lot of them. They went down like skittles as I slashed left and right like a maniac. I could

some firm who want me out of the way? First the Barbican, now this. At least I know this one. When I find him, he’s in dead trouble. I went everywhere looking for him. I put the feelers out but nobody had seen him. He’d done a runner. One afternoon I was sitting at the traffic lights in my car down Hackney way, and there was a tap on the window. I looked up and this fat old geezer, Stevie Pearce, was waving his arms about. I leaned over, opened the door, and he said, ‘Len, I know who shot you

o’clock the next morning, they came for me mob-handed with shields, sticks and wearing crash helmets, all the riot gear, the whole nine yards. Ten of the bastards just for me. I fought like a maniac. I was nearly bollock naked because I was asleep when they came in, but I gave it to them, sticks or no sticks. As quick as I put them down, somebody was shoving another lot in the cell. Eventually, with sheer weight of numbers I was pinned in the corner. With a riot shield holding me down, one of the

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