By Carlton Leach
ISBN-10: 1857827783
ISBN-13: 9781857827781
'The very first thing that stuck my eye was once the geezer with the gold enamel - the second one used to be that he used to be retaining a shooter - and the 3rd that he used to be pointing it at me.' Carlton Leach is a gangland legend - the mere point out of his identify moves worry into his enemies; but to his neighbors he's as dependable and being concerned as they arrive. If difficulty comes calling, Carlton is not afraid to permit his fists do the speaking and woe betide an individual who crosses him, or these with reference to him. finally, in upward push of the Footsoldier, Carlton supplies the total account of his lifestyles together with how his tale has been made right into a highly profitable movie. Born and raised in East London, Carlton used to be a key member of the infamous Essex Boys gang and the West Ham InterCity enterprise, some of the most violent hooligan gangs to bother the soccer terraces in the course of the eighties. he is been shot at, stabbed, glassed - he is even had an awl in his head. but the development that actually introduced turmoil into his lifestyles was once the homicide of his ally in...
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Additional info for Rise of the Footsoldier. In My Game, the Choice Is a Jail Or a Grave
Sample text
I’d look in the mirror in the morning and see my muscles getting bigger and bigger, rippling with power like someone out of a Mr Universe contest. I had a really bad car crash in the late Eighties which laid me up for months. I needed to build myself up afterwards and I started taking the heavy-duty steroids, injecting testosterone and Sustenon, anything I could get my hands on, oblivious to any damage, mental or physical, they might do. I’d always looked after myself, trained regularly, played a lot of football, so it wasn’t as if I was a seven-stone weakling trying to build myself up to beat the beach bullies.
The sun was fighting its way through heavy cloud over London at the start of a new day, already marred by aggravation. 00 in the afternoon, and we were starting to relax. I was sitting on the Thames wall talking, a couple of my boys were sitting in my new BMW 535i having a snort of coke off the back of my A–Z when a car pulled up in the street about 100 yards away. I saw a black bloke wearing a baseball cap with a big sticky plaster slapped across his face, almost comical, as though in a cartoon.
I was a bit of a name around the muscle scene and I was always going to be a target for some up-and-coming young bruiser who wanted to take me on because of who I was, not because of anything I’d done. Sooner or later, it was coming. And I was becoming distrustful of my own friends; things were going on for money behind my back. I wasn’t sure of the people around me any more. I was becoming lonely in a crowd. I was feeling weakened. And I thought now was the time to get out. But could I ever really escape?