In the 1980s Lenny McLean was the main man in London for enforcer work, usually minding deals between heavy firms while he made his name in bare-knuckle and unlicensed fights. This film reads a passage from his autobiography about a minding job that went wrong and nearly cost him his life, and about what he did to the two men he held responsible. Everything here is McLean's own account.
An offer in Bethnal Green
It started in a small pub in Bethnal Green, just behind the Blind Beggar. Two big men walked in, had a quiet word with the landlord, and came over to McLean. The bigger of the two said some people they knew needed a minder for a few hours, and the word was that McLean was very handy with his fists.
McLean turned them down politely. He could have used the money, but something about the pair did not sit right, and when he got a gut feeling he went with it. The work he was offered was always heavy, so he never took chances.
The waste ground at Dartford
A couple of days later, in a different pub, another man introduced himself, dropped a couple of names McLean knew and offered him a job. The book calls him Bill. It was three grand in cash to watch his back while he bought a load of bonds from a small South London firm. It sounded straightforward. McLean got these offers all the time, and with the names Bill had mentioned he had no reason to be suspicious. They set it for the Friday.
The meet was on waste ground near the Dartford Tunnel, out of sight of anyone nosy. He met Bill nearby and they drove the rest of the way. Twenty minutes later a big Ford Executive pulled in and flashed its lights. Two men got out, one to do the deal and one to mind it, the same arrangement as theirs.
Bill handed over his bag. As he reached for the other package there was a flash and a bang, and Bill went down. McLean jumped forward and grabbed the gun before it could be turned on him. He got one punch in before the gunman scrambled into the car, and it took off. He threw the gun after it and ran to Bill, who was screaming and holding his side.
The truth, and a phone box
McLean was raging. The deal was nothing to do with him, and this man had nearly got him killed. He went through Bill's pockets, found a wallet stuffed with notes and kept it. Then he gave him a choice: tell him what had really gone down, or stay there and bleed. It turned out Bill had been fronting the deal for the two men from the pub, and it was drugs, not bonds. McLean had guessed as much.
He put Bill in the back of the car, drove him to the lay-by where he had left his own, and left him there with the lights on. At the first phone box he dialled 999, told them where to find the man and hung up. He wanted no further part of it. He admits in the book that it sounds heartless, and says that is because it was.
Driving home he broke into a cold sweat, thinking about his wife and children and how close the deal had come to ruining their lives. His wife, Val, was dozing in front of the television when he got in. The wallet held over £4,000. He cut it in half and dropped one bundle in her lap. She thanked him and went to bed without asking where it came from. He calls that trust, not lack of interest. Before bed he looked in on his two children asleep, and thought about what might have happened to them.
A month later
McLean put the word out to a few people he trusted to watch for the two men. It took nearly a month before a call came: they were in a club in East London. He was there in ten minutes.
The place was almost empty, just the two men and the barman. By McLean's account he went into both of them at once and broke their jaws with the first swipe, then warned the barman he would be next if he touched the phone. He says he could have stopped there, but they had nearly made his wife a widow. With both men on the floor, he kept punching and kicking them until they stopped moving. The barman put his hands up and said he had not seen a thing, and McLean walked out satisfied.
A small world
There was a footnote, about eighteen years later. McLean was chatting with a firm he had done a lot of work for over the years, and he told them how he had nearly been shot. One of them laughed and said he knew who had fired the gun, and that the man had been dead for years.
McLean says he never really held a grudge against the other firm. What he could not stand was being taken for a mug without knowing the score.