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Grand Theft Auto: London Underground

Recommended Posts



Written by DownInThePMs & The Notorious MOB


Welcome to London in the long hot summer of 1974, formerly a tourist city filled with famous landmarks such as Big Ben, The Tower of London, Tower Bridge and Buckingham Palace, our capital has now been perverted into a flaming hell-on-earth with murder rates comparable to cities like Carcer or Beirut. If you’re all shocked to bits, don’t be. It was only a matter of time before the swinging sixties got worn out.


The impetus for the current sad state of London today can be easily traced back to the inter-gang conflict and strifes from the 1940s Post-War period all the way up to the Firm-related conflicts in the 1960s, along with more recent factors such as the rapid immigration from South-Central Europe, Asia, the Caribbean, Africa and much of the former Commonwealth as well as the deindustrialization and its resulting mass unemployment and crime spike of various British cities across the islands. Combine this perfect storm of events that befall the UK with the inherent cultural or structural differences between the organisations as well as a far more competitive criminal underworld, and you get one clusterf*ck of a gang war in The Old Smoke.


It was also a time of widespread dodgy dealings and corruption which stretched to all facets of life from the “democratically” elected people in power to the broken backed proletariat on the street. So sit back, pour yourself a cup of Rosie and enjoy as we take you through the absolute balls up that was Landon Town in the mid-1970s.


This isn’t just the underworld... This is The Underground





Tape’s rolling, mic check, everything crystal? Alright.


Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the London branch of the SID. If you are seated here in this room today, consider yourselves lucky, because the tasks which appear before you that you will all undertake soon after this meeting will be extremely vital to the inherent national security and peace of Great Britain.


My name is Roland MacLellan, Executive Chief of this branch and I shall be your handler for this assignment. I have worked in various police forces for almost two decades, and I can tell you right now, with absolute confidence, that with presently occurring rapid immigration from the Commonwealth, Asia, West Indies and Africa and with the unfortunate economic downturn of our times, you boys are going to have a lot of work to do.


Not that it should come as a surprise to all of you, but crime and corruption is currently a huge problem in our country, not to mention the political strife presently afflicting us in Northern Ireland. New groups of people and cultures coming in mean newer, more impenetrable forms of gang activity which you all, as sworn agents of the Queen, will strive to search, break and eventually destroy.


We have corroborated our findings with evidence and data that have been collected by other field agents over the course of this joint assignment. These findings are all located on your desks, compiled and sealed in the brown folders before you. These folders, complete with documents, photographs, dossiers and reports, which shall remain classified for as long as you are within the bounds of this agency until further notice, as well as newspaper clippings, posters and excerpts that shall aid in your investigation and give you a better understanding of, and appreciation for the culture and socio-political situation in and around the city. This will no doubt pose a rather massive challenge, but I have complete faith in all 36 of you in this room that, by the end of all this, you shall be the bringers of positive change to this great nation, and that you will do whatever it takes to bring about that change.


Many of you aren’t from around here… for good reason too. So I’ve taken the liberty of including a map of the area and giving you a rundown of each of the major districts. I’ve also included some of the local colloquialisms to get you all familiar with your surroundings a little more. Any questions, just ask. 


Good luck and Godspeed.








Report #000293 - PRIME SUSPECTS

Det. Constable Curtis Boyd, SID.

[Dated 03/06/1974, declassified 09/06/2018]


For years this was a mantra pasted on every post box and public house in the city. But times they are a-changin’ so who more fitting to represent the fight between the rozzers and the criminal underworld than one of each. This isn’t just a simple case study though… oh no, All are Connected. And all have a story to tell.


In the midst of all the bloody chaos back in ‘74, through the testimonies and dying last words of the many witnesses, victims and suspects and by the absolute grace of God, Palmer and myself were able to boil the search down to three suspected individuals that we believe to have played a major role during the sh*t show in London that year. One of them, we believe, soon went on to be king, or queen, of the London criminal underworld, a role which they have maintained up to this day, even as I am writing this report. These three criminals are to be considered very, very dangerous, so watch your backs out there.


We can only speculate who these criminals really are, given the sheer amount of obscurity and red tape which afflicted our investigations in the Greater London area. Thanks to those who shall not be named, the investigation got royally f*cked and the findings became the subject of a D-Notice. So you know what that means… our leads regarding their current whereabouts and illicit activities have amounted to sweet f*ck-all, pardon my French, not to mention that their genders aren’t all that known to us either. You’ve heard that right, lads, we aren’t even certain if these clowns are sporting a pair of jacobs or not.


Thankfully, an anonymous source sometime in early ‘74 was able to provide us with vital details regarding the past lives of these reprobates, which are outlined in the next few pages of this report, corroborated with alleged photographs of these individuals, birth details and newspaper clippings of their crimes and misdeeds, though their genders and true first names remain a mystery.


Connections to black militia groups, the old style gangster firms and even the Provisional IRA have been made regarding these three individuals, though the details presented remain sketchy, at best, and there’s no way of proving whether or not the anonymous source was even reliable to begin with.  


Not that that’s stopping us from finding them. Soon enough, we’ll nail these bastards on a wooden cross, like we always do.



First name off our list is an individual of mixed Trinidadian-Jamaican descent. Classic example of how things can go in ways you don’t normally expect them to. They’re known simply as Bowen and are believed to have been born in Brixton in 1948, before moving to Bristol as a student at a local university sometime in 1968. They’re also known to have been involved with a Bristol-based Yardie gang led by Desmond Dukes, before joining up with a far-left extremist black civil rights group and later-criminal organisation, The Black Kudus - a group with ties to the Aniston Posse, a London-based Yardie group consisting of mostly Carribean members, as well as the local Nigerian gangsters in Brixton.


The Kudus are believed to have ties with other civil rights groups and black gangs across the Atlantic, in American cities such as Los Santos, Liberty City and Carcer City, on top of their British connections. We believe that earlier incarnations of the group have also played a role in the curbing of the violent Carcer City Riots of 1968 together with a local African-American but similarly far-left group known as The Pharaohs at the time, led by the now-deceased civil rights activist and maverick Kevin Jackson III, though this is a story for another day.


That said, the Kudus are also known for their less-than-ideal arrangements involving the cannabis trade and illicit gambling operations as a way to continue financing the group’s socio-political activities, which is where the Bristol Yardies come into play.


Bowen is believed to have been sent back east by Desmond Dukes, the aforementioned leader of the Bristol Yardies in early 1974 as punishment for the loss of a large shipment of drugs and soon became close to the London-based Posse leaders, father-and-son duo Joshua and Ezekiel “Zeke” Aniston


The Anistons had been sent there by Dukes as well, several years earlier to generate profits for the organisation, as well as to provide a secure base of operations to allow the group to make a smooth transition over from Bristol. But they evidently weren’t pulling their weight.


The Anistons are a lairy bunch, often seen poncing about the streets in matching sheepskin coats and ordering around their ostentatious underlings. Aside from Joshua and Zeke, we’ve got Josh’s brother Ishmael (also known as Ish) and their sister Jessica. A third brother, Jeremiah, is currently a guest of her majesty at Pentonville, with an unknown release date. 


We believe the Kudus and the Aniston posse eventually wound up working together with the Hyut San Triads out of Chinatown in the drug trade, which remains as such to this day, with Bowen believed to be in contact with known translator of the triad, Gregory “Oriental Greg” Lam, possibly as a liaison of some sort. This key arrangement plays a large part in what we believe has kept Bowen and the Aniston Posse’s heads above water in the eyes of Dukes, though as to how long it lasts before going belly up like it usually does, we aren’t sure.


Keep your eyes peeled for a blue Jouster Buck driving around the motorways, it very likely belongs to them. 




The second one on our list reads like the combination of a Shakespearean family tragedy and a twisted coming-of-age story. While many of us here at the force express some form of pity for this individual’s situation, this by no means exonerates them from any of their violent crimes.


Rhodes was born in 1950 to former glamour girl Emma Rhodes and her sixth form sweetheart Teddy Rhodes, a former errand boy who made his bones by working for esteemed London gangster Benedict "Bexley Bernie" Kester


Teddy Rhodes, or “Brown Bread Ted” as he was known, was believed to have been exiled from London around 1966 by Bernie himself due to a job gone bad. Taking his family with him to Northern England, he sought to expand the Kester’s criminal enterprises as a way to make up for the failures back home. 


Things went smooth for a period between 1967 and 1973, and a young Rhodes found themselves getting used to the family’s newfound wealth. That said, despite the cushy upbringing we can conclude that “Ronnie” was by no means unable to fend for themselves. Due to the proficiency of the murders at crime scenes associated with this individual in ‘74, we believe that Rhodes may have received extended firearms and combat training either from Teddy and his gang or from an unknown third party hired on their behalf.


In the closing months of 1973 however, the situation in Manchester and Liverpool began to spiral out of control, coinciding with increased homicide and arson rates in the region at the time, thus forcing the Rhodes family back to their original hometown early the following year. Not much is known about the relationship between the elder Rhodes and Kester, but from what we can gather, the feelings expressed aren’t exactly cordial by a long shot.


At some point in ‘74, we believe that the younger Rhodes began operating largely independently of the Bexley Firm, by then a small gang which paled in comparison to other firms of its kind and known locally as “The Bexley hunts” (you can work that one out for yourselves). 


By working freelance in the city and building a name for themselves, we believe they began encountering some internal problems with the gang, possibly relating to financial issues and the soured relationship between Kester and Rhodes. Despite this, we firmly believe that Kester had some role to play in Ronnie’s rise to power in London, though we cannot truly confirm this statement for sure. We believe they're now heading up their own collective known as The Rhodes Syndicate composed of the remnants of other gangs.


Either way, you should look out for a red Maxwell Aurelio on this one.





The final suspect on our list. Jesus Christ, just how do I begin with this? This rogue is your typical Adam & Eve story, but not exactly a word-for-word retelling of it, if you catch my drift. A former idealist turned sinner who discards all semblance of moral concepts such as honor and loyalty for the high life.


Born 1946 in Belfast, Northern Ireland, Kelly was brought up in a mixed religious household, the spawn of a Catholic mother and a Protestant father. Something must have eaten the family up during that time, because based on all accounts, we believe Kelly eventually wound up with the IRA in their late teens, during the peak of the conflicts in Northern Ireland in the early-to-mid-60s.


Insider information suggests that their father had been a major in the British Army and they grew up in various military barracks around the world. He apparently became a supporter and eventually an associate of the Protestant Unionist Party and even ran for election under their banner, organising armed stewards for counter-demonstrations against civil rights marches. It is believed this may be what prompted Kelly to become a militant republican and eventually become associated with Garland “Garry” Riley, a terrorist figure who remains one of Globalpol’s most wanted men. Given Kelly’s mixed religious and racial background, this isn’t all too shocking, and we can only speculate about the discrimination and prejudice they went through in Belfast prior to joining Colm O’Shea’s band of social rejects, a PIRA faction known as the SSU.


An infamous crime which the SSU has undertaken was the brutal triple slaying of the family of RUC Chief Enoch Donnelly in 1967, where the man himself, the wife and their 29-year old daughter were executed, St. Valentine’s Day style, at the Ringo Coffee House in Magheradrool, Belfast during Sunday brunch in broad daylight by a group of gunmen wielding military-grade Lexington Freehands stolen from British troops. Increased security in the affected region came as a result of this incident.


This came along with numerous small-medium bombings of public venues and assassinations of political figures and dissidents across Ireland, Scotland and Northern England in 1972-3, including Phillips Dorman, a politician of the House of Commons notorious for his pro-violence stance on the Northern Irish troubles, not to mention the infamous bombing of a bus carrying active SAS and RUC personnel along with their families in  Castlereagh, Belfast happening that same week, resulting in the deaths of 28 persons including women and children. We believe our suspect to have emigrated to our shores some time prior to this, during the fallout from the forced curfew on the Falls road. This is why, without solid proof, we suspect them to have been responsible. 


The source implies that Kelly relocated to London along with the rest of their PIRA faction, possibly to conduct business with existing contacts in the city outside of their usual PIRA higher-ups, ranging from Rhodesian arms dealers, politicians and possibly other London-based firms, under assumed names and bogus identities to evade detection from Metro Police. That said, we believe that fringe elements of the faction who don’t see eye-to-eye with Garry might possibly derail this arrangement, so we may still have a chance at having a crack at these bastards.


Anyway, be on the lookout for a green Vapid Sangria running 150 across the streets of London with this wally behind the wheel.






Often ranked as one of the world's most iconic and prosperous cities and simultaneously one of the worst. London was a city first established by the Romans in the first century and although civilisation has been gradually chipped away with every passing decade, the fight for conquest has become increasingly more intense. A city where the pursuit of the almighty dollar pales in comparison to the quest for the even mightier British pound. Phone boxes are red and often so are the streams which run down the piss washed alleys and into the shores. Contrary to the stereotypes, the people here ain't polite and thanks to the Tories persistence, we’ve just joined the European Communities, but remember, we drive on the left side of the road here… so none of that continental/septic tank funny business, or you'll end up floating in the Thames. To further help on your journey, here's a little run down of some of our boroughs and ends.




Central London

Angel, Barbican, City of London, Clerkenwell, Farringdon, Finsbury, St. Luke’s


Other than its sleazier older brother, Westminster, its underdog twin Camden and its posher cousin, Hyde Park, Central London is, or was, one of the four tourist-centric boroughs north of the Thames, being the city’s centre of Commerce and Finance, and an upscale residential borough not unlike Hyde Park. It isn’t all steel and glass though, as it is also home to administrative old towns like Clerkenwell and St. Lukes as well as brutalist eyesores in the Barbican area. 


Either way, expect tons of dirty barristers, CEOs, yank expats and traders from The Exchange in LC and members of the Caine Firm here, either busting heads, looking at running numbers, jumping off the Mies van der Rohe-inspired St. Michael’s Tower or having their morning and afternoon tea at one of the many corporate cafes in the area. Old Bailey, the main courthouse of London, is located in the city.


Other than toxic corporate culture, if staring at historical artifacts stolen during the reign of the British Empire is your thing, do visit the Museum of London up in the Barbican. It’s only 10 quid per ticket, and a great place to learn some world history from a Briton’s perspective and enjoy some nice air-conditioning especially during this summer, if you’re not just there to whack it to erotic ukiyo-e paintings in a dark corner, of course.


City of Westminster

Chinatown, Covent Garden, Marylebone, Mayfair, Paddington, Pimlico, Regent’s Park, Soho, St. James’s, Trafalgar Square, Westminster


The Algonquin of London and home of the Buckingham Palace and the Big Ben, the City of Westminster’s a melting pot of culture, nightlife, drinking and crime, and easily the largest borough in the inner city. Soho and Westminster proper are your go-tos for all-things drinking and clubbing, as well as home to factory fashion outlets ranging from the luxury Dingleberry and Didier Sachs, mid-tier brands such as Ben Dover, ProLaps and Forty Love, to more niche, subculture-oriented brands such as SHAG by Annabelle Eastwood and mod and 60s revival haberdashery Brunelli’s in King’s Road or hippie favourite Trip Inside This Shack in Cecil Court and skinhead favourite Doctor Fuchs on Old Compton Street. 


From the quiet seclusion of the royal Regent’s Park and the tourist-centric Trafalgar Square to noted shopping districts such as Paddington and Covent Garden, the latter which is home to the open air Covent Garden Market as well as the world-renowned Derringham’s multi-storey department store, the city of Westminster has you covered on all shopping and leisurely needs, and if you want some affordable clothes and food on the go. For less-legitimate and cheaper alternatives, go to London’s very own Chinatown, where a knockoff Sherpa overcoat costs just about as much as a hearty serving of dim sum or a blowjob.


Westminster is also home to some of the best nightlife from this side of Western Europe. Ranging from northern soul favourites such as Eddie’s, reggae and ska hangout The Kingston Beat and the recently-opened discotheque Studio 109, which plays brand new funk and disco hits from across the Atlantic. For those seeking pleasure, the Gold-owned gentlemen’s club and brothel, Bondgirl, is the go-to in town if you want some tail.


Hyde Park

Chelsea,  Earl’s Court, Kensington, Knightsbridge, Shepherd’s Bush


Contrary to its name, Hyde Park isn’t merely just a placeholder name for a fancy part of town, but a way of life in itself. The West End of London where posh people live in, and like many other gated and segregated communities around the world similar to it, the borough is shut away from the rest of the plebeians and peasants south, east and southeast of it. Filthy rich and massively inbred, filled with pompous old money types who speak in RP like it's still 1899, you’d be hard-pressed not to find at least a couple of luxury tourers and imports east of the English Channel cruising along the pristine streets of Hyde Park at any given time of the day.


Many of the city’s politicians, socialites, royalty, brain surgeons, millionaires, drug barons and arms dealers reside or own property in the countless townhouses and condominiums in the district, congregating mostly in the districts of Chelsea, Kensington and Knightsbridge, and you can bet your arse that a chauffeur of some sort is always going to be there somewhere to ferry them around wherever they see fit. It’s every man for himself in Hyde Park, and don’t expect any of that government-mandated communal tenement nonsense here.


If you can’t hack the hustle and bustle of Jehads on Brompton road, the district of Shepherd’s Bush is also known for its expensive department stores, most notably Touissant’s, notorious throughout London not only for its exorbitant rental fees and alleged discriminatory practices for staff and against commuters along racial grounds, but also for allowing only top-quality and artisan brands to open up shop in the building. A neoclassical nightmare invoking some rather unfortunate stylistic cues popularized by a certain country in the 40s, it is truly a sight to behold in Hyde Park.


Being the city’s most highly prestigious borough to live in, Hyde Park features among London’s most well-maintained and luxurious gardens and venues of entertainment in the city. Ranging from the labyrinth maze and the exotic flora in the majestic Kensington Gardens to the coffeehouses and state-of-the-art lounges and clubs in Earl’s Court, such as noted Carcer City import and jazz fusion club The Blue Room London which invites guest jazz players from America and South London, there is no shortage of places in Hyde Park to remind yourself of how bottom-of-the-barrel your place in the greater British social hierarchy is. In short, a nice place to visit, if you’re white and carrying loads of money of course.


This is also where the Hyde Park Barracks are located. Serving an administrative role to house palace guards, military police and soldiers assigned to CADRe (thanks to the Labour party), many of the military vehicles used in the curbing of civil unrest are parked here.


South London

Battersea, Bermondsey, Brixton, Camberwell, Deptford, Lambeth, Peckham, Rotherhithe, Southwark, Waterloo


The land of wharves and dwarves filled with pimps, pushers and pickaninnies and everything in between. It’s traditionally been a considerably working-class area of London and was once home to the nefarious Parkinson Gang. It’s now also home to a large African/West Indian diaspora consisting of multi-generational locals or fresh-off-the-boat immigrants. How can you be so close to Westminster, yet feel so far away? 


Its lush but rather unimpressive parklands are often referred to as the commons. And it’s quite fitting really, as a bigger collection of commoners you’ll be hard pressed to find. A stark contrast from the outer boroughs which lie just a few miles away at all angles. The grotesque pimple on an otherwise perfectly formed arse cheek one might say. 


Said commoners were at one time safely confined to sprawling tenements, but thanks to a series of V-2 bombings 30 years ago, they began to spill out onto the streets. One might think that some of Battersea Dog home’s mutts had escaped, or there had been some sort of accident at the nearby power station, but no, that’s the look of steely faced working-class determination, dead set on taking over the town.


Tower Hamlets

Bethnal Green, Isle of Dogs, Mile End, Stepney, Whitechapel, Victoria Park


The traditional East End of London, and birthplace to the now-dying native Cockney diaspora. Falling victim to the Industrial Revolution, Zeppelin bombings, the Blitz and most recently, gang crime, Tower Hamlets is everything that yanks think of when they hear about modern England, with its sleazy pubs, mom-and-pop stores, rabid football hooligans, underground boxing rings and 100-year old restaurants that serve warm beer, meat pies and pickled eels with mint sauce. A historically poverty-stricken and crime-ridden part of London, Tower Hamlets is better known today as the hometown of the modern-day, harsh Cockney-accented Gangster Firm, with notorious gangs and gangsters such as the Golds, the Crisp Twins, the Colleoni Brothers and the Bexleys all getting their big break in this borough in passing. It is said that even Cockney rhyming slang, itself indigenous to the Hamlets, has roots in crime, with many of its phrases and expressions used as code to disguise nefarious marketplace tactics from the cozzers on patrol. 


Despite having a diverse history of immigration ranging from Irish weavers, French Protestants, Ashkenazi Jews and most-recently the Bangladeshis, Indians and Pakistanis, Tower Hamlets is ironically one of the most intolerant and racist areas in London, with anti-immigration and nationalist movements typically springing up in this borough. This began in the rougher parts of the Isles of Dogs, where gangs of violent youth and juvenile delinquents would often target South Asian immigrants and businesses, usually just for the hell of it. A little bit later, The National Front, that one political party supported by those bald blokes with the Norse rune and swastika tattoos you see in those white pride rallies on the telly? They have some degree of power in these parts. Being non-white or homosexual in the streets of the Hamlets at night is just asking to be curb-stomped by a posse of psychotic skinheads. My advice? Grab yourself a leng and conceal that bastard until it's time to go guns blazing, they’re real cheap and easy to come by now and it might just save your life from the next goon on one unfortunate night.


History and boneheads aside, many of the city’s pawn shops, thrift shops, jewellers and other crooks are located here, along with a boxing club called Paul Weston’s, said to be the birthplace of modern British boxing. Several underground fight clubs are located in the Dogs as well as Bethnal Green, where a fight is, more often than not, a matter of life and death, not to mention collusion, fixings and bets made by some of London’s nastiest criminals and kingpins. Better ante up the health insurance if you’re up for the challenge, lads.


Tower Hamlets is also home to noted landmark, the Tower of London, though the castle in actuality is located closer to central London than the East End. Originally used as a locale of torture and execution during Medieval, Victorian and Edwardian times, it is now transformed into a tourist trap that sells tacky snowglobes and fridge magnets and displays models of jesters and replicas of alleged torture devices running the gamut from the Catherine Wheel to the Iron Maiden for tourists to gawk at. There is also a rumour going around that the former crown of King Edward VII is located somewhere in the castle, though I can’t vouch for it.



Estates, Haggerston Park, Hoxton, Shoreditch


The birthplace of the humble black London taxi cab. It’s been a hotbed for Jewish immigrants since the 1930s, although it’s unclear if this had anything to do with the fact that it was absolutely devastated during the Blitz. It similarly became a focal point of Algernon Wolseley’s hate marches and racist attacks following the war, despite ironically being an area filled with factory based industries which allowed the country to get back on its feet. The industries have begun declining and white folks have begun leaving en masse but there are plenty of darkies ready and waiting to occupy the greatly discounted housing stock, which means that it could soon be a focal point of more inter-ethnic violence soon enough. 


As the factories lay abandoned they’ve also begun serving as grotty little hidey holes for dodgy dealings and illegal industries. It was once a stronghold for unsavoury characters such as Harry Gold and ‘Patch’ Adamczak and is currently the site of The Caine Jewels on the Whitechapel Road. So, although the debauchery may have become more shielded in recent times, it’s still an area for the boys in blue to be keeping a close eye on as much as ever before.



Bloomsbury, Camden Town, Fitzrovia, Holborn, Kings Cross, St. Pancras, Kentish Town


Just north of the Thames, sandwiched between Hyde Park and Westminster lies Camden Town, usually shortened to just Camden by locals, and often lumped together with Westminster. Home to much of London’s alternative scene, Camden is unofficially referred to as the most Northern place in London, and its clubs are said to have popularized the Northern Soul scene down here, introduced by the boys up in Liverpool and Manchester. It is also where the beatnik and hippie subcultures were first brought to England in the 1950s and 60s by college professors and cult leaders from across the Pacific in San Andreas, as well as bourgeois youth back from their ‘enlightening’, psychedelics-fuelled pilgrimage in India.


A large terminus, King’s Cross Station, located right here in Camden, has train lines connecting London to the rest of the UK, which might explain the influx of Northerners in this part of town. Camden is also home to several contemporary art galleries, post-industrial and abandoned landmarks and its regionally-renowned markets in Regent’s Canal, serving all manner of unhealthy foods ranging from deep-fried EgoChaser bars, fruity ice pops, bangers and mash, toad-in-the-hole to the classic fish and chips, as well as a wide variety of kitsch craft furniture and carnival games. You might just win the limited edition Mustard Gas or the Delightful Dresden variant of the Brodie Bear teddy if you try hard enough in the shooting gallery! Just don’t take your anger out on any of the booth operators, the rounds are live.


Abbey Road is also a popular destination if you want to pay tribute to one of music’s most iconic album covers, or if you like accidentally falling into open manholes to your untimely deaths like some cartoon character while attempting to replicate said album cover, as many tourists did before then.


Heathrow Airport

Terminal 1, Terminal 2, Hayes


For when you’ve had enough of Landon Town, or if you are somehow unfortunate enough to end up on the hit list in some rich tosser’s black book. Heathrow Airport is where you tell the cab driver to drive to if you want to, as the yanks call it, ‘get the f*ck out of Dodge’. Rated as one of the dustiest airports in Europe and the official home of Britain’s very own newly established airline, Bedlam Airways, hundreds of thousands of people transit through the airport every day, typically switching flights between Asia to America, and vice versa, as well as the rest of Europe. Recent renovations beginning in 1962 have taken place around the borough, transforming Heathrow Airport into a modernist glass-and-steel centre complete with functioning moving walkways, coffee stands, souvenir shops, interactive modern art and duty-free liquor stores, with its newest terminal, Terminal 2, completed in 1972. You can buy a hangar in the airport if you want, just talk to the nice lady working the front desk of the VIP Section in the Terminal 2 Lounge. That’s assuming you have the dosh, of course.


So what happens when you miss a flight, you say? Fret not, the nearby town of Hayes is there to offer you a place to crash in if you’re unwilling to spend the night sleeping on a bench in Terminal 1. Home to several boutique hotels, it’s an open secret that Hayes plays an important role in establishing modern British music and literature. The hometown of early popular musicians such as William Byrd and whiny dystopian author and anarchist Gerald Askins, Hayes is also the town where the vinyl records of  Britain’s most beloved musicians are pressed and delivered to music stores all around the world. It’s a nice little town, if you’re a tourist and looking to get some original overpriced records for your collection back home.





Barnet, Enfield, Redbridge, Waltham Forest


North end of town, if you’re looking to head over to Essex (which I don’t advise heading to), visit the Lexington factories or if you want to bury a body. Not much to be noted here, other than the fact that Barnet is among the densest outer boroughs of London, with the market town of Chipping Barnet being its most visited area, though it’s certainly no Camden Town. 


It is also home to some of the city’s most well-preserved green spaces, the Waltham Forest being among the country’s most secluded natural areas, complete with reservoirs, marshes and a town hall that practically does nothing with its only major achievement being that it merely exists. Whether or not this is a good thing is wholly dependent on whether or not you’re an introvert or extrovert, a retiree or a serial killer.


Enfield has a reputation for being the home of the legendary Lexington Arms Factory, which crafts arms for Britain’s finest since 1896. The first few batches of the classic MK1 bolt-action rifles were made right here in this factory, delivered straight to wings across the British military right after the death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, landing in the hands of conscripted young men and teenagers who would march off directly to their deaths in the trenches of France, not before succumbing to the Spanish Flu if they were lucky enough to make it back home alive. Currently, Lexington is working on a prototype battle rifle called the FLA (short for Fusile Lexington Alpha), configured in a bullpup style. It is slated to replace the Belgian-designed Freehand in active service soon, likely in a decade from now. Most active soldiers, however, aren’t too pleased with the news, and I’m not too much of a gun nut to ask why.



Croydon, Merton, Sutton, Richmond Upon Thames


Endless suburbia, just like in those crummy soap operas and sketch comedy TV shows about British life. Home to rustic cottages, vacation homes, a few shopping malls, pubs and nightclubs in the middle of nowhere, with train lines connecting the inner city, the southern outer boroughs of London are just like Inner London, but not as rowdy.


What’s there to talk about? You have the smaller, family-oriented malls such as Three Pines Mall in Croydon, an area with the best primary and secondary schools in all of London, Flinders St. in Merton which is sort of a funk club that pales in comparison to the ones found in the inner city and Sutton, a quiet village town area which is widely considered to be among Britain’s best places to raise a family. Sounds boring, I know, there isn’t much to be talked about South of Outer London. It’s the sort of place where cozzer dramas are filmed and where the Witness Protection Program blokes come to die, really.


Richmond’s the only one worth talking about I suppose. Home to the Kew Gardens, a large greenhouse that displays exotic plant species from around the world, Twickenham Stadium, a pill-shaped stadium where rugby matches take place in and finally the London Wetlands Reserve, which is, you guessed it, a wetlands reserve, located in London! Just stay inside the city, for Christ’s sake.



Brent, Ealing, Hillingdon, Kingston Upon Thames


A slightly more interesting version of South Outer London with a better cultural identity and marketplaces, along with some rather stunning views of the Thames from this side of town, most notably in Kingston Upon Thames, where the large marketplace spans between both sides of the river, with plenty of food stands, carnival games, ginger ale and beer-on-demand for you to spend the day in. The market town claims to be the oldest of its kind running in England today, with its history dating back to the Saxons in the 10th Century. There’s also plenty of rustic, old-school Victorian inns and hotels in the area to spend the night in if you’re too tired to take the tram back to the city, as well as rock n’ roll clubs towards the northeast into Camden if you want to watch some live acts. Plenty of strange Art Deco-style stations, boutique clothing stores (such as Citizen K) and buildings in the area as well if you want some of that 30s-to-50s nostalgia.


Brent and Ealing are also boroughs with a pretty strong arts culture, if you’re into that sort of thing, with places like the Kiln Theatre, which showcases stage plays and perverse reimaginings of Shakespeare’s works, Ealing Village, a spa area and holiday getaway for many Inner Londoners, St. Mary’s Church, built by the Benedictine monks in the 17th century and the two-storey brick and mortar residential houses, which are a proud symbol of both communities. It is also a relatively diverse area with a growing affluent immigrant population, with a newly-built Hindu Swaminarayan Temple located in Brent.


This side of London is also home to the city’s only military airbase, the RAF Northolt in Hillingdon, which is indisputably the oldest air base in the UK, founded in the early years of the First World War, as a test site for early fighter planes and bombers. Today, it’s a heavily-guarded outpost for the RAF, and many of the country’s newest fighter planes are stored here in the large hangars, which is occasionally taken out during special events and training drills. A small company of the Royal Tank Regiment is also present in the base, occupying a small set of barracks in the northwestern end. Sneaking into the base is tantamount to suicide, so I wouldn’t count on it.



Barking & Dagenham, Bexley, Bromley, Greenwich, Newham


Home of the British branch of the Vapid Motor Company and birthplace of the infamous Bexley Firm in London’s East End, Eastern Outer London is the country’s unofficial home of the now-endangered Yob diaspora, don’t ask me what it is. It’s also where people move to if they want to experience the vibe of another county, but don’t want to move out of London for good. Barking and Dagenham are like a poor man’s Essex and Bromley is full of Kents. This is made blatantly obvious by the presence of the famed Kent House Tavern in Penge but the borough is also home to the Crystal Palace racing circuit and a mediocre third division football club who often play second fiddle to the mighty reds. 


Greenwich is an area steeped in Royal history and accolades of our brutal xenophobic conquest of many a people over the years, which successive governments have tried to replace with reminders of our slightly more noble maritime past. It’s where the Vikings organised the takeover of Canterbury before being spanked by the Saxons… not that the kids of today would know anything about that.


In order to get to and from these other places however, you’re more than likely going to have to pass through Newham, which couldn’t be further removed from the other boroughs here if it tried. Even once you get past the stench coming out of the Beckton sewage works, you still have to contend with pockets of scum and villainy such as West Ham, Royal Docks, Stratford and Canning Town.  The rest of it basically consists of pockets of council estates and lawless Irish Traveller camps. If only they put in an airport or something so we wouldn’t have to drive all the way to Heathrow in order to get the f*ck out!




No Date Given


Now hold your horses, lads.


Detective Monty Orbinson here. Now before Boyd and Palmer get into the good stuff, you’d have to remember that just because we’re dealing with some of the deadliest bastards this nation has ever seen, doesn’t mean we can’t kick it back a notch and have fun when the time’s right. Us peelers are still human, and we’d love a good game or show or two, either in the theatre or on the telly, and wash it all down with a nice cold pint down at Benzie’s when night encroaches.


Thankfully, since all jam buttys in London are equipped with both a regular radio channel and a police dispatch radio channel, we have plenty of access to good music during mundane drives on the way to the informant meetings. Hate rock music? Tune to the reggae station. Hate reggae? Tune to the northern soul station. Can’t stand any music in general? Turn that f*cker off and listen to dispatch run their mouths about some old fart in Bexley caught with a sea mine in their shed. I know I would. Outlined below are the 12 stations currently broadcasting in London, along with what’s currently playing on the radio. I’ve stuck them on cassette for the lads as a gift, I’m gonna swap it for a rasher sarnie.


Aside from the tunes, each station is run by a host with a distinct personality, and on top of describing the weather or giving their takes on current affairs and events, the hosts may sometimes mention ongoing sales and special offers on goods and services on behalf of the many businesses in the city, so keep your ears open if you want to know when the next pair of Doc Harton’s are having a discount.


There’s also excerpts of this culture magazine that Marty surprisingly subscribes to, Peng magazine, that lists most of the shows and films currently playing in London further down the doc. Can you believe that sh*t? 





Genre: 70s Pop, Folk Rock, Hard Rock, Soft Rock, Jazz Fusion

Host: Richie Henricks


Radio 1’s the official "hits" station in Old Smokey, playing what's popular right now in the UK, and abroad, featuring pop music by the yanks, Europeans and Brits alike. Great station to pass the time waiting in traffic, if you're a masochist for folksy, radio-friendly soft rock and pop, of course. Featuring more modern bands and artists such as Stealers Wheel, Todd Rundgren and ABBA, along with other more notable local acts and solo musicians with origins in the British Invasion, the station feels very much like a post-counterculture bad hangover, a sobering, eternal bad trip in the face of hard times, rapid immigration and decolonisation. There are some bangers in there, though, so it can't be all bad.


Richie Henricks, a radio jockey employed at the Metropolitan Broadcasting Company for more than 20 odd years, is a veteran in the industry, and it shows. Putting on that annoyingly-cheerful jockey act, a constant stream of passive-aggressiveness and unwilling to take any requests, the man is easily corporate radio manifest, and honestly? It can't get any more quintessentially British than that.





Pilot - Magic (1974)

ABBA - Honey, Honey (1973)

Sutherland Brothers & Quiver - You Got Me Anyway (1972)

David Bowie - Changes (1973)

Paul McCartney - Every Night (1970)

Fanny - Ain’t That Peculiar (1972)

Humble Pie - Hot N’ Nasty (1972)

Faces - Cindy Incidentally (1973)

Python Lee Jackson (feat. Rod Stewart) - In A Broken Dream (1972)

Stealers Wheel - Stuck In The Middle With You (1972)

The Kinks - Lola (1970)

Robin Trower - Little Bit of Sympathy (1974)

James Gang - The Devil Is Singing Our Song (1973)

Traffic - Dear Mr. Fantasy (1967)

Free - Fire & Water (1970)

The Sensational Alex Harvey Band - Midnight Moses (1972) *NEW*

The Velvet Underground - Sweet Jane (1969) *NEW*

The Free Design - Light My Fire (1972)

Seals & Crofts - Diamond Girl (1973)

Steely Dan - Kings (1972)

Todd Rundgren - I Saw The Light (1972)

The Who - Baba O’ Riley (1971)

Golden Earring - Radar Love (1973)

Badfinger - No Matter What (1970)

Coven - One Tin Soldier (1971)

Shocking Blue - Venus (1969)

Looking Glass - Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl) (1972)

Harry Chapin - W*O*L*D* (1974)

Maria Muldaur - Midnight At The Oasis (1973)

Al Stewart - Terminal Eyes (1974)

Elton John - Rocket Man (I Think It’s Going To Be A Long, Long Time) (1972)

Mott The Hoople - All The Young Dudes (1972) *NEW*

Black Sabbath - Changes (1972) *NEW*



Genre: 60s Pop, Garage Rock, British Invasion, Beat, Baroque Pop, Psychedelic Rock

Host: Roddy Guinness


Feeling nostalgic for the swingin' sixties already? The boys over at RB have you covered. The station prides itself in presenting British music from the era, featuring acts such as The Beatles, The Stones and Small Faces, despite half the playlist containing songs by American bands. Talk about hypocrisy and hubris, easily among our country's most coveted virtues. Anyway, if you're longing for simpler times and the good old days of the Crisp Twins terrorizing the city and extorting protection dosh from just about every mom-and-pop store across London, then this is the station for you.


Roddy's an old mate of mine, used to have a pint or two with the man at our favourite nuclear sub back in my beat days. Pretty solid fella, just a little more jaded now ever since the MBC were in talks about buying out the station and changing the format to some geezer ballroom station. Can't say I blame the man, there’s literally billions of stations like that out there nowadays. MBC, if you’re reading this, save that bloody playlist for Christmas Day at Derringham’s, for all our sakes. That kind of music’s even older than I am.





Tommy Roe - Dizzy (1969)

Small Faces - Tin Soldier (1967)

The Who - The Good’s Gone (1966)

The Yardbirds - Train Kept A Rollin' (1965)

The Beatles - Taxman (1967)

The Spencer Davis Group - Keep On Running (1965)

The Searchers - Love Potion No. 9 (1963)

The Kinks - A House In The Country (1966)

The Zombies - Sticks and Stones (1965)

Spirit - I Got A Line On You (1969)

Dusty Springfield - Spooky (1968)

The Animals - Inside Looking Out (1966)

The Association - Along Comes Mary (1966)

Tommy James & The Shondells - Mony Mony (1967)

The Monkees - (I’m Not Your) Stepping Stone (1967)

Paul Revere & The Raiders - Good Thing (1966)

The Seeds - Evil Hoodoo (1966)

The Rolling Stones - It’s Not Easy (1966)

The Blue Magoos - Pipe Dream (1967)

The Guess Who - Shakin’ All Over (1965)

The Litter - Action Woman (1967)

The Standells - Dirty Water (1966)

Margo Guryan - Sunday Morning (1968)

The Nazz - Open My Eyes (1968)

The Electric Prunes - Holy Are You (1968)

The 5th Dimension - Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In (The Flesh Failures) (1969) *NEW*



Genre: Funk, Disco, Soul

Host: Cherri Pie


With the Black Power movement gaining worldwide momentum right now, it would be odd to not have some funky music to accompany the fight for equal rights during our troubled times. Coining its name from the succinct, high-fidelity production style of many of the tracks, the station plays everything from funk, soul to the new style the yanks like to fashion as "disco"... I hope they don't milk that to death. This is the station I'd recommend you play when you're on the motorway chasing some perp under the influence at 150km/h.


About the host, well, she's a yank expat who goes by the pseudonym Cherri Pie, which is definitely not her real name (I hear it's actually a woman from Vice City named Tina Jane). A self-proclaimed fan of Marvin Gaye, Roy Ayers and Curtis Mayfield, she claims to have over a thousand records shelved up in her Camden home, "for future use". She also does the sultry blaxploitation heroine, Pam Grier-esque act that everyone seems to dig these days. I'm personally not a fan of it, but it's safe to say that this is probably why the station's really popular with the young'uns. Just steal your old man’s Pussycat magazines when he’s out drinking with the lads, Jesus.





Curtis Mayfield - Get Down (1971)

James Brown - My Thang (1974)

The Meters - People Say (1974)

The Isley Brothers - That Lady Pts. 1 & 2 (1973)

The Pointer Sisters - Yes We Can Can (1973)

The Three Degrees - Dirty Ol’ Man (1973)

Carl Douglas - Kung Fu Fighting (1974)

KC & The Sunshine Band - Sound Your Funky Horn (1974)

Rufus & Chaka Khan - You Got The Love (1974)

Jean Knight - Mr. Big Stuff (1971)

Aretha Franklin - Rocksteady (1969)

Maceo & The Macks - Parrty Pt. 1 (1973)

Roy Ayers - Coffy Is The Color (1973)

Cymande - The Message (1970)

The Jimmy Castor Bunch - It’s Just Begun (1972)

The Charmels - As Long As I’ve Got You (1967)

Gladys Knight & The Pips - Who Is She (And What Is She To You)? (1973)

Eric Burdon & War - Gun (1970)

The Soul Searchers - Blow Your Whistle (1974)

Congress Alley - Congress Alley (1972)

Marvin Gaye - Trouble Man (1972)

Margie Joseph - I Been Down (1973)

Isaac Hayes - Walk On By (1969)

Edwin Starr - Easin’ In (1974)

The Honey Drippers - Impeach The President (1973)

The Four Tops - Are You Man Enough? (1973)

The Winstons - Amen Brother (1969)



Genre: Northern Soul, Rare Groove, Beat

Host: Tyler “Big Ty” Samuels


Back in my patrol days, about six years ago, our first dispatch call of the day would typically come from one of the many northern soul clubs in town; mostly a bunch of young mod kids, hopped up on amphetamines and quaaludes, slugging at each other with poorly-connected kicks and punches, trapped in a world where the party never seems to end. I fondly remember Tainted Love playing loudly in the background on one occasion in ‘68, when we had to pull some bloke, completely butt naked, off a tree outside a club. He thought the tree was his cheating ex. Anyway, yeah, Purple Heart is just fast music, for fast folks, playing rare B-sides from lesser known yank soul artists from the 1960s. And even with disco looming overhead, I doubt northern soul will ever lose its steam.


Big Ty, contrary to his name, is a mod revival kid from Manchester whose old man is only a mere 15 years older than him, kind of strange, but not surprising really. Based on all instances of us tuning in to the station, Ty, constantly hyperactive and more energetic than most Olympic-level sprinters, never seems to tire out, even during the wee hours of the morning. His near-schizophrenic ramblings and unintelligible yet overly-excited non-sequiturs make for some quality entertainment, very fitting for a high-tempo station like this. There’s been talks about a SID narcotics raid on The Purple Heart studios in Westminster for suspected illegal storage of amps but it never came through. Better that way, I suppose. Can’t imagine how he would survive without jumping about  in our custody.





Gloria Jones - Tainted Love (1965)

The Salvadors - Stick By Me Baby (1967)

Dean Parrish - I’m On My Way (1967)

Frankie Valli - You’re Ready Now (1967)

The Vel-Vets - I Got To Find Me Somebody (1967)

Rose Batiste - Hit And Run (1966)

Tony Clarke - Landslide (1965)

Archie Bell & The Drells - Here I Go Again (1968)

The Coasters - Crazy Baby (1962)

The Contours - Baby Hit And Run (1966)

Lynne Randell - Stranger In My Arms (1967)

Patti & The Emblems - I’m Gonna Love You A Long Time (1968)

Mel Britt - She’ll Come Running Back (1969)

Just Brothers - Sliced Tomatoes (1972)

The Ovations - They Say (1966)

Tammi Terrell - I Gotta Find A Way To Get You Back (1967)

The MVPs - Turnin’ My Heartbeat Up (1971)

The Marvelettes - Too Many Fish In The Sea (1964)

Dusty Springfield - Ain’t No Sun Since You’ve Been Gone (1968)

Tobi Legend - Time Will Pass You By (1968) *NEW*
Jimmy Radcliffe - Long After Tonight is Over (1965) *NEW*
The Javells (feat. Nosmo King) - Goodbye Nothing to Say (1974) *NEW*



Genre: Glam Rock, Protopunk

Host: Janis McQueen


Too androgynous for Rockers United and too avant-garde for MBC Radio 1, Sweet FA hits the sweet spot between all that, combining outrageous fashions with equally flamboyant rock music, all in an attempt to “make rock n’ roll dangerous again”, complete with the drugs, booze and groupies. Featuring mostly artists specializing in the glam rock genre, such as T.Rex, Sweet and Thin Lizzy, this is the sort of music that you’d play if you just want something more anarchic to listen to. Some of the songs in this feel a little too fast and violent for my liking, for a lack of any better words, though I can imagine that some of the more prospective bands currently playing live across London might dig it a lot more than I do. Guess it’s just the age playing up, I suppose.


Janis McQueen, from what I know, is also the lead singer of a local glam rock band called The Ace Of Spades, on top of being a full-time radio jockey for the station. Contrary to her boisterous and tomboyish personality on-air, I hear that she is actually a sweetheart in real life, currently doing a major in audio engineering at The University Of London. Still though, if her anecdotes are to be believed, she strikes me as a very open-minded and promiscuous lass, not that this is anything new in the realm of rock n’ roll.





The Rolling Stones - It’s Only Rock N’ Roll (But I Like It) (1974)

Suzi Quatro - The Wild One (1972)

David Bowie - Suffragette City (1972)

T.Rex - 20th Century Boy (1973)

The Stooges - Search And Destroy (Iggy Pop Mix) (1973)

Slade - Take Me Bak‘Ome (1973)

Lou Reed - I’m So Free (1972)

Monks - I Hate You (1966)

Alvin Stardust - Red Dress (1974)

Sweet - Hell Raiser (1973)

Brett Smiley - Va Va Va Voom (1974)

Love - Seven and Seven Is (1967)

Gary Glitter - Rock 'n' Roll (Part 1) (1972) *NEW*

Alice Cooper - Public School #9 (1972) *NEW*

Roxy Music - Editions Of You (1973) *NEW*

Geordie - All Because of You (1972)

Status Quo - Down Down (1974)

Thin Lizzy - The Rocker (1973)

Crushed Butler - Factory Grime (1970)

Pink Fairies - Teenage Rebel (1971)



Genre: Proto-metal, Blues Rock, Hard Rock, Doom Metal

Host: Sidney “Serious Sid” Haynes


Nothing more authentically British than a nice pint of lager or whiskey on a rotted and sticky timber top, with the only thing missing being the sound of bluesy, Hendrix-esque rock playing from a busted speaker in the background. Rockers United is your avenue for all-things pub rock, featuring all manner of live acts from more well-known groups like Fleetwood Mac, Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin to more underground bands like Wicked Lady, The Groundhogs and Sir Lord Baltimore. Needless to say, if you’ve ever stepped in a bathtub anywhere in this town, chances are, you might have unknowingly listened to at least one of these bands listed below live. And what do I make of all this? Nothing, really. I’ll just stick to my Desmond Dekker records, thank you very much. 


Like Janis before, Serious Sid is a musician himself, fronting pub rock band Rockin’ Jacobs. A little more down-to-earth and conservative than the lass, but a rocker nonetheless. That said, I hear Sid had a fling with Janis once before, and the woman wasn’t too pleased about the size of his walnuts, so to speak. Must be why Serious Sid is awfully calm on live radio.





Black Sabbath - War Pigs (1970)

Fleetwood Mac - Oh Well (Pt. 1) (1969)

UFO - Galactic Love (1970)

Derek & The Dominoes - Evil (1969)

Deep Purple - Stormbringer (1974)

Necromandus - Nightjar (1972)

Rush - Working Man (1974)

Lucifer’s Friend - Ride The Sky (1970)

Montrose - Space Station #5 (1973)

Budgie - Guts (1972)

Pentagram - Forever My Queen (1973)

The Groundhogs - Cherry Red (1971)

Sir Lord Baltimore - Hell Hound (1970)

Cactus - Long Tall Sally (1972)

Bang - The Queen (1972)

Chicken Shack - Poor Boy (1972)

Stone Axe - Slave of Fear (1971)

Wicked Lady - Run The Night (1969)

Speed, Glue & Shinki - Stoned Out of My Mind (1971)

Frijid Pink - End Of The Line (1970)

Stack Waddy - Willie The Pimp (1972)

The Gun - Race With The Devil (1968)

Blue Oyster Cult - Cities On Flame With Rock and Roll (1972)

Led Zeppelin - How Many More Times (1969)



Genre: Progressive Rock, Canterbury Prog, Space Rock, Jazz Fusion

Host: Marco Rodigan


This station is what happens when you let a bunch of classically-trained music theory majors play rock music. Don’t let the logo fool you too much, there’s nothing too psychedelic about all this. Odd time signatures, experimental tunings and an average track length of seven minutes, the 1970s have ushered in what can be called the golden age of Progressive Rock. Featuring acts like Gentle Giant, Focus and Jethro Tull, it’s safe to assume that if Mozart was alive today, this would be the sort of music he would be into if he came to England. Still, strange that they slipped in a Pink Floyd track from ‘67 in there, but it fits in there like a charm.


Marco Rodigan, hailing from Canterbury, is no stranger to a movement like this. He claims to have been to over a few hundred live shows in his hometown alone, and has also developed a form of narcolepsy thanks to him spending sleepless nights listening to Soft Machine, ELP and King Crimson records. Quite the bloody achievement really.





UFO - Flying (1970)

Pink Floyd - Interstellar Overdrive (1967)

Yes - Ritual (Nous Sommes Du Soleil) (1973)

Jethro Tull - Aqualung (1971)

Gentle Giant - The Advent of Panurge (1972)

Camel - Freefall (1974)

Caravan - In The Land of Grey & Pink (1971)

Focus - Hocus Pocus (1973)

Uriah Heep - Gypsy (1970)

Gong - Flying Teapot (1973)

The Soft Machine - Drop (1972) *NEW*

Mahavishnu Orchestra - One Word (1973) *NEW*

Frank Zappa - Echidna's Arf (Of You) (1973) *NEW*

Hatfield & The North - Shaving Is Boring (1973) *NEW*

Supersister - She Was Naked (1970) *NEW*

Emerson, Lake & Palmer - Knife-Edge (1970) *NEW*

Argent - Hold Your Head Up (1972)

Hawkwind - Seven By Seven (1973) *NEW*

King Crimson - 21st Century Schizoid Man (1969)



Genre: Roots Reggae, Ska, Rocksteady

Host: Danny Hutchinson


Ah, my childhood and teenagehood, rolled into one radio station. Can’t fault any of the tracks in the slightest. You’ve got Toots, Desmond Dekker, The Upsetters, Max Romeo and even John Holt in the playlist, what’s there to hate? You know there’s something magical about the sound of Jamaica when there’s an entire subculture kick-started by white people surrounding it and the UK adopts it as part of its heritage.


Known Danny since we were lickle kids. Was meant to become a music producer myself, but the old man pressured me into joining the bloody police force, and look at how that turned out. Still, always glad to see a mate living the dream, even if it isn’t me. Speaking of which, I should probably introduce Marty to him once we get the time to meet up, if he isn’t in Brixton doing God knows what.





Toots & The Maytals - Funky Kingston (1972)

Toots & The Maytals - 54-46 Was My Number (1969)

Desmond Dekker - 007 (Shanty Town) (1967)

John Holt - Ali Baba (1973)

Derrick Morgan - Moon Hop (1970)

I-Roy - Sidewalk Killer (1972)

Dandy Livingstone - Rudy, A Message To You (1967)

Dave & Ansell Collins - Double Barrel (1971)

The Upsetters - Return of Django (1969)

The Ethiopians - Reggae Hit The Town (1968)

Symarip - Skinhead Moonstomp (1969)

Harry J Allstars - Liquidator (1969)

Prince Buster - Al Capone (1965)

Joya Landis - Angel of the Morning (1968)

Freddie Notes & The Rudies - Montego Bay (1970)

The Hotshots - Snoopy vs. The Red Baron (1973)

Keith & Tex - Stop That Train (1967)

Rudy Mills - John Jones (1969)

The Untouchables - Tighten Up (1968)

Max Romeo - Wet Dream (1968)

Tony Tribe - Red Red Wine (1969)

Sound Dimension - Real Rock (1968)

U-Roy - Way Down South (1972) *NEW*




Genre: Ye-ye, Chanson

Host: Gene Lapelle 


Broadcasting live from a freighter on the English channel, 24 hours a day, Lundi through Sunday, this station encapsulates the sound of romantic love, fashion and endless student protests against De Gaulle. The French Connection is London’s teeny-tiny slice of Paris, playing mostly 60s pop made at the time. They call this style “ye-ye”, which, contrary to popular belief, does not refer to the nasty yank slang term for a bad haircut, but rather the expression, “Yeah! Yeah!” (which is even pronounced that way over there). It’s a bit like the beat music we have here in the UK, but sung in French. Artists include famed acts such as Francoise Hardy, Brigitte Bardot and Frances Gall, the last of whom actually won the Eurovision contest back in 1965, when she was just 17. Still can’t believe we lost to a collective of frogs that would’ve been speaking German today if it weren’t for us, the Reds and the Americans, but then again, after looking at the staggering number of blacked-out men and women lying outside the pubs in Soho at midnight, can’t say I’m too surprised.


Gene Lapelle was once a fashion designer working out of Westminster, designing outfits and clothes for London’s elite. According to him, the station is here to spread more ‘civilized’ French culture to the ‘uncultured’ English people as a way to get them to stop rioting everytime England loses a football match against them. Yeah right, mate. Tell that to the headless corpse of Louis XVI.





Brigitte Bardot - Harley Davidson (1967)

Francoise Hardy - Voilà (1967)

Nino Ferrer - Mirza (1966)

Gillian Hills - Zou Bisou Bisou (1960)

France Gall - Poupee De Cire, Poupée De Son (1965)

Christine Pilzer - Cafe Creme (1967)

Liz Brady - Partie De Dames (1966)

Johnny Hallyday - Noir C’est Noir (1966)

Cleo - Madame La Terre (1967)

Jacqueline Taieb - Le Coeur Au Bout Des Doigts (1967)

Jacques Dutronc - Les Cactus (1967)

Clothilde - Fallait Pas Ecraser La Queue Du Chat (1967)

Brigitte Bardot & Serge Gainsbourg - Bonnie & Clyde (1967)

Ria Bartok - Ecoute Mon Coeur (1965) 



Genre: Lounge, Library, Film Score, Easy Listening, Instrumentals

Host: Emiliana Lucio


Music from films and libraries. Why does a station like this exist, you ask? Because Vinewood is rich with creative freedom and money and paid us to put in a station like that on the London airwaves, and a daily trip to Derringham’s to get yourselves new suits can’t happen without some background easy-listening music. It’s mostly showtunes from the KPM Library catalogue, really, the kind of tracks you’d normally hear in spy films, crime films and the like, on top of Italian composers, a throwback to the sort of stuff on the radio back in ‘69. Expect tracks from this station to pop up in the elevators, lounges and department stores regularly, so I hope you have a firm tolerance for that sort of thing.


Emiliana Lucio’s a former Spaghetti Western star hailing from Naples, recently divorced from her yank hubby, Vinewood actor Walton Winwood. Some crazy sh*t’s happened back in ‘69 in LS involving the two lovebirds, along with Winwood’s stunt double. Apparently, a group of five drug-addled, psychotic hippies from The Desert Family cult trespassed their property in Rockford Hills and tried to kill them, confusing them for some other actor. Things went south for the hippies, and they all ended up dead, violently, with one of the kids burnt to a crisp by Winwood with a prop flamethrower, corpse floating in the swimming pool like a floater in a bowl (Emi claims the pool smelled like a St. Louis barbeque for months after the incident). Truly barbaric stuff, and they got acquitted under claim of self-defence, with the leader of the Desert Family, counterculture figure Samson “Brother Sammy” Welkes, sentenced to life in prison not long after that. Needless to say, marriage fell apart a few years later, like all Vinewood marriages, though based on her tone, it all seems amicable. Emi’s a mirror into the world that was mid-to-late-60s Vinewood, and we should all enjoy it while it lasts.





Les Baxter - Tropicando (1970)

James Clarke - Girl Of My Dreams (1969)

Stelvio Cipriani - Mary’s Theme (1969)

Ennio Morricone - Metti Una Sera A Cena (1969)

The Roger Webb Sound - Moonbird (1971)

John Cameron - Half-Forgotten Daydreams (1974)

Piero Umiliani - Nostalgia (Rhythm Version) (1973)

David Lindup - Acquital (1974)

Piero Piccioni - Playgirl ‘70 (Party Music 5) (1969)

Nora Orlandi - Lady Luna (1969)

Stefano Torossi - Flying High (1974)

Keith Mansfield - Funky Fanfare (1968)

Stu Phillips, William Loose & Marvin Elling - Kelly (1968)

Alan Hawkshaw - Traffic (1973)

Lalo Schifrin - Danube Incident (1969)

David McCallum - House of Mirrors (1967)

Franco Bixio - A Pugni Nudi (1974)

Neil Richardson - The Riviera Affair (1974)

Carlo Savina - Down Left (1969)

Sven Libaek - Music For Eels (1973)

The BBC Radiophonic Workshop - Vespucci (1973) *NEW*



Genre: Classical Music, Opera

Host: Perry Kensworth


For all you pompous bastards who can’t stand any of the aforementioned genres, I suppose this section would be a sigh of relief for you. It’s not London without it’s slice of classical fun, so Classically London has you covered. One of the oldest stations in the Old Smoke, you can transform a TV Dinner into a fine dining experience with this station playing in the background. Trust me, I’ve done it numerous times before and the mere experience of shoving a forkful of Chinese into your mouth and downing a bottle of scotch after that with Nocturne No. 2 playing from the stereo was just exquisite and elegant. Notable artists include Strauss, Chopin, Wagner and Verdi, with a hefty number of tracks here also featured in that movie with the talking spaceship and the other movie about those crazy lads that go around beating people up, seems the UK really likes its bombastic scores.


Perry Kensworth, out of Knightsbridge, is old money, and it shows. Partaking in the most luxurious of pastimes, such as inbreeding, evicting poor people from their homes and a game of golf or polo at the nearby country club, Perry is living the dream that most working blokes wished they had. He also owns a two-storey parking garage, filled with rare European and Japanese exotic cars, and based on police records, a crashed Torero along the M1 Motorway was believed to be his, though the cozzers were unable to sufficiently prove that he was driving under the influence. Oh well, it’s probably no big deal for him, he could always buy another one, that wanker.





Sir Edward Elgar - Pomp & Circumstance March No.1 (1901)

Arne - Rule Britannia (1740)

Rossini - The Thieving Magpie (1817)

Strauss - The Blue Danube Waltz (1866)

Strauss - Voices Of Spring Waltz (1882)

Bach - Air (1871)

Khachaturian - Sabre Dance (1942)

Tchaikovsky - Enchanted Lake (1875)

Tchaikovsky - Waltz of the Flowers (1892)

Offenbach - Gaite Parisienne: Barcarolle (1881)

Chopin - Nocturne No. 2 in E-Flat Major (1832)

Chopin - Waltz No. 6 in D-Flat (1842)

Beethoven - Fur Elise (1810)

Beethoven - Ode To Joy (1824) *NEW*

Mozart - Lacrimosa (1791)

Mozart - Turkish March (1783)

Verdi - Dies Irae (1874)

Liszt - Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 (1851)

Delibes - The Flower Duet (1883)

Debussy - Claire De Lune (1905)

Wagner - Ride of the Valkyries (1876)

Vivaldi - Violin Concerto in E-Minor (1720)



Genre: Conservative Talk Radio


What better way to inflame, offend and anger the populace than our very own syndicated, government-sanctioned talk radio broadcasting all over London? Radio 4’s been around longer than when men began to walk on 2s, and jumping to conclusions and stirring the ire of the native population of Britain has always been its bread and butter. Whether it's listening to Stoneheart ramble about the illegals or if it’s hearing Nigel Oakley run his mouth like a sailor on live radio, there is no shortage of talk shows here to get pissed off for no reason about.


Breakfast with Brogan

Wake up with the sing-song tones of ubiquitous leprechaun Bernard Brogan as he goes off on rambling, esoteric tangents while playing jazz. The only real entertainment comes from Brogan unwittingly reading out letters and fielding calls from pranksters who often assume punning pseudonyms and pose innuendo-laced questions to the aloof Irishman in an attempt to finally have him thrown off air. Whether it be good old Mike Hunt's views on water charges or Suk Mai Kok’s take on immigration policy, you’re sure to get a chuckle outside of Brogan’s boring drones.


London’s Burning 

Contrary to popular belief, this has nothing to do with the gunpowder plot. It’s a politics program which recounts the previous day’s happenings in Westminster as members of both houses shout incessantly at one another about who’s to blame for the state of the country, rather than what can be done about it. This episode features some notable Labour MP and a shrill-voiced Peggy “Stoneheart” Slater whom he brands “hater slater.” From what I gather, she hates children, she hates immigrants. Mandem say she want to take school children’s milk away and turn all the Asians back at the border because ‘there isn’t enough work’ since her party closed down all of the native industries and forced a three day week. Most people won’t hear this though since they’re also rationing electricity and only the rich can even afford a radio, nevermind a car.


PMS with Steve Sandcastle

The post-midday service is a news and current affairs programme presented by malapropism prone dinosaur Stephen Sandcastle OBE in which he reads directly from The Rag and discusses his outdated views on just about everything, so long as it's not related to what's actually happening on the street. Whether it be talking about who's shagging who in the world of celebrity, what the beloved Queen named her new corgi or who’s killing who in the world of civil wars, you’re sure to go away just as clueless as you were before. Oh, and by the way, there’s only one G in Nigeria Steve... you latently bigoted, incontinent sack of sh*te.


The Time Ranger

Daytime’s favourite time traveller-cum-tosser, too risque to appear on kiddy radio, and too bonkers to appear on the adult slot of Radio 4. This time, The Time Ranger travels back to 60s London, where he places a bet on a boxing game using illicit gold pieces from his time in medieval France, loses, and unwittingly gets in hock with the Albert Twins, the two most dangerous gangsters in all of England. Meeting up with Rapunzel (yes, THAT Rapunzel), who is now your average doped-up hippy, washed up the moment fairy tales fade into obscurity in the real world, though hair as long as ever. The two attempt to escape the long arm of the Alberts, as our hero wanks his way out of any predicament, rain or shine. 


Judge’s Jury with Julius Judge

The Radio Times describes this one as “A questions and answers session with a panel of notable figures drawn from politics, media and the arts who are asked for their views on current affairs by members of an invited audience assembled in a public venue.” What a load of old tosh. In this episode judgmental Jules goes to a prison in Norfolk to ask convicted murders whether they think the government is doing a good job, before grilling a Member of Parliament for Wolverhampton South West about what he perceives as “Rivers of Blood” in mass immigration, resulting in him being stoned almost to death by an angry mob in Trafalgar Square.


Letters From Liberty with William Lancaster

Everybody loves Liberty City… unless you come from Florida or somewhere like that. So what better way to spend your tea break than catching up on what’s happening across the pond. From the Hyperbowl victory of the Wrath’s rivals the Mambas to the resignation of Biff Cochrane and the ongoing energy crisis, you can marvel at it all from the comfort of your own ice cold bedsit in Bermondsey while dreaming of your little summer getaway in the cotswolds come June. It’s all lifted directly from CBN verbatim and Lancaster often forgets to change the name of the original broadcaster, but who gives a monkeys, the Zirconium Building could be five thousand feet tall and be made of sherbet for all you know when you’re on the dole. So sit back and relax and have a naturalised yankee traitor talk down to you for a half an hour. Why Not?


Nigel Oakley’s Nightly Chart Experience

Now then, now then, how’s about that? This one’s a bit of a mouthful but it’s quite entertaining, especially for a cool young cat like myself who likes to keep on top of the comings and goings of the people in the top 40 and that. And here was me thinking that creepy bastard Nigel Oakley was nothing more than a kids entertainer. I was wrong. He’s an absolute stalwart. And the best part is after the watershed he’s allowed to say f*ck and bugger, drink whiskey and smoke cigars. And it’s only a matter of time before this one gets a cool acronym like his sunday programme Top of The Charts. There’s a lot of talking bollocks from some Australian geezer with a wobble board and that bloke in the shiny jumpsuit who’s name I forgot, but this is also the one where he asks the youngest one out of the Pointer Sisters about the first time she saw a willy and whether she’s ever tried coke. Not sure whether I’d let my daughter keep watching his fixy programme after hearing this, but it’s a bubble nonetheless.


The World of Tomorrow, Tonight presented by Geoffrey Daimler

An international news roundup focussing on the ongoing cold war and the looming threat of left wing politics with Wolseleyite anti-semitic conspiracy nut Geoffrey Daimler. If you’re working the night shift, love science fiction movies and are overly suspicious of the labour party then he’s your man. Still not quite sure why this isn’t branded as comedy because I think it’s bloody hilarious. Stupid white people talking about stupid white people is just the type of levity I need. Way more funny than those other berks that they have over on Radio 2.




Londoners are constantly kept in a perpetual state of anger and anxiety by Fleet Street’s big four. Whether it be dismal dailies like The Rag, the lefty hating Lune, the Marxist Meteor or everyone’s favourite whimsical weekly The Sunday Globe. But if you’ve had enough of reading the headlines and couldn’t give a sh*te about the sport, then you can always flick to the middle pages and have a gawk at what’s going down in the make believe worlds of film and TV. 




We live in a decade where MBC journalists capture live atrocities on film in Vietnam and syndicated talk shows, trivia games and soap operas from the 1950s still run to this very day. There are altogether three channels currently broadcasting in London, playing programmes and shows 24/7, 365 days a year. Some of the tosh that’s on offer includes the following:


Fantastic Flying Squad (FFS)

No, this isn’t a documentary series about a traveling trapeze act, it’s a hard hitting police drama about Detective Pete C. Plodd and his team of rambunctious robbery cops as they do just about everything aside from collaring their man. Whether it be knocking seven bells out of a minority or shooting up a China shop from across the bonnet of a Bravado. You’re not likely to get any lessons on best practice from the coppers here, but tickle me pink, it sure is bloody entertaining!



We go from policemen to prisoners in MBC’s latest attempt at comedy starring Stanley Parker as Hairy Harry from Haringey who’s sent to a severely outdated Cat C lock up in Crawley for a crime he claims he didn’t commit. You’ll probably get at least one laugh during the 30 minute run time but you’ll never actually find out whether or not he’s guilty, so save yourself the half an hour if you’ve got something more pressing to do.


A Face Only a Muva Could Love

Hank is a former chimney sweep stricken down with a congenital defect that has turned his face into something resembling that of the Elephant man and has been forced to inexplicably make ends meet by cleaning “windas” instead. One might think there are only so many times a busty blonde can come out of the shower to see Hank’s gurning disfigured face looking through her bedroom bays before dropping her towel and running away in horror before it loses all humour, but the blokes behind this side splitting situation comedy just keep on inventing more and more hilarious ways for the poor spastic to fall from his ladder and hit various objects on his way down. Despite women’s groups consistently criticising the gratuitous nudity, my only issue is that the title is a bit of misnomer. After all, it’s a well known fact that nothing gets a pair of knickers wetter than a clumsy bastard with a Cockney accent, grotesque looking boat race or not. And predictably, despite their initial revulsion, they take pity and offer to nurse him back to health. Not to mention that cheeky wink from his drooping eye to the camera at the end of each and every episode… it just gets me everytime. 


Mouldy Old Walls

Two birds from up north are renting a flat in Charing Cross and constantly struggle to pay their rent due to low paying jobs at a street corner legal firm, rising rents and mounting student loans. One day their sink stops working so they pick a name out of the paper and call up Marvelous Mickey “no job too big or small” only problem is he ain’t a blooming plumber at all!! I hate to ruin the paper thin plot but it turns out he’s looking for a missus, so when he sees the two of them, he cannot believe his luck. They repeatedly have to fight off his advances but agree to let him stay and help to pay the rent. He keeps them warm in the winter. He fixes their creaky floorboards... but he just can’t seem to sort out their mouldy walls.


Have You Got a Bigger Size In This?

Blimey, where do you start? Martin and Montague work in a plus sized female clothier and have a fetish for women’s shoes. I don’t like bloody ponses so I never watched past the opening theme, but my guess is the heifers that frequent the place are constantly asking them for a bigger size that they can actually get their fat feet into or something along those lines. If it’s some kind of double entendre about shirt lifters, I don’t want to know. Also kind of gets on my wick that these woofters have the same names as me and my young protege. As if the other coppers haven't got enough reasons to pick on us as it is.


The Gentrification Game

Each week a group of property developers are tasked with digging into their portfolios to find the most rat infested piss smelling dump in East London and are given a few weeks to turn it into somewhere that their fellow Eton alumni can live. They jack up the prices and force the locals out on the street, replacing generations old businesses with artisan coffee shops so that they never even need to look a single tramp in the eye.


Sandpaper & Sons

This series chronicles the everyday experiences centred around a hardware shop owned by an abrasive old git named Cyril "Sandpaper" Stevens and his four sons. Danny, the eldest, desperately tries to keep the place in order while the youngest, Zebedee goes out running errands and looking for various items including a long stand, a glass hammer and a bucket of steam. All the while stuttering Cyril stands in the corner and makes sarcastic comments while he counts his coppers and laughs. The Americans tried in vain to copy this, but it wasn't quite the same. Even if the humour was catered more t'wards my kind of people and that.


Old Farts, New Starts

This one follows a group of aging white fellas who stand around talking sh*te. The Tories cut their old age pension and now they have to go out into their west yorkshire community and start looking for jobs. From getting in over their wellies in horse crap or realising that their wrinkled willies still work unexpectedly while milking a cow and chasing the farmer’s daughter until she clatters them with a rake. And that's only episode one! If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this wank fest, it’s that old people can also be the subject of mockery too. So in a way it's about diversity innit, which I'm all for. Although I’d probably think twice about pushing me old nan down the stairs.


Not in My Front Garden!

Cornelius and Concepta live in Kingston Upon Thames. They sit in their parlour and pass judgement on minorities, until one day they get a letter in the post to say that their probate fell through. They pack up their silk bed sheets and expensive delf and toddle off to a bedsit in Brixton (which is all they can afford). Hilarity ensues as they’re faced with their own bonce spinning bigotry and have to learn how to adjust to their new digs. Gone are the days of caviar and prawn cocktail. Now they must develop a whole new appetite... for Jerk Chicken and Curried Goat.


Right to Refuse

Continuing the theme of racially centric programming is this whimsical tale inspired by a Jolty Pylon sketch about a racist former Royal Marine who moves from East London to the coast and attempts to run a B&B. Assisted (and often hindered) by his long suffering wife, their daughter and her long haired lover from Liverpool.


A Word With The Platoon: An Earnest Look Into The Situation Of The U.S. Marines In Vietnam

“What’s there to talk about? All we do in this here camp is beat off, drink, get high and play Hendrix and CCR on the radio all day while waiting for the f*ckin’ gooks to come whenever they’re ready until it’s time for us to go home.” 


Powerful words from one of those American GIs, struck me so much that I wrote them down on the back of a fag packet. I didn't understand the war before and I don't very much understand it now, but this documentary really gives some much needed context to all of those Dutch London movies, if nothing else. Our government is a right dog's dinner but those Americans are absolutely snookered by comparison. Some of these boys actually reminded me of blokes on the force, although they probably hate the orientals even more, if that's possible. 


Gentry Does It

In this period piece a family of toffee nosed twats called the Turnbuckles live in a stately manor in Victorian England and their servants live below them. Both figuratively and literally. It's Dickensian fare that only MBC can do without being condescending, but I can't help noticing that a lot of the accents are quite clearly put on. None of the servants are black, which I must say is a relief, but it's probably just because they wouldn't give a bruva a job.


Terry’s Technicolour Tat Shack

When I was a lad, Saturday mornings were dominated by the likes of The Adventures Of Scorpio Boy & Heaterman, Yank comic book animated series’, where more budget is spent on the music than the animation itself. Then about a year ago the slightly menacing Terry Tizz burst onto the scene operating from an MBC back room made up to look like a tattoo parlour (or vice versa) with his crazy competitions and daft little games. It’s mostly just kid’s sh*te but I do get a kick out of the little ones ringing in trying to flog their parents' old antiques for a packet of football cards and Terry’s dirty little sock puppet telling them how much of a little idiot they are.


Professor Cognito

A science fiction programme dating back to before the days of cosmic conquests and galactic gladiators on expeditions to far reaches of the planet mong. The premise is simple but effective - A facially obscured mad scientist named Justin Cognito builds a time machine in his garage and uses it to travel to all manner of uncharted and unsettling lands whilst pretending to be someone he’s not. The effects are a little bit dated by today’s standards and most of the baddies are clearly walking around with dustbins on their bodies and pots and pans on their heads, but I still really enjoy it for the pure nostalgia of it all and how it reminds me of being a teenager and getting the missus to dress up as a sexually sentient unicorn lady or a gelatinous green blob. 


Trivia Or Die! 

This is the sort of game show where everyone who wishes to take part in it has to sign a waiver first. Hosted by Darrell Butcher, the questions asked by the man himself to any of the participants can range from elements of pop culture, political and wartime events and even down to the type of knickers the Queen likes wearing. Failure to answer any of the questions results in the accumulation of demerit points, and the audience gets to decide the fate of the losing contestants. Last I heard, they were subject to a minefield in Burma. It’s like a modern-day version of a gladiator colosseum, complete with the thumbs-up and down thing. All in all, it’s wholesome packaged fun for the whole family.




Three words, Cheap Grindhouse Flicks. In no part thanks to 60s counterculture, hard drugs and the dissolution of the Hays Code which clamped down on creative minds from the 30s through the 50s, we are fortunate enough to experience this newfound explosion of edgy and risque films with their titles presently covering the headlines of just about every sleazeball theatre in London.


This new wave of ‘exploitation films’ (aptly dubbed New Vinewood Wave by the egghead film journalists in Los Santos and San Fierro) are a sign that the new young minds of this generation have chosen to reject the static, Transatlantic-accented and black-and-white film noirs and westerns of the past for grainy, schlock-filled and overly violent and sexual pictures made on a shoestring budget. Covering topics such as sexuality, psychedelia, cars, gangs and black power, amplified and exaggerated to be made more inflammatory and entertaining for the average viewer. 


The influx of these sorts of films are living proof that you might never lay hands on a camera in your life and can still have a chance to make it big in Vinewood; just ask the Italians who directed all those revisionist Spaghetti Westerns and giallo flicks. 


Best of all, these viewings are dirt cheap, with a ticket for a single viewing costing only 3 quid, and a double feature (consisting of two back-to-back films) costing 5. Plenty of grindhouse theatres around London if you know where to look. I personally prefer to visit Ray’s near Camden Town, mostly for their 4-for-1 deal on tickets, and I would usually grab a E.Cola and a bag of fish and chips from Terry’s or the world famous Fanny Batter’s before hopping on a seat to catch the show. Do give these theatres a shot if you're bored out of your minds or are sick of the constant nagging from her indoors.


No Honor, No Humanity

Just because the war’s over, doesn’t mean that men don’t bring war back home with them… No Honor, No Humanity… A British tale of betrayal, friendship, loyalty and greed... It’s better to see it than never...


Loosely based on true events, a platoon of British soldiers from Berlin return to Newcastle only to realize that most of them are out of a job. Meeting up with an old man and gang leader named Reuben Marks, they soon become established gangsters of the Marks Firm in the city, at a cost, of course. A loyal member of the platoon, Laylan Griggs, gets nicked and is locked up for 5 years for the murder of a rival firm leader during the post-war period (which gets reduced to manslaughter due to corruption). The camaraderie that once bonded the men together is now disintegrating to the point of no return and it ends badly for everyone, as a disgruntled member of the Marks Firm and a friend of Griggs, Jerry Scofield, cuts all ties with the gang and starts his own, kickstarting a gang war in Newcastle in the 50s.


Laylan is soon released from prison, and soon finds himself pointing the smart end of a gun at his old friends and comrades, as he watches them succumb to power or die in the process, one by one. Honor and personal relationships sure don't exist in this line of work. Claims to be the most brutal Brit crime film of all-time, but I digress. The knife-stabbing scene with the fat lad outside the pub was more funny than shocking. You’ll know it when you see it. That’s all I’m going to say.


The Black Hailstorm

The Big Boss took everything from him, leaving him for dead, and now he’s back, stronger and smarter than ever before... Hardened by years in ‘Nam, now he’s ready to rain down some good old-fashioned street justice across the streets of Holland, while getting it on with the ladies.... Starring NFA Quarterback Jamie Armstrong as The Black Hailstorm & featuring an all-original score by vibraphonist and singer Fleet Hartwood… Blood will spill across the streets of Liberty City... More militant than the Black Panthers and blacker than the Ace of Spades, suit up for The Black Hailstorm… Cuz you’ll never see this cat coming… 


A hallmark in the ever-popular blaxploitation film movement in the U.S., with just about everything you could ever imagine about the genre; the large afros, the hypermasculine, promiscuous and unstoppable protagonist, the funky soundtrack, actors directly reading stage directions in-character, mass murder, drug-based backstory, the cheesy Curtis Yang-inspired fight scenes, even down to the pro-Black Power subject matter.


Lots of white people getting shot by black people in this film, and also really cool car chases featuring 60s-70s muscles like the Vapid Ellie or the Albany Bayonette. I can imagine that this picture is a favourite among those black power activists in Brixton.


Killer Hippies In Los Santos

These aren’t your ordinary peace-loving, war-protesting tree-huggers… They will surround you and your friends, and they won’t hesitate to burn you alive… In the hustle and bustle of 1969 Los Santos… They are unassuming, harmless, carefree… Until they need someone to kill, and they will never stop chasing fresh meat… Loosely based on true events, and starring Leonora Johnson as The Starlet… Tonight’s the night when a routine stopover at the Rowan Ranch... It becomes a bloodbath… Killer Hippies In Los Santos… One of the scariest pictures you will ever see... This summer… 


Leonora Johnson’s face is all over the big screens now, with her most recent starring role being Prohibition-era nostalgia bait, Rum Runner. That said, I hear that B-Movie washout and dying-for-the-art creep Peter Dreyfuss has the hots for Leo. How'd I know about this? Easy, just watch his interview on The Schitt Bagg Show. Bloke's a complete nutter. But before all of that newfound stardom, she was the humble leading lady of controversial 1971 indie slasher film, Killer Hippies In Los Santos, which was loosely based on The Desert Family Slayings in ‘68, as well as the aforementioned Winwood Residence Fiasco in ‘69. 


Plenty of gore, hallway chases, screaming and folk guitar twanging in this, not to mention the trademark nighttime Los Santos smog and congestion. As for Leo’s character, let’s just say that she almost gets dismembered in this, and it’s a damn shame that she isn’t cast in any more horror flicks to this day. I think she has more potential for her actual acting chops than just being the pretty face of Vinewood and getting relegated to the typical damsel-in-distress roles you’d normally see in summer blockbusters.


Sora Mea: An Erotic Horror Picture

A modern take and a terrifying and sexy retelling of an old classic… Pussycat Playthings Marlene Starr and Darla Cassavetes star as a pair of buxom vampire ladies, one on the side of good, the other evil, awakened from a long slumber in Romania since the 18th century…But the one thing that puts them both on the same page, is the common taste for human blood, man and woman… They will deceive you, they will enthrall you, they will seduce you and they will kill you... Hide your daughters, hide your wives, and don’t go unzipping your flies, ‘cause the Sapphic Vampires are going to have them for dinner… Sora Mea… An intimate erotic horror picture...


I saw a man spanking the monkey to this film at Ray’s, I’m not even joking. It’s a Mallet Monster production, so quality isn’t exactly a mantra you’d want to hear in this. This entire picture is essentially a softcore lesbian sexploitation film disguised as a vampire horror movie. Don’t expect much from this picture as far as the plot goes, just a couple of bad actresses doing painfully bad Central European accents engaging in various girl-on-girl and occasionally girl-on-guy nonsense with other very sexy and scantily-clad extras. The score is pretty good, though. Beat one out to this if you want, you disgusting pervert.


The Man From C.U.N.T.S.

Britain’s deadliest agent from one of London’s most secretive MI6 units… This time, The man is sent to Paris on a super-secret mission to uncover a traitor in the organisation, killing and shagging everything in his way to get to the bottom of… Actually no… that’s the other secret agent story doing the rounds at the minute. This one’s a syndicated double feature from Richards Majestic Productions in America where they rip off another distinctly British concept and market it as their own. This one follows the exploits of an agent for the Centralized Unit of National and Terrestrial Security (C.U.N.T.S.) and serves as an allegory for the yanks as a constantly interfering band of wannabe world police. Probably why it’s so successful over here ten years after initial broadcast in the states. It stars former B-Movie actor Graham Jones as Agent Forbes. And you can expect loads of fast cars, fast women, cool-looking suits and weird gadgets that somehow serve the role of deus ex machina whenever the plot deems it necessary and stuff.


Being a double feature, the first picture is about the Soviets (surprise, surprise) and the sabotage of their nuclear sub program in Sochi (the one in Russia that is). The second covers a potential Cuban mole in C.U.N.T.S. planted by the commie dictatorship, who Forbes takes out in a long-winded fight in a cable car. Either way, Agent Forbes kicks plenty of arse, and sleeps with a lot of women, somehow avoiding the clap along the way. If you’re a fan of rampant yank jingoism and pretty women reciting and broadcasting arbitrary numbers to sleeper cells and double agents, this is essential viewing for you.


Three Babes & A Swimming Prodigy

Thrills, kills and tits… Three go-go dancers kidnap a rich man’s daughter for ransom, and then all hell breaks loose… Starring Cheyenne Kubrick, Miki Peckinpah, Olivia Fukasaku and Jacinta Jodorowsky… A titillating tale of violence and destruction, of murder and torture... Straight to your nearest cinema… Three Babes & A Swimming Prodigy… These aren’t your friendly neighborhood dames... 


The exploitation film that popularized future exploitation films. Made in ‘64 by former smut movie director Rudolph Haroldson, it caused quite a polarizing storm at the Oriental Theater back then, with some people dismissing the film as straight-up p*rnographic, and others praising it as an essential feminist film. Needless to say, the entire theater broke out into a fight, and 48 people died in the ensuing chaos. Regardless, it’s a pretty ballsy movie for 1964. Tough girl archetypes and partial nudity weren’t exactly commonplace at the time, let alone running their mouths like sailors on downtime.


Sam The Rat

A satirical tale by animator Douglas Cohen featuring an all-star voice cast, this rendition of San Fierro is like nothing you’re ever gonna see… Cartoons aren’t just for kids anymore… Sam The Rat… A glimpse into the psyches of a generation… 


Incredibly trippy adult cartoon that utilizes excessive rotoscoping. It’s like a late-60s throwback all wrapped into an hour-long animation, complete with the knockers, hippies, bikers, sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. The protagonist, Sam, an anthropomorphic rat from Liberty City, is an all-round womanizer, drug user and self-proclaimed revolutionary in 60s San Fierro, who causes more harm than good. A future classic that will be studied extensively in animation schools, that’s for sure.


I like how all the black people are depicted as cows in this movie, really says a lot about the situation in the U.S.A. back then and right now. Hate to say it, but as much as I dislike living in London as a black man, thank God I wasn’t born there.


Outlaws From The Armpit Of Texas

Little Rock, Texas… A Thieves’ Paradise of murder and debauchery … It’s up to someone to clean things up… An all new revisionist retelling of the old and tired Western… Director Ennio Trigali presents an exciting picture for the big screens… Starring Clark West as The Stranger, watch as the man goes around, gunning people down with complete impunity, while dodging bullets from posses of brown people… Outlaws From The Armpit Of Texas, a future Spaghetti Western classic… 


Ennio Trigali’s getting invited as a VIP to the Red Carpet at the Oriental Theater in LS. If that’s not an indication that you’ve truly captured the minds and souls of all the nonces in Vinewood, then nothing will. A Western remake of the 1961 Japanese jidaigeki film, The Great Samurai Onazura, Outlaws is an Italian retelling of the story set in the Old West, featuring three bandito factions and one, very pissed-off yank cowboy. Lots of standoffs, bad lip-syncing and dubbing and The Stranger saying ‘boah’ in this, that’s for sure.


While receiving much acclaim for revolutionizing the Western genre in the West, the Japanese were… less than pleased. In fact, I heard the director of the original film, Kinji Kimura and the film’s production company, Tokyo-based entertainment conglomerate Ginza Holdings, are planning to take this to American court for alleged plagiarism. So much for faithfulness to the source material.


The Race To Hell

Never leave your foot from the gas ‘cause the race to hell is just about to begin… The year is 1973, and the Earth gets invaded by demons from the Seventh Circle… Humble mechanic Frank is the only one left untouched by these perversions of nature… With his trusty ‘68 Bravado parked out front, he boldly challenges Satan to a race to protect humanity… Will the man emerge victorious to save the ones he loves? Find out in The Race To Hell… Not for the religiously zealous… Starring Harold Singer as Frank and Peter Wiener as Satan...


What do you know… A road movie with elements of comedy and horror, filmed entirely in the endless desert sprawls of Tierra Robada and Las Venturas, and what it does, it does exceptionally well. Like many other films listed here, watch this just for the epic car races and chases, and try to ignore the awful make-up that Peter Wiener wears to portray the Lord of the Underworld. You’d never see a Vigero or Polaris move this fast in real life, and I heard that, the stunts and all, it’s all the real deal! In fact, there’s talk that three stuntmen actually died in the shooting of the film! That’s some dedication right there!


Il Brutto Lavoro

2 men, and 2 women, eyes dead set on a bank owned by the Mafia… Will they make it out alive? Pushed into a tough situation, four local students from the University of Palermo decide to get back at the system which doomed them… Scoping out the Bank of Laverno… Watch as they attempt to pull off the most daring heist of all-time... Meticulous, dangerous, and unassuming… Watch as the Mafia is robbed blind by a quartet of young adults, who could look like your next-door neighbour, or the patron at your nearby cafe, or even someone next to you during Sunday mass… Il Brutto Lavoro… A picture you’d hate to miss… Starring Marcu Bonnaro, Luca Silverstri, Gina Trapani and Claudia Ricci… Il Brutto Lavoro… 


A giallo picture that’s gaining storm across the pond. There’s word out there that the director, actors, and just about anyone involved in the production of the film are prime targets for the actual Sicilian Mafia in Palermo, for the less-than-ideal portrayal of the organisation in the movie. If that’s true, I suggest they do a f*ckin’ bunk, pronto. These mobsters don’t mess around, from what I’ve heard.


Anyway, as for the movie itself, if you’re a fan of schlocky dialogue, those brown Helvetica English subtitles in foreign movies, interesting car chases involving Pegassi or Grotti vehicles, pretty girls with guns, a bunch of uni students killing people and thinly-veiled socio-political preaching, do put Il Brutto Lavoro on your watchlist. Christ, I sound just like the trailer.


Jewels, Plane Tickets & Kung Fu

A pretty-faced kung fu master and a basketball player take it on in a battle to the death… Off the coast of Hong Kong, a remote island known as Shaolin Island hosts one of the deadliest fighting tournaments in the history of mankind… Hosted by its mysterious chairman, Poon Dong… No one meets the man and makes it off the island to tell the tale... Brought together by fate, they punch, kick and decapitate anyone in their way to get to the top, while enjoying complimentary massage therapy sessions and continental breakfast during down time… Jewels, Plane Tickets & Kung Fu… A kung fu masterpiece... Starring new Vinewood face and martial artist Curtis Yang and USBA player Jameer Jamal… Heads will roll across the island, literally...


Title says it all. It’s a film filled with some of the best fight scenes recorded on film in recent memory, starring Vinewood’s newest diva and first mainstream Asian-American face, Curtis Yang. Don’t watch much basketball myself, but Jameer did a decent job of playing the role of a basketball player recently fired from the association and looking to self-improve by beating people up, kinda like in real life. But f*ck it, who really watches this movie for the plot? We just want to see some arse getting kicked, and this film does a damn fine job at giving the audience just that! 

I hear the next Yang film is going to co-star Leonora Johnson in a kick-arse non-typecast role, a proposed spiritual sequel entitled The Golden Mountain, which will be set in 1870s San Fierro, during the Gold Rush and the advent of the Chinese Exclusion Act, with a scheduled release for the Summer of ‘77. Let’s hope the both of them make it through Vinewood alive.

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This is a great idea! Good to see you finally put it into a topic. If you're open for suggestions, I'd suggest adding some characters based on the Arifs. They are a Cypriot gang active in London since the 1960s. Their most prominently time being active in London's underground criminal life was the 1980s and 90's but I don't see why you couldn't bend that a little bit and put them in the 70's.

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This is awesome, mate. I've been writing a concept set in 1960s London for ages now, to be honest, I'm not sure I'll ever post it, it's a kind of just a creative outlet. The similarities are crazy though. 


I absolutely love this, can't wait to see more. I've done a fair bit of research into the topic, so if you'd like any help or anything then I'm happy to spit all some ideas. 


Keep it up, man! 


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On 1/11/2021 at 10:40 PM, E Revere said:

. If you're open for suggestions, I'd suggest adding some characters based on the Arifs. They are a Cypriot gang active in London since the 1960s. Their most prominently time being active in London's underground criminal life was the 1980s and 90's but I don't see why you couldn't bend that a little bit and put them in the 70's.


We're gonna include some Turkish characters in here, but not really based on the Arifs, unfortunately. As for their role in the story however, you're gonna have to wait till the next big post. Sorry dude. :(


On 1/12/2021 at 6:22 PM, BrownBear said:

I've done a fair bit of research into the topic, so if you'd like any help or anything then I'm happy to spit all some ideas. 


Sounds cool bro, but sadly we already got most of the lore down pat. Feel free to dm any of us if you got some ideas though.

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The Notorious MOB




[Dated 09/06/1978, Declassified 09/06/2018]


Detective Constable Harold Palmer reporting.


Ok, so… skimming through the files, you may have noticed a recurring year in the notes - 1974. That is because 1974 was a particularly turbulent year, both for the city of London, and England as a whole. 


Most notably, it was the year when a violent gang war broke out in the region, like a pressure cooker primed and waiting to explode, nothing like we have ever seen prior to it. Seconded only by the violent conflicts which categorised the mid 1960s.


It was a year when criminals, brandishing illegal arms, smuggled in from Central and Communist Europe, Vietnam and Africa, by illicit arms dealers, took it to the streets to engage in open and covert murders and killings with pure impunity, with no regard for human life or for anyone caught in the crossfire. That’s right, lads, even Britain isn’t safe from these dangerous criminal elements. Newer organisations, such as the Jamaicans, the Provisional arm of the IRA and the Triads began to pose a threat to the security of our country. Even the old Firms began to rebuild and reorganize.


For the most part, these criminal organisations have their own respective dossiers describing their activities, which we shall leave you to discover for yourselves.


As the economy began to decline, we also observed rapid economic growth in illegal activity occurring during this period. We have reason to believe that these activities had been financed by both criminal and elite sources, with ties ranging from the Monegasque aristocracy to rogue Rhodesian paramilitary units. 


Early on we also began to fear that which has now come to light. Yes… that there was also some level of involvement from members of our brotherhood. That is why we must stress that you do not discuss these findings with anyone


In order to deflect, the SID has been granted warrants from the British Parliament to investigate, and summon, individuals of high social status, as such we are able to attain a wealth of information regarding their connections to the criminal underworld.


Thankfully, with the help of DCS Boyd, the informants and the rest of the division, we were able to tag down several main organisations and gangs which are currently operating in London today. In my usual gonzo fashion, a brief foreword of the gangs followed by its individual members will be presented in a quasi-informal tone peppered with naughty language to keep you higher-ups from falling asleep mid-read.


With that, we shall leave you to do your jobs. Have a good read of the provided materials, and begin your field work as soon as possible. We expect a progress report by the end of each month.


So, without further ado, let's have a butcher's at who we're dealing with shall we?



Once upon a time in London, back in the swingin’ sixties, the Crisp Firm was among the most feared and violent firms the country had ever seen. They were led by the namesake Crisp Twins, Albert & Archie and let’s just say that they had a substantial hand in shooting the various big names we know as British icons today to worldwide stardom and fame. Participating mainly in protection rackets, fraud and other organised crime, The Firm operated in Bethnal Green, Bow, Mile End, Whitechapel and Hackney, including many other areas surrounding East London. Many members came and went, and often some would have been present in The Firm years before another. Some of those others are still standing though, the Crispies are not.


The Crisp Twins: Albert and Archibald, notorious mother loving gangsters from Bethnal Green. Back in the sixties, The Beagles were rulers of pop music, Carnaby Street ruled the fashion world and the Crisp twins ruled London. And, for a time, they were untouchable. Albie was the expositor and Archie was the enforcer, and they first began to brutalise in the ring as amateur boxers in the late 1940s and were tossed out of the army for being insufferable bastards in ‘52. They quickly diversified into Nightclubs after strongarming their way into a snooker hall and used armed robbery, arson and hijacking in order to quickly expand their portfolio and buff up their criminal curriculum vitaes on the street, ascending to a near mythical echelon before it all came crashing down in ‘69. 


Albert was arrested while attempting to leave the country bound for Thailand and Archie was rumbled while attempting to rustle some cattle in Devon. Both refused to talk, which was somewhat uncharacteristic, of Albert at least. The only time Archie opens his mouth is when he’s kneeling in front of some bloke in a public toilet… (allegedly). Unluckily for them, the rest of their gang weren’t so quiet. The twins (mostly Albert) tried to get them to take the fall for a string of murders and they strung them up instead. Now they’re doing life ‘til the day their bodies hit the ground and into the coroner’s office, with no possibility of seeing the outdoors anytime soon. Good f*cking luck to ‘em.


Arnie Crisp: Petunia Crisp’s other son. Her father was a heavyweight, her husband was a cabinet maker and, until the twins came along, young Arnold was the apple of her eye. But being in their shadow couldn’t prevent him from being added to their case and the Crisp curse ultimately bought him five years in the nick by association. As he says himself though “when life gives you bird you make birdseed or summink like that” and he supposedly lived a life of luxury behind bars because of his name, running his own firm in Parkhurst and expanding into the music industry with their money upon release. He’s currently believed to be continuing this trend by trying to swindle away a share of BMI Music subsidiary Paragon Records by cozying up to the Bachman brothers Bert and Bing. I can almost hear the million pound jingles for fried potato snacks being pressed as I speak. 


Kenneth & Dennis Axe: Continuing the trend of brothers in arms are The Axes, Kenny and Denny. Born to a Greek-Cypriot father and a Geordie mother, the brothers were castigated in their native Fitzrovia and forced to shorten their surname from Axestos in order to escape the cruelty of bullies at school. After a time however they inevitably began to fight back and were shipped off to an approved school and then a borstal in Kent. It was in Canterbury that they later met the Crisp twins, who had gone AWOL from an army prison camp following a court martial for beating a corporal at roll call until he himself screamed their name. Following a string of petty thefts and burglaries they were soon overseeing every cat house and clip joint under Al and Arch’s control. The younger one, Denny, was fun loving and garish, while his elder was quiet and reserved, but neither had any reservations about committing violence, under the orders of the boys from Bethnal or otherwise, which led to them being rounded up in the cattle market with the twins and shipped off to pasture. They probably should’ve stuck with Teddy Rhodes when they had the chance.


Gordon “Grizzly” Markham: Known in his youth as ‘Glasgow Gordon’, despite being born in Edinburgh. He started off as a boxer like the Crisps and was soon working as their driver and bodyguard before being elevated to the position of bouncer in their various clubs. He first met the twins, not in the ring, but in Brixton Prison where they observed his ferocious might first hand during an encounter where he picked a fellow prisoner up by the throat with his dominant paw and shanked him to death with the other one. When all three were released they immediately put him to work as their enforcer and shadow, but he ultimately followed too close and was also scooped up with the others and sentenced to three years for GBH as part of a wide ranging indictment. Contrary to the public profile of the Crisps, very few photographs of Markham still exist today, mainly due to his threats on the lives of journalists and photographers. He is thought to have died of a heart attack a couple of years ago but nobody dared to print the obituary in the press.


Bobby Duggan: Little Bobby began a criminal career at the age of 16, as Britain's youngest armed robber, and soon became an integral member of The Firm, acting as Archie Crisp’s right-hand man, sometimes lover and chief executive. He was born in King's Cross in 1943 to a family from Birmingham. His father had come from a family of Irish thugs and passed away when Bobby was three. His older brother was also involved in crime, so it was only inevitable that he would follow in their footsteps. Starting out with a few villains on small robberies, his main business was payroll snatches. One day however he pulled a job on a bookmaker who was paying protection to the Crisps and was subsequently shot in the leg by Albert. It is understood that brother Archibald took pity on the youth and offered to nurse him back to health. Then the two eventually became inseparable. He would then often be seen limping around the West End of London, collecting money on the twins behalf until his debt was repaid. When the Firm got snatched up however he was the first to turn Queen’s evidence. Perhaps he never forgot the shooting, or maybe it was part of some sordid tiff between himself and Archie, who knows.


Mikey “Scars” Mullins: Born to an Irish father and an Italian mother, Michael Mullins had been involved in the London underworld since the days of Connie Mancini and the Colleoni Brothers, carrying messages for the two gangs back and forth as a school boy. Remember that snooker hall I mentioned earlier? At one time it was under Scars’ control. Until one day the Crisp twins waltzed in and decided they wanted it. As their brother Arnie once said “if the twins want something they’re gonna get it, no matter what” and he would know. An impromptu sword fight later and Mikey ended up being slashed from eye to ear. Not only did they get the snooker hall but they took the five pounds to pay for the damage out of Mullin’s sky rocket and told him he worked for them. Now that they’re gone he’ll work for anyone. Anyone who wants to work with a mutilated spaghetti and spud eater that is. He’s currently in cahoots with the Francie McMillen gang in his native Stepney as well. McMillen… Mullin… paddy pricks, they’re all scum.


Gerry Cromwell: While not strictly a core member of the Firm, you can’t really mention the Crisps without mentioning Gerald Cromwell. He never truly nailed down his affiliations and made a lot of friends as a result. But Cromwell was a man who liked to keep his enemies even closer. Branded as “chicken sh*t” by the bully boy Crisps as a teenager because he attempted to steal some chickens and ended up covered in excrement. He later plied his trade instead in the fish markets down at the docks. He became handy with a blade, and by his twenties, he was slicing and dicing and dealing ups and downs at the hands of The Parkinsons. When they went away he created his own little Firm called the Cable Street Crew and with his newly established backing, he decided he didn’t want to be called “chicken sh*t” any longer, so he turned on Bobby Duggan one day in The Deaf Dipso in Whitechapel, breaking his nose. When the Crisps got wind of it, they challenged the Cable Streeters to a rumble, but Cromwell made the mistake of bringing a pipe to a pistol fight and ended up shot in the head. As his blood soaked the cobbles, several witnesses ran and hid and it wasn’t until three years later at trial that they agreed to give evidence, in  the summer of ‘69.



Long after the rise of both the Gold and Bexley Firms, a new crew came into existence with the rise of crafty, steadfast criminal Maurice Caine. Unlike the other two big firms, which deal more with traditional gang-related operations such as prostitution, gambling and drugs, the Caines are a rat pack of hooligans, thugs and fraudsters, profiting off political blackmail, tax loopholes, money laundering, illegal immigration and insurance fraud, which gives them a step up in the underworld in terms of their ability to manipulate the crowd and hide their paper trail. And even when things go bust at the top of the ladder, they can always rely on their less-than-patriotic friends, the PIRA, to sort out the mess. Goes to show that sometimes you just have to think outside the box. If you're looking to box them in though, you can usually find them hanging around the City Sin Caine club in Central London. Just don’t expect them to chat.


Maurice Caine: The uppity ringleader of the firm carrying his full name. Leaving school at 16, Caine failed the eyesight test to join the Royal Navy at the end of the war, but nevertheless decided he wanted to become a lawyer, managing to blag a job at Soho 271, starting off first in the mail room. Caine was disbarred sometime in 1960 following allegations of misconduct as well as accusations of foul play involving witnesses, who either changed their stories suddenly or turned up missing on the day of trial. It was through his work defending the city scum that he first began working for them. A little bit of fixing here, a broken leg there. Before long he had begun working for Harold Cartwright and eventually the Crisp Twins. He done five years of bread for an infamous train robbery in the '60s, came out without a pot to piss in and ran the Crisps out of town then pretty much took over their firm. 


Lenny “The Lunatic” Glazer: Once Maurice was done taking over the Crisp rackets, next on his list was the Parkinson gang. Only this time he married into it. In 1970 Caine married Wanda Glazer, the overprotected sister of Lunatic Len. A native of Elephant and Castle, although his legend travels the breadth of the city, he started running afoul of the law, deserting the army during the war to steal from houses while their occupants were in air raid shelters during the blitz. The rest of his formative years were spent in a borstal before they locked him up in Chelmsford and almost threw away the key.  He was certified insane and sent to the nut house in 1949. He eventually got out though and over the next twenty years or so, he went from fruit cake to fruit machines and earned quite a pretty penny working for the Parkinsons. Following the  ‘Torture Trials’ he appeared at the Old Bailey in 1967, and was sentenced to ten years. He got out in five. 


Jack Parkinson: In the Parkinson gang Georgie was the judge, Jerry was the jury and Lenny was the executioner. And little brother Jack was the Russel terrier who keeps nipping at your nuts before taking a piss down your leg. During the infamous Camberwell chainsaw massacre he stood on the sidelines and watched and soon became a Club owner, drug smuggler, pimp and general pain in the arse, quickly making Mile End fall to its knees while patiently waiting for his brothers’ old adversaries the Crisp Twins’ demise. Things didn’t exactly go according to plan however and now he waits at Maurice’s beck and call. Probably just waiting for another opportunity to arise.


Rufus Waters: A noted figure in the boxing underground. Forget what you know about Queensbury rules, they don’t exist in this world. Takes bets on just about anything; football, cricket, horse races, a raft of ducks crossing the motorway, you name it. But his heart mostly ticks for the bouts, due to being a former prizefighter himself. He fixes matches for the various outfits and makes sure every boxer and manager that comes into his possession falls in line. Let pride take over your mind like any diva, and he’ll have you fed alive to the hounds on behalf of the fat cats. Last I heard, Rufus was cozying up really well with Caine. Guess psychotics really do understand one another, huh? 


“Soho Sally” Leibowitz: A west end theatre promoter and one-time thief from Whitechapel. Now a long-time resident of Soho, where he works as a self-styled agent and fixer to the stars. He provides a vital link to local and visiting celebrities and has helped to raise many a criminal profile. It was through Soho Sally that Maurice met his second wife. A Swedish model turned actress known professionally as Mary Christmas. She’s just been cast opposite the new Endeavor Chambers and everyone’s thrilled.


Ernest “Irish Ernie” Costigan: Name sounds Irish and his face looks it too, but our Ernie is British born and bred. Only sometimes he don’t realise what side that bread is buttered on. Taken under Maurice’s guidance and put in contact with the Provos in order to make him feel more at home, Ernie decided his time would be better spent chasing the dragon than dealing in numbers and names. He’s now traded his tailored suit for a mouldy turtleneck and grubby overcoat that he lifted in a shooting gallery from an OD’ing corpse. Just like a junkie must chase their fix, a lost sheep must seek a shepherd, and his latest guide dog just so happens to be the leader of the National Front.


Irish Ernie is also widely suspected to be the individual responsible for creating false identities for the SSU on behalf of the Maurice Caine Firm, though with his now-troublesome habit, this would definitely serve a major pitfall in the Provo-Caine relationship. If anyone sees this man out on the street looking for his next fix, bag him and take him back to the station immediately. Bloke’s a top priority in our investigations and he'll probably grass up his granny for some confiscated snack.


Keith Noles & Johnny Hawthorn: Just as one lost lamb loses their way, others come home to roost. Or something like that. Maurice first befriended Hawthorn through jobs in the 60s when Caine was still blind as a bat and little Johnny was a rebellious rocker with a fake scar. No longer a teenager, Johnny’s keen to put the work in, having jumped the fence to become a mod. His chum Keith comes from a notorious family of criminals but has always been more closely affiliated with the Cartwrights due to his closeness to Harold’s nephew Ash. Lately the two of them have begun to butt heads however and Keith is keen to build back up the Noles’ legacy by moving back to Battersea and reviving those mods.


Terrence “Touchy Terry” Dorkins: Terry is a bit of a complicated fellow. He speaks seven different languages and was born in the borough of Islington but grew up in Bethnal Green. At the age of seventeen, he had nine criminal convictions, ranging from armed robbery, assaulting a police officer, and theft. When he befriended the Crisp Twins, he had only recently been released from prison for theft of a car. The reasons behind his nickname are said to be two-fold. For one he’s extremely sensitive and is known to fly off the handle at the least provocation. 


The second is where it gets complicated. If the rumours are true, then he is said to be a closeted homosexual who once had an affair with Archie Crisp and is known to get quite ‘handsy’ when he gets you alone. A friend of anyone’s is a friend of Terry’s too. He swears he’s known you your whole life despite having only just met you. He’s also said to be a friend of the cops and often becomes very talkative when the old nerves kick in. When the arrest warrants were issued he was all the way in Australia. Just shows what a bit of talking can do. He knows better than to talk about Maurice though. He likes fondling nackers but he’d rather keep his own securely intact.


Bandi & Alvin: Just like playing mentor to the young ‘uns Maury also has a reputation for latching on to dodgy little rackets at their inception and taking them over like a franchise. Two of his favoured racket bosses are “Allie Shades” Humber and Bandi “The Beard” Stephanopoulos. Ipswich Allie used to be a train driver but that all changed one faithful day in 1964 when Caine cut him in on the action. Now he walks around in one hundred pound designer sunglasses on his rapidly balding napper, looking like one of the Barracuda Brothers as he keeps on top of Caine’s loansharking books. Bandi on the other hand is a Greek-Cypriot gambling boss most often referred to simply as “the beard” in coded conversations about winnings and odds. He came up under the Axe Brothers and when they sank, he swam, by learning how to keep his head above water while barely ever peeking out of his hole. Together they’re a match made in heaven for any aspiring lord of the underworld, even if they probably wouldn’t have amounted to anything on their own.


Joseph “Fingers” Mooney: Just like the Parkinsons, Mooney grew up in Camberwell and was for a time known as the ‘Carew Street Catburglar’ before he eventually graduated to murder and torture. He was convicted in the late 1960s for the only body they ever found but it’s unknown whether or not its lack of digits on the left hand led to his nickname or whether it was due to the numerous armed robberies he had pulled in the past. Whilst on the inside he befriended members of the PIRA and is thought to have helped in their prison escape. His current exploits prove that old habits die hard and when he’s not hanging around Ronnie he can usually be found turning over a bank to help fund his buddies' struggles back home.


Currently the most powerful firm in London, or so they think. Founded about three years after we’d emerged victorious in the fight against the Nazis, The Bexley Firm is about the closest thing we can get to a Cosa Nostra-style organisation right here in the UK, other than the Cosa Nostra themselves, of course. Not at all surprising, considering the fact they’re currently cozying up to one of Liberty City’s big five. Even if it is the losing faction of an almost ten year old war. One look at the caustic collection of cunts with whom Kester surrounds himself however should be enough to show you that he ain’t exactly one to bet on a prize winning horse. Not since his racetrack rackets were broken up anyway.


Benedict Kester: The patriarch of the Bexley Firm, and what can I say? To speak about the man is to speak about his organisation as a whole. 59-year old Bexley Bernie is a veteran of World War II with ties to the various criminal organisations in London. He saw action in North Africa as a squaddie stationed in Tunisia, getting his first taste of crime in the region running diamonds, morphine and gold with local gangs and even Cosa Nostra-affiliated Blackshirts during the campaign against Mussolini. He received a Hero's Welcome in '45, and he repaid the favour by gunning down the leaders of the most powerful firm in London in broad daylight, and taking over. 


A self-made man who prides himself in the fact, Bernie runs gambling dens, casinos, car dealerships, and restaurants all across the country. Capitalizing off de-industrialization and taking advantage of the terrible economic and social situation of the region. On the surface, he looks to be your average old money fart, investing in businesses, funding estates across the city and donating to charities, but make no mistake, he's about as bent as a nine bob note, even if he did shake hands with Churchill and save us from the Jerries.


That said, I hear that Harry Gold and Bernie have some history together, back in the 50s and 60s no less. Apparently, Gold had a major hand in Kester’s rise to power and they were almost like brothers for a time, but something happened along the way that made them split. Bernie dresses sharp and presents himself as the man who has everything. Even though the air of corruption permeates with his every move. My guess is that Gold doesn't like it. And the feeling is mutual.


Boyd & Gerard Kester: Bernie's little brothers. They earned their chops by engaging in sheer brutality on every scale, and are known for employing tactics that even the Greasers would shy away from. Running extortion rackets, gambling dens, drugs and arms trafficking, money laundering and theft outfits across the city and into the West Country. Mostly found at stadiums across the region, supporting Alan Dicks' beloved Bristol City FC. They, and by extension their brigade of gangsters, infamously pioneered the ‘Bexley Smile’ whereby a knife is used to scar a face from ear to ear, giving the grisly impression of a permanent, grotesque grin. Typically employed after giving their rivals from Chelsea a good hiding. Needless to say, they're the sort of blokes you might want to steer clear of, lest you become another nameless statistic. They're otherwise about as useful as a pair of knockers on a nun, but Bernie keeps them around because they've gotten more Bristol hits in print than Page 3 of The Lune.


Theodore “Teddy” Rhodes: A now-disgraced enforcer of the Bexley Firm, and the father of one of our prime suspects. Taken in as an associate in his mid-20s right after Kester’s rise to power in ‘47, Brown Bread Ted quickly rose through the ranks of the Bexleys throughout the years, playing hitmen against any adversaries on behalf of Bernie and the brothers dim.


Dexter “Dexy” Fletcher: The Bexleys are a firm of two halves and Dexy is the manifestly destined leader of the other one. He heads up the All-City boys, a bunch of grafters by day and psychotic hooligans by night. From Bexleyheath to Bristol and from Bournemouth to Birkenhead, the ACB have cracked heads all over. Thinly separated from other forms of hate groups by their lax racial policy, they’re happy to take all comers, once you can fight. It’s actually debatable whether they even like football, since they never actually buy any tickets to see the games. They just drink on the train and wait for the fans to exit the stadiums so they can give them a bloody good kicking. Lager’s are two for a pound and the country’s on the way to recession, so what better way to unwind after a long day at work than smashing your head into another man’s torso for fun. The first rule of ACB club is that you don’t f*cking talk about it. And it’s saved Dexy from criminal liability many a time when he’s making a midnight run to the hospital with one of his boys because they’ve just had their forehead opened like a tin of peas. He’s also good to have on hand when you’re in need of some extra muscle. You want some? Alright. Well let’s f*cking have it then. 


Ashley Cartwright: Ashley’s another working class waster suckling at Kester’s breasts at the minute. Mainly because he hates the Crisp twins, even after what happened to them. His mother was murdered when he was little so he hadn’t got the greatest start in life. Not that he did much to ever change his own path. He was taken under the wing of her brother Harold after her passing and even he barely escaped an assassination attempt from the Crispies before they fled. Now he’s a young man crafted in his uncle’s notorious image, receding hairline and all. 


Ricky “Pegleg” Norton: Ricky served with Bernie during the war and was also a hero. When he got back to London however he was thrown on the scrapheap due to being one leg down after stepping on a mine trying to save Kester’s skin. So Bernie returned the favour and gave Norton a job. He still maintains some contacts in the army and has access to plenty of arms to make up for his lack of legs. If you’re looking for supplies you can usually find him at Billy’s Billiards in Mile End. He keeps the hardware down the alleyway in the back of his Bumbler


Franco Ghringhelli: The first of the “two Frankies” who throw their lot in with the Bexleys. This one’s known as “Frankie Gringo” (and it don’t take a genius to work out why). He fought for Mussolini and emigrated to London after the war. Or should I say he was sent there, on behalf of a group of coscas back home. He’s also now making a sideline as tour guide turned local ‘consigliere’ to the Messina Family from across the ocean (that’s Greaser speak for advisor, for those of you who don’t know). They’re now in London on some business. Not to mention meet a few old friends. And without a family to truly call their own anymore, they’re happy to operate under the auspices of Kester and co. Way they figure, a Brit boss beats a bullet to the head… they still might get it though.


Frank Cirillo: Deposed Messina boss “Big Joe” is currently casting a watchful eye from his Lake Martis estate and one of his long time loyalists is just about to be released from the can. So in the meantime his emissary is “Frankie Sideburns” Cirillo. And in the meantime he’s seeking to expand Messina’s fledgling casino empire into the UK. Starting right here, in the city of London, with a gaggle of Brokerese wiseguys and flock of Zip guineas in tow. And Kester’s gonna help him. Purely out of the goodness of his heart. Junk money buys friends but it’s also about to buy them plenty of enemies.


Giovanni “Johnny” Tortorici: In the Province of Messina the eponymous crime family and the Tortorici clan are old friends. Both battled the Bucchesi cosca and got fat off of illegal activity running contraband across the water into Calabria. It’s a pity Joey cocked up because otherwise Johnny boy could have succeeded him as boss. He was a loyal consigliere like his father before him and now he’s showing his aging son Ennio the ropes while he reluctantly serves under Sideburns. He’s currently having the time of his life by rubbing shoulders with local celebrities like the wayward Princess Polly and Beryl Massey. And while Frankie’s away cozying up to Kester, what harm could it be to see what Ronnie Diamond has to offer up instead? Not like the Messina family have a history of civil wars or anything now is it?


Benny Siculiano: Beniamino “Benny Blanco” Siculiano earned his nickname by going increasingly white around his crown when he was demoted from caporegime at the end of the war. Anyone else would think it would be a load off your mind. But not Benny. Never (usually) the optimist, he picked himself up by his boot strings and diversified into pizza pies. He was also one of the first to realize that a well established parlour is the perfect cover for laundering your ill gotten gains. Bernie Kester helped him get established while he flew his kite somewhere else and Benny’s word was the only recommendation needed when Bernie decided he wanted to go into business with the mob.


Moe "Spades" Rothenberg: He’s spent years in Venturas and now he’s on his way to Vice City to join the likes of Kosher Nostra kingpin Louis Mazursky. But not before he makes a stop off in old blighty to show the Libertonians how running a casino is actually done. Word on the street is that he was tossed out, so they should probably take his advice with the grainiest of grains. Just like his tips on achieving his signature style, which surprisingly seems to have mellowed out in his later years. I guess there is a lot to be said for keeping a low profile after all. 


Roland "The Rat" Romanello: Romanello was born in the borough of Islington to a mother who had fled persecution under Il Duce in the old country. Taken in by a wealthy banker who gave her bed and board and later put a baby in her too. The banker tossed her out when he copped she was pregnant and little Roland barely escaped a back street abortion when madre found god. Years of clutching at a rosary weren't enough to save her little boy however and he soon found his way into the underbelly of Clerkenwell. His first brush with the law was fairly noble in nature... nicking a goose on Christmas Eve as a teenager to feed himself and his mum. When he went in front of the judge he remarked "these people live like rats, can you honestly blame them?" He may have shaken a conviction but the name firmly stuck. 


His wayward ways soon caught the attention of famed Scotch/Italian heavyweight Alfredo Penne and it was due to his influence that he escaped retribution for stabbing a Little Italy gangster in the eye. He first became involved in an organisation after fleeing to Ireland and becoming involved in ITICA and bringing a couple of little chippies under control. He was eventually sentenced to five years for the murder attempt but his old buddy Fredo Penne quickly offered him a job in the race rackets when he secured his parole. He is said to be the first man to introduce the gack and smack trade to the London underworld, a drug that many old Firms daren't touch. When the Chinese moved into the charlie trade he moved to cocaine. 


Aside from drugs, the race rackets had also brought him to the attention of Bernie Kester, who took over many of Penne's interests upon his demise. When Romanello received the news of his old mentor's passing he was across the pond. Organising a fledgling alliance with the Corsicans and the Lupisella family - another one of LCs big five. Back on British soil, he still maintains some connections but he hasn't got the respect. That's why he needs Bexley Bernie. Although whether Bernie needs him is sorely debatable.



According to “official” sources, these boys are the second most powerful firm in the city. Don’t get fooled by the name though, they aren’t some company you see listed on the London Stock Exchange. Founded in the early-50s, the Gold Firm was key to the establishment of the modern London Underground gangster firm structure as we know today. Rising from the ashes of the Colleoni empire along with the Bexley Firm, Harry Gold and friends are now notorious for their ventures in the vice and vanity of the city, pitting their money and influence over London’s nightlife, sex, drugs, entertainment and pr0n. Every blue movie and pound note strung up in some exotic dancer’s G-string, has, in one way or another, passed through the hands of the Golds. 


Our informant states that there are troubles stirring up between the Caines, Golds and Bexleys, which we believe may amount to a gang war if not properly resolved. Keep an eye out on any activities, and all potential murders and incidents related to the feud must be reported immediately. Unlike other firms it’s been fairly difficult to pin these guys down to just one boozer or bolt hole and most of the calls concerning crime in Soho go straight to the Dirty Publications Squad, then inevitably back to Harry himself so he can get the hell out of dodge. 


Harrison “Harry” Gold: The more eagle-eyed among you may notice that Harry isn’t pictured above. That’s because he isn’t really the type to associate with undesirables face-to-face. He’s evidently too clever for that. Born in 1919 to a Jewish family in East London, “Hoxton Harry” Gold has earned himself the title, “The English King Of Pleasure”, since the 1950s, and for good reason too. In underworld circles he’s also known as “Harry the Hatchet”, but more on this in time. He was first arrested and charged in 1956 for living off immoral earnings but was inexplicably let off by the judge. No case to answer apparently, but said judge was the same day seen leaving court in a new Ocelot that he didn’t have before. 


He’s a playboy by nature and a hedonist to boot, Harry runs prostitution, strip clubs, pr0no theatres, nightclubs, blackmail,  narcotics and even human trafficking all over town, and is even said to have a stake in the Pussycat men’s magazine, believed to keep close connections with its founder, Jerry Caldon, up in Los Santos, being a frequent visitor himself to his mansion in Richman. There had only been five sex shops in Soho in 1955, but thanks to Harry Gold and the obscene publications act of ‘59, that number grew massively during the 1960s. 


Further feeding into his desire for a low profile, Harry had started off small with a dinky stripclub in Bower Street, then he took over Shagwell’s in Shadwell, followed by White Meat in Whitechapel and by 1969 the greedy git owned all but one. But despite his prolificity over the past decade or so, he hasn’t been arrested for a single infraction. Not all is sunshine and rainbows for Gold however. We believe tensions between Bernie Kester and Gold began during the mid-60s, during the reign of the Crisp Twins. Around about the time old Harry began to get a little too big for his boots. While they had a shared hatred for the Crisps and Parkinsons, we believe that greed and ambition began to split their friendship apart, though this was never outright stated or acted upon, even based on wiretap recordings. He also seems to have troubles with noted diamond dealer slash loan shark from Camden, Errol Adler and his two kin. A lot of enemies for a man who likes to remain in the shadows, but I digress.


Barney “The Butcher” Micallef: This Maltese monster is a former police officer currently acting as Harry’s second in command. His legitimate front is a kosher butcher’s shop but he’s been running brothels and gaming clubs since the 1950s. He’s also thought to have been the one to have recruited many of the young Maltesers who make up Harry’s band of rank and file thugs. 


Prossies operating for the gang in Soho and Mayfair earn between £200 and £500 a week. And it now operates not only in conventional strip joints and brass houses, but in basement or ground floors of high end properties in the west end. In the floors above, prostitutes operate full-time in separate flats, for which they hand over a hundred nicker a week in rent, from which the Golden Boys rake in over a hundred grand. Barney and Harry almost never deal with the girls directly, leaving the collection to front-men, who then deduct their own fees and pass the remainder on to the bosses. As soon as one little bastard rent collector is rumbled, they flee. And as you all know, Malta had at one time been a British possession. But since gaining their independence a few years ago they won’t touch us with a barge pole and gaining any sort of background information from the police, especially about one of their own, has been a bit difficult to say the least. And any time we’ve secured a greasy little lolly in the past they’ve quickly ended up on the butcher’s block thanks to Micallef. And that goes for gobby little call girls and all.


“Randy” Raymond Forrester: Bermondsey born Ray Forrester spent his youth committing petty crimes before being jailed in the 50s for a litany of charges including house breaking, aiding and abetting, assault on a police officer and resisting arrest. Upon his release from Dartmoor, he decided on a career change and jumped fist first into the world of adult entertainment, opening Raymond’s Revue Bar on Wanker’s Walker’s Court with his stripper girlfriend Misty Bell in 1958. The club quickly became a hangout for known criminals and it wasn’t long before Harry came looking for a slice of the pie. The two began a professional relationship and Harry quickly began to see his returns with Raymond putting in the required graft to keep the Butcher off his back and Misty giving a helping hand by performing in three shows a day. Soon enough Forrester also began reaping the benefits himself and the proceeds of the club enabled him to buy a brand new Enus and a 14 bedroom farmhouse in Kent.


Naturally he began to expand. Not only into more clubs, but into sex shops, erotic book stores and theatres too. In 1964 however one of his clubs was burned to the ground. It was initially thought that the Parkinsons were behind the attack in an attempt to move their extortion business into Soho, but this was never proven and over time the Golds began to believe that the arson attack was carried out by the Kesters instead. Two years later Forrester appeared in Magistrates Court and was fined £450 for hosting unlicensed public music and exotic dancing (and allegedly not giving a taste to the Dirty Squad). All I know is that it was the last time he appeared in court and the number of Lampadatis in the car park at Limehouse station have just kept on going up by the year. It also allowed him to open up more establishments and according to a quashed expose from The Sunday Globe he’s said to have made over 200 grand between 1969 and ‘72 just from sex shops alone. It’s really no wonder why car dealerships have started springing up everywhere either now is it?


“Mucky” Mike Stone: Fifty-year-old Michael Stone is an interesting character to say the least. Born in Portsmouth to a hard working father who spent six days a week in a naval yard and was never around so Mickey told everyone he died in a boating accident. During the war he worked in a mine shaft and when his national service had been served he began selling his arse down on Brighton Pier. After a short stint in the nick for buggery he began to make a meager living working as a spiv in Clacton-on-Sea until he saved up enough dosh to buy a stake in the Maxi Pad on Macclesfield Street. Not really being a fan of healthy competition, Randy Ray quickly gave him his marching orders. But seeing his potential, he gave him a job in a mucky magazine shop and when Filthy Colin got frazzled by those f*ck dolls, he took over his trade and all. Currently he's begun making the leap into producing publications himself, working alongside avant-garde artist and blagger Francisco Floyd following the closure of the LAG gallery on New Bond Street. Soft core pr0n is perfectly legal I'm afraid so all that we can do is keep an eye on him. From afar. Because I don't want to get within fifty feet of the f*cker.


Aled Bumbleby: A Caerphilly born con man and identity thief whose many names appear on the leases of several establishments tied to Harry Gold and his seedy syndicate. At one point he was the main suspect in a string of murders of known prostitutes in west London between 1959 and ‘65 and one crackpot theory alleges that he was actually also the other five suspects dressed in disguise. Despite his murky past, many see him as the personification of the gentleman gangster but if those stories are to be believed, he’s no more of a gentleman than the rest of these horrible pricks.


Edward “Couch Eddie” Cordon: Sleazy smut flick director and blackmailer who used to work with both Harry Gold and Bernie Kester, now working exclusively with the former after their split sometime in ‘65. First learned the trade of blackmail procuring young boys for the Crisp Twins and their high profile chums. Called ‘Couch’ because he dresses like one. Not to mention the grotty settee that’s now become the star of his less-than-ethical casting sessions. He’s notorious for going over-budget in his pictures and is also invested in clubs up and down the Albert Embankment, though he insists it’s strictly business. Widely held theory is that he secured the funding from an infamous score. Even used it as the title of his most popular series of flicks - Score I, Score II, Score 3D etc… not that I’ve seen them. Just quoting the theories is all. He’s currently in cahoots with sycophantic stud Joey Brydon, a part time actor and pussy pounder who simultaneously acts as his bodyguard and the star of his show.


Barry “The Blockhead” Higgins: Like many on our list, our Barry ain’t exactly got the brains, but he’s certainly got the bollocks. He’s also Harry’s ticket into the vast west end rackets formerly controlled by his previous paymasters Albert and Arch. Word on the street says he’s also a grass, but when it comes to problem solving, the Blockhead’s a plutonium bomb. Walk in, shoot the ceiling, smash a pint over the barmaid’s head, pilfer the fruit machine, light up a ciggie and take a sh*te on the floor. Spent seven months as a squaddie and managed to blow up a tank on a training exercise and kill six of his crew.


Nermin Saritoprak: This tyrannical Turk is more affectionately known to his underlings as Sultan Saritoprak, although a member of Ottoman aristocracy he most certainly is not. It ain’t just a coincidence that his name sounds like vermin you know. If you wonder why Harry’s girl’s are often dead eyed and drooling then this mongrel’s probably to blame. Far from a recent menace, his presence on these shores much predates the more recent influx of Northern Cypriots and it’s thought that he started out in legitimate businesses in Hackney, before making a name for himself importing home grown heroin in the decades following the war. When the Turks began to limit cultivation in the 1960s, his production line began to move further east. He now reportedly owns several fields in the golden crescent and insulates himself using the Karincali brothers - Ersin, Ergun and Ertug, three petty purse snatchers who got their start in the drug business pushing Pakistani puff.


Vincent “Voodoo” Smith: Vinnie’s the owner/proprietor of a deplorable dive in the South East known as The Voodoo Lounge. Hailing from Manchester and previously owning a string of clubs in the North, he seemed to get more than he bargained for when he took over the club. The property was once an opulent ballroom but had fallen deeply into disrepair following the fallout from the war and was undesirably situated smack dab in the middle of territory controlled by the Diamond and Bexley Firms. Both staked their claim to the lounge for a ‘pension’ but Vinnie turned to Hoxton Harry instead. It’s now a licensed club with facilities for dining, cabaret and gambling, hosting international bands and offering blackjack, American dice and Roulette. And now that business is booming, Vinnie’s northern investors are also looking to carve out their piece of the pie… and as anyone who’s seen them will know, that means taking all they can get. 



A group of misfits, mummy's boys and waifs and strays led by social parasite and wannabe gangster Ronald Riggs. The only man more desperate for a fist full of fivers than Maurice Caine... greedy prick. Seen as a Robin Hood type character in his youth, young Ronnie would steal rationed supplies and sell them to locals in Battersea for a fraction of the price. But the older he got, the more his greed grew and the power of the almighty British pound became his primary driver. Unsurprisingly he was quickly able to surround himself with like minded souls, and what started as a rag tag group of rascals soon became a formidable firm. The crew currently operates from The Prince Albert pub in Southwark, but are known to be making inroads into many rackets across the Thames.


Ronald “Diamond Ronnie” Riggs: The half IrishRiggs’ was born with the name Rigby in South West London and eventually enlisted in the Royal Air Force, being dishonourably discharged for desertion two years later and disowned. One month after that, he was convicted of stealing a car and sentenced to prison. On his release, he took part in a failed robbery attempt of a bookmaker and eventually graduated to jewellery thefts from large country homes, hence the moniker. Whilst in prison he had become associated with Maurice Caine but following his release they grew apart and forged their own outfits. 


In 1962 Ronnie’s gang is said to have stolen over £60,000 from a security van at Heathrow. This was quickly followed by the hijacking of a mail train which netted less than a grand. Ronnie has the muscle but he just doesn’t have the brains. It was only when he and Caine teamed up that he managed to pull off the biggest score this country’s ever seen. I’m sure you’ve read the stories so we’ll spare you. Long story short, Riggs served 15 months before escaping from Wandsworth Prison by scaling the wall with a rope ladder and dropping onto a waiting removal van. We believe he then retrieved some of the stolen money and bought his way to an acquittal before disappearing onto the continent for a year f*cking and fighting and setting about establishing his empire here at home.


Paddy “The Power” Hawthorn: Whether it’s Mussolini, Maharaji or Mahatma Gandhi, everybody needs a mentor… a guru… somebody to show you the way. And there’s no better teacher than Paddy Hawthorn. He’s been everywhere, seen everything and trounced everyone, just about. You’d think he’d be bloody sick of it by now but he loves the action. He points his finger, pushes his buttons and puffs on his cigs and Ronnie hood and his merry men do the strokes. The amount of work he’s put in, he probably thinks he deserves to sit back and take it easy. But it ain’t easy being mean. He was born in St Pancras in ‘11 and was shaking down his classmates for their lunch money by the time he was 12. Couple of years later he was shanking them in the schoolyard and snatching old ladies purses down at the railway station. He entered the big leagues as a house burglar in the late 1920s and then specialised in "smash-and-grab" raids targeting furriers and jewelers in the 1930s. He missed all of the fun and games during the first world war, but by the second he was running black market rackets - specialising in food and petrol, which is when he first crossed paths with Riggs. He also supplied forged documents for deserting servicemen and was involved in West End protection rackets and warehouse burglaries which just about saw him through the fabled forties. When one particular factory job went tits up, he fled to Cornwall but was arrested and carted back to the capital following an assault. 


He spent several years in prison for his troubles and claimed to have found Jesus after meeting his wife Geraldine “Ginger” Rogers in ‘52. No sooner had they gotten back from their honeymoon in the Vatican and Paddy was planning a £300,000 postal van robbery on Eastcastle Street and a £40,000 bullion heist two years later. In the 1960s, when others were busy knocking lumps out of each other, Hawthorn was busy fleecing aristocrats at card tables and many a politician and peer is known to have gotten up to their bollocks in debt. Despite being a torturous tax man, he’s also surprisingly known for his generosity and any time a ned is in need, he’s usually more than happy to help. Whether it be passing on the tricks of his rackets or laying of some of his bets. He can’t quite seem to keep a handle on his own little fella, but we won’t say much more, out of respect.


Tracey Giles: When it comes to peaches, Ronnie Diamond sure knows how to pick ‘em. And his latest squeeze is tranquilised tart from Toxteth Tracey Giles. Their relationship is slightly complicated because Ronnie’s got a family and Tracey’s got a little fella of her own. Said youngster is a victim of thalidomide and teenage pregnancy and this combined with her thinly veiled drug habit is bleeding Ronnie dry. A doctor’s visit here, a new dress there… he simply don’t need the stress of it. Not surprising then that he wants to pawn her off at every opportunity, although he never really ends up the best of it. 


Terry “The Shiv" Sharpe: Ronnie first met Terry in the RAF and they rekindled their relationship years later in Wormwood Scrubs. He initially found work as a barkeep in The Prince and his domineering frame ensured nobody ever stepped out of line. HMP is where he earned his nickname and he’s continued to hone his skills with a blade ever since. One might think this is where he picked up his equally domineering scar, but that came courtesy of Harry Gold, earning him a new nickname of his own. The story differs slightly depending on the source but what does seem to be corroborated is that one of Harry’s pimps got handy with a brass who was working for Ronnie and Sharpe caught him slipping in Soho with a burdizzo and a bayonet. Next thing you know Terry’s being hung up in a freezer by some Maltese geezer and Harry’s sinking a hatchet into his forehead and leaving him to die. What went down next has gone down in history as the “Bower Street Bloodbath” leading to more greasers meeting their maker than in the great siege of 1565. Harry Gold and his associates haven't dared set foot in the East End ever since, but anytime we’ve spoken to Sharpe he’s always been a gentleman... telling us to get f*cked in the nicest possible terms. 


Alfie Griffiths: Alfie’s a man after Ronnie’s heart. A wheeler, a dealer and an absolute insufferable wanker to boot. There ain’t a fur coat, a fruit basket, a fridge freezer or a Faliraki timeshare that Griffy can’t flog, so if you happen to find a perfectly working washing machine that’s just fallen off the back of a lorry, then bring it by his lock up and he’ll duly compensate, minus his exorbitant fencing fee of course. There are other fences about, but not all of them have as much readily available cash on hand as Alfie Griffiths and not all of them can tell you exactly where to find the most high value loads. When he’s not standing around hollering at the sunday markets or freezing his plums off at a storage locker in Vauxhall, he can usually be found creating a human wall around his vertically challenged master alongside other book ends such as ex-welterweight champion Bart “The Shark” Stacey and the Oedipus-Jocasta esque Jamie “The Jawbreaker” Gallagher, who contrarily hasn’t broken a jaw in his life. But god knows he’s tried. 


Oliver “Octopus” Stevens: Continuing the trend of nautical nicknames is Ollie the Octopus, an old style London gangster with his fat tentacles in every nook and cranny of the underworld. He can usually be found tending to his prized racing pigeons on a rooftop in the arsehole of the East End. Got a problem needs fixing? Call Ollie the Octopus. Need to find some compromising information about a local politician? Call Ollie the Octopus. Generally anytime you have your head up your hole and don’t know who to call, you give old Ollie a bell. Just don’t go complaining when you end up covered in sh*t.


Arthur "Dodger" Duggan: Birmingham born artful Artie Duggan is the older brother of ex Crisp crew member Bobby Duggan and a prolific hood in his own right. He ended up in Wormwood in his mid teens and upon his release he joined the Merchant Navy. In the late 1950s he began working for Paddy Hawthorn and in 1958 he avoided a prison sentence for breaking into a factory by claiming he was a worker who had forgotten his keys. When Hawthorn moved more so into gambling rackets he began to gravitate towards his underling Diamond Ron and had a famous run in with The Crisp Twins when they shot his brother and he vowed revenge. The twins allegedly lured him to a property in Bethnal Green on the pretense that they only wanted to talk since he had been vouched for by Riggs. However he was soon set upon by Archie Crisp who held him on the ground while Albert took aim with a handgun. Luckily for him however, the gun didn’t work and he managed to make his escape by smacking Archie in the head with a teapot. Over the years he managed to scrape enough money together to buy a stake in a club in Mayfair. When Harry Gold started taking over the west end clubs though he sold his stake to Ronnie and had it turned into a strip joint. Duggan bought a scrap yard from the sale that is allegedly used to dispose of bodies by the firm and it currently remains the only club in the west end that Harry hasn’t staked a claim to.   


Sidney Moore: “Psycho Sid” Moore is a crazy c*nt from Canning Town who enjoys a picnic. He broke his bones for Jack Parkinson before being bundled into a van by Ronnie, held at gunpoint and told “come with us or you’re f*cked.” Pretty sure he’s actually clinically retarded but he’s just the sort of lap dog Ronnie likes to keep on a lead in case people need to do the old houdini. When Sidney does the job it’s actually more like Paul Daniels, but Ronnie thinks it’s magical either way. He famously escaped Broadmoor by slashing a guard and scaling a fence, so maybe Ronnie sees a bit of himself in young Sidney, but f*ck knows what else.


Cousin Toby: Tobias “Toby” Talbot, as his name suggests, is Ronnie’s hammerhead cousin from Essex. He does Ron’s bidding, man’s his doors and tends his whores. But more importantly he makes sure only the right people gain access to his world of debauchery and drug abuse and only the proper amount of taxes are paid to the big man for the privilege of continuing to operate in Ronnie’s ends. He can usually be found playing pocket billiards just inside the lobby of Mayfair Ladies in Westminster. Although it’ll probably cost you a pony or a blowjob if you want to see what goes on in the back.


Mickey “Custom House” Casey: What Toby does now is what Mickey used to do, but after years of busting his pitbull-like chops for various outfits, he’s now carved out a piece of the pie of his own. Ferrying cargo from the docks and protecting loads of contraband on it’s outbound journey has earned him a nice little nest egg. But unfortunately for him, the docks are an industry which are rapidly in decline. So his next stop is construction and good old fashioned union racketeering. Cushty.


Fred “The Head” Pinder: One man’s downfall is another man’s opportunity and it always helps to have a man on the inside at all costs. A notorious con man who has been part of the criminal cess pit since the 1960s and has acted as the go to business manager to the Underworld for years. Encouraging many a wannabe mob boss on how to broaden their empire into the club world, casinos and pubs. With the declining industry in the docklands Freddie plans to use his business portfolio to expand into skyscrapers and convince some local politicians that his idea of a “London Docklands Development Corporation” is a good idea. Although they might need some persuading.


Lincoln “Lightfinger” Alexander: With so many nicknames in the underworld, it’s only natural that some will almost begin to repeat themselves. Alexander is a renowned jewel thief and safe breaker of jewish descent who grew up in Whitechapel close to Billy’s Billiards and was actually present when The Crisps walked in and took over. Unconfirmed reports suggest he was sodomised with a snooker cue, something which he has always vehemently denied. For years he floated around London working for various firms before setting up his own mini firm in the late 1950s which started off on Payroll snatches before moving into security van robberies. Ronnie frequently makes use of his special skills when he needs to take down a moving target. 


He’s always happy to oblige because, according to underworld legend, Lincoln owes him big time. Back in ‘64 his main rival in the safe cracking game ‘Red’ Reggie Mitchell was taken out by Riggs over an affair with the former’s wife. The story goes that Ronnie had been shagging Mitchell’s missus, and when he found out, he went to his flat and attempted to blow his jacobs off with a shotgun. A few days later Mitchell was found bleeding to death in a gutter behind a pub. Of course, Ronnie was in the hospital at the time and he has the records of a dodgy doc to prove it. Just one of London life’s many mysteries I guess.


Jake “The Snake” McVey: Jacob McVey first met Ronnie in prison in the 1950s when they were nothing but petty thieves. One day Jake had gotten into a spot of bother with the screws and Ronnie came to his aid. Ronnie beat a prison guard to a pulp and McVey loafed the Governor, knocking him spark out when he came to see about the fracas. Next thing they knew they were getting lashed across the arse with a birch and thrown into segregation. The two remained friends upon release, even though McVey had been an associate of the Crisp Twins for quite some time and had become a known drug trafficker by the 1960s. Although never a permanent member of The Crisp Firm, he was regularly employed to commit various crimes on their behalf. 

After spending some time in prison he had developed a drug addiction and was a known abuser of alcohol. Over time he began acting up in various protected establishments and was branded an unpredictable lunatic in the underworld. Albie Crisp had served time with him in the early 60s so he agreed to talk to him and tell him to get his act together or he’d be done. One night McVey began to get extremely messy in the presence of the twins, high out of his mind on drink and drugs. Albie pulled a gun and when it jammed, his brother pulled out a knife and stabbed McVey repeatedly in the stomach in front of everybody. Several of the Crisp’s associates were tasked with cleaning the scene and disposing of the body, but Jacob survived. It’s unclear exactly what went wrong but he eventually ended up on the path outside Ronnie’s club. Ronnie apparently brought him to a vet to get patched up, but the twins weren’t too happy, to say the least. He’s currently keeping the target off his back by pulling art robberies with seasoned burglars Michael “Monk” Malone and Charlie Boland aka “Good Luck Chuck”, two former members of the thievery team known as “The Derby Hat Gang.”



Thanks to MI6 we’ve been able to gather a lot more information on these guys. They have a style of record keeping that’s admittedly a lot more comprehensive than our own. Bombings, assassinations and anthrax-laden children’s letters, the Provisional Irish Republican Army, or PIRA, is your friendly neighborhood ultranationalist/separatist terrorist organisation, only difference being that they operate much closer to home. Comprising several cells and factions with sometimes opposing goals and leaderships, the one faction that caught our eye here in the division was one led by a man named Garland Riley, which we believe to have been responsible for some of the more gruesome and brutal attacks against British citizens since the 60s. Said faction is believed to be currently operating in London, under assumed identities.


That said, we believe there exists a rift growing in the faction, based on tape recordings, the informant testimony and wiretaps in various hideouts around London. This extends to the upper echelons of the PIRA as well.


Garland “Garry” Reilly: Much like our suspect, Reilly is a man of mixed descent, in fact even more so. Born in East London in the closing days of WWI to a mother of Protestant East Belfast descent and an alcoholic English solicitor's clerk. He began attending Catholic school after the untimely death of his mother and worked for a time as a builder’s labourer before being conscripted into the army when the UK declared war on the Germans. Following the war he first joined up with various republican groups and by 1950 he had helped to organise a new unit of the IRA. In this capacity Reilly was also involved in attempts to re-establish the IRA, which had been badly affected by the authorities in both the Irish Free State and Northern Ireland. He was among twenty-five to thirty men who met to try to reinstate the IRA in Dublin, the first national meeting of IRA activists after the Second World War.


In 1954, Reilly took part in an IRA arms raid on the armoury in Essex and secured a massive cache of wartime artillery loaded into a van before being stopped ten miles down the road on a busy motorway and arrested. The van had been overloaded and was unable to reach a speed above 20mph which drew our boys’ attention immediately. Later that year he was sentenced, along with Seamus Geraghty and Diarmuid Mac Dubhghlais to eight years a piece for their parts in the raid. Thanks to our wonderful justice system they were back on the streets to wreak havoc in half that. 


It is believed that during this time he also forged a connection to various criminal elements in London before moving to Ulster in 1959 and eventually settling in Belfast. Going on to become the organisation’s chief of staff by the early 1960s. A short time later he is believed to have taken Kelly under his wing, forging somewhat of a father-child relationship between them, along with a group of other young, resentful and impressionable Ulster teenagers beforehand. The result was a Welkes-esque cult of personality surrounding Garry himself in the faction, and he expects his followers to have nothing but total loyalty to him and the cause.


Growing up with a piece of sh*te father of his own, he is thought to have quickly built up a rapport with the teens, and guided them through their first assignments for the organisation. We believe that Garry eventually mellowed out in the early-70s, however, as tensions between the IRA and the government began to dwindle, leading to a ceasefire in 1972.


Fearghal Ó Murchadh: That’s Fergal Murphy to you and me. And the name change is just a mere indication of the duplicity of this so-and-so. He was born into a middle class family in Monaghan in which his father had been an IRA member wounded in a battle against the RIC in 1919. This was way before Murphy had been heard of, but ironically what led his father to meet his mother, who was a Cumann na mBan (Women’s Council) volunteer. When he was old enough he followed his mother into UCD and became a teacher, working in various schools around Longford, Roscommon and County Westmeath. This is where he likely first learned his skills of indoctrination and in the 1950s he set up a youth brigade of the Republican Army stationed in the surrounding countryside of Athlone. Through his training as a teacher he also became fluent in Irish, which is likely what prompted the change in name. It also led to him being appointed as a training officer for the Republicans. And despite being a nefarious bastard, he doesn’t drink and he doesn’t smoke. 


Around the same time as he joined the IRA, he also became affiliated with their political arm Muid Féin. In 1954, he was appointed to the Military Council of the IRA, a subcommittee set up by the Army Council in 1950 to plan and carry out a military campaign against several Royal Ulster Constabulary barracks in Northern Ireland. Following a prison escape with Donnchadh O'Caireallain, he was elected a Muid Féin Teachta Dála (TD) for the Longford–Westmeath constituency in 1957, but failed to retain his seat for the MF’ers in the subsequent election. In 1959 he became the IRA Chief of Staff but abdicated his throne to Garland Reilly in 1962 in order to prepare his campaign for his party in the elections of ‘64. Despite stepping down as COS, he has remained active in IRA politics and is thought to now be an Army Council member for the PIRA.  


Seamus Geraghty: Born in North Dublin, the 40 year old Geraghty first joined the Irish Republican Army at the age of 19 in 1953. The following year he joined up with the British Army as a sleeper agent and began supplying information about various barracks which enabled them to carry out their infamous raid in Essex that year, among others. Geraghty had previously been stationed at the barracks, and was therefore familiar with the schematics of the operation but he had abandoned the army several months prior because of his refusal to partake in the suppression of the Mau Mau uprising in Kenya, due to his underlying support for the separatist cause. For this reason he had been unaware of the exact quantity of weapons on site, which had ironically been increased a couple of weeks prior to aid in that very conflict. 


After his release from prison following the ill fated raid, he also took part in another unsuccessful attack at an RUC training camp in County Fermanagh in which two of his fellow raiders were slain. He was later arrested and sent to Mountjoy but, being from the area, he was able to influence local politics from inside and ran for a city council position upon his release. Due to his military background he also simultaneously worked as a training officer for the IRA and was later sent to Belfast to liaise with the then largely inactive units in the city. After this he organised IRA training camps in the Wicklow Mountains and soon took charge of the IRA's Dublin Brigade. During his time in prison, he befriended EOKA members and a German-born spy who had passed information about the US nuclear programme to the Soviet Union. In doing so, Geraghty became interested in the Russian Revolution. In the 1960s he became a staunch Marxist and attempted to lead the organisation away from violence and more so into left-wing politics. During the IRA split, he supported the moves to abandon abstentionism and was a key figure in the founding of the Irish Socialists (IS) the following year. Again serving a dual cause by acting as Adjutant-General of Garry Riley’s more traditionalist arm of the IRA and was a key figure in negotiating the ceasefire in ‘72. 


Cathal Regan: 54-year-old Cathal Regan was born in Belfast and joined a local republican-orientated Scouting movement at the age of 17. The following year he joined up with the Clonard-based 'C' Company of the Belfast Brigade. By 1942, Cathal was serving as second in command and was thought to have led a shootout that year with several RUC officers. During the Second World War, the IRA carried out a number of armed actions in Northern Ireland known as the Northern Campaign for which Regan was imprisoned until 1946. The IRA declared a formal ceasefire in 1945, which led to him and several others being released. In 1956, the IRA embarked on another armed campaign against partition, which attacked ten targets in six counties, damaging bridges, courthouses and border roads. Regan was again arrested and interned for the duration of the campaign. 


Upon his release, he was subsequently promoted to Officer Commanding (OC) of the Belfast Brigade. Despite his leadership position, he was disappointed at the direction of the IRA. They had given up armed struggle, and desired seats in elections. Failed campaigns led to the IRA becoming weak and disorganised and he grew disillusioned with the organisation's increasing emphasis on socialism and reformist politics over "armed struggle”, so with that he resigned from the IRA around 1962. In August 1969 however, intense rioting broke out in Northern Ireland, the most violent being in Belfast. Regan was highly critical of the IRA's failure to defend Catholic areas during these disturbances, so he himself tried to defend the Catholic Clonard area from attack with a small group of men. He was ultimately unable to prevent it from being burned by Ulster Protestant rioters however. Despite the embarrassment, he became a key figure in the founding of the Provisional Irish Republican Army in 1969 and resumed his position as OC of the Belfast brigade the following year under Diarmuid Mac Dubhghlais’s leadership, himself ascending to the position for a brief period between 1972 and ‘73. During this period he is thought to have organized an arms shipment from Libya and others involved in the ongoing bush wars in Rhodesia and was Officer Commanding of the Provisional IRA Belfast Brigade when it launched its bomb campaign of the city, including Bloody Friday when nine people were killed.


Diarmuid Mac Dubhghlais: Officially, Mac Dubhghlais is the current reigning chief of staff of the PIRA. It is alleged by many however that he is simply a figurehead put in place in order to insulate Colm O’Shea, having been the elected COS for the past five years or so. And a nasty piece of work he is too. 


Known internally as "Dougie", he was born around the same time as Reilly and Regan in the Falls area of Belfast and began his involvement with the Irish Republican Army in the 1930s. He was interned in Northern Ireland during the 1940s and was involved in the 1954 barracks raid in Essex that led to his four year imprisonment with Reilly and Geraghty. In the 1960s however he opposed their left-wing shift and in 1969, he was prominent in the establishment of the Provisional IRA, having previously succeeded Cathal Regan as the Officer Commanding of the Belfast Brigade. When an IRA special army convention voted to drop the principle of abstentionism a troika was formed in the newly established Provos consisting of Mac Dubhghlais, O’Shea and Donnchadh O'Caireallain. Mac Dubhghlais was subsequently appointed the chief of staff. 


In 1972 Diarmuid was arrested by the Garda Síochána and was temporarily replaced by Cathal Regan as Chief of Staff. Three weeks later the IRA organised his escape via helicopter from Mountjoy. Just prior to his arrest, he had led an IRA delegation to a secret meeting with members of the British government and the Northern Irish Secretary of State. He began to believe that our government had drawn him out to ascertain his whereabouts so he could be arrested. And in retaliation he ordered the execution of ten unarmed Protestant workmen which he ostensibly claimed as retaliation for a rash of loyalist killings of Catholics in the area before. In a farcical display of protested innocence he then initiated talks between the IRA and Protestant clergymen including Peter Weasley which descended into chaos the following year.


Donnchadh O'Caireallain: The PIRA’s current ‘Director of Publicity’, O’Caireallain was born in Cork in 1938. His grandfather was a member of the 1st Cork Brigade of the Irish Republican Army and was bayoneted to death by British forces in 1921. After leaving school early, he joined the republican movement at 17 years of age and took part in the IRA Border Campaign and later trained as a woodwork teacher in a college in County Wexford. In 1957 he was second-in-command of the Flying Column which carried out the raid on a RUC Barracks in County Fermanagh alongside Seamus Geraghty and was imprisoned but later escaped along with Fearghal Ó Murchadh and went on the run. With most of the IRA leadership under arrest or interned, O’Caireallain became IRA Director of Operations and joined the IRA Army Council. In an altercation with the RUC and B Specials near Lough Neagh in 1959, he was shot and badly injured and later captured by the RUC. Upon recovery, he received an eight-year sentence and remained in Belfast Prison until he was released unconditionally in 1963. He was active in the IRA through the 1960s, and IRA Chief of Staff Garry Reilly appointed him the OC of the Donegal unit prior to the IRA's Convention in 1969. 


Following the split however he broke away and went on to become a prominent spokesperson for the Provisionals. In 1970 he traveled to Liberty City and was instrumental in establishing NORAID, which allegedly raises funds for the cause. Whilst in the city, he also set up a printing company which specialises in disseminating Republican propaganda across the pond. The following year he traveled to Prague and purchased 4.5 tons of small arms from a Czechoslovakian state armourer which was later seized in Schiphol Airport. He also played a leading role in the farcical truce negotiations between the IRA and the British government in 1972. Following the meeting however the government concluded that he appears to be losing ground to younger and more impatient operators. Therefore to arrest him and remove him from his position would loosen restraint on these operators and open the way for more irresponsible action. And look at us now.


Colm O’Shea: Nothing more romantic than surrogate father figures and first loves. O’Shea was born into a middle-class family in Greystones, County Wicklow. He gained an interest in politics as a teenager and became radicalised after attending one of Geraghty’s training camps in the nearby Wicklow mountains. At the age of 19 he officially joined up with Muid Féin and the Irish Republican Army. Within a year, he was commanding an active service unit in south County Londonderry during the Border Campaign, where his leadership skills and his burning down of a courthouse earned him the nickname "the Colonel."  He was arrested near his home in Glencree and sentenced to six months in Mountjoy and  immediately interned without trial in the Curragh prison camp for a further two years upon release.


He spent his time in prison studying. He was particularly inspired by his studies of the Vietnamese struggle for independence and became a member of the escape committee which engineered the successful escapes of Fearghal Ó Murchadh and Donnchadh O'Caireallain, among others. After his release, he worked to rebuild the republican movement, beginning by building a local base of support in County Wicklow as Muid Féin's local organiser. He strongly supported the movement's left-wing orientation of these years, especially its emphasis on grassroots political activism and eventually reached the rank of Adjutant-General of the IRA. 


After the Troubles broke out in Northern Ireland in 1969 however, factions in both the IRA and Muid Féin were divided over abstentionism and the left-wing faction's socialist politics. The republican movement divided into Official and Provisional movements and O’Shea sided with the Provos. For a time he served as Vice-President of Muid Féin and as a staff officer in the PIRA. He eventually became the PIRA's Director of Operations and (allegedly) currently serves as its Chief of Staff. In this capacity he is commander and chief of all of its clandestine cells. Including the Special Service Unit (SSU) headed by Kelly which is currently wreaking havoc on our streets.


The SSU: The Special Service Unit are the most violent, ruthless and highly-trained unit ever sent to Britain by the Provisional IRA. Thought to be composed of around eight people who are speculated to have flown from Shannon Airport, County Clare, to Heathrow in early 1974, using false identification under the pretense of looking for work in London. They are believed to have rented a flat which is being used both as a living quarters and for the storage of bomb making equipment. Thanks to co-ordination and some uncharacteristic information sharing from the SIS, we have managed to surmise who these other seven individuals besides Kelly might be:


Desmond “Dessie” O’Shaughnessy: A younger, conflicted member of the faction, the 23-year old was believed to have joined in roughly the same time as Kelly, which could perhaps explain his closer relationship with our suspect compared to other members. Initially joining the group due to constant harassment from British Troops and the RUC as well as dreams for a united Ireland, Dessie soon realized that the actual situation between the two countries is far more complicated than a simple good vs. evil analogy, not to mention the number of atrocities that the young Irishman was made to take part in. With all this taken into account, he remains loyal to the group and its cause, still playing an active role in its activities. Though with the current strife in the group, we can only speculate as to where his loyalties currently lie.


David “Dotsy” O’Rourke: Born in the late 1940s in the slums of Dublin’s North Inner City, Dotsy grew up in abject poverty and was stealing food to supplement the family income before he even left grade 1. He attended a Christian brothers school but was frequently in trouble with the law for playing truant and committing burglaries with his friends. As a young teen O’Rourke had gained an interest in socialist politics, including those of Seamus Geraghty, believing that those in power were ignoring the poor in the city and instituting policies designed to keep the working class down.


Further influenced by Geraghty, he attempted to join the royal navy at 15 but was rejected due to what he perceived as sectarian sentiments in the British armed forces as a whole. The following year he was convicted of a string of robberies and sent to an industrial school in Westmeath. After several months of ill treatment he managed to escape to Athlone and joined up with a faction of the IRA being led by Fearghal Ó Murchadh, and it is believed it was he who put him up to the robbery of a Garda Síochána depot for confiscated firearms that year. After making his way back to Dublin he is also believed to have gotten involved with the Duggan family, carrying out cash in transit robberies to further fund the cause. Having sufficiently impressed his IRA handlers, he was then assigned to the now London based cell.


Patrick “Patsy” McCourt: In contrast to his peers, Patsy was brought up in a good family and was given every opportunity in life. After attending university to study electronics in his native Belfast and becoming educated about the ongoing struggle however he began to use that privilege to help out the less fortunate, which in his mind equated to the working class warlords of the Belfast branch of the IRA. Like some kind of anarchic altruist swapping his books for a Brodie and his pen for a Mantega. 


It’s understood that many of the other members view him as a bit of a soft touch, often shying away from the action and preferring to pen Republican ballads and strongly worded letters to the press. Amongst the idealistic animals however he excels with his intellect and provides invaluable information often necessary to carry out their atrocities. Given his background in electronics it is also likely that he may be working as a bomb maker.


Winny & Alex: Winifred “Winny” O'Ciosoig and Alexander “Alex” O’Brien are your classic tale of finding love through struggle. A pair of local city sweethearts in their mid-20s who grew up together in the volatile border regions of wartorn Armagh, as far as we can tell they’ve been through a lot together, throwing rocks and molotovs at the police during protests, surviving numerous onslaughts and taking up arms against the Loyalists, the Army and the RUC, sometimes all combined. Seems a lot like a twisted rendition of your typical Vinewood romantic comedy bore. But little by little, the couple gained expertise in various fields and life skills that normal young adults in Belfast ought to know about, such as nitroglycerine production or hotwiring a troop truck filled with British military equipment, which proves to be useful for their resume when Garry scouts for talent.


While already having each other, Garry was the one man who was able to guide them through a common cause; a free Ireland for all Irish people, the pursuit for their glorious future, or something like that. I’m not one for deciphering Nationalistic propaganda at the best of times. Regardless, we know that whatever message the old man was preaching would soon strike a chord in the couple, and in due time, they were switching out their denim jackets, loose shirts and bellbottoms for green ski masks and camouflage fatigues, joining in with the faction in their various nefarious activities. They are also believed to be exercising their squatter’s rights in the city apartment where the PIRA faction plan their attacks.


Leighton “Lay” McRae: A 24-year old San Fierro born Provo who swapped anti-Vietnam protests for police killings after the dust settled on the hippie haze. The latest member of the group, he joined up with O’Shea’s band of merry murderers in Dublin and got tagged on to Kelly’s crew from there. We believe that Lay is often the butt of jokes in the faction due to his cushy American upbringing and draft dodger status, and may be experiencing some form of identity crisis with regards to his actual Irish heritage. 


Hence, in defense of it, or at least in an attempt to hide his insecurities, he generally tends to support extremist or anti-British proposals sent to the group, pitting his allegiances closer to that of O’Shea and Bannon, in order to show the group that he’s worth his salt and that he’s not just some out-of-towner looking for some action back in the old country having hopped on a plane with one of O'Caireallain’s communist flyers in hand.


Eamonn “Eamo” Bannon: Nicknamed “The Butcher of Dungannon”, Eamo is one crazy son of a bitch, and that’s all we can say about this man. If war was a tap, you can bet your arse that Eamo would keep getting his fill of it as long as it keeps running. He’s staunchly anti-British and pro-violence, and if we were to be honest, even without the guise of nationalist ideology, the man would still be a grade A psychopath that you wouldn’t want to cross paths with even on a Sunday afternoon.


Raised in Dungannon, Tyrone, Eamo actually could have been considered normal for a time. That was until a few RUC constables made a periodic stopover at the Bannon family home in the late-1950s, the reason for which concerns reports regarding IRA-related guerilla activity operating in the area. Based on all accounts, gunfire and screaming were both reported during and after the encounter, with all of the RUC personnel involved in the incident classified as missing after that night. The bodies were recovered at the banks of Lough Neagh a week after that, with evident signs of torture on all six policemen. While Eamonn was never truly proven to be the perpetrator of this incident, he remains a top suspect in the killings, not helped by his disappearance from Dungannon not long after that. Joining Garry’s faction sometime in ‘63, Eamo would soon become a senior member, though given his mental instability and violent tendencies, he is never allowed to bring forth any proposals to the planning room. God knows he tries.


The profile of these individuals is fairly common and their selection by O’Shea is understood to be typical of his Modus Operandi, given his actions in the past. Case in point is his recruitment of people like Willy “Wack Job” Meehan and “Pistol” Pete Holohan, two notorious members of O’Shea’s extended flock who learned their trade under IRA master strategist Ciaran “Blackie” Connors in Belfast. Blackie had been on the run since planning Bloody Friday but was arrested following a tip-off earlier this year, and his house was found to contain a submachine gun, four rifles, two pistols and several thousand rounds of ammunition. But not before instilling his ill mannered instructions in his two young apprentices. As a teenager, Meehan moved to England to find work, for a time working as a television repairman before returning to Northern Ireland when the Troubles began and later becoming a quartermaster of the Belfast Brigade.  Holohan on the other hand is thought to have taken more so to Blackie’s instructions on intelligence gathering but is also prone to violence. Unconfirmed whisperings amongst the Republican community paint him as almost an urban legend in his trademark dark sunglasses and his penchant for carving a notch into his pistol grip ‘for every Proddy he kills’. Both were instrumental in the audacious escape of Diarmuid Mac Dubhghlais, with ex RAF pilot Meehan manning the helicopter and Pistol Pete using his signature sidearm to hold the officers at bay. In 1972 these men are speculated to have been the ones who travelled to Tripoli to meet with the mysterious Libyan leader Colonel Jaffi in order to acquire arms and finance from his government for their cause. Support to and from the ZAPU and ZANU in Zimbabwe is also suspected.




Born out of the crowded streets of Kowloon, Central and North Point in post-WW2 British Hong Kong, London’s local set of triads, based in Chinatown, is actually an international syndicate of Chinese gangsters with ties to the scag trade in the Golden Triangle, taking full advantage of the conflict in the Indochinese region to traffic poison into the streets of London, in exchange for a big fat profit from our homegrown junkies. Talk about getting back at the Brits after two Opium Wars and the handover... 


Hyut San translates directly to ‘blood mountain’ from Cantonese, taking its name from the numerous triad wars which have occurred in the hills of 50s and 60s Hong Kong due to intense rivalries, bodies which have served the foundation of a unified, feared society of criminals.


The group has known ties to the larger Wan Shui Po and Wan Chai Toh Triads in Hong Kong, the Zhong Jing Tong in the U.S. and the breakaway Po Boys in San Fierro. Here in the city of London, we believe that the triads currently have a business arrangement with the Mangold Seven and other black gangs in the underground narcotics trade. But they're far from just a shadowy supply company. We have every reason to believe that the various individuals who make up this carnivorous conglomerate are actually a wholly distinct organisation unto themselves. With a well established hierarchy and all.


Yong Ling Po: Another mystery man. All we know is that he is most likely the current dai lo, or Chairman of the Hyut San Triad in London. Known locally as "Chris" and professionally as "Broken Neck Po." Some things get lost in translation but not with this fella. He's quite literally a neck breaker, known to exact his own brutal form of punishment on anyone who dares to stand in his way. He first entered the country when he jumped ship from a Hong Kong merchant navy vessel in Royal Albert dock in the 1950s. 


Soon enough he'd established his own organisation in Birmingham and then they migrated further south to make London their home. He masquerades as a legitimate business man but he's chiefly known for trafficking heroin through Amsterdam and then onto the US. Only problem is, increasing amounts of his onbound loads have been going out light lately. And we suspect that the missing scag may be somehow finding its way onto these city streets. Traditionally one to keep the rot within his own community, it's likely that his greed is forcing him to break a long held tradition of only dealing with his own. Typical of any foreign menace, he plays up his ignorance to the culture, pretends he don't speak a word of the queens. Even travels about with a translator. Go figure.


Sammie “Scarface Sam” Chu: The overly loyal, guns akimbo and unquestioning red pole of the Hyut San, and someone whose crew is responsible for doing Po’s dirty work. Some kind of f*cked up sense of Confucian values going on there. Given the notoriety of Sammie's actions in the far east, we were able to gather a substantial amount of information regarding his past, which reads like something out of a revenge exploitation flick.


Born in an orphanage in Kwun Tong, Japanese-occupied Hong Kong in ‘42 of mixed British-Chinese descent, Sammie grew up a prizefighter in the Kowloon Boxing Underground, going up against, and beating skilled expatriate boxers airflown directly from Europe and America. Getting his nickname from a particularly gruesome facial laceration he received during one of his matches, for a while nothing could top Scarface Sam, and he was taking in all the winnings and living the high life during the late-50s and early-60s, in a time when the Chinese and Eurasians were still very much second-class citizens in the eyes of the Brits. 


All this changed one day in ‘64, when a gang of local triad gangsters led by fellow prizefighter Hunter “Sucker Punch” Pak, possibly paid off by the corrupt elements of the HKPD, visited Sammie at his condo in Central. The men gave Sammie a beating of his life, left him in a brief coma, killed his girlfriend Martha Wong and stole all of his earnings and valuables in the ensuing confrontation. Broken, poor and forced out on the streets soon after that, Scarface Sam was later rediscovered in 1965 by local gangster Aloysius “Wisecrack” Toh, then the leader of the Palm Street Boys, at a night market in North Point, where he was scrapping with a pair of rival gang loan sharks in the defence of a vegetable seller. Seemingly aware of Sammie’s past and seeing potential in the young man to make it big in the triad, it was believed that Wisecrack handed him two Caesars, along with several magazines, in a briefcase smuggled out from the HKPD armory that very night, thus giving him a chance to exact revenge on the very people that wronged him, which Scarface Sam obliged in an instant.


The ensuing rampage across Hong Kong did not only leave members of Hunter’s gang, and himself, taking a dirtnap during a gunfight at a crowded teahouse in the middle of Kowloon City, but likewise took the lives of several officers and detectives of the HKPD as well in its wake at The Celestial Cafe in Victoria Peak, which included Harlan Goswell, a corrupt Vice Squad detective and gambler known to have had several connections and dealings with various Triad groups across Hong Kong, and also believed to have been the man calling the shots against Sammie.


A month after the incident, HKPD was under the impression that Sammie took the 36 oaths after laying low for a period, becoming a sworn-in member of the gang, and after the gang wars in the early-to-mid 60s, he rose to Red Pole status in early 1972 in the newly-established Hyut San Triads. Originally slated to follow his mentor to San Fierro to expand on the American side of the smack business, a cock-up in the Triad hierarchy caused them to separate, with Sammie moving to London instead. Regardless, Wisecrack, in all his glory, gave the former boxer one last order before parting ways, and that was to remain loyal to whoever he is assigned to in England, and to do whatever his bosses say, when he does indeed meet them.


And that he did. Today, Sammie remains a close associate to Po in London, running as an enforcer for the triad, helping the old man run dope from Europe to the rest of the world, using London and Amsterdam as transit cities to do so. That said, Sammie’s mixed heritage is speculated to be a source of friction between him and Po given the latter’s xenophobic tendencies and old-world thinking, despite his loyalties.


Gregory “Oriental Greg” Lam: Chinese in ethnicity, but a Londoner at heart. Right down to his bespoke suit and his bowler hat. He is the go-to translator and mediator between the Hyut San Triads and other gangs in London, mostly notably members of the Aniston Posse and the Nigerians, who they regularly do business with, with regards to the weed and dope trade. The stubborn elders of the triad aren’t particularly open to working with people that don’t look like them, so Greg’s looking to change that. After all, he don’t look much like the elders neither.


“Limehouse” Lim Shen: At the start of the 20th century, the Chinese population of London was concentrated in The Limehouse district surrounding the docks. And after the blitz wiped most of it out, the fishing industry was next to the only one which remained for the Cantonese speaking diaspora. And in the true spirit of Communism, Lim Shen moved to the city shortly thereafter and set about establishing himself as a union boss tasked with communicating with the Sino-British dockworkers. When Chris Po moved south, Shen was at the top of the food chain but as Broken Neck's influence grew and the Limehouse Chinatown began to decline, old Lim began to fall increasingly under Yong Ling’s control.  


“Fat” Shan Dong: Shan first emigrated to London as a young sailor about ten years ago thanks to the Labour party’s complacency and then took up a job working for Shen. He started out working as a dock hand, then a fish loader and eventually became a supervisor of sorts. As Shen’s little group of labourers began to become redundant however he diversified into loan collection on behalf of his paymaster, taking advantage of the elderly immigrant community by extending them extortionate credit. He eventually began to extend his racket towards Soho and ended up running afoul of Scarface Sam. He was shot in the head from close range in an apparent murder attempt and part of his mouth was blown away in the incident. A couple of reconstructive surgeries later and he’s now begun a new little distribution racket on behalf of Chris and Sam. Loading up the various rickshaws cruising around Chinatown with drugs and having the drivers selling in bulk. Pity the doctor’s couldn’t do anything for his hair isn’t it?


Joe “The Moustache” Ming: The triads call him “Húzi”, but we just call him Ming. He allegedly trained as a secret policeman for the Kuomintang before being sent stateside in order to coordinate drug dealing operations with the resident Tongs. He is believed to be in London performing a similar function for those very same Tongs in order to keep a watchful eye on the Hyut San and make sure they’re not up to no funny business. Just one look at this wet blanket should tell you that silliness isn’t something he cares for. Too bad for him that his chosen host family is composed primarily of clowns. The sting in the tail is that, whilst playing both sides of the underworld back home, he is thought to have gotten on the wrong side of the highly dangerous Suen Sing Yi, so he’s been forced to join the circus now whether he likes it or not. As the old adage goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend… And we’re about to build a whole case around everybody, whether they be friends, enemies, or otherwise.


“Nanking Nicky” Ng: The Ng family are thought to have begun emigrating to the West several decades before the war and are even said to have established their own little benevolent club in San Fierro’s Chinatown. But Nicky never got the chance. He was only an infant when the massacre hit. Upwards of 50,000 Chinese civilians raped and murdered over a period of six weeks by invading Japanese forces. His parents were killed but he and his older sister escaped. They settled in Hong Kong and then his sister married off and moved on to Portuguese occupied Macau, leaving Nicky a child of the streets. He started off small with petty thefts and then turned his attention to confidence tricks and gambling rackets in the tourist heavy side streets and Mahjong parlours, eventually earning enough money to start his own shipping company with government help. Chinese food, narcotics and counterfeit goods were frequently part of his manifestos and now, after the establishment of the Independent Commission Against Corruption, it’s thought that he’s come to London to expand that business here. If we’ll let him. 


Charlie “Egghead” Eng: Nicky’s prematurely balding, bespeckled nephew. He’s basically like the skewed, saccharine ending of a Fred Quincy movie where the downtrodden immigrant moves on to greener pastures, meets prince charming and gives birth to a savior. Only Charlie’s the harsh, hubristic, reality check that you get when two generations of downtrodden castaways are given lucky escapes and begin to mix with the worst the Japanese forces let slip through the cracks. Raised in Macau in the 1950s before making his way to San Fierro thanks to the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 as a teenager. Charlie attended an American school and gained some American friends. He even added an E to his name in order to make it easier for them to pronounce. How considerate. He also put that good old American education to effective use upon graduation, working for the local Chinatown gangs and accounting their fortunes. He even secured himself a place in University of San Andreas Blueberry where he is said to have been a dab hand at distributing the little red book to the hippies and radicals around campus. He wasn’t the first of the family to move there, but so far he’s the last. And now that uncle Nicky has emigrated, he’s in need of a gofer, so Charlie has left his sordid affairs in the hands of Chris’s little cousin Jian “Johnny” Po of the Po Boys and come to London to play errand boy. From what I hear, things in San Fierro’s Chinatown have been a bit dangerous lately, so no doubt he’s happy to help.


Benjamin Collins & William Arkins: The Triads’ friends in the north. Bill and Ben are pot men, or at least they were until they met the Chinese. They first met in the port while working as a shipping clerk and a dock hand respectively, but when dock work started going down the pan they turned to smuggling. With Billy as the strategist and Benji as the enforcer. They had already got firmly established routes through the Netherlands for their ganja when one day a couple years ago the Triads called a meeting. And against their better judgement, they went.


Things got heated, Sammie pulled a pistol and Benji pulled a shotgun. Billy tried to negotiate and Greg pretended to tell Chris that Benji didn’t tell him to go f*ck himself. The triads offered a percentage to allow them to push heroin north and west from Gerrard Street. The boys said we’ll push it for you. They agreed to go half and that was that. They've invested their new found fortunes well; nightclubs, knocking shops and offices for handing out usurious loans. Only problem is the West End is already home to these rackets. And they're controlled by a different lot.




Report #000299 - PERSONS OF INTEREST

Det. Sergeant Harold Palmer, SID.

With additional testimonies from an anonymous informant.

[Dated 02/07/1974, declassified 09/06/2018]


As a police detective, no matter your moral standings on organized crime, I feel it’s imperative that you make the effort to sink your teeth into the criminal underworld as much as you can in an attempt to know its inner workings, so that you can eventually dismantle and destroy the structure, from inside out, like termites to a log.


Listed below are some of the big names you ought to know in the other world whose loyalties lie elsewhere other than the established gangs, and their roles in that world. An informant (whose name I won’t say) was able to give me the lowdown on many of these individuals, though I mostly did the fieldwork with Boyd, making the effort to locate said individuals directly and even stopping by for a cup of tea, while in plainclothes, of course. Some entries are just pure drivel, but hey, there’s a hefty amount of space to write in this report.


Just a general disclaimer, I’m not all that great at engaging well in this report gig, so if anything seems off-kilter here for a submission to the chief, egg Cockeye in the face. He’s the smart aleck who proofread this thing for me and gave me the okay.


Connie Mancini: Long before Clerkenwell was turned into a cesspit by Timmy the Mallet’s Munster Mob, it was the gateway to London’s Little Italy, kept in relative order by Constantine Mancini, or ‘Connie’ as he’s known. After the downfall of his main rival Artie Brown, Harry Gold and Bernie Kester helped him rid the city of the infamous Colleoni brothers and he’s made sure that they haven’t fallen much out of favour ever since. 


Kester expanded west and Harry expanded into facets of the underworld others can only dream about but, now aged in his eighties, Connie can’t help but think that his legacy might be better left to a younger pair of hands. He ain’t got no kids. In fact he never married. And he plans on leaving what little money he has left to his long time clerk and carer with whom he shares his Brighton estate. Either way he’s set to see to it that a person of his choice is left his throne. Even if it’s the last thing he does.


Warren “The Wheelman” Tyler: Allegedly the greatest driver in London since Poundage Fern. There isn’t an automobile currently in production that he can’t make purr like a moggie and grip the road like a bottle of Squatter’s super even on a rainy day. He’s in constant demand from every bank robber and hitman this side of Southend and for the right price, he’ll gladly make sure that you aren’t left holding nothing but your bellend in the back of a bizzie van on your way down to Scotland Yard. We’ve wrecked many a squad car trying to catch up with him, so we would know.


Emma Rhodes: A former ‘model’ during the 1940s and 50s. Had a public school education and a middle class upbringing. God knows what she saw in a thug like Teddy that made her want to spend the rest of her life with him. They wedded in ‘49 and by ‘50, they had a child, who happens to be one of our prime suspects. Seems like the taste for violence runs in the family bloodline.


Sidney Rhodes: Aside from being a cousin to one of our suspects and initially giving them a place to stay, Sidney is a wannabe rockstar of sorts who gigs around London under the name ‘Sid Vacant’ with his buddies Bernard and Trev. He also has a past peppered with widespread criminality and is thought to have honed his hardcore persona in his twenties by doing odd jobs for Harold Cartwright, Jack Parkinson and the Crisps.


Errol Adler: Your average Jewish banker for the British criminal underworld, runs a loans operation in the region, together with his son and daughter, Dean and Matilda, who dress formally and act as the bean counters to the family business, though they're really a nasty pair of violent enforcers and trained killers, on account of being ex-Mossad; I heard that (don’t ask me how I know) they’re actually part of the same group taking part of the revenge killings of those Palestinians responsible for the sh*t that went down in Munich a couple of years ago.


Feel free to take a loan from them, at your discretion. They might even give you a job, which may or may not  involve chopping some bloke’s drinking arm off with a rusted machete. So the next time Liverpool beats Arsenal and you lose a week’s worth of pub money, at least take some pleasure in the thought that you didn’t take a loan from these shylocks. 


We hear that the Bexleys, the Rhodes(s) and the Golds are stiffing him and his kin over certain monetary dealings in the past, with Harry Gold in particular pretty vexed over a ripoff on Adler's’ part, not that they’d give a flying sh*te about that. We’ve also heard that they are involved in the diamonds trade with Rhodie national Markus de Klerk, and by extent the SSU, who use the Adlers as middlemen and pawnbrokers for the blood diamonds trade in London.


Markus de Klerk: This one reminds me of some of the contacts I’ve had the pleasure of meeting (and slotting) back in Yemen. Markus is a former RSF Captain with a thick accent (with a tendency to do the rolling Rs and Ls thing) who was once an idealistic fellow in serving his country and its causes, now a disillusioned arms dealer and mercenary who runs an illegal network of surplus arms across England, with their most loyal customers in the region being the Provisional IRA. He is heavily implied to be funding all three warring factions, his old friends the RSF, as well as the ZANU and ZAPU, in the ongoing war back in Rhodesia and also implied to be running blood diamonds with the warlords and death squads in Central and Southern Africa. Markus is a good-humoured man, maybe too good-humoured for his own good actually, if you find sardonic jokes about him trading a couple packs of Piswasser for a team of MBC journalists-turned-hostages, as ransom payment for an Angolan warlord, funny. He's seen violence in its rawest form, and absolutely nothing shocks the man other than possibly the Second Coming of Jesus Christ himself. 


That said, de Klerk is a force to be reckoned with, and the best heaters in town come from him and his boys. His assistant and protege is a younger man named Phillips Ladipo, who is likewise ex-RSF and just as salty about their war back in Africa. Their men run backdoor gun stores all over London, much like the limey version of the septic favourite, Ammu-Nation, and they can definitely hook you up with some top-of-the-line gear… if you're looking. He also has small-time jobs for anyone in town looking to dabble in the arms trade, mostly involving small shipments of arms delivered to various gangsters and customers around the city. Mess that up, and the Rhodies and the clients would both put a bounty on your heads.


Speaking of PIRA, we believe that the SSU are also helping Markus and his crew of rogue Rhodie mercs and deserters run diamonds and large shipments of arms across London and even across the ocean back into Africa, with elements of the faction working with him directly. That said, with the strife going on in the SSU and by extent the entire PIRA post-split, we may see this relationship, or even the lives of his men, threatened in the crossfire, and now it’s just a question of when de Klerk and his crew plan on jumping ship. It’s not like back home is any better, is it?


Rodney Morash: Roderick “Rodney” Morash was a former Mod kid who used to work for the Crisp Twins from ‘61 to ‘69 but somehow had a change of heart at the turn of the decade. Rod is now an old, bitter and washed-up racist leading one of the more extremist local chapters of the National Front on behalf of bigoted bannerman (and part time politician) Geoff Tyldesley, and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He can’t accept the fact that the 60s have already run their course and that immigration is actually a thing now. We believe he also has connections to a number of Tories across the city, most notably sitting Prime Minister Herbert Hunt. So much for that D-Notice… well, f*ck it.


Samuel Odinga: A civic minded barrister and peer to Bristol University. Not saying he's corrupt (yet), but he's certainly an opportunist. Just one of many academics and so called free thinkers who’re propping up the Brixton bunch and their affiliates. He runs a lucrative side business in town scaring witnesses all the way back into their homes with the help of some unscrupulous types across London to win the cases for his clients and grant them their well-deserved freedoms. Almost like a black Maurice Caine in a way, the only key differences being that Odinga isn’t organized, and just about any wanker can help him out, no matter what creed you belong to.


Look for him during his break on the steps of The Old Bailey, or outside his office in the CBD, and he’ll hand you a dossier of a bunch of witnesses you need to take out or scare into submission, and for your trouble Sam will provide a nice slice of the Judicial pie in the form of dirty money. He also dabbles in the fun pastime of insurance fraud, where he would get his employees to damage some poor lad’s car for him to write off.


Honest Ray: Manchunian born former Royal Engineer in the Corps, Raymond “Honest Ray” Fletcher now runs a number of chop shops and tuning garages (colloquially known as Pay N’Sprays) as well as a car crusher across London and its outer towns. To Ray, business is business, and as a result he sees no need to take any sides from nobody in town. Bring a car to him, and his men can either tear it apart and give you a slice of the profits, or he can personally make it a great fit for the annual British Saloon Car Championship.


Probably just for the Traffic Desk, but Ray also has a list of cars that he needs brought to his garages for sale, which changes every week, depending on what’s popular in his world, or if there are any big races coming up and when he needs the extra parts to take advantage of the situation.


Herbert Hunt: Often branded as a poofter and a paedophile (we've all heard the rhymes, yes), Herbie Hunt is the man chiefly responsible for plunging the country into rack and ruin as the two time Prime Minister and leader of the cantankerous old conservative party. He's lauded by The Lune and hated by The Meteor, who'd much rather our country be run by a manchurian candidate. We've had several suppressed reports about his pederastic proclivities and perversions, but the top brass doesn't want another repeat of Lord Boothroyd and I can't imagine how bad the country would be under Slater.


Wolfie Vilans: Real name Demetrius Theologidis, Wolfie is the go-to fence for illegal pawned goods in town, with a natural gift for determining the value of an item in ten seconds flat, and for speaking really awful French so as to sound a tad bit sophisticated and romantic. A Greek refugee who left the old country because of the oppressive military regime, Demetrius settles down right here in London, opening a store, followed by another in the early-60s, working closely with the Crisp Twins up until their arrests, before going solo. Figuring out that no Englishman could pronounce his name right, Demetrius goes for a moniker that is a little easier to the ears of the gangsters in town. 


Taking his name from 1962 French romantic comedy B-Movie Mon Petit Choufleur, Vilans now does business with the various gangs with items to barter, keeping up the bonkers French Romantic act even during heated bargains, complete with the accent slips, the corny thin moustache and a passionate hatred towards ze Germans, especially since they killed his drinking buddy Winston Henry. You’re not fooling anyone, Wolfie. Only yourself. 


That said, diamonds are not his bread and butter, with most criminals confusing him for specializing in that sort of thing, as I found out the hard way soon enough as I went undercover to one of his businesses.


“F*ck off, idiote cochon Anglais.” He reprimands furiously, as he hastily spreads pate on a baguette slice, with some Francoise Hardy song murmuring indistinctly in the background. “Go see ze Jews for zat sort of thing.”


Anyway, back to the subject of pawned goods. His stores are open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Anyone ready to hawk a stash of electronics, jewellery, a new set of rare china or even a lorry full of telly sets can use him as a quick way to earn quick stacks of quid in the city.


Whyffun Caukenbolls: Even crazier than Wolfie the French Romantic is this man with an even odder, crass and somewhat humorous name. A pseudonym of Westminster-based Rikard Langfield, boring postal worker by day, and a rowdy football hooligan by night, we believe that Mr. Caukenbolls is likely to have been responsible for almost four hundred instances of rioting at pubs or outside of football stadiums, typically being the first instigator of violence after learning of game results, controversial or otherwise. 


Caukenbolls came about because it’s usually the name he gives down at the station, which is usually responded in kind with a lovely beatdown of epic proportions and a day in the nick. Perhaps Dickard Langer would be more appropriate. Either way, he’s a massive toolbox, and a very large unit to boot, and all we can say is, he’s a man of simple pleasures. He loves a good meat pie, a long game, a piss-coloured pint and a classy old-fashioned fight. If you ever catch him outside starting a ruse or walk out from a very bad game between two teams kicking a ball, please don’t even think of tagging along and joining in on the commotion. He’s a tough c*nt to beat and SCF69 are having it up the arse in daily reports at the moment, this extra legwork isn’t helping their situation in the slightest.


Yobbo Longee: Robinson "Yobbo" Longee is an interesting Australian fellow from Ramsbottom “just outside of Melbourne” trying to make his way through London's tourist centric hotspots with his dear old mum and hold his own. He's run into a spot of bother and has mislaid his friend Barry Mcockiner and observers have reported that he's recently been seen wandering around the Tower of London and the East End ghettos requesting that they participate in more and more ridiculous tasks. We've been getting sporadic reports of randy Aussies and boozy bastards meeting his description on and off since the 1960s. So if you happen to see him or Mrs. Longee about, just save yourself the hassle and drive them over to Heathrow and pop them on an Emu flight back to where they came from. Cheers.


Enid “Sourpuss” Barnetson: Acquiring his charming nickname from his equally charming personality, Sourpuss is the proprietor and sole bartender of notorious sleazeball bar The Smoking Barrels up in Soho, Westminster, and just about every insurance company’s worst nightmare. The bar has a happy hour deal on whiskey sours that would give Benzie’s a run for its money, but it also doubles as sort of a ‘neutral zone’ for criminals of differing and opposing factions to conduct business in a quiet environment away from the streets. This, however, does not guarantee the safety of the respective parties involved, as scuffles, which can range from old-school bar fights, to OK Corral-style gunfights and explosions, are commonplace at the Barrels. Ol’ Sourpuss doesn’t seem to be particularly fond of having his bar shot at and blown apart by dangerous criminals and having it turn into a charnel house overnight, but hey, these boys keep the place afloat, and better to settle things here the peaceful way rather than out on the streets, right?


The fact that Sourpuss receives regular insurance policy payouts despite the Barrels seemingly being a high-risk property is enough to raise eyebrows. There are talks of SID booking the man in for suspected foul play but Rollo had the last say of letting the place keep running for a little while longer. Who knows? We might find a suspect or two prowling in there for a pint someday.


Cristiane Duvalier: Also known as “Frenchie” despite being perfectly fluent in posh people’s English. The only daughter of an oil magnate, she's a crooked, yet fun-loving millionaire and member of Monaco's Elite raised in Essex who happens to be a major shareholder in local British automobile titans such as Maxwell, Weeny and Enus, though the biggest of them appears to be Dewbauchee, which she owns a surprising 79% stake of. She's known to engage in all manner of white-collar crime, blackmail and violence to sow political and economic uncertainty for profit, in exchange for loads of money and a sweet set of rare cars and imports on the employee’s part. Well, a lady must have a hobby eh?


Word on the street is, Frenchie is very sympathetic to the Mangold Seven and the Black Power Movement happening in Brixton, despite the obvious race and class disparity and falling victim herself to a number of armed or discreet robberies on her properties in Knightsbridge and Richmond, coincidentally perpetrated by black gangsters in passing. A morbid fascination or some kind of strange guilt complex, perhaps?


Bernhard Shawe: A publishing mogul who fought for the Czechs in the early days of the Cold War under a different name. More recently however he’s gotten more accustomed to cheques from political donors during his six year tenure as a Labour MP. He heads up Pygmalion Press but is thought to be gathering the funds to help Duvalier secure that other 21% stake in Dewbauchee. God only knows what he wants in return. 


The connection between him and a younger, attractive French woman is somewhat strange considering he's got an older wife and several children. The youngest of whom seems to be preoccupied with hosting pool parties for her teenage friends and giving them massage therapy classes... very strange indeed. He can usually be found flying around London in his personal helicopter or holding court on his luxury yacht. Hosting meetings with Israeli despots and like minded individuals from Africa and beyond.


Friedrich “Freddie” Silverman: This shady f*cker is far from a man of shining silver. An ironic jab that actually points to his true intent and occupation perhaps? A former colonial officer and travelling companion to famous explorers who claims to work for Hunt’s government, having previously met with the IRA in such a capacity in the past, yet I always seem to see him going in and out of the Century Building on my way to Tintagel House


He’s said to have made it his job to get out into Catholic ghettos like the Falls Road in Belfast and the Bogside in Derry and make contacts at all levels. Eventually he was able to get in touch with Provisional IRA leaders and suggest they come to London to see the Northern Ireland Secretary in 1972. Can’t help but think it has something to do with this “Joint Irish Section” that I’ve been hearing not much about.


Francis McMillen: “Francie” McMillen is a London born bruiser with an Irish passport and a bolthole in Alicante. He’s the leader of the small-time "Stepney Yutes" which currently specialises in armed robbery but he’s believed to be making a move into drug smuggling. Known associates include fraternal f*ckwits Tony and Toddy Munster and just about every gypsy from here to Greater Manchester and back again. 


He also appears to have a ball to play with the Rhodes family, guessing it’s something to do with those arson attacks. Possibly also at war with gypsy king Geordie Heron up in Southport, though that’s probably something for the Northies to worry about. Let those idiots all kill each other I say.


Klaus Zolnick: Zolnick's a diabolical doctor operating on Harley Street who people like to call if one of their employees falls pregnant unexpectedly or they need to make a body disappear (provided the organs are healthy and working). He's been known to make a few potential witnesses overdose or otherwise expire on the operating table and also practices a plethora of procedures not approved by the NHS, or the human rights courts of the civilisation committee. Despite this, he's been kept in business by the powers that be for his unmatched abilities to anesthetise the aristocracy. He's also happy to play both sides of the fence and can quickly prescribe pain pills, Quaaludes, or Lysergic Acid Diethylamide with no questions asked to anyone looking for 'em.


Aubrey "Scotch" Lennon: A delightful Glaswegian who I can't fault in the slightest. Made some mistakes in the past but he's paid his penance. Been a personal mate of MacLellan since his days in Metro in the highlands, and now our esteemed friend in the division. Loves a good Christmas basket on Boxing day and always sends a card by new years to say thank you. A gent.


Poison: A man who I’ve been seeing during certain days at the pub, popping up occasionally on the radar, always with those gaudy yellow glasses on, donning that open dark grey suit without a tie and always putting on a sh*t-eating grin, showing that world-renowned, quintessentially British smile that the yanks love to fascinate about. He looks strangely familiar, so I’ve asked the others in the division to verify his identity, but they look at me like I’m bloody Oliver Hardy. I’ll keep a tab on this fellow just in case.


...More To Come.

Edited by The Notorious MOB
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Added tracks to MBC Radio 1, Sweet FA, Mother of Creation Radio, Radio Jamrock, Vinewood Records and Classically London.





Standard Protocols - COZZIE Alertness System (Revised 04/02/1973)

Unit Commander Roland MacLellan, SID.

[Dated 01/03/1974, declassified 08/06/2018]



Given the exponential increase in organized and violent crime in London, the Metro Police, supported by the British Government, has proposed a revised version of the former COZZIE alertness system (which is in essence, the law enforcement version of the BIKINI State, proposed by the Ministry Of Defence) to counteract the violence in the region. Split into a total of six stars, each star correlates to the increasing severity of the crimes perpetrated, which in response, is met with progressively elite units of law enforcement. We know you all rarely get a chance to wear a bikini, so to make it easier to understand we've accompanied each level with a nice little hat or helmet and given you a nice little easy to remember rhyme. So it goes one star, two stars, yellow stars, blue stars. The blue stars are when you get to go home to your kids.


Operations-wise, we at the SID (and to a large extent SCF69 and the London Metro Police) work differently from most law enforcement agencies around the world, and we believe that lulling our suspect into a false sense of security is easily the most effective approach when it comes to engaging the enemy. Just because the stars dim out eventually, doesn't mean the caps and bats are going to forgive and forget and let the wally walk free once it’s all said and done. We still have a description of the outfit and vehicle driven, as well as an estimate of the suspect’s appearance (Gender, Race, Height, Hair Colour, Outfit etc.), so do as you will as an officer of the law. We will also encourage law-abiding Britons to report instances of our suspect to the nearest officer either physically or to the nearest payphone.


That said, the police isn’t as omnipresent as you think, and we have other more pertinent street crimes to resolve on top of this particular goon, so while the search radius may initially be very large, it will slowly dissipate as time goes on, becoming smaller and smaller to the point the search is called off once dispatch no longer considers them to be a threat. Though, as above, we recommend that you still keep your eyes peeled even outside of your jurisdiction, and alert once you are certain you have located the suspect.


Just some precautionary advice, though. For some absolutely bonkers reason, almost all jam buttys in town lack a protective grille separating the front seats from the rear passenger seats, which leaves the driver and partner vulnerable to sudden attacks by the suspect seated in the rear. During an event when, god forbid, your partner gets garrotted by the suspect’s handcuffs, hop out of the vehicle immediately, and do whatever needs to be done to call in some backup.


Anyway, small talk aside, let’s go straight to the goodies:




4 in-game hours to fully clear...


At one star your ned is little more than a nuisance. Blow your wee whistle, command them to stop, and chase ‘em down on in your bicycles if you have to. If they're compliant, use your discretion. Give them a slap on the wrist or an on the spot fine. If they're resistant then give them a few smacks of your baton instead. If needs be, slap on the cuffs and call for a jam jar... show them who's boss. 




1 in-game day to fully clear...


Turns out, the perp isn’t so harmless, and an ambulance is en route to location after receiving reports of a lowly beat bobby biting the dust in a bad part of town. And chances are, the suspect will have done a runner, possibly stealing some poor bloke’s wheels along the way to shake the blues and twos. Motorcycle units are deployed if the situation calls for it so call for backup, chase the perps down in your vehicles, and be careful not to hurt any innocents.


Our everyday patrol cars like the Panda, Bobbie or Bizzie may not look like much, but believe me, they can go as fast as some of the exotics in town, thanks to the four and six cylinder engines present in all of our vehicles. Chase ‘em down on the street, the roads, walkways and alleyways, the sky’s the limit. All that matters is, you get this wally right before tea time, dead or alive. But be careful, as of late we’ve been getting reports of suspects slipping the cuffs and kicking out back windows or holding officers at knife point, forcing them to drive or throwing them out of cars completely. Your wages won’t cover it so just give them what they want and run away with your curly little tail between your legs and leave it to the big boys eh?




2 in-game days to fully clear...


This is when the authorised weapons officers will be called into action and are now cleared to shoot the suspect on sight, so when things go south, don’t hesitate to whip out your Boswell to solve any of your problems. But only if they shoot back. When the perp proves themselves to be a major pain in the arse or if the last few patrol units are completely wiped out by this reprobate. Three yellow stars gives us the authority to use full-automatic weapons, so be sure to head to your nearest armoury to arm yourselves with the brand new Helsing SMGs and body armour if you can. Roadblocks can now be set up within junctions in the city and spike strips can now be laid as soon as you see our suspect speeding across the streets.


More durable armed response vehicles (ARVs) tailored for violent chases such as the Peeler, the Huntley or the Jammer are now ready for use to pursue the suspect. The so-called ‘fast units’, consisting of two specially-trained officers armed with a limited number of AW-5 machine guns, are deployed when the pursuit goes high speed on the motorway, chasing the perp in their sports-class Cruisers and Rozzers


Helicopter units are also deployed to assist ground units in locating the suspect and its last seen locales. Heli snipers can also provide covering fire using a special version of the Charlie rifle designed for this sort of fieldwork.


A small unit of the SCF69 (Specialist Command Force) is also deployed to the suspect’s location, armed with PHG-71 micro-submachine guns and Little Man pistols, sharing seats with the other officers and sometimes even driving their own versions of the Jammer. Either way, they’re good, experienced police, and you ought to be glad that these boys are on your side.




2 in-game days to fully clear...


It’s high alert, boys. Blue’s on the horizon. Radio stations across London, regardless of frequency, will now broadcast the situation regarding our suspect straight from Old Scotland Yard, with the poor hosts now forced to plea to the public for help with regards to the whereabouts of, and the identification of said suspect.


The armored SCF69 police unit is fully mobilized once the alertness level reaches four yellow stars, indicating that the perpetrator is more than just a fidgety nuisance, and may be posing a danger to the public at large. Regular police units will begin to stand down, though they may be ordered to provide supporting roles for the specialist police units, with roles such as a sniper’s spotter, a ‘copter pilot or a spike strip layer, on top of continuing their rounds around the city. Roadblocks will be set up on every motorway break and T-junction in the city in order to stop the criminal engaged in its futile rampage against society. Their fleet of armored Huntleys and Enforcers will be deployed in high-speed pursuits and roadblocks, and SCF will now arm themselves with Helsing submachine guns, Bell-28 shotguns and high-powered Elgin pistols, as well as the West German-made Pendleton semi-automatic sniper rifles for sniping units.


If the perpetrator is located within a public interior space such as a shopping centre or a club, permission to use tear gas or smoke grenades is authorised, and, if possible, windows or vertical openings can be used to rappel on-location to zero in on the criminal. Unconventional tactics, such as driving your vehicle through building doors or displays in an attempt to reach the criminal, is also an option, never mind the collateral damage. Let’s show this drama queen that Metro Police can play the game dirty too.




3 in-game days to fully clear...


At blue stars, we advise the use of armed plainclothes officers, other than the regular units, to patrol the streets of London incognito, and to set up any potential ambushes on secondary roads. Due to the criminal condition, it'll probably be hardwired into them to know if they've been rumbled on the street. In which case they'll probably just jump into the nearest vehicle and go back to their bolt hole. That's why it is imperative that you use your intelligence to scope out any known hideouts and safe houses and kick in their door when they least expect it. 


As I'm sure you're aware however, the initial report is very much based on the facts of the time. It's not like we have any access to a centralised digital database, so if the description doesn't match (in terms of hairstyle & vehicle etc.) then we are fairly limited. But if you get notification of somebody who meets our regularly circulated photofits and/or get a reported sighting of a vehicle matching the colour, make, model and license plate of one that's been flagged, you should report it to us immediately. 


And you can be sure we'll respond. If we need to engage them in combat, we're more than prepped. All of our detectives have been trained to use the latest issue firearms including Bell-28 shotguns, AW-5 and Monte Carlo submachine guns and are armed with our trusty Boswell sidearms, so they probably won't be around for long. We will also engage the perpetrator in a high-speed pursuit if necessary, in our unmarked, supercharged SID cars, which can also double as ambush vehicles when we catch our wally with its pants down. SCF69 will still operate as in four stars, though more discreetly, and a second helicopter may be deployed to further aid the search.




3 in-game days to fully clear...


At 6 stars, we call in the calvary. No, really. The PM, thanks to the exponential spike in organized, violent crime in London, has recently approved of a special unit of the Army to be mobilized in the event of encountering a particularly violent criminal or terrorist element which cannot be neutralized by conventional means. In other words, we will not hesitate to resort to drastic anti-terrorist measures if too many of our boys in blue and regular god-fearing Britons are killed or wounded by this bloodthirsty maniac, even if it means infringing on civil rights and declaring martial law. 


Functioning much like our version of the American National Guard, the Civil Armed Discord Regiment (shortened to CADRe) is deployed on location, and military vehicles such as troop trucks, armoured vans and scout cars, same ones the army uses in Belfast, will now be used by the regiment. Roadblocks will now consist of a lookout perched on top of a scout car, shooting smoke canisters in the vicinity as soon as the suspect is located. They are also clear to engage the suspect with their standard-issue Freehands if it turns bloody. 

Whilst aiding in the manhunt, CADRe will use special variants of the Huntley and Peeler. They will now begin actively looking for the psychotic, taking over beat cop activities in patrolling the streets, conducting routine checks, ensuring no unrest from civilians and keeping an eye out for the suspect. That said, businesses and activities will run as per-usual, but the public shouldn't expect walking to a corner shop and grabbing themselves a cornet to be a walk in the park. Depending on the search radius, chances are, a member of CADRe will accost them and ask for identification, so tell them not to panic, the boys are just doing their jobs.




We don’t exactly have any pro-gun amendments here in the Magna Carta or whatever like the yankee doodle dandies, but guns are everywhere. In fact the only people who don’t have easy access to them are the ones that need them most. Whether that be the boyos in blue or little old ladies walking down the street of a dark night. For a long time we didn’t really need them since the old firms only really used small arms and pigeon shooters and pretty much only killed their own kind. As crime becomes more and more widespread however and crimes become increasingly violent, it’s only right that we should be able to strike a balance of power every now and then. The members of the SID are all authorised firearms officers and, as previously mentioned, a select number of regular rank and file coppers are too. But we’ve lately been noticing a marked increase in the importation of illegal arms on our shores. Likely imported by foreigners. And anyone who reads the papers day to day can also attest to that. So what kind of hot cross buns are we actually dealing with here?





























Jap cars are blowing up and American imports are looked upon with disdain like blood bags laced with hepatitis, but lucky for you the British motor industry has never been in better shape. And thanks to singular state owned monopoly companies and an imported labour force, the automobiles in London come in all shapes and sizes from continental coupes to big and burly British saloons. Depending on your price point, there are all manner of jam jars, work vehicles and motorbikes to suit every mood, taste and occasion and we even give you an insight into what our valiant police forces and armed services are using against the incursion of outside influences which fall outside of their beautifully engineered autos. For those living outside the Inner Boroughs there are also a vast number of luxury and exotic vehicles from the race ready to the rare for navigating those country roads and we’ve also included a selection of the finest watercraft with which to navigate the various waterways so you never even need to set foot on land. We’ve even included some rice rockets and captively imported gas guzzlers for those who want to take their life in their hands.


This edition of the Motorist’s Guide is sponsored by Bowman Insurance. Save your money on a new car with them, at just £500 per automobile in the event of a road accident or from an unforeseen event resulting in the destruction of said vehicle and they’ll replace it. Two pounds from every policy goes to us. And quite frankly, is all that’s really keeping us afloat. But enough about our financial troubles, let’s get right to the thing you’re all here for… The Cars.






Benefactor Glendale - Mercedes-Benz W114

Benefactor Schafter – Mercedes-Benz W108

Bunsen Augusto - Austin Allegro

Bunsen Berkley – Austin Kimberley

Bunsen Berkley GT - Leyland P76

Bunsen Jug MkIII – Austin 1800 Mk III

Bunsen Lizzie – Austin Apache

Chëvron Chavos - Peugeot 304

Dinka Blista - Honda Civic

Enus Archer – Rootes Arrow

Grotti Brioso - Fiat 500

Grotti Fatso – Fiat 125

Jouster Joker – Triumph 2000

Jouster Rudy – Triumph Dolomite

Karin Cokey - Datsun 260C

Lampadati Domitilla - Lancia 2000

Lampadati Felon - Maserati Quattroporte

Lampadati Michelli - Alfa Romeo Giulia

Manx Dynasty - Morris Oxford Farina

Maxwell Commodore - Vauxhall Cresta

Maxwell Vector - Vauxhall VX2300

Obey Tailgater - Audi 100 C1

Ocelot Jackal – Jaguar XJ6 

Rooster Brother - Hillman Super Minx Mk.I

Rooster Hulk - Humber Hawk

Rooster Raven - Rover P6

Rooster Reggie – Morris/Austin 1100 Mk.II

Rooster Revolution - Chrysler 180

Rooster Sceptre – Renault 7

Rooster Simpo - Simca 1000

Rooster STD - Hillman Avenger

Übermacht Consulate - BMW E12

Übermacht Oracle - BMW 2000

Übermacht Sentinel - BMW 02

Vapid Marbelle - Ford Granada

Vapid Talos - Ford Taunus

Vapid Zebra – Ford Zephyr

Vulcar Nebula – Volvo 164

Vulcar Warrener – Volvo 144




BF Kolepa – Volkswagen Rabbit

BF Metzpro - Volkswagen Karmann Ghia

BF Synergy - Volkswagen 1600

BF Weevil – Volkswagen Beetle

Brash Bugle - Anadol A1

Bunsen Baron - Jensen C-V8

Bunsen Burner  - Jensen FF

Bunsen Meeny - Austin Maxi

Bunsen Spritzer - Austin-Healey Sprite Mark IV

Chëvron Cheveux - Citroën 2CV 4

Enus Lazarus - Bentley T1 Coupe

Enus Super Drop Diamond – Rolls-Royce Corniche

Jouster Harold - Triumph Herald

Jouster Vessel - Triumph Vitesse

Karin Cloud - Datsun 120Y

Karin Dickybird - Datsun 510

Karin Morello - Datsun 120A Cherry coupe

Lampadati Castaldi - Lancia Beta Coupe

Maxwell Voce - Vauxhall Magnum

Obey 2F – Audi 80

Ocelot Windsor – Jaguar E-Type Series 1

Übermacht Dementia - BMW Isetta

Übermacht Dingo - BMW 1600 GT

Übermacht Oracle XS – BMW 2500

Übermacht Zion – BMW E9

Vapid Betsie – Ford Popular 103E

Vapid Calloway – Ford Consul

Vapid Fairlady – Ford Fairlane

Vapid Retinue – Ford Escort

Vapid Thanatos – Ford Cortina TC Mark III

Wayland Wimp - Hillman Imp

Wyvern Chamis - Peugeot 504

Wyvern Voxel - Vauxhall Velox Convertible




Brash Babel – Reliant Rebel
Brash Beagle – Reliant Regal
Brash Trotter - Reliant Robin
Chëvron BFF - Citroën Ami 8 Super Break
Grotti Monzo – Fiat 127
Karin Kimono - Toyota Crown Estate
Manx Major – Morris Minor 1000
Manx Vagrant – Morris Nomad
Maxwell Meldrow - Vauxhall Victor FE
Rooster Bumbler - Humber Sceptre
Rooster Springbok - Singer Gazelle Series III
Vapid Mangler – Ford Anglia 105E
Vapid Medina – Ford Cortina Estate
Vapid Virgin - Ford Zodiac Mark III Estate
Vulcar Fagaloa - Volvo Amazon Wagon
Vulcar Valmet - Saab 95
Wayland Trailblazer - Standard Vanguard Six Estate
Wayland Warthog - Wartburg Knight (Rebadged Import)
Wayland Windbag - DAF 33 Combi
Wayland Weeny - Mini Mark III
Wayland Woodcock – Humber Super Snipe Series IV




Benefactor Feltzer - Mercedes-Benz 280 SL

Benefactor Magnum - Mercedes-Benz 190 SL

Brash Rapier - Reliant Scimitar

Brash Sahara - Reliant Sabre

Bunsen Beast – AC Aceca

Bunsen Bloodhound – AC Greyhound

Bunsen Boa – AC Frua

Bunsen Bohannon LE - AC 3000ME

Bunsen Breezer – AC Ace

Bunsen Interrupter – Jensen Interceptor

Bunsen Squeeley - Jensen-Healey

Chëvron Pigalle – Citroën SM

Dewbauchee JB-700 - Aston Martin DB6

Dewbauchee Persuader – Aston Martin DBS V8

Dewbauchee Rapid GT – Aston Martin V8

Enus Wellard – Allard P1

Jouster Buck – Triumph Stag

Jouster Crossfire – Triumph Spitfire

Jouster Crossfire GT – Triumph GT6

Jouster Gallagher GT – Triumph TR6

Karin Melissa - Toyota Celica

Lampadati Domizia Rallye - Lancia Fulvia Rallye

Lampadati Felon GT - Maserati Mexico

Lampadati Furore - Maserati Sebring

Maxwell Aurelio – Vauxhall Firenza

Maxwell Pompadour - Opel Commodore

Ocelot Jaega - Allard Palm Beach Mk II

Ocelot Oceania - Lotus Europa

Pfister Ribelle - Porsche 550

Rooster GBH – MGB Roadster

Rooster MC Hamper – MG Midget

Vapid Sangria – Ford Capri

Vulcar Saint - Volvo P1800

Wyvern Carousel - Renault Caravelle

Wyvern Reno - Renault 15




Albany Tremolo - Cadillac Series 62

Albany Washington – Cadillac Sixty Special

Benefactor Chancellor - Mercedes-Benz W189

Benefactor Glendale Royale - Mercedes-Benz 600

Benefactor Perfidia - Mercedes-Benz W186

Dewbauchee Bight - Lagonda Rapide

Dewbauchee Exemplar – Aston Martin Lagonda Series 1

Enus Cognoscenti – Bentley S3 Continental

Enus Stafford - Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow

Enus Super Diamond – Rolls-Royce Phantom VI

Enus Type-A – Bentley R-Type

Enus Vista MkIV - Alvis TF 21

Ocelot Caracal – Jaguar Mark X

Ocelot Riese – Jaguar 420

Ocelot Sphynx – Jaguar Mark 2

Ocelot Whitley - Jaguar S-Type

Starley Seven-Eleven - Wolseley 6/110

Starley Six-Nine – Riley Seventy Two




Bunsen Squeeley Mark III - Austin-Healey 3000

Dewbauchee Personnalite - Aston Martin DB4 GT Zagato

Grotti Cheetah - Ferrari 365 GTB/4 

Grotti GT600 - Ferrari 500 Superfast

Grotti Itali – Ferrari GT4

Grotti LaRimonta - Ferrari Studio CR25

Grotti Stinger - Ferrari 275 GTS

Grotti Turismo - Dino 206 GT 

Grotti Vento Forte - Dino 246 GTS

Imponte Baobhan - Pontiac XP-883 Banshee 

Invetero Coquette - Chevrolet Corvette Stingray

Karin 190z - Datsun 240z

Karin Nishiko GT - Toyota 2000GT

Lampadati Casco - Maserati 3500 GT

Lampadati D’Autore - Ghia G230S Prototipo

Lampadati Revolter - Iso Rivolta IR 300

Lampadati Sonata - Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale 

Lampadati Tropos - Lancia Stratos

Lampadati Viseris - De Tomaso Pantera

Maxwell Maurice - Morgan Plus 8

Maxwell Morgan - Morgan 4/4 1600

Ocelot Avid – Lotus Elan

Ocelot Jynx – Jaguar XK150

Ocelot Locust – Lotus Seven

Ocelot Lynx – Jaguar E-Type Series 3

Ocelot Oscar GT - Jaguar XJ13 V12 Prototype

Pegassi Barzini - Bizzarrini 5300 GT

Pegassi Manolito - Lamborghini Islero

Pegassi Nimbus GT - Lamborghini 350 GTV

Pegassi Monroe - Lamborghini Miura

Pegassi Torero - Lamborghini Countach

Pegassi Toreador - Lamborghini Marzal

Pegassi Truffatrice - Lamborghini 400 GT Monza

Pegassi Vacca - Lamborghini Urraco

Pfister Centauro - Porsche 904

Pfister Comet - Porsche 911

Rooster MC Mamba – AC Cobra

Rooster Tsumura – Sunbeam Tiger

Truffade Z-Type - Bugatti Type 57 Atlantic 

Übermacht Albrecht – BMW 507

Vapid Bullet - Ford GT40

Vapid Peyote - 1956 Ford Thunderbird

Wyvern Boudoir - Alpine A310 

Wyvern Hachura - Facel Vega HK500




Albany Bayonette - Buick LeSabre

Albany Buccaneer - Pontiac GTO

Albany Emperor - 1961 Cadillac DeVille

Albany Presidente - Lincoln Continental Mark IV

Bravado Gauntlet - Dodge Challenger

Classique Frigate - Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser

Classique Sabre Turbo - Oldsmobile 442

Declasse Rattlesnake - Ford Gran Torino

Declasse Vamos - Chevrolet Nova

Declasse Vigero V29 - Chevrolet Camaro Z28

Dundreary Hellenbach - Mercury Cyclone GT

Imponte Dukes - Dodge Charger

Imponte Phoenix - Pontiac Firebird Trans-AM

Imponte Rivet - Pontiac Tempest Custom

Schyster Deviant - AMC Javelin

Schyster Polaris - Plymouth Road Runner

Schyster Renegade - AMC Rebel

Vapid Ellie - Ford Mustang

Vapid Trident - 1965 Ford Thunderbird

Willard Faction - 1973 Buick Century

Willard Idaho - 1971 Buick Riviera




Benefactor Pilton - Mercedes-Benz L 508 D

BF Surfer - Volkswagen Type 2

Bradford Beaver - Bedford HA

Bradford Bernie - Electruk E15 Milk Float

Bradford Butty - Bedford CF Van

Bradford Camper - Bedford Dormobile

Bradford Creamer - Bedford CF Ice Cream

Bunsen Buddha - Leyland Sherpa

Bunsen Postie - Austin VA

Bunsen Queeney – Austin 1800 UTE Panel Van

Chëvron Chippy - Citroën H Chip Van

Grotti Grafter - Fiat 850T

Manx Genie - Morris 250 JU

Manx Maria - Morris J4

Manx Sweetie - Morris 6 cwt Van

Rooster Boxville - Commer Walk-Thru

Rooster Fargo - Commer Spacevan

Rooster Rumpo - Commer FC Panel Van

Vapid Isis - Ford Thames 400E

Vapid Spoony - Ford Transit




BBC Commissioner - AEC Mandator

BBC Beanie - Atkinson Borderer

BBC Flatbed - ERF LV

BBC Hauler - Austin FJ

Bradford Luton - Bedford CF 2.3 Luton Van

Bradford Scamp - Bedford Rascal Pick Up

Bradford Tanker - Bedford KM Tanker

Bradford Toker - Bedford TK

Bravado Biff - Dodge 500

Bravado Condor - Dodge Commando

Bravado Duneloader - Dodge D15

Bravado Parrot - Dodge D100

Rooster Java - Karrier Bantam

Rooster Packer - Commer CB

Vapid Benson - Ford Transcontinental

Vapid Mule - Ford Transit Luton Van MkI

Vapid Steed - Ford D-Series

Vulcar Violator - Volvo F88

Wayland Boxville - Leyland EA

Wayland Champ - Scammell Crusader

Wayland Mixer - Leyland Bison Cement Truck

Wayland Rigger - Scammell Trunker

Wayland Tipper - Scammell Routeman 8x4

Wayland Walrus - Leyland FG

Wayland Walter - Leyland Laird

Wayland Yorkie - Leyland Terrier




BBC Arthur - AEC Swift

BBC Bagheera - Leyland Tiger Cub

BBC Bin Lorry - Dennis Paxit

BBC Bus - AEC Reliance

BBC Commuter - Leyland National

BBC Pumper - Dennis F108 Fire Engine

BBC Winston - AEC Routemaster

Bradford Ambulance - Bedford CF

Bradford Coach - Bedford VAL

Bradford Flamer - Bedford Green Goddess

Bunsen Bizzie - Austin 1800 Police

Bunsen Bobbie - Austin 1100 Police

Bunsen Cabbie - Austin FX4 Hackney Carriage

Gallivanter Enforcer - Land Rover Tangi

Gallivanter Huntley - Land Rover Police

Jouster Jammer - Triumph 2.5 Pi Police

Maxwell Tow Truck - Chevrolet C-30

Ocelot Cruiser - Jaguar S-Type Police

Rooster Peeler - Rover P6 Police

Rooster Rozzer - MGB GT Police

Wayland Panda - Mini Police




BBC Bander - AEC Matador
BBC Barracks - Bedford QL
BBC Barracks Semi - Bedford OY
BBC Bridler - Bedford RL
Bunsen Bodhi - Austin Gipsy 
Bunsen Boxer - Austin Champ
Bunsen Crusader - Willys MB
Smith Gladiator - Centurion Tank
Smith Mongoose - Ferret Scout Car
Smith Nomad - Alvis Saracen
Smith Segregator - Humber Pig
Smith Squaddie - Bedford MW
Wayland Weasel - Leyland Beaver-Eel




Dinka Danuki - Honda Dax ST70

Dinka Enduro - Honda CB250

Dinka Itsumade - Honda RC166

Dinka Tengu - Yamaha RD-05

JMC Birmingham - BSA B25

JMC Bournemouth – Triumph Bonneville T140

JMC DP500 - Triumph Speed Twin

JMC Endurer - BSA B44 Shooting Star

JMC Hardie - Triumph TR6 Trophy

JMC Jaguar - Triumph Tiger 100

JMC Javelin - Triumph Trident T150

JMC Jeffrey - Triumph Thunderbird

JMC Jupiter - BSA A65 Star

JMC Laurel - Triumph TR5 Trophy

JMC Pontoon - Triumph Twenty One

JMC Pussycat - Triumph Tigress

JMC Templar - Triumph 650 Saint

Maibatsu Sanchez - Yamaha YZ250

Nagasaki Namazu - Kawasaki Z1

Nagasaki Nympho - Kawasaki H2 Mach IV

Pegassi Esskey - Ducati 450 Scrambler

Pegassi Faggio - Piaggio Vespa

Pegassi FCR 900 - BMW R90S

Pegassi Lambrini – Innocenti Lambretta

Pegassi Ruffian – Ducati 750 GT 

Pegassi Tirade - MV Augusta 500-4

Sh*tzu Scutter - Suzuki RV125




Lampadati DeSono - Chris Craft Corsair 27

Pegassi Violator - Riva Aquarama

sh*tzu Jetmax - Chris Craft XK 19

sh*tzu Marquis - Swan 48

sh*tzu Smuggler - Donald Aronow Cigarette Boat

sh*tzu Squalo - Glastron GT-150

sh*tzu Tropic - Chris-Craft 33 Catalina

Sutherland Dinghy - Zodiac Mark III

Sutherland Floater - Fletcher Arrowflash GTO 15

Sutherland Predator - Shipman 28

Sutherland Reefer - Seamaster 23

Sutherland Speeder - Shetland 535




Buckingham Birdie - Hughes MD 500 Police

Buckingham Boland - Folland Gnat

Buckingham Giselle - Westland-Bell Gazelle

Buckingham Egbert - Westland Wessex

Buckingham Maverick - Bell 206

Buckingham Plumeur - Aérospatiale Alouette II

Buckingham Sparrow - Westland-Bell Sioux AH1

Buckingham Spyro - de Havilland Venom

Buckingham Whirly - Airmaster H2-B1

Buckingham Stager - Westland Lynx

Buckingham Taiwa - Bell OH-58 Kiowa

Buckingham Volito - MBB Bo 105

Helmsley Chichester - Westland Whirlwind

Helmsley Chief - Percival Provost

Helmsley Horsefly - Sikorsky R-4

Helmsley Hundleton - Percival Pembroke

Helmsley Huntmaster - BAC Strikemaster

Helmsley Maynard - Beagle B.206

Helmsley Platypus - Bristol Type 171 Sycamore

Helmsley Terrier - Scottish Aviation Bulldog

Mammoth Dodo - de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver

Mammoth Mammatus - Cessna 172

Mammoth Mogul - Beechcraft Model 18

Mammoth Reacher - Beechcraft King Air

Mammoth Skimmer - de Havilland Canada DHC-3 Otter

Stalker Aslan - Armstrong Whitworth AW.660 Argosy

Stalker Besra Proto - Hawker Siddeley Hawk

Stalker Black Cat - Blackburn Buccaneer

Stalker Cub - Sopwith Pup

Stalker Hydra - Hawker Siddeley Harrier

Stalker Monsoon - Saunders-Roe Skeeter

Stalker Ocelot - SEPECAT Jaguar

Stalker Raiden - English Electric Lightning

Stalker Tarragon - Westland WS-51 Dragonfly

Stalker Titan - Lockheed C-130 Hercules

Edited by DownInThePMs
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Phil McCrevis

I have been checking out this topic a few times to read everything. You have a lot of information here compare to some other topics. Is this an idea in the same universe as GTA V? Because I notice some people from real life but also from 2d. Very interesting. I don't really think Rockstar will do London setting or maybe one day but next game will probably be American Vice City again (which I am happy about). I read that they are remaking the getaway again current console so maybe they will do a prequel who knows. Do you guys in this part have a separate community? I noticed that these ideas are usually written by two or three members and sometimes the same. Did anyone ever do a 1970 Liberty City before? Perhaps exploring Tommy Vercetti when he murdered those men?

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41 minutes ago, Phil McCrevis said:

Is this an idea in the same universe as GTA V?

Technically yes, but it's kind of a story of it's own.


42 minutes ago, Phil McCrevis said:

I don't really think Rockstar will do London setting

Yeah they definitely won't man. It's more of wishful thinking than anything else and just a way for us to experiment with ideas.


51 minutes ago, Phil McCrevis said:

Do you guys in this part have a separate community?

Uh yeah, sort of. But it's actually kind of dead now.


49 minutes ago, Phil McCrevis said:

Did anyone ever do a 1970 Liberty City before

Yeah someone did one that's really good. I'll link it below.



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Phil McCrevis
8 hours ago, DownInThePMs said:

It's more of wishful thinking than anything else and just a way for us to experiment...


...someone did one that's really good. I'll link it below.



It's not about Tommy Vercetti but that's actually brilliant.. wow. I hope to see more of this in the future and I look forward to seeing more topics when this isn't so dead.


Who knows what Rockstar have up their sleeves. I wonder does any of them ever come on here. Even in secret. I've seen the forums mentioned on big sites like IGN so I'm thinking they probably do. 

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Hey. I just wanted to say how much I'm enjoying this thread. The way you've written everything in such detail and the perspective are all great. Keep it up!

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The Notorious MOB
19 hours ago, Phil McCrevis said:

It's not about Tommy Vercetti but that's actually brilliant.. wow. I hope to see more of this in the future and I look forward to seeing more topics when this isn't so dead.

Thanks for the comments guys. Funnily enough, Tyla actually also did another 3DU LC topic back in the day based around Tommy V and the Harwood incident.



On topic though, we need to fix some of the formatting on the last post, but as previously mentioned, more tracks have been added to a few of the Radio Stations and we're (eventually) going to add even more to the Underworld section as well. So there's more to look forward to 🙂

Edited by Money Over Bullshit
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  • 5 weeks later...
The Notorious MOB

Information has now been added to the Underworld section on the Irish Republican Army (IRA), giving a glimpse at just one of the more politically charged factions who will inhabit the world of London Underground. Enjoy


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  • 2 weeks later...
The Notorious MOB

Information has recently been added on the Hyut San (Blood Mountain) Triad. Bringing an indelible slice of the East to the West End. Enjoy ⛩



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