Читать книгу Gypsy Jane - Jane Lee - Страница 6

It was 2 November 1997 and I was lying in a hospital bed with four bullet holes in me. I should have been dead. Or at least that is what the cops told me. I was officially Britain’s most dangerous woman and the King George hospital in Ilford, in the East End of London, was crawling with them. They had even drafted in the army to guard me. I don’t know what they thought I was going to do in the state I was in but they weren’t taking any chances, that was for sure.

I had to laugh. I was in no shape to make myself a cup of tea, let alone take on the law.

But if I could have climbed out of that hospital bed, I would have given them a run for their money. I reckon they knew that all right, which is why I was under armed guard. I was known on the streets as “the Gran”, the hardest, most dangerous female criminal in the land. Shotguns, samurai swords, violence and intimidation were the tools of my trade and I was feared in the London underworld. But I was respected too because my word was my bond. And the gypsy blood in me made me wild and fearless all my life. And even if I didn’t always feel that way, I had a reputation to maintain.

It had taken a Scotland Yard armed response unit to bring me down that day. Unknown to me, I had been grassed up before I attempted an £80,000 armed robbery. I was to have held up a geezer at gunpoint who I knew was a foot soldier for a Mr Big who was flogging booze illegally.

Earlier I had loaded two handguns into the back of my Sherpa van and gone out to do the job. But the law was waiting for me in numbers, armed to the teeth when they cornered me in a quiet street. I was shot through the window of my van by an officer with an M16 carbine fitted with laser sights. He got me in the hand, the arm, the shoulder, the pelvis and the back. There was blood everywhere and I told myself I was about to meet my maker – I was going out fighting… only it didn’t turn out that way. Suffice to say, it wasn’t one of my better days and I didn’t learn my lesson even after being shot full of holes by the armed response unit.

As I lay in that hospital bed I was 32 years old and thinking about the long stretch behind bars I was facing. Until that point I had led a charmed life, having been an armed robber since the age of 14. Despite being a hard nut all my life, I was also a feminine woman and never wanted for male admirers. I was a bit of a looker in my day and turned a few heads when I wanted to. But I grew up wild in Silvertown, in the East End, and was always more of a tomboy than a girlie girl.

I am one of those people who don’t know how to do handbags – and I’m not talking about carrying one. We never danced around a handbag where I come from – we only danced around sawn-offs. Shotguns, that is! If there was a problem, I tackled it head on… no chit-chat or two-faced promises. Straight down to business and to hell with the consequences, and they came quick and fast, as you will find out.

Back then I really was ready to die at the drop of a hat. That was the code I was brought up with. You had to have respect and no one did you over. And if they did, you had to make it right. I’ve never met a knight in shining armour but it was a matter of honour, believe me.

So how does a bird of five-foot-seven, ten-stone soaking wet, with long blonde hair put the fear of God into East End hard cases and do armed robberies? Well, when you have a gun in your hand, it carries a lot of weight. But in my case they only needed to look into my eyes to know I meant business and from an early age word got around the East End and Essex that you didn’t mess with the Gran.

This is the story of how I became that woman and how I have led a life of lawlessness. I’ve been shot, Tasered, betrayed and served three terms in Her Majesty’s prisons. And in the end I returned to my gypsy roots and went out and got my revenge on all those who betrayed me. I am lucky to have survived the bloodbaths that engulfed those who crossed me but the truth is I have been lucky all my life. It must be my Romany blood.

It isn’t a pretty story but I know for a fact there isn’t another woman in Britain who has had a life like mine. There is no point in pretending I’m a shrinking violet, so I’m not going to.

I’ve lived my life like a one-woman wrecking ball but I’ve taken as much as I’ve dished out. Even so, I’m not too proud to admit that, as a woman, a vulnerable heart has almost been my undoing. My dear old dad, Ronnie, always said to me as a kid, ‘Tough times don’t last, girl, but tough people do.’

I’ve never forgotten those words and they have served me well over the years because I am as tough as they come… and I’m still here.