The Mammoth Book of Hard Bastards (Mammoth Books) (14 page)

The exhausted team then went into the club and surveyed the effect of the rolling maul that the night had turned into. There was an inch-and-a-half of glass covering the floor and so much blood that it might have been used as a slaughterhouse. Brawn could now feel the effects of the head-butts, punches and kicks he had received over the past four hours but at least the night was over. It dawned on him that he was lucky not to be one of those taken away by ambulance that night. This was one night the team had a drink together before heading home. It was the most violent night of John’s life and he says the whole thing was a blur. He compares it to boxing in the ring. “When you are in a boxing match you don’t know how well you’ve done or badly you’ve done, but when you look at the tape afterwards you realize you did a lot better than you thought,” he says. “The four hours were like that.” He never worked in any venue that was as violent as that one, with so much anger in the crowd from losing the football match. He and his team may have looked in bad shape but none had more than superficial injuries; in another town on the same night a doorman had to have twenty-two stitches to his face after he had been glassed by a
well-known
football fan.

As Brawn drove back to Westport, “feeling like an eighty-
year-old
”, he swears he saw the Man in the Moon laughing at him!

After this incident, Brawn developed a zero tolerance policy when it came to running security at a venue. His company would be hired in to clean up clubs and pubs where violence was the norm and regular troublemakers needed to be removed. He insisted that once he was responsible for maintaining order, his rules must be applied. When a person was thrown out, they stayed out, barred for life. The last thing a doorman needs is to be walking through a crowd in poor lighting and someone with a grudge shoving a glass in his face! A few weeks afterwards, JB Security was working the same venue when Brawn noticed that the man who had kicked the girl was back in the club. He got his team together and walked out. Even if it meant losing business, the safety of his team was paramount. None of his staff was ever hospitalized when working for him.

Thankfully, not all nights on the doors are like that. There could be a thousand routine, quiet nights but every doorman has to expect the worst as it
will
happen and Brawn says that if you’re not fit to do the job you will be seriously injured, or even killed. This is why Brawn is so insistent that doormen are trained properly, not just in the classroom to get a licence, but also in self-defence as well as combatives to counter the current trend of troublemakers carrying knives. Not just trained, but they also must keep up a fitness-training programme to make sure that they are ready for the bad nights.

JB Security was wound up in 2007. Brawn says he wouldn’t work the doors in the overly PC world of legislation and red tape. Times have changed a lot since Brawn started working in security. Fights at clubs and other venues used to be sorted by the bouncers and nobody would dream of calling the police if they got a hiding for starting trouble. Now all doormen and security personnel have to be licensed and wear badges, and CCTV watches their every move. He has strong feelings about the lack of protection and proper training for doormen, who, if the official training course to get a licence is anything to go by, are expected to do nothing but try and talk their way out of trouble. As John says, “They might as well walk around with ‘Target’ on their back and someday a doorman will pay the ultimate price for that.”

Brawn takes the training of doormen very seriously and runs special courses to pass on his skills and experience to them. He says that for street fighting you need to use everything you’ve got – elbows, knees, head-butts – and you have to perfect your techniques for the time you need to use them. You also need to build up strength for when you have to pull or push people out of the door and do anaerobic training, because fighting is an anaerobic activity.

Brawn would always try to calm down a situation by talking to potential troublemakers, and most of the time a composed,
professional
attitude is enough to keep a situation in hand. However, the “nice guy” routine won’t always work and, if an assault on a customer or doorman occurs, it’s time to get physical; control and restraint techniques, including the use of pressure points, are valuable skills to have when minimal force must be used to prevent being sued when irate punters sober up. Sometimes, though, serious fights do break out on the doors and the security staff are often the targets, so self-defence is as important, if not more so, than
protecting
the clients at venues. As John says, you have to be prepared to use the maximum force necessary to keep things under control and for that you need to build up a skill set and train hard. You also need to develop a mindset so that, faced with a violent opponent, you must not only make the right decisions but also be 100 per cent committed to following through.

John Brawn attributes much of his success to the Neuro Linguistics Programming he learned from Marcus Wynne. Not only does it help with physical training, it has also given him techniques that he uses to help prepare for action. He uses triggers, something like a ritual, which ensure that he is in a state of awareness before work and also help him to wind down afterwards.

Brawn doesn’t think that it is necessary to project a hard image; he knows what he is capable of and when to go into action. Being hard, for him, is the ability to switch it on when necessary, even when not feeling great or carrying an injury. He has only been attacked once when not working the doors – when he had a leg in plaster from ankle to thigh and was using crutches. As he was manoeuvring on to a bar stool to have a quiet drink in his local, he felt a flying punch swing past his head. Thinking it was one of his mates having a bit of fun, he turned and realized that the man beside him was trying to coldcock him while he was in a vulnerable position. Brawn didn’t hesitate – he hit him in the throat with a crutch and, while the man was choking, threw him out the door – on one leg! Hard or what?

R
ANDY
R
ADIC TAKES
a look at a period in the life of “Pistol” Pete Rollack, notorious because of his tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. One of America’s most feared men, he was the leader of the formidable and incredibly violent Sex, Money, Murder (SMM) gang, which was at the heart of the gang culture in New York.

By the time he was just twenty-four years old, Peter Rollack had personally committed four murders and ordered two other murders. By 1994 his gang SMM had several thousand members, all of whom were heavily armed and involved in murder, robbery, heroin and cocaine use, possession and distribution, and dealing in firearms. They were undoubtedly one of the most feared and toughest gangs in New York at the time. In 2000, when Rollack was twenty-seven, he was sentenced to life in prison without parole for the murder of six people and drug-trafficking in three states. In addition to life, the judge also sentenced Rollack to a further 105 years in prison. If Rollack had not pleaded guilty at his trial, he would have been executed.

Soundview is a low-income residential neighbourhood located in the south-central section of the borough of the Bronx in New York City. Most of its population of 80,000 people, primarily African-American and Hispanic, live below the poverty line and receive whatever public assistance they can get their hands on. Poverty, disease, drugs and violence are a way of life. In short, Soundview is hell on earth.

There’s no hope and no way out.

During the 1960s, youth gangs became part and parcel of the landscape. The first and most famous gang was the Black Spades, originating in the Bronxdale Houses, a public housing project of twenty-eight, seven-storey buildings in Soundview. The Black Spades sprouted out of the Savage Seven and rapidly achieved renown. They dominated the area, controlling every housing project in the neighbourhood. Members of the Black Spades “bopped” through the streets, carrying boom boxes (ghetto blasters) on their shoulders, which blared music that eventually became known as “hip-hop”. Through sheer barbarity, the Black Spades became the most feared gang in New York City. By 1978, the gang had mutated into the Zulu Nation, which was strongly rooted in African ancestry and not as brutal.

Sex, Money, Murder (SMM) came on the Soundview scene in 1987. SMM was one of the sets (gangs) of the New York Gang (NYG) Alliance, which was a loose coalition of African-American gangs. Because of an ongoing power struggle, where each gang wanted to be number-one, SMM flipped. They left the NYG Alliance and became a sanctioned set of the Bloods.

The Bloods started in 1993, when many of the leaders of the various African-American gangs were doing time on Riker Island’s George Mochen Detention Center (GMDC). GMDC, which was also called C-73, was where problem inmates – those who were extremely violent – were segregated from the rest of the prison population. Which meant that GMDC resembled a war zone. Battle was being waged as the Latin Kings – a Hispanic gang – targeted the African-American gang members. To protect themselves, the African-American gangbangers banded together. They called
themselves
the United Blood Nation (UBN), which was a direct reference to their African heritage and the oneness of their blood. Once they were released from prison, the UBN leaders went back to their respective “hoods” in New York City, where they retained the Bloods name and began recruiting members.

Initiation into the Bloods involved a “Blood-in” ritual. Which meant the new member had to draw blood from a victim. This ritual usually took place during robberies, when the new member would viciously slash the cheek of his prey with a razor blade or knife.

To distinguish themselves from the Bloods of Los Angeles, the United Blood Nation adopted the official name of East Coast United Blood Nation. East Coast Bloods exert their identity by means of colours, clothing, symbols, tattoos, jewellery, graffiti, slang and hand signs. The colour of the Bloods is red. They prefer to wear athletic clothing, especially Starter brand jackets from the San Francisco 49ers, the Phillies and the Chicago Bulls. Their number is five, and is reflected in the five-pointed star. Blood gangbangers refer to each other as “Blood” or as “Dawg”, and a dog-paw tattoo is favoured among them – three dots burned on to the member’s shoulder by means of a cigarette. Blood gang members are called “soldiers”, and these soldiers are highly committed and radically brutal.

At this time, Peter Rollack was the unchallenged leader of Sex, Money, Murder. Because of his tendency to shoot first and ask questions later, Rollack was nicknamed Pistol Pete. And usually, Pistol Pete didn’t bother with the questions.

Under Pistol Pete’s generalship SMM spread like a cancer to other locations. SMM found willing recruits in the South Bronx, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brownsville and East New York. In no time at all, SMM soldiers numbered in the hundreds. So eager were black youths to join SMM that the gang soon had lines (local chapters) in Trenton, Newark and Camden, New Jersey, with others in Philadelphia and Baltimore. By 1994, SMM’s soldiers numbered in the thousands. Each soldier was indoctrinated, swore everlasting allegiance and was heavily armed.

Some of the lines included: the Viewside Line, which was out of the Bronx Projects; the Hillside Line, out of the Castle Hill Projects in the Bronx; Killerville, which came of the Van Dyke Projects in Brownsville and Brooklyn; Murderville, which was in Paterson, New Jersey; the Omega Line, which hailed from Jersey City, New Jersey; Murder City Mafia, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Paper Boys, from Trenton, New Jersey; and Slug Line, which also came from Philadelphia.

Each one of these lines, operating under the leadership of Peter Rollack, proudly traced their Blood roots and were “right”, which meant they banged correctly. Correct banging involved murder, robbery, heroin and cocaine use, possession and distribution; and, of course, the carrying and use of firearms.

By the time he was twenty-four years old, Peter Rollack had personally committed four murders and arranged two other murders that took place in the Bronx. The two Bronx murders occurred on Thanksgiving Day in 1997. Rollack ordered the killings from his prison cell in North Carolina, where he was waiting to face federal narcotics charges: the dead men were two SMM members who were scheduled to testify against him. According to Rollack, “all snitches got to die”.

The reason Pistol Pete was imprisoned in North Carolina went like this. In the early 1990s, he was really building a reputation for himself. SMM was going strong, making noise, getting noticed. Naturally, other heavy-hitters were attracted to his crew. One of those who joined up with Pistol Pete and SMM was Savon Codd, aka “Yaro Pack”, who had a rep as a money man who could move a lot of weight. “Moving weight” was gang-slang for smuggling, distributing and selling drugs. When Yaro Pack joined SMM, things really started happening. Almost overnight, SMM became a major distributor of cocaine and crack cocaine.

Then in 1994, Yaro Pack and his associate David Gonzales huddled with Pistol Pete in the Bronx. Gonzales informed Pistol Pete they could “score some big-time cash” down in North Carolina. The demand for cocaine in North Carolina was “scandalous”. All they had to do was move the coke down south. So Pistol Pete and his SMM crew began making trips to North Carolina in a leased Nissan Quest, which was packed to the gills with drugs. The trips were very, very lucrative. And Pistol Pete and his crew became “hood rich”. The more coke they moved, they richer they got.

Pretty soon, SMM was transporting huge amounts of narcotics up and down the East Coast. Pistol Pete’s drug empire was growing larger every day. He was the McDonald’s of drugs. SMM was everywhere. And if they weren’t there, they soon would be.

By the summer of 1994, SMM had become major players. They were an event all by themselves. Rock, who was a friend of Pete’s back in the day, said, “When he was out there, dude was a
millionaire
when he was nineteen.”

Pistol Pete wasn’t only swift to shoot, he was also a quick-draw thinker. Sex, Money, Murder’s business was transportation
intensive,
meaning it depended on cars to get the coke where it needed to be. Which gave Pete an idea. He took the letters SMM and added a C – SMMC. Then he formed a corporation that went by those four letters. SMMC, Inc. was a front company used to lease a fleet of luxury cars from a company in Pittsburgh. SMMC, Inc. quickly became the leasing company’s bread and butter and it made it possible for SMMC to obtain cars by means of prepaid leases, which made everyone happy, because when a lease was paid upfront there were no background or credit checks to worry about. Simply drop a bundle of cash and drive the cars off the lot. Besides that, the leasing company camouflaged outright purchases of vehicles made by some members of the gang. By means of forged paperwork, the company made it look like these purchased cars had also been leased.

Whether the cars were leased or purchased outright, they all had stash boxes (secret, invisible compartments), which were used to transport drugs, money and guns. Many of the leased vehicles were minivans, which were easily modified with stash boxes, and didn’t attract much attention because they were prevalent and usually driven by law-abiding family-types. But boys being boys, SMM also had a number of Hummers, Mercedes and BMWs just for fun. As one former SMM member said, “When Sex, Money, Murder rolled, they rolled in style. They were doing it for sure. Their shit was bubbling.”

Then it all went to hell.

Yaro Pack, Gonzales, Pistol Pete and a fourth SMM member called Leadpipe left New York in a leased minivan, which carried Pennsylvania licence plates. It also carried ten kilograms of coke, both powder and crack. When the van got to Pittsburgh, they
delivered
six kilograms of coke and collected payment, which was $22,000 per kilo. Which worked out to $132,000. Then they drove to Lumberton, where they picked up money owed for previous deliveries. After taking care of business in Lumberton, they headed for Rockingham, where they were to pick up $90,000 from a dude named Darius Covington.

Darius Covington was a small-time drug pusher who was trying to go big-time, only things weren’t going as planned. Darius had a problem. He didn’t have the whole ninety grand. He only had part of it. Pistol Pete was aware of Darius’s problem, but wasn’t buying it. Pistol Pete didn’t do instalment plans. His motto was “get mine or be mine”. Darius needed to pay up or he needed to die.

When the van pulled up to Darius’s favourite haunt, which was a broken-down billiard parlour, Pistol Pete tapped a pistol against his own forehead and said, “Yo, I’m goin’ in there and murda him.”

Gonzales wasn’t as hardcore as Pistol Pete. Pistol Pete was all about rep, respect and revenge. Gonzales believed in granting grace periods, because he was in it for the money. And, like he said, “Dead bodies don’t pay up.” Corpses also made a mess and attracted cops. So Gonzales made a short, passionate plea to give Darius more time to come up with the money. In the end, Pistol Pete agreed to a twenty-four-hour stay of execution. Darius had one more day to get the money.

Gonzales got out of the van and went inside, where he told Darius the facts of life, according to the Gospel of Pistol Pete. “We got business in Charlotte,” Gonzales said to Darius. “After it’s taken care of, we’ll circle-jerk back here tomorrow. Have the money, dude. Cuz tomorrow Pete’ll be the one ya’ talk to, not me. Ya’ understan’ what I’m sayin’?”

Darius licked his lips, nodding.

Back in the van, Gonzales headed the vehicle toward Charlotte, where the four gangbangers planned on attending a concert, then making a delivery. There were still two kilos of coke and some guns in one of the two stash boxes of the van.

After the concert, they drove to Wilmington, North Carolina, where they made another delivery of cocaine. They crashed for a few hours, then headed back toward Rockingham to meet up with Darius.

On 21 October 1994, as they approached the city of Rockingham, Gonzales stopped the van at a pay phone so he could make
arrangements
for the meeting place, and agreed to meet Darius at a local Burger King.

When they got to the Burger King the gangbangers went inside, ordered food and sat down to eat while they waited to collect their money. Darius never showed, because while he had been on the phone with Gonzales, he had told him he didn’t have the money. Gonzales had suggested he leave town if he didn’t want to learn why Peter Rollack was nicknamed “Pistol Pete”.

Not showing was not cool. As far as Pistol Pete was concerned, Darius was as good as dead. Pistol Pete didn’t let nobody get over on him.

“Look, Pete,” said Gonzales. “The dude didn’t show cuz he’s scared. You got a bad rep, man. Darius, he knows that. He’s probably down in Florida by now, man.” Gonzales laughed. “Ya’ll go on home, back to New York. I’ll stay here an’ see if I can’t find Darius and maybe collect the money.”

“Fuck that shit,” snarled Pistol Pete. “Ain’t nobody going to live in this world who owe me money.”

Gonzales held out his hands and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell ya’, man.”

“Take me over to Darius’s house,” ordered Pistol Pete. “Because I’m going to murder his wife and kids. I ain’t playing.”

While Gonzales stalled, looking for a way out, the shit hit the fan. A bunch of cops popped up like Jacks-in-a-Box and proceeded to detain the gangbangers.

An anonymous informant had tipped the police that a burgundy Nissan Quest, with Pennsylvania licence plates, carrying four men, was transporting illegal narcotics into North Carolina. The
anonymous
informant was, of course, Darius Covington, who had decided it was better to be a live snitch than a dead drug pusher.

The police officers escorted the gangbangers out of Burger King to the burgundy Nissan Quest in the parking lot and asked
permission
to search the van. Yaro Pack nodded, handing over the keys. He also signed a written consent to search the van.

While two officers searched the van, other officers questioned the gangbangers, who gave phony names. Yaro Pack told the police officers that his name was Corey Hines. Gonzales gave his name as David Richards, and Pistol Pete identified himself as Nathaniel Tucker. Leadpipe said his name was John Adams.

The two cops searching the van couldn’t find anything. But they didn’t give up. They called for help, requesting drug detection canines. When the drug-sniffing dogs arrived, they quickly picked up the smell of coke and alerted the officers that there were drugs somewhere in the van. The cops immediately called for a tow truck and had the minivan taken to a police garage. They also got a search warrant.

With the help of a Nissan mechanic from a local car dealership, the cops proceeded to take the van apart, piece by piece. The SMM gangbangers stood nearby, watching. Beneath the front seats of the van, the cops located one of the two stash boxes. Inside, they found nothing. Undeterred, the cops continued dismantling the van. The existence of the empty stash box gave the police grounds to seize the vehicle and to hold the gangbangers for seventy-two hours.