Donal - The Dogs Head and Other Underworld Encounters

Originally published as part of

Hitmen, Gangsters, Cannibals and Me

by

Donal MacIntyre

First published in 2012 by Y Books
Lucan, Co. Dublin
Ireland
Tel & Fax: +353 1 621 7992
www.ybooks.ie
@ybookstweets

Text 2010 Donal MacIntyre
Editing, design and layout 2012 Y Books

Ebook - Mobi format ISBN: 978-1-908023-50-6
Ebook - ePub format ISBN: 978-1-908023-51-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, filming, recording, video recording, photography, or by any information storage and retrieval system, nor shall by way of trade or otherwise be lent, resold or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Cover design and typesetting by Y Books
Front cover image courtesy of Peter Evers Photography

To Allegra,

my princess for her sparkly turquoise heart.

C ONTENTS

T HE D OG S H EAD

This is Manchester: by day its run by police, by night its run by gangsters. Manchester is where I was born, where I live and where Ill die.

D OMINIC N OONAN

I hadnt intended to spend five years filming with a major criminal. As with all great adventures, it was an accident; I was going to say happy accident, but disturbing is perhaps more appropriate. It was 2003 and I had spent 11 years as an undercover journalist. I had had enough of it and it had had enough of me. I was on the hit lists of right-wing terror groups, crack dealers and gun-runners because of various operations I had been involved in, and my face was too well known for me to continue doing covert operations in the UK or Ireland. Ironically, my success as an undercover reporter had made me unemployable. My job as covert crime fighter had evaporated before my very eyes as the investigations were broadcast.

The truth is that keeping your sanity while at the same time trying to maintain three or even four identities is a difficult task in itself. Its a pressure-cooker kind of existence and youre constantly aware that your cover could be blown at any time. It was time to move on.

While I was figuring out what to do next, I decided to do some research at Belmarsh Crown Court, one of Londons most secure courts, used for the trials of major terrorists and gangsters. I wanted to make a very aggressive, confrontational series on serious criminals. My plans were dependent on the cooperation of a very uncooperative gangster class.

In the dock of Court 3 stood Dominic Noonan, a large bulldog of a man, over 20 stone at his heaviest. His shaven head, thick neck and grave-digger hands gave no hint of a man who speaks Urdu and has experience of running a multimillion-pound crime empire.

Dominic is a member of the infamous Noonans, a well-known criminal family from Manchester. He changed his name to Dominic James Lattlay Fottfoy by deed pole while in prison, where he has spent 25 of his 44 years.

Every day in Court, the judge would struggle with the name before eventually asking Dominic if he would mind if he abbreviated the name to Mr Fottfoy. Dominic nodded his assent. The judge then asked Dominic the derivation of the name.

Many years ago my dad used to say to me, Just look after those that look after you, fuck off those that fuck off you. So I changed my name to Lattlay Fottfoy: thats what the initials stand for.

The Court, including the jury, collapsed in laughter.

Dominic had been caught more or less red-handed with over half a million pounds worth of heroin. He told the jury that he was under the impression that he was providing security for a shipment of foreign currency. Imagine his shock when Customs and Excise arrested him and told him that he was in fact transporting a class-A drug! The handover of the consignment to a major London criminal gang was filmed by Her Majestys Customs and Excise. It did not look good for Noonan or the other defendants on trial.

By some quirk of fate, Dominic had been granted bail and was free to chat with me outside the Court. There were few who could envisage a not-guilty verdict for the charismatic gangster, but those who had followed his criminal career wouldnt put any Houdini-like act past him.

Every time he appears in the dock, the Court is inevitably surrounded by a platoon of armed police and marksmen. His last conviction saw the judge lament that he could only give the Manchester godfather a maximum of nine and a half years in jail. The Judge sounded crestfallen as he told the Court of the limitations of his sentencing powers and said: This man is a menace to society. He is one of the countrys most dangerous criminals.

I first met Dominic Noonan, the head of the notorious crime family, in a circular corridor inside Belmarsh Crown Court.

Everybody I know wants to kill you. My brother was asked to whack you; I can see the job isnt done, he told me.

Hes obviously not very good, then, I replied, holding my ground.

As I chatted with him, I realised that we had much in common. He was facing the very real possibility that he would spend the rest of his life either behind bars or under threat of a rivals bullet in the head: either way, he was facing a sentence every day he woke up. Such pressure creates a vulnerability that is easier to share with strangers than those close to you. I had had to face down kidnapping and death threats and some days I felt that same fatalism that Noonan lived with. He looked into my eyes and recognised that we had both experienced terrible things. Indeed, Dominic had been both perpetrator and victim of experiences that are far too graphic to write about here.

He believed that we were born on the same side of the street but had chosen different paths in life: his was a life of crime and mine was one of exposing it. I was a little uncomfortable with his assessment but I was glad that he felt we had something in common. Added to this was our shared Irish background and an obliviousness to danger that had threatened to end both our careers and our lives. I think these are the reasons why one of the UKs most dangerous criminals decided to invite me to spend five years filming him and his criminal network.

The six women and six men of the jury spent four days deliberating on the verdict. We were taking bets on Noonans fate in the production office.

Five pounds says that he will be sent down, I said to Sam, one of the producers.

Hes the Teflon Dom, said Sam, I wouldnt put anything past him.

As we waited for the verdict with Dominic, the stress in the courtroom was palpable. Occasionally, the jury would return for guidance. There would be a flurry of excitement and then they would return to their deliberations and we to our tea and coffee. On one occasion, we were joined by a senior Customs and Excise officer. Dominic and his adversary were polite to each other, almost to the point of playfulness, and it was obvious that there was an element of gamesmanship to their relationship. Eventually, the moment of truth came and the verdict was given: On all four counts, we find the defendant not guilty. Just one defendant in the multimillion-pound trial was convicted, but he had already skipped the country. Dominic would remain a free man.