Carlton is a great guy and a true friend. He has got me out of a few scrapes in our time together as pals and now we have ended up making a cult film about his life together. Im not sure many people can say that about a friendship.
Carlton has a beautiful wife and lovely children and he really does deserve the best in life, now and forever. Hes a real-life dangerous man with great intelligence that can have a row with anyone and also talk to anyone about anything. He has a real heart of gold.
Love you.
F or 20 years, Carlton Leach ranked among the toughest of Britains brawn brigade. He led a powerful army of bruisers involved in the lucrative world of security and protection, from club doormen at top nightspots to underworld minders guarding millions of pounds of drug-trafficking cash.
He was a key member of the dreaded Essex Boys gang which ran riot in the Eighties and Nineties, sparking a savage drugs war which saw three of his pals wiped out in the 1995 Range Rover massacre at Rettendon. He gives a unique insight into the ruthless world of modern-day gangland and believes his name is on a bullet to become yet another casualty of that simmering feud.
His notoriety made him a star of a TV documentary on Britains worst soccer thugs. He featured in Channel 5s hit series Hard Bastards with the chilling words, In my game, the choice is jail or a grave.
Leach, now 49, was minder to boxing champ Nigel Benn throughout his glory years in the ring and tells the blood, sweat and tears inside story of their special relationship.
Once a 17-stone man-mountain buoyed up on massive doses of steroids, he recounts the day he defied a crazed gunmans bullets at a London rave party, then saw the man left for dead in an alley as his heavy mob exacted instant justice, underworld style.
And he tells how he saved four of his firm from being tortured to death and their wives and daughters raped in front of them after a 10 million consignment of heroin went missing.
He has been questioned by police in connection with four murders but says he never killed anyone, although it came pretty close to it a few times.
Leach still earns a living from his muscle as one of the most successful debtcollectors in the country.
He lives by a primitive code of conduct, whereby only the toughest and most ruthless survive. Image, reputation and respect are all important. But scratch beneath the surface and the human face of Carlton Leach emerges, a father dedicated to his children especially the son he gave up for adoption at birth and met again 25 years later a generous man who would be rich today if he hadnt given most of his money away to friends in need, a compassionate man who cried unashamedly when his pet dog died.
To those in his world he was a fearless ally, but a deadly enemy prepared to use guns, knives and coshes to defend his territory. To those outside his world, he appears a brutal monster who has used violence and intimidation as a frightening form of currency throughout his adult life with the sole aim of making easy money. He is, in fact, a complex combination of good and bad, as he readily admits, and leaves it to the reader to conclude where the scales of justice will rest on judgement day.
Like so many truly hard men, he is adored by wives and girlfriends past and present and idolised by his six children and his grandchildren. He has enjoyed massive success with his film Rise of the Footsoldier and maintains his connections with his old firm.
This is Carlton Leach, muscle for hire.
Mike Fielder
Foreword by
Ricci Harnett
(Ricci played the role of Carlton in
Rise of the Footsoldier)
I ts 1 March 2008 and Im sitting in a pub somewhere in Epping listening to the sound of voices singing Happy Birthday. Someone walks in carrying a cake with my face on it but this is not my night, its Carltons. I blow my nose for the fiftieth time (Jesus, this fucking cold is driving me mad) and I watch him as he blows out the candles hes happy.
My mind flashes back to the first weekend we spent together, when I was an eleven-stone jobbing actor wearing black glasses and flat cap. I saw Carlton, with his arms covered in tattoos and a big grin on his face, and thought, Fuck, we look nothing like each other. He wasnt as big as Id seen in the photos, but that shark-eyed look was still there, make no mistake.
We spoke about the films Id done and the training I was going to have to do and it dawned on me that Id probably bitten off more than I could chew. After a few pints of Guinness, Carl and his mate Steve took me to off to Cats lap-dancing club in Basildon to introduce me to some more of their close friends. I was transported into a world of cage-fighters , ex-paramilitary, black belts and women. This is my fiance, Anne, said Carlton with his arm wrapped around a really tall, good-looking blonde who was one of the dancers at the club. I shook Annes hand as she stood there topless and I thought to myself, Whatever you do, dont look at her tits.
I was woken up the next morning by Carlton. Come on, son, get up I wanna take you with me, show you a bit of work. Despite a steaming hangover, the next thing I knew I was sat in McDonalds guzzling a supersize Cola. We listened to an Asian father and his son telling us about a wedding that had gone wrong the brides old man was chasing him for 30,000 compensation. He looked me straight in the eye as he told us this and spoke to me as though I was part of the firm. He said the other fella had hired the services of some lump to put the pressure on. To cut a long story short, I was then treated to a Little Chef veggie breakfast paid for by a wad of fifties the size of a brick!
That was nearly two years ago. I laugh at Carlton standing next to the cake trying to make a speech. Im lucky you make a lot of friends in my work. On this job I made family.
T he first thing that caught my eye was that the geezer had a gold tooth.
The second was that he was holding a shooter.
And the third that he was pointing it at me.
My door work and bodyguard work had taken me deep into gangland, into the dangerous world of the blaggers and the drug-dealers, turf wars and terminations. Now someone was coming to terminate me. With violence all around me for the last 20 years and my battle scars evident for all to see, I was now facing the possibility of an early epitaph on my tombstone.
Strangely enough, at that moment in time, as dawn slowly lit up London and I stood facing the gunman beside the River Thames at Battersea, I didnt particularly care. I was fuelled up on steroids and speed, a 17-stone man-mountain, and I was feeling no pain. The drugs had made me feel invincible. The geezer with the .45 was not a threat, he was a challenge.
I found myself shouting at him, Come on then, you cunt, shoot me. My safety mechanism had snapped. That little man in my head who comes along when Im in deep shit and says, Dont do it dont be silly now, Carlton, had taken a hike. There was just this lunatic standing there, full of bravado, full of drugs, caution thrown to the wind, saying, Come on then, kill me.
The black geezer was getting closer, his eyes were wide and glazed, his face was a twisted smile, the gun hand unsteady. He was obviously out of it, probably crack. The smile wasnt because he was pleased to see me. Wed clashed earlier and he was back for revenge.
Me and big Chris and a few other lumps were doing the door at a special boat party, members only, which had been laid on by some of the rave crowd. These two black guys had turned up and walked up the gangplank towards the boat. I told them it was invitation only. I could see some of the girls at the party looked scared. These two blokes had given them trouble earlier. I tried to be diplomatic.