The Soho Don  A narrative non-fiction  "It has the feel of Graham Greene's Brighton Rock ...... a style and era that I never get tired of reading about"  The Mirror newspaper " Received your book [The Soho Don] a couple of days ago and am already half way through it.  Great read .."   Chris Tarrant, TV personality " Thank you so much for writing this book [The Soho Don] ........ I have never started a book that made such an impact.... we were innocents in a wicked world. " Barry Cryer, Writer and Comedian " A good read... not in the normal true crime genre .....this is a love story written in the third person." Steve Allen, producer LBC radio

The Soho Don is the story of a shy south London boy from a respectable family who became a shadowy but powerful figure in the Soho, Mayfair and Brighton underworlds.

Smartly dressed and well spoken, Billy Howard dominated the London crime scene for 30 years, a reign punctuated only by short stays in prison.  The Krays said he feared no one and that Howard was the one man they truly respected.

The protection business drew him into a lucrative world of nightclubs and gambling, on the back of the black-market trade that had flourished during the Second World War.  Unlike many of the notorious figures that have emerged from this era he was in many ways a loner, preferring to control his own operations and eschewing the leadership of a gang.  In contrast to the Krays, he did not court publicity but on the occasions his name did hit the headlines, it was often with the tag 'Laughing Boy'.

A boxer in the army, a powerful street fighter and utterly fearless with a knife, Howard was ruthless in meting out punishment to villains who stepped out of line and instilled terror in witnesses who were prepared to testify against him.  His power and influence were so great that even now, almost two decades after his death, close friends and casual acquaintances are still wary of speaking out.

The Soho Don is a gripping account of Howard's violent life and it exposes the links between the vicious gangland bosses, the police, the celebrity hothouses of Mayfair clubs, high class prostitution and international gambling.  It portrays his slide from power and, finally, his pathetic death in 1984.

 

AN EXTRACT: 

" Find Billy Howard 

"That's the old cow, down there," the man sitting in the front seat growled, partly to the driver and partly to the two men sitting behind him.  He pointed with a hand rolled cigarette at the moving image of a middle-aged woman, walking in and out of pools of light some twenty yards ahead, an Astrakhan fur collared coat pulled up around her face.  "‘ave her legs off,"  he added at almost the same time as sniffing snot back up his nostrils and coughing.

"Drive down and round the corner," a voice from the back mumbled, also coughing on the cigarette smoke that filled the car, windows closed to retain warmth.

The black car cruised past the woman, and some fifty yards further on turned the corner.  Deep shadow covered the pavement.  The driver brought the vehicle quietly to a halt and the four darkly suited men got out.  Their scarred faces and broken features gave their smart, expensively suited appearance an incongruent air.  Menacing.  It was cold, colder than it had been in London.  The driver would have preferred to have remained in the car, mounted the pavement and done her legs, as the front seat passenger had suggested, but they had been told to scare her, put the shits up her.  No more. 

As Elizabeth Lawrence drew level, one of the men pulled her around the corner by her shoulder and pushed her, almost casually, into the arms of one of the others.  The smell of cheap perfume and body odour caught his nostrils.  Gently he pushed her back again, glad to have the salt air return.  They were playing with her.  The four men formed a circle.  She was piggy in the middle. 

"What d'ya want?"  She asked in a faltering voice, sweat having clearly broken out on her face, despite the chill wind.

"We're Billy Howard's boys, see.  And we've got a message for ya."  One of them answered, in a clearly menacing tone.

It was nearing midnight on this wintry November night, and the streets were empty and damp.  The sound of her heels echoed around the buildings.  All the windows were in darkness, except for a few on the upper floors of the townhouses towards the top of the street.  It seemed unlikely that any sound would attract attention.  The men felt safe.  The woman did not.

"I don't know Billy Howard," she told them.  The tone of her voice pleading the case that they had stopped the wrong person.

"I know love, but he knows you."  Another of the group said, giving her a shove, only this time harder. 

"He told us to tell you not ta say anything against his friends in court," one of them told her, speaking slowly.  His voice trembled, but not from any fear.  The icy chill had penetrated his thin jacket and his shirt provided no protection.

The driver took a razor from his pocket, opened it and put the cold flat side of the stainless steel blade against her cold, wet cheek.  It flashed in the light.  When pressed, it cut into the skin formed by layers of cheap make-up.  Harder, it would have sliced flesh.  "You'd better do as 'e says, 'cause if ya don't Billy Howard's going to come down 'ere himself and he'll cut ya tongue out and chop you up."

One of them chuckled and pushed her again across the circle.  This time nobody caught her.  She fell against the wall and stumbled, her foot twisting off her tall-heeled shoe.  The four men walked back over to the car, got in and, appreciating the shelter, drove off.

It was this incident GeraldHoward QC reported to the court the following day "

 

The Soho Don is published by and available from  Mainstream Publishing Co. (Edinburgh) Ltd  and all good bookshops.