Once Upon a Crime

by Jimmy Cryans

  I was also still carrying out the smash-and-grabs and had done a few armed robberies along with a pal who was about ten years younger and a very good robber with plenty of bottle. He was like a baby brother to me. We would often go out on the town partying and there were always lots of women. He was a good looking wee guy and, like me, he always dressed well. Billy Robertson would nearly always be at our side and on occasion we would also be joined by Billy Blair and, let me tell you, that was quite a tasty little crew.

  One Friday night in May 1987 I was in the Greenhills with Billy Robertson and young Ian when this woman passed by. She was very striking and that first sight of her is still fresh in my mind today. She was very small, about 5ft, and had a head of beautiful, curly blonde hair that fell down over her shoulders. She was wearing a green corduroy trouser suit with a bolero jacket that stopped at the waist and showed off her gorgeous little bum. She wore a lemon-coloured, tight-fitting silk shirt and she looked fucking sensational. Somebody called out to her and as she turned her head I was able to see her full face. She was smiling and it was dazzling. Her eyes were sparkling with laughter. She was somewhere between Kylie Minogue and Stevie Nicks from Fleetwood Mac. She had a body to die for and the face of an angel that would not have looked out of place in a Botticelli.

  I turned to Ian and I asked him, ‘Who the fuck is that wee darling?’

  ‘Don’t you know, Jimmy-boy? That’s wee Linda, John McCall’s bird, but I think they have split up.’ It came as a bit of a shock when Ian told me that she was 27 and had three kids and a house of her own.

  I said, ‘Don’t fucking wind me up, Ian, because I’m going to marry that lassie one day!’ And I meant it. I was completely smitten and though I did not realise it, my life would never be the same. Her name was Linda Hardie and from that moment and for the next five years, she owned me.

  Chapter Thirty

  Linda had a sister named Alexis and it was she who introduced me to Linda in a bar one day. She asked me over for a meal and I can still remember what it was. Steak and kidney pie with new potatoes and peas – and it was excellent!

  Linda had not had the easiest of lives, losing both her mother and father before she was a teenager. Both she and Alexis had gone to live with relatives in Castlemilk and it hadn’t been easy. Linda had married at 18 and had three children – two boys and a girl, lovely kids. William was nine and quite a quiet, shy wee guy. Derek was six and the complete opposite, a very lively and funny wee boy who was full of mischief but immensely likeable. Little Alexis, named after her aunty was an absolutely adorable little girl with the nicest nature of any child I have known. I just fell in love with each of them.

  There was just something about Linda that clicked everything into place for me and I somehow knew that we were going to be a big part of each other’s lives. We met up the next weekend and I was down at her door right on time. She looked sensational, wearing a plain black dress that hugged her body and showed off her perfect figure. Her blonde hair was dazzlingly bright and shiny and fell onto her bare shoulders. She was wearing a pair of small hooped gold earrings and an understated gold chain around her neck that stopped just above beautiful breasts hinted at teasingly by the cut of her dress. I have very seldom seen any woman look so good with the minimum of enhancements and I think it was at that very moment that I fell in love with Linda.

  With that gorgeous smile she said, ‘Hi, Jim, come in. I’m all ready to go. You look good.’ I was wearing a lightweight, dark blue two-piece, single-breasted suit with a beautiful new white Armani shirt and my usual highly polished black lace-up brogue shoes. Even if I say so myself, we looked good together and my one regret is that I did not bring a camera with me to capture the moment.

  We had a great night in the bar which was packed and there were a lot of heads that turned in our direction when we made our entrance, quickly followed by hushed conversations. But I will tell you this: there wasn’t a prouder man in that lounge bar on that night when I walked in with Linda on my arm. I could almost physically feel the emptiness that had almost consumed me start to evaporate.

  Before the night had ended we knew we were head over heels in love. There will be a lot of people who doubt this, but both Linda and myself were in no doubt whatsoever. Later we made love all through the night and we were still doing so when the sun came up. It was as if we couldn’t get enough of each other and were frightened that this moment was going to be stolen away from us. Linda was the sexiest and most sensual woman it had ever been my privilege to be with and I was like a lion that night in bed with her.

  After about a week or so I moved in with her and the kids, and we were all really happy. The way I have always felt about children meant that the kids were part of the package and, in fact, I looked on them as a bonus. Whether they were mine or not was irrelevant. They were kids and I was fortunate they accepted me into their lives.

  Everything was going so well but then on the second Saturday there was a loud knocking at about eight o’clock in the morning. Even before Linda had got out of bed I said, ‘It’s the law.’ I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t unduly concerned because as far as I was aware I was not on the wanted list for anything and was confident they were on a fishing expedition. I told Linda not to worry and that I would be back in a couple of hours.

  I walked out to the CID. ‘Right, lads, I’m ready. What’s all this about?’

  ‘We just need to have a word with you down at the station, Jim.’ I asked if I was being arrested. ‘No, not at the moment. There are just a few things we need to ask you about.’

  Reinforcements arrived and I got in the motor. When they produced the cuffs I said that there was no need and the copper replied, ‘Well, OK, Jimmy, but you have to promise that you will behave yourself.’

  ‘Of course I will. Don’t be silly.’

  Once inside their attitude changed and it was the usual, ‘We have reason to believe that you have been involved in fraud that amounts to quite a lot of money, Jim. So why don’t you make a clean breast of it and save us all a lot of trouble.’

  I thought, ‘Fuck me – it’s amateur night.’ I said, ‘If that’s the case I have absolutely nothing to say to you until I speak to my lawyer.’ I was to be held until Monday when I would be taken to appear at Hamilton sheriff court to be charged with fraud.

  A guy in the cells recommended a young lawyer to me. His name was Marco Guarino and he has remained my lawyer from that day to this. I’ve had quite a few lawyers but none of them even comes near to Marco. I am always confident when I have him fighting my corner. Over the years we have became quite close and we trust each other. I never hold anything back from Marco – well, I tell him as much as I am able to.

  On the Monday bail was opposed and I was remanded in custody. Linda was in tears but Ma was there to reassure her. Marco told me not to worry and that he felt the case was weak. Then I was whisked off to the salubrious Barlinnie, the Bar-L – fucking lovely!

  Linda came to visit me half a dozen times and her love and loyalty gave me great strength. It always makes things that bit easier for a guy when he has the love and support of a good woman when he is ‘away’. ‘When I get out of here we should start making plans to get married,’ I said. ‘That’s if you’ll have me.’

  Linda said, ‘Are you serious Jim? Of course I’ll have you. I’ll start making plans as soon as I get home today.’

  I was granted bail, the first of many results that the bold Marco was to achieve. He really was, and is, the dog’s bollocks. The case was eventually slung out. Linda had been as good as her word and had moved things along nicely for our wedding on 12 September 1987 at Martha Street registry office in Glasgow. We decided on a low-key affair with a wee reception in the house for about 40 guests. Our plans took everybody by surprise but what anyone else thought was of little concern. We were just so much in love.

  It was a lovely sunny day and I wore a new, white, two-piece suit with a blue t-shirt and a pair of white tennis shoes. In my buttonhol
e I had a white carnation that had been sprayed blue! Linda wore a beautiful, blue, two-piece suit that my ma made for her and a lovely white silk blouse with blue high-heeled shoes. She had a beautiful little spray of flowers on her lapel and her hair was absolutely shimmering. The golden curls framed her beautiful face and she looked gorgeous, absolutely radiant. My brother Hughie was my best man and Linda’s sister Alexis was her maid of honour.

  My sister Olive laid on a beautiful wedding buffet and the day went really well. All of my old pals were there including ‘Daddy’ Billy Robertson, Billy Blair, Ian L and Davie Steele. I felt so lucky to have met Linda as she had told me early on in our relationship that she knew who I was and was aware of some of the stories – most of them were x-rated. But these had not deterred her and it took a lot of guts on her part to, as she said, ‘find out for myself what kind of guy you are, Jim, and I won’t judge you by what other people say about you’. Really, for me, you couldn’t ask for more than that.

  But before the year was out cracks were beginning to appear and we started to argue. If truth be told I have to bear a great deal of the responsibility. Without meaning to beat myself up about it, I was just not ready to handle the responsibilities of the situation I found myself in, irrespective of the fact that I truly did love Linda and the three children. Linda had her own issues to deal with and perhaps if the two of us had sat down and spoke to each other honestly then things may have turned out differently. But neither of us was able to do that.

  The paradox was that we could not live together, but neither could we live apart and so we ended up destroying the beautiful thing we shared. The real losers were the kids and the guilt I feel over this is still there whenever I think about those times. I am truly sorry for the distress they must have felt during that period. One thing I have taken from this is that love is not enough. You also need stability and you must be able to communicate honestly.

  The madness lasted for five years, until one day a legal letter arrived addressed to me. But Linda was holding it and she said, ‘There is a letter here for you from Ross Harper & Murphy.’

  ‘That’s not my lawyers,’ I said, ‘but open it anyway.’

  Linda read it. Basically it was to inform me that our divorce had been granted and would be absolute in another six weeks.

  ‘What fucking divorce?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t you remember I went to the lawyers last year after one of our fall-outs?’

  ‘No, I don’t fucking remember. So that’s us divorced then, doll? What do we do now?’

  Linda said, ‘Well, I think we should go for a wee drink then come home and go to bed and we will celebrate it in style.’

  Well, you couldn’t really argue with that, so that is exactly what we did – when the two of us should have been heavily sedated and made to lie down in a dark room!

  We continued to live together on and off for another three years and by the end of it I was a walking time bomb. It was only a matter of time before there would be some kind of a disaster. And when it came it was not only explosive but I was truly very lucky to survive it.

  It was 1992 and the previous six years had been nothing short of a nightmare. I had been constantly in trouble with the law with numerous court appearances for police assault and resisting arrest. The beatings I was receiving were becoming more severe. I am not excusing the coppers for the way they dealt with me, which was brutal most of the time, but I also know that much of it was down to my stubbornness and my refusal to walk away.

  There were times I knew the law were on their way to arrest me and I would wait for them to arrive and then steam into them, no matter how many there were. My attitude was, well, I am going to get a beating anyway so I might as well strike first. When I was in that frame of mind I was ferocious and I just did not give a fuck. My poor wee ma must have been at her wits end; she later told me that she expected the cops to tell her that I was dead. God forgive me for the heartache I caused that wonderful wee woman.

  On the night of my final battle with the coppers they came for me team-handed. They had been called by someone after I had noised up a neighbour. From the house I was able to see them coming. There was a van followed by two patrol cars and I can remember thinking to myself, ‘Too many Jimmy-boy, even for you. Best to disappear.’

  I left through Linda’s back garden but even as I opened the gate I realised I was too late. There were three cops waiting for me and one of them whacked me across the nut with his truncheon. I was so used to this treatment by this time that I didn’t even break stride. I just flew into them, punching, kicking and using my nut. I suppose you could say that I went berserk. Don’t ask me how, but I somehow knew that this was going to be the final confrontation between me and the lawmen.

  The three coppers were joined by two more and I was forced to the ground. The handcuffs were put on me with my hands behind my back. But this fight wasn’t over, not yet. I was frog-marched around to the front and a street full of coppers and neighbours, including Linda, a so-called pal I had been having a drink with earlier in his gaff, and a tall, uniformed inspector. ‘No one gets away with assaulting my officers, Cryans,’ he said with a smirk on his smug fucking face and I just completely lost it.

  I managed to break away from the cops who were holding me and I threw myself at this fucking inspector and tried to nut him. He fucking shit himself and backed away like the coward he was and then the rest of the coppers were on me like a pack of wolves. They battered me to the ground in full view of everyone in the street, but I wasn’t finished yet. As I lay on the ground with these bastards knocking the shit out of me, I sunk my teeth into the calf of one of them and he squealed like a pig. Fucking lovely!

  I was bundled into the back of the van with six coppers and they proceeded to fucking leather me. I remember one of them saying, ‘So you think you’re a fucking tough guy, eh?’ and he rammed the blunt end of his truncheon into my eye while another hit me in the balls with his truncheon.

  I said, ‘Stop, wait a minute,’ and I could see the smug fuckers relax. They obviously thought I had had enough.

  ‘What is it, hard man?’ said one.

  I looked at him and in a voice that every copper in the van would hear I said, ‘I just thought you should know that your wife is a snide ride.’

  Now it was their turn to go berserk and one of them shouted for the driver to pull over. The van pulled into a car park adjoining a sports field and I was dragged from the van and given a real battering. Finally, they stopped and I was carried back into the van, but they were not finished yet. At the cop shop I was taken to the charge desk and there were now at least a dozen coppers on hand. When the duty sergeant appeared he said, ‘Mr Cryans, you have been arrested and you will be charged with police assault, resisting arrest and breach of the peace. Is there anything you have to say?’

  I looked at him and then with as much blood that I could muster in my mouth I spat in his face and all over his pristine white shirt. Don’t ask me how many times I was hit or how many coppers hit me because the last thing I have any recollection of was when one of them knee-dropped me full on the chest and I thankfully passed out. I was later to learn that I had been dragged by the ankles to the cells and two coppers had beaten me from head to foot with their batons.

  The next thing I can remember was coming to on my back in a cell with a doctor leaning over me. I was very disorientated but I could make out that there were some coppers standing in the doorway of the cell and one of them was a senior officer because he had a cap with a lot of insignia. They all looked very concerned. I knew I was in a bad way. The doctor asked me who had done this to me and I looked at the coppers standing in the doorway and said only one word: ‘Them.’

  The doctor said, ‘I’ll be a witness to what you have said. Now, don’t worry. There is an ambulance on its way and we will have you in hospital in no time.’ Then I passed out again.

  The ambulance took me to Hairmyers hospital in East Kilbride but my injuries were so
severe, particularly the head trauma, that I was immediately transferred to the neurosurgery department at Glasgow’s Southern General hospital, which specialised in brain injury. I had been given a scan that revealed bruising to the brain and I was a mass of bruises all over. One doctor had been heard to comment that my injuries were consistent with being beaten with a blunt object or objects. Photos were taken of all my injuries but I have no recollection of this being done.

  My next memory is of opening my eyes to see Ma and my sister sitting beside my bed. ‘Where am I?’ I asked.

  Ma looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, ‘Oh, son, you’re awake, thank God. You are in the Southern General.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that. For a minute there I thought I was in the nuthouse.’ I looked towards the end of the bed and saw a copper. ‘What’s that bastard doing here?’

  What Ma said almost made me laugh. ‘You’re still under arrest, Jim.’

  Seeing me awake, the copper was quickly on his radio. I said, ‘Hey, you, why don’t you just fuck off?’

  Me and Ma had a long talk and she told me that all this really had to stop and that her nerves were completely shattered by the constant worry over me. ‘Listen, Jim, if this doesn’t stop they are going to end up killing you and if that happens it will kill me too. So please, son, promise me that this is the last time I will have to see you like this.’

  In that moment I finally realised just how much worry I had caused my wee mammy and I was ashamed of myself. ‘I give you my word, Ma, that this is the last time. I’m so sorry for what I have put you through.’ And I meant every word of it.

  Did I still hate all cops? Well, my answer to that is that I never did. If we are talking about the cops who battered me that night, obviously I would tell you I fucking hate the bastards. No one should have been subjected to the beating I received. But the majority of them are decent enough guys who do the job to the best of their ability. It was their job to stop me and catch me and it was my job not to be caught.