Inside the Gang

Like everything in life, there is a process, a chain of command, and each level has a role to play. You work your way up the ladder to gain greater rewards, but with that comes greater responsibility.

With Rob back on the camera and I with a fresh notebook, we hit the streets of Boston again. We wanted to visit the sites where these crimes took place and meet the people from this dark underworld.

We headed to the scene where the stabbing in January took place. A car park off Wormgate surrounded by bars, hair salons, and restaurants. Your typical destination for a weekend social rather than the Bronx like I imagined.

Next we headed to the locations of where these violent and sexual assaults took place. With such a high number recorded in one street, we were shocked to discover how close they were to the police station. This is clearly a society created by individuals with minimal respect for law and order.

We finally had the chance to meet an individual from the dark and discreet shadows of the town. He refused to give us his name and requested we disguised his identity in order for him to talk. In our presence was a young man, no older than 45. A well-kept individual with designer jeans, pristine trainers, and an expensive Jacket. Upon his head a woolly hat that revealed his hard cut face with distinguishing features. His eyes like stone that you knew could tell you a million stories on their own. He arrived on a bike with an entourage of local drug users. Prevailed like some god or town hero.

This hallowing stature of a man brought an element of fear and made even the toughest of individuals feel uneasy. He was a polite individual, but you could sense by his presence you would not want to cross him. As his followers fled to a local street dealer that tried disguising his activities, we began to talk.

I wanted to know this guy's story and gain an understanding of his life. He was no spring chicken, but I clearly didn't want to piss this guy off as I didn't fancy my chances of coming out alive.

His mum and dad were gangers, a hardworking British family that grafted for what they had. Minimal disposable income, but growing up he and his siblings were clothed, loved, and fed. The gentlemen explained how he was a lorry driver and came out on the streets every two weeks to collect what he was owed. I was intrigued by what he was saying and used awkward silences to encourage him to talk more. This tactic worked well and I had to ask very little. Turns out he was a loan shark that specialised in loaning money to addicts. He would give them what they needed and they would repay the fee disclosed at the time of the transaction. In the meantime he would take their bank card. Failure to repay meant he came out looking for you and you weren't getting your card back. I asked him was it worth the risk? He was confident no one would catch him in possession of anything and he clearly had people around doing his dirty work for him. He also explained how he used his lorry and he would go all over the country with his clients when the drugs were getting too much for them. This lead me to believe this was a national operation with county lines involvement as he continued to talk freely.

Rob and I were shocked by what we had discovered by this mans confessions. Taking advantage of vulnerable individuals and preying on their addiction as a source of income. Transporting them across the country like pawns on a chess board. Now I wonder is this about financial gain or power and control?