Meeting Gary Hunter – ex-soldier and now minder to the rich and famous – was an odd experience.
I sipped my café latte in the lounge of a posh hotel waiting for Gary to arrive. I glanced at my watch. Bang on 7.00pm – the appointed time – the automatic doors opened and there he stood. Not what I expected, not at all. He was small and wiry with penetrating blue eyes.
From the moment he sat down, he didn’t stop talking. Usually, I’m the one who does most of the talking! But not this time. Gary wasn’t the run-of-the-mill hard bastard I’m used to interviewing. He was different. Of course, we’ve all got our own opinions about politics and the like but his ideas consumed him; he was anti-Government, anti-establishment, anti just about everything.
He was very well versed in army matters. He knew all about ‘covert operations’, ‘intelligence surveillance’, gadgets and guns. He spoke at length about things I’d never given any thought to and he gave me answers to questions I’d never even asked. Yes, he was different; thought-provoking, intensely passionate about his beliefs, banging the table with his fists to emphasise a point – and spilling my café latte in the process, then mopping it up without drawing breath.
As we left the hotel, I asked him where his car was parked. He pointed to a dimly-lit side road beyond the hotel forecourt.
‘I was here an hour before you,’ he whispered. ‘I sussed the joint out and watched you arrive.’
He shook his head at me and smiled a strange smile: ‘Well,’ he said, ‘better the hunter than the hunted …’
I was brought up in a little fishing village on the east side of Scotland, but I suppose my accent has changed because no one down here in the South knows I’m a Scot. Even so my accent comes right back when I talk to my father!
The village was divided into four areas with invisible boundaries, and groups from each used to fight each other. I ended up fighting the lot!
I was an only child and I trained in the martial arts from the age of nine. I did Thai boxing for eight years. I’ve fought in France, Belgium, Denmark and Holland.
I got married last year and I’ve got one child, a beautiful little girl.
Nothing much I’ve ever been caught for. I’ve been arrested on several occasions for violence. My prison record reads nothing else – violence.
No. I’ve only done time on remand so obviously I can’t speak for long-term prisoners. But, from what I’ve seen inside, all they try to do is destroy your train of thought. They do your thinking for you. They give you breakfast at half-eight, dinner at twelve, tea at five – it’s up to you to keep your mind working while you’re inside.
Prison didn’t deter me from anything – it’s other people in the business who have deterred me. I think in this day and age there’s so few people you can trust – people you can trust just aren’t out there any more. I’ve seen some people fuck over their best mate for a pound note and that’s not the way I was brought up, that never happened then. Money has become more important than friendship. People’s loyalties seem to be determined by one thing only – and that’s money.
Yes. I was brought up with the belt. I believe in an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. I don’t believe in hanging for murder – I think they should be put through what their victims were put through.
It’s crazy. Someone bursts into your house so you bash them up – but you’re not supposed to do that no more, are you? You’re supposed to pick up the phone and say, ‘Look, there’s someone in my house. Can you come round here and get them out?’
Well, that isn’t a natural human instinct if someone is threatening your family and children. It’s like with an animal – if you try and take its young, it will go for you. We think we’re so much better as human beings, but we’re not.
I don’t believe capital punishment should be by lethal injection – that’s just putting them to sleep. That’s what we do to pets in pain – pets that we love. Why should you give that to someone who’s done something really bad? I believe in the very, very old ways.
I don’t think I’ve had a life of crime. We’ve all done things illegally obviously. What is crime? It’s what the Government tells you is crime. They say you can’t do that, so it’s a crime. Just because they say it isn’t right to do it, doesn’t mean that, in my eyes, it’s not right to do it. What they say is a crime I don’t necessarily see as a crime. I earn my living my way because they won’t let me earn it any other way.
I’ve been stabbed and I’ve been shot. I have a hole in the bottom of my back and in my nipple and at the back of my head.
It was in a club in Colchester and big group of doormen had come up there for a stag night. This one big geezer was threatening a little geezer – he was bullying him and there’s no need to bully anyone, there’s no reason to invade anyone else’s space. So I said, ‘Come on, mate, leave it. ‘He’s only half your size so there’s no need to pick on him. Go and pick on someone your own size.
He was a fucking big bastard and he said he couldn’t give a shit.
He walked off but then I saw him in the corner with six others, all big lads, and I was on my own. So I went behind the bar. Suddenly they came rushing at me behind the bar, they knocked the doorman out and I was alone with 11 of them. I escaped to the kitchen but they followed me. I got in a few punches but they were hitting me with everything – fire extinguishers, soup ladles, you name it. That’s where I got all the cuts on the back of my head but I never actually went down.
Then one of them tried to rob my pockets and that did it.
I managed to kick one and punch another and that gave me a bit of space so I could run off down the corridors, slamming all the doors behind me. I had blood coming out everywhere.
Then I got into the toilets and there was a skylight with wired glass in it – and that was the only way out. There was a bang on the door. I opened the door and hit him. He went down. His mate was outside in the corridor running up and down – it was only a matter of time.
I managed to punch my way through the skylight, I cut my hand to fuck but at least I got out on the roof. From there I could see them come out the back and one of them said, ‘Oh fuck it, the little bastard’s scared, he’s fucked off.’
Well, that was enough for me. I jumped off the roof into the lot of them. I nutted one, hit another, then jumped over the fence into a garden and off. They followed and there were two of them faster than the others – it’s always the way, Kate. There’s always two who are faster than the rest. So I stopped and hit both of them.
I got away. But, I tell you, when I was actually trapped in that kitchen, I was scared. That was one of the scariest moments of my life because I was getting it from all angles.
My mum died of cancer when I was 21.
Bullies. You see these so-called hard men and they’re not hard men, they’re bullies. There’s no such thing as a hard man. Every man’s got a chin. All you’ve got to do is find his before he finds yours. It’s up to you to prepare yourself to do that. There’s no such thing as a lucky punch – well, maybe sometimes, but very rarely. It’s up to you to know what you’re capable of and to do it. But if you go into a fight thinking you’re better than the next man you’ll lose anyway.
Yes, big time. I love my wife, Jo. Our relationship was on and off for a few years but I’m married to her now.
I suppose the person I have loved most was me mum, maybe because I didn’t have brothers and sisters. I was really close to her. I was outraged when she died of breast cancer. She never smoked, never drank, never did a bad thing in her life. She had both breasts removed, then all her hair went. I was helpless but I felt outraged to witness what that did to her as a woman. I was a nasty person then. I was the nastiest person I knew then, I was the kind of person I’d hate now. I couldn’t understand why it was happening, I didn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone.
I’m ex-military and I’d describe a hard bastard as someone who can cope with all sorts – extremes of temperature, hot and cold, near-starvation, being able to go on when you can’t go on no more. When it comes to a fight, how many fights last longer than a few minutues? Very few. I admire boxers. You look at a professional boxer, how long is he fighting for? He’s got to dig deep like he’s never dug before. Each round is three minutes. People think that’s nothing but it’s a lot. You get the average man off the street and tell him to punch a bag, shadow box, for three minutes and he won’t be able to do it.
A hard man to me is definitely a man who doesn’t use a tool. Don’t get me wrong, there’s times when you have got to use tools, but a hard man, if there’s a row, he’ll fight you toe to toe – he won’t pull out a knife and kill you. A hard man can stand there and he’ll take a punch but he’ll get over that and he’ll return it back.
Rocky Marciano.
If only we knew where we’d be in five years! Well, there’s only one person it depends on – it’s up to me. There’s so many people wandering around with no direction. It’s up to you to make your future. I’ve got a direction.
When I first came out of the services, I found civilian life fucking boring; there was nothing to do. I was in for six years and what I’ve done is turn around all that knowledge and use it. I still keep up the fitness, I train all the time. Of course, in the services, you’re told what to do, you get your orders for the day, but you don’t mind doing it because you know that the people who are telling you have been through it themselves.
I know what I did in the marines and I know I’m good at what I do. I’ve used that. Now I do bodyguarding, I m working to get my certificate with the SAS up in Hereford because it’s the only one that’s recognised within the industry. It’s not like the normal nine-to-five job and yes, there’s aggression involved, but that’s all I’ve ever done. I went straight from school into the forces, then I did my marine course then I became a PT instructor and then my mum developed cancer and that’s why I left. If that hadn’t happened, I’d still be in there because I loved it. I travelled the world, I’ve been all over the world – Far East, everywhere.
I’ve always had a sense of adventure. Maybe it’s to do with being an only child. If you’ve got brothers and sisters you’ve always got someone to play with; if you’re an only child you’ve got to find someone to go and play with, which I think makes you an outgoing person anyway. I have a direction and I’m happy with that direction.
Yes, I regret giving my friendship to some people who I now know didn’t deserve it. I gave my loyalty, I’d have given my life for these people and I thought they would have done the same for me.
I can’t say if I’ve done things I regret, I suppose the answer to that must be yes and no. I rarely do things I regret because I think things through carefully before I do them. That’s training I suppose. I don’t really act on impulse and I don’t have time for regrets. It’s all down to yourself.
For example, you can’t get grassed up. If you get grassed up it means that you’ve told them or you’ve told someone who’s told them. It’s up to you. The only person responsible for your life is yourself. If you give your word to a best mate, then you’ve got to think, ‘Can I trust them?’ There’s not that many people out there you can give your word to.
If you only give that word to yourself, then you’ve only got yourself to worry about and if you work alone, you won’t get caught because nobody knows – the only person who can get you caught is you – nobody else can. People say, ‘You grassed me up’ – I’ll say, ‘You grassed yourself up, you stupid mug.’
It’s like a chain. The shorter and fatter a chain, the stronger it is – the longer it is, the thinner it is, the weaker it is. That’s why you keep things to yourself. The more you tell other people, the weaker that chain is. And that’s how I’ve always lived. And that’s why I haven’t done any bird.