Free Gypsy Jane - I've Been Shot Four Times and Served Three Prison Terms?This is the Incredible Story of by Jane Lee

Once again, I wasn’t sure if he was more frightened of me or them.
    The gangsters were all in their suits, looking well flash. Me? I was in my army gear – combat trousers, DM boots, green T-shirt and bomber jacket. My 9mm Browning automatic pistol was in one pocket and my German Mauser pistol was in the other. My pal pointed out the boss and over I went.
    I told him straight that I wanted my money back. ‘You sold shit gear to him,’ I said, nodding at my pal. ‘And he sold it to me and I sold it to someone very important to me. So give me my money back and we can call it quits.’
    His boys all stopped what they were doing. I’d got their attention now. You might think I was frightened at this point or in over my head. But I felt totally in control, razor sharp and ready for them. I knew they wanted to have a go. Me being a bird, they would think I was easy but I was double ready. The boss’s boys werelooking a bit puzzled, as if to say, ‘Look at the brass neck on it.’ All the same, they started making to get their tools out. When the boss himself said, ‘Get this lady away from me,’ I knew it wasn’t going to be civilised. Yet I already knew I had one thing in my favour – his words meant he had underestimated me and I knew that also meant he was slow off the mark.
    Before he had even finished speaking I’d pulled my 9mm Browning out of my jacket and blown a hole in the ceiling. While he and his crew were gazing at the damage, I stepped forward, smashed his front teeth out with the barrel of the gun and held it in his mouth. ‘I am no fucking lady, you piece of shit!’ I screamed like a mad bitch ready to shoot the lot of them. Everybody crouched down or hit the floor. Everyone apart from the boss, the middle-man and his brother, that was. ‘I want my money back now or I’m going to blow you away, then your mum and dad and all your fucking kids, you ponce!’ I screamed. Of course, I wouldn’t have hurt his family. But he wasn’t to know that.
    Blood was pouring out of his mouth and all his hard boys were on the floor, just staring. Their eyes were darting from me, back to their boss and back to me again to me, as if to say, ‘What do we do now, boss?’ But their boss was just standing there, blood pouring from his mouth. A damp patch appeared on his trousers. He had started to wet himself. I heard a noise behind me.
    I whipped out my Mauser while still holding the Browning in this so-called gangster’s mouth. I aimed atthe noise, keeping my eyes on the boss. When I glanced over, I saw that the disturbance had come from one of his boys – another wannabe gangster crawling from behind the pool table on the brink of tears. ‘Just give her back her money. It’s not worth it,’ he said.
    ‘Get fucking down, you ponce!’ I screamed.
    It was almost funny. My middle-man had said I was dealing with proper gangsters but here we were, the boss had pissed himself with fear and his boys were crying. So these were the Essex boys, I thought. What a joke. But now I could hear sirens. I told my man to go out and get the car. His brother was now acting like Al Capone, bless him. I didn’t blame him. It was like something out of a film and he was loving every minute of this. Everybody was frozen, wanting me to leave before the law arrived. I backed away towards the door, still holding my guns on them as our car pulled up outside. On the way out I said, ‘I’m giving you one week – and only one week – to return my money. Yous aren’t gangsters. Yous are a load of cardboard cutouts. Proper men don’t have people over and they definitely don’t cry or piss themselves. You think I’d put my freedom on the line for scum like yous to take away what is mine? I’d die first. One week.’
    With that, I was gone. I don’t know what they told the coppers when they arrived. If they had any sense, which, to be honest, was asking a lot, they would have been out of there. When we got back home, Matt was