Four Letters, Two Histories

📅 March 19, 2026

If you’ve ever visited London, chances are you’ve seen — or perhaps even stepped inside — the Berkeley Hotel. Today it’s one of the city’s most notable landmarks. But only a few decades ago, something very different stood there: a place called Esmeralda’s Barn – which would become a rather central part of this story.

You might also have come across the word, Rachmanism, which basically means the exploitation, intimidation, and harassment of tenants. Rachmanism was named after Peter Rachman, the landlord whose reputation gave rise to the term. He also happened to be the man who, whilst in prison, sold this Esmeralda’s Barn to the Krays.

But who were the Krays? And what in hell does The Firm have to do with any of this?

                                      ________

We all remember Nas’ It Was Written; songs like Street Dreams, The Message, I Gave You Power and, of course, Affirmative Action. Many still remember Foxy Brown’s verse — all sass and street math — before capping it with that memorable sign off: “The Firm, baby. Vol. 1, uh!”

The Firm was yet another Hip Hop supergroup. Unlike The Commission and Murder, Inc that never moved past a thought, some hope, and shitload of hype, this one actually came together. Assembled in ‘96 by Dr. Dre and Nas, it featured the same lineup heard on Affirmative Action, who also released an album called The Album. Before eventually disbanding two years later.

Not much is known about The Album. Critics pan it, Hip-Hop heads dismiss it, sales figures seem to agree with the sentiment. I have listened to a few tracks myself. The output wasn’t quite as poor as its reputation, though it fell well short of what such a lineup could have offered. And, of course, the themes were very much in line with the spirit of 1990s hip-hop: the Mafia, C.R.E.A.M.–style money talk, drugs, and violence. In that sense, the subject matter was hardly surprising, especially given the origins of the group’s name.

                                      ______

In ’52, 18-year-old twins Ronnie and Reggie Kray from London’s East End reported for military service. These were troubled, troublesome young men who had taken up boxing to blow off some steam but had ironically become significantly violent instead. They had been born poor, were still poor and had a father who was more a drunk than a dad. The only thing they had was their mother and, of course, themselves.

An officer awaited them. 

No, they didn’t want to do no shit military service. All they had come for was show up and disappear. But, sure, there’s an idiot every minute, and this idiot just so happened to come in the form of a corporal bold enough to think a funny hat, a uniform and a fucking order was enough to stop them.

Now, Ronnie had always been a violent dimwit. This quickly came into play. He punched the corporal’s jaw so hard it literally dropped, after which they stepped over him and headed home. They were arrested shortly after and thrown in jail, but even this hardly softened them. They simply became worse off. From jail to a whole ‘nother round of trouble, these boys who were later declared unfit for the army and dishonorably discharged concluded that, perhaps, it was time to embrace the criminality fate had destined them for. And they did, starting with protection rackets. 

Ronnie had always been a dimwit. I’ve said this, and I can’t say this enough. The evidence hardly disagrees. His profound nitwittery had him eventually arrested and thrown in prison – which, oddly enough, turned out to be a great thing. Because it was there that he met our very good friend Peter Rachman. Ronnie soon found a way to put his natural talent for violence to profitable use, extorting the man so relentlessly that, in order to stop the bleeding, Rachman eventually sold him his nightclub: Esmeralda’s Barn.

It was an incredible stroke of good luck – and good fortune. Wasn’t it these boys who had been the grimiest dirtbags from East End? Now, here they were, owning one of the most influential nightclubs right on the West End, the very hub of cultural, social, and fashion revolutions that redefined Britain.

Boy, o boy! Was such a fucking good time to be alive!

                                   ______

We all know Al Capone and his excesses – his 135 suits, his $8,000 diamond belt buckles, his silk underwear, his 7-ton armored Cadillac Limousine, his $100-million-a-year revenue, his extremely brutal reign to keep reining in the lucre and to keep his enemies at bay, and his carefully cultivated Robin Hood image of giving to the poor. We also know his criminal organization, which was simply referred to as The Outfit, which must have been why the Kray twins (with their worship and similarities with the man) decided to call theirs The Firm.

The Firm was, indeed, run like a firm. Directors (the Krays) with their tailored suits. Brand publicity in the form of photos taken by celebrity photographers. Mixing and fraternizing with members of parliaments, with folks like Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr. and Judy Garland. Charity. Partnering with other gangsters, most notably The Commission over in America. And, of course, diversifying their criminal enterprise.

It was said that they were gay. No one said shit about that, though. In essence, no one could dare.

But some people are honey badgers, you know: they just don’t give a shit. George Cornell of the rival Richardson Gang was one of those people. He’d called Ronnie a very derogatory term for a gay man – fat poof – to his face.

Everyone knew Ronnie was gay. He openly flaunted men at a time when that was a crime. But letting him know the obvious was disrespect. Ronnie didn’t let that go.

Barely three months after that incident while drinking at a local pub, he learnt that George was drinking at another close by. To add more context to the happenings about to take place, an associate of The Firm had been killed in a crossfire between them and the Richardson Gang just a night before.

Here’s what Ronnie did: he got into the car, drove over to the pub, pistol in hand, went straight to George, planted the pistol to his head and popped! In full view of the public.

For close to ten years, the Krays had ruled unhindered, deftly ducking cases, probes and investigations from the police for lack of evidence. Now, this had happened, and quite brazenly at that. Their end was about to begin.

I fucking told you Ronnie was a dimwit, didn’t I?

                                    _______

George Cornell’s murder might have rocked the Kray empire, but McVitie’s was the tempest that blew it asunder.

See, McVitie was this low-level guy people nicknamed The Hat (because of the trilby he always wore to hide his bald head). Being a hot-headed drunk prone to fatherless behavior, he was often unreliable, a trait which would eventually lead to his death. The Krays had given him a contract to eliminate an ex financial adviser. McVitie being McVitie forgot all about that shit, and Ronnie being Ronnie told Reggie, Ya know ya gotta kill that guy, yeah? 

Reggie had just lost his wife, Frances, to suicide. She was the woman he loved most, and for a while, loving her had made him a slightly gentler man.

Well, McVitie was invited under the pretext of a house party. While they were talking, Reggie suddenly snapped, pulled out a pistol and fired. Twice, he pulled the trigger, twice it failed to discharge. If a pistol didn’t kill him, a carving knife would, so he pulled out one and stabbed McVitie’s face and neck till the man died. Again, in full view of everyone present. McVitie might have been an idiot all of his short life, but there were many people within that organization who were convinced that he did not deserve to die.

If it could happen to McVitie, it could happen to them, too. The empire was falling. Better to talk to law enforcement now and get a deal than be below the rubble when it fell. One by one, they began to talk to law enforcement, evidence was gathered, and the Kray Twins' trial began.

In March of 1969, it was all but done and both were sentenced to life imprisonment.

Ronnie, after some years, died in a hospital after his schizophrenia got irreparably worse. Reggie got parole 30-some years later and died some six weeks after prolonged bladder cancer.

I’m going to tell you something I’ve only ever told two people… something I’ve carried around with me, Reggie confessed to a cellmate. Frances didn’t commit suicide. Ronnie killed her. He told me two days later.

                                ___________

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