BlackSaint

EDDIE WALLIS - THE EARLY YEARS Edward Gerald Wallis was born in May 1964 in Canning Town, East London, to Daphne and Brian Wallis. His mother came from a working-class Jewish family with long-established roots in Stepney and Whitechapel, areas closely tied to the history of London’s East End Jewish community. His father, Brian, worked as a shipwright in the Royal Docks, a skilled tradesman involved in the construction and maintenance of merchant vessels. By the early seventies, the dockyards were winding down and work was hard to come by. Brian took whatever contracts he could get, sometimes away for weeks, and Daphne struggled on her own. She had what people quietly called her highs and lows, good days and black ones, but there was a word for it if you knew where to look. Brian never had much patience for it. He would disappear into the pub and leave her to get on with it. In 1974, she asked her older sister, Rita Crane, to take Eddie for a while. Just for a few weeks, she said. A bit of breathing room. It started like that. Bits and pieces, here and there. But the weeks stretched out, and before long, he just stayed. Rita and her husband Sidney took him in without fuss, raising him in a narrow terrace off Beckton Road, near The Frigate, a battered old pub with paint peeling off the brick, smoked glass in the windows, and a sign of a sailing ship that creaked when the wind came up. They had a daughter, Angela, a few years older than Eddie. The two of them were raised like brother and sister, even if their blood said cousin. Brian and Daphne made with AI Eddie had a hard time at school. He was small for his age, wore thick glasses, and always attracted the wrong sort of attention. Through both primary and secondary school, he was picked on, shoved about, laughed at, and left on his own more often than not. He got clumped in the corridors, had his bag nicked, his sarnies lobbed on the roof. But Eddie's never been stupid. He knew how to talk, knew how to watch. Had this way of sussing people out. Eddie started knocking about with a few of the older lads. Funny thing was, they liked him. He would do things for them and pass messages. Made them laugh too. Had this cheeky grin and a sharp tongue. By the time he was thirteen, Eddie was already slipping out of school life. He hung around near the shops, helped out older lads who should have moved on years ago, and always seemed to have a few extra quid in his pocket. Eddie wasn't just clever. He was useful. And in a place like Canning Town, being useful mattered more than any school report ever did. Rita thought Eddie was still going to school most days, and if he came in late or skipped dinner, she put it down to teenage moods. She had her hands full with the house, minding the neighbours, and keeping Sidney fed. As long as Eddie wasn't bringing trouble to her doorstep, she didn't ask too many questions. Sidney drank more than he should, always had music on in the front room, old records played loud enough to rattle the windows. Bit of the Stones, bit of Bowie, whatever took his mood. He would top up his glass and try to get Eddie to have a swig, with a nod and a wink like it was all just a bit of fun. Eddie liked Sidney. Sidney, Eddie and Rita in 1974 made with AI As he got older, Eddie spent more time on the streets than he did at home. Some nights he wouldn't come back at all, and when he did, it was with bloodshot eyes, the smell of chips and smoke on his clothes, and a crumpled tenner tucked in his sock. Rita had stopped asking questions. Sidney barely looked up from his chair. When the police started knocking at Rita’s door, that was it. She had turned a blind eye for long enough, but coppers on the step was a line she would not ignore. Eddie hadn't been nicked, not properly, but they had questions. A stolen bike, a broken arm, a name scribbled down too many times in the wrong places. Rita gave him one last chance to come clean. He just shrugged. Said nothing. Sidney kept quiet too, staring into his drink. A week later, Eddie packed a bag and walked out without a fuss. No shouting. No goodbye. Just slipped off like he had somewhere better to be. Eddie moved into a flat with a few of his older mates. They'd all packed in school early and were knocking about doing bits of labouring, cash jobs, the odd favour for people. The place was small, stank of greasy food, and the walls were so thin you could hear the street all night and the couple next door going at it like it was the last days of Rome. Most nights it kicked off after the late news and carried on till the milk float came round. The lads thought it was comedy gold. They would press cups to the wall, whispering and laughing. It sounded like someone was being murdered with affection. It was filthy, ridiculous, and somehow the highlight of most nights. If they weren't out kicking a flat ball down the alley, they were packed round a telly watching West Ham, screaming at every missed chance like it was personal. Weekends meant scuffed boots, muddy shirts, and arguments about who was best up front. Eddie looked up to Bobby Moore. It was the way he played. Calm, clean, never flustered. There was a lad called Dom Lawrence. Dom lived nearby, a couple of years older, and Eddie looked up to him as well. Everyone knew them. Him and his brother Ian. You kept out of their way. Dom and Ian in 1986 made with AI This was around the time Eddie started hearing the name Tony Small. Tony had his own crew, lads from over the river who dressed sharp and moved in packs. They were Millwall boys. Every time Tony’s name came up, Dom's face would change. He said Tony was trying to make himself known, poking around where he wasn't wanted. Dom didn't like anyone making noise on his ground, especially not some swaggering Millwall mug who thought crossing the river made him untouchable. Dom started keeping Eddie closer. “You're not just hanging about anymore,” he said one night. “Next time it goes off, I want you there.” The laughing and mucking about was done. This wasn't about match days or showing your face for the sake of it. This was about backing your own when it counted. And Dom had decided Eddie was in. He was part of it now. Properly in. He wore the colours, stood with the firm.

THE ORIGINS OF THE WCLM West Ham United's infamous hooligan collective, the Inter City Firm (ICF), first appeared in the late 1970s. A younger generation had started to emerge by the late 1980s, with one individual moving up the ranks swiftly. During this time, Eddie Wallis became well-known as a major figure on the terraces due to his calculated violence and keen instincts. What began as terrace warfare outside Upton Park would, within a decade, evolve into something far more organised: a transatlantic criminal enterprise known as the WCLM. The Inter City Firm built its fearsome reputation quickly, drawing members from older East End street crews like the Mile End Boys and the Essex East London Firm. They became known for their trademark calling cards, left behind after a clash, reading: "Congratulations, you have just met the ICF." It was not a joke. It was a message. Figures like Bill Gardner played a key role in shaping the firm’s identity, bringing structure and a sense of purpose to what many on the outside dismissed as mindless violence. Cass Pennant became one of the most respected names to emerge from that world after leading the firm through one of its most infamous clashes on rival ground, holding his position when others fell back and earning a reputation that followed him into every part of his life from that point on. Eddie Wallis stood out because he followed through and never held back. He has always had a big mouth, always quick to say what he was going to do. The difference was, he meant it. When he said something was going to happen, it did. People respected that. They might not have liked him, but they listened. By the early 1990s, the landscape around English football was shifting. The Thatcher government’s crackdown on hooliganism, combined with increased CCTV surveillance and stadium bans, made old-school terrace violence riskier and less rewarding. For men like Eddie Wallis, that only meant one thing. Evolution. He didn't just see the firm as a gang of football hard men. He saw it as a network. Loyal, discreet, and hardened by years of conflict. He stopped seeing the ICF as a football crew and started treating it like a business. The lads were already used to keeping quiet, watching each other’s backs, and handling problems fast. All Eddie did was give it structure. He started small. Protection jobs at pubs, fake gear outside matches, the odd debt job when someone needed a nudge. But his eyes were already abroad. Eddie knew a few faces out in Spain. They had left the streets behind and were deep into property. Bars, car rental fronts, small hotels tucked away on side roads near the coast. Eddie saw the kind of money they were making and he wanted in. Hackney was where Eddie laid his first real foundation. While others looked the other way, he saw potential in the empty shells and boarded-up terraces scattered around the borough. He moved quickly, picking them up at auction with bundles of cash and a nod from the right people. The properties became stepping stones. He branched into dodgy rental schemes, used shady contractors to inflate invoices, and ran laundered money through shell renovation firms that barely existed on paper. Before long, he had built a quiet empire. By 1997, Eddie was holding more than a dozen titles and had taken over The Frigate, a local pub from his childhood street. Within a year, he owned it. As Eddie’s portfolio grew, so did the whispers. He kept a low profile, but the pace of his rise was hard to ignore. Expensive motors parked outside rundown properties. Quiet meetings that ended with envelopes changing hands. Word on the street was that Eddie had powerful friends, and that much was true. One of them was Lirim Kodra, an Albanian fixer with a heavy presence in North London. They understood each other. Both came up hard, both knew when to keep quiet, and both had ambitions bigger than the streets they started on. Their partnership was built on convenience at first. Eddie brought property, muscle, and a name that still carried weight. Kodra brought access, protection, and reach. But Kodra played a different game. His operation stretched far beyond local business. He was knee deep in sex trafficking, moving women through safe houses and out the other side of the M25. That part Eddie did not like. He stayed clear of it and made it known he wanted no part of that side of things. Still, the link remained. Too many shared interests, too much money in play to walk away. Kodra had friends everywhere. He was tight with a Turkish crew based out of Southend on Sea, the same lot who quietly controlled much of the heroin trade across the UK. He also had long standing ties to the Balkan Cartel, especially the Serbians. The Serbians' operations had quietly expanded to Los Santos, using the city’s sprawl and chaos as cover for something bigger. Eddie saw it for what it was: a wide open playing field with fewer eyes and bigger rewards. He began working closely with the Serbian end of Kodra’s network, sitting in on meetings with their contacts, asking questions, learning the rhythm of how they moved product and laundered money across state lines. Eddie had never looked beyond London for long. The city was home, the streets familiar, the rules understood. But watching the Serbians move through Los Santos changed something. There was scale out there. Movement, freedom, space to grow without every step being watched. The money was bigger, the risk different. It was not about dodging local detectives anymore. It was about staying ahead of federal agencies. That kind of game appealed to Eddie. He started thinking about what a move would look like. Who he would need. What he would bring. All the tools he had sharpened in London could be rebuilt in Los Santos. Eddie didn't go alone, but he didn't take everyone. Len Bartland, his number two, stayed behind to keep things steady in London. Len Bartland had been with Eddie since the early days, back when they were just faces on the terraces at Upton Park. The ICF was in full swing then. Fights outside stations, quick ambushes near away ends, and long walks back covered in blood and pride. Len was never the clever one. He was slow to catch things, never much good with numbers or plans. But he showed up. Every time. When it kicked off, Len was the one you wanted next to you. He didn't think too much, but he never flinched. Eddie trusted that more than anything. Over time, Len became part of the structure. While Eddie moved up and made calls, Len held the line. So when it came time to look beyond London, Eddie left him in charge. Not because Len was sharp, but because he was solid. And sometimes solid is all you need. For the trip, Eddie took Roy Brown, his driver. Roy was more than a man behind the wheel. He had driven Eddie through stakeouts, police pressure, and the kind of meetings where you kept the engine running just in case. Roy knew when to talk and when to shut up. The only issue was the narcolepsy. Roy could fall asleep anywhere, even at the wheel. A couple others moved between London and America on a regular loop. Al Facey, Ian Lawrence, Robbie Hope and Valerie Booth. Al Facey was born in Brixton to Jamaican parents and got pulled into the streets early. By the time he was a teenager, he was moving with The Untouchables, one of the Yardie crews that held ground in Brixton in the eighties. Ian Lawrence is the older brother of Dom Lawrence, one of the most well known names to come out of the ICF. Dominic died in 1991. Ian's a man of few words. He worked the doors at a nightclub in Soho, where Eddie first met him. Robbie Hope is a Scot with a busted nose, a broken laugh, and no real interest in football. He just loved fighting. That was it. Eddie first clocked Robbie during a scrap outside a pub in Whitechapel, where he bit the lad's ear off. That was the kind of madness Eddie could use. Eddie and the "Cockney Queen" Valerie Booth have always had a thing. He met her after his one week and two days marriage came to an end. The first and only time Eddie's said he'll get married. Eddie's empire now stretches across the Atlantic. He’s no longer just a name shouted in chants or feared in pub brawls.

FACES OF THE UNDERWORLD Roy "Pretty Boy" Shaw Mickey "The Pimpernel" Green Jack "Jack the Hat" McVitie George Cornell Billy Hill Freddie "Brown Bread Fred" Foreman Charlie Richardson "Mad" Frankie Fraser Jack "Spot" Comer The Kray Twins

A quote from somebody who used to know Eddie in London: “The most common mistake people make is they underestimate him. He looks a bit of a nerd. But when he kicks off, it’s surgical”.

To join, find us in game, join our Discord server, or give me a message (BlackSaint). Link to the Discord server: https://discord.gg/77QHFsaDdC

ENGLISHMAN IN LOS SANTOS

Hold on. Let me think about it. Erm... no. Cheers x

Post coming tomorrow.

Send me a DM or find us in game.

The West Coast London Mob are a British faction based in LS.

ONES TO WATCH If you want to join the faction, or if you'd like to learn more about the kind of faction the WCLM is, watch these: Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels Green Street Football Factory The Firm Snatch Sexy Beast The Krays RocknRolla The Guvnors Rise of the Footsoldier The Business Layer Cake The Good Long Friday Mean Machine London Boulevard Legend Once Upon a Time in London Wild Bill

WEST COAST LONDON MOB THE ICF DAYS During the late 1980s-90s, Edward Gerald "Eddie" Wallis, leader of the West Coast London Mob (WCLM) in LS, was heavily involved in the Inter City Firm (ICF), a notorious East London football hooligan gang known for its violent clashes and organised street-level operations. His reputation for brutality and strategic thinking earned him both fear and loyalty. Few names carried the same weight as Eddie Wallis or "that Buddy Holly looking cunt". Eddie’s rise didn’t go unchallenged. On the south side of the Thames was Tony Small of the Bushwackers. Tony Small was anything but. Standing just under six feet but built like a brick shithouse, he was thick through the neck, shoulders, and had tits and a gut. Eddie and Tony's boys met in train stations, back alleys, outside pubs, anywhere far enough from the police but close enough for blood to stain the pavement. Bottles, boots, bricks, and blades came out as soon as the shouting started. Teeth were knocked out, ribs cracked, skulls split open. A well-placed knuckleduster could change someone’s face forever. To outsiders, it was madness. To them, it was Saturday. Ambushes were common. One crew would tip off a train route, wait in numbers, and turn platforms into battlegrounds. There were codewords, spotters, and getaways planned in advance. Sometimes the police showed up, sometimes they didn’t. Either way, someone always limped home. And at the heart of it always was that bitter personal rivalry: Eddie Wallis versus Tony Small. Eddie Wallis in the ICF made with AI FROM HOOLIGAN TO HUSTLER By the mid-90s, the scraps in pub car parks and train station brawls were behind Eddie Wallis. With Tony Small locked up for attempted murder, the old rivalry was put on ice. For Eddie, it was the perfect opening. No more looking over his shoulder. No more random scraps pulling focus. He had space to think, to build. So, that's exactly what he did. What started as a firm became a network, and Eddie was no longer just a face in the East End. He was churning out a lot of money in the bricks and mortar game. Real Estate. Housing. It wasn't glamourous but it was solid. And it was the perfect front. He started in Hackney with a few run down terraces, places no one else wanted. He bought them cheap through auction, cash in hand, no questions asked. His crew handled the refurbs. Half of them were legit builders, the others were blokes who owned him favours. He quickly expanded to HMOs, rent-to-rent scams and laundered cash through dodgy renovation firms and over-inflated invoices. By 1997, Eddie had over a dozen properties in his name. He then invested in a pub called The Frigate down the road from his auntie's house where he grew up. Within the year he'd bought it outright. TURN OF THE CENTURY In 1999, just before the millennium, Eddie got on a flight to visit his transatlantic cousins in LS. He scoped it out and came back again in a few days. He'd linked up with an Albanian crew the year before, who had connections into Europe. They moved coke and skunk and were using some of Eddie's lockups in Leytonstone to stash it. They had some Eastern European friends. The Eastern Europeans were flooding the market with converted pistols, MAC-10s, and shotguns brought in through the docks or in the back of lorries. They were vocal about their business interests in Los Santos and wanted Eddie and his boys in on it. The news started calling Eddie's lot a fancy name a “cross-border criminal syndicate.” Before leaving rainy England for sunny LS again, Eddie did a bit of organising. His properties he owned went to his most trusted associates, and he put a crew together who'd come to LS with him. Twenty-six years on, Eddie’s bollock-deep in San Andreas' criminal underworld, a familiar face in all the wrong corners of The Golden State. He goes between London and Los Santos every other week, to make sure everything's running smoothly both sides of the pond. He's got his four eye's set on big things. Clubs, pubs, bookies and apartment complexes. Eddie's calling it the Second British Invasion. Eddie Wallis in 2025 made with AI TO JOIN To join, find us in game, join our Discord server, or give me a message (BlackSaint). Link to the Discord server: https://discord.gg/77QHFsaDdC OOC INFO Most members of the WCLM are English, but your characters can be from the rest of the UK (Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales). If your character isn't British you can still roleplay in the faction, but you won't be considered an official member. I've been roleplaying Eddie for five years. This is the first time I've brought the faction to the forums.

Great stuff!

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