Chopper Unchopped (107 page)

‘Geoff’ she said, ‘Your name’s Geoff Twane.’

She still her hand on my dick, so who was I to argue? I knew Geoff Twane. He was still in Pentridge, due out in about three months. And sure enough, he’d done about six and a half years for gunning down two arseholes outside the South Melbourne police station, just like the lady said. A simple case of mistaken identity, but who was I to go correcting people when they were acting so nice?

I smiled and said, ‘Oh yeah, Kerry. How ya going?’

She grabbed me by the hand and said ‘come with me.’

I followed along. I looked over my shoulder and saw Carolyn going in behind the red velvet curtain with a little Japanese bloke. Kerry took me behind another curtain at the end of another dark hallway and into a dressing room shared by several girls. In the dressing room and out of the strobe light she looked much nicer. She was tall, well-stacked, about 30 years old, with big eyes and a big mouth that was usually smiling. Not such a knob monster after all.

She was determined that she knew me. ‘God, it’s good to see ya, mate,’ she said, as if we were lifelong friends. ‘When did ya get out?’

I told her. Suddenly she lost her hard, knowing look and took on a happy, little-girl face. More proof that I didn’t know much about what made women tick. Her whole personality and attitude had changed from one moment to the next: from a tough tart who’d seen more pricks than a dart board, to a virgin who looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Bloody women. Don’t understand them, love ’em all.

She was talking about her brother again, the one I was supposed to have saved. ‘Garry’s doing four years up in Long Bay in Sydney,’ she said. ‘Shit Geoff, it’s great to see ya again.’

‘I guess ya broke’ she added, matter-of-factly.

‘No, I’m okay Kerry. I got about a grand on me.’

She laughed. ‘I pull that much in a night.’ Then she tossed me a roll of hundred dollar bills that would choke Linda Lovelace. ‘Here, stick that in ya kick.’

It was a beautiful gesture. I was starting to be very grateful to this Geoff Twane character.

Next question from Kerry: ‘Are ya here on ya own?’

I told her I was waiting for Carolyn.

She went a bit chilly. ‘What are ya doing with her, mate? Jesus freaking Christ, Geoff. How did ya fall in with her?’

I said, ‘What’s wrong with Carolyn?’

‘Shit mate, she’s been trying to doodle shake half the gangsters who walk into this place into shooting her boyfriend for the last six months.’

‘Oh yeah,’ I said. ‘She said nothing to me about it.’

‘Yeah,’ said Kerry, ignoring my attempt to defend Carolyn. ‘Eros Pantanas. They call him “Rocky”. Some two bob nothing from Footscray who thinks he’s a big deal.’

I tried again. ‘Yeah well,’ I said, ‘she hasn’t said nothin’ to me about no boyfriend.’

Kerry shook her head, then changed the subject.

‘Ya got a gun, babe?’

This I understood. I let her see the .22.

‘Shit, shit, shit, Geoff. You’ll need a bigger one than that.’

She laughed and rummaged through her handbag, and pulled out an old .38 calibre automatic handgun.

‘Here ya go babe, take mine.’

She tossed it to me. I caught it and pulled the clip out. Six bullets in it.

‘That’s all the ammo I got, mate,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

I shrugged and grinned. ‘That’s okay, Kerry.’

Shit, a roll of notes that would choke a horse and a handgun. What I call a top home-coming present. But there was more to come. Kerry was looking at me with a sly little smile. ‘Hang on, I ain’t done yet,’ she said. She took a step toward me and undid the zip on my pants. I pushed her back gently.

‘Nah, darling’ I said. ‘I’m sort of with Carolyn.’

Kerry just gave me a knowing smile and said: ‘Yeah well, if you don’t tell her I won’t.’

I tried to resist but she just dropped to her knees and I sort of went like jelly from the knee caps up. This big happy-faced chick could suck like a poddy calf. All the blood started to rush out of my brain and before I knew it I got hit in the groin with a thousand volts of electricity. I thought I was gonna pass out. I had to grab hold of her head to stop from falling over. All thoughts of Carolyn vanished.

When I regained my composure and Kerry had got back on her feet, she poured us both a glass of scotch. I sculled mine down.

‘Listen Geoff, you watch that little witch. She only loves one man, and he’s in a wheelchair. Sick bitch if ya ask me.’

‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

Kerry looked at me and said, ‘Her old man. Lives in Richmond.’

‘What do you mean, her old man?’

Kerry got impatient.

‘Jesus, Geoff. Her dad, her father. Kiwi Kenny Woods. Some gunnie from Collingwood put him and two other would-be gangsters in their place about six years ago. Big shoot out. I can’t remember the gunnie’s name. I met him once about six or seven years ago in Collingwood, but can’t place him now. Shit, what was his name? You know him, Geoff. God, you introduced us.’

This was getting really interesting. Good thing Kerry’s memory had totally gone, I thought to myself. Because it was me who had shot Kiwi Kenny and his two mates six years before, six and a half to be exact. And it was the real Geoff Twane who had introduced me to her somewhere, although to be fair I couldn’t remember much about it either. It was only a matter of time before this big, good natured girl twigged, and remembered everything in the right order. What would happen then?

She could have her money and her gun back, but how do you return a head job?

Saying I was sorry wouldn’t be enough. God, she’d have to sit on my face for a week to repay the good turn she’d just done me, but I wasn’t gonna tell her that, so I’d just play along.

Geoff Twane was a tough old gunnie and a good friend. He also had a sense of humour and I doubted very much that he’d get too angry over this little bit of comedy. This Kerry chick was a real dinky di Aussie classic. Tough as an old boot and soft as a kitten. Rough talking and no nonsense – but straight and honest, a real true blue. I liked her. There was no evil or treachery in her. She was built like a brick shithouse and could head job an elephant to death. She had the look of a girl who’d cut your face open with a broken bottle if you crossed her. And the fact she could afford to toss me a loaded handgun without a second thought meant she was not without connections.

I liked this chick, and I knew she’d make a good friend. There was only one problem. I decided to tackle it head on.

‘Listen Kerry,’ I plunged. ‘Don’t tell Carolyn my name is Geoff Twane. Okay?’

She gave me a knowing look and said, ‘Yeah, good. Wise idea. Don’t tell her ya right name. Good thinking, Geoff.’

We both went back into the club and as soon as the strobe lights hit Kerry’s face she took on that Las Vegas showgirl slut look. She walked away swinging her arse. Carolyn was dancing over in the corner in front of a group of uniformed policemen. Shit, that was enough for me. I was going home. I had a lot to think about. Carolyn was Kiwi Kenny’s daughter. Big question: did she know who I was? Did she know it was me who’d put her dear old dad in the wheelchair? And what would happen when Kerry Griffin realised I wasn’t Geoff Twane? It was bedtime for me. I had to get out of the joint, go home to think this stuff over.

Carolyn Woods, so that’s who she was. But I still couldn’t help the insane thing I had about her. She was my little paper doll, my fantasy butterfly.

Kerry Griffin would make a more staunch friend, but Carolyn was my prison fantasy, a dream come true. If no-one told her that it was me who shot her dad, there wasn’t any problem at all. That’s what I told myself as I drifted off to sleep, anyway.

I SLEPT till about 1.30 Monday afternoon. But when I woke up it was still on my mind. As soon as I stepped out of the cot checked the phone book for Kenny Woods’ number and address in Richmond. Once I’d found that, I showered, had a Dad and Dave, got dressed and put my .22 revolver and the .38 calibre automatic Kerry had given me in my pockets.

I checked the fat roll of notes the big blonde had tossed my way, then counted it. There was $3200 in the roll. Jesus, I thought, how much dough are these tease queens pulling in a week? It put my income to shame, and I risked doing jail – or my life – every time I did a job of work in my line of business. I couldn’t believe my lucky break meeting Kerry … a handgun, a head job and 3200 bucks and ‘see ya later honey.’

She was either mad or the best-hearted chick I’d ever met. I’d have to see her again, but first I’d pop down to Coppin Street in Richmond and check out the man in the wheelchair. What was Carolyn playing at? I’d be a fool to ignore too many warnings. I made my way to the address and stood out the front across the road.

There was a black 1969 Chev Corvette parked outside. I knew Rocky Pantanas drove a black ’69 Corvette. I stood outside at a discreet distance for about an hour. Carolyn and Rocky came out with a bloke in a wheelchair. Carolyn kissed the old bloke in the chair and then Rocky bent down and kissed his cheek, too. Then Rocky and Carolyn got in the car and drove away. They looked pretty lovey dovey to me. My guts tightened up. Maybe Carolyn was just playing a girl’s game, pretending to love Rocky the wog but she loved her dad. But if she hated Rocky why take him to her dad’s place?

The old guy in the wheelchair rolled himself back inside. I stood there trying to figure all this shit out. I recognised him, all right. I’d shot him in the guts six and a half years before, the .45 calibre automatic sent a slug right through him and smashed his spine on the way out. Kiwi Kenny was – or had been – a tough hood from New Zealand, a rugby player, boxer, sports hero turned street fighter, gunman and criminal.

He was trying the wrong people on for size and I got paid to fix it. Big deal, but was this all a set up? Did Kiwi Kenny set Carolyn on to me on purpose as a set up? Or was it all just a coincidence? Just one of those freaky happenings that catches up with us all once in a while? You could get killed not knowing the right answer to questions like that. All I could do was play along with it and see where this insane game took me. Was Wazza Warren in on it? He was a mate but so what, the graveyards are full of men put there by their bloody mates.

Friendship in the criminal world was like an empty gun – meaning it is always the empty gun that can kill you. Nothing was for sure; everything had to be treated as fully loaded and aimed in your direction.

I had to think about all of this. One thing was for sure: if this was a set up, Kiwi Kenny was a dead man, along with Two Bob Rocky. I’d kill em both. But what of Carolyn, my sweet, beautiful baby doll. All I felt for her was love. She was inside my blood and guts. I’d never been hit so hard by something so soft.

I walked to a phone box and checked the phone book again. Griffin, Griffin, Griffin, K.B. Griffin, K.A. Griffin. Ah yeah, plain as bloody day: Kerry Griffin, Malvern Road, South Yarra. Shit, the bloody Prahran Commission flats. I got the phone number and rang it, a sleepy female voice answered.

‘How ya going, princess?’ I said.

‘Who is it?’ was the reply.

‘It’s me, Geoff’ I said.

Kerry seemed to come awake in a flash.

‘Oh yeah baby, great. Who gave ya my number?’ she asked. Why do people ask that stupid question when they’re listed in the telephone book, I wondered.

‘I got it outta the phone book,’ I said brightly.

‘Great, great’ said Kerry. ‘Ya got the address?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘259 Malvern Road, which I know is the commission flats, but I don’t have the flat number. It just says 259 in the book.’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘They buggered it up. It should have my flat number as well, but they mucked it up.’

I thought to myself that she was a very open and trusting girl to have her name, full address and phone number openly on display in the phone book.

But I kept my thoughts to myself. Next thing, Kerry was inviting me over. ‘C’mon over Geoff, I’m in bed. Ya woke me up. I’ll have a tub while ya getting over here.’

I said ‘okay’ and hung up. I laughed a bit to myself at her expression for a wash, bath or shower. Tub – it was a classy prison slang expression to ‘have a tub’. Ha ha.

She was a real knockabout Aussie girl, our Kerry. Bit of a hard case and funny with it. And suck the chrome of an exhaust pipe. I hailed a taxi and went on over to Malvern Road. Kerry lived on the fourth floor. The bloody lifts were out of order, so I took the stairs. I found her flat and knocked. She took about a minute to answer; she was wet and wrapped in a white towelling bathrobe. Her bleached blonde hair hung down her back, all wet. She started to wrap her hair and head in a white towel. Moments after opening the door she was wearing white high-heeled ladies’ slippers with little bits of fluffy stuff on the toes. Very cute.

The flat was full of clutter and the walls were covered with photographs in frames. Hundreds of photos over every wall. The place was warm and cosy, with a black velvet lounge suite with white lamb’s wool rugs hanging over it.

The floor had black carpet all over it with red and white lamb’s wool rugs scattered around. She had a giant colour TV set and video recorder and a huge stereo unit with big speakers. There was a bar in the corner of the lounge near the kitchen.

She invited me to sit down but I started looking at the photos. There was photos of Kerry with famous boxers, footy players, TV personalities – and three photos of her with almost nothing on, in what appeared to be some sort of nightclub, with a former Prime Minister. She was sitting on his knee. There was another picture of her with a union boss who had since been murdered. And one of her with one of the most famous Collingwood football players of all time. There were photos of her with rock singers, rock bands, basketball players, jockeys and race horses. The whole thing was fascinating. I recognised dozens and dozens of criminal identities, dead and still living. From policemen to politicians, she knew everyone.

Then my eye fell on a photo taken in a nightclub of three men. It was an old photo, about six, seven or eight years old. I recognised Geoff Twane and I recognised myself and the other guy was a mystery. We all looked as drunk as skunks. Kerry saw me looking at it, and walked over. Was this the moment of truth?