Chopper Unchopped (18 page)

I’VE made money with a gun in my hand a lot of different ways. But the strangest of all was when I was invited to a Vietnamese pool hall in Footscray to play that stupid ‘Deer Hunter’ game.

The Vietnamese love to play games and gamble, and they love blood — especially somebody else’s. So no wonder they like this game: they can bet on whether someone is going to blow his brains out or not, right there in front of them.

Some white fellas were challenged to play by the Asians. The whites didn’t have the guts to do it, as you have to be totally mad or have a death wish, but I had a go.

The thing is, you can bring your own handgun if you want — and I brought my Ruger Black Hawk single action .44 magnum.

The rules are straightforward. You might even say, fiendishly simple.

The gun is test fired into a stack of phone books, then a fresh bullet is put on the table.

The player picks up the weapon for all to see, pops the cylinder out, puts the bullet in and spins it, puts it to his head, pulls the hammer back … and pulls the trigger.

I’d do it. Click. Nothing. I would then remove the slug from the gun and hand them both to the rice-eater I was playing.

However, I made sure I had a little advantage nobody else knew about. I knew my gun was perfectly balanced, so that if I put a slug in at the top and spun it the right way and snapped the cylinder back, it would snap back with the slug at the bottom. Well, 19 times out of 20, anyway, which is good enough odds for me.

I practised with my gun so that I had the odds on my side. Hours I spent spinning the cylinder, until I worked out that I had the safety edge of about 20 to one. I had faith in my gun, and believed the odds were on my side.

My opponent, who didn’t have that edge, was working at six to one.

I may be mad, but I’m not a total fool.

After each spin the bets on the table would go up. The other fellow goes through the same process before firing. What he didn’t know was where to place the slug or how to spin the cylinder for safety, so he was playing the game for real, unlike my good self.

I played the game several times and no-one died and no-one ever went more than three spins against me. The other fellow would always bail out. The winner would walk away with a good earn for his efforts.

I used to put on a real show. I would always take off my shirt and, as I’m covered in tattoos and scars, they would love it. They would see this bloke with tattoos, razor slash marks all over his chest, back and shoulders, short hair and no ears, and think it was marvellous. They would chatter like excited monkeys. And I would always carry a second gun, a fully loaded .38 automatic in the front of my pants, down my belt. They loved it.

Then, when I put the gun to my head I would take out my teeth and give my Asian opponent a big, crazy smile and pull the trigger.

This is very off-putting. No-one wants to play Russian Roulette with a madman.

There is no greater excitement and gut-wrenching thrill than to put the gun to your head, pull the trigger and live through it, to have cheated death.

I would sometimes play on my own and I would always play one round by myself before I went to the game. It made me feel immortal. I know it was unhealthy, but it gave me a thrill to tease death.

What some of the little monkeys didn’t realise was that if things had gone wrong for my opponent a lot of the onlookers would have gone too.

Most of the Asian players kept the gun horizontal when they stuck my magnum against their heads. All the other Viets would crowd around him, ten or 11 deep.

If the gun had gone off the bullet would have passed through my opponent’s head and six or seven other skulls before it slowed down. The Viets didn’t really understand the power of a .44 magnum. I was about a foot taller, if I had blown my head off the bullet would not have hit anyone else.

To do well in the game you had to be willing to die; you had to ‘will’ yourself into a state of mind where you were prepared to die. If you play just to make money or to prove how much guts you have, you will lose in the end. You have to be mentally prepared for death before you even walk into the game.

Guts has nothing to do with it; you would will yourself almost into a suicidal state.

The Asians are cool players because they have a different view of death, but in the end they are working on guts, a sense of luck and personal honour. That’s why none of them would go more than three turns against me.

The bets were increased after each round. I was promised some money for playing the game. I would win $4000 to $6000 when I went there. Once I made $8000.

It was easy money, in one way. But a handful of games was enough for me. I just didn’t trust the shifty bastards.

It is hard to try and explain in a sane manner what is an insane game. Most of the rice-eaters went to the game to bet, but the real reason they wanted to be there was to see one of the players blow his brains out.

I often wonder what they would have done if someone had blown their head off … bury the body, or eat it.

The Asians’ fascination with Russian Roulette shows how bloodthirsty they are. Which is one reason why I have every reason to believe the balance of criminal power in Australia will tilt towards Asian gangs in the next ten years. These little fellows have already built themselves a sort of rice-eater intelligence network from Richmond, Springvale and Footscray, right through to Cabramatta in NSW and Fortitude Valley in Queensland.

The head boys of those crews all know each other at an interstate level. They have the contacts. They may be modest now but they will grow in time. Back in Vietnam they all stuck together and they are doing the same thing here. They have different dialects and they even have a Vietnamese slang to throw off any outsiders. Some of the top crews have a sort of Masonic style symbolism, with ceremonies, code words and secret handshakes.

They all take themselves very seriously. Some of the more powerful teams outside jail have agreed to join forces against common enemies or outside threats. Outside crews look after their members inside, who in turn create a sub-branch in jail. Their ability to find smack is frightening. And as we all know, with that comes power. They also have the brains to know who to approach — namely, my good self, which shows they have scant regard for popularity.

They are concerned only with building a power base. I would say that we will see three of these teams grow to some stature within the criminal world in the areas of drugs, prostitution and gambling.

The Asians’ taste for blood is a tad greater than those who control the areas at the moment … killing the family of an enemy is part of the Asian criminal culture. That’s one reason why I would say the little chaps will climb right to the top of the criminal ladder.

At the moment we are seeing violence among their own ranks, and from this several groups will emerge. Then they will reach agreement and from there they will build. At the moment they are looked down upon and laughed at with their childish English and so forth, but that will change. The mainstream criminal world inside and outside jail see them as no possible threat at all. However, I am the exception, hence my extending the hand of friendship to them this early.

The Italians changed the face of the criminal world in Australia in the 1960s with the mafia and the ‘black hand’ murders in the Melbourne markets. I’ll give the rice-eaters until the year 2000. By then, mainstream criminals, including the Italians, who have not come to some form of friendly agreement or understanding with these evil little men will have to make their own arrangements, with one eye in the back of their heads.

The Asians are also classic standover merchants. I’ve stood over clubs, even legal nightclubs in King Street. It is an artform which is not easily learned, but these buggers are masters at it. It is the backbone to their thinking.

Watch them with an eagle eye, and see if I’m wrong. Everyone in the criminal world knows that if they want drugs and they don’t want to risk their necks importing their own smack then they have to deal with certain Chinese groups in Melbourne and NSW.

The Vietnamese are not fools and they know more about smack than even the Chinese do. I doubt whether they will ever control everything, but as we are going down the same road as America it’s worth noting that the Vietnamese in America have gained wealth and power with frightening speed. I suspect it will happen here with the same speed.

Although I am leaving the criminal world I have made some friends within the Asian criminal scene. I see no harm in this. He might need my help today, I might need his help tomorrow, and in this world survival is the only rule. The one who wins the game is the one who lives the longest. It is a madhouse in prison — and twice as bad outside.

But some of these rice-eaters won’t have it all their own way. We have all heard that the ‘Jap mafia’, the Yakuza, is moving into Australia. Well, let me tell you that there are about 14 headhunters scattered around Australia who will have a big say in it.

These men are the real blood merchants of the underworld. I will not name them and they know that. I will tell you that their latest topic of conversation is about these rice-eating chaps. The headhunters are getting bored with continually squeezing the wogs for their money and are looking for a new challenge. They all want that storybook blood war and that is with the Japs.

The Jap crims are the subject of some interesting chat. One fellow I know, a top crim, has told me personally that the first Jap he sees with tattoos or a missing finger, he will cut his head off and put it in a pickle jar.

I mean, it is bad enough the way it is without a bunch of Jap mafia rice-eaters swaggering around our beaches and golf courses, flashing their tattoos and picking their noses with their missing fingers. Those blokes will be perverting the morals of nice Aussie girls with their money. Laugh at me, scoff if you like, I know it sounds insane, but mark my words: if the Jap mafia pop their heads up, if they can be pointed out they will go on the missing list, just for the sheer fun of it.

Where is the logic, you ask? That is why the headhunter and blood merchants can’t be beaten. There is no logic. You ask why. I say, ‘Why not?’ The headhunters and blood merchants, though few in number, could be seen as a criminal version of pest control. Criminally speaking we’ll put up with the wogs, and tolerate the Vietnamese — but we are not going to cop the bloody Japs, let me tell you.

THERE is a secret tactic often used in the criminal world which says it all about the betrayal and hypocrisy which is part of the underworld. It is called the Lemon Twist, and nobody in the straight world knows how it works. A drug gang wishes to maintain its standing in the eyes of the criminal world, yet remain out of jail. They pick a known police informer, some physically weak wimp who is easily frightened. They call him in and explain to him that he now works for them — after a nice little beating, of course.

They then find out from him which police he is working for. They provide him with a weekly sling of money and supply him with a regular line of drugs. He is happy under the protection of the gang. He is given good information on the drug dealings of other gangs and crews. Every bit of information the informer gives to the police is handed to him by his controlling crew. All the information is geared to help the police catch members of other gangs and upset their drug and gambling businesses.

The Carlton Crew have at least four Lemon Twists working for them. It is a closely-guarded but widely-practised trick used by major crews in Melbourne and Sydney. The gangs can control the flow of information and can kill the ‘Lemon’, or informer, at will. The Carlton Crew have been doing it for about ten years and that is why they have kept out of jail. Some of the old dockies were doing it back in the 1960s. They controlled their own informers and the flow of information.

There are some drug and gambling crews who will never come to jail because of the Lemon Twist. The information given to the police from the Lemon Twist is top notch, so they have to act on it.

There will be a lot of top notch crews who will be furious that I have tipped a bucket on this old but secret trick, but it is so simple that even a group of drug-crazed retards can put a Lemon together.

It has been used to get some members of the criminal world legitimately shot — killed by the police — without the police ever knowing that their informer was a controlled man and the information he passed on was part of a set-up. The police act on the information in good faith in a 100 per cent legal raid that, in some cases, ends in tragedy. It is simple, smart and deadly.

Lemons are usually drug dependent and easy to control. They generally get overdosed when they are of no further use. Left alive, they can give the whole game away.

I can talk about underworld tactics because I am walking away from it all. The wise old men of the criminal world know these tricks and the young punks coming up are too stupid to put them together.

One of the most sophisticated tactics is the Apple Cucumber, a little known and rarely-mentioned trick that I have personally used to great effect.

I first heard of it from the really old crims I met in Collingwood in the early 70s who had been around in Squizzy Taylor’s day. Old Horatio Morris spoke of it, and so did The Texan. Now I will explain it.

The Apple Cucumber is to kill or capture your target by using a close friend or family member. I will give you an example. I wish to kill Mr X but Mr X is aware of the plot and is on guard. I steer an agent of mine into Mr X’s friend, in a pub, club or race track. My agent is always careful never to mention my name. Mr X’s friend and my man become great mates, drinking together, going to parties. My agent may even get to meet Mr X and they may all go out together. Eventually the friend will say to my agent, ‘Can I bring my mate with me?’. Bingo. I have Mr X where I want him.

The agent tells me that Mr X will be at such and such a hotel at 6.30 that night. My agent meets them for a drink. He walks out one door, I walk in the other … and that’s the Apple Cucumber. Mr X is totally unaware that his life is at risk until it’s too late.

The Apple Cucumber is very difficult to detect or escape from. The target is manipulated into a set-up and led to his death by an unsuspecting friend or relative. Brilliant, yet simple. Dead simple.

Behind every smart gangster there is an even smarter lawyer. In Melbourne there is one lawyer who stands at the head of the pile. Let’s just call him The Spider.

The Spider was the man who introduced the Melbourne underworld to the three magic words ‘Off Shore Banking’. He has set up accounts in Fiji and New Caledonia for assorted crime bosses and underworld personalities. The Spider acts on behalf of Melbourne’s criminal establishment, the cream of the crop. The Spider runs the biggest money laundry in Melbourne and in many ways could be called the Meyer Lansky of the Melbourne criminal world. In the mid 1980s he was the first one to start setting up accounts in Tel Aviv.

In fact, if The Spider died, a lot of top drug men and gambling figures would have great trouble finding out where their money was. The Spider acts as a middle man, peacemaker and go between in the underworld. He is the keeper of secrets, banker, accountant, tax adviser, financial consultant and legal adviser to the top crime lords in Melbourne — the Carlton Crew, Freddy the Wog, The Tiger, just to name a few. If you make big money in the crime world of Melbourne then you talk to The Spider. He hides it for you, washes it for you, cleans it, invests it. He can be seen at certain upmarket auction houses buying for his clients. His office is a neutral ground, often warring criminal factions will meet there to settle a problem with The Spider acting as a middle man. Criminal meetings, even large scale drug deals, can be set up with him over dinner in some restaurant. He has been under federal investigation and a number of other authorities have had a good look at him, but he is still going strong.

This man is not just employed by drug criminals. He is a part of the top level criminal scene. In some cases some large scale money operations have had to be put off because the solicitor was out of the state or country on holidays or on business. I could not overstate this man’s power in the criminal world. He knows where the money is and whose it is, and he is the only one who can get to it.

I had a meeting with him once. He wanted to organise a peace meeting between my good self and a crew of crims. I declined. But it shows that if you want someone bribed, or at least an offer made, The Spider is the one to organise it. He is a fixer, a criminal money man. He is the banker and ‘Godfather’ to many of Melbourne’s top drug and gambling men.

He also enjoys the company of young prostitutes and has them supplied to him free of charge. One 15-year-old prostitute was told to tell him she was only 13 to excite him further. He enjoys fine wine, good cigars and top quality cocaine. He handles a lot of the money from the massage parlour and escort service scene.

When one young criminal felt that some money he had given to the solicitor to wash seemed to have shrunk at the laundry he decided to get even. But the solicitor had the power and the friends, so the young crim ended up being punished. I was asked to do the punishing and, as a favour to a friend, when this young man arrived in jail I dealt with him. On my release The Spider thanked me. Big deal.

What this solicitor just doesn’t fully understand is that if I, or any other headhunter went into real war with any of his clients then he would be the first cab off the rank. He would go into the boot first because, after all, he is the keeper of the financial keys, the brain behind many of the mental retards in the drug and gambling worlds. If he did a runner and fled to South America most of the drug bosses in Melbourne would have to go on the dole.

I have always kept a close eye on him and in 1987, if real war had broken out between some crime crews and me, I fully intended to kidnap or kill The Spider so that the big cash reserves of my enemies would have been frozen, because his secrets would have died with him.

He has become so powerful that he can hardly be stopped. Even if he was struck off and couldn’t practise as a solicitor, he would be a full time financial and tax adviser. His legal law practice has become a yoke around his neck.

I have only ever been caught in a police raid once, and that was in 1974. After that I started to make detailed study of police equipment, police radio codes, and their tactics and strategies. The Special Operations Group is the master of the early morning wake up call, they have their own codes and signals and are heavily armed.

My findings were as follows: spread as much confusing misinformation as acceptable and if that doesn’t work, put your hands in the air and smile, for there is no counter move to a surprise.

Hey, no ears doesn’t mean no brains.