Chopper Unchopped (223 page)

For Alfonse this was not his ‘cup of tea’. He hadn’t fought his way up the ladder to squabble with a mental case over a $2,000 a week sling, which was all Hacker wanted. ‘So while paying the cash in secret he loudly verbalised his wish to kill Harris. Meanwhile Harris generally left Cologne alone and ran riot among the lesser lights within the Melbourne drug world. Those who didn’t pay up some form of cash tribute were cut up, shot up, burnt out or dead. Alfonse was being pressured to make some sort of stand against the madman who lived in Collingwood. Alfonse had become a glamour gangster and what on earth was he meant to do against Harris. Attack him with his American Express Card? Face, however, had to be saved, so some form of show down had to come. It had been coming for a long, long time.

Cologne had been able to sway a lot of Harris’s old friends over to his side – or so it appeared at the time. The Kindergartens, Monzas, Strombolis and the Caprice Clan, Mad Charlie Hajalic and Rod Attard. It seemed to Harris that the power of drug money had perverted everyone. Alfonse had Boris the Black Diamond, Gilbert Bazooka and half the old dockie families in tow. Even the MacKenzies didn’t want to back Harris against the Lygon Street Mafia. Only the Albanians and Benny David agreed to back Hacker, along with a small crew of armed robbery squad coppers who had a running battle with the major crime squad at the time. The whole thing was getting quite complicated. But, as Harris said, ‘When in doubt – shoot everyone.’

‘Ultimately, people like Alfonse are killed by their friends, not their enemies. His mistake was that he could no longer tell the difference.’

– Hacker Harris.

SAMMY Stromboli sat in a flat in West Melbourne. He had become addicted to heroin and was waiting for his new friend and adviser, Alfonse Cologne, to visit him. Big Al used Sammy as a ‘taster’. Every time Al collected a fresh shipment of smack from Gilbert or Micky Wong or Boris, Sammy would try it out. He had originally hated Alfonse but the heroin had turned Alfonse from an enemy into a friend. Sammy had rejected his whole family for the love of heroin and, by extension, of Alfonse.

A tall, blonde girl danced slowly in front of Sammy. She looked like a long-legged, high fashion catwalk model, but one that was smacked out. She had what they call heroin chic. She was wanton and lewd – ‘lascivo’, as the Italians say. Yet her hips and tits were wide and lavish and she had the eyes and mouth ‘Di La Lapilli’, or ashes from a volcano. Her name was Mandy and she looked all of 18 or 19 years old. She was, however, a tender 14 years old and had been addicted to heroin for 12 months. This was thanks to her ‘Uncle’ Alfonse who was, in fact, no blood relation at all. Her mother had married Mushie Peas and a few people knew that in reality she was the baby daughter of Ray Kindergarten. Had Alfonse known this he might not have been so keen to slide a heroin needle into her arm.

For an Italian to understand the complexity of inter-relations between the old Australian criminal families, would be as difficult as an Aussie trying to guess who was related to whom in Italy – even if the Aussie was born in Italy. Alfonse was and would always remain outside of the ‘inside’. He was ‘Lucido’ as the Scarchi Sicilians put it – meaning ‘shoe polish’, a slang expression meaning ‘all looks and no guts.’ Alfonse was in many ways simply a ‘Giornaliero’ – in Sicilian slang this meant a journeyman. He was not really a crime boss or Mafia Don. He was simply a lover of ‘Cattiveria’ or wickedness. He was a power junkie and, with drugs and violence, backed by the shadow of the mafia myth, he exerted power over the weak within the criminal world. Having Sammy Stromboli hooked on smack, Alfonse could control the thinking of the whole Stromboli clan, as Sammy was the favourite son of Frank Stromboli and grandson of old Poppa Nicolo Stromboli. To control Sammy was to have influence over the Stromboli family and their restaurants and nightclub interests in Lygon and King Streets.

As for Mandy, Sammy’s junkie girlfriend, she would be useful in one of the parlours in Carlton. Alfonse owned most of them. At least, that’s the way Al saw it.

‘Ah, Australia,’ thought Alfonse. ‘What a wonderful country!’

Alfonse entered the flat and was greeted with smiles all round as he pulled out an ounce of pure china white heroin from the pocket of his $2000 Italian sports coat. He was in a hurry. His BMW sports car was parked outside with the engine running and Carlo Muratore at the wheel. Muratore was part of the old Victoria Market mafia clans of the late Domenico ‘The Pope’ Italiano, Vincenzo Muratore and Vincenzo Agillette – three Calabrian clans who sometimes had to be pulled into line by the Sicilians, who allowed the Calabrian, Milano and Roman show-offs to play gangsters and swagger about like movie stars. Providing they took the risks and made the money, they would receive the Sicilian blessing.

Alfonse stank of his favourite poofy after-shave and expensive cologne. It was said that at night you could smell Alfonse coming down a dark alley in Carlton from a distance of 60 yards, especially if a good breeze was blowing towards you.

Alfonse tossed the ounce bag on the coffee table and said, ‘let me know what ya think, Sammy’ before turning to leave. Mandy ran to the kitchen to grab a fit and a spoon. Alfonse averted his head as he opened the door and muttered, ‘Junkie dogs, I hate them’. Shrugging his shoulders, he closed the door behind him. ‘Well’, he mused, ‘you need manure to grow a rose.’

Alfonse was off to Santino’s restaurant for a glass or two of Shiraz and a nice plate of chicken lasagna with salad. He had a meeting with Mad Charlie, Hacker Harris’s old mate-turned-traitor. He, like Charlie, didn’t completely trust anyone who had anything to do with Harris, regardless of how long ago contact might have been. Shane Goodfellow, Gilbert and Gonzo wanted to see him.

Goodfellow had turned from one of Melbourne’s top blood and guts street fighters into a junkie, and Gilbert owed his loyalty to Boris the Black Diamond. However, Harris had almost killed Goodfellow in H Division, Pentridge in 1979.

‘The enemy of my enemies is my friend’, Big Al thought to himself.

‘The politics of it all. I love it.’

Later that night, at the Pasta Rustica, with Goodfellow, Gilbert and Gonzo knocking over large plates of baby lamb and bottles of Rosso Vino red wine, the waiter whispered in Big Al’s ear. ‘Jesus Christ on a fucking bike,’ said Alfonse.

Noticing that Al had turned pale Gilbert asked, ‘What’s up?’

‘Sammy Stromboli and Mandy have been taken to the Western General Hospital and pronounced dead on arrival,’ he answered. He looked stunned.

‘How come?’ asked Gonzo.

‘Smack overdose’, replied Alfonse.

Goodfellow went silent. He knew who Mandy Peas really was and knew the significance of a whisper in Big Al’s ear. If this overdose had anything to do with Al, thought Shane, the Kindergartens had better not put any of this shit together or there would be a lot of dead people.

Al paid the bill from a wad of hundred dollar notes thick enough to choke an elephant, and walked out. It was clear he was not a happy man. He didn’t care less about Mandy. But what the hell was he going to tell Poppa Stromboli?

The man who plants the seed gets to chop the tree. –
Mad Charlie

HACKER Harris and old Poppa Dardo, the Albanian crime boss, sat in the lounge room of Poppa Nicolo Stromboli’s home in West Footscray. Sammy’s father, Frank, was also in attendance. Alfonse had been trying to cut himself a little Albanian influence by supplying one of old man Dardo’s son’s with heroin. Old Poppa Dardo and Poppa Stromboli had known each other since they had arrived in Australia on the same ship in 1957. Italy had become a second home or first port of call for Albanians escaping the Communist regime in Albania.

Harris had just shot one of Alfonse Cologne’s top drug movers in the western suburbs (and right hand man of Gilbert Bazooka) in the stomach for daring to raise his voice in anger to one of Poppa Dardo’s sons. Hacker’s friendship with the Strombolis went back to Thomastown in the early 1960s, where the family lived in with relatives before upgrading the accommodation to West Footscray.

‘This a fucking cocksucker,’ snarled Poppa Stromboli. ‘Di Inzabella say Alfonse OK. He’s a good boy. Please I beg you, no touch. No touch.’

Bottles of ‘grappa’ and large slices of aglio gorgonzola (garlic cheese) and affuicatao salmone (smoked salmon) were in plentiful supply with sliced cetriolo and cipolle (cucumber and onions). Large plates of hot salami, gnocchi with a strong tomato butter and garlic sauce remained virtually untouched. The only man eating was Hacker Harris, whose consumption of the fare with such gusto prompted Old Poppa Stromboli to stop crying and laugh loudly.

‘Buon appetito. Enjoy, enjoy!’ he said.

At this Hacker stopped eating and patted his stomach. ‘Non posso mangiare, Poppa. Sono a dieta.’ (‘I cannot eat, Poppa. I’m on a diet’) he said to the old man.

The sadness in the room was broken with laughter.

‘Maybe a little connoli?’ asked Poppa Stromboli.

‘No’, replied Hacker. ‘I don’t want to be a porko grando.’

Everyone laughed. Then the tone turned serious again.

‘Sammy, stupido boy. Fucking junkie. But Alfonse he swear to me he take a da good care of Sammy. Now he is in da grave. Mamma mia. Holy Madonna. Someone gonna pay for this. De Inzabella, he say it’s not the fault of Alfonse. Fucking Calabrian Milano dogs. Someone is going to pay for this,’ cursed Poppa Dardo.

He looked at Hacker and gave a sly wink. Another part of the jigsaw that would paint the picture of Cologne’s death had been found.

‘WHAT was the first movie Marilyn Monroe ever did?’, asked Hacker Harris. Bobby Kindergarten and Charlie Mackenzie sat in silence.

Then Benny David piped up,
‘Scudda Hoo, Scudda Hay
in 1948.’

Harris was impressed and handed over $100.

Sitting at the bar of the Builders Arms Hotel in Fitzroy in the midst of a raging gang war the Marilyn Monroe movie trivia quiz was hardly what one would expect. But men who shoot other men for a living tend to chat about the most offbeat nonsense.

‘OK’, said Benny. ‘What was the seventh movie Marilyn ever made?’

‘All About Eve
, 1950,’ replied Hacker with a smirk.

Benny David handed the $100 back.

‘I’ve got one none of you can answer,’ said Alfonse as he walked in.

‘What was the last movie Marilyn ever made?’ With that, he landed a smashing right hand punch to Benny David’s jaw, knocking him out cold. The three men Alfonse was with proceeded to engage Mackenzie in fisticuffs. Punches flew in all directions while Harris and Cologne were locked in rock and roll in a long overdue street fight. Alfonse swung fast and wild, aiming at Harris’s head. This was a mistake, as Harris had a head like a mallet, able to withstand pain like few others. Harris was a strong, slow puncher who liked to move in close and then grab hold. Once he grabbed hold there was no letting go. With his face covered in blood, Harris picked Alfonse up and physically tossed him through the hotel door, following through with kicks when Al fell into the gutter.

Local police were called, along with an ambulance, but none of the combatants needed either, and insisted it had been a friendly bit of fun with each man covered in his own blood.

As Alfonse and his companions walked away, Harris yelled:
‘Something’s Got To Give
, 1962, and it was the last movie she ever made and she never finished it. You will never live to finish yours either, maggot. I’ll outlive the fuckin’ lot of you!’

Alfonse had guts and, in his own way, was as brave as a lion. Any man, however, strong enough to stand a 30-punch onslaught to the face, then pick Alfonse up and hurl him through a pub door into the gutter wasn’t going down easily. Alfonse had based his entire reputation on nightclub brawling and had never been physically lifted off the ground and hurled like a rag doll out a door in his life. More’s the pity. If he had he may not have believed he was unbeatable. Over-confidence led to his death as much as the plots of his friends and enemies. Gunplay was the only way to go with Harris – but not face to face. Harris might be slow with his fists but his reputation with a handgun was almost Wild West stuff. Harris would have to be got from behind and at night. As Alfonse walked away, he decided to kill Hacker Harris. But how?

He made his play two nights later. As Hacker walked alone down the darkness of Forest Street, Collingwood, a 1977 Ford LTD drove by. Three shots rang out from a .38 calibre revolver, missing him by inches. When slugs speed past the human head, you can actually hear a whistling noise. Harris didn’t see Alfonse, but he blamed him for it. The game was set for a battle royal.

The following day Hacker went to see Mad Charlie Hajalic in Caulfield. He told him of his plans for war.

‘Leave me out of it, Hacker,’ said his old friend. ‘I’m involved with Alfonse and there is a lot of money at stake. A war would fuck us all up.’

‘It wouldn’t fuck me up,’ said Hacker, poker-faced.

‘Well, it would fuck me up, all right,’ Charlie said shortly. ‘I’m a business man involved in crime, not some insane mental case. If you want war, you’re one out, alone. No one will back you. You’ll lose, mate. I’m telling ya. Alfonse and his crew are too strong. Ya can’t win.’

Hacker walked out of Charlie’s house a bit despondent but all the more hell bent on the idea that, win, lose or draw, there was going to be a war …

HACKER quietly sang to himself as he put the blowtorch to Eddie Decarlo’s feet. Eddie screamed as the flame hit his toes. Torturing smack dealers for their money was smelly but a good earner. And when the smack and cash came out of Alfonse’s pocket, it did indeed tickle Hacker’s sense of comedy. While Hacker tortured Eddie in the cellar of a Port Melbourne hotel, Benny David and Vincent Gorr were ransacking his home in Footscray. They had located $60,000 in cash and drug gold.

Of course, the story of the so-called ‘toe-cutting’ job and robbery on Decarlo and then the total disappearance of Decarlo didn’t take long to reach Alfonse’s ears.

Big Al went into hiding whenever he heard Harris was in town. Harris would vanish, then reappear. He was virtually impossible to kill because he couldn’t be pinned down to any habit or routine. His address was a mystery. Harris had become a physical and psychological shadow. He could find anyone but no-one seemed to be able to find him. Gang war was all that Harris knew about and the criminal businessmen he was fighting had lost or forgotten the art of warfare. Drug money, wealth and criminal political power was their cup of tea. Blood and guts street combat after dark and the tactics and strategy involved was a stranger to them.

Ray Kindergarten sat holding a photo of his baby daughter, Mandy. The same girl that was Mushie Peas’ drug addict stepdaughter. Mushie had disowned her despite the fact that he himself did big amphetamine business with Gilbert, Gonzo and Alfonse.

Hacker Harris sat next to Ray.

‘It’s not right, Hacker. She was only a fuckin’ kid,’ he swore. Tears were running down Ray’s face. Hacker looked at the schoolgirl in the photo. He had met her once when she was being pushed in a pram. She was sucking on her dummy at the time. Little did Hacker think all those years before that little baby Mandy would grow up into a teenage junkie whore who spent her nights sucking on bigger dummies to pay for her heroin habit.

‘Drugs,’ thought Harris, not for the first time. ‘They are fucking the whole country up.’

‘They reckon Big Al was plonking her,’ cried Ray.