Chopper Unchopped (241 page)

The actual physical part of this form of combat, via a death or act of violence, is a small part. It is the very last move on the chess board. I play this game over a period of time to create the maximum tension and stress.’

‘AS a wise man once said, “Kill one, scare one thousand.” Even the strong and strong-minded can fall victim, as they can’t realise it is happening to them. They can’t separate the mind game from the reality. The psychology of fear.’

‘USING fear correctly is a skill, even an art. Its correct use, I believe, is to instil fear in your targets with a wink and a smile – using courtesy and a friendly, polite attitude … After all, as our mothers taught us, a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.’

‘I HAVE outlined the theory before that lust attacks the groin first, the brain second and then the heart. Love attacks the heart first, the brain second and then the groin. Fear attacks only the brain, then cripples every other part of the body’.

‘LOVE, lust and hate are the basic emotions and feelings that the average person deals with. Fear is not something the average person has to confront or even wishes to confront in an average lifetime. So using fear and controlling it is not something that the average person has to do. The basic fear that sits in all men’s hearts is that each man knows himself. Despite the opinions of others, every man is aware that deep down he is not as good as others think, and that, one day, that may be exposed.’

‘FEAR is a phantom, a puff of smoke that can be blown into the eyes to cloud the mind and thoughts. It can destroy logic and reason if you do not understand it. How true is the saying, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself”.’

WHEN I first picked up a handgun (a .32 calibre revolver) my dad, who served 24 years in the army, put a beer bottle at my feet and told me to try to hit it. And aiming at the bottle from a standing position, I missed it 3 shots in a row. My dad then taught me to sight a firearm at an old fridge door at an army firing range. He would draw an X on the fridge door with a black marker and then at a distance of 30 paces he would tell me to take aim and fire.

I’d miss the target by at least a foot, which wasn’t too bad for a fifteen-year-old.

Then he told me to move my barrel aim two inches to the right and an inch above the target, and I hit the cross. My dad told me that you always miss the first shot. Then you have to sight the gun in. Generally you have to move your aim two inches to the right and one inch above at a distance of 30 paces.

Then he taught me to fire a single-action handgun. Remember the old Wild West movies when Billy The Kid would pull out his Colt .45 single action and hold his trigger finger against the trigger and then fan the hammer back across the hammer with the other hand? That wasn’t for show. That is the only way to fire a single-action handgun with speed, as you have to pull the hammer back after each shot. But if you have one hand holding the trigger down and the other hand fanning the hammer back, you can discharge the firearm with some speed, as fast as a double-action or even faster.

So, learning to shoot was quality time for Dad and me. Sure he didn’t help me with schoolwork, but as it turned out this was the best homework I could do, considering the line of work I ended up in.

Being taught to use a handgun by my dad at a young age put me in good stead on the streets of Melbourne when gunplay was involved.

I’ve been questioned 33 times for non-fatal shootings in Melbourne, and they all got to hospital.

I didn’t do them all (about 11 were down to me) but they were all leg and lower stomach wounds – none of them fatal shots and all at a goodly distance of up to twenty or thirty paces.

I’d gladly face any gunman in Melbourne at a distance of thirty paces, with the full knowledge of how to sight a small-calibre weapon in.

I could hit you in the kneecap at a distance of six metres and any police officer who used the firing range regularly could tell you that is good shooting.

I could take out car tyres at a distance of ten metres as they speed past at 80 kph. That’s good shooting if I say so myself. And I do.

I shot a stubbie beer bottle out of Trent Anthony’s hand for a TV shoot in Tassie with a semi-auto Ruger thirty-shot .22 calibre at thirty paces. That’s not bad shooting.

Jason Moran knew that had I had been carrying a handgun, I would have taken his left or right eye out at a distance of five metres and he acted nervous throughout the whole rather odd and strange meeting. He put his hand out and shook mine like a limp-wristed, sweaty-handed poofter; he was shitting himself at the thought of me being armed up.

Was he armed or not? We’ll never know, but I know he regularly carried a 9mm during the war, so I suspect he was.

The only reason he didn’t pull his gun out on me and shoot me then and there on the spot, was the simple fear that the Chopper Read he knew and feared was armed up – which in the old days I always was – seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, awake and asleep.

I was always within reach of a firearm. To be honest, had I been carrying a handgun, I think I would have put one in each knee cap, as I knew he wouldn’t have given me up and it wouldn’t have hurt my reputation one little bit.

The only problem was I’d then have to again carry a gun at all times.

I would have been back in a war that was not of my making just for a few moments fun.

As a married man with a little baby boy to bring up, it wouldn’t be worth the bother because if you carry a gun you will end up using it. At least I’ve found that to be the truth in my personal case. So I’m glad I was unarmed on the day.

As for Jason. I’ve said it before and I repeat it: he was a lowlife, weak-gutted, woman basher, rapist, drug dealer and a two-bob standover man who hung on Alphonse Gangitano’s shirt tails like a girl.

He lived in fear of Big Al; fear and admiration, but more fear than admiration.

Carl Williams did me a great personal favour when he killed the Morans, as they were the last men in Melbourne who would have been keen to pull the trigger on me – from behind, never face to face. But from behind, I knew they both had plans for me.

It was only a matter of time. So ‘Thankyou Carl’, I owe you a beer when you get out.

It will probably cost about $1500 a pot because it will be around 2042. That’s inflation for you. It’s criminal.

ON Margaret (his second wife and lifetime love) …

‘I AM the perfect husband. After all, I have no ears.’

‘ONCE she was questioned by the homicide squad over me for five hours – and stuck rock solid. She was questioned by the internal security unit three times running for hours at a time over me – and remained rock solid. She had withstood death threats too many times to count, over me. She sat though my murder trial. She has never failed me, let me down or betrayed me. She’s got more heart, guts and dash than any man I’ve known.’

‘LIKE all Maltese women, she has a terrible temper. The first reaction of the Maltese female when angered is to head straight into the kitchen to the knife drawer.’

‘MARGARET has stuck with me when I have done stupid things. She has stuck when people wanted to kill me. She stuck when I was inside. There is no-one as loyal as little Margaret. If most of the two-bit crims had her dash, guts and courage, they would never tell tales out of school in police stations. She has more guts than most gunmen, more loyalty than a blood relative.’

‘ANYONE who knows me well knows I have the words I LOVE ITA BUTTROSE tattooed on my bum. The explanation is simple enough. All the boys in the H Division loved Ita because the only magazines we were allowed there during the early and mid-1970s were the
Reader’s Digest
and
Women’s Weekly’
.

‘THE drag queen was the roughest-looking piece of work God ever shovelled guts into – a body like Maggie Tabberer and a head like Henry Bolte, topped off with a big pair of silicone tits … I stepped in and smashed the “her” over the head with a mop bucket and bit its ear off.’

‘THERE are women banging on the gates trying to get in to visit me, others ringing the prison crying over the phone pleading to talk to me, and others writing me pornographic love letters. But when I am on the outside, things change. If I was standing in a room full of nymphomaniacs, I could swing a cat and not hit a soul.’

‘A PAIR of long legs can walk through doors otherwise closed. A set of big tits and a pair of big eyes and an even bigger smile can float through the valley of the shadow of death like a butterfly.’

‘THE chick could talk the leg off an elephant and probably deep throat one as well, from the look of her. She had a mouth wider than Mick Jagger’s. As a married man, I am no longer meant to notice these things, but as an author, I am allowed to. It’s called literary licence, and it’s a lot easier to get than a gun licence. So you can all get stuffed.’

‘FALLING in lust with them (prostitutes) was fine, but falling in love was foolish. And should you be unlucky enough to fall in love with a cracker, then stab yourself in the back because if you don’t, then little Miss Tragic Magic will do it for you … It is hard to trust a girl who loves everyone and kisses each man’s heart with a different lie on her lips. My problem is that in my youth I had the misfortune to fall under the spell of several ladies of the night and found myself betrayed.’

‘TRACY was a top-looking babe when she had her looks and health, all legs and tits – and false teeth, which is not always a disadvantage in her line of work.’

‘DON’T ever go shopping with your wife. I needed some new underpants. I’m now tipping the scales at a dainty eighteen stone. I waited outside the store trying to act debonair and the wife selected several pairs of extra-extra-large jockey-type underpants.

The sales girl and her various sales-lady friends gathered as well as lady shoppers and held the offending garments up for inspection. Other ladies came over and inspected the underwear then the wife called me over. I had to walk through a small army of smiling girls, mothers, shoppers and sales ladies while the jumbo man-size lingerie was held up against my embarrassed person for further inspection. Ladies, girls, onlookers came from everywhere. Chopper Read was buying underpants. This was a must-see moment … “I just want a couple of sets of underpants,” I said. “Big ones.” I was so embarrassed I would have bought anything to get out of there.

I turned and walked out, waiting in the street outside. Then the wife followed along having purchased two pairs of jumbo jockey shorts that could have doubled as circus tents. “Don’t take me shopping with you again,” I said. “In future, just get me big underpants, socks and T-shirts.”

I could not believe what she had just put me through. And I thought prison was bad.’

‘FEMALE lawyers can have a great bedside manner but are prone to losing cases. Never allow the charms of a lady lawyer to sway you from common sense.’

‘LET’S just say I knew of one lady lawyer who wore stockings and a suspender belt, stiletto high heels and the works under her black dress and robe and would allow a certain client to run his hand up her leg in the Supreme Court interview room … When a guy is locked up in prison, the mind can play tricks. When a lady lawyer pops into the prison on a Sunday wearing runners and a baggy tracksuit and the poor prisoner is called up to the professional visit area to see his lawyer and the tracksuit pants come down and she invites the client to hump the arse off her, it tends to soften the word “guilty”.’

‘I KNOW a lady lawyer who was banned from jail for a few days after a misunderstanding. She was talking to her client when her blouse appeared to open all by itself. Her client became flushed and appeared quite overcome. He got life for murder but he paid her bill without complaint.’

‘I’VE had lady lawyers and gentlemen lawyers and the best of them all was Bernie ‘The Attorney’ Balmer and for the record, I would like to say that not once was he overcome with the impulse to show me his tits. Thank goodness.’

‘WHY is it that when I am in jail and locked up like a rat in a trap, and totally unable to take advantage of any romantic situation offered to me, that I manage to pull more pussy than a Chinese restaurant? Yet, when I am free and at large, girls of loose morals bite holes in screen doors trying to get away from me.’

‘OF the several hundred love letters I have got in jail, I have developed a good filing system. You may remember that while in jail I have to go without a private secretary. The letters from old, ugly or fat chicks go in the bin. Cruel, you may think. Well, put it this way, if you are silly enough to write a love letter with a photo included to a self-confessed arsehole, then you better make sure you are good looking, or it’s straight into the old round filing cabinet.

I have replied to some letters, and write to a small fistful of outrageously good-looking young ladies. Just because I’ve got no ears, doesn’t mean I’ve got no taste.

‘IN jail I would get letters from ladies that all started the same way. ‘This is the first time I’ve written to someone like you blah, blah, blah.’ After a bit of chit-chat, they would get to the point. They would raise how I used to bash rapists in jail. Then they would say how they were molested when they were young and nothing was done about it and they would love me to visit their uncle, teacher or father – whoever did it to them – and even the score. There are a lot of bad things that have happened in the suburbs of Australia that have been hidden for years. Maybe I should have visited some of them late at night, just to talk about old times.’

‘IF you want to know about a bloke, then talk to the chick who’s got him by the dick.’

‘SAWN-OFF shotguns, chainsaws, tiger snakes and wives. If you don’t take a firm grip, they can jump back and bite you.’

‘THE point is that my feelings towards women are the same as my feelings towards men. I’ve met some fantastic ones and I’ve found some diamonds in my life, but in general they are a steaming great shower of shit that I wouldn’t piss on. As a rule, if the female of the species did not provide a sexual advantage, the male of the species wouldn’t even engage the buggers in conversation. Call me old-fashioned.’

‘I’VE never killed a female, and I never could. Don’t ask me why, but to me it just didn’t seem right. I’m a bit of a fuddy duddy in that area.’

‘ONE lady ended up in tears after proudly showing me her brand-new boob-enlargement job. Most impressive. I advised her to go back and get her face fixed as a job lot. Ha, ha. Why are people so upset by constructive criticism?’

‘MY wife is going to have a baby. I told her that we will have to go to the doctor and find out what caused it, then we must stop doing it right away.’

‘WALKING is good exercise, and I need it. Walking the dog beats spanking the monkey any day.

Most men my age would be happy to walk Miss Nude Australia across the paddocks with a dog or two, giving new meaning to the words ‘watch those puppies bounce’. We had two puppies, a fine pussy and half a mongrel all out in the fresh air.’

‘I HAVE pulled all the pictures of girls from my walls. I have become sick and tired of prison staff and other inmates perving on pictures of some of my good friends who happen to be female … I have decided to get rid of them because with some of the comments made about them I would end up pulling some bastard’s eye out, which would not look good when I am trying to convince the High Court that I am the male version of Mother Teresa. So I have put up pictures of the Derwent Valley in their place. It has helped calm everyone down, me included. I have never had a dream of covering the Derwent Valley with whipped cream and then licking it off.’

‘IT’S quite amazing. Here I sit with a no-eared toothless head that even a mother wouldn’t love and I’ve got the screws at Risdon Jail shooing the sheilas away with a stick. God’s idea of a practical joke? I can’t figure it out.’

‘WOMEN understand sex, but they do not understand the psychology of fear. For women the answer is simple. Understand what is happening to you and if you don’t like it, smile, play along nicely and stab the bastard in the back at the first opportunity. Ha. Ha.’

‘I DON’T know what it is about ladies and guns, but there is a definite psychological effect when you mix the two. They get an excited gleam in their eyes and just blast away as if there is no tomorrow.’

‘MEN are cunning rats. They pretend to be civilised and domesticated, but underneath that they are slobs. Always have been and always will be. Mind you, most women suspect the truth. And that is that men are like lino tiles … lay them the right way once and you can walk over them forever.’

‘WOMEN who fall in love with men in jail are nearly always disappointed. The first thing you learn on the inside is to say what people want to hear and make promises you have no intention of keeping. You tell the parole board you have reformed, the guard you have no idea who bashed the dickhead in the next cell and your new girlfriend you will always be faithful.

It’s like a dog on a chain. You put the dog on the chain for the night then let him off the chain in the morning and he runs around and around the back yard like a raving nutter.

You lock a man in a cage for a year or two or longer, then let him out, and you’re going to be a sad girl if you think he’s going to come home and sit in front of the telly with a tinny, 24 hours a day.’

‘ALL my life since my teenage years I’ve always had and kept the friendship of females, and I am by no means a romantic or a playboy.

I think the answer is that I always treated ladies like I treated men: with sarcastic disregard, yet blind loyalty when the shit hit the fan. I treat them as mates. Most of the female friends I’ve had, and still have to this day, have never been romantically involved with me. I’ve put holes in my manners with a fair few of them but, as I keep telling the buggers, what’s the use of having mates with tits if you cannot get the buggers to knock the top off it now and again, for Christ’s sake?’

‘AS far as females are concerned I am totally schizophrenic. It is like being in a giant lolly shop. There I am happily munching away on a Pollywaffle then someone hands me a Snickers funsize.

“Oh goodie”, I say. I am halfway through that when someone tosses me a Mars Bar and I am into that. And the next thing you know I am into the liquorice allsorts. Then come the Tim Tams, when all of a sudden I spy the deluxe selection of fruit-flavoured soft-centred assortments. Whacko! I am just about to make a pig of myself when along comes a sales lady with – yes, you guessed it – an all-day sucker.