Chopper Unchopped (40 page)

I REMEMBER Frank Sinatra once describing the Australian press as a pack of whores and liars. Who am I to argue with the great Cranky Frankie, the Don Vito of the musical world? Well, maybe I disagree with him just a little bit about some people in the media business.

Before my first trial over the Collins shooting I received a lovely letter from Renee Brack of the
Hard Copy
program from Channel 10, wishing me all the best for my court case.

I had done an interview for
Hard Copy
with Renee and I found her to be a sassy little thing with a lot of spunk. When this skinny little girl bounced up to me at the Launceston Airport, I am ashamed to say that I was gripped by the overpowering urge to pull her on like a wet, soapy sock. However, good manners, and the fear that I would almost certainly be stabbed to death by Margaret, held me in check.

Renee proved to be a hands-on reporter, eager to have a go at shooting with the infamous ‘hole-in-the-head’ shooting club. She took to firearms like a duck to water.

She wouldn’t weigh more than eight stone soaking wet in an army overcoat with bricks in the pocket, but she has a heart as big as Phar Lap’s — and a much better figure. I was most impressed with the girl’s guts. She was prepared to fire the .357 magnum and even the pump-action shotgun. She was a natural, and if she ever needs a gun she knows where to come.

She had dash, and was far from the wimpy ‘care for another pink gin’ brigade that I have encountered in the past. People with guts in the television world are few and far between, in my opinion.

Being the gentleman I am at all times with the fairer sex, my desire to please Renee and give her a good story backfired on me a little bit. They shot some footage of me playing Russian Roulette with a .357 magnum. I was pissed during the filming, and in my experience Russian Roulette and drunks do not mix.

Renee wanted some good footage, so after convincing her that the gun was unloaded I put it to my head and pulled the trigger. I then put it to her head and pulled the trigger.

She nearly fainted, but it was all just a joke. Or so I thought at the time. The
real
joke was that after the camera was turned off I re-checked the weapon and pulled the trigger twice, pointing the gun at the ground. It went off. The bloody thing was loaded after all, with one shell and five empty chambers.

The cameraman asked whether it had been loaded all the time, and I said: ‘What do you think I am, stupid?’ But I was bluffing, don’t worry about that. The truth was, if I had pulled the trigger twice more while the barrel was pointing at Renee’s head, it would have been all over for her. It would have been great for TV, but not so great a career move for Renee.

The worst thing is, I bet
Hard Copy
would have used the footage . . . I would have got life, but they would have got an award. And they reckon the underworld is unscrupulous. But seriously, I still don’t think Renee knows how lucky she is to be alive.

I had a look at all the footage and I realise now that by trying to give them some good TV I condemned myself out of my own stupid mouth. The Crown has the footage and tried to use it in the first trial. I would have come over as a right mental case, which would be most unfortunate for the grandson of a Seventh Day Adventist bishop. You could say the gunplay filmed by
Hard Copy
was good for ratings, bad for courtrooms.

After seeing the footage I wrote to the Tasmanian DPP, Mr Damian Bugg, and informed him I was prepared to plead guilty to the charge of being too good-looking in a public place.

In the end, they were not allowed to run the footage in the courtroom. The funny thing is that during the filming, Renee wanted to know if I could show I was a good shot. To show her I’m not just a pretty face, young Trent Anthony held out a stubby of beer and I shot it from a fair distance away. It exploded everywhere and apparently looked pretty dramatic on TV.

Funny how things turn out. In the end, it was Trent who was a key witness against me. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I don’t think Trent would fancy holding any stubbies for me these days.

Renee was meant to be a witness for the Crown in the first trial, but the Crown must have decided she would be more my way than theirs and so they didn’t call her. But they tried to use part of her interview with me on
Hard Copy
against me. They also tried to use part of the book against me, even though the jury was not allowed to read it.

Renee wrote again wishing me the best for the second trial. So, in spite of Frank Sinatra’s opinion of Aussie journalists, I can say that at least one of them is a mature, gutsy, good-hearted woman who was fun to meet.

Who’s Frank Sinatra, anyway? Just another singing Dago. I’ve never had much time for the mafia and all that ‘Godfather’ crap. The only horses' heads that have ever worried me have been on beaten favorites.

OVER the years I have had a funny relationship with the police. Some of them think I'm a dangerous psycho and they might be half right. I certainly can be dangerous: just ask anybody who knew Sammy the Turk and a few other blokes who are no longer with us. There are plenty of police who think I'm trouble and have steered well clear of me. They belong to a new generation of lawmen who are a little wet behind the ears when it comes to true blood and guts crims. The closest they come to a ‘real' gangster is when they hire an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie from the video shop.

The trend is that more and more police no longer associate with crims because they are frightened people will think they are up to no good. But it wasn't that long ago that you could have a few drinks with a few cops who knew who was up who and why. You could have a laugh, share a bit of mail and walk away happy.

In fact, there are a few people walking around now who would have been put on the missing list by my good self if the police had not had a quiet word to me on the sly and said it would not be in my best interests to give these particular citizens the lime funeral.

No lawyers, no courtroom dramas, just a quiet word over a few beers. There's a few dockies they would have scraped off the ceiling with a putty knife if the cops hadn't had a quiet word into where my ears used to be.

But the cops these days are frightened that if they are seen with a crook, people will think they are on the take. They are more at home looking into a computer screen, calling up records, or studying ‘flow charts' than looking a crook in his beady eyes.

My attitude to police is mixed. I dislike weak people, stupid people and two-bob, false pretenders. I am sad to see that while the criminal world is starting to overflow with would-be junkie gangsters. The police are also going backwards.

To my mind, police forces around this country are tipping over with young, over-educated nitwits who can't see the wood for the trees. They could hardly be trusted to look after a children's crossing, let alone investigate and solve serious crime. They have no idea how to deal with people or the art of man-management.

Physical courage is foreign to many of these younger police. With their higher education, they look down their nose at the old-style bone breakers. And so, in my opinion, the tough hard men of the police force are being pushed out and replaced by the ‘thought police'.

The shiny new young men in blue like to spend all their time thinking and talking about how to solve crime, but they actually haven't a clue of how to go about it. When I see these earnest young insects, I just shake my head.

But all is not lost. There are still a few cops about with the dash to get out and mix it. Some are tough, some are bad and a few are just mad. Not all that different, really, to some of the hard case crims they're after. The professional policeman and the professional criminal: there is not a lot to separate the two. By a professional cop, I mean a career policeman, and by a professional crim, I mean a career crook. It is their life, they know no other.

Police find it difficult, in a social context, to mix with and talk to people other than police. And criminals, real criminals, spend their time with other hard crims. While the two groups don't often mix socially, they talk a lot about the same things.

I've heard police talk for hours about the many and various criminal identities they have either arrested, investigated, or done legal battle with in the courts. On the other side of the fence, I have heard crooks talking about big-name police identities they have matched wits with. There is a heap of black humor in conversations from both groups.

Believe it or not, there is a grudging mutual admiration between the two groups. I can enjoy the conversation of either … God only knows what the shitkickers talk about.

CEDRIC Netto is a well respected senior Australian Federal policeman. He has served with the National Crime Authority and the now defunct Joint Task Force. In 1992 he was transferred as Superintendent, Drug Unit, Canberra.

OVER the years I have met a few coppers for whom I have a bit of respect. Here's a few I've met — and some I wouldn't want to meet again.

There is one high-ranking policeman in the Federal Police Force I don't mind. His name is Cedric Netto and I first met him when he came out to Pentridge for a chat some years ago in relation to the Walter Mitty type private investigator, ‘Hopalong' Tom Ericksen.

Now, unlike the movies and books, I have found that most 100 per cent honest policemen are a dull and boring lot with little mental ability and little to say for themselves. They have the level of imagination and the mental agility of fruit bats. Cedric, who was obviously honest, was one of the few exceptions to the rule. He was honest to the point of being sickening — but he was so mentally alert that it was frightening.

Cedric was with the NCA when he came to see me and we have bumped into each other a few times since. Each time it has been a case of ‘Hail fellow, well met'.

We had mutual respect … he thought I was a psychopath, and I reckoned he was the most cunning copper I'd ever met. I'm glad he's not stationed in Tassie.

INSPECTOR Garry Schipper is considered by many to be the strongest man in the Victoria Police. He first came into contact with Read when the policeman was stationed at Kew. Read was aged about 15 at the time and the giant policeman left a lasting impression. Schipper went to the armed robbery squad and the breaking squad. He was later promoted to Inspector and transferred to Prahran.

MY old mate, big Garry Schipper, is one of the few police I really respect and personally like. It is not socially acceptable for a crim to actually be friends with a cop, but in my heart I like big Garry. I always have and always will, as I have known him since I was 15 years old and he was a young cop.

Raymond Chandler wrote about a character called Moose Molloy that he was ‘a big man – but no wider than a beer truck and no taller than a double storey building', or something like that. I don't know who Moose Molloy was, but if they make another film of that book, Big Garry gets my vote for the job. Garry is a very big man indeed: six foot six in the old money, weighing at least 20 stone, with the strength of a bull and the courage of a pit bull to go with it.

Garry is close to a legend in the Melbourne criminal world. And the bottom line of the legend is that he is a man best left alone. He is a cop whom it is wise not to upset. He's like a sleeping bear … it is best if one tiptoes past without disturbing him.

During the Beach Inquiry, big Garry was given a hard time over alleged heavy-handed tactics during questioning. Nonsense, I say. I don't believe a word of it. Garry is too nice a guy for such shenanigans. He wouldn't hurt anyone, unless, of course, they got between him and the dinner table. To me, he will always be one of the few real, hard but fair coppers I know. A gentle giant, tough as guts but with a heart of gold. A class of cop that is fast disappearing from the modern police force.

Despite his kind nature. Garry is also in my opinion the hardest copper I've ever met, capable of instilling respect with sheer force of personality. His word is trusted, his promises are kept. If you cross him, it is a most unwise career move.

While I never feared Big Garry, I considered myself fortunate not to be on the big fellow's ‘shit list'. He only ever spoke to me regarding criminal matters a few times — and I ‘pulled up', seeing the wisdom of Big Garry's words.

A policeman does not earn respect simply by popping on his uniform. Like all men, they have to earn respect. And I respect Big Garry.

Incidentally, Garry is also a handy yachtsman, regularly taking part in the Sydney to Hobart and other national and international yachting events.

DETECTIVE Inspector Rod Porter has had two stints with the armed robbery squad. In a 20-year career he has also served in the St Kilda uniform and CIB branches, at Collingwood police station and with the Bureau of Criminal Intelligence. In 1992 he was stationed at the Crime Co-ordinator's Office.

‘ROCKET' Rod Porter is one cop I got to know quite well in recent years. When I got out of jail in 1986 I became involved with a few members of the armed robbery squad, and he was one of them. You must remember I had been in jail a long time so I wasn't too choosy about the company I kept.

We would go to the Fawkner Club Hotel near the St Kilda Road police station and have a few good sessions. We had mutual enemies and I was prepared to co-operate with them over certain matters. They were investigating a few people I didn't like and, after all, an enemy of my enemies is my friend.

I found ‘Rocket' to be a most agreeable fellow. A touch wary, but I don't hold that against him. After all, any policeman meeting Chopper Read after dark would have to be a touch mad to begin with.

He was not mad, but maybe the demands of the job make some detectives seem a bit eccentric to outsiders. In my opinion, anyone who worked in the armed robbery squad for long and was still 100 per cent sane deserves a medal. ‘Rocket' is honest. He would never take a bribe or do anything to be ashamed of. But there was a reckless bravery about him which I found frightening.

Rod was a risk taker — and he had a unique sense of poetic justice. One night after a few drinks Rod supplied me with a bulletproof vest for my own protection. Hours later I shot dead Sammy the Turk (drug dealer Siam Ozerkam) outside Bojangles Nightclub in St Kilda.

It was a Melbourne winter's night so maybe the police gave me the jacket so that I wouldn't catch a cold. Most considerate.

After I was charged with the murder I made a number of serious allegations against some police, including ‘Rocket' Rod.

But in the end I was found not guilty of murder because the jury believed my version of self defence. I understand Rod was most annoyed that he was investigated after I made a few statements, but in the end nothing came of it and everyone lived happily ever after (except Sammy, of course).

Making allegations was all part of the game at the time and there was nothing personal in it. I sincerely wish Rod Porter all the best. He was — and is — a good bloke. But somehow I doubt whether we'll ever have a good session at the Fawkner Club again. Pity.

DETECTIVE Sergeant Stephen Curnow has been a long-serving armed robbery squad detective. Well-liked and thorough, Curnow has also worked at the St Kilda station.

STEVE ‘Dirty Larry' Curnow can give the impression that he is barking mad, but you'd be smart not to be conned by this act. He is pretty cunning when he had his mind set on it. And he's got a bit of dash, but I hope he never gets a police valor award from the Queen because he can be a bit on the rough side and would be a certainty to upset etiquette at Buckingham Palace.

Steve was an eating and drinking machine. In between swallows he would gulp down food, then try and hold a conversation: eating, drinking and burping at the same time.

In my humble opinion, he had the table manners of a goat and the social graces of a jackhammer, but a great sense of humor. He gave me a lift to Margaret's house in Collingwood once and when I got out of the car, my false teeth fell out of my shirt pocket. Now, I was proud of those teeth as I had a half-carat diamond set in one of front ones. But that didn't worry Larry … he took off laughing and ran over Chopper's choppers.

A class act. What he lacked in grace he made up for in suicidal guts. He was a hard man not to like.

BARRY Hahnel was a Senior Detective in the armed robbery squad, later promoted to Sergeant at the City West station. He was convicted in 1991 of attempting to pervert the course of justice and sentenced to four years' prison with a minimum of 18 months.

BARRY ‘The Boy' Hahnel was a young cop I met with ‘Rocket' Rod Porter and Steve ‘Dirty Larry' Curnow. I first met him in 1987 at the Fawkner Club. The first couple of times I met him he was a quiet young man, and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

He was a wide-eyed, blond-haired, innocent sort of young bloke, new to the armed robbery squad, and at that time he lacked the cynicism and the pot belly of some of his older colleagues.

But by the third time I had met Barry he was swaggering through the hotel door like Al Capone's brother-in-law. I suspect that living up to the image of his heavyweight mates in the squad turned his head a little bit.

Don't get me wrong, he may have wanted to live up to the image, but it wasn't bluff; underneath it all he was genuinely tough. He was in the thick of it and didn't take any backward steps. He was there during the arrest of Russell ‘Mad Dog' Cox and I thought he would go up the police ladder, as he had a good education.

It wasn't to be. It turns out senior police took a dim view of Barry's gung-ho tactics and he landed in hot water. I was a touch sad to learn that he copped a jail sentence because, win, lose or draw, he was a tough young bugger and he had guts. What more can you say in any man's favor.

THE head of the Bureau of Criminal Intelligence, Detective Superintendent Allan Pleitner, ran into Read more than once. Pleitner remembers him as a hard case who always had a joke to tell, even when he knew he was about to be charged with a serious offence. ‘He was quite a character,' he said. Pleitner, 30-year veteran of the force, worked in the homicide, consorting, arson and drug squads, as well as extensive uniformed service, before taking over the BCI.