Chopper Unchopped (97 page)

I didn’t trust her but I did love her, for some crazy reason I couldn’t even understand myself.

‘C’mon baby, bang my brains out,’ she said.

I shook my head. It took some doing.

‘Later, princess,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘I’ve got a mate with me tonight. He got out today. I gotta get back out there and keep an eye on him.’

‘Ohh baby,’ she purred. ‘If you don’t someone else will. I’m so freaking horny.’ Her eyes had that spaced-out, glassy look – a mixture of narcotics and nymphomania.

I don’t know what took hold of me. I swung my arm and gave her a backhander that sent her crashing from one side of the little dressing room to the other. She fell against the wall and slid down to the floor. I walked over and grabbed her by the hair.

‘Why didn’t ya get Rocky to screw you. Ya low dog, lying moll?’ I screamed. Then smashed her face into the mirror.

The glass broke, and she started to cry.

‘Don’t be mad at me. Don’t hit me,’ she pleaded.

‘You’re a lying, junkie slut,’ I yelled. I was right off the air.

‘No, no, no,’ she sobbed. ‘Don’t hit me.’

She was crying like a little child. She said: ‘I love you, I love you. I wouldn’t hurt you, I love you. I won’t use drugs again, I promise.’ The same old sob, sob, sob story a million junkies have spun when the shit hits their particular fan.

‘Don’t talk shit,’ I snapped. ‘You’re a junkie slut. Give us my mother’s ring back, ya slag, before ya sell it for smack.’

She fumbled around, then handed the ring back. Her hands were shaking and she was still crying. I turned on my heel to walk out, but she grabbed me.

‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded. ‘I know you’re only angry cos you love me. I’ve been naughty and I deserve what I got. Don’t walk away angry. I’m sorry, baby.’

Then she fell into my arms, sobbing. A tidal wave of sorrow hit me. I took her in my arms. We kissed and made up, and then I bent her over the make-up bench and gave her what she’d wanted in the first place. It was as if hitting her and making her cry made her all the more willing and ready to do the business. I loved her, but I knew now exactly what she was. We agreed to meet up Tuesday afternoon at the Boat Race Hotel, across the road from the South Yarra entrance to the gardens.

‘See ya later,’ I said. Always was a smooth-talking devil.

She went out and started dancing as if nothing had happened, as if banging mirrors with your head and then banging your brains out, all in the space of five minutes, was normal. Then again, if you’re a junkie stripper who fancies gangsters, maybe it goes with the territory.

I went back to Kerry’s dressing room, and found out it was also her undressing room. There she was, on all fours on the floor, like a dog, with little Frenchy chock-a-block up her from behind. Another romantic, like myself.

‘C’mon Felix,’ I said. ‘Get a move on.’ Kerry laughed.

‘It’s his second time around. I love a bloke fresh out of the can. Get us a beer, will ya?’

So while Frenchy jack-hammered big Kerry from behind like a randy bull terrier with 10 minutes to live, I grabbed a can from the little bar fridge, opened it and handed it to her. She started to drink it, but spilt beer all over the joint, thanks to Frenchy doing his Casanova routine.

‘Give us a drink,’ said Frenchy, who obviously couldn’t believe his luck. Out of jail a few hours, and he had money in his pocket, a moll on his pole and a beer in his hand. He was in hog heaven.

She handed him the can with one hand on the floor, holding herself up. A long-legged, Chinese chick appeared in the doorway with a bloke in tow, hanging behind her.

‘C’mon, Kerry,’ said the Chinese chick. ‘I need the room.’ More romance. Love was in the air everywhere. But Kerry wasn’t impressed.

‘Blow him in the hallway,’ she snarled, ‘ya slope-headed, pox-ridden maggot.’

The big Chinese girl turned to the mug and said, ‘over here, then.’

She took him three steps away from the dressing room door and dropped to her knees, then yelled, ‘Shit, someone toss me a bloody franger.’

I picked up a packet of condoms from the make-up bench and threw them to her. Sort of thing gentlemen do for ladies.

‘Thanks, honey,’ she said with a wink.

The client was so drunk he didn’t say boo, let alone do what he had thought had seemed such a good idea 10 minutes earlier, when the Chinese chick had snared him out in the club. It was quite a funny sight.

Just then, Frenchy came to the funny part with a yip, yip, yahoo, and Kerry laughed.

When Felix got to his feet Kerry stood up, cleaned herself up and put her high-cut knickers back on and said, ‘He’s a randy little runt.’

Frenchy grinned like an idiot. A very happy idiot. And said, ‘Can I see ya again?’ This was about the only thing he liked as much as fighting, although he wasn’t bad with a knife and fork, either, when it was time for tucker.

Kerry told Frenchy I knew her address. As we walked out, we saw the drunk the Chinese chick was dealing with had passed out cold on the hallway floor. She was standing there with a $100 note in her hand.

‘He’s asleep,’ she complained, as if it mattered.

Kerry walked over, bent down and took the mug’s wallet out of his coat pocket. It was stuffed with $50 and $100 notes.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘And he lost his wallet as well.’

The Chinese chick protested. ‘You can’t do that.’

Kerry went all soft and sexy. Or seemed to. ‘Oh, c’mon Lee Lee, don’t be cross with Kerry,’ she purred.

The Chinese girl’s face softened. ‘I’m not cross, Kerry,’ she said.

Kerry walked over to Lee, took her in her arms and kissed her. The Chinese girl melted … then screamed as Kerry pulled away. Blood flowed from the Chinese girl’s bottom lip. It rained down her chin and across her tits and tummy, Kerry had nearly bitten her bottom lip off. The Chinese girl ran screaming.

Kerry snapped, ‘Bugger this brothel. Bloody chows and coons trying to put us Aussies out of bloody work. I’m quittin’.

She marched into the dressing room and put on her jeans, white tee shirt, black leather jacket, and stilettos and grabbed her big handbag.

‘Let’s go,’ she said.

Wazza Warren and two bouncers came running in. Quick as a flash, Frenchy headbutted Wazza, who went down like a pole-axed steer. I pulled the .38 automatic out and smashed one of the big bouncers in the face. His nose opened up a treat, and the blood flowed.

Kerry lifted up a leg and stabbed the heel of her stiletto into Warren’s face.

‘You’re the one who hires all these bloody chows, ya little rat.’

I grabbed Kerry and we left. As I walked out with Kerry and Frenchy, I saw Carolyn leading two men behind the velvet curtain.

‘Treacherous slut,’ I said to myself.

We walked across the street and went into the Australia Hotel and sat by the window. Soon, the police and ambulance arrived. They put the Chinese girl into the ambulance. She was holding a blood-soaked white towel to her face. Wazza Warren and the bouncer with the smashed nose refused medical attention, and the police and the ambulance drove away.

‘Wazza won’t say nothing,’ I said.

‘Neither will Lee Lee,’ said Kerry. ‘I know where her family live in the Richmond Commission flats. She’s been hockin’ her box since she was 13 years old, and no-one’s ever given her a touch up. About time she got put in her place.’

‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘Let’s finish our drinks and get out of here.’

We all jumped into a cab and headed off to Kerry’s place, stopping to get two bottles of whiskey and two slabs of beer. When we got there we sat in the lounge room. Kerry excused herself and went to her bedroom to get changed, then into the bathroom to shower.

I said to Frenchy, ‘So ya knew Kerry’s brother, Garry, did ya?’

‘No,’ said Felix. ‘Never heard of him.’

‘What about the fight at the Caballero Night Club?’ I asked. ‘And the ear-biting business.’

‘Nah,’ said Frenchy. ‘I’ve never been to the bloody Caballero in my life.’

‘She’s a bloody strange bit of work, this Kerry chick,’ I said.

‘You’re telling me,’ said Felix. ‘When I was getting up her she started to call me Frank.’

‘Well, where does she know you from?’ I asked.

‘She don’t,’ said Frenchy. ‘But I’m not saying nothing. She’s a good chick. Why hurt her feelings?’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘A bit scattered in the head but she’s got a good heart.’

‘Top body, too,’ said Frenchy.

ABOUT half an hour later Kerry reappeared wearing her white towelling bath robe and white high-heeled slippers with the fluffy stuff on the toes. Her hair was all wrapped in a white towel. She had a camera with a flash in her hands, and snapped a photo of me and Frenchy sitting together.

‘That’s one for my collection,’ she said.

She removed the towel from her damp hair and shook it all free. It looked good. She then removed her bathrobe and stood there wearing a white pair of high-cut knickers.

‘C’mon,’ she said. ‘Photo time.’ She gave Frenchy the camera and I got up and sat on a bar stool with Kerry sitting between my legs.

Then it was Frenchy’s turn. It then dawned on me that Kerry must have had a photo taken with every guy who meant anything to her, meaning any bloke who she spent any time with, as a great many of the photos on Kerry’s walls were taken in her flat. She was a criminal groupie of sorts. It looked as if she just loved crooks, danger, and violence. If somebody had any sort of a reputation, Kerry knew them.

I gave the camera back after snapping a few hot shots of Kerry, then told her I had to go and see my dad. I asked Kerry to keep an eye on Frenchy, and said I’d see them both on Tuesday.

Kerry was a bit pissed at this. She wanted me to stay. I walked her outside to the front of her flat and said, ‘Listen darlin’. I think I’ve got some trouble coming with Carolyn and Rocky. Something is going on, and you and Frenchy are the only two I can count on. I’ve got to go and sort a few things out. I want Frenchy on the team 100 per cent, so make sure he’s with us. You’re with me aren’t ya, Kerry?’

She hugged me and said, ‘I’m with ya all the way, Geoff. What’s going on?’

I shrugged. ‘I think I’m being set up, and the only way to fix it is to get in first. Look, screw Frenchy’s ears off tonight and we will have a good talk tomorrow, okay?’

‘I’ll see ya about 11 in the morning, okay?’

‘Goodnight, princess.’

I walked away.

PAT Sinatra was a shifty old Sicilian pirate who knew every dago and wog gangster in Melbourne. He was a financial partner in a dozen different criminal enterprises and a very respected old gentleman. I’d met him only a few times. Pat was well out of my league, but my old dad knew him well so I got my old man to ring him and an hour later I was in a taxi and on the way over to Sinatra’s place in Carlton.

Old Poppa Pat lived alone. He greeted me warmly when I knocked on his door. We sat in his lounge room and over a few whiskies I explained my situation, mainly concentrating on my concern over Eros ‘Rocky’ Pantanas.

Big question: was he crewed up and if so who with?

Old Pat looked puzzled.

‘Eros, Eros, Eros. Ahh yes, the son of George Pantanas. Big boy, he does a da weight lifting, but no heart. Sissy boy, he’s a not a problem. He a hitta the girls, he no hitta da boys.’ I laughed. I’d picked Rocky in one. Good to know I wasn’t losing my touch.

Old Poppa picked up the telephone.

‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I check on something.’

He dialled a number and waited, then spoke in Italian, laughed, then spoke some more, then looked serious and hung up.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Eros very silly boy’ said Poppa Pat. ‘He’s workin’ for Chicka Charlie.’

My ears pricked up at this lot.

‘Chicka Charlie Doodarr?’ I said.

‘Who else? Chicka Charlie,’ Poppa answered, faintly irritated.

‘Blood enemy Johnny Go-Go’ he said. ‘You know Johnny Go-Go? Them mad bastards in a Collingwood. All a dead now, thank bloody God’.

Poppa crossed himself as he whispered the name ‘Roy Reeves, thank a bloody God.’

‘Shit, Poppa,’ I said. ‘This is all a bit out of my league. I did a bit of business once for Johnny Go-Go, but I’ve only met him once.

‘Half the gunnies in town have done a bit of business for Johnny Go-Go. Big deal. This Rocky wants to set me up and now you reckon he works for Chicka Charlie. Jesus Christ, what the hell have I done to any of them?’

Poppa Pat sat in silence and pondered the situation.

‘Whatever you resist will persist. You must go with it all, flow along, smile, be a nice, see what a happen. They only play a game, and you only small pawn in the bigga game.

‘Chicka Charlie he’s a very, very shifty boy. But Johnny Go-Go – ahh.’ Poppa shook his head. ‘No-one knows where he is. he become a da big shadow, da big mystery, he live a longer than Charlie. Ahhh,’ said Poppa again, shaking his head. ‘Go now. I don’t like this shit no more. Da last war cost me too many friends. I’m not involved. I’m an old man. I don’t a need shit with Go-Go, you go now.’

Poppa got up and showed me the door. As I walked out, Poppa took my arm.

‘You watcha ya back kid, and give my love to your father. He’s a good man. You say hello to your poppa from me, okay?’

And with that, the old man closed the door.

Shit, I thought to myself as I walked away. What game had I become involved in? My old dad always told me: ‘Son, winners expect to win, losers hope to win.’

I was just hoping to stay alive.

The Collingwood crew and their bloodbath war was a legend. Johnny Go-Go had vanished from public view about six months ago. Chicka Charlie Doodarr was probably the most powerful ganglord in Melbourne. Rocky the Wog worked for Charlie, and it looked like Rocky the Wog was trying to get Carolyn to set me up. Why? I shot Kiwi Kenny, so it should be her trying to set me up, not Rocky, why? What’s the reason?

Not all situations within the criminal world and its many twists and turns can be figured out. Not everything has an answer. I walked down Lygon Street. The Collingwood crew had a war with these bastards and won. Chicka Charlie betrayed Ripper Roy and Mickey the Nut. The story was now criminal folklore.