Chopper Unchopped (110 page)

How the hell does a two-bob, smalltime $1000 a shot gunnie like me get into this shit? What’s Chicka Charlie got against me? What’s Rocky got against me? Kiwi Kenny? Maybe, but why should Rocky the Wog care? Maybe he loved Carolyn. Shit, I did. But no, it don’t add up. Bugger this, I’ll go and talk to my dad …

DAD was an old-time Collingwood boy from the local push during the late 1930s and early 1940s. He knew Ripper Roy Reeves in the 1950s and 60s. Dad was in his 70s, but a tough old boy and still plenty alert and with it.

He listened to me explain it all. Then he said, ‘Look boy, if old Ripper Roy said one thing that made any sense it was “when in doubt – shoot everybody.” Put a slug in this Rocky the Wog poofter, and stick this bloody Carolyn in a sack and toss her in the Yarra. Jesus, son, how do ya get yourself into all this shit?

‘I don’t know, boy. You’re a bloody grown man and you’re still asking your bloody father questions. Shoot the bastards! Jesus Christ, stop piss farting about, and raise ya bloody mind above ya bloody dick. That Carolyn would be better off in the drink. Now bloody well get with it, son.’

I slept till 10 am Tuesday, then got up and got ready. I had a hearty breakfast and walked over to Kerry’s place. An easy 20 minute stroll. When I got there I was surprised to see that she had a visitor – a tall, skinny long legged blonde with a very sexy pouty face. But her eyes stared out at you with a cold, knowing glare. She looked like a 19 or 20 year old but her eyes looked 100 years old.

She was wearing denim jeans, all faded, a white tee shirt and a faded denim jacket with a lamb’s wool lining. The jacket collar was up as if she was cold. She wore a little pair of white runners, and a pair of sunglasses pushed up on top of her head. She looked all very neat, clean and very cute.

She stood in the lounge with her left hand in her jacket pocket and her right hand holding a large glass of whisky.

Frenchy was showered, shaved, dressed and all set to go. Kerry was out of the shower and still flouncing about the flat, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and an undecided look. She was in a muddle over which shirt and jacket to wear.

She introduced me to the younger girl. ‘This is a mate of mine, Geoff. Her name is Sally. I told her about what you said last night. She might be able to help out.’

I was a bit angry that Kerry had told anyone anything, let alone invite some lolly legs girl in on my business, but I held my tongue. I played along, rolled with the punches, like old Pat had told me.

‘Yeah,’ I said, almost pleasantly. ‘So what can you do to help out, Sally?’

When Sally spoke she had a steely tone, and a note of authority. A woman much older than she looked.

‘Carolyn Woods wants her boyfriend dead. That will make you happy. She’s also screwing Chicka Charlie and Charlie wants Johnny Go-Go dead, but little Carolyn’s a public toilet, and she knows what side her bread is buttered on.’

This tough talking girl had me dumbfounded. She certainly knew plenty.

Sally continued ‘There is 10 grand in a plastic bag on the bar. Check it out. Kill Rocky the Wog and we will talk business. After that.’

‘Okay, hang on,’ I said. ‘Just who the bloody hell are you?’

Sally moved her body slightly and the butt of a .32 calibre automatic protruded from under her jacket. It was stuck down the front of her jeans. She finished off her whisky, then took out a cigarette and lit it with a gold lighter held in her left hand. As she pulled the lighter out of her pocket, I noticed that her whole hand was covered with a tattoo. A spider’s web.

‘Don’t worry about who I friggin’ am,’ she said curtly. ‘You’re either 10 grand richer or you’re on ya bloody own. By the way, if you don’t whack Eros, he will whack you. If he’s trying to set you up, go with it, but get in first,’ she said.

I stood in silence. I knew that whoever this tough girl was, her name wasn’t Sally. Old stories I’d heard in prison came flooding back. Micky Van Gogh and crazy Raychell. Both had full spider’s web tattoos running the length of their left arms, from shoulder to hand. They had been dead for a while now, but the shadow of Ripper Roy, Mickey the Nut and Mad Raychell hung heavy over the Melbourne criminal world.

Johnny Go-Go and his friends and followers were still alive and well, and for some reason alarm bells in my head warned me to be very polite. I strongly suspected that this tough, sexy chick with the spider’s web tattoo was part of the shadow.

The Collingwood crew was still the Collingwood crew. Reeves and Van Gogh might be dead, but this little chick in front of me wasn’t, and neither was Johnny Go-Go.

‘Yeah well, Sally,’ I said slowly, ‘10 grand is 10 grand and Rocky the Wog is no skin off my nose.’

‘Good,’ said the tough talking girl. ‘You’re on ya way to see Carolyn now, aren’t ya?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Well, tell her ya seen me,’ said Sally.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ I retorted.

‘Yeah?’ she said. ‘Up till now you’ve been lost in space over this chick, I’m just tellin’ ya to get ya head together. Anyway, Kerry knows how to contact me, so when you’ve done Eros get her to ring me. Okay?’

She started to walk out. I followed her outside. When the two of us were alone at the front of the flat I put it on her.

‘Who are you? Your name’s not Sally.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, smiling with her mouth but not her eyes. ‘And your name’s not Geoff Twane.’

I froze when she said this.

‘Don’t panic,’ she continued. ‘Kerry’s been thinking that Monday was bloody Tuesday for as long as I’ve known her.

‘Look, mate,’ she added. ‘Who I am or who you are isn’t the point. The point is, whose side are you on?’

I thought about this quickly, then answered, ‘I’m on your side. You’re the one with the money.’

She smiled at this and walked away. I went back inside. Frenchy was looking a bit puzzled and worried.

‘Sally, my arse’ he said, shaking his head. ‘What’s going on, mate? She’s got death written all over her.’

‘What’s wrong, boys? said Kerry. ‘Sally’s okay. I’ve known her for a few years. She used to dance at the Caballero in Collingwood.’

Frenchy changed his tune.

‘I’m not saying she isn’t okay. I’m just wondering if we are all gonna be alive this time next week, that’s all. Ha ha.’

Kerry looked puzzled. ‘What do ya mean, Felix?’

I broke in. ‘It don’t matter, darlin’. Private joke.’ I winked at Frenchy.

The 10 grand was still on the bar. It looked as if it needed a good home. I picked it up, peeled off two grand and handed it to Kerry. She was rapt. She had totally forgotten that she had already given me a bundle. I tossed another two grand to Felix. He was most pleased. I put the remaining six into my pockets. By this time Kerry was all set to go. She’d decided on a pair of jeans, runners, a white bikini top that showed her big tits off to their best advantage and a black leather jacket which, like Sally’s, had a lamb’s wool lining. She looked quite cute.

She went to the bar, reached behind it and grabbed a little .25 calibre automatic and put it in her jacket pocket, then put on her dark glasses and said, ‘Well, let’s rock and roll.’

I offered Frenchy my .22 calibre revolver and he took it. Now all of us were armed up. Off we went to the Boat Race Hotel, nearer the river in South Yarra, to meet Carolyn. We walked into the pub and Carolyn was sitting at the bar. She was a bit shocked when she saw I wasn’t alone. I could tell Kerry’s presence frightened her.

We took our drinks and went over to a quiet corner and sat down.

‘You better start telling the truth,’ said Kerry for openers, ‘or I’ll personally cut ya snatch out and feed it to my cat.’ She had a way with words, our Kerry.

Carolyn started to panic.

‘Look, take it easy,’ I said. ‘Kerry, calm down.’

‘I’m sorry, Geoff,’ Kerry said. She didn’t look all that sorry to me. Carolyn looked at me. I could tell she was confused when Kerry called me ‘Geoff’.

‘What’s going on?’ I said to Carolyn quietly.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘The Coliseum Hotel,’ I said, poker faced.

Carolyn started to cry.

‘Stop blubbering, ya low life moll,’ Kerry grated. So much for being sorry for talking tough to Carolyn 20 seconds earlier.

Carolyn broke down and told us that Rocky wanted her to get me into the Coliseum Hotel on Saturday night.

‘Why?’ I asked, dying to know.

‘To kill you,’ she said. ‘But I wasn’t going to do it,’ she added quickly. ‘I love you.’

My heart went soft. Kerry’s didn’t. She jumped in, boots and all.

‘Love! Ha ha,’ she said sarcastically. ‘The only thing you love is the needle and blowing police dogs. Ya little maggot. We oughta knock her now, Geoff.’

‘If we are gonna knock her,’ said Frenchy. ‘Can I get up her first?’ Top marks for timing and taste.

Kerry slapped Felix over the back of the head as if he was a naughty little boy. ‘You’re a randy little runt, aren’t you?’ she said with a giggle.

Carolyn sat with silent tears running down her cheeks.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘We ain’t killin’ no-one just yet. You go back and tell Rocky that you’ll have me at the Coliseum on Saturday night. Now why does he want me dead?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she sobbed.

I was too frightened to mention Kiwi Kenny.

‘Okay, okay, never mind, you tell him I’ll be there, all right?’

‘I love you,’ said Carolyn.

Kerry spat a mouthful of beer back into her glass when she heard this.

‘Yeah, ya love him up your arse, ya dog. You’re a thing, Woods. A low dog and a thing. You tell the wog that Geoff will be there Saturday night, and don’t betray us, sweet.’

Carolyn nodded her head and said, ‘Who’s Geoff?’

Kerry started to really lose her cool.

‘You dumb slut, he’s Geoff,’ she shouted, pointing at me. Carolyn sobbed, ‘But I do love him, really I do. I’m sorry Kerry.’

‘Let’s take it easy,’ I broke in. ‘We didn’t come here for this shit.’ Call me Kissinger.

‘Carolyn,’ I continued quietly. ‘You know what you have to do. Just have Rocky at the bar of the Coliseum on Saturday night with his back to the door, and I’ll do the rest. That’s all you have to do.’

Carolyn put her hand on me under the table and said, ‘I won’t cross ya, I’ll do the right thing, I promise.’

It was wasn’t my hand she was touching. In spite of myself, I still felt some sort of twisted love and lust pulling me toward this evil angel. I wanted to take her some place quiet and just hold her and kiss her tears away, but I couldn’t afford to make Kerry too angry. She was starting to show signs of jealousy.

‘Okay, you get going,’ I said, a bit gruffly.

‘When can I see you again?’ she asked in a voice that would melt a landlord’s heart. With her hand under the table giving me a gentle squeeze.

‘I’ll ring you at the club tomorrow night,’ I said. ‘Now get going and tell the wog you’ve set it all up for Saturday night. Now boot off.’

Carolyn tried to kiss me, but I pulled my face away. An action purely to please Kerry, because inside my heart I dearly did want to kiss her.

I got a result, though. Kerry smiled as Carolyn got up and walked out.

‘Don’t worry, Geoff,’ said Kerry. ‘She won’t cross us. She knows me, and she knows I’ll cut her guts out if she betrays you.’

The loyalty of this insane woman Kerry Griffin, who I didn’t really know at all, was quite unnerving. She had became a solid and staunch friend. I’d be in serious trouble if she decided to become my enemy. We stayed, drinking, for most of the afternoon. Kerry stuck a gram of speed into a cigarette paper, folded it up and swallowed it down with a glass of beer then handed Frenchy a gram and he did the same.

After a bit of coaxing, I did the same. Kerry seemed to be producing grams of speed in small plastic bags from the pocket inside her leather jacket. Drugs, cash, guns and criminal contacts: they all had a strong smell of Collingwood about them. This Kerry was indeed a dark horse.

‘There’s this nightclub in St Kilda,’ Kerry said suddenly. ‘A guy down there owes me six grand. I’m going down to collect tonight. How about coming with me as back up?’

Frenchy and I agreed, being gentlemen. The speed was taking effect and I felt wide awake, alert, alive, paranoid and as horny as a grasshopper.

We drank like fish, drink after drink, and talked at a 100 miles an hour about Carolyn, the wog and the Saturday night set-up at the Coliseum Hotel. Everything seemed so clear. The world seemed a lot better. My life was falling into place. I had cash, guns, friends and something to plan. I know it was madness, but I was starting to feel safe and secure about life. Just having little Frenchy and big Kerry with me gave me a feeling of personal security. As far as I was concerned that is as good as it gets.

I WOKE up in a strange bedroom. Where was I? I had no idea. I looked at the woman on the bed next to me. At least I recognised her. It was Kerry Griffin, fast asleep. I lit a smoke and laid there. Where the hell was this? It was all new to me. The sun was trying to get through the closed curtain. My gun! Shit, my gun! And my bugs bunny, six grand in notes, where was that?

I jumped for a moment, then relaxed when I looked around. My clothes were neatly folded on a chair, with my money and the .38 auto Kerry gave me sitting on top, all in easy reach of the bed.

Kerry’s clothes were all on a table, a dressing table with a large mirror on the other side of the room. I could feel the speed still in my system. I was coming awake again. It was warm and cosy under the doona in the big double bed and the naked body beside me started to give me ideas. I was confused as to where I was, I couldn’t remember getting here, but I could ask Kerry after I woke her up. And I knew exactly how to do that. I rolled her over and took full advantage of the situation. She wrapped her arms around me and opened her legs while still asleep. Force of habit. After about three minutes of sex that was little more than violent rape, she awoke and began to respond.

She was a good chick, this Kerry. After what seemed like a full hour, I climbed out of bed and went to explore while she simply rolled over and went back to sleep.