Chopper Unchopped (149 page)

“Cut it out, Amy,” said Preston.

“What am I doing, Uncle Pres?” said Amy with a smile.

“Pull ya dress down,” said Preston.

“What if I don’t?” said Amy.

Preston got a bit angry. “Pull ya dress down, ya little shit stirrer or I’ll …” He wasn’t sure how to finish the threat.

“You’ll what? Give me a smack?” she challenged.

“Hey, I’ll give ya more than a smack,” growled Preston.

“Ohh,” said Amy Jo, “will ya give me a spanking?”

At this point Stella walked in the front door and like magic Amy Jo flicked her school dress down to cover her thighs and knees and winked at Preston.

“Hello Preston,” smiled Stella, then turned to Amy Jo and said “Hi ya darling.”

The girl ignored her mother. Stella was in high heels and a pair of short shorts cut up at the sides to show all the leg and hip she could. All in soft black leather and a black leather halter-neck top with a $2000 leather jacket.

“The leather gear looks good,” said Preston.

Stella smiled and began to strut about modelling the stolen leather gear.

“I love it all, Pres. Thanks.”

“That’s all right, Stell. Anytime.”

“Any phone calls, Amy?” asked Stella.

Amy Jo looked bored. “Some bloke called Doc rang.”

“Doc who?” said Stella quickly, darting a nervous look at Preston. “I don’t know any Doc.”

“I don’t know,” said Amy Jo. “He just said his name was Doc and he’d ring you back.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Stella. “I don’t know any Doc.”

Stella turned to Preston. “Fair dinkum, I don’t know any Doc.”

“Well, I don’t know Mum,” said Amy Jo. “You asked if there was any phone messages and that was it. Don’t go crook at me.”

“Probably a wrong number,” said Preston to Stella.

“Yeah,” said Stella again. “Wrong number, because I don’t know any bloody Doc.”

Preston got up and said “Anyway, I gotta go.” He handed Stella a small packet of 60 milligram morph pills and said “I’ll see ya later.”

“I’ll walk ya to the car, Uncle Pres,” said Amy Jo, and threw her arm around him. As he walked out to his white 1965 Pontiac Parisienne he said to Amy Jo, “Ya know Princess, this was the same car Kid McCall was using when Westlock and Holliday shot him. I’ve had it done up since then. Ya don’t see many ’65 Pontiacs around these days.”

Then he turned and said, “Keep an eye on ya Mum for me, will ya Princess.”

Preston had a sad faraway look on his face and bent down and kissed his niece on the cheek.

“By the way Princess, take it easy on the smack.”

Amy Jo protested. “I don’t use drugs, Uncle Pres.”

The old hood looked down at his cheeky niece. “Yeah, I know darlin’. You don’t use drugs and ya still a virgin and if ya stick ya tooth under ya pillow the fairy will leave ya sixpence. Just take it easy kid and keep ya eye on ya mum for me.”

Preston got into his car and wound his window down. “And stop flashing ya knickers. See ya later, darlin’.”

When Amy Jo walked back Stella attacked her and slapped her hard across the face. “What are you trying to do to me, you junkie slut,” she screamed.

“Yeah that’s right I know about the drugs and I’ve been told ya selling it, you two-faced treacherous little whore. What’s this Doc bullshit, what are you trying to do to me.”

“I’m sorry, mummy,” screamed Amy Jo, covering up and bursting into tears, “but Doc did ring really,” she screamed.

“Jesus,” sobbed Stella, “someone is doing a job on me. God almighty. I don’t know any Doc.”

She fell on the floor and sobbed. Amy Jo was in tears.

“I’m sorry, mummy. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Who’s Doc? What’s it all about.”

“Ohh, Jesus Christ,” sobbed Stella. “God save me, sweet mother of God. Please save me.”

“What’s wrong, mummy?” cried Amy Jo.

Stella wiped her tears with her hand and stood up. “I’m dead baby, that’s what’s wrong, I’m dead.”

“COME on Doc,” said Graeme Westlock. “Who is she?”

“I can’t tell ya,” said Holliday “Come on,” said Westlock. “It has to be someone close. I mean really on the inside.”

“You know how it goes,” said Holliday. “A secret shared is a secret lost. All I’m saying is it’s someone right on the inner with one of the six names in Collingwood.”

“Shit,” said Westlock. “Reeves, Van Gogh, Phillips, Pepper, Brown, O’Shaughnessy or maybe Bennett. Bloody hell, Doc. You turned one of them.”

“Well, it’s not a Kinsella because we killed one of them. And it can’t be a Pepper or a Reeves coz we killed one of them each. Not unless this spy of yours is giving up family members.”

“Don’t even guess at it, boss, because ya wouldn’t believe it even if I told ya.”

“Well,” said Westlock. “I’ve got to hand it to ya, it’s the best info we have ever had on the Collingwood crew. It’s a gold mine.”

Doc Holliday stood and looked out the window. “I reckon we will see a bit more killing before we are done, Graeme,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, well,” said Westlock as he walked over to his old friend and put his arm around his shoulder.

“How’s that old Banjo Paterson poem go again, Doc?”

Doc Holliday smiled “By the Old Campaspe River, where the breezes shake the grass, there’s a row of little gravestones that the stockmen never pass, for they bear a crude inscription saying ‘Stranger drop a tear, for the cuff and collar players and the Geebung Boys lie here’.”

Westlock roared laughing.

Frank James looked at Charlie Ford. “I don’t know about you Charlie, but I’m asking for a transfer.”

STELLA Phillips walked out of the Chicago Club. It was midnight. Bobby Torres had spent all night trying to get into her pants and she was glad to knock off. Letting Torres screw her once was the worst move she had ever made, she thought as she opened the door to her old 1970 model Mercedes sports. As she got in Neville and Normie Reeves stepped out of the shadows.

“How’s it going, Stella?” said Neville.

Stella froze and tried to start the car, but in her panic she fumbled. Normie opened the door and grabbed her hair and dragged the screaming woman out of the car. Bobby Torres came running out of the club but on seeing Neville and Normie, backed off. Bunny Malloy pulled up in an old Ford panel van. Neville and Normie opened the back and tossed Stella into it. It had a mattress on the floor of the van and Stella fell on to it. Neville and Normie got in. “Okay, Bunny, let’s go,” said Neville and punched Stella in the side of the face.

“Get them pants off, dog,” he snarled. Stella pulled her leather shorts off in no time flat. Her brain was racing. She was beginning to hope she was in for a good belting and a good raping and she knew she could handle both. It would mean she wasn’t going to die. To Neville and Normie’s surprise she took off her leather jacket and leather halter neck top and unleashed her extra large and very expensive set of silicone tits. Neville undid his pants and proceeded to mount her.

By the time Bunny Malloy had reached the Maribyrnong River in the western suburbs both Neville and Normie had raped her. When the car pulled up Stella was sure she was in for more at Bunny Malloy’s hands and was quite happy to accommodate him. Neville and Normie ordered her out. She was naked and it was cold.

“Ohh, it’s freezing. It’s warmer in the van, boys,” she said.

Bunny came up to her. “Turn around and bend over, Stella” he said.

“Come on, Bunny,” said Stella, “can’t we do it in the car.”

“No,” said Bunny, and he put the barrel of a .38 revolver to the woman’s head. “Turn around and bend over.”

For 20 years men had been saying that to her so it was almost fitting they were the last words she would ever hear. She didn’t know what hit her when the .38 went off.

“Toss the dog in the drink,” said Bunny. “And I hope you two used condoms.”

“What for?” said Neville.

“DNA,” said Bunny.

Neville looked at Normie and shrugged.

“What’s D and A, Uncle Bunny?”

“I’m not your uncle and you two are a pair of idiots. It might as well stand for Drunk ’n Arseholes for all it means to you.”

“Yeah,” said Neville. “Well, if we’re so stupid, how come we got a root and you never?”

“Yeah,” said Normie. “Get outta that one.”

Bunny Malloy shook his head. “Let’s go.”

AMY Jo was wearing black stiletto high heel shoes and black stockings. She was also wearing her white school shirt and blue tie. She didn’t bother wearing knickers on the job; since the death of her mother she had started work at the brothel in Cromwell Street full time and was handling one client an hour on the afternoon shift.

She liked her nights off. Neville Reeves had started to take her out nightclubbing and dancing every night. She liked Neville. She was really pulling in some serious cash every week and had a raging heroin habit, but it didn’t cost her a penny as Neville and Normie looked after her, and Uncle Bunny would visit her often at the brothel and sling her all the smack she liked free of charge.

She had given up going to school but still had a half dozen school uniforms and insisted on wearing them when she worked, as it drove the mugs wild. Everyone had been really nice to her since her mum got put off, with visits and kind words and kisses and gifts of money. She was unable to help the police, but they were still working on the case. She had moved out of home and moved in with Muriel Hill over in Lennox Street, Richmond. Preston Phillips and Bunny Malloy arranged that. Amy Jo liked Muriel and she loved little Michael Roy, Muriel’s foster or stepson.

Tessa Kinsella was taking care of a client in a private room and Sandie Toy was likewise engaged in a three-way scene with two Vietnamese in another room.

When Preston Phillips called in to see her, Amy Jo whoring herself was no longer a secret and Preston had come to accept that she was old enough to make up her own mind about things. Preston walked through the door with Gene Fitzpatrick, a well-known mental case and a fund raiser for the friends of Sinn Fein.

“How’s it going Princess?” said Preston.

“Hi ya, Uncle Pres,” said Amy Jo, giving the old gangster a big hug.

“Have ya met Gene Fitzpatrick? He’s a mate of mine.”

Amy Jo always put her forefinger in her mouth when she was shy or nervous.

“No, I haven’t,” said Amy.

Fitzpatrick smiled and said “Hello”.

God, thought Amy, he’s totally beautiful.

Fitzpatrick was tall, thick set, and well built with dark short hair and a deep tan. He had sparkling green eyes and a smile as white as snow. His nose was broken but it only added to his slightly Paul Newman, Marlon Brando good looks. Amy Jo was a bit of a movie buff and she loved Paul Newman and Marlon Brando and this guy looked like both of them. For once, Amy was glad her white school shirt covered her bottom, because she didn’t want this gorgeous guy to think she was some moll.

“Amy,” said Preston. “Gene here needs a favour. He’s got some relatives coming over from the old country and they need a place to stay. I was wondering if they could stay for a while at your mum’s old place in Wellington Street.”

Amy Jo looked at Gene Fitzpatrick. He smiled at her and she felt all mushy inside. “Yeah, of course,” said Amy Jo. “Father O’Connell is holding the keys to the house along with mum’s personal papers as he is executor of her will, but I’ll talk to him.”

Fitzpatrick spoke and Amy Jo detected a fine Northern Irish accent. “O’Connell’s a good man, I’ll have a little chat to him myself. My people don’t want a lot of fuss. In fact, best to keep this just between us, hey Amy Jo.” And with that the big man patted Amy on the back and ran his left hand down the small of her back to give her a friendly pat on the backside. It took Fitzpatrick a split second to realise she was wearing no knickers and he left the hand there a bit longer.

“I can see you’re a good girl and can be trusted and I thank you for ya help, young Amy.”

His hand moved underneath the girl’s shirt and cupped one ripe firm bottom cheek. All Amy Jo could do was look up to the gorgeous giant and smile like a lovestruck puppy, well, wag her tail like one anyrate.

Preston Phillips looked at his watch and made a move to leave. He pulled out a small parcel wrapped in birthday paper and said to Amy “a little something for ya, Princess” and put it on the top of the TV set. Then he turned to Gene Fitzpatrick and said, “I’ll be off now mate.”

“Okay,” said Gene. “I might hang about for a while,” and winked at Preston.

“See ya, Uncle Pres,” said Amy, breaking free of the hand glued to her arse and giving her uncle a hug. As Preston walked to the door Amy walked with him and as he opened the door he bent down and whispered in her ear. “Gene’s a good bloke. It wouldn’t hurt you to have a friend like him. You need a proper bloke in your life.”

Amy nodded. She had made up her own mind on that the moment she saw him.

“See ya, Uncle Preston,” she said, and kissed him goodbye and closed the door.

Back in the lounge of the brothel Amy Jo picked up the birthday parcel of smack and put it in her bag, then offered Gene a drink. Just then the doorbell rang and Tessa came out to answer it, having finished with her client.

Neville and Normie burst into the place just as the sly client, finished and all paid up, was trying to get out. “C’mon, Amy Jo,” yelled Neville. “Get ya gear off, me and Norm’s going double bung ya. Ha ha.”

Amy Jo flushed red with embarrassment at this crude display in front of Gene Fitzpatrick.

“Now, boys,” said Fitzpatrick. “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”

Neville and Normie recognised Fitzpatrick at once. He ran the most feared crew of torture merchants in Melbourne. They had kneecapped and killed a million dollars in dago heroin money. And it was no secret that Fitzpatrick had IRA connections.

Shit, even Kid McCall had looked up to this psychopathic murdering Irishman. However, Neville and Normie were drunk and little Amy Jo was a prostitute, a junkie and the daughter of a dead dog.

“What lady would that be, Fitzy?” said Neville.

Fitzpatrick nodded in Amy Jo’s direction. “This young lady here,” he said.