Chopper Unchopped (240 page)

Know this and believe it because the bloke writing this has mastered and used this very tool for well over twenty years. For once, the humble reader is being invited to look behind a closely guarded and secret door only to find the monster is mostly imagination. It is all a Hollywood production.

There is no-one in the audience … we are all up on the stage.

APART from Irish whiskey, good cigars, Pontiac motor cars and a pistol grip baby .410 shotgun with solid load shells, what I love most is kidnapping smartarse gangsters and taking their money. To the human filth I have bashed, belted, iron barred, axed, shot, stabbed, knee-capped, set on fire and driven to their graves, I can only quote from the motto of the French Foreign Legion, ‘Je Ne Regrette Rien’… I REGRET NOTHING.

I was walking to the shops when the would-be hitman got me. The moral is simple: never go to the shops without your recyclable bags – or your gun.

Strange as it may seem, I have never considered myself a murderer, because they all had it coming. Most of them came under the heading of tactical necessities. All of them were killers and violent crims, so big deal.

Just a point of interest, every man that I have shot or stabbed who lived, looked up at me like a beaten puppy and asked, ‘Why?’ Before a man dies, his last word always seems to be ‘No’.

Men from certain ethnic groups cry and scream and go to their deaths like screaming females, crying, ‘No, No, No’.

The smell when you put a blowtorch to someone’s feet is hard to describe. It is a cross between burnt hair and roast pork.

None of the people I’ve killed were innocent, normal or average nine-to-five working types: they were all drug dealers, hoons, pimps, crime figures and killers. I doubt whether any of them was a virgin as far as death and murder were concerned. Some of them had killed plenty in the drug world with a needle.

They say there are no atheists in foxholes, and I have stood at the edge of the grave for most of my life. It is hard for me not to wonder, at times, why I am still alive. How have I continued to escape death in every life-and-death situation?

I was the victim of schoolyard bullies five days a week. I grew up to hate bullies. I guess that’s why I took such delight in belting the hell out of the so-called ‘tough guys’ when I grew up. I was violent, but not a bully. Everyone I’ve ever moved against has been a bullyboy, a two-bob tough guy. Most of the truly violent men I’ve known in my life have been the victims of school bullies and violence in the home.

‘A GENERAL bit of shooting makes you forget your troubles and take the mind off the cost of living.’

‘MEN who are forced to kill or be killed in the criminal world are another story, as what they do isn’t real murder. It is simply the way it is and the way it has to go … kill or be killed is not murder in my book.’

‘CURLY Bill once rode 300 miles to kill three men in the Red Dog Saloon. I myself would have taken a taxi. Which brings me to a matter of financial concern. If you were a professional killer, could you write off cab fares like that as a tax deduction? Surely a hitman could claim guns, bullets and such as business expenses. It seems only fair.’

‘WHEN the man from the city robs you, he will do it with a gun to your head or a blade at your throat and have the manners to wear a mask, whereas the man from the bush will do it with a firm handshake and a warm smile.’

‘IT seems to me that terrorism is a weapon of anger and not of intelligence.’

IT is interesting that most gunmen, myself included, soon learn to take an interest in matters medical. The human body is a tough thing and if you want to fix it, like a doctor, or hurt it, like a toe-cutter, you have to know what you are doing.

Each profession takes skill, although it is a little hard to bulk bill as a standover man.

When I shot Chris Liapis in Footscray, I used a Beretta .32 calibre automatic. The bullet went in his guts and the doctors found it in his underpants when he got to hospital. It had passed out his bottom. Amazing.

I shot another bloke in Carlton in the neck with a .22 calibre revolver. He coughed the slug up and spat it out as he ran away. Talk about spitting chips.

‘I KNOW I talk about guns a lot, but I get pleasure from them. They are my tools of trade, but they are also my hobby. I must confess, although it is not much of a secret, that I do enjoy shooting a total arse-wipe.’

‘TO me it is a game and if you are caught, then it is no use howling and pretending that you are some whiter than white saint who has never done the wrong thing.

Many crims eventually convince themselves that they didn’t do it, even when they are caught with the smoking gun in their hands and there are 100 witnesses prepared to swear that they saw the bloke pull the trigger.

I am not like that. If I did it and I am caught, then it’s a fair cop and you do the time without complaining.’

‘THE average crook involved in these criminal war situations has no flair or imagination. If they are prepared to listen and follow my advice, I’ll help. I love a good criminal war or battle situation and I am only ever consulted on matters of violence and death.’

‘BUT in the true world of criminal “bang bang you’re dead” violence it doesn’t matter how well you can fight or play footy. If your number comes up, you are off tap and that is that. Dead as a bloody mackerel, no questions asked.’

‘I MEAN, getting stabbed, shot, bashed, verballed, slandered, abused, betrayed while being investigated by your own side while upholding law and order and the good of the community … this is meant to be a career?’

‘YOU can’t complain that you only pulled your weapon out to frighten the policeman and that you weren’t really going to use it. If you pull a weapon out on someone to scare them, then you stand a bloody good chance of scaring them into blowing your bloody head off.

Silly bastards. The more crims and nutters who get blown away by police and the more police who get blown away by the crims and nutters, the more paranoid and frightened both sides become. So welcome to America. It’s what Australia wanted, to copy America. But whereas cats have nine lives, copy cats get only one.’

IT is my own personal opinion that the Victoria Police is the most blood-soaked body of men and women in Australian law enforcement history.

They have been baptised in a sea of their own blood, along with the blood and guts of those who went up against them.

‘ALL this needless violence is caused by too much television, if you ask me. Bloody Aussie land is going mad, and in my opinion the whole bloomin’ country could do with a Valium, a good cup of tea and a nice lie down.’

‘MY enemies have fallen, weakened and run because they have placed more importance on their own lives than I did. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t want to die. I want to live as long as God allows. But I don’t fear death. As long as my death has a certain amount of style, flair and dash involved, I don’t mind.’

‘I WILL never surrender. I will fight on in the face of unbeatable odds. I simply will not plead guilty to a crime that I simply did not do. Why should I? Would you? I think not. So why should I be forced to plead guilty on a matter I didn’t do just because I am a career criminal.’

‘ONCE the blood starts flying, politics and talk won’t solve anything.’

‘WHAT I lack in the finer points of fisticuffs I make up for in violence.’

‘YOU don’t get a reputation like mine for being a nice guy.’

‘I HAVE grown to despise and loathe the mainstream criminal population, for they are nothing but weak-gutted mice.’

‘IF you get to the frontline of a war, you can be the safest.’

‘NOW the crims are feeding off each other. They have become cannibals. The dope dealers are all robbing each other, the bank robbers are robbing each other, the massage parlours are standing over each other, the nightclub owners are standing over and robbing each other.’

‘IF people want fair play, let them join a cricket club. A street fight is a no-holds-barred, anything-goes battle between two men or ten men. Anything can be used, from a slap on the face with a wet tea-towel to a meat axe through the brain. Mainly fists, feet, knees and head butts are used, if a heavy object is not close at hand.’

‘BUT guts without guns in my world can be fatal.’

‘IT now appears to me that I can only trust someone when I have a loaded gun stuck in their mouth. Although, of course, it is rude to speak with one’s mouth full.’

‘ONE thing I want to make very clear as a criminal, I am in a class that is no threat whatsoever to Mr and Mrs Average. The normal honest person has nothing to fear from me. Chopper Read won’t break into your home, he won’t pinch your TV, video or purse. He won’t rape your daughter, wife, sister or granny. He won’t pinch your car, rob your bank, cafe or off-licence. No, I am not in an area of crime that would personally touch the lives of the ordinary individual.

I am not even in an area of crime that will touch the ordinary criminal.

I am, or was, in a league alone, working in a specialised area of crime that the ordinary type of criminal only comes into contact with in his nightmares.’

‘I KNOW my not guilty plea is a fart in the face of a thunderstorm.’

‘I HAVE been known to take wounded men to hospital, but I don’t take dead men to the morgue.’

‘HE looked quite surprised when I pulled out my trusty meat cleaver and slammed it down on the bar.’

‘TO me violence was an art, and I was the artist.’

‘A NICE bit of sharp pain clears the mind and cleanses the soul. I personally see the lash as a bloody good character builder. If you can’t hang them, lash them and if you can’t lash them, bash them.’

‘THE criminal world is populated by three basic types – social spastics, mental retards and brain-dead junkies. There is also a smattering of freaks and flukes.

If you are a social spastic, a mental retard or a brain-dead junkie, or even a freak, and you haven’t been caught or jailed, then you are definitely a fluke.’

‘DEATH never brawls in the street. Death never has to throw a punch. Death only smiles, puts his hand inside his coat and says in a quiet voice, “Excuse me, mate, I didn’t quite hear that. Were you talking to me?”

Men found blown away in car parks have generally been stupid enough to invite death outside for a fist fight.

Death never has to raise his voice or his fist in anger. The most polite and well-mannered gent you will ever meet in the world is the hangman.’

‘LESSON: don’t ever question the impact of a gun at a criminal arms deal. Not unless you have tin legs, anyway.’

‘THE professional policeman and the professional criminal: there is not a lot to separate them.’

I SAW a young girl, she looked about 13, wearing a short, white summer frock with white Roman sandals. She had lovely blonde hair and was about five foot. She would have looked very pretty if it wasn’t for the fact she was sobbing, and had tears and a smattering of blood down her face,

I asked her what was the matter and she told me that Turkish George had bashed her. I asked her why and she told me, this little schoolgirl, that she was using smack and doing dirty deeds at the weekend to pay for it. She had some personal pride and wouldn’t do some of the dirty deeds that Turkish George wanted her to do. She said she was only a part-time user and didn’t have a habit.

She pointed out Turkish George, then I asked her whether she knew me. She said she didn’t. I then asked her if she had heard of Chopper Read. She said she had heard the name in the street.

I said, ‘I am Chopper Read … and you are going to run on home and never show your face in St Kilda again.’ She promised me she would clear out, and left.

I walked up the street a bit and saw Turkish George sitting in the passenger side of a P76 car with the door open, talking to some fat-arsed pro.

I had a pair of pliers. There is an art to using a pair of pliers in a street fight, but I won’t go into that. I punched approximately 30 puncture wounds into the Turk’s face and nearly blinded him – and I did it all in broad daylight while two uniformed police sat 20 feet away in a police car, eating hamburgers.

When Turkish George was a limp, bleeding mess in the gutter, I said to the cops, ‘Let’s go’. They handcuffed me and I was in the back of the police car when the ambulance arrived to take Turkish George away.

I was released on bail on my own reconnaissance after being charged with grievous bodily harm.

It appears that the police hated Turkish George and thought his injuries were poetic justice. At my trial, the magistrate asked if there was anything I wanted to say. I said ‘Yes, I am only sorry I didn’t blind the bastard completely’.

I pleaded guilty, and got only two years. Big deal.

I was told later in jail by a junkie who knew St Kilda well that the little blonde girl didn’t return to Fitzroy Street. It was well worth two years.

‘AN enemy can cripple itself with its own fear.’

‘EVERYONE fears the unknown; everyone gets a jump in their hearts out of a bump in the night. Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die first.’

‘THEN, through the use of personal contact via the telephone or even a nice card or flowers you can turn up the heat. Bumping into their old mother with a warm smile and a hello, and asking her to pass on your regards to Sonny Boy. Paranoia and fear combine to create an almost crippled mental state. The war at that stage has been won, and I haven’t left my lounge chair.