He used to lie in bed some mornings and dream of houses just like this. Little white single-fronted cottage, picket fence, wrought iron around the veranda, pretty pocket-handkerchief garden. A laneway out the back, an extension in glass and timber bathing a sunroom in natural light. The sort of place into which people had put a lot of work and pride and money.
And then he’d go and rob it.
Lie back, shut his eyes and he could picture the place perfectly: seeing the way in through the alley, the fence high enough for cover but not too high to climb, the very window he was going to pop. Imagining all the good gear inside.
He’d lie there for half an hour or so, thinking it through, getting comfortable with it. Then he’d get up, get dressed – gloves in one pocket, screwdriver in the other – and walk straight out and do it.
But this particular joint, which he and a mate knocked off four, maybe five years ago, was more of a happy accident.
They’d come out to do a rip from a place down the lane. A year earlier they’d thieved a big marijuana plant, thick and heavy with heads, and now they’d come back for another dip. Coming up empty, they began scouting the other backyards for plants, poking their heads over fences on each side of the lane.
And here it was. A place just too good to pass up: yuppie dream with a big new sunroom extension, plate glass from floor to cathedral ceiling. You could look straight in and see everything they owned. Like a smorgasbord. The real laugh was the idiots hadn’t even locked the doors.
They were in and out in five minutes. Got a TV, stereo, mobile phone, a bit of jewellery and a couple of hundred in cash from the bedroom. Another nice little earn.
Did a lot of places around here in those days. Did that one over the road, the green one up the street, and the place three houses along. Knocked over the milk bar up the corner one night when he was just a kid. Robbed that one and ripped their dope plants as well. In three or four years he probably robbed a couple of hundred houses all around Port Melbourne and South Melbourne.
That was the thing he used to do. He was a burglar. Only job he’d really ever had.
‘Mate, I’ve been getting into other people’s houses since I was 11 years old. I was a little larrikin. Me and all the boys round the Graham Street flats.
‘I remember me first. This was when Dad was still alive. It wasn’t a burglary, just a break-in. It looked like a dump, a run-down old house, and there was an old man that lived there, he collected junk and that. We ended up getting in and trashing the place, throwing things everywhere.
‘The police ended up coming and they caught me. They said, “Where’s your father?” and I told them he was probably down the pub.
‘We walked into the pub and there’s me old man and I could just see his evil eyes looking at me, this little kid with two big ugly jacks standing beside me.
‘He made me sit in the corner in the pub all afternoon. All me dad’s friends are coming up, trying to give me chips and drinks and money and he’s saying, “No, don’t give him nothin’.” When I got home I copped a spanking and got grounded. It never stopped me but.’
Call him Mick, but only because it’s not his name. He hasn’t done an earn in a couple of years now, not since he got pinched and sent to Pentridge and decided to give the whole game away as a bad joke. But there’s no point sticking your neck out.
In four or five solid years of thieving, he never went down for a single burglary. What got him sent away in the end was a couple of nasty street brawls, fuelled by pills and alcohol. He was locked down in B Division on the day his son was born, the most important day of his life, and reckons that was his wake-up call.
Now, just 23, he’s doing time in a dead-end caravan park, jammed between the scotch thistles and freight tracks out on Sunshine Road, Sunshine, in Melbourne’s rust belt western suburbs, picking up the dole and the odd job, looking after his little boy on weekends and trying hard to stay out of trouble.
Of course he’s tempted. It’d take only one day, one score, to get out of this dump. Just enough to pay the bond on a decent flat. And he could rationalise it, tell himself he’s doing it for the boy. But it’d just be an excuse, wouldn’t it?
And that one day could mean another 12 months away from the boy, and he couldn’t handle that. Because it’s true what they say: If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.
Doing the crime’s the easy part. Always has been.
‘When me dad was in the picture and he was strict on us, I was a little goody two-shoes. But when Dad passed away, a couple of days before my 12th birthday, I just turned into a renegade.
‘I was about 13 when I first started getting in trouble with the coppers: doing break-and-enters, breaking into factories just to play in there. Then, probably about form one, I started shoplifting, stealing lollies, chocolates and stuff. Then it got worse and worse.
‘Probably from 14 and upwards I was doing burglaries, actually doing factories, houses, warehouses, anything. Shops, milk bars. I can’t really remember the first one because they weren’t that serious, they were just a piece of cake. It was so easy just to get into someone’s house and take what you need, within five minutes. There’s been that many houses I can’t remember the first.
‘But I do remember me first shop, me first milk bar. A couple of mates told me, “That joint’s got a lot of money in there,” and I said, “It’s pretty dangerous doing shops, isn’t it, with alarms and everything?” But they said, “Nah, this one’s got nothing, they’re stupid.”
‘So we climbed up on their roof and took one of their skylights off. They had bars across and I thought, “So, they’re not that stupid.” But we only needed to cut one bar and because we were so small, we could squeeze through.
‘We got in, pinched all the smokes, the money – got about 500 in cash, five-and 10-dollar notes. And heaps of lollies – lollies and ice-creams. We left a trail of chocolate and icecream wrappers all the way back to the flats.
‘From then on, basically I made a career of it.
‘Come 16- or 17-years-old I was a really full-on dopehead, full-on bonghead and a semi-alcoholic, and that’s when I got introduced to the pills: Serapax, Rohypnols – a lot of serras and rowies. And that’s what it all went on – drugs and alcohol.
‘I wouldn’t be greedy and have a big bundle. Once I got a hundred bucks in my kick, I’d buy booze and drugs and that. Plus if I’ve got a hundred, all my mates have got a hundred – what we get we split. Say we make a thousand in a couple of days and it’s got to be split and then it all goes on piss and drugs and munchies. Then you go out and do another.
‘But by the time I was 18 and 19, that’s when I was full-on into burgs. I was popping pills and I always had cash, rolls of cash inside my mattress. ’Cos I was doing rips as well, pinching marijuana plants from people’s backyards and selling it to all the boys around Port and South. That was another good one.
‘But if I didn’t have a rip and I’d run out of cash, I’d go do an earn.’
He was always on the lookout. Keeping an eye out for a nice, fancy house, something clean, tidy and well-kept. He’d go for a house with style – the sort of place that looked like rich suckers lived there: a place where you’d expect the people to have big TVs and flashy stereos, a bit of designer gear in the walk-in robes. Something with all the mod cons – for the taking.
Plus, of course, he’d be looking at what kind of windows they had, what sort of locks, and whether they had any dirty big dogs or alarms. Nice big letterboxes where the mail sat all day. Rear access was always handy and he used to love those houses with the high walls out front, where you could just walk in, shut the gate and enjoy the privacy. Away from the prying eyes of the neighbours.
And he knew his little patch of Port and South Melbourne and Garden City so well he could picture every street, every back lane and every narrow, one-man alley sneaking off them. Never really had to case a joint, he’d simply be out there every day, walking down the street to the milk bar or just wandering, taking the shortcuts, and that’s when he’d see a place he liked.
And he’d say to himself: ‘That looks like a nice house to rob, I’ll keep that in mind.’ And a week or so later he’d go back and do it over.
‘I used to pop pills, heaps at night, and I’d still wake up in the morning, pilled off me head, and I’d just lay there thinking, “Who can I rob today?”
‘Most of the time I’d picture a house before I got out of bed. I used to lie in bed for half an hour before I got up, picture a house I’m going to rob, then go do it.
‘This is when I was doin’ earns by myself. I’d go in there, pop open a window with a screwdriver, get into the house, and I’d go straight to the lounge room: the TV, video, stereo, straight to the electrical goods. Get all that set up, put it on the side, only take what I can carry. And always I can carry a TV and video, always, no matter what.
‘A stereo: I’d always get the little portable ones, the latest ones, ’cos they’re so light but they’re worth a lot of money. A lot of times I’d leave the speakers behind because it’s too much for me to carry.
‘And you get your exit happening, know how you’re getting out. And a bit of safety: you flick the lock on the front door from the inside. Anyone turns up they can’t get in, you hear the key wiggling in the lock and, boom, you’re straight out the back. It’s happened a few times.
‘Next, I’d hit the bedrooms. Go for the drawers. Straight away – top drawers in the bedrooms. Open them up, in under all the socks and jocks and that’s where the cash is, you know? Or down the bottom drawer, you pull it right out and you’ve got the inside of the cupboard and that’s where there was a lot of money stashed. All that space underneath and you’ve got money boxes sitting there, little tins and cash boxes, stuff like that, lot of valuables, little jewellery boxes.
‘The main objective, the main thing I’d be looking for, would be cash, quick-earn cash. That was the whole idea, to make money. If you were greedy you’d take the electrical stuff. But I’d take the cash and fuck off, because I’m not a junkie. A junkie takes the cash, the electrical goods, the lot. And he’ll trash the whole house.
‘There was one place I robbed and I got $1200 cash. They had a grouse TV, video, stereo, and I said, “Nah, I don’t want that, I’ve got what I want, I’ve got me cash.” You know what I mean? I wouldn’t risk me arse to carry that to where I’ve got to go and get pinched for it, when I’ve got the cash in my pocket.
‘You’d always look for a case or something to haul the stuff home in. I’d walk down the street with a suitcase on each arm, full of hot goods, sweat pouring off me; I really want to get to me place so I’m sweet and can get rid of all this gear. Me heart’s pumping and it’s like you can carry a ton and walk 50 yards, you just had to get there. Find a shopping trolley and you think, “You beauty.”
‘You used to be able to get rid of some stuff in pawn shops, but it’s tough. A couple of times I even grabbed people’s own ID and used that. A couple of things with their names and addresses, receipts, telephone bills or something like that.
‘A lot of times the videos, stereos and that used to go around the flats. A quick 80 or 100 bucks and people jump on them, especially the drug dealers. They sit there and wait, let everything come to them. Like me, I’m out there doing it and I bring it to them, they give me money and they go sell it for more. I’m happy with that.
‘Sometimes I used to ask them “What do you need? A video, stereo, what? Clothes? Jag, Country Road, what?” Stealing to order.
‘Never used to go for home computers much, just couldn’t sell them. There was one bloke, bought maybe three off us. He was a wog, smart suit, had his own business. But none of the local boys used to buy them. Too fuckin’ dumb.
‘But it was money you really wanted. Cash. I always used to think I’m going to come across a big earn – a nice house with 10 grand. That was always on my mind: “Which house am I gunna hit, which house am I gunna hit?” I always wanted that big earn, eight thousand, 10 thousand cash and I’d be laughing.’
So now he returns to the scene of the crimes. Slinking down back alleys and chinning himself over grey and broken paling fences, pointing out windows he’s broken, back doors he’s jemmied, house after house that he’s been in uninvited. Seeing if they’ve learnt anything from having him around.
That lovely little white cottage on the corner is as tempting as it was the first time, but the blinds of the side windows are drawn down tight and there are deadlocks on the windows and doors. Peep out the back, though, and all that glass on the sunroom is still wide open. You can take inventory of everything they own.
The place he ripped the dope plants from might be producing again but he can’t be sure: the fence is a couple of metres higher and topped with barbed wire. That one down the lane has invested in a yappy dog. But most are wide open and welcoming because, well, because people are stupid.
He used to see that actress, the cute little policewoman from the TV drama ‘Blue Heelers’, doing ads on the telly telling you how to avoid getting burgled by blokes like him. You might reckon she came across as a bit of a goose, but what she says was spot-on.
But take it from a bloke who knows. All that’s required is just a bit of common sense. Like never leaving your letterbox chock-a-block with junk mail. Don’t leave the curtains wide open, advertising all your nice possessions. Leave a radio or a TV on, because if a house is dead silent you always know no-one’s home.
Know your neighbours, those on both sides and the people opposite. Let them know your routine and get to know theirs. Take an interest. Join Neighbourhood Watch. Fix up your back fence to make it more secure and add on a trellis too high and wobbly for anyone to easily climb.
Don’t kid yourself that you can hide your money. Under the mattresses, under beds and in boxes, taped to the bottoms of drawers, stashed in the freezer. That’s all old news.
Get those sensor lights that switch on when anyone comes near and invest in an alarm system: they were always a must to avoid. He’d been told you only had to snip the wires, but getting at them meant you were red-lighting yourself and there’s no profit in that. He just wouldn’t take the risk. There are thousands of homes in South and Port, and he’d just move down the street to another one.
Stick bars on your windows if you really want to be sure, he reckons. Citizens work hard day after day, slaving for a boss, so they can get all that nice stuff, but other people want it too. And they don’t have to put in half the effort.
‘There are burglars out there who do it for a job, day in, day out. Even if they’ve got money in their kick they still do it. Every day they clock on. The professionals, they’ve got a lot of contacts, soon as they’ve got their gear it’s gone. There’s a few people out there making a real good living off it. They own their houses out of burgling other people’s.
‘But mostly it’s all young kids now – and junkies of course. A lot of people who do burgs now are supporting their drug habit. That’s the majority: probably 95 per cent.
‘The kids, it’s for pocket money, booze, maybe a choof. They’re 15 or 16 and they’ve got money in their pocket, to show off for all the girls, buy booze, be a big man for a while.
‘But the junkies, they’re right into it. They’ve got a lot of dash but they’re stupid cunts, they’re just completely dumb, they don’t think. They go in to do a house and they wouldn’t even check for an alarm. They wouldn’t even go around and check for an alleyway where you could get in from the back – they’ll go right in the front. Get a screwdriver and go bang, flip the window up and they’re up and in and you’ve got people across the road looking through their curtains.
‘A good thief, you can do the same thing out the back and no-one’s seeing you. You’re squared off behind the fence. But, these pricks, they’re really clumsy. That’s why a lot of them get pinched: they’re hanging out so bad for their whack, they just get in there so they can hurry up and get to their dealers. And that means they’re dangerous, you don’t want to come home when one of them’s in your house.
‘Me, when I was doing earns on me own, when I was greedy, most times I was pilled off me head and you’ve got more front than Myers when you’re on pills. But if someone came in I’d do the bolt, I’d try and run. But if he had’ve got hold of me, you’d do anything to get away because you don’t want the jacks to get you.
‘It never happened, I’ve never had a fight in someone’s house. That’s a bad charge, it’s aggravated burglary.
‘Hardly ever would I do an earn when I was straight, because I’d have too much remorse for the people. Every time I’d do the earn I’d feel sorry for them – not at the time, right? But after.
‘When I’m stealing, I don’t feel nothing. But when I get home and I’ve sold the goods, I can picture everything in that house: the family photos, everything, and I think these people worked hard for their gear and you’ve got cunts like me coming in and pinching it.
‘But I didn’t care at the time. This is after I’ve got the gear, I’ve sold it, I’ve had a choof, I’ve come down off the pills – and when you’ve come down off the pills that’s when you feel guilty. I used to feel real guilty.
‘And I used to think to myself, “If I ever win Tattslotto, I’ll go to every place I’ve robbed and give them everything back, write ’em out a cheque.” Then I’d have a few more pills and that’s when all that remorse just goes out the door. Something like evil comes in and all that goes out.
‘I should’ve stayed at school. People told me stick it out, stop wagging and I just said, “Nah.” If I’d kept at school I could’ve had a trade, I could’ve been smarter up top. I’m not that good at reading and writing, so there goes an office job, any business, any job with a lot of paperwork. I can’t do that. All I can do is labour – hard labour.
‘Looking back now I curse myself. I’m 23 and I’ve done nothin’, I’ve got nothin’. Just a beautiful little boy who better not grow up like his daddy.’