I was yakking to Guitar one day at the Illinois and he got on to my round-ring fighting and also about how he’d seen me in a few fights for my club. ‘You were always up front. I’ve been in a few fights with you and I know what you can do.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re not too bad for a tubby little bloke, either.’
‘Enough of the tubby-little-bloke business,’ he said. ‘That’s all muscle . . . and I’m not that much shorter than you.’
‘Come on, you’re like a great big teddy bear.’
‘And the girls love it. Anyway, I wanna have a talk.’
‘All right, come up to my booth.’ We went up and sat down. ‘What’s up?’
‘Any chance of you leaving the Comancheros?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Why?’
‘I’d still like you to come over and ride with me and me brothers. And bring your brothers with you.’
‘Nah, everything’s going along quite smooth at the moment,’ I said.
‘Yeah, fuck, youse have built that club up. I remember when there was only ten or so of ’em and then you and your brothers join and now there’s about fucking 40 of youse.’
‘Forty-four to be exact,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind telling you because you’re a mate.’
Most clubs don’t like giving out the exact number of members. And if they do give a number, they usually up it by a third. But with Guitar, we’d been getting around the traps together for years and doing a lot of riding together, so I trusted him. He was only looking out for his club.
‘Guitar, we’ll stop talking about that anyway, I’m not leaving the Comos.’
‘No worries. There’s something else I gotta ask you about,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘About Matchie and Max from the west chapter. Apparently they were at your clubhouse not long back and there was a bit of trouble there. I’ve heard Matchie and Max’s side. Do you wanna tell me yours?’
‘Ahh, you know what Jock’s like. There were a few sheilas come in and he wanted to impress them. He said, “Get those Angels out of here.” I don’t know why Jock wanted me to do it. He was quite capable of doing it himself. Matchie, Max and me were having a bit of a yak and I said to them, “It’s best if you leave.” Matchie told Jock to get fucked and I more or less ushered them out of the clubhouse.’
‘That’s not how I heard it,’ Guitar said. ‘Matchie said you practically carried him out.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about carry. I mighta picked him up a little bit, but it all ended up good. I left with them. We got on our bikes and went down to the Rosehill pub. Matchie and Max carried on drinking. I ran into Shadow and Wack down there with a couple of sheilas.’
‘When isn’t Shadow with a sheila? Every time I see him he’s got a different one. Hasn’t he got an old lady?’
‘Yeah, he does, but you know . . .’
‘It’s that way, is it?’
‘Yeah, if it wasn’t for the kids he wouldn’t be there. But, yeah, we had a good night at the pub with Matchie and Max. We played a bit of pool and they had a yak to all my brothers. You know what me and Matchie are like. We’re like me and you. The best of mates. So that was all.’
‘Yeah, I was just wondering.’
‘Well, now you’ve heard both sides, you can make up your own mind.’
‘Are you coming up the Cross tomorrow night?’
‘When aren’t I up there?’
*
I WAS still getting plenty of work from Abe, but I’d sometimes work for other people if the money was there.
One time, I went out to Galston on the north-western edge of Sydney, collecting for a mate who was owed some dough for some coke.
I spoke to these blokes who were living in a garage on a large rural block. They said they didn’t have the money, but they could get it for me in three days. So I let them off the hook. ‘All right, you’ve got till Friday.’ I turned to walk back to my car when next thing I heard, Ping, ping. They were shooting at me with a .22.
You pricks.
I went down to my XR Falcon. Nicest car you ever seen. I’d spent 20 grand on the brakes, suspension and a crate motor out of a NASCAR. I happened to have a 12-gauge shotgun in the boot, so I pulled it out and pumped it. I started firing at the roofline of this fibro garage and I kept firing and reloading, working my way along until the whole side of this garage collapsed.
I heard a pathetic voice from inside.
‘We’ve got the money. We’ve got the money.’ They handed it over, plus they had more, so I took that too for my trouble.
*
NOT LONG after I met Donna I was at the Manzil Room when a good mate of Abe’s, Barry Bath, found me there. He was owed some money and was facing a lot of shit if he couldn’t get it back.
‘I’ve sent four blokes to collect this money,’ he said, ‘and they’ve all come back either bashed up or told to go fuck themselves.’
‘I’ll give it a go,’ I said. ‘You know I take 35 per cent?’ He shrugged as if to say, ‘What else can I do?’
‘Where is it?’ I asked.
‘He’s on a yacht down at the marina at Double Bay. His name’s Enrico. He’s a tough little prick. Portuguese or Brazilian or something.’
I walked up to the boat, and stepped on board. I heard someone moving down below, so I went straight down the little wooden stairs and saw a bloke there in the galley.
‘Enrico?’ I asked.
‘Yes, that is me.’
‘You owe Mr Bath.’
He let fly with a kick and caught me under the left arm. He was spinning round and kicking like he was doing Capoeira, that Brazilian martial arts dancing. Jumping and spinning. I could hardly move, the space was so confined. He was right in his element.
I was still in hard training then and was built like the proverbial shithouse, but I was all bent over and squashed while the little prick was going to town on me – Boot! Bang! Boot!
‘Fuck me roan.’ He landed more kicks than I copped in my entire round-ringing career.
So I just walked in on him, cut down his space and crushed him into a corner with my weight. I got the cable ties on him and asked for the money. ‘Things can be nice,’ I said. ‘You’ve had your little bit of fun. Hand over what you owe and that’ll be it.’
‘You go fuck yourself.’
Here we go.
So I broke his pinkie. Nothing.
I broke the rest of his fingers, one at a time. Nothing.
I pulled out the needle nose pliers and ripped out his fingernails. Nothing. He looked at me with his black eyes, staring hatred.
‘I give you nothing, you motherfucker.’
Motherfucker? Enrico was clearly the toughest bloke I’d ever collected off and maybe the stupidest.
I found an icepick in a champagne bucket on his bar. As I came towards him with it, maybe his eyes faltered a little, wondering what the fuck I was going to do with it, but still they just stared me down with contempt. I stuck the icepick in under the back of his ear and started pushing. I knew how painful that pressure point could be. I got it in about a centimetre before he started yelling.
He was beaten.
He took me aft and showed me a barrel of oil. He put his arm in and started pulling out plastic bags full of money, which was pretty difficult for him with his hands so badly busted up and bleeding, but there was no way I was sticking my hand in there. I made him get me another plastic bag to put all these slippery bags into. I didn’t want to count the money there, with all the mess, so I broke my usual rules and didn’t count it on the spot.
‘If it’s not the right amount,’ I said, ‘I’m coming back to put you in the fricking barrel.’
I took all the money up to Barry. We counted it out and it turned out to be enough with $30,000 left over. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘That’s mine. Now count out my 35 per cent.’
Barry was quite happy to give me that.
‘Caesar,’ he said, ‘I thought I’d done me dough there. I’ve had some blokes breathing down my neck and if I hadn’t got this much back I’d have been fucked.’
‘Glad I could help you, Barry.’