Chapter 20

The Final Whack

I am making this last explosive revelation owing to the fact that I have been told to get lost by those who should have settled, and I don’t like it.

In the week commencing 4 January 2010, I was visited by a connected individual, who told me what had happened within an hour of Des Moran being murdered: four close associates ratted his Langs Rd house. They were all insiders, privy to the guns, drugs and money stashed there. One has quite a police history; another is a high-profile identity.

They retrieved five pistols and various drugs, for humans and animals alike. And a large bag stuffed with, I was told later, what was Des’s paperwork. Tuppence would not have enough paperwork to make a toilet roll. They left a shottie behind and some money for the police to find. The police admitted on TV that they retrieved a shotgun and sum of money, which I’m reliably informed was $300,000. The insiders would have been sick knowing this, but Tuppence never gave anything away. Mainly he gifted homing pigeons and boomerangs.

After the release of Tuppence’s will, there seemed to be some confusion where certain things had gone.

After mulling over this for a few days, I rang one of the individuals concerned, and asked ‘Where was my whack?’ This was to cover money Jason had of mine. He mumbled on and panicked and blurted that he would have to see another. I persisted and said ‘Fix it’ meaning $30,000 that the Morans' owed me. Consequently I was contacted by the gang of four who wanted to speak with me. I said go jump, you know what I want. Later I received an SMS asking me to meet for coffee as they didn’t know what I was talking about, and stop being silly after so long. Apprehensive as I was, I agreed to meet for coffee in Puckle St. I thought to myself: These things don’t run in pairs, or so I hoped.

The first thing she told me was that they only retrieved one pistol, $1000, and a few drugs for horse soreness. So much for not knowing what I wanted. I was also asked to tone down my portrayal of Tuppence in my book, as this would only help the alleged mastermind behind Tupp’s murder in the defence submission. This person also told me that Tuppence was taken to a solicitor to change his will, but he was out. And a very strange thing, that Adrian Jones did not even know he was the executor of Tupp’s will. What utter crap. They lived in each other’s pocket. I’ve since had a message passed on from Adrian Jones, bookmaker or horse-trainer, to go and get effed.

Well, I thought, tell me to get effed, will you? That’s what happened and I’m sure the facts will surface sooner than later.

As a closing word on this book, I would like to name a few more characters who disappeared from the Moran inner circle when things got hot. They all deserted Lewis and I, with me the only one to stick by his side. Let’s not forget that. It was me and me alone who stuck with Lewis to the bitter end. These shitmen who fed off the Morans’ notoriety for years and years, and even had the gall to threaten me after various media interviews, were nowhere to be seen in the final days.

Every enterprise, legitimate or illegal, always has a core group who are like quartermasters in the armed forces, storing, collating, aiding and abetting in various ways. Paul Sequenzia I have already identified, but there were many more notables who were part of the bigger picture.

Take Jack ‘Chickenman’ Tucker, with his nickname taken from his occupation of selling smallgoods such as chickens from his baskets at various hotels around Melbourne. He also acted as fix-it man for the Morans, doing such things as tugging the coats of witnesses, telling them it was always wise not to talk about Lewis or other matters that might bring retribution upon their heads.

Also another of the shitmen, who has verbally abused me and also scattered like chaff in the wind along with many others, was Mick Cassar. He was an intimate friend of Lewis Moran, and had made a small fortune out of his hydro shop in Sunshine. He was also the owner of the property up Gisborne way where Tuppence’s motley collection of race horses and hacks would take a spell. He also bought a house at 34 Langs Rd, the house adjacent to Tuppence at 36. They had a gate put in between their properties, in their backyards, which made it easy for Tuppence to escape the police surveillance cameras fixed on his front gate. And let’s not forget Benny Horn, Hayden Lumsden, and the various professional funeral goers and hangers-on. They all had their hands out for a share of the pickings while times were good.

And while not a part of the Moran inner circle, also in our drinking crew were Peter Cox and Clarrie ‘Clocker’ Williams. Regular companions one day and not a trace of them the next. When shit hit the fan, they all scattered like dust from the boots of a defaulting SP bookie.

Yet while I have canned many individuals there remain certain others who were close to the Moran crew who had earned my trust time and again. Not only criminals but several square heads have in fact stepped up to the plate to ensure every incident told in this book is as close to the truth as possible. These are the people who shun the limelight and seek no personal glory or riches but are determined to see the real story told about the Melbourne gangland war.

People of that ilk are a growing anachronism these days. But they can hold their heads high, knowing they have left a legacy of truth far beyond that of those on a pay packet to do the same.