‘At times Micky is so laid back I’d think he was in a coma. But when he moves, he moves with purpose’
MAD Micky Marlow, or Micky Saunders, as he is also known, has been a good, loyal friend foØr many years.
We are, indeed, an odd couple. He is a quiet, polite fellow and a man of non-violence unless, of course, it is a matter of business.
He was born in NSW, and why he lives in Tasmania is a bit of a puzzle. He has friends on the mainland such as Peter Clune, the armed robber, and the Russell Street Bomber, Craig Minogue, who he still keeps in touch with.
Micky worked on the Melbourne waterfront in the late 1970s for a while and did a short stint in Pentridge, not that such things should be held against him. While a guest in Her Majesty’s prison he had a run-in with the late Shane Goodfellow.
For reasons that I have never been able to work out, police seem to think Micky is some sort of a tank man, a safe cracker involved in criminal activity. ‘Foul gossip and slander’ is my reply to this sort of baseless allegation.
Some members of the Launceston CIB seem to believe that Mad Micky was the last person to see local criminal identity Tony Tanner alive. Tony vanished and his body has never been found. When I returned to Tassie in November 1991, the head of the CIB asked me if I had any knowledge of the Tanner mystery and of Micky’s alleged involvement.
My answer has always been the same: Micky is too nice a fellow to be involved in such a thing. Besides, I have heard rumors that Tanner was seen drinking in a Williamstown pub, months after he vanished from Tassie.
I met Tanner in 1987 and I found him to be a disagreeable fellow with the sort of personality that is prone to suicide. The suicide factor should not, in my opinion, be ignored.
Micky is something of the local playboy and many an attractive girl has been overwhelmed by his charms. He is also a fearless punter. He once lost $13,000 in just on one hour of drunken madness at the greyhounds. We play some rather foul practical jokes on each other and our methods and styles are very different.
Mad Micky is, and always will be, a loyal friend whose friendship I value. He is a thinker who will not act in haste, whereas I like to strike while the soldering iron is hot, so to speak.
At times Micky is so laid back I’d think he was in a coma. But when he moves, he moves with purpose. He has a secretive and paranoid way about him and he is always talking in a special semi-code. He is convinced that he is being followed or that his phone is being bugged.
He also has a cleanliness fetish. He is the only man I know who will spend an hour in the shower, dry himself off, and then wash his bloody hands.
Mad Micky had a falling out with my old mate, Sid Collins, and warned me that Collins was treacherous. But I thought I knew better, only to find out that Micky was correct.
Micky’s motto of ‘Never plead guilty’ has still found him inside Risdon Jail on a few occasions over the years, but he now lives a life which has little to do with crime, other than to socialize with a few old crooks.
He is a mate and a loyal friend and has stuck on my side in spite of popular opinion. While I don’t say it to his face, I am grateful for his support and friendship and I am sorry for putting holes in my manners in the name of scallywag comedy, much at poor Micky’s expense.
A few crims could learn from Micky. He doesn’t give people up in police stations, doesn’t talk out of school and, in matters of business, is a cool-headed chap to have on your side.
Dave the Jew met Micky after the Collins shooting and both of them got on in a friendly manner, which I found strange as The Jew hates people even to see him, let alone know who he is. I have never heard The Jew say a good word about anyone since the death of Cowboy Johnny.
As anybody who read Chopper From The Inside knows. The Jew grew up with me and Cowboy Johnny in Prahran. He is from a wealthy family and went to Wesley College but he would have to be one of the most dangerous men in Australia. If he decides someone has to go on the missing list, that is it. He will quietly hunt them down, and then they are no more. I am always glad to know that Dave is on my side.
He is blood loyal and cold blooded. He wanted to help me with my problems in Tassie by getting rid of a few people. I told him that was not the way to go. The coppers must have heard something because they sure as hell hid away some of their witnesses in case they developed a Jewish Problem.
Micky, on the other hand, was puzzled by The Jew. He was surprised that such an ordinary looking fellow, such a polite and gentle person, could really have such a lethal reputation.
Dave the Jew and Mad Micky have one thing in common. They are both puzzles. Complex people always are.
In 1987 Micky and myself became involved in a few matters that I am unable to write about, but let me say that Micky has been there for me when it counted. In 1987 he came to Melbourne and I introduced him to the mad drug dealer from the west of Melbourne, Scottish Steve.
It was a moment of some comedy. Before the conversation Steve suggested that we put all our guns on the table and Micky was amazed to see so many weapons plonked out in front of him.
At our second meeting at Steve’s Ascot Vale house, or the house of horrors, as it was known, I witnessed the strangest conversation, with Scottish Steve talking in complete speed-ravaged, paranoid riddles and Mad Micky talking in his unique sort of code.
I was totally lost and the other two were no better. Each man left the meeting convinced the other was quite mad.
