The Real Thing Read online

  Robert G. Barrett was raised in Bondi where he has worked mainly as a butcher. After thirty years he moved to Terrigal on the Central Coast of New South Wales. Robert has appeared in a number of films and TV commercials but prefers to concentrate on a career as a writer.

  Also by Robert G. Barrett in Pan

  YOU WOULDN’T BE DEAD FOR QUIDS THE BOYS FROM BINJIWUNYAWUNYA THE GODSON BETWEEN THE DEVLIN AND THE DEEP BLUE SEAS DAVO’S LITTLE SOMETHING WHITE SHOES, WHITE LINES AND BLACKIE AND DE FUN DON’T DONE MELE KALIKIMAKA MR WALKER THE DAY OF THE GECKO RIDER ON THE STORM AND OTHER BITS AND BARRETT GUNS ’N’ ROSE

  ROBERT G.

  BARRETT

  The Real Thing

  The author is again donating a percentage of his royalties to Greenpeace, an organisation he deeply respects.

  This is a work of fiction and all characters in this book are a creation of the author’s imagination.

  First published 1986 by Pan Books (Australia) Pty Limited This edition published by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd 1 Market Street, Sydney

  Reprinted 1988, 1989 (twice), 1991, 1992 (twice), 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996 (twice), 1998 (twice), 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2006, 2008, 2009

  Copyright © Robert G. Barrett 1986

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Barrett, Robert G.

  The real thing.

  ISBN 978 0 330 27164 6

  I. Title A823.3

  Typeset by Post Pre-press Group Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  This book is dedicated to Thomas Barrett, the first man hanged in Australia — February 1788.

  The Publisher would like to acknowledge that the author is giving 10% of his royalty earnings to Greenpeace, an organisation which he deeply respects.

  CONTENTS

  Steve’s Birthday

  First Day in the D’s

  Wheels

  The Real Thing

  Something She’d Never Done Before

  Steve’s Birthday

  Detective Joe Warren loosened his tie a little more and took another quiet sip on his Scotch and dry. Seated next to him Detective Alan Redman did pretty much the same thing. Across from the two tough vice-squad detectives Price Galese and George Brennan were seated at Price’s desk, their drinks standing idly on the oak top. To their left, Eddie Salita sat quietly in the corner absently picking at his watch. Les Norton and Billy Dunne had entered the office about five minutes earlier and were parked comfortably in two leather chairs to Price’s right holding their drinks in their laps. No one was talking. No one was laughing.

  Thursday night at the Kelly Club had finished almost an hour ago. The money was counted and in the safe, the club was locked up and the staff and punters had drifted off into the night. Outside, Kings Cross was still pumping along in its own gawdy, happy sort of way, but at 4 a.m. on Friday morning the atmosphere in Price Galese’s office was deadly serious. You didn’t have to be Einstein to figure out there was a bit of trouble in the air.

  Price Galese took a light sip on his drink and looked over at Detective Joe Warren. ‘All right Joe,’ he said easily, ‘now what’s this business you were talking to me about on the phone earlier? There’s trouble coming up from Melbourne. Is that right?’

  Detective Warren ran his finger round the rim of his glass and stole a quick glance at his partner. ‘That’s right Price. There’s going to be a hit on you this Saturday night. Right here in the club.’

  ‘And it’s Vince Rossiter.’

  Detective Warren nodded his head solemnly.

  ‘It’s not a load of shit either Price,’ said his partner. ‘We’ve got it straight from the armed hold-up boys in Collins Street.’

  ‘Mm.’ Price drummed his fingers lightly on the top of the desk. It was so tense and electrifyingly quiet in the plush, roomy office you could distinctly hear the ice-cubes cracking in George Brennan’s still untouched drink. ‘And this mug Rossiter says he’s going to do it this Saturday night. In here.’

  ‘We know he’s a mug Price,’ replied Detective Warren. ‘There’s no two ways about that. But he’s also mad as a meat axe.’

  ‘He’s gotta be,’ grunted Les Norton.

  There’d been a bungled attempt on Price’s life by two mixed-up hit-men from Melbourne about twelve months earlier. Luckily it had been thwarted by Les. As soon as Price found out who it was he sent Eddie Salita down to deal with them. Eddie, with the help of an old mate from Vietnam who was living in Brunswick, shot both of them and dumped their weighted bodies in Port Phillip Bay. One of the bodies belonged to Steve Rossiter — Vince Rossiter’s brother.

  The Rossiters were a close knit, not very intelligent, but highly feared family from around the South Melbourne markets. The two brothers, Vince and Steve, besides being extremely violent and totally unpredictable, were just about inseparable. Vince was reputed to be almost bordering on insanity. The painters’ and dockers’ union used them for bag-men and they’d been involved in a number of unsolved shootings. They also specialised in armed hold-ups on the side — Vince was a master of disguise.

  By sheer intimidation they’d managed to stay one step ahead of the law — though at the time of Steve’s disappearance the police had finally managed to lag Vince with a three-with-a-one for assault and malicious wounding. A publican in Foot-scray, had asked him to leave his hotel, so Vince put a glass in the man’s face and beat up his wife.

  When he got news of his brother’s disappearance Vince went almost insane with grief. When he found out who was responsible he vowed instant revenge as soon as he was released. It didn’t matter that his dim-witted brother had tried to kill one of the most popular and heaviest men in Sydney — to Vince’s twisted way of thinking that didn’t count. He would have his revenge, and now that his beloved brother was gone it didn’t matter if he lost his own life in the process. He had confided all this to one of his cronies in Pentridge, the crony told the screws, the screws told the right Melbourne police and it wasn’t long before it went on the old mates network to Sydney where it finally got to Price.

  ‘And how long has this Rossiter clown been out of the nick?’ asked Price.

  ‘Just on a week,’ replied Detective Warren.

  ‘What makes you so convinced he’ll have a go this Saturday night?’ asked George Brennan.

  ‘He was heard bragging how he was going to celebrate his brother’s birthday right under the so-called Sydney heavies’ noses,’ said Detective Redman. ‘We’ve run Steve’s record through the computer and it turns out this Saturday would have been his birthday. Vince hasn’t been sighted since Wednesday, so you can bet your bottom dollar that’s what he was on about and he doesn’t care if he dies doing it. We’re not dealing with a rational human being here Price. Vince Rossiter is a mad dog.’

  ‘He’s certainly got some front, I’ll give him that,’ said Price, adding a contemptuous laugh.

  ‘The thing is, Price, we can only do so much,’ said Detective Warren. ‘There was nothing the boys in Melbourne could hold him on and it would have looked too obvious if something had happened to him as soon as he got out of the can. By the same token, if there’s a gun fight in here or out the front the papers’ll get hold of it, shit’ll come flying back on us, we’ll have to do something and there’ll be trouble for everyone.’

  ‘You can say that ag
ain,’ replied Price grimly.

  ‘What you do is your business,’ said Detective Redman, flashing a quick glance at Eddie Salita sitting impassively in the corner. ‘To be fair dinkum, if Vince Rossiter disappears you’ll be doing everyone a favour. But you’re going to have to be extremely careful and very, very discreet.’

  ‘Mm,’ mused Price. He paused quietly for a few moments, then smiled. ‘All right Joe, Alan,’ he said, taking two manilla envelopes from a drawer in the large oak desk. ‘You’ve been a great help. I really appreciate what you’ve just done.’ He slid the two fat envelopes across the desk. ‘There’s a nice drink there and there’ll be another one up here for you next Thursday night when all this is settled.’

  The two detectives rose from their seats and picked up the envelopes. ‘Just make sure you’re here next Thursday Price,’ said Detective Warren sincerely, slipping the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  ‘That goes for me too Price,’ said Detective Redman.

  Price Galese smiled, stood up and shook the two detectives’ hands. ‘I’ll be here next Thursday,’ he winked. ‘I don’t know about your mate Rossiter though. I’ll see you then. Good night lads and thanks again.’ He turned to Norton. ‘Les, will you let the boys out?’

  ‘Sure.’ Norton got up and ushered them to the front door. No one said a word while Les was gone; they were still sitting there silently waiting for him when he returned about five minutes later.

  Price waited till Les was seated before he spoke. ‘Well, there it is boys,’ he said, slapping his hands together and rubbing them lightly. ‘This prick from Melbourne’s going to get in here on Saturday night and try and neck me. I know it’s a pain in the arse but we’re going to have to knock him.’ He glanced quizzingly around the sombre faces in the office. ‘Any suggestions?’

  There was silence for a few seconds, then George Brennan spoke. ‘Why don’t you just not be here Saturday night,’ he said, with a light shrug of his shoulders.

  Price shook his head. ‘I can’t be doing that George,’ he said adamantly. ‘If I start running away from every shit-pot bloody hood that threatens me, I’ll be doing it all the time.’ He took another sip on his drink. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I’d rather get it over and done with. One way or the other.’

  ‘If you can tell me what he looks like,’ said Norton, ‘I’ll let him in then get him on the stairs and break his neck. Then we can just dump him or bury him somewhere.’ He took a look around the room at the others. ‘That’s one way of doin’ it, ain’t it?’

  Price smiled. ‘It’s certainly a thought Les,’ he said with a light laugh at Norton’s casual but serious idea of how to kill Vince Rossiter. ‘But I’m not sure what he looks like and you could make a blue. And I lose one of my lovely customers. It is one way of doing it though.’

  Finally he turned to Eddie Salita still sitting quietly in the corner. ‘Well Eddie, what do you reckon? You’re in charge of the killing department. Have you got any SP on this Rossiter imbecile?’

  Eddie picked at his watch for a second or two before he spoke. ‘Yeah I know him all right,’ he said softly.

  ‘You do?’ said Price as every eye in the office riveted on Eddie.

  ‘Yeah. I met him a couple of years ago, just before he went in the nick.’ Eddie looked up at Price. ‘Remember when we had that rort going through Melbourne customs with those Mercedes Benz cars, and I had to go down and sort out those two dealers?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Price nodded slowly.

  ‘Well, I met him in a pub in Fitzroy — him and his brother, and he’s a ratbag all right, you needn’t worry about that.’

  ‘What’s he look like?’ asked Billy Dunne.

  ‘Oh he’s about five foot, ten, pretty solid, black hair. He looks a bit like that Johnny Sattler the footballer — same square jaw and piercing eyes, only Vince’s are a bright green.’

  ‘You reckon you’d be able to tell him if he came in here though?’ asked Billy. ‘Remember what that copper said. He’s an expert in getting done up in disguise. That’s why they can’t pin those bank jobs on him. And you can bet your life he’ll be just about unrecognisable when he lobs here on Saturday night.’

  ‘I’ll know him all right,’ replied Eddie. ‘He’s got a certain way he moves around with one shoulder sort of dipped below the other. Evidently he got his collarbone broken with a baseball bat a long time ago, and it never set properly. I got a habit of checking out people’s mannerisms and I found out about it.’

  ‘And you’re certain that will enable you to recognise him on Saturday night?’ Price sounded just a little sceptical.

  ‘That, plus his eyes. Plus he doesn’t know that we know he’s coming, and he doesn’t know I’ll be here and I know what he looks like.’

  ‘So what do you intend to do?’ asked Price.

  ‘Nothing. Just let him inside like anyone else you want to let in.’

  ‘Let him inside?’ chorused the others.

  Eddie smiled to himself. ‘That’s right,’ he said easily. ‘All I want is for you to put another bloke on the door with Billy and leave Les inside with me all night.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ said Price. ‘Are you sure one bloke will be enough? I’ll get a dozen if you like.’

  ‘No, one’ll do. Get Danny McCormack, he’s pretty reliable and just leave the big Queenslander with me for the night.’ Eddie gave Les a sinister smile. ‘Might show you a little trick I learnt during my second tour of Vietnam, when I was with the Yanks. It’s a good’n mate.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Norton’s eyes lit up and he rubbed his hands together vigorously. ‘Bit of CIA stuff Eddie? Poison blow guns, death rays, what about an exploding toilet seat in the brascoe? Or are you gonna get done up like a Ninja and come down from the ceiling on a rope?’

  ‘Something like that,’ replied Eddie. His eyes flashed murderously, the smile on his face turned into an evil grin. ‘But you’ll like it Les. It’s a beauty.’

  ‘Yeah? It sure sounds all right,’ said Norton. ‘I can’t wait for Saturday night. I’m looking forward to this.’

  Suddenly Price stood up and glared at Norton. ‘You’re looking forward to this aren’t you,’ he bellowed. ‘I’ve got some psychopath coming in here to try and kill me on Saturday night, and you’re looking forward to it. You fuckin’ Queensland hillbilly, I only wish one of my suits fitted you; I’d stick you in it with a grey wig on your big boofhead and put you in charge for the night. This Rossiter might think you’re me and shoot you instead, you wombat.’

  ‘Hold on Price,’ said Norton, holding his hands out in front of him. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘In fact,’ said Price, ‘I might even do it myself. Right now.’ He started rummaging through the drawers in his desk. ‘George. where’s that bloody .45? Eddie, just give me one of yours for a sec. And make sure there’s plenty of bullets in it.’

  Despite Price’s outburst, a ripple of laughter and relief ran round the office. Eddie’s calm, reassuring, businesslike approach to the harrowing matter of what to do on Saturday night had eased the tension in the room and soothed everybody’s fears noticeably. When it came to organising a hit or securing Price’s safety there was no one better in Australia than the steely-eyed ex-Vietnam veteran.

  While he was up, Price got everyone a fresh drink and handed them around. ‘All jokes aside Eddie,’ he said, as he eased himself comfortably back into his Swedish, padded-leather chair. ‘Just what do you reckon this Rossiter will try and pull on Saturday night?’

  Eddie took a sip on his drink and started crunching a piece of ice up in his mouth. ‘Deep inside, I’d say he’s on a death wish because of losing his brother. Being a nut that’s how it’s affected him. He’ll probably come in here, see you and open up with what ever he’s got. Probably a couple of automatics, possibly he’ll try and get a small machine gun in — like a Mac 10 or a Skorpion. He’ll indiscriminately kill as many people as possible before he gets shot himself, figuring that if he m
akes a big enough scene in here it’ll be end of the Kelly Club. The publicity in the papers will finish it.’

  ‘Jesus, you can say that again,’ shuddered George Brennan.

  ‘But not to worry,’ continued Eddie, ‘as soon as I spot him he’ll be dead three seconds later.’

  ‘Three seconds?’ asked Les.

  Eddie nodded his head slowly and winked. He didn’t elaborate any further on what would happen on Saturday night, just that he’d organise the disposal of Rossiter’s body, and he’d give them a few more details on Friday night. In the meantime they could all relax a little and stay cool — there was nothing to worry about, he assured them. They finished their drinks, then decided to lock up and call it a night.

  The stars had just begun to disappear. In the east a faint glimmer of dawn was just starting to blush shyly in the inky blue of the night sky when they stepped out of the Kelly Club and paused for a moment on the footpath. Without much to-do Les and Billy walked Price to his car; George got in the back and Eddie drove them home.

  ‘I’ll give you a ring about two,’ yawned Les, as he and Billy watched the big brown Rolls draw out of sight.

  ‘Righto mate. See you then,’ replied Billy. They headed for their cars and went home to bed.

  Friday was a typical summer’s day in Sydney. Warm and clear with hardly a cloud in the sky. A brisk nor’easter whipped across the city scattering any smog and keeping the temperature down to a pleasant eighty degrees. Norton was up at about midday. After a late breakfast he rang Billy at about 1.30. They decided not to do any training together as Billy had to give his wife a hand with some shopping that afternoon. They also agreed it was pretty pointless their worrying about anything happening to Price as Eddie would soon be sorting that business out the following night. However they decided they both might get to work a bit early that night and keep an extra sharp look out just in case. Les told Billy he’d see him at the club at about 8, then hung up.