‘He wanted people bashed with pick handles over debts. I told him to talk to people if you wanted the money back.’
He says Condello gave him two shotguns. ‘I took him up the country to teach him how to shoot. He didn’t have the stock up against his shoulder so when he fired he ended up with a cut finger.’
But for a man with a ruthless streak, says Reggie, Condello preferred to be in the background when it came to violence. The big man with the impressive IQ and the mean streak was right to study law rather than medicine. ‘The funny thing was that he couldn’t stand the sight of blood. He would faint.’
Condello was ambitious to make it, both in the legitimate and criminal worlds, he says. ‘He had a plan to be a solicitor, a barrister and then a judge. He wanted to be a judge and he would have made it too. He had contacts all the way to federal parliament.’
His former close friend says Condello was always looking for powerful friends. ‘I knew that when he went to jail he would end up connected.’
Reggie says Condello could be charming and kind, but he was selfish and violent underneath.
‘There were two Marios. There was the good Mario, but the bad one would win out every time.’
23
GOING THE DISTANCE
He knows his name has been
whispered in relation to
unsolved murders and that he
remains a person of interest
to Purana.
MICK Gatto is personable, friendly and charismatic. He is a master networker who is as comfortable talking to battlers at the boxing as to property developers at a multi-million-dollar building site. As he told a Supreme Court jury in 2005, when he was tried (and acquitted) for the killing of hit man Andrew Veniamin: ‘I like to know as many people as I can.’
But while he has no shortage of acquaintances, his circle of close friends is shrinking. Eight months after beating the Veniamin murder charge, he buried one of the closest of all, Mario Condello, his trusted friend and fellow member of the so-called Carlton Crew, gunned down in yet another Melbourne underworld execution.
Condello himself was convinced that previous attempts on his life related to his close links to Gatto. He says Williams’ Crew was determined to destroy Gatto’s inner circle. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, the former heavyweight boxer, who was then building a reputation in Melbourne’s illegal gambling world, came into contact with some shady and sinister people — some of whom became friends for decades.
But many didn’t get the chance to grow old gracefully. At last count, Gatto has known at least sixteen men who have died violently on Melbourne streets.
Back in 1982, he placed a small death notice to mark the passing of standover man, Brian Kane, who was gunned down in a Brunswick pub in an underworld war that now looks like a skirmish compared with the events of recent years.
A four-line death notice in The Sun newspaper on 29 November that year said: ‘Farewell to a good friend. You will always be remembered. Mick Gatto and family.’ It was one of the first public signs that he enjoyed the company of colourful friends who would die just as colourfully.
There were others. Those who were loosely connected received a Gatto death notice with the message, ‘Sorry to see you go this way’. Others were remembered with messages such as, ‘You knew it was coming, you just didn’t care.’ But as the murder list grew, the victims became men much closer to Gatto — including mentors and lifetime mates. There was Graham ‘The Munster’ Kinniburgh, who was shot dead on 13 December 2003, and then Lewis Moran on 31 March 2004.
Kinniburgh was Gatto’s friend and confidant. The former boxer referred to the former safe-breaker as ‘Pa’, and was a pallbearer at the funeral. The death hit him hard. In the now-compulsory Herald Sun death notice, he wrote: ‘I love you Pa and I will never ever forget you.’
Lewis Moran was a friend but not in the same league. The last line in Gatto’s death notice was, ‘(Say) a big hello to Pa.’
In April 2005, he lost another long-time friend, Ron Bongetti, who broke the pattern by dying of natural causes. Bongetti had been having a late lunch at La Porcella Restaurant on 23 March 2004, when Gatto shot Veniamin dead in a back room, in what a jury later found was self-defence. Bongetti was unable to help police with their inquiries.
Even when Bongetti was seriously ill, his tough-guy image meant everything. When it was suggested that he might have moved house because he feared he was on an underworld hit list, he approached one of the authors to dispute the claim. ‘If anyone wants to find me, they know where I am. I’m not scared of anyone,’ he said.
But while those around Gatto have fallen, he remains, at least outwardly, unworried.
The industrial troubleshooter, it would seem, is not a troubled shooter. With Williams finally in jail, Chief Commissioner Christine Nixon went as far as to say the underworld war was over. In a piece of unfortunate timing, Mario Condello was shot the very day she made her declaration.
After the hit on Condello, Assistant Commissioner of Police, Simon Overland, admitted that Gatto ‘is at risk and possibly is at greater risk as a consequence of what’s happened’.
Police approached Gatto days after the murder and offered him protection, an offer he declined with a polite, ‘I can look after myself.’ While in jail awaiting his trial over the Veniamin shooting, he was put in maximum security, but told the authorities he was happy to be in the mainstream as he was certainly not frightened of anyone inside or outside jail.
No-one doubts Gatto’s bravery. He has what police and crooks alike describe as ‘dash’ — loads of it.
For a man in his line of work, reputation is everything. If he ever agreed to police protection, his influence would vanish because he could hardly persuade people that his point of view was compelling.
For decades, Mick Gatto has gone about his business quietly and efficiently. He moved seamlessly from using brawn to using brains and after running protection for elements of the illegal gambling industry, he eventually took a share of Melbourne’s (then) lucrative two-up school.
The two-up game and Melbourne’s illegal gambling houses collapsed when more legitimate businessmen rudely muscled in when the government finally legalised gaming machines and licensed Crown Casino.
The crims who used to meet to bet big in darkened warehouses and small rooms at the back of cafes have now become regular visitors at the casino’s high-roller rooms. Not that police mind. The casino’s state-of-the-art security camera system provides more accurate criminal intelligence and beats the odd informer who hands over third-hand gossip about second-class crooks.
When a known crim is betting big, it is a fair bet he has been up to no good.
One policeman who regularly raided the two-up school maintains a grudging respect for his old adversary.
‘We could smash doors or walls to get in and Mick would always remain calm. If anyone acted up, Mick would put one hand up and say, “Shut up, these blokes are only doing their job”, and that would be the end of any trouble.’
The policeman said that when the inevitable bribe offer was made and refused in a Lygon Street coffee shop, Gatto instantly turned the rebuff into a positive, saying: ‘I didn’t think you would, but I had to try.’
When the homicide squad chose a pasta and red wine lunch in Little Italy to farewell detectives who had transferred to other positions, Gatto was dining at the same restaurant. He did not intrude, but when he was leaving he placed two quality bottles of red on the table without comment. One detective suggested they should not drink the unsolicited gift. He was outvoted. The corks were immediately removed, silencing any further discussion.
Police refer to most subjects of their investigations by their surnames, or full names. Occasionally, the notorious ones may be known by their nicknames. But Gatto has always been known as just ‘Mick’. There has always been respect.
While Gatto was well-known in select circles for many years, he was smart enough to keep a low public profile �
�� until the underworld war made him headline news.
When he sold his house, it made the news and property sections. When he bought a new one, neighbours were publicly welcoming but privately troubled about the big man who kept odd hours.
A high-profile footballer began to wonder if he had made a blue in building his dream home nearby with a view both of the Heidelberg Golf Club and Gatto’s backyard. He would remind anyone who cared to listen that his name was Nick, not Mick.
Unlike many of his dead friends who installed electronic security but were too lazy to maintain it, Gatto knows the value of precautions. Items in the backyard have been positioned to thwart a sniper from the golf course, the closed circuit television system could protect a bank and, it is rumoured, gas masks are kept handy in case of a chemical attack.
The day after Condello was murdered, the media pack headed for Mick’s home looking for a fresh news grab.
They nearly got more than they bargained for when, in a scene straight out of The Sopranos, the usually unflappable Gatto strode out onto his manicured front lawn in a dressing gown and began to throw eggs at the fourth estate.
It was a temporary hiccup from the master negotiator before normal transmission resumed. The following day, in a mutuallyagreed compromise, he walked outside his home to allow photographers and camera people to take pictures and film so they would then leave him in peace.
Recent fame has achieved what twenty years of policing could not. The so-called head of the Carlton Crew has moved his social and business headquarters from Lygon Street to avoid being annoyed by well-wishers and crime groupies.
Gatto moved to the classic Cafe Society in Bourke Street where, up until the Condello murder, he was the watcher rather than the watched.
He could be found upstairs with serious men talking serious business or downstairs occasionally indulging in a long luncheon.
In late 2005, one of the authors popped in to provide Gatto with the highly-valued first edition of Underbelly 9. It was considered a wise move as it contained a chapter on the Veniamin shooting and Gatto’s subsequent acquittal.
The author arrived and a female staff member explained that Mr Gatto was upstairs.
The author went upstairs and was surprised to see a large number of large men playing cards in the middle of a workday afternoon. It appeared that it must have been a rostered day off for body builders. They stopped playing cards and stared. The author was relieved when Mick welcomed him warmly. The body builders returned to playing cards. The author and Gatto went downstairs. Mick ordered a peppermint tea and the author a coffee, although there was little chance that he would fall asleep.
The author handed over the book and was invited to sign it, which he did, scrawling, ‘To Mick — always remember the best defence is always self-defence.’
Gatto laughed. The author was relieved.
One of the card-playing muscle men came downstairs, saying he had won and offered to buy Mick a stiff drink. Mick suggested the author should have one too. The author declined. Mick, at his persuasive best simply said, ‘I insist.’
The author said, ‘That would be lovely.’
As always, he was a generous host, describing the author as ‘very fair’. The meeting ended with a regular Gatto farewell, ‘You are a gentleman.’
Much of the 30 kilograms he lost through shadow boxing in solitary confinement had been found again at various business lunches and social dinners. When he spotted Victorian Opposition Leader Robert Doyle walking past the restaurant from Parliament House, he organised for someone to ask for an autograph, even helpfully handing the politician a pen.
As Doyle went to sign, it exploded. It was a joke, but one with a message. Gatto later said: ‘That was for naming me in the House.’
Gatto left a different sort of message in the death notices of the Herald Sun after Condello’s murder.
‘I was honoured to be your close mate and will remember the wonderful times we shared.’
And in what might have been a message to others: ‘Your passing has left a great void in my life, but life goes on and I know you would expect me to keep punching.’
If Gatto thought he could drift back into the shadows, he was to be disappointed.
The underworld war had made him headline news and while he might have been able to distance himself from his rivals, the media proved harder to shake.
When Gatto was acquitted of the murder of Andrew Veniamin, he would have hoped that he would not have to return to the witness box, but just twelve months later Big Mick would again head to the Supreme Court.
This time, he was a witness in a messy wrongful dismissal case involving the even bigger end of town.
Ted Sent had been the head of the massive retirement-village developer Primelife Corporation until he was sacked in 2003 from the $850,000-a-year job running the firm he had originally founded.
In the wrongful dismissal case, it was revealed that Sent had paid Gatto a monthly retainer to be his ‘eyes and ears’ in the hope of encouraging industrial harmony on the company’s building sites.
The payments began at $4400 a month and rose to $6600. Each payment, although most were made in cash, included the mandatory ten per cent for GST.
Mick pocketed $220,000 over three years from the grateful Sent. The money was paid over during a monthly lunch — usually at La Porcella — the restaurant where Benji permanently lost his appetite after trying the .38 diet.
During cross-examination, Gatto revealed he had been hit with a back tax bill of $1 million but had settled the bill for $200,000.
‘The tax is up to scratch if that’s what you’re looking for,’ he declared.
‘I was investigated by the ACC (Australian Crime Commission), dragged through a Royal Commission … Prior to me giving evidence they raided my home, they took every mortal thing, photos, receipts, God knows what, documented everything and took it away. They went through me like Epsom Salts … they spent $100 million, and found nothing.’
It was revealed that during the long and entertaining lunches Sent would slip over and hand the cash-filled envelope to Mick.
The invitation usually began with a quick call where Gatto would simply say, ‘It’s that time of the month, mate.’
Lunch would usually rely on the chef’s special. ‘We’d sort of have something to eat, whatever was on the menu that day, could have been a pig or whatever,’ Gatto recalled.
‘There would be a big group of us there just to laugh and joke. And then (Sent) would pull me aside and we would have a little chat in relation to building issues or things that were troubling him at the sites or whatever.
‘He would just pull it out of his pocket and say, “Here”, and I would give him the invoice,’ Gatto said. ‘He would always do it in private; he’d never do it in front of anyone else.’
Shortly after his two-day cameo appearance in the Supreme Court, he was again in the news.
This time the colourful and somewhat eccentric former federal policeman and barrister Kerry Milte was behind the story.
For decades, Milte lived on the fringes of Melbourne’s crime, police and legal worlds.
He was big, smart and impressive, but many saw him as a Walter Mitty character who loved nothing better than a complex conspiracy.
When he was a Commonwealth policeman, Milte led then Federal Attorney-General Lionel Murphy’s 1973 raid on ASIO’s former Melbourne headquarters. It was said that when Murphy arrived he said to the big policeman, ‘What the fuck have you got me into, Kerry?’
Milte offered to provide information on organised crime in Victoria to Chief Commissioner Christine Nixon during the underworld war.
But his involvement became a public embarrassment when he was charged with criminal offences, including bribery.
In an interview with police, he claimed the secretary of the Electrical Trades Union, Dean Mighell, had been ‘threatened by Gatto with death, and he came to see me via a politician’.
When the claim was made
, both Gatto and Mighell denied the allegation.
Gatto went public to slam Milte and the claims.
He said he had not threatened Mighell. ‘It’s made me sick, really sick, because there is no substance to it whatsoever. (There is) not a skerrick of truth in it. Not a skerrick of truth. The man is a friend. The man is a man that I have dealt with for years,’ he said.
Mighell said Gatto had ‘never threatened me with violence. I have never had reason to approach the police’.
Gatto admitted he had been a criminal, but said he was now legitimate. ‘I haven’t done anything. My conscience is clear.’
He knows his name has been whispered in relation to unsolved murders and that he remains a person of interest to Purana. Sour grapes rather than fresh leads, he says.
‘I always thought that our system of justice and common fairness required that if someone with a colourful past decides to go straight, it is something which is to be encouraged rather than sabotaged.
‘It seems that some people and the media do not want people to go straight or just want them to try but fail. Well, I did try, I did so successfully and I intend to continue to do so.’
While many of his friends and enemies have fallen, Big Mick may be the last man standing — legitimately.
In 2007 he sat for a young painter who wanted a portrait of a high profile figure to enter in the Archibald Prize.
Gatto sat patiently and later remarked he thought it had a good chance. When the modest artist said it would be difficult to win Australia’s most prestigious art award, Gatto smiled and replied, ‘I’ll make a couple of calls.’
He was joking. We think.
24
MARRIED TO THE MOB
The men live fast and die young
or rot in jail. Their women face
the mess left behind.
THE last time Sylvia saw him alive, he was standing at the door of their daughter’s flat, head cocked, looking at her in a way that didn’t match the tough-guy talk. It was as close to wistful as a sociopath gunman and drug dealer gets.
The Gangland War Page 33
