The Robbers

by Paul Anderson

  ‘Oh shit. What did you tell ’em?’

  ‘I made up some shit about how I was probably at home eating fish and chips with Doris and Chris.’

  Nathan slid his bowl onto the table. Went to the kitchen for a tea towel. ‘Are they on to us?’

  ‘Nah, mate. Nah. They crossed me name off their list. I bloody asked ’em right—get this—I bloody asked ’em how the case was goin’.’

  ‘Oh bullshit. You did not!’

  ‘Mate, I was as cool as a bloody cucumber. They said Barrett was as guilty as sin.’

  Nathan was all smiles as he rubbed his wet groin with the towel.

  ‘Bullshit. That’s priceless… Those dumb fuckers.’

  ‘Yeah, mate, they haven’t got a fuckin’ clue it was us … Hey, you know the jack on the ground—he was still alive when I popped him through the head. I put me foot on his arm to stop him from trying to shoot me. And you know what he did?’

  Nathan was rubbing the milk stain faster now. ‘What?’

  ‘He put his other hand up in front of his face. Said, “You don’t have to kill me. I don’t know who you are.”’

  Brenda appeared in pyjamas and a pair of ugg boots, causing an end to the conversation. She kissed Stan on the cheek as she walked past into the kitchen. Voss pinched her on the bum.

  ‘Hey, Dad.’

  ‘Hey, Pumpkin Pie.’

  Brenda stopped at the kettle. ‘You want a tea?’

  ‘Yeah. Nice and sweet … you know the way I like it.’

  Voss watched a bit of a Simpsons cartoon on the telly. Belly-laughed at good old Homer, a man after his own heart.

  ‘Hey, youse should come over for tea tonight. Old Doris has been givin’ me the shits a bit. She can make up for it by cookin’ some steaks. We’ll crack a few coldies and watch the footy.’

  ‘Sounds good, Dad. I’ve gotta go see me mate Johnny Maggs in Ringwood at about five. We’ll come over after that.’

  ‘Righto.’

  Voss accepted his tea. Burned his fingertips on the mug.

  ‘D’oh. That’s hot.’

  Still on the way back to St Kilda Road, Kelso rang Brewer to find out if their visit had provoked a reaction.

  ‘We struck gold.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Voss drove straight to Nathan’s place and started bragging about how cool he was with you guys. Spoke in some detail about the shootings.’

  ‘You pisser.’

  ‘Nathan mentioned something about dropping in to see his mate Johnny Maggs in Ringwood at about five.’

  ‘Is that so … Thanks, Doug.’

  Rogers was waiting. ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘Irrefutable evidence,’ Kelso beamed. ‘We’ve got ’em.’

  Rogers held up for a high five. Kelso dished one out. Checked the time. It was half past one, and he had an idea how he and Rogers could continue to nail the coffin shut.

  ‘Let’s go pay the Wet Velvet a visit.’

  The strip club wasn’t open until five, but Maggs was in doing the books when The Robbers arrived. Kelso had an ultimatum. They spoke in the upstairs office.

  ‘No fucking way,’ Maggs said. ‘Jesus, you’ve got some balls walking into my house and asking me to wear a wire. I’m no fucking dog, Kelso. I told you that already.’

  Rogers was walking a slow lap of the office, ignoring the girlie posters and concentrating more on what appeared to be white drug residue smeared on the glass table.

  ‘The tea lady spilled some sugar, hey, Johnny? Wouldn’t mind betting she put the rest of it in that safe.’

  ‘Is this a fucking search? If it is, where’s your warrant, amigo?’

  ‘It’s not a search … at this stage.’

  Kelso was to the point. ‘Look, we’re not here to bust your chops about whatever you’re moving through this shit-hole. We’re not Drug Squad or the local DSG. We’re trying to catch the cunts who shot two of our detectives and we reckon your little mate Nathan Voss—and his dad—are the shooters.’

  Kelso leaned in over the desk.

  ‘Listen here, amigo. If you want us to take Nathan Voss out of the game lawfully, then you have to wear a wire. We believe he’s coming to see you this afternoon. Get him talking about the armed robberies and the police murders. You do that and we can arrest him. If we arrest him that means you don’t have to shoot him.’

  Rogers chipped in, ‘Before he shoots you.’

  ‘Save yourself the hassle,’ Kelso advised. ‘Spare yourself from a possible life prison term.’

  Rogers stood in front of the wall safe, staring squarely at it. ‘You do for us, John, we do for you. It’s real fucking simple, pal.’

  CHAPTER 88

  Nathan Voss arrived at the club all jacked up on ice with his pistol down his pants. In the office, Maggs—with a police wire taped under his shirt—offered him a drink. Nathan declined. He wanted the next consignment.

  ‘Come on, amigo, have a drink. We’re partners now.’

  ‘Okay, mate.’

  Maggs phoned down to the bar. Asked the girl to bring up a Johnny Blue and a Scotch and Coke. Hung up.

  ‘Are you strapped?’

  Nathan pulled his piece. Held it up.

  ‘What have you got there? A Colt?’

  ‘It’s a Norinco.’

  ‘Ahh, a Chinese knock-off … Is that the one you used when you robbed those restaurants?’

  ‘Nah. Got rid of that one.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It got a bit hot.’

  ‘What did you do with it?’

  ‘Threw it off a pier.’

  ‘How’s married life? How’s your dad going?’

  ‘He’s as mad as a cut snake. Sometimes I think he’s two cans short. He thinks he’s hilarious when he’s acting like a dickhead.’

  ‘What does he do for a crust?’

  ‘He’s a house painter. Runs his own business.’

  ‘There’s good money in that.’

  ‘Yeah, he does all right for himself.’

  A knock on the office door.

  ‘Enter.’

  The bargirl walked in with drinks. Nathan gave her a wink and a playful slap on the bum on her way out.

  ‘Jesus, you’ve got it good here. I’d bloody live here if I was you.’

  ‘Nathan, can I tell you something? You’ve really impressed me. You’ve got balls, amigo. Big fucking brass ones. We’re gunna do some really good work together.’

  Maggs raised his tumbler. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  Maggs moved from his desk to the couch. ‘Fucking armed robbery, hey. It’s magic pulling a job, isn’t it?’

  Nathan’s eyes lit with obvious excitement. ‘It’s like you’re God. They’re sitting or kneeling, pissing in their pants. It’s a fucking rush, mate.’

  ‘Did you bash any cunts? Kneecap anyone?’

  Nathan sat back against the quality leather, gun still in right hand. He was the true gangster now, regaling his criminal exploits. Fuck you in the face, Tony Montana. Nathan Voss was living the dream.

  ‘You have to promise you won’t tell this to anyone,’ he said in more of a hushed tone. ‘If Dad found out I told anyone, he’d blow my fucking head off.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. What the fuck is it?’

  ‘We shot those two coppers in Chirnside Park.’

  Maggs pretended to scoff. ‘Yeah, right. Good one, dickhead.’

  ‘I’m not bullshitting ya. Cross me heart on me unborn kid.’

  ‘Fucking hell, mate.’

  ‘I told ya, me dad’s mad. He proved it that night.’

  Maggs sat forward. Placed his drink on the table. ‘What happened? How’d it go down?’

  Nathan was in his element. ‘The restaurant’s in a sort-of industrial area, and we come around the corner and there’s an unmarked cop car in the middle of the road with a blue light flashing. Me and Dad wore masks, you know—rubber masks—and we pulled ’em on straight away. We thought the cops were there for
us … but there’s two in plain clothes with their guns on a bloke on his knees. Dad pulls his gun and says, “Let’s kill some jacks”. Before I knew it I had me gun out the window and I let one go. The closest cop went down. Dad’s got the same idea. He’s banging away out his window. Boom! Boom! The second copper’s going boom. Dad drops him. Dad gets out and walks up to the first cop—the one I shot—and puts one in his fuckin’ head just like the Terminator. Dad always wore a Schwarzenegger mask. He would have done the other cop as well but he crawled away. Dad was ice fuckin’ cold.’

  ‘Fucking hell.’

  ‘Yeah, laughed his head off on the way home. Thought the whole thing was hilarious.’

  ‘That’s hardcore shit my friend … Hey, hang five. I gotta take a piss.’

  In the office toilet, Maggs whispered into the wire. ‘That’s it Kelso. Show’s over, mother-fucker.’

  He ripped the wire free and dumped it.

  CHAPTER 89

  The chief commissioner had come down from his tower demanding an explanation, his impromptu Monday morning visit to the Athena office prompted by a call from a Detective Simon Whitney to his staff officer. The call had pertained to Pat Barrett and a new development, and the fact Kelso and Rogers had not been reposted like the rest of their fallen squad. Shaw did the explaining.

  ‘New evidence uncovered by the two armed robbery detectives has led to the identification of two men who shot and killed detectives Gilmore and Hunter.’

  McFarlane sat back; fingers to temple. ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The commissioner took a deep breath. ‘What happened to Barrett?’ he asked in an exasperated tone.

  ‘He looked solid for it and there was circumstantial evidence, but we now know that he did not commit the double murder. Good news is we know who did—and we’re letting them run as we build a case against them. They’re under audio and physical surveillance. We’ve already picked up damning conversations. We’re hoping to provoke them into talking about weapons—and then recover those firearms. We’ve now got a projectile that can be matched.’

  ‘So you went off half-cocked and charged the wrong man.’ McFarlane stood and stared out the window, giving Shaw his back. ‘Jesus H Christ. When’s that disastrous situation going to be rectified?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning in court. The murder charges will be nollied and Barrett will be hit with extortion-related offences. We believe that will work in our favour by provoking our suspects to talk some more.’

  ‘Explain the extortion again?’

  ‘Barrett was standing over the restaurant owner.’

  McFarlane breathed hard, the crowns on his shoulders catching a glint of sun as he turned.

  ‘How do I put this delicately, Andrew? This is an absolute cluster-fuck. How’s it going to look in the papers?’

  ‘We actually want it splashed across the media. I was going to hold a press conference to bait our two suspects.’

  ‘Andrew, I don’t have to impress upon you the importance of getting it right this time around. Your career is riding on this. I want positive publicity. I want the media praising this department for its swift and bloodless justice.’

  ‘Yes, Commissioner.’

  ‘Swift and bloodless justice, Andrew!’

  Before he left, McFarlane turned on an after-thought. ‘And I want those two Armed Robbery Squad detectives gone. Moved on to their new postings. Immediately. Do you read me?’

  ‘Loud and clear, sir.’

  It was three that afternoon when the Robbers pair arrived for an afternoon shift, keen to hear the latest episode of a Day in the Life of the Addams Family. A sombre Shaw called them in.

  ‘Sit down fellas. I’ve got some bad news.’

  Rogers and Kelso knew what was coming.

  ‘The commissioner has ordered you off the taskforce and into your re-assigned roles,’ Shaw confirmed.

  ‘Not now, not yet,’ Kelso protested.

  Shaw handed each an envelope. ‘McFarlane got wind of what’s been happening—and it didn’t come from me. You’ve been ratted out.’

  Shaw looked out into the office. Whitney, Sidwell and Hendricks sat watching from their adjoined desks.

  ‘Take your pick as to who it might have been … I’m sorry. Where we’re at right now is due to your diligence and expertise. You can credit yourselves with solving this case. I’ll be making that clear to all and sundry, gentlemen.’

  Kelso was up and out and across the floor to the three rats from Homicide. He singled out Whitney at a guess, grabbed him by his tie and wrenched him from his chair, right fist raised. Rogers took hold of his cocked arm.

  ‘No, Kell!’

  Sidwell and Hendricks were up and out of their chairs. Shaw intervened. ‘Enough! Stand down the lot of you. Max. Shane. I’m sorry, but this comes from the very top.’

  Kelso backed off.

  ‘We’ll take it from here,’ Whitney grinned, shit-eating style.

  Kelso lunged again. Rogers held him back.

  ‘Kelso! I said, stand down.’

  ‘You’re an A1 piece of shit, Whitney!’ Kelso shrugged it off. Undid his tie. Walked to his desk and kicked a bin clear across the room. Rogers stared Whitney down.

  ‘I should have let him kill ya,’ he whispered.

  ‘Watch your backs, you disloyal pricks,’ Kelso yelled from his desk.

  He grabbed a couple of things, including his smokes and lighter. Pulled his jacket off the back of his chair. Whitney gave him a wave as he and Rogers walked.

  Outside, on St Kilda Road, Kelso lit one up. Rogers tried to calm him. ‘Hey, pal, I’m pissed off too … but we knew we were on borrowed time.’

  ‘This was ours, mate. We kick-started this and we should be allowed to finish it. See it through for Happy and Mitch.’

  ‘I know, brother. I know. You think I’m not feeling betrayed? I feel crook. Crook to my fucking guts.’

  ‘They’re a bunch of fuckin’ rats, Roy!’

  ‘Hey, if it wasn’t for us they would have got the wrong man and Stan and Nathan Voss would have got away with it. But we didn’t let that happen.’

  Kelso opened his letter. ‘And the hits just keep on comin’.’

  ‘Where they sending you?’ Rogers asked, tearing his envelope open.

  ‘Footscray CIB. The fucking markets.’

  ‘Hey, the great zucchini heist of ’63 still hasn’t been solved.’

  Kelso smiled. Shook his head. Took another drag. ‘You?’

  Rogers folded closed his sheet of paper. ‘The Drug Squad. I think I’d prefer zucchinis.’

  ‘Huh, we’ve both copped a kicking.’

  ‘Yeah, along with the rest of the boys. Come on, let’s head to the Royal.’

  Kelso scrunched up his posting letter and tossed it. ‘You go home, pal. See the wife and kids. They’ve probably forgotten what you look like.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah. Go home. You’ll do more good there.’

  Rogers grabbed his partner on the shoulder. Looked him in the eyes. ‘Have one for me.’

  ‘I’ll have several.’

  ‘Hey, TJF.’

  ‘TJF, brother.’

  Kelso phoned Malone while on the road. Asked where he was.

  ‘Day off, pal. Worked last Sunday. What are you up to?’

  ‘Me and Roy have just been arseholed off Athena. Got our new postings.’

  ‘What? Now? But the taskforce is still up and running.’

  ‘Yeah, tell me about it. I’m dropping over to your place. I’ve got something for you … I’ll be there in twenty.’

  Malone opened his door to find Kelso standing with a gym bag, the handle of a wooden baseball bat protruding from a zip at one end.

  ‘You gunna ask me inside?’

  ‘Dunno. Remember what happened last time?’

  Inside, Kelso handed Malone a slip of paper. ‘Paul Abbott’s current address. Don’t ask me how I got it.’

  Malone shove
d it straight in his jeans pocket.

  ‘Right, here’s a bag with what you need—a baseball bat and a balla.’

  Malone didn’t have the heart to tell Kelso he’d already bought a gun.

  ‘Burn everything afterwards,’ Kelso advised. ‘The bat. The balla. Your clothes. Your shoes. Make sure you burn your shoes. And try and have an alibi. And never say anything about it. Ever.’

  ‘Good advice. You want a beer?’

  Kelso and Malone drank deep into the evening at the Fleece. Kelso gave his friend the mail that Barrett’s two murder charges were to be dropped. That was for publication. ‘No harm you getting the jump on that. It’ll all come out in court tomorrow.’

  Malone filed the exclusive story by phone.

  ‘How are Gooch and Whiskers holding up?’ Kelso asked. ‘I haven’t had a chance to catch up with them.’

  ‘Looks like their advice is to plead guilty and argue provocation.’

  ‘Jesus …’ Kelso reflected into his beer. ‘I’d dearly love to know the name of the rat who sold us out.’

  ‘So would I. He owes me for new furniture and a carpet steam-clean.’

  ‘He better pray we never find out who he is.’

  Kelso turned his pot glass anti-clockwise. ‘What the hell happened? For the best part we controlled law and order in this town. Beat the shit-bags down. Broke their spirit.’

  ‘Hey,’ Malone said, in an effort to lift his mate. ‘What do you get when you cross a pig with a dinosaur?’

  Kelso put his beer down. This was from left field. ‘Fucked if I know.’

  ‘Jurassic Pork.’

  It was so bad—so lame—it was actually funny. That night they placed a few bets. Won a couple of hundred on an omen bet—the horse was called Tombstone. Much later, fuelled by the beer and the bourbon and a salacious wanderlust, the two cabbed it into Chinatown. At their regular booth inside the Chinese club Kelso said he was sorry. The friends sat and drank—Kelso desperate for some Faith and Malone, his Destiny.

  CHAPTER 90

  It was a day of salvation, of sorts, for career criminal Pat Barrett. Back in the dock in Courtroom One, he was again the focus of Melbourne’s media pack. An air of expectancy hung in the court. According to the Herald Sun’s exclusive page-one splash, a bomb was set to explode.