Wyatt Earp: and the Boomerang Refugium

by Jack Sunn

  While Ruth packed away Alf’s purchases, Mick brought Alf up to date.

  “You know Alf, I feel lucky to be working here at the shop. My old days, like yours, are apparently well behind us.”

  But still, he knew who was who and where, which was all Alf needed to know.

  They returned to Sunnybank to regroup with Susan and myself. The news of Alf getting his old bike back was news better than expected.

  “While you were out, Susan and I have made some plans. The action starts in ten days or so. Ruth, we have arranged for you to revisit some friends in the US with Ray, leaving tomorrow. You will brush up on your fighting skills, and short barrel weapon shooting. I think you will both be in your element. Alf, you become a bikie again. While Ruth and Ray are away, you can get to know Brisbane again. Especially new roads or whatever you want to do. I expect by the end of the week you will look like you never left. In the meantime, Susan and I are organizing some rental accommodation close to known gang areas. Should come together quickly we hope.”

  Alf got his old bike back, and Susan and I rented a house two streets away from a known bikie hangout. Within a week and a half, we had set up a rental house to look like Alf had moved into the neighbourhood. The house was highset allowing bikes to be parked underneath, as well as providing a workshop area for maintenance, or so it appeared. Alf and Ruth had bought another bike from Mick which was in partial disassembly to complete the look. The front gate had been removed to allow easy access. The scene was set. Ruth returned from the US and at infrequent times of the day she and Alf rode along local streets to be seen, and heard. Alf had modified his Cruiser’s exhaust to draw attention, and that it did. Riding past the hangout in an oldish bike was one thing, but a loud and fast ride was bound to get attention. Day four of this antisocial riding produced a fine sunny afternoon. Susan and I drove down to the street of the bikie hangout, and motored on at a steady forty-five km/hour to get a close look and we saw at least seven bikes parked in the yard and adjacent street. We made two calls on our radio. Ruth was at the rental ready. Four minutes later, in the street’s 60km/hr speed zone Alf approached the corner, changing down and breaking hard. He had been doing about 85 in the other street’s 60 zone, and rounded the corner. We had given him a traffic report of all clear. Round the corner and rubber and noise were behind him as he approached near 95 k passing the hangout. At which time the flamboyant colours of a Highway Patrol cruising sedan screeched around the corner in pursuit, with of course the accompanying flashing lights and siren. To make sure it worked, another Patrol sedan came down the street from the other end, stopping Alf about five houses up from the hangout. With the street blocked it was a neighbourhood spectacular. Alf tried not to smile but look the part. He was quickly surrounded by four, armed and heavy-set police officers, specially chosen to look menacing. The police examined the bike, started the bike and revved the engine, turned it off, breathalysed Alf, and then took out the mandatory ticket notebook. He was written up for improper exhaust modifications causing excessive noise, and for exceeding the allowable speed limit. It all looked very proper and non-contrived and within fifteen minutes the cars departed and Alf rode up the street to the house where Ruth was waiting. All going well a visit could be expected at any time. Bait set, line caste.

  Alf and Ruth sat under the house with Alf re-telling the story to Ruth of how he had a run-in with the law. Both Alf’s bike and Ruth’s were near the house but not yet parked under. Again, keeping up appearances. True to expectation, three bikes rode up and stopped in the driveway. They dismounted and came over to look at Ruth’s Goldwing. Ruth and Alf got out of their chairs and slowly approached. Ruth was closer then Alf.

  The least dominant of the three strangers pointed at Ruth, just touching her shoulder, and asked, “You ride this, do you?” Quick as, Ruth had his arm twisted, he fell to the ground on his back and Ruth in her right hand had a small barrel gun held at his groin.

  “Don’t you know that it is not nice to poke fingers into a ladies’ shoulder, and that it also constitutes assault?”

  The other two strangers instantly froze, with the leader saying, “What the hell is that?” while pointing to what Ruth held. Ruth released her hold, calmly walked over to the cloths line on which a towel was flopping gently in the breeze. She held up her hand and pulled the trigger. The towel suffered a massive shock. A circle about 20cm round simply disintegrated and disappeared before the rest of the towel fell limp on the ground.

  “I call it a blower, because it can blow them clean off. If you know what I mean.” At that she unloaded the empty shell, and loaded another.

  They backed off a little, but then brazenly the lead bikie, with an admiring smile on his face, stepped forward and said, “We underestimated you, and my apologies for dopey’s inexcusable behaviour towards a lady. My name is Davo. Would you care to show me your – as you call it – blower?”

  Ruth relaxed, re-pocketed the shell into her jacket, and held it out for Davo to look at.

  Alf moved a little closer and said, “Davo, this is my friend Ruth. Beware though as your friend found out first hand. She is an ex MP, Navy MP at that, and knows a thing or two.”

  Ruth explained, “What you are looking at is a Heizer PS1 single-shot pocket shotgun-pistol. It takes a single 410 gauge shot shell or a 45 Colt cartridge. Stainless steel, made by a subsidiary of an aerospace company.”

  Davo could only stare in disbelief that this woman bikie, a red head as well, had such an elegant yet lethal weapon at her disposal. “I like. The only question is where do I get one, or a case of them?”

  “But Davey,” Ruth said having deliberately altered his name, “They are illegal in Australia. My supplying one or more to you would be an offence, incurring a severe penalty if caught. Under what circumstances would I do that?” With that she securely pocketed the weapon.

  “I could call the cops,” said Davo.

  “Yes, you could. Would you like my phone?” as she pulled out a mobile from another pocket.

  “That won’t be necessary.” He then turned to Alf and said, “Do I know you? Your bike seems a little familiar.”

  Alf was wise on this and said, “Name is Alf, Little Dave,” at which Davo shook his head, and then it dawned on him. Five or six years earlier Davo was known around Brisbane by the older bikies as Little Dave. And he knew that Alf was not to be messed with, or was when he knew him vaguely.

  “You been away for a while Alf. Nice bike by the way, though I prefer the later model.” And quickly added, “No offence.”

  Alf was next to speak, as he headed under the house, and said, “Beer?” More a statement than a question. The others followed and introductions were made, with ‘dopey’ Pete keeping a good distance from Ruth.

  Alf lifted the lid of an electric powered top opening camping fridge. No longer wanting to drink alcohol, Alf opted for a lite while the others had mid strength beers.

  At being rided by Davo for drinking sissy lite beer, Alf merely said, “Yeah, I know, but I have to ride later. Besides I already have a speeding ticket not two hours old.” Alf finished his beer and dropped the stubby into a conveniently placed rubbish bin.

  Small talk continued for a while, and when Davo finished his drink, he said, “I’ll be seeing you. See if we can make a trade.” He then dropped his stubby into the bin, got on his bike and left. The other two did likewise.

  When they had gone, Ruth said to Alf, “I think that went well, maybe even better than expected.” She and Alf then took the empties inside the house and carefully packed each into an upright canister. Ruth then checked the video recording of the entire scene. “Excellent,” she said. “Scene, faces, offer to buy/trade, fingerprints. All good for an afternoon’s entertainment. Alf, you did well.”

  “You too Ruth. Very cool. The first domino may have fallen.”

  Ruth then packed the evidence into the Goldwing’s pannier bags and took off to Police headquarters. Alf made sure a replicate set of stubbies was pla
ced in the rubbish bin.

  Unknown to Alf and Ruth’s visitors, two synchronized video recorders were operating the time they were there. One captured a general view of the garage area, and one was vertically placed directly above the fridge and rubbish bin. Great care had also been taken in stacking the fridge. The top layer of beer consisted of twelve stubbies. The rear label of each had been marked with a uniquely placed small identifying spot, almost not visible, certainly not to a casual drinker. Not much different from marked cards. Stubbies 1-12 were easily matched up with each hand that reached in. The layer below was similarly marked, thus making a load of 24 unique stubbies. To build in an extra layer of redundancy, Alf had sourced a dozen different stubby coolers, and naturally all coolers and stubbies had been wiped clean. So, with the video surveillance, faces were matched with up to two lots of prints of thumbs, fingers and possibly palms. All very simple.

  Next day while Ruth was back at Sunnybank with Susan and me, my phone rang.

  “Jack, Gavin here.” Gavin was one of the forensic people at Police headquarters working on the case.

  “I’ve just emailed a file to you. We have your bikies sorted. Nice sets of prints. Interestingly Davo is not David, but Alistair David. He’s crossed paths with us before and spent a little time entertaining Her Majesty’s pleasure for armed assault. Have not seen him for a couple of years, so a good find. The other two have less impressive records. All up, not the sort to share holidays with. I’ll pass you onto DI (Detective Inspector) Alan Richards.

  “Alan here Jack. What’s your next step?”

  “Make Alf and Ruth scarce for a while – a little hard to get.”

  ----------

  A meeting was set with Davo two days later. A deal was set. Cash deposit in exchange for four pocket shotguns in seven days. Davo readily agreed and handed over a wad of fifties.

  During the next seven days, the Queensland Police and the AFP could not have been happier with the rapid progress in the case. Of the notes handed over to Ruth half were counterfeit. Good for the authorities, not good for Davo. The next meeting with Davo was short and sweet.

  “Davey,” said Ruth, “We need to seriously talk. What’s with this funny money you gave as a down payment?”

  Davo was momentarily dumbstruck, but his accomplice dopey Pete mumbled obscenities and mentioned the name Cavallo in the process.

  “You get it from Cavallo did you Davey?” Ruth was enjoying herself at Davo’s expense. He nodded agreement and was about to say something when Ruth cut him short.

  “Nothing worse than a dishonest crook, except an Italian one. You’re not Italian are you Davey?” said Ruth.

  Davo shook his head, even though he was lying.

  “Then we need to equalize things. What do you know about this Cavallo fellow?

  Davo replied, “Not one but two brothers. They hired us to light up a garage. I think they want to buy up some properties cheaply. We only did one, but I think a few other fires around town last month might be of their doing.”

  Ruth was thinking. That fits. Counterfeit dollars were picked up in four widely separated suburbs. Arson added another dimension to the story. All coming together to set up domino two.

  “Davey. Where do these scumbags live? They don’t know me and I want to take a look.” She already knew of course, but better to get Davo and his mates involved.

  With the address written down, she said, “Meet us back here in four days. I might have something in mind by then.”

  When Ruth returned to Sunnybank later, we listed out what we knew. Counterfeit dollars had surfaced in four locations. In return for torching a garage, some of it had been passed to the bikies Alf and Ruth had befriended. Paid for by the Cavallo brothers. This led to two obvious questions in need of answers. Were there other fires that damaged property in or near the other three suburbs where dodgy cash surfaced, and what was special about the property Davo torched?

  Ruth had not asked Davo for the address of the torched garage; that was easily found. Fact- it was the second house from the corner of a major intersection, and interestingly the house on the corner was up for sale.

  Things to do. Firstly, bring DI Alan Richards up to date. Secondly, find out as much about the corner property, the torched property, and the adjacent third property from the corner. The corner property was easiest being for sale. We soon found out from the agent that it had been on the market for too long at too high a price to sell easily. Nothing strange about that. The adjacent property with the burnt-out garage was owned by an elderly couple who had lived there for decades. Would a fire that destroyed their garage and an old car be enough to move them on, and would they have it repaired before doing so? Would the damage lower the price of both it and the adjacent corner property?

  Questions. As for who owned the third property from the corner, bingo. It had been purchased by none other than a Cavallo in the previous year.

  Actions. Search for fires in the other three suburbs for any similarities to the one we knew that involved the Cavallos. With three of us doing the leg work together with our police liaison officer, we soon had three similar cases, each involving corner properties for sale adjacent a Cavallo holding. What next? This could easily get bigger than the three of us could comfortably handle. Time to talk again to DI Richards.

  We laid out what we knew and what we didn’t. This naturally included other but unknown parties that were possibly recipients of the counterfeit dollars.

  Interesting how utterance of a few words can fuel an investigation. Davo’s mate Pete let slip about the Cavallos on only the third meeting with Ruth. You can plan how to throw dice, but when released they have a life of their own. Like a match to tinder, does it smolder or fire to life? Close to the latter in this case I suspected. In addition to plain facts which could lead to a theory about the Cavallos but not incriminate them, we also knew that Davo was pissed with the Cavallos for being paid with dodgy money. If cleverly managed, Davo could play a key role in the Cavallos’ demise.

  Next question. Given the Cavallos could conceivably control four corner properties through the consolidation of three contiguous house blocks per corner, what did they intend to do with them? Apart from the Cavallos, who would have any idea? The Cavallos had been known suspects in drug trafficking, and now probable distributors of counterfeit currency. Were they responsible for the manufacture of the counterfeit, or merely the laundering thereof? So the next question we had was what type of infrastructure is needed for counterfeiting currency, and what materials and expertise are required?

  Enter Susan. The AFP is the responsible policing authority for counterfeit currency. I said, “Susan, I think we need some AFP support on this one.”

  It was time to ramp it up. Our next step was to search for all property owned or leased by the Cavalllos, try to find out who worked for them, what legitimate businesses they were involved in and anything else we could unearth.

  Susan chimed in, “First thing, I’ll pull their tax records. May not be much but at least we will know their accountants.”

  “Good. I will access the contracts of sale for the properties bought recently. Should reveal estate agents and solicitors used. I’ll also have a word with Trevor. I think we need to bring him in on this as well.”

  We went our separate ways. I rang Trevor outlining what we were doing and knew so far. His immediate reaction, “Jack. How did you get yourself into the sleazy world of the Cavallos? I think you should get yourself and Susan over to my place sooner rather than later. You have your liaison officers and channels, I have other avenues available. Besides, I also I have a lot of Cavallo history filed. How about ten or eleven tomorrow morning? Gives us both time to clean up some loose ends.”

  I readily agreed. I had not expected to involve Trevor, but was now glad to do so.

  The next day we adjourned at Trevor’s place of work that he had used for over a decade. Once a shop-house, then an accountant’s office, now Trevor’s domicile and office, with easy a
ccess both front and rear. Good for getting away from unwanted clients he had said many times. Trevor is a highly successful investigator. What he cannot do himself, is done by any number of an amazing network of ‘helpers.’ All legitimate of course – or best I don’t know. I introduced Susan, and she and Trevor hit it off quickly.

  Susan was quick to say, “So you are Trevor. I don’t want to know how you id’d me so quickly from Jack’s photo taken outside the shop at Redland Bay but I am impressed. Let’s do this.”

  In short time we re-listed out what we knew. What we did not know when we walked in was how much Trevor knew already. Should have involved him sooner, but no matter. Trevor’s Cavallo file was extensive. Trevor had been working now for twenty-five years and investigating was what he did best. In between paid jobs he kept files on all sorts of people and businesses. It was like he had programs sitting in computers waiting for certain activities to occur that would trigger reports being sent to him. Certainly, he used computers, but he also had extensive contacts continually updating information for him. He was like a project manager of an information clearing house with contributions from lots of outsourced subcontractors. It was fair two-way trade, and worked for mutual benefit. It also helped that Trevor was contactable within the hour, any hour of the week. And that meant any week of the year, for holidays were not part of Trevor’s idea of living, which greatly added to his value. Not surprisingly Trevor’s file on the Cavallos was extensive, and he had already extracted from it property holdings, as well as solicitors and accountants. Yeah, should have started with him earlier.

  He had no taxation records before today, but did now. We checked through the tax return; accountant, same as known. Then registered businesses and structures.

  “Some unknown names here.” he said. “Also, some businesses not on family held property, at least not Cavallo property. We can check that later if need be.” He quickly used a highlighter pen for these and asked Susan, “Can you access tax records going back, say five years? I want to see if any significant changes have occurred in that time.”