Smoky Joe's Cafe (17 page)

Dotty and her Smoky will readily recognise each other if she needs a future drop. Dotty can now use the phone number on her card to call a recorded voice, which asks her to wait and automatically dials another phone number. The second number gives a recorded female voice, very businesslike, which instructs her as follows:

After you hear the beep, give your account number and state the quantity required. Orders are restricted to a maximum of four, delivery in three days, usual contact time.

Though it might eventually be possible for the police to locate the whereabouts of the two phones they would not know how to pin down the twenty-five additional phone numbers these phones can dial up at random unless, of course, they got hold of the coded tape in the answerphone.

These random numbers belong to telephones placed in twenty-five separate homes belonging to the Vets from Hell bikie gang. The tape messages consist only of an identification number and a single-digit number up to four. In other words, no names, no pack drill, the caller cannot be identified. Each evening a call is made
from a public phone box by one of the original Smoky Joe's mob to the owner of every phone and the numbers are taken down and translated into orders.

No system, of course, is perfect, but in the late seventies and early eighties it is a pretty sophisticated set-up.

Gazza, who is not only an electrician but has also spent time as a phone technician with PMG and was the radio operator in our platoon, has rigged up the two contact phones to a PMG terminal box in the street on the pavement outside Animal's house. A disused underground stormwater pipe runs along the side of the house and can be reached by climbing down a manhole situated in line with the backyard.

The pipe was discovered by Animal and his brothers and sisters when they were kids. ‘We used it as a cubby house and when me old man come home drunk it were the only place we were safe from him,' Animal explained. ‘We'd keep an old mattress and blankets down there to sleep the night and come out when it was safe in the mornin'.'

So if the police are able to locate the whereabouts of the terminal box, there would still be plenty of time to remove either the phones or the tapes in the answer-phones before they are found.

It proved to be a pretty good system, provided nobody talked.

Now you may be thinking, like we all did at first, that someone, take for instance Dotty Marche, wouldn't hand over the envelope with the hundred bucks in it in return for a red rose and a shopping bag. I mean, it's a bit bloody ridiculous when you think about it. You go up to this sheila you've never seen in your life before, she pins a red rose on you and gives you an empty shopping bag and tells you to walk to a certain spot where she'll be well out of your sight and, in return, you hand over a hundred bucks. Give me a break, will ya!

Wendy, though, was spot on again, she's relying on word of mouth among the social set to get her message across. The new client has been told what to expect by someone who she trusts and who has gone through the routine before. In other words, every new contact is a referral by someone the new client knows. It becomes a case of mutual trust. But, as almost never happens, if a potential client does refuse to hand over the money until she or he has got the dope, then the Smoky involved simply thanks them politely and walks away, the contact terminated.

The Smoky is always the same person for the client,
but the Joe, who makes the drop, is different, so he cannot be recognised and followed should the police set a trap.

The point is that if a Smoky is apprehended she is clean, she hasn't handled any dope. What's more, the Joe she is working with has to be caught in possession to be charged. This would require considerable luck, as a police ambush would be very bloody difficult to set up on an unknown and moving target. The Smoky never repeats the location of the hash honey drop. Even if they catch the Joe after the drop, he never carries more than one deal at a time and so he is also clean.

In fact the customers are the most vulnerable so it is in their interest to keep their mouths shut about their personal Smoky and pick-up arrangements.

Trenton le Gaye has spread the news through the gay community and White Tiger, as hash honey is now known, becomes the ‘in' drug among the gays as well as the rich. It is this second market that will make the whole scam work.

Soon we are making money, big money, hand over fist and the love life of the yuppies, who were once the weekend hippies, the gays and the trendies has never been in better shape.

The hash honey is brought by Shorty to Smoky Joe's
Cafe, or I pick it up from the farm. Then half a dozen bikies from the Vets from Hell call into Smoky Joe's as though they've just stopped at a country cafe for a meal and drive it back to Sydney where it is decanted from one-gallon tins into single deals contained in one-ounce smoked-glass phials.

The money is now being used to make the lives of veterans' kids with spina bifida and other birth deformities a lot easier. Where corrective surgery can't be performed, wheelchairs are paid for, modifications made to bathrooms and toilets so that parents can cope with their severely disabled children. Most of this work is done by Vietnam vets tradesmen who are paid a salary.

The money is also being used to assist veterans who are ill and unable to work and for those needing counselling. Lawsy has set up a legal arm to take on the government. Nam Tran has a project to build a hospital in Vietnam for children. Most of this is done through a registered fund called Vietnam Veterans Self-Help Association that is run by Shorty.

Little Anna is now permanently in the Children's Hospital and not getting any better. Time is running out for us. On top of all this, the old cocky dies. In my opinion the world is a better place for her absence as
she's well past her use-by date. But she's still Wendy's mum and she loves her and Wendy doesn't need any more personal grief in her life.

Wendy and I see almost nothing of each other these days as she is in Sydney full time, training and running the new Smokies and Joes and organising their schedule so it goes like clockwork. Meanwhile I'm keeping the cafe going in Currawong Creek and acting as a courier.

Lawsy manages the day-to-day operation. Wendy has her hands full and old Thommo has an empty bed for all but one weekend a month.

Once a month on a weekend, I get Brenda Hamill and her husband to run Smoky Joe's for me and I go down to Sydney to see Anna and, if I'm lucky, get a bit of a cuddle from Wendy who has R and R and is out of the civilian jungle for two days when Maureen takes over her job.

They've closed the books on Anna's chemo treatment and her hair is growing again. Anna's been bald from the chemotherapy that long that I almost can't remember how she looked with a head of hair. She's got her mum's hair and it's growing into a golden fluff on her little head. More than once I've broken down at night, wondering how long her hair will get before it's all over for my darling.

I try to persuade Wendy to sell Smoky Joe's so that we can be together in Sydney. I can't see Wendy coming back to running Smoky Joe's when this is all over. The hash honey scam is going so well that Shorty reckons we'll be through in less than a year.

‘What then?' I say to Wendy. She knows what this means. It means Anna is no longer with us and the scam isn't there to take her mind off things and the two of us are together again.

‘Thommo, this whole business will soon be over and if we're lucky enough not to be caught, then we'll need somewhere to go after this.' She sighs, ‘I'm tired, it will be good to get back to Currawong Creek and away from all this.'

All Wendy's ever taken from the scam are her expenses and not a penny more. Lawsy wants her to get a weekly salary like the others, but she won't hear of it. She won't let me take nothing neither.

‘We're fighting against an unfair system, Thommo,' Wendy says. ‘It's us against Canberra. I'm doing this for Anna,
because
of Anna. She's going to die, we know that now, there's no chance of a bone-marrow transplant.' Wendy looks at me, still fighting back the tears. ‘I don't want her little life to be for nothing. What we're doing is against the law and so I can't take
any pay, that would make me a criminal.'

‘What's the difference? If we're caught they'll treat us like criminals anyway. Shorty and Lawsy want you to go on a salary, it would help a lot, Wendy, we're slowly going broke.'

She sighs, ‘No! No, Thommo, we'll manage somehow.'

I start to think how it would be if Wendy were caught, just Wendy in prison alone. I panic and want to throw up just thinking about it. There was once a bit of talk when we were all together on Shorty's farm about how, if one of us got caught and put away for a stretch, we'd mount an attack, a prison break-out. The platoon going in, rescuing our mate, like old times in Vietnam. It's all bullshit, of course, we've seen too many Yank movies, we're doing the John Wayne in our imaginations.

Maybe Shorty and Bongface and perhaps Nam Tran could still be effective warriors in a stoush with the prison guards, but the rest of us couldn't fight our way out of a wet paper bag.

Killer Kowolski and Animal look pretty macho riding on a Harley, but they couldn't run fifty feet without dropping dead. Macca's a physical and mental wreck and Ocker Barrett ain't that much better, both have the
thousand-yard stare and they're suffering through more crook days than having good ones. Lawsy wouldn't have the stomach for it any more. Flow Murray would probably spill the beans down the pub the night before and, besides, he has a serious dose of the permanent shakes as well as the rashes and violent mood swings. I reckon he'll be the first of us mob to cark it. It's bloody amazing to me that we're holding the scam together at all and I wonder who's gunna break first among us, the majority of us are hitting the piss pretty hard. If it weren't for Shorty, Bongface, Nam Tran and the two girls, Wendy and Maureen, I reckon we'd be history. Lawsy's doing a good job, still thinking straight, but you can see he's only just holding himself together.

Despite all this, things drugwise continue to go great. Maybe God protects foolish old warriors? But as you can see, things are not all that good for the forward scout and yours truly. I love Wendy and our little daughter more than my life and the closer we get to the end of the whole business the more I'm shitting meself.

I try to imagine what would happen if Wendy and me were thrown into the clink and Anna was dying alone? Every day I wake up I can feel the panic in my gut growing bigger. The nightmares are worse than ever
and the rashes are givin' me hell. I'm feeling butcher's most of the time. Even the once-a-month cuddle don't work no more. I've gone impotent again and I can't get it up to save me life. I reckon it's more the worry even than Agent Orange or post-traumatic syndrome. I even try hash honey, but it don't do no good and I'm feeling ratshit most of the time.

Then I start to think, even if we don't get caught, I'm gunna lose Wendy as well as Anna. I mean, why would a chick as good as Wendy want to stay with someone like me when the kid wasn't there to keep us together? With the talent she's got she could get a big-time job in the city. Her wanting to keep Smoky Joe's don't bring me much comfort neither. I tell myself it's just a sentimental thing, that she'll soon get jack of running a greasy spoon in a small country town and go back to the bright lights. What's happened to Anna is my fault and she's going to resent me and I don't blame her. What can a big, useless bastard like me offer her anyway? All I've ever done is make her life a heap of shit. If she left, that would be the end for me, shotgun in the mouth time. I don't reckon I would want to make it on me own. I'm feelin' that sorry for myself, I'm crying meself to sleep of a night.

So this is my state of mind when Shorty calls me.
‘Thommo, can you get someone to look after Smoky Joe's this weekend, you're needed in Sydney?'

‘What for? I'm not supposed to go down for another two weeks?' I know it can't be Anna because Wendy's phoned the night before.

‘Mate, it's important, can't speak on the phone. Oh, and don't tell Wendy yer coming, okay? There's a good reason, trust me, Thommo.'

I finally agree and tell Brenda Hamill, who ain't that happy. She and her husband have planned to go down to the coast for the weekend. She knows things are tough for Wendy and me and, no doubt, she thinks it must be about little Anna, so being the beaut person she is, she don't ask questions and agrees they'll postpone their weekend and look after Smoky Joe's for us.

Shorty and Lawsy meet me at Sydney Airport and we take a taxi to Maureen's house. Naturally I'm worried, but they won't tell me nothing except that it's not a problem with Wendy or a crisis with little Anna. As we get closer to Maureen's house I think about Mo. I always do coming to her place. I still have a bit of trouble looking at Maureen, she's pretty and all that, but I can see Mo's eyes and his jawline and she has the
same blazing red hair. Shorty and Lawsy hang back at the gate and I go ahead.

‘Well, well, lookee who's here,' Maureen says when she opens the door. She turns and shouts back into the house, ‘Wendy, someone for you!'

Wendy comes through into the hall, she must have been washing the dishes back in the kitchen because there's soap suds on the back of her left hand and she starts to wipe her hands on her apron. She's got no make-up on and is wearing jeans and one of my old shirts under the apron. One sleeve is half torn at the top and her rounded shoulder pops through the tear, the bottom of the shirt comes to well below the apron. She's that pretty my knees start to buckle. I can feel me heart going thump, thump, thump in me chest like it wants to jump right out and bounce across the floor so as to get to her first.

‘Thommo!' she exclaims and I can see she's real happy to see me, surprised and happy, her blue eyes welcoming. She's coming up to kiss me and I've got me arms out to lift her up off her feet, when suddenly there's a helluva racket, a bloody great roar, then over it all a big road-train horn blasting,
BARP-BARP-BARP
! The roar grows and grows, filling the air so the windowpanes are rattling and I can feel the vibration
through the soles of my shoes. Then
BARP-BARP-BARP
again and again and then it all stops dead except for several Harleys revving down and the sounds of people shouting out. Wendy looks past me. ‘Oh my God!' she gasps, ‘Oh my God, Thommo!'