Padrick - 1. Chapter One

'(crash) . . . (mumbled swearing) . . . and you can tell that fuckwit boss of yours . . . (pause) no! Shut up and listen . . . that he may be the Governor of this state, but I'm the Premier and it's what I say goes and not what your pompous idiot wants me to do, understand?'

Silence whilst the other party was responding, and then,

'Bullshit! No! Tell him I said no, and if he don't like it he can shove it up his seriously fat arse! . . . (Crash)'

The two middle-aged visitors in the waiting room looked at each other and made an attempt at a wry smile. From past experience they knew that the Premier was on the warpath.

The Premiers Secretary (a female medusa), Miss Henrietta Willow, turned over a page on her calendar to show todays date, Thursday May 27th 1927 , looked at the two portly men sitting in the waiting room and (evilly) smiled.

'Gentlemen, if you would follow me please.'

Getting up slowly they followed Miss Willow into the lion's den.

The office was large enough for a desk and conference table set against the back wall. The entrance door was to the left of this table. Large windows overlooked Phillip Street[1]; along the walls, in addition to the obligatory portrait of the King, were portraits of past State Premiers. The walls were faced with Mahogany and whilst intended to impress, the over-all effect was to make the whole office gloomy . . . masculine, but gloomy.

'Premier, the Minister . . .'

"I knows who they are woman; c'mon boys take a seat. Now have you seen this . . . ?'

He opened the front page of today's newspaper which had a screaming headline of;

Thursday 27th May 1927

MOB VIOLENCE OUT OF CONTROL

Razor gang mutilations continue to menace.

Further attacks by gangs armed with cut-throat razors continue to terrorise the citizens of Woolloomooloo[2] and Darlinghurst.

These gangs are said to be controlled by two women; Mrs Matilda Devine who controls prostitution as well as other rackets, and Mrs Kate Leigh well known for her off license grog distribution and drug control.

The public is entitled to ask what are the Police Minister Mr Asquith and the Commissioner Mr Tom Fitzpatrick, doing to control this violence and bring order to our fair city. A spokesman for the Premier Mr Jack Lang . . .

He glared at the two persons seating opposite and, leaning forward,

'(Shouting) . . . MOB VIOLENCE OUT OF CONTROL! Gentlemen, when I see headlines like that I'm entitled to ask what the fuck is happening, eh? This makes us look like Chicago, (the Police Minister started to intervene) no . . . shut up Teddy! I want action, not insipid words. I don't have to fuckn' remind you that I must call an election this year ; if this mess isn’t resolved by then, you Teddy and I and the rest of our colleagues, can kiss goodbye to being in government. Now Teddy (the Police Minister), what were you going to say?'

The minister leaned forward with his elbows on the Premier's desk and stared at him, then

'Premier (slowly), Tom (The Commissioner of Police) and I have already discussed the situation at length. We're just as concerned as you are; the situation is getting ugly and these razor gangs constitute a threat to . . .'

'For Christ sake Teddy, get on with it! I'm not gonna sit here and listen to this; ya sound like a politician (laughter).'

'Sorry Jack (a bit annoyed). . . I'll let Tom take it from here.'

As an old and experienced copper, Tom Fitzpatrick was used to handling hostile situations and particularly cantankerous politicians; he leaned back and fixed the Premier with a stare.

'Premier, what we need is a group of dedicated and talented coppers who can spearhead an all-out war on crime, particularly in the Woolloomooloo and Darlinghurst areas. This group will consist of an Inspector, a Senior Sergeant, a Sergeant, a Senior Constable and three Constables. One of the Constables will be a woman, Mary Gordon who will liaise with the Press . . .'

'Hey (the Premier) I like that; will she try and stop bad headlines like this (rattling the offensive paper)? '

'That's the general idea Jack; we haven't had any direct communication with the press for a long time . . . .'

'(the Premier mumbling) self-opinionated, arrogant, narrow-minded bastards . . .'

'. . . now and we hope Mary, who incidentally has a journalistic background, can help with our image and control what gets published. She's a real find Jack; someday I'd like you to meet her . . .'

'Has she got big tits? Geeze I love big . . .'

Just then the Premier was interrupted by a knock on the door and Miss Willow poked her head in and,

'Sorry Premier, but would anybody like tea or coffee?'

'Yeah thanks Henrietta, a great idea. I'll have my usual and, (indicating to his visitors to signify their preference)'

When orders had been taken, the Police Minister spoke up,

'Premier, we would like this group, incidentally called 'the Flying Squad' to be responsible for gathering information and acting upon it. We want them issued with firearms and able to hold suspects for interrogation for up to 48 hours. I know that flies in the face of current law but we're adamant that it's very necessary.'

'No problem; I can gazette that change.'

'Good! (Turning to the Police minister) Teddy, I'll let you go over the reporting structure.

'You know Miles O'Donnell the Chief Inspector don't you Jack? (An affirmative nod) Well, he 'll be the spearhead of this group which will meet daily to garner information and plan any action based on the info. I have given Miles full authority to take action without prior approval. Their main objective is to clean up the Woolloomooloo and Darlinghurst areas; we can't eradicate crime completely but we will put these razor gangs behind bars . . . a long time behind bars.

Miles will report to myself and Teddy weekly, and if you're available, with you also. The initial activity of the Squad is to garner information. This means primarily, seeking out dogs[3] and paying for their intelligence; that's where a healthy budget is imperative. What do you think so far Premier?'

'Good, yeah good, but I'm more interested in practical results than pretty words; I'll let you know when I see some results. So when will you start the squad?'

'Immediately; if you agree with what we propose, Miles O'Donnell is due to have the inaugural meeting day after tomorrow.'

'Ok, Ok . . . let me have your proposal so I can sign it; you've both done well. It's a good plan but like any good plan it needs great results . . . hmmm.'

The two men looked at each other and allowed a small congratulatory smile.

Just then the door opened and they all fell silent as Henrietta deposited their refreshments.

Sipping their beverages the two men reflected on how pleased they were with the meeting so far. They had spent time on the Flying Squad project and fortuitously, the day's headlines had given the projects' concept a great boost. It was a good plan and they were anxious to proceed. The Premier cleared his throat,

'Ok (finishing screening the document) that's all good; I'll get the legalities under way. Here's my signature as your authority.'

The Police Commissioner accepted the document from the Premier and he and Teddy Asquith began to gather their papers prior to leaving. As they started to get up the Premier stopped them.

'Ahhh . . . before you go there is another . . . ahhh, delicate matter that I have to discuss. It is most unpleasant.'

Teddy Asquith looked briefly at Tom Fitzpatrick who shook his head signifying that he didn't have a clue.

'As you may be aware, my wife is a member of a Christian ladies group that every night locates unfortunates who don't have a home or a bed for the night. Of course my wife does not go out every night but, as a group they talk about some of the observations they make during their night-time odysseys. (Pause) . . . (Clearing his throat)

They are finding increasing incidences of men seeking other men for sexual encounters. These activities usually take place at public toilets, bushland and indeed at landmarks like the Archibald Fountain in Hyde Park[4]. What I don't understand is why these creatures deliberately flout the law; we still regard sodomy as a major crime . . .'

'Indeed (from the Police Commissioner) we still do; the last man executed for sodomy was Hendrick Witnalder on the 20th February 1863. Since then we have imposed custodial sentences on these cretins, but nothing seems to stop these disgusting and unnatural acts; my apologies to your wife Jack that she should be exposed to such perverted activities . . . yes, my apologies indeed.'

'Well, I'll pass your apologies on to her and her friends, but no more words, I want action; let's get rid of these queers and their unnatural activities. I want this city and indeed this state free of these disgusting creatures . . . what do yer say Tom?'

(Sigh) well, it's not that easy. In the past we've had plain closed police patrol known haunts, but as soon as the sodomites suspect police presence, they go underground to such places as the Turkish Baths in Oxford Street. There they don't indulge in unlawful practices, but meet to make assignations elseware. There's not a lot we can do Premier; we can't transfer valuable resources in the fight against crime just to confront these creatures. The point is . . . , and indeed it is an unpleasant fact, that these persons and these activities do not constitute any harm to the general populace. Whilst we view the activity as a crime there are no victims associated with this crime. My advice is too turn a blind eye until such time as they constitute a menace to society.'

'Are (hostile) you saying Commissioner that you intend to do nothing about this offence to good Christians everywhere?'

'Yes . . . yes I am; we have to be practical and use our scarce means where they will do the most good in the fight against crime. I'm sure you wouldn't want us to divert resources from the gang warfare just to clean up these creatures; (pause) but what I will do is assign officers and staff for a whole week to clean out known areas of dalliance. Hopefully that will send a sign and drive these disgusting activities underground; but I have to tell you honestly it is by no means a permanent cure.'

'Well Tom, (sounding mollified) do the best you can; I'll tell my wife and her associates that we are attending to the problem. At least that will get her off my back.'

'If it's any consolation Premier, this is not our problem alone; every major city in the world has sought to rid themselves of these creatures. No one has had any success and the main opinion is that as long as they don't harm other people let the matter lie dormant.'

'Well Tom, I'll bear that in mind when I talk to my missus. Now if you'll excuse me . . . .'

***

As the crow flies, Woolloomooloo is only about one kilometre from the Premier's office in Phillip Street, but in terms of social standing, it could be a million miles. At the same time Jack Lang was being upset by the day's headlines, the same missive was being scrutinized by the first lady of Woolloomooloo, Matilda (Tilley) Devine.

'Hey Jim (Jim Devine, Tilly's husband), 'av yer seen the headlines in today's paper?'

'Yep I have and I don't think its good fer us; bad publicity like that ain't good fer business. The customers won't come down here if they think they're gonna get cut or harmed; anyway, where did the article come from, who wrote it?'

Tilly and Jim were having morning coffee in the main parlour of Tilly's brothel in Palmer Street, Woolloomooloo. It was a tacky room as befits a brothel and the décor could have been taken from any brothel, in any city, in any country around the world. Burgundy patterned wallpaper was matched with deep green curtains and the floor covered in plush red carpet. In the centre was a circular seated lounge and along the two facing walls, chaise lounges offered more comfortable seating. Wearing a floral house gown, Tilly lay on one of these lounges sipping her coffee. Big Jim was sitting close by in a comfortable armchair also reading the paper and drinking his morning coffee.

'Dunno, dunno who wrote it; expect it was some snotty nosed journo who is out to make a name and cause some mischief. But they's mentioned me and that bitch Kate Leigh; anyone that puts me name next to hers don't know nuthin'.'

'Yeah well, (pause, to sip his coffee coffee) we're trying to run a business and that kind of publicity ain't good fer business.'

'Jesus Jim, yer such a negative bastard at times; why do I have to do all the thinkin' 'bout business stuff?'

'Because yer good at it and we make a great team; you handle business stuff and I'll watch over our security.'

'Yer means bashin' heads in don't yer? That I reckon y'are good at it.'

'I do me bit; now ain't it time fer your inspection?'

Every day, Tilly made a physical inspection of her girls to make sure they were washed clean and didn't carry any infections. She prided herself on running a clean and respectable brothel because most of her clients were from the upper classes. She even provided several young boys for discerning clients. Also daily she washed and ironed the girl's panties. Now,

'Girls, (she shouted) pantie time!'

As if on cue, twelve pretty young giggling girls descended the stairs and formed up in front of Tilly. They were totally naked from the waist down. Big Jim put down his paper, took a soothing sip of coffee and stared; this was his favourite time of day when he could perve on a dozen damp fannies[5].

Tilly moved down the line and, after inspecting their privates, handed out fresh panties to each girl. Inspection over, and happily titivated, they trooped back upstairs . . . all except one girl who stayed behind.

'Yeah, what is it Moira, yer got sumfin' to say, well spit it out . . . and put yer panties on straight, they's all twisted.'

'Sorry Tilly (pause) I'se wondering if I could ask a favour?'

'Go ahead and make it snappy.'

'Well, it's really Mr Jim that I wants t'ask; (big Jim put his paper down and stared at Moira) me cousin, ummm . . . Freddie wants t'know if'n he can join yer gang Mr Jim. He's just come out've Juvie where he done five years fer topping[6] his dad. The bastard beat up me aunt and the young'un really bad for a long time. Poor little sod used t'cop it real bad until one day he'd had enough and punched the mongrel who fell down the stairs and was kilt.'

'Jesus; (from Tilly in the background) if'n the shithead was so bad why they sent little . . . ummm . . .'

'Freddie (from Moira) . . .'

'Yeah . . . Freddie . . . to Juvie; seems like it were a case of self-defence.'

'(Big Jim) seems a reasonable question. Why didn't they call it self-defence considering the mongrel has been beating the kid up for years?'

'I dunno Jim, I dunno; the little tyke[7] had got in trouble afore this so I guess they took his rap sheet into account. Even so, it were a bad call; but he's straightened himself out in Juvie and all he wants now is a job and perhaps a little male guidance.'

'What's he good at? What skills he got?'

'He's good wi' guns . . . .'

'Hey, (Tilly) I don't want no guns; don't want nuthin to do with guns. Yer promised me Jim . . . no guns.'

'Yeah, just cool it Tilly; I know we said no guns and I mean to keep me promise. No harm in having a chat to the youngster. (To Moira) Tell him to stop by and we'll have a natter.'

'He's outside now Mr Jim; I told 'im that I'd talk to ya and see if'n you can give 'im 5 minutes of yer time. Can I bring him in, please?'

Jim nodded; Moira left and returned with a young man who was obviously very nervous.

'Mr Devine this here's me Cousin Freddie who thanks you for talking to him at short notice; say thanks Freddie.'

'I reckon its good of yer t'see me Mr Devine; I reckon I ain't got much t'offer but I'm loyal and if'n ya takes me on ya won't regret it. All I wants is a new start.'

Tilly was aroused by the lad; he was only short, about 165cm but packed with muscle. His broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and his impressive torso was supported by thickly muscled legs. Whilst his body impressed, he had the face of an angel; he was so good looking that even Tilly, jaded after years of sex, felt a stirring in her loins.

Wow, this kids a looker; wouldn't mind havin' a fling wi' him when Jim ain't around.

Jim Devine was equally energized; this kid could hold his own in any fight or other rough stuff and would be a blast of fresh air into his team. Yeah, very good potential!

'What's yer thing, Freddie? What skills could ya bring to the gang?'

'I'se good with guns Mr Devine . . .'

'Hey, call me Jim.'

'Thanks . . . Jim. As I was saying . . .'

'And (from Tilly) I'm saying we want nuthin to do with guns. They're bad; can get people killed and that just makes for revenge. Also brings the cops down on us; do I have to mention that they'se also illegal. No, no guns.'

'I hears ya missus . . .'

'Call me Tilly . . .'

'Thanks, Tilly . . . err, as I was sayin'. I don't like t'use me gun, but only in self-defence; Surpris'n how meek fella's get when faced with an open barrel. T'me it's just a detergent . . .'

'Ya (from Jim) means deterrent.'

'Yeah . . . deterrent; I ain't ever fired at anyone an' hope I never will. Is that OK missus . . . err, Tilly?'

'Yeah, jest promise me you'll never use any gun lest me or Jim says so.'

'I promise ya Tilly. Mr Jim all I wants is a chance at a new start. I wanna put me past away an' start new like; I promise ya won't be disappointed wi' me.'

'OK (looking at Tilly who nodded) we'll take a chance with you; come and meet the gang.'

***

In a small cottage in Crown Street, not far from Tilly's, the other Woolloomooloo royal personage was reading the same morning paper. These cottages were cramped and unappealing; the front parlour fronted onto the street whilst a long side hallway provided entrances to bedrooms, sitting rooms and kitchen. The privy and laundry were usually out back. They were depressing, but Kate Leigh found that her proximity to where she conducted business was necessary.

Now Kate was lounging in the sitting room enjoying morning coffee. To look at, Kate Leigh was not pretty; her facial features were angular but radiated intelligence. She had been born in Dubbo[8] and still affected country girl mannerisms. She'd started out as a prostitute but when the law changed to close the pubs at six o'clock each night, she began selling booze after hours and made a killing. In a perverse move she bought a butcher shop, sold meat during the day and grog[9] after six PM.

It was rumoured that she was a wealthy woman, but wisely she didn't flaunt her wealth.

'Hey Wally (her best friend and bed mate) I got me name in the paper agin'; shame they had to mention that other Pommie bitch as well. What do yer think?'

Wally was a stout man in his thirties and had been by Kate's side from the beginning. He had a reputation as a boozer; even at ten in the AM he was enjoying a beer. He took a large swig of beer before answering Kate.

'I ain't heard of no recent cuttings or bashings; wonder what brought all this on. You ain't heard of any bad stuff goin' down 'ave yer?'

'Nah, but since when do journos write about truth.'

'My guess Kate is it's political; the Premier has to call an election this year and he's struggling in the polls. If'n he can claim credit for fixin' up fictitious crime, he'd gain votes. Mark my word; we'll see a lot more news about how the cops are cleaning up us reprobates before this year is out.'

'Yeah, bloody polies; they'se always commin' down hard on us, but truth is, they'se just as sneaky as we is.'

'Agreed . . .'

Just then a young pretty girl poked her nose in and said to Kate,

'Hey missus K, there's a copper 'ere wants t'ave a word with ya; what should I do?'

'A copper . . . here; Do ya know what he wants Emilee?'

'Says it's personal and not police business; (Kate and Wally exchanged glances) just a quick chat he wants.'

'Ok Emily, show him in.'

'Emilee returned with a young good looking man in plain clothes; he looked nervous.

'Good morning Mrs Leigh, my names Giles . . . Giles Madden; can I have a word in private.'

'Whatever ya got t'say ya can tell it in front of Wally; we knows each other's business. Did yer say ya names Madden; used to be a family by that name back in Dubbo . . . any relation?'

'Yes, they're my folks and that's the main reason I'm here. (Kate looked mystified). Yer Mums doin' poorly Mrs Leigh; as they don't have a phone to contact you direct, your dad asked my folks to get a message to you through me. That's what brought me here.'

'Me mum? What's wrong with her do yer know?'

'No . . . no, I don't. The only detail I got was that she's not well; mustn't be good if'n they wants you to contact them.'

'Oh shit, where's me manners; here take a seat and Emilee will get you sumfin' to drink. Emilee . . .!'

'No, I can't stay; reckon I'll be in trouble if my Sargent finds out I've come calling. I . . . I'm sorry if'n that sounds rude.'

'(Laughing) heard worse than that; but what about tak'n a bottle of Jonny Walker with you just for yer trouble. It took some guts to come here and I appreciate yer tak'n the trouble.'

'Sorry missus, but we'se got strict rules about that; tak'n bribes that is.'

'Ain't no bribe; just being friendly. If'n ya don't want a bottle, I reckon our Emilee got some skills that'll make yer happy.'

'(Smiling) thanks Mrs Leigh but I got a wife and two young'uns at home; I try to be faithful.'

'Well, suit yerself; thanks for coming. Any time ya wants to bring yer missus to our cabaret just ask and we'll look after yer.'

'Appreciate that, I'll bear it in mind. Now, I'll take my leave (pause); I hope yer mum's gonna be OK.'

With that Giles, escorted by a very disappointed Emilee, took his leave. Wally had sat through the whole conversation without saying a word. Now,

'Well, are ya gonna go and see yer mum; sounds ominous. It'll only take coupla days.'

'Dunno (pause), dunno Wally; she's the one threw me out. Disowned me, so why should I do anything now, after all this time?'

'Because she's yer mum and whatever she's done to yer if'n ya don't go t'see her, you'll probably feel guilty for the rest of yer life.'

'Yeah, there's that . . . I'll think on it.'

***

[1] The site of the State Parliament

[2] Indigenous name for 'Dark Water'

[3] Slang term for Police Informer

[4] Akin to Central Park in New York

[5] Slang for a female vagina

[6] Slang for killing

[7] Slang for small boy

[8] A country town in the State of New South Wales

[9] Slang for liquor