The Prez

Chapter 1

Shovelling shit is no way to spend a Saturday morning, but that’s what Peter Winifred and his mate Brian Corrigan did when they were twelve. They mucked out the stalls at Fairfield trotting track, collecting and shovelling horseshit into sugarbags and selling it to punters. They took turns pulling and pushing the billycart, hard work when the shit was wet, but at six shillings a bag, it wouldn’t take long before they each had enough to buy a 125 cc BSA Bantam motorcycle and race up on Snow’s Mountain with the other kids.

Their customers wanted to get a healthy garden going in their backyards, and prized the cheap fertiliser delivered to their door. The boys got to know them all and formed an opinion on everyone’s character. Old Joe, the Ukrainian loner, they reckoned was a Second World War concentration camp guard hiding in Sydney’s west. He just grunted when he got his two bags and counted out their twelve bob. Mrs Tweedy and her husband always offered them a glass of lemonade. Hauling shit was hard work and the lemonade was a hit. The other customers were mainly new Australians, immigrants from the Mediterranean, trying to grow fruit and vegies in their tiny, identical backyards.

After a couple of months Winnie and Brian had enough cash to know they wouldn’t have to do it forever, and that knowledge kept them going. The person they credited for the turning point in their lives was Mrs Wright, who lived on Chapel Hill in a neat bungalow with nice roses. She’d owed the boys thirty bob for five bags for two weeks. She refused to answer the door, but whenever they went to collect and heard music playing inside they knew she was home. It pissed the boys off that the mingy bitch wouldn’t cough up and she taught them a valuable lesson: cash only, no credit.

On Saturday nights at Winnie’s, his dad, who’d had a few down the pub with his mates, fell asleep in his chair next to his mum, who was watching a black and white television movie while enjoying her weekly ration of six chocolates. One Saturday night Winnie had a bath after dinner and went to the room he shared with his older brother. Warren toiled in a nail factory for a pittance and every Saturday night he went to a church dance. Winnie reached under his bed to add his daily takings to his horseshit money. Eleven pounds and seven shillings — only a few more weeks before he had the fourteen quid to buy Kevin Hinchey’s Bantam. Kev wanted to upgrade to a 500 cc Matchless. Winnie stashed the box then went to kiss his mother goodnight, making a big fuss about how tired he was. Engrossed in her movie, she kissed him lovingly and told him to sleep well. From a traditional Italian family, she was ever-patient and forgiving. Even though his father was a dinky-di Aussie, the kids in the area picked on Winnie and his brother because they weren’t one thing or another. The wogs didn’t accept them, and nor did the Aussies, so they were fair game for the neighbourhood bullies.

That Saturday night Winnie and Brian had a job to do. Winnie turned off his light, changed out of his pyjamas into his jeans and climbed out the window. He walked down the road to meet Brian, who pulled out a small tomahawk. Winnie laughed and called it ‘good thinking’. They made their way to Mrs Wright’s house, where the lights blazed and laughter roared inside. Brian crept up the path to the rose bushes and chopped them all off at the ground. The bastards inside wouldn’t be laughing next morning.

On Sunday mornings Winnie’s mum made him get up and go to church with her. They had to leave early because she arranged the altar flowers. She and Father Pius were thrilled to see the bunch of fresh, beautiful roses left at the presbytery door. While she arranged them, Winnie hung around outside the front door of the church where his schoolmate Ocker earned a quid manning a newsstand. When they saw Mrs Wright pull up in her flash car Winnie told Ocker about the night before and they pissed themselves laughing. Winnie hoped she liked the flower arrangements.

After mass Winnie had a quick bite then changed clothes to meet his mates. The last thing he heard was his mother calling out, ‘Don’t be late for tea.’ In those quiet days of the late 1950s just about everyone had a baked dinner on Sundays and the whole family got together because the pubs were closed. Winnie’s old man turned on his charm and proved quite funny when sober.

He raced down his street, past the identical Housing Commission three-bedroom fibro houses. From some he heard angry shouting and snatches of arguments. It unsettled him; he’d never shouted in his whole life. He reckoned he was pretty lucky that his home was a happy one: no raised voices, no argy-bargy. He met the boys on the corner and they headed up Snow’s Mountain. On Sundays in Sydney’s western suburbs, too far from any beach, it was all about motorbikes; Snow’s Mountain had a twisting bush track, ideal for dick-swinging, derring-do riding and bravado.

Big Kev tried to ride his Bantam up Snow’s Mountain but he was so big and heavy the gutless little motor couldn’t make it without a huge run-up and he had to push it up the last hundred yards. He was as anxious to sell it as Winnie was to buy it. There were no roads or houses on the hill, just tracks made by kids on motorbikes driving around and about. A big gang had gathered up there that Sunday and the top dog was a bloke everyone called Twister. His mates hung around him like flies and he thought he owned the mountain. He rode a 500 cc Triumph, the most powerful bike of the lot.

Winnie and Twister shared a bit of history, going back to a time after school when Twister got stuck into Winnie’s brother Warren with his fists. Winnie didn’t hesitate. He picked up a length of timber and gave Twister a good thumping, with some full-blooded belts. Twister never forgot it, but still thought he was a tough cunt. When Twister saw the boys walking towards him he gunned his bike and sprayed Winnie, Brian and Kev with gravel, then headed off, laughing.

‘That Twister is a real queer cunt,’ Big Kev snarled. ‘Wait until I get my Matchless …’

Kev never liked Twister at the best of times; all Kev had a mind to do was to beat him around the track, if not about the ears.

Winnie saw the fire in Kev’s eyes. ‘Hey, Kevvie, don’t wreck my bike before I can buy it.’

Twister took off and easily outsprinted Kev on his tiny Bantam.

When the boys headed down the hill they found Kev revving the motor and saying ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck’ under his breath.

‘The cunt nearly put me over the edge.’

Brian had an idea. ‘Come on, leave the bike here. Help me with this.’ Brian found a log. When they heard Twister starting on another lap they dragged it across the track on a blind corner and hid in the bushes. Twister came roaring around the corner. To avoid running into the log, he dropped the big bike and slid off into the bushes arse over tit.

The boys ran home laughing while Brian shouted, ‘Don’t get mad, get even!’ Twister was two years older and tougher, and probably smart enough to work out who’d brought him undone, but at that moment they couldn’t have cared less.

That night at tea, Warren glared at Winnie then dropped a bombshell. ‘You didn’t go to mass today. Mary from youth group told me you were out at Ocker’s paperstand yakking it up the whole time.’

Winnie was caught dead to rights. His first thought was that Warren was a prick for dobbing him in and then he tried to come up with some excuse. His mum just looked at him and said, ‘That’s alright, Peter.’ As soon as Warren realised their mum wasn’t going to get up Winnie, he was full of self-righteous anger.

On their way to school the next morning he asked Winnie, ‘Didja do your homework?’

‘Nah, too busy riding motorbikes.’

They shared a good laugh. Warren didn’t ride bikes — he just wasn’t interested — but he liked girls and there were plenty of them at the youth dances. It rained on the way to school; low scudding black clouds made the sky look eerie. In class Winnie noticed Brother Michael staring at him with his little blackcurrant eyes. Winnie thought it most unusual. Every time he looked up he saw those black eyes boring into him. After prayers, and without even saying ‘Good morning’, Brother Michael told the class to get out their homework, then he marched straight to Winnie’s desk. Winnie shit himself. Here comes trouble, he thought.

‘Where’s your homework, Winifred?’ Brother Michael never asked for homework first; something was up.

Winnie fiddled with his bag, pretending to look for what he knew wasn’t there.

‘You never did your homework, did you?’

Before Winnie said a word, Brother Michael grabbed him by the throat and dragged him out the front of the class, banged his head against the blackboard and shouted, ‘Why didn’t you do your homework, Winifred?’

Winnie tried to speak but nothing came out.

‘You didn’t do it,’ Brother Michael paused for dramatic effect, ‘you didn’t do it because you were too busy riding motorcycles.’

Brother Michael was squeezing so tightly Winnie couldn’t breathe. When his face went red, Brother Michael loosened his grip and dragged him to the back of the classroom, lifted him up and hung him on the hat pegs. Winnie’s feet dangled a foot off the ground and he squirmed like a bug on a pin while Brother Michael headed back to the front of the class. Winnie’s Brylcreem had made a greasy stain on the blackboard.

The class giggled at Winnie’s predicament and turned to look at him hanging there, each secretly glad it wasn’t him.

‘Get him down!’ Brother Michael shouted to no one in particular, struggling to regain his composure.

Brian and ‘the Rat’ Rassock, two of Winnie’s mates, hurried to the rear of the classroom and lifted Winnie down, desperately trying not to laugh. Winnie knew Warren had given him up to Brother Michael, and while he couldn’t work out why his own brother would do that, in time he would forgive him; he loved his brother, but he would never forget. Lesson learned: never rat on anyone, ever.

Right there and then Winnie made a vow: no bastard would ever make a fool of him again. He didn’t mention the episode to anyone, especially his parents, because they always believed whatever the Brothers said. But he decided then that school and he weren’t meant for each other. That little episode delivered another simple lesson: he and his mate Brian were not going straight. They didn’t have long to wait to find out what not going straight meant.

One Saturday the Fairfield racetrack had a gymkhana and all Winnie could think about was more horses, so tons more horseshit. If they could sell it all that day they’d have enough for the bikes. Brian arrived at Winnie’s carrying extra sugarbags.

‘This might be the last week.’

To find extra customers they went to a new area and knocked on doors. Kids they knew from school laughed at them. It wouldn’t have mattered if there hadn’t been any girls around, but there were, so they pulled out their air rifles and took a few pot shots at the boys and told them to get fucked. Stung from the slugs, the kids yelled back insults but scurried off like rats. The extra sales resulted in a pocketful of cold cash, almost double their normal return, but there was trouble that night. The police hauled them off to the police station over the slug guns. Winnie told the cops that he’d been robbed; he was only trying to defend himself and make an honest quid. The cops wrote up a report and gave it to Sergeant Burrows. Like most cops, Burrows seemed a big, blue brute and the boys had no idea that their caper was of little concern to him, so they packed shit. Burrows told them they couldn’t just go around shooting kids because they thought they were ‘about to rob them’.

‘Do you understand that?’ he roared and they both shit themselves.

‘Now because you’re making an honest quid I’m going to be lenient. We’ll keep your slug guns and I’ll give them back only if you come back with your parents. Now fuck off home!’

The boys thought they’d got off lightly and had a good laugh about it, but they never told their parents and never went back for the guns. At home they counted up the takings; it had been a big day and they finally had enough money to buy their bikes and give the horseshit caper the flick for good.

The next Sunday Brian, Kev and Winnie went up to Snow’s Mountain. Big Kev rode his Matchless and the boys rode their BSA Bantams, ‘beezers’ they were called. Twister was up there with a few of his mates but that didn’t worry the boys. This was the day Twister would meet his match in Big Kev. Twister thought he was king shit and got up them straight away.

‘You bastards put that log on the track! I nearly killed meself.’

The boys said nothing and tried to look innocent.

‘What log, Twister?’ Big Kev asked. He was big enough to take shit from no one, and that included Twister. ‘Get fucked.’

Twister gunned his bike. ‘You wanna race, Kev?’

Kev was ready. They agreed on three laps around the hill and lined up with motors running. Someone yelled three, two, one, go, and off they went. Twister got in front and cut Big Kev off whenever he tried to overtake. Kev backed off and waited until Twister turned around to see what was happening behind him and then he shot through on Twister’s blind side and led until the finish. The boys cheered loudly — it was the first time anyone had beaten Twister; when he and his mates left, no one said a fucking word.

One night Winnie watched The Wild One on television. He suddenly knew what he wanted to do with his life; something to do with motorbikes and a band of mates, to feel the wind in his face just like Marlon Brando and his gang. He was impressed with the way they carried themselves, and knew then and there that he was going to be a bikie, whatever that was and whatever it took. After his run-in with Brother Michael he determined to spend the least amount of time at school and Brian agreed.

‘We’ve got to get out of this place, mate.’

School was bad enough, but the Catholic shit was way too much.

‘First they try to shove it down your throat and when that fails, they try sticking it up yer arse,’ said Brian, and they laughed long and hard.

The decision to quit wasn’t entirely theirs, though, because the truant officers eventually took them to juvenile court and they were sent to different reform schools until they reached fifteen. Brian went to Mount Penang on the Central Coast and Winnie to Mittagong Boys’ Home.

Since they had no trade, they were probably destined to work in the local factories but when they came out they had learned separate, valuable skills: Brian knew how to steal motorcycles, grind the engine and frame numbers off, stamp on new numbers, paint and register them and resell them for a fat profit, while Winnie had grown a foot, filled out and learned how to lead men by quietly applying his steely will. He reckoned someone had to be in charge and it might as well be him. As soon as they could, they opened their own little factory in the garden shed in Winnie’s backyard and resold a few stolen bikes. Soon Ocker and Big Kev quit their factory jobs and joined in, because Winnie and Brian offered better hours, conditions and pay to do shit they liked — simple choice, really.

On Friday and Saturday nights in the early 1960s three or four hundred bikies from all over Sydney met at the Centennial Hotel at Woollahra to hit the piss and show off their British bikes. In those days Harley-Davidson bikes were rare; blokes reckoned they were too noisy and that they sounded like tractors. Winnie and about twenty of his mates would ride into Sydney and drag each other from the traffic lights. Big Kev once chucked a wheelie and nearly ran over a couple who were slow to clear a crossing. He soon developed a reputation as a hard cunt. When Winnie pulled up at the next traffic lights he leaned over to Kev and told him, ‘You’re going to kill someone one day.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Kev yelled and raced off to the next light wearing a grin a yard wide.

Outside the pub, boys bragged about their motorbikes. Under a full moon the chrome glistened on a long, menacing line of motorbikes parked at the kerb. When a roar announced the arrival of a pack of fifty bikes the pub emptied to watch the new arrivals park wherever they liked. Kev recognised Twister.

‘Hey, Winnie, fucking Twister’s gotten big.’

‘Yeah, but he’s still ugly.’

Twister and a few mates walked over. ‘Ah, the little boys are here.’

Big Kev stepped out of the shadows and Twister’s face turned white. He hadn’t seen Kev for a while. Kev was over six foot four and built like a Mallee bull. Twister stuck his hand out to Winnie. ‘How’re you going, boys? Nice bikes you’ve got here. Why don’t you come inside and have a beer?’

Winnie spoke up. ‘Maybe later, Twister.’

Twister headed into the pub followed by his mates.

‘I don’t trust that cunt, Winnie,’ said Ocker.

‘Me neither, Ocker. He’s a snake. Anyway, we have a little work to do before pleasure.’

They wandered down the line of bikes and made their selection of the ones they liked, recording the numberplates for Ocker. His brother worked in a motor registry office and would slip them the addresses. The boys would turn up, nick the bike and do a ‘rebirth’ in the shed. It was just that easy.

Their work done, the boys made their way into the Centennial, ordered beers and watched the band. They found a table near the dance floor filled with girls in tight jeans and t-shirts that showed off their tits. A young one with long blonde hair, dressed in imitation leopard-skin tights, danced alone. Winnie thought she didn’t fit in. Maybe it was her age — she was a kid.

‘Hey, Winnie,’ Big Kev called out, ‘it’s your shout’, but Winnie didn’t hear a word.

‘You can’t keep your eyes off her, can you, mate?’

Winnie made his way into the bar where Twister held court and told jokes. ‘Hey, Winnie, aren’t you going to have a beer?’

‘I’ll have one with you out at Little Bay, if you’re going.’

‘We’ll be going. I heard you’ve got a business going and I reckon we might do something together.’

‘I don’t think so, Twister.’

Back at the table Winnie set the beers down in front of his mates. ‘Hey Brian, Ocker, I want to tell you something.’ The boys leaned in. ‘Twister must know what we’re up to with the hot bikes. He just put it to me that he’d like to do business with us. I’m just wondering how he knows. Has anybody said anything?’

The boys looked blank.

Brian spoke at last. ‘We sold a hot Triumph to that bloke with Twister.’

‘Twister’s going to have a beer with me out at Little Bay; I’ll see what else he has to say.’

The band played and Winnie checked out the crowded dance floor for the girl in the imitation leopard-skin tights but she was gone. Big Kev, who kept an eye on everything, yelled over the band, ‘I think she went to the little girl’s room, mate.’

The beer soon had an effect on everyone and eventually a fight on the dance floor turned into a full-on brawl; blokes from all sides ran in and started swinging fists. The band unplugged and walked off while the bouncers stood back and watched. It went on for a few minutes until the sound of sirens signalled arriving cops and the pub emptied like magic. It was almost ten o’clock — closing time — so the boys pooled their cash and Ocker raced off to get a few dozen at the bottle-o. Ocker stowed their beer in saddlebags while the pigs made a few arrests, then three hundred bikies started their engines and took off into the night; the noise could have awakened the dead. Big Kev sidled up to Winnie and nodded towards a girl standing in the shadows outside the pub.

‘There she is, Winnie.’ She stood alone and looked scared. Kev nudged Winnie. ‘You better be quick, mate, before someone else grabs her.’

Winnie pulled his idling bike onto its stand and made his way over. There was no time for niceties. ‘Do you want a ride to the party?’

She nodded.

He pulled down the rear foot pegs, showed her where to put her feet and yelled, ‘Have you been on a bike before?’

‘No,’ she mouthed.

He mounted up. ‘Hop on and hang tight.’

He found first gear and shot off in a hurry, heading for Little Bay. It turned out to be a fast ride on twisting and curving roads. Winnie felt her tits rubbing on his back and it gave him high hopes for a night of quiet fucking in the dunes by the sea. He followed the other bikes to the party but made his way to a place away from the fire. The boys followed him. They probably thought they were onto an onion, a gangbang, but Winnie had other ideas as he turned off the engine and helped the girl off his bike. He noticed her eyes were glazed.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Mimi.’

He was a bit worried: she didn’t look right. ‘Are you pissed or what?’

‘No, stoned.’ She smiled.

‘What do you mean, stoned?’

Winnie was in the dark. He hated feeling ignorant but he’d never heard the word before.

‘Marijuana,’ she said. ‘You bikies haven’t heard of it?’

Winnie said nothing: what he knew and what he didn’t know was his business. He called the boys over to introduce them to Mimi. The boys salivated.

‘Do any of you blokes know what stoned is?’

Ocker always knew everything. ‘Yeah, it’s when you smoke dope, Winnie. The surfers are into it.’

She leaned over and whispered in Winnie’s ear, ‘Would you like some?’

He nodded and grabbed her hand and they walked off into the dark towards the sand dunes. The boys wanted to come but Winnie turned and shook his head. They wouldn’t follow unless he signalled them. Winnie had a feeling about her. She differed from the scrags and wannabes he met.

She pulled out a tobacco pouch and rolled a cigarette. ‘This is a joint. What’s your real name?’

‘Peter Winifred, Winnie to me mates.’

‘I enjoyed that ride tonight. It was the first time I’ve ever been on a bike.’

‘Do you always go to that pub?’

‘No, tonight’s my first time, my father told me to keep away. Not from the pub, but from bikies.’

‘How come you went, then?’

‘Just curious.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Rose Bay. And you?’

‘Fairfield.’

‘That’s out west, isn’t it?’

‘At least I know where Rose Bay is,’ Winnie muttered and lit the joint.

He felt insecure for a second — she was putting him down because of where he lived — but after his first puff he couldn’t have cared less. It changed him almost immediately. He just smiled at her and handed back the joint. He felt terrific, the effect was calming and very private and he just stared at her thinking she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever met. They lay on the sand and she reached over and tousled his hair. He closed his eyes and listened to the waves and smelled the salt air. After a while he came out of it and asked, ‘Where can I get some marijuana?’

‘Down at Bondi from the surfers. They buy it up the North Coast and bring it down.’

Winnie had no idea what she was talking about so he just nodded. He knew this was better than beer and he wondered if there might be a good earn in it for him and his mates; he just had to find out how. Lying there next to her he couldn’t believe he was with this girl. Normally he’d be groping her tits and going for it but she was no onion, that he knew.

Suddenly Mimi leaned over and kissed him. Winnie’s heart almost stopped. He lay there and stared into the night sky and said nothing. In the distance Winnie heard the roar of approaching motorbikes followed by a police siren.

‘What’s that?’ Mimi looked scared.

Winnie stood up and grabbed her hand and led her back to his mates. Two blokes on motorcycles came roaring into the party site. They laughed as they got off their bikes and yelled out how they’d outrun the coppers. The siren sounded closer and Twister and his drunken mates gathered around Winnie and Mimi, probably looking for a good time. The police car pulled up, lights flashing, and two cops got out and said they wanted to talk to the last two riders. The gathered crowd laughed as one.

‘You find them,’ Twister called out. The coppers realised they were heavily outnumbered and were just about ready to get back in their car when someone chucked a bunger that exploded near them. That changed things quick smart; the cops got on the blower and called for reinforcements.

‘There’s going to be trouble now,’ Winnie whispered in Mimi’s ear, ‘let’s blow.’

‘Peter, you have to get me out of here. I’ll be in big trouble if I’m caught.’

Big Kev and Brian came over. ‘Don’t forget we’re next, Winnie.’

Winnie shook his head. ‘Get fucked, this one is different. Is there a way out of here?’ He didn’t want to get caught up in Twister’s shit either.

Ocker piped up. ‘Hey, Slippery knows how we can get away.’

Approaching sirens got louder.

‘Follow me, we don’t have much time.’ Slippery took off.

Winnie mounted up, kick-started the bike and waited for Mimi to climb on, then he gave it a handful and took off after Slippery. Mimi wasn’t happy, Winnie could hear the panic in her voice. He followed Slippery behind a hill and turned off his lights. The three other boys followed. Five police cars passed them heading in the opposite direction. Winnie didn’t know if five cars would be enough to quell the crowd; they were all drunk and probably more than a match for ten coppers. The boys followed Slippery down a track and back onto the road and they were off, free as birds.

Winnie gave Slippery the thumbs up and roared past him for Elizabeth Bay. The boys were still hoping for a gangbang but there was no chance; Winnie wanted to ‘sheriff’ her, to keep her for himself; he just didn’t know how he was going to lose the boys. Ocker rode up next to him and smiled and looked at Mimi. Winnie pulled over and parked and the boys pulled up alongside and gave him the ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ look. Before Winnie could answer they heard more police sirens nearby. He seized the opportunity and yelled out, ‘I’ll see you blokes tomorrow’, taking off in a cloud of blue smoke.

‘Good luck,’ Big Kev shouted as Winnie headed east.

Winnie thought he’d died and gone to heaven. Fuck, I’m in like Flynn, he thought, but he didn’t have a clue where to take her in the Eastern suburbs. The police reinforcements drove by but paid no attention to them. He stopped at a light and Mimi got off, ran across the street and hailed a taxi. Before she closed the door she mouthed ‘Thank you’, and that was that. Winnie just shook his head. The boys wouldn’t believe it. She and the taxi were long gone before he came to. He kicked his bike into life and then it struck him, it was going to be a long ride home and he didn’t even get her number.

The next morning was Sunday. His mum had long since stopped trying to get him to mass. He heard the sound of motorbikes pulling into his drive. He was lying in bed trying to recall what had happened the night before; all he could think of was Mimi — he could still smell her perfume — but he couldn’t work out exactly what had happened. He opened the back door and saw his mates lounging around the backyard.

‘You sheriffing cunt,’ Brian yelled. It was a good thing he smiled.

‘I know. Do you want to know what happened?’

‘Yeah,’ they all answered, anticipating a lewd story.

‘When we went for our stroll in the sand dunes we sat down and she rolled me a smoke of marijuana.’

‘The bikies in the States are into that,’ said Kev. ‘What was it like?’

‘Better than piss, mate. We both just lay there smoking while I played with her titties. Fuck, they were nice.’

‘Yeah, I noticed,’ Brian said and grabbed his crotch.

‘Go on, Winnie, what happened?’ Ocker always wanted to know every dirty detail.

‘It turns out she’s some rich cunt’s daughter from Rose Bay. You wouldn’t believe it, after you blokes left I was trying to think where I could take her when she jumped off, got in a taxi, said thank you and fucked off. I still can’t believe it.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Kev and the boys laughed until they almost cried.

‘Fucking oath, boys, I suppose she’s telling her rich girlfriends all about it by now. The only good thing about last night was the marijuana. There could be a decent earn in that for us. We’d better look into it.’

Brian piped up. ‘You see the headlines, Winnie?’ He read from the Sunday paper: ‘Riot at Little Bay. Bikies steal a police motorcycle. Forty-five police battle bikies after police chase. Sixty-five arrests made. Police continuing their investigations.’

‘I guess we don’t go to the Centennial for a while then, eh? I’m sick of hanging around with those meatheads anyway. If we’re going to get into shit it had better be for what we do instead of those cunts. Did they get Twister?’

‘I hope so,’ Kev said smiling. ‘Come on, let’s go up to the shed.’

They walked up the backyard and Kev asked Winnie if he was sweet on Mimi.

Winnie thought he was but said ‘She was just another slut’ and left it at that. Kev shook his head as they walked into the shed and sat down to discuss business.

Ocker asked if anyone got the numberplates of the bikes they wanted.

Winnie had. ‘Yeah, I got three new bikes, so they should be insured. When we sell one more I reckon we’re going to have to get somewhere else to do this. My old man is getting suspicious of us bringing bikes here at night.’

The news took a minute to digest.

Brian said, ‘Why don’t we open a shop?’

Winnie looked at him while he gave the idea some thought, then he said, ‘That’d be pretty easy, there are plenty of places to rent. We could do modifications, sell spare parts. Ocker could spray and Kevvie could do repairs. We could sell the hot bikes from the shop. How much do you reckon it’d cost?’

‘Well, when we sell this bike there should be enough in it to cover our start-up costs. I can bring my old man’s tools in, that will save us, and Slippery can do the sign-writing.’

Winnie was suddenly interested in the idea. ‘What would we call the shop?’

A few ideas were aired. Brian started to write some names down then he looked up and said, ‘What about Snow’s, after Snow’s Mountain?’

The boys cracked up. ‘Yeah, Brian, it’s not a bad name. Where would we set up?’

‘What about Parramatta? It’s central.’

Winnie laughed. ‘Sounds alright to me, and if we have any complaints we can refer them to Snow, ’cos he’ll never be in,’ and the boys laughed some more.

‘Right then, I’ll go and see a real estate agent tomorrow,’ said Brian.

The boys talked about getting a few bikes to go in the new shop and Winnie put a stop to it right away. ‘Can you blokes wait until we rent a shop? I don’t want to upset the old man.’

‘Sure, Winnie, it’s only a night’s work.’

After they sold the last hot bike they had enough to rent a workshop in a back alley behind the Parramatta business district. It had a small display area and a dirt floor soaked with years of oil and grease.

‘At least it’s cheap,’ Brian said.

‘It’d want to be,’ Winnie said, looking around at the mess.

Brian was already planning where he was going to set up his spare-parts section. ‘This could be the start of something big, Winnie.’

Winnie wasn’t too sure. ‘If we don’t run out of money first.’

‘I saved some money, mate. We can use that to get started.’

‘Good to know.’ Winnie raised an eyebrow. He had no idea Brian had saved a penny.

‘Hey, you blokes remember Rat Rassock from school?’ Winnie was thinking out loud.

The boys all nodded. ‘Well, he’s into surfing and he might know how to get onto the blokes with marijuana. He still lives around here, I see him now and then driving a yellow Zephyr with a surfboard on top. I’ll see what he knows.’

Ocker and Big Kev brought in a bike they quickly renumbered and repainted. They changed the handlebars, added a few accessories and finished it so well that the original owner could have bought it back and not known it was his in the first place. The boys knew that their work was superior and they wanted to put the word around that they were in business. Slippery sign-painted ‘Snow’s British Motorcycles Sales and Service’ on a board they hung in the front window and the boys stood outside and admired his work.

‘It looks like a pro shop now,’ Brian said proudly. ‘How about we have a grand opening? Slippery said he can make t-shirts with our name on to sell. It’s free advertising.’

Brian was quick with a good idea, a natural marketing whiz.

Instead of closing at twelve on Saturdays like the other shops, they decided to stay open until three o’clock. It gave the blokes who worked on Saturdays a chance to come in and nose around, and they made some of their best sales then. For the grand opening most of their mates came; even Twister put in an appearance to have a sniff around. Sometimes he was a real good bloke and other times a cunt; that’s why they called him Twister. He filled Winnie in on what had happened at Little Bay. Turned out it was a full-on riot; the police didn’t give a fuck who they bashed. Twister and a few of his mates escaped, including his cousin Kero Ken from the country. Kero Ken was the bloke who stole the police bike in the first place. He was a real mad prick and dumb as a post; he got his name by putting kerosene in his bike instead of petrol, and the name stuck.

Winnie asked Twister, ‘Are you blokes going to Bathurst this year?’

‘Of course. Why don’t you ride up with us?’

‘I don’t think so; you’re not exactly Kev’s best mate.’

‘Fuck Big Kev, who’s running this show?’

Just then Kev walked into the shop. Twister turned and without batting an eyelid tried to turn on the charm. ‘Kev, I was just telling Winnie what a great shop you have.’

Kev looked unimpressed.

Twister took the hint. ‘Anyway, guys, I have to go now. We have a run down to Wollongong tomorrow.’

After they closed shop they sat around drinking beer while Brian counted the takings.

‘That wasn’t a bad idea with the t-shirts; let’s get some more. We made enough to cover our set-up costs and once we start selling bikes this shop is going to be a nice little earner.’

‘It won’t be like this every week. We’d better stay on the dole for a while.’

‘We make good money from the hot bikes, Winnie.’

‘Yeah, but how long do you reckon we’ll get away with it, if we just sell hot ones? The pigs will be onto us for sure. But if we just slip one in every now and then we’ll do alright. I promised myself when I got out of reform school that I’m not going back. We have to be smarter than the pigs and the only way to do that is to not get greedy.’

Brian nodded.

‘What was Twister after today?’ Kev asked.

Winnie laughed. ‘He wanted us to ride up to Bathurst with him and his boys.’

‘Yeah, like fuck!’ Kev roared.

‘Settle down, mate. I told him he wasn’t on your Christmas card list.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘Fuck-all. You came out of the workshop and that’s when he pissed off.’

‘Good,’ Kev said with a smile.

‘He also said what a good-looking shop we had.’

‘If he says anything good about us, we should be careful. He’s still a cunt, remember that.’

Chapter 2

The next Saturday night the boys met at the bike shop, excited about their first ride into Sydney since the Little Bay incident. The Centennial Hotel had been sold and painted purple and turned into a poofters’ pub so they headed to Kings Cross. Thick Saturday night traffic slowed them down and they snaked under garish neon lights and past the girlie shows, parking their bikes wherever they could. Drunks slept in doorways, hookers plied their trade and spruikers yelled at the punters about the exotic tricks their dancers got up to. In the crush they saw Twister’s cousin, Kero Ken, who made his way over and held out his leg-of-lamb-sized hand. Kero shook Winnie’s hand and Winnie introduced him to his mates.

‘This is Kev and Brian.’

‘Yeah, we met you with Twister out at Little Bay.’

‘That’s right, Twister tells me you blokes have a bike shop out Parramatta way. Maybe we can do some business one day.’

The boys laughed. ‘Like fuck! We don’t deal with Twister.’

Kero went back to spruiking. ‘Check the girls out, boys, no charge for you.’

‘Fucken oath,’ said Brian. ‘You coming, Winnie?’

‘No, mate, I might go for a wander.’

‘I’ll come with you, mate,’ Kev said.

Brian and a few of the boys disappeared inside the strip club. Kev stopped to talk with the strip-joint bouncers he knew from boxing school.

One of their mates, Porky, stayed to keep an eye on the bikes and chatted to a couple of girls wearing leather jackets and tight slacks. The girls laughed at Porky’s jokes. Kev squeezed each girl on the arse. ‘I’ll take both,’ he growled as they squealed and jumped out of his grasp. Their tits bounced and Winnie and Kev had a good laugh.

Kev shook his head. ‘Just playing, girls.’ They were telling more jokes and flattering the girls when Kero Ken waved to Winnie and Kev. ‘Come here, boys, there’s trouble inside.’

‘You stay with the girls, Porky,’ Kev shouted over his shoulder as they ran towards Kero.

‘What’s up?’

‘There are some footy players in there and they’re not getting on very well with your blokes.’

Kev barrelled down the stairs and saw Brian pinned up against the wall with two footy players giving it to him. Winnie pulled a large shifting spanner out of his jeans and whacked one bloke on the shoulder until he heard bone snap. Then he turned his attention to the other bloke, whose face he recognised from the sports pages. Winnie whacked him on the nut and the bloke collapsed like a sack of spuds, joining his moaning mate on the floor. Winnie reckoned he wouldn’t look so familiar now. Brian was bleeding from the mouth and his forehead sported a huge welt.

‘I’ll be right,’ he said, but he was glassy-eyed and wobbling.

Big Kev and the other boys swung chains, intending to bash anyone else who wanted it. Punters poured out the exit doors. Kero Ken showed them the fire door leading out to the back alley and told them to bugger off in a hurry because the cops were on their way. They sauntered back to the street and Brian wiped the blood from his mouth.

‘Are you alright?’ Winnie asked.

‘Yeah,’ Brian laughed a little nervously, putting on the bravado. ‘They can’t hurt me.’

They headed for their bikes. The girls were still talking to Porky, oblivious to the shenanigans in the club.

‘What happened down there, Winnie?’

Winnie nodded at Brian and smacked his right fist into his left and then raised his finger to his lips and winked at Porky. Porky had the sense to shut up. They looked down the road and saw the police trying to make sense of what the two footy boys were trying to say. They looked in rough shape and their clothes were spattered with blood. Winnie thought that right about then was as good a time as any to get the buggery out of the Cross. Porky grabbed one of the girls and the other one looked to see who she would go with. She’d started to walk over to Winnie when Brian grabbed her by the arm. His self-esteem needed a bit of boosting. ‘Come with me.’

She looked at his fat right eye. ‘You poor thing,’ she said, and climbed up behind Brian. He said later he could tell it wasn’t her first time on a bike. The boys took off, adrenalin pumping. They roared past the El Alamein Fountain and down to Woolloomooloo, past Harry’s Café de Wheels, Sydney’s famous pie and peas caravan, then across the Cahill Expressway, over the Harbour Bridge and down to the smiling face of Luna Park at Milson’s Point. They mounted the footpath and parked on the grass under the bridge.

Brian thanked Winnie. ‘I was in a bit of trouble in there.’

‘How did it start?’

‘A couple of them footy hero loudmouths put shit on the girls and I told them to shut up. They didn’t like it and got stuck into me.’

The girl Brian brought along for the ride brushed his hair off his forehead and kissed his eye. He grabbed her hand and led her into the shadows. The boys had the other slut undressed in the moonlight while Big Kev unbuckled his belt.

‘After a fight, Winnie, there’s nothing like a good fuck.’

He dropped his jeans and slid them down around his ankles. The boys whispered to each other about who’d be next. Ocker decided he was going last so he could take her home for the night. While Brian had his turn, Winnie and Kev sat in the park and sipped rum and watched the ferries and fishing boats crisscrossing the harbour.

‘I think Brian’s in love,’ Big Kev sneered. ‘He’s had that sheila to himself all night, the bastard.’

Kev was getting restless and Winnie yelled out, ‘Come on, Brian, it’s time to get out of here.’

Brian brought the girl over. ‘Gina, meet Winnie and Kev.’

‘G’day, boys.’

‘G’day,’ they replied. They were pretty unimpressed that Brian had attached himself so quickly to a slut from the Cross.

‘Okay, I’m going to give Gina a lift home.’

‘See you on Monday.’ Ocker was fucking the other girl on the grass in the shadows and all they could see was his waving hand and the moonlight bouncing off his bare arse.

Brian turned up about ten o’clock on Monday, a black eye but all smiles.

Winnie asked if he still had the slut from the other night and Brian’s face darkened. He grabbed Winnie by the throat.

‘Don’t ever call her that again.’

The boys had never seen him flip out before. His eyes turned steely. He’d obviously done his balls over the slut overnight.

Winnie grabbed Brian’s wrist, twisted it off his throat and said very quietly and calmly, ‘Don’t ever touch me like that again.’ Big Kev and Ocker watched silently. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Gina.’

‘Well, I’m sure you and Gina are going to be happy together.’ Winnie’s voice turned dry and his eyes black.

Suddenly Brian realised what he’d done. He knew it should never have happened and was eager to make amends. No one spoke for about five minutes as they got on with their jobs. Brian called out, ‘Have a gander at this.’ On the front page of the morning paper were photos of the two footy players who’d belted Brian. The article said they’d been selected to play a rugby league Test for Australia against England, but they wouldn’t be playing for a while. It went on to say they were having a quiet few beers when they were attacked by about fifteen bikies..

‘Yeah, like footy heads always have quiet beers,’ said Kev sarcastically.

‘Hey, boys,’ Brian whispered as he pointed outside the shop at two cops in suits.

Winnie asked Brian if he had the paperwork for the bike. ‘Don’t be smart, just go and see what they want.’

Brian walked over. ‘You interested in that bike? I can give you a good deal.’

‘We’re from the motor squad and we believe this Triumph is stolen.’

Brian passed them the paperwork. They carefully checked the numbers.

‘I think you might be making a mistake. I have the address of the person I bought it from.’

The senior cop handed the papers back. ‘A lot of motorcycles are getting nicked.’

The younger cop was on his knees with his torch out. ‘It’s legal, boss.’

Brian could hardly hold in his laughter until they left.

Winnie shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t believe it if you didn’t see it with your own eyes. That was lucky, but there’s gotta be another way for us to make an earn. I’ve been reading about what’s going on in the States with marijuana. Ocker, do you know where we can find Rat Rassock?’

‘The Granville pub.’

‘Let’s see if he knows where we can get some. The way I see it, it’s easy enough to grow and if we can get hold of a supply and sell it to our mates, we could do alright with it. We could go a quarter each, just like the shop. Whaddya reckon?’

Brian was naturally cautious until he had a firm idea of what was going to happen next. ‘Wait a minute, Winnie, not so fast. How are we going to sell it?’

‘We know enough blokes, start from there and see how we go. It could be big. Why don’t we wait until we talk to the Rat then make a decision? Have any of you tried it?’

The boys shook their heads.

‘Okay, wait until you try it.’

Outside the pub they saw other bikes and inside they found the Rat lining up a shot on the pool table.

‘There’s your man, Winnie. Fuck, he sure looks like a rat.’

With beady eyes and a stringy goatee beard, the Rat indeed resembled his namesake. He looked up and made his way over.

‘Long time no see, boys.’ He shook hands with them. ‘What’s going on?’

‘That’s what we were going to ask you, Rat.’

The Rat’s face drained of colour; his eyes darted from Kev to Winnie then back to Kev.

‘Don’t worry, mate, there’s no problem. I haven’t seen you since school. I was just wondering what you’ve been up to.’

‘Surfing, mate, that’s the go. Fuck staying out here in the suburbs. I go to the northern beaches, lots of mates there. We’re off to Hawaii soon, they reckon the sheilas fall over you there.’

‘What we want to know about is marijuana,’ Brian said.

‘Do you want some?’ The Rat pulled a joint out of his pocket.

‘Here?’

‘Yeah, nobody knows what it is out here yet.’ He lit the joint and passed it around. Everyone coughed trying to inhale and by the time they’d finished the boys were laughing at pretty much anything.

‘Fuck, Rat, I had a joint the other night but it was nothing like this.’

‘What do you think?’

‘Yeah, it’s pretty good.’ Kev smiled, off his face.

‘You do know it’s illegal?’ The Rat looked serious.

‘Of course, mate, no tax then,’ Winnie replied with a cheeky smile. ‘So what’s the go, can you get us some?’

Rat smiled with shining eyes. ‘Fucken oath I can, Winnie. Me and me surfie mates have a syndicate. You blokes could have one too, it’s just too easy. Don’t bring anyone else in and wholesale it, there’s a piss-pot of money in it.’

Winnie wanted to get down to business. He knew it was time to shit or get off the pot; he wanted to do it but he wanted to underplay his hand. ‘Okay, Rat, just start us off.’

‘You should get a pound, it’ll set you back three hundred bucks.’

Three hundred was a lot of money. With Easter and Bathurst looming, Winnie wondered if they could afford it.

Rat read their faces. ‘Take it on credit; there are sixteen ounces to a pound, you sell ten at $30 a bag, that’s your three hundred and the rest is profit. You’ll make about $180 a pound, depends how much you smoke yourselves. I’ll drop it off at the shop tomorrow morning. Tell you what, I’ll pass you my customers on this side of town; you’ll be doing me a favour.’

‘Okay, Rat, good one. Drop it off in the morning.’

‘So how did you and your mates get into it?’ Brian asked.

‘I know surfers up the far north coast. They got friendly with some farmers who grow it for them, hundreds and hundreds of pounds of the stuff.’ The Rat was stoned and a little loose. ‘You should see how it is on the northern beaches, the whole peninsula is stoned. It’s better than piss and you make money into the bargain. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Winnie turned to the boys. ‘Fuck, they must be making some money out of it if only half of what he said is true.’

They ordered beers and enjoyed their high. Kev nudged Winnie. ‘Have a look at that, Winnie.’

Two of Twister’s boys leaned against the bar. They wore sleeveless denim jackets and embroidered on the back was a tiger’s head with the words ‘Tigers’ on top and ‘MC’ on one side with ‘Sydney’ underneath.

‘Let’s have a chat with them. Brian, you and Ocker go out to the beer garden; we’ll be out in a minute.’

‘Isn’t that bloke with the long hair in the Tigers jacket Ian Wells?’ said Kev.

‘Yeah, that’s Wellsie. Let’s have a word.’ They sauntered over.

‘G’day, Winnie, Kev. I heard you opened a bike shop.’

‘That’s right, Wellsie. If you or your mates need work done on your bikes, come and see us.’

‘How do you like our club colours? Alright, eh? We meet here Thursday nights; you and your boys should come and join us.’

‘Maybe, mate. Don’t forget we’ll do you a good deal on any work.’ Kev and Winnie grabbed a few beers each and walked out into the beer garden.

Kev asked, ‘What do you mean, maybe?’

‘Never let them know what you’re thinking, Kev. No point in telling them to get fucked, is there? They were only trying to be friendly. They probably have no idea what Twister’s like … What did you blokes think when you saw the Tigers patch?’

‘I thought it was an ad for Esso,’ said Ocker and they laughed as one.

‘That aside,’ says Winnie, ‘it wasn’t bad, but I reckon we could do better.’ Everyone nodded.

Brian got up, drained his beer and announced, ‘I’m going over to Gina’s for tea, see you in the morning.’

When Brian turned to go, Winnie raised his eyebrows to Kev and Ocker. He had a funny feeling in his water bag about that Gina.

Over the next few weeks everything ran smoothly in the shop. Bikes wheeled in and out and they made an honest