Private Oz (Private 7)

The huge guy they called Borg had literally lifted me off my feet with one hand. Stomping across the room, he smashed open a side door with his free palm. Together, we crashed into the blazing sunlight in the back alley behind The Cloverleaf.

“That was pretty stupid!” Borg growled, then laughed as I tripped over a bin and went sprawling into a pile of rubbish.

I picked myself up, brushed off some wilted lettuce from my shirt and started to walk away.

“What you after with Geoff Hewes then, bud?”

I stopped in my tracks, turned. The bouncer was standing in silhouette a few feet in front of the closed door to the pub, legs slightly parted, hands on hips. Couldn’t make out his expression.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Might to me, fella,” the giant said and took two steps out of the shadow.

I saw a long scar running from the man’s brow to his upper lip. But I also couldn’t help noticing his i

ncredible green eyes that weren’t totally malevolent. “Why?”

“I’m no friend of Geoff Hewes. In fact I think the guy’s an absolute asshole.”

“So you know where he is?”

“I didn’t say that now, did I? Just said I don’t like him. Plenty of others I know don’t either.”

“Okay.”

“Look … Couple of my buddies were doing some building work for him – property in Seaforth. They’d agreed cheap rates, right? So what does the shit go and do?”

I stared straight into his eyes.

“He doesn’t pay ’em for weeks … that’s what he does. So, they down tools, right? Next thing we know, one of my pals gets a petrol bomb tossed through his living-room window … Coincidence? Don’t think so!”

“Has he hurt you, personally?”

Patrick blanched.

“He’s ruined me. That’s why I’m working here.” He flicked a thumb toward the pub. “I had a little business – tool-hire shop in Mascot. Borrowed a bit from Hewes to get it started. The business didn’t do well. I ended up owing the bastard three times what he’d lent me. Had to sell my house. Wife left …”

“I see,” I muttered. “So, what does Hewes actually do? I can’t get a handle on it. Even his wife’s half in the dark.”

He laughed. “Course! Wifey’s always the last to know. It’s simple, our Geoff’s a snake-oil dealer … a classic … Does up houses on the cheap and sells them on to gullible folk for a fortune. He lends money at ridiculous rates. He deals a bit.”

“Drugs?”

“Weed, coke.”

That surprised me. “Pretty low rent, isn’t it?”

“He needs money. Kids in private school, hefty mortgages, car leases. He gets cash from wherever he can.”

“Okay.”

“He’s also right up the asses of some of the richest, nastiest criminals in Sydney.”

“Doing what?”

“Works for ’em? Makes himself indispensable. It’s a trick all these small-time crooks pull. Work your way in with the big boys. Make ’em think you’re the hottest thing in town. Gives him access, ready cash, contacts.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Plus, no one shits on you … Connections, see?”

I saw. I’d witnessed it all before.