Private Oz (Private 7)

Johnny stared into the man’s face. He had a shaved head, big brown, malevolent eyes that searched his que

stioningly.

“I was just leaving the place.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Look, I’m not interested in what you were saying.”

The other guy laughed, took a step forward. The first man loosened his grip on Johnny’s neck, grabbed his left arm, pulled it up hard behind his back making him cry out in pain.

“A little word with the boss, I think,” he said and pushed him forward, back to the lane, and then the street beyond.

Thirty seconds later the two men had marched Johnny to the rear entrance to The Roxy, a big car stood in the lane.

Johnny struggled to get away but it was hopeless, the two men had an arm each, gripping him like a vice. They came round the side of the vehicle and the one on Johnny’s right opened the door with his spare hand, pushed down on his head shoving him into the car before sliding in beside him. The other guy ran round and jumped into the driver’s seat.

“You a little out of breath?” the boss asked, turning to the henchman in the back. “Gave you a run for your … Johnny? Johnny Ishmah?”

Johnny stared at the boss. He had a flabby face, small black eyes and was wearing a big grin.

“Jerry Loretto!” Johnny said, amazed. “It’s been a long time …”

Chapter 115

“ALRIGHT YOU TWO … piss off,” Loretto snapped at his men, and without a word, they stepped out into the alley slamming the doors.

“Well, well!” the boss exclaimed. “Never thought I’d see you again, Johnny. What the hell you doin’ here?”

Johnny had regained some composure, took a deep breath. “Could ask the same of you, Jerry. You watching one of your dad’s places?”

Jerry snorted. “My own, you cheeky bastard. I’m a big boy now!”

Johnny knew Jerry Loretto was only twenty-four, although he looked at least ten years older. He’d known Jerry at school. Not that Loretto had been at school much. Even then he’d been a petty criminal, a kid gangster, following in the footsteps of his father.

Johnny had studiously avoided Jerry. He was bullied at school because he wanted to get on, do well, get out of the Western Suburbs. Jerry Loretto was one of the school thugs, a thoroughly nasty piece of work even at the age of eleven. But then one day Loretto crossed the path of another tough kid from a neighboring school who had intruded into Jerry’s “patch” selling cannabis and ecstasy. Loretto had been jumped, knifed and dumped by the roadside. Johnny had found him and Jerry had begged him not to call an ambulance because he didn’t want anyone to know what he’d been up to.

Johnny had helped Jerry get home, and after that, Loretto was his guardian angel. He was never bullied again.

“I’m here on an investigation,” Johnny said, a little embarrassed. “I’m a PI.”

“What!” Loretto’s eyes widened and then he burst out laughing. “Well, I guess that figures, Johnny, you always were a goody-two-shoes,” and he slapped him on the back. “You’re not investigating me, are you?” he added, eyes narrowing.

It was Johnny’s turn to laugh, a nervous edge to it. “Nah, your buddy, Graham Parker.”

“That shyster?”

“He manages one of our clients.”

“Micky Friggin’ Stevens?”

Johnny nodded.

“So what do you want to know about Parker then, Johnny Boy?”

“Well, he’s obviously up to his neck in it.”

“Up to his eyeballs more like … Up to here.” And Jerry indicated a level six inches above his head.