by John Bishop
ever need them.
Lenny presided over his franchising empire from tastefully appointed offices in William Street, close enough to Kings Cross to keep an eye on his other business interests. His staff at William Street were all members of a carefully selected inner sanctum, their modest pay packets from the pest control company well supplemented by income they were paid for undefined other services—income they collected, in their own time, from another location. There were no outsiders at William Street to wonder why the boss received so many visits from detectives. Although few of his staff knew the detail of these visits, they understood the general nature of them. They often had to suppress their grins when a team of unhappy detectives emerged from Lenny’s office after an interview. On such occasions, Lenny usually opened the bar in his office for a drink after hours. He made no explanations, but all would drink his favourite toast: ‘To pest control!’
Although he insisted the financial activities of the pest control company must never be compromised by extraneous transactions, his offices and his trusted staff provided the ideal environment for him to meet, in private, with associates of a different kind. It was also a safe place for negotiations and, if necessary, for confrontations.
Lenny had other strict rules and his employees observed them without fail. Men wore jackets and ties. Lenny set the example for them, his short, nuggety body always clothed in a current season Armani suit. In a previous age, he would have been called “dapper”. His ginger hair and neat moustache were trimmed every Monday morning by a barber who also served as a conduit for messages to and from some of Lenny’s more colourful associates. Women on Lenny’s staff dressed elegantly, with a proper regard for modesty. Although swearing was not banned, Lenny rarely swore and he had been known to admonish his offsiders if they used an expletive he thought unnecessarily vulgar. His word was law. The mystery disappearance of one young man, who had argued with him in public, was a story related to newcomers; although newcomers were rare and so heavily vetted by the boss that the cautionary tale was probably unnecessary.
After falling ill and being diagnosed with cancer, Lenny cut back the time he spent in his office, but he tried to be there for a few hours each weekday. It was late on Thursday, and he was getting ready to leave, when an unexpected visitor arrived at reception holding a folder of papers. The visitor would tell the receptionist only that he had heard Mr d’Aratzio was unwell, and thought he might be able to help. Leaving the visitor in the care of two clerks the size of basketballers, the receptionist consulted with her boss and returned to say Mr d’Aratzio was available for a short meeting. The visitor showed no surprise when the oversized clerks accompanied him into d’Aratzio’s office. Without a word, he handed d’Aratzio the folder.
‘An impressive record, Mr Froyland,’ Lenny said after perusing the file. ‘You seem to have been in the pokey half your life. Why should I be interested?’
Gavin glanced up at the two giant minders.
Lenny smiled. ‘Feel free to talk in front of my friends.’
‘I heard all about Mad Charlie Magro’s bingle in the bush. I know a bit of your own background from blokes I spent time with at Government expense. I also know Max Kingsley. Two and two make four; thought I’d come and introduce myself.’
‘Because?’
‘Because I’ve been based in Arajinna for the past six months. I’ve become what you might call a fixture around the district. But I’m sick of bustin’ me guts all day for bugger all return. I thought we might find our interests running on the same track, if you catch my drift.’
‘What is this work you do for… little return?’
‘Echium lycopsis.’
‘Again.’
‘Patterson’s Curse. I got myself a contract cutting it out, and spraying road edges for various other noxious weeds.’
‘A contract with the shire?’
‘Yes.’
‘And this didn’t bother them?’ Lenny tapped the folder.
‘Well I didn’t tell them did I? Besides, they think my name’s William Smith.’
‘Original’
‘Useful. If any employer goes checking on a William Smith, they’re inclined to give up pretty quick and tick all the boxes. Anyway, I think I might’ve been the only mug to put in a tender, so they wouldn’t have been real keen to find anything wrong. It’s a bugger of a job. Out along the roads in all weathers, boiler suit and mask even on hot days, dripping sweat in your gloves. It’s been the longest six months of my life—and that includes those stints as Her Majesty’s guest at Long Bay.’
Throughout the discussion, Lenny’s minders had sat quietly at either end of the desk. Now Lenny smiled at each in turn. ‘Chaps, I am feeling quite comfortable in the company of Mr… Smith. I don’t think he is a threat. Not to me, anyway. Thank you for your patience.’ The two men rose and left without a word.
As the door closed, Lenny smiled, ‘You probably thought you were tall, Gavin. I like to surround myself with giants.’
‘Those two are a touch intimidating, I’ll give you that.’
‘So, under the alias of Bill Smith, Gavin Froyland has become a fixture along the roads near Arajinna, eh?’ Lenny sat back and clasped his hands under his chin.
‘Being my own boss is also handy. I set my own schedule and submit a weekly report. Sometimes they read it and send a bloke to check what I’ve done; most of the time they don’t bother. I’ve rented a place with a yard near the railway depot. Every now and then they drop off a list of spots they want me to have a go at, but mainly it’s up to me to wander the district looking for early signs of weed growth. I take photos before and after. All hunky dory. And I didn’t have to ask permission to spend a few days in Sydney. Placed an order for some chemicals as a cover. Picked them up this morning.’
‘If you know anything about me, you’d be aware I try not to leave a trail.’
‘I had heard.’
‘But I really am dying. I’m not banking on seeing out next year. Frees up the thinking a bit. It also creates an urgency I used not to have. I now tend to consider options I might previously have rejected out of hand. Kingsley and Brody are itches I need to scratch.’ Something occurred to Lenny and he lent forward. ‘Do you know Brody? More to the point, does Brody know Gavin Froyland? There’s no drugs record in here. This seems to be breaking and entering, armed robbery, smash and grab, a bit of GBH…’
‘Each to his own, Mr d’Aratzio. I’ve always thought there was too much competition in the drug market. In my line, it’s open slather. There are no limits. You create your own business, so to speak. I read the daily papers looking for overpaid executives with trophy wives. Know why?’
Lenny smiled and shrugged. ‘Tell me.’
‘Nobody feels sorry for them. Specially the coppers who have to wipe their feet on the gigantic bloody doormats and tiptoe around the mansions. So there’s not the same passion to run a bloke like me to ground, not like I guess you experience in your line of work.’
Lenny laughed aloud for the first time in many months. It hurt and he moved uncomfortably in his chair before speaking again. ‘It’s a pity we’ve met so late in life, Gavin. I like your style, and I do think it might be possible to align our interests. Right now, though, I need to go home and put my feet up.’ He pushed a button on his intercom. ‘Jodie, am I free at 11am tomorrow?’ He raised his eyebrows in a silent query to his visitor who nodded assent. ‘Good. Mr Froyland will be coming back. He’ll tell you how he likes his coffee on the way out now.’
Lenny handed back the file of papers and stood up. ‘Where did you park?’
‘Left the truck at the motel. Came by train.’
‘I like your thinking. Ask Jodie to show you the back entrance. The second alley comes out near Kings Cross Station. Come back the same way tomorrow. I’ll get one of the boys to let you in.’
‘Got ya.’
The two men shook hands and looked each other in the eye. Both felt well satisfied with their meeting.
Team
Bravo
Thursday 13th August 1992
Despite budget cuts in the department, Brody had provided Team Bravo with two unmarked vehicles. One was a Ford station wagon with a roof rack, the other a Holden utility. To comply with his standing instructions, neither vehicle had been washed for weeks. Eamon Callanan and Megan Schmitz were first to arrive at the rendezvous on Two View Hill. Megan pulled the station wagon into the empty rest area and parked in the shade of some trees.
When Ziggy Hoopman arrived in the utility, five minutes later, he found the others seated at a picnic table with Eamon’s trademark giant thermos of coffee and Megan’s tin of homemade Anzac biscuits.
Ziggy got out of the ute and stretched his wiry arms. He was an unusual build for a policeman and had barely met the height requirements for enlistment. But, as his sparring partners at the gym attested, it would be a mistake to mess with him. It was Brody’s policy to have his under cover teams made up of physically unalike members, and Ziggy was not the type you’d immediately pick as being a police officer.
‘Kingsley suggested this was a good place to orientate ourselves,’ Eamon said. ‘He wanted to meet us up here, but I reckoned on it being a bit risky for the prime target. It’s where any other visitor might stop to take stock—including a visitor with evil intent. Let’s take our coffee up to the lookout and see the lie of the land.’
The