I grew up in regional Victoria: Kilmore. Good school, free Uni, job on graduation, yet I had murdered by the age of 21! We were competing for the same guy – those chalky clifftops, where we all used to hang, an arranged meet, a push – problem solv-ed! I just explained to the cops how the crumbly edge collapsed.
I scored a placement with a hedge fund’s Melbourne franchise, helping the rich get richer. Top End of Collins Street, 34th Floor, and within four years, Junior Exec, keyed access to the rooftop bar. French fizz, after finishing a feverish Friday, always a few of us gathering for the weekly brag.
Julie and I were the last to leave, she was pissed, revelling in her latest foray into the US Bitcoin scramble. Made a motser, she reckoned.
We stepped out, more booze, dinner, my place for a line, before Southbank clubbing. She was found in a laneway at dawn: dazed, disheveled, distressed, disorientated. A garbled Police interview, both with her, and me, eventually led nowhere. Julie resigned and moved to Sydney.
Booze and powder were sustaining my capacities, but I was too self-absorbed to pick up the vibe, the collegiate odium. I was good, just going through a rough patch. The ‘readies’ were drying up.
I lost a weekend at the Lemon Tree pub, and a bloke, vaguely known, approached with a proposition. We met at the beach the following weekend to discuss details. His financial competitor needed wasting! Twenty grand was being offered. Could I do it?
It took a couple of weeks to consider and plant the dodgy ‘molly’. But by Sunday evening, job done!
It was a couple of years later, the phone rang. “Frank said to talk to you…” We met, discussed circumstances, fees, and timeframes. Timing was critical as the intended victim was giving evidence at the Banking Royal Commission.
I flew to Brisbane with gent’s clobber, an adhesive goatee, gloves and wig. A pistol was purchased locally. She opened the front door, a perfunctory single shot to the head. She dropped neatly. I chose the least travelled fork in the road, into the darkness, driving directly back to Melbourne.
The calls were regular, every few months. My methods varied, but I was experiencing unexpected euphoria, as I planned each MO! Shooting delivered instant results, the ‘Chicago Overcoat’, mmm, sometimes, but the boat launchings were too public. Car accidents were ok, but danger lurked in randomly passing dashcams. That nearly brought me undone a couple of years ago – took me several days to track down the car and eliminate the evidence!
If I had to choose a favourite, I reckon it would always come back to the elevated dispatch. It’s surprisingly easy to get the target to high, isolated spots – buildings, lookouts, from the top of a high voltage transmission tower once – results were always the same.
Life was good. However, I increasingly reflected on the possibility that things were actually predestined – maybe absorbed through my childhood water supply!