Tony Cicerelli lugged the neatly wrapped package out of the back of the delivery van.
“Give us a hand mate,” he puffed, “This one weighs a ton!”
The driver leaned against the side of the van and lit a cigarette. “No way mate, they only pay me to drive them here. Goods handling is your job.”
Tony grunted and continued to move the package onto the trolley on his own, careful not to tear the tough plastic covering. Who knows what might leak out? He couldn’t bear to imagine. As soon as it was out of the van, the driver leaped in and drove off, the back slewing in the mud as he gunned the engine. Tony watched him leave in disgust.
“Pussy.”
He surveyed the site, bathed in the bright arc lights that turned the night into day. Good job the steel workers had gone home, he thought, they could hardly miss him manhandling this six-foot long plastic wrapped sausage into the matrix of reinforcing girders before he poured hundreds of gallons of concrete on top. With a well-practised shove, the package slipped neatly between the steel rods and came to rest with just the top of it protruding. Tony climbed over the lattice-work and jumped up and down on the bit that was sticking out until the top of the package was level with the top of the reinforced steel rods. Once he was happy with his preparation, he waved at the operator of the concrete pump. He walked over to the large silver hose and grabbed the end; he always preferred to do this part himself as then he could be sure that the bodies were properly covered before the rest of the pour was completed.
Having surveyed his work, he handed over to a younger fitter man who he left to finish the night’s work.
“See you tomorrow boys.” He called out as he climbed into his truck. He got out his smartphone to get his exact location, made a note of the time, date and GPS coordinates of the current pour in his notebook, put it in the glove compartment and headed home.
He rubbed his tired eyes as he was driving along the motorway. He really was getting too old for this shenanigans. He would have loved to hand over this part of the job to one of his staff, but the less they knew about this part of his business, the better. The customers of this service also demanded personal attention to the job and Tony was in no position to argue. Since his first foray into the concrete coffin business ten years ago, he had been handsomely paid for his services by some people to whom you don’t say “No”. He remembered how it had started all those years in the past.
Tony slammed the phone down, “Useless bankers! Can’t wait to be your ‘partner’ when times are good. Then as soon as you need them, it’s all ‘Sorry Mr Cicerelli, we can’t increase your overdraft’, ‘Sorry Mr Cicerelli, we can’t help you pay your staff until your client pays you’, ‘Sorry Mr Cicerelli, we don’t want to help you any more.’ Bastards!” he shouted at the walls of the demountable office. He put his head in his hands. He had more than twenty families to feed; Crowning Constructions were late in paying their bill – again – and the bank were being uncooperative. He stared hard again at the bank statements to no avail. The numbers still didn’t change and he still didn’t have enough to meet his salary bill. He considered phoning the accounts girl at Crowning again, but her really didn’t have the heart for listening to another pack of lies from some chick who was probably being lent on by her boss so that the project financials looked good for another month.
Closing his banking file in disgust, he glanced at the clock. The hands on the old-fashioned timepiece were moving towards four o’clock and he decided to give it a rest and come back tomorrow to see what cash he could wheedle out of his bank or client so that his staff could put food on the table for their families. He took out his own wallet and found $50. “Definitely beer o’clock.” he announced to the empty office, “At least I can still pay for that myself.”
Tony reckoned that he would drive home and go to his local. Even though there was a great pub just around the corner from the work site, most of his men would be there having a knock-off drink and he really couldn’t face them tonight. The beer was a bit more reliable at his local and he was looking forward to seeing some familiar faces after another day out in the sticks on this motorway job. Tony was a bit of a traditionalist, and he lived with his extended family in the house that his grandfather had built in Leichhardt over 90 years ago. The house was getting a bit tight at the seams, with three generations and 8 people living in it, but deep down, he adored the atmosphere that his family generated as they fought for their places over dinner. Tony’s mother loved cooking for everyone and despite being in her late seventies, turned out Sicilian dishes every night to the delight of the entire family. It was quite funny really, as she was a third generation Australian of Irish stock, but when Tony’s father married her she avoided denunciation by the rest of the Cicerelli clan by ‘converting to Sicilian’. It was considered heresy in her house for the men to come straight home from work. She and the women of the household had to have time to get ready for them.
Nursing his second Victoria Bitter at The Royal on Norton Street, Tony the fourth generation Sicilian Australian was getting more and more glum.
“Hey mate, you look like you just copped the rough end of the pineapple! How about I get them in and you can tell me all about it.”
Tony looked up and saw his sister’s brother-in-law. Dave the Leb was a bit of a black sheep, having done a couple of stretches in Long Bay for robbery with menaces and various drug dealing offences, so he hadn’t been around for Sunday lunch in a while. Tony had always like Dave though, and despite his sister’s constant warnings to stay well away, he often had a beer or two with Dave, who he thought was funny and kind - at least he was kind to you if you didn’t owe him money for drugs.
“Thanks mate, would love a VB. Not sure if you can help me this time though.” Tony smiled at Dave, who walked up to the bar and bought a couple of beers. When he came back Tony told him about his cash flow problems. Dave listened to Tony’s tale of woe and nodded sympathetically.
“So I might be a goner this time, mate.” Tony finished up, “Can’t bear to think of all my blokes’ families, it’s really tough out there for unskilled labourers. Although I reckon there’s nothing unskilled about concrete pouring. You just can’t get a uni degree in it”
“How much are you talking about?” enquired Dave the Leb. He had always kept his dealings with family separate from his business, but he could see that Tony was in a desperate state and he wanted to help. Tony had always looked after Dave when the rest of the family didn’t want to know him and he reckoned that it was about time he returned the favour.
“More than you’ve got lying around in readies.” Tony smiled, “We’re talking about nearly sixty grand. Thanks for listening though, I really needed to get it out before I went home and kicked the cat. Last time I did that my bloody missus chased me out of the house with a broom and I had to sleep in the ute!”
Dave thought a bit. He did know a way to help Tony, but he wasn’t sure if Tony was desperate enough to cross the line into the criminal world inhabited by Dave and his associates. He decided that he might as well make the offer; the worst that could happen is that Tony could be offended and turn him down, or even punch him, but he didn’t think it would come to that. Tony was really at the end of the line and he sounded like he would be prepared to try almost anything.
“Look mate….” Dave hesitated.
“Spit it out!”
“I might have a way of getting you enough cash to get you out of this hole. It might be a tiny bit illegal though. Wanna hear about my idea?”
“What’s ‘a tiny bit illegal’ Dave? Is that like being ‘a tiny bit pregnant’?”
“Well I don’t mean anything really nasty, mate and I know you’re not interested in dealing shit, it’s just that an associate of mine has a problem that I reckon you could provide a solution for, that’s all.”
“It must be a pretty big problem to be worth more than sixty grand, Dave. Thanks for trying, but I’m also
no good to my blokes or the family in Long Bay for 25 years. I think I’ll pass.” Tony was laughing and Dave thought it was worth one more go.
“Look I promise it’s nothing that serious for you, just that there’s lots of money involved at his end so it would easily be worth that. No violence or drugs, I swear! Why don’t you just come and talk with him? I’ll give him a call right now.”
Tony was clearly wavering, so Dave picked up his phone and called his associate Sid.
“Hey Sid, it’s Dave the Leb. You know that problem you were whingeing about the other day, well I’m sitting in The Royal with my mate Tony – actually he’s family by marriage, yeah – Diana’s brother. Well, Tony has a contract concrete pouring business. He works for the big guys – you know, motorways, big buildings, all that stuff.” Dave paused while the man at the other end shouted something unintelligible, “Yeah mate, not going to talk about it now, but I reckon you and he should meet up.”
Dave listened some more. He pressed ‘end call’ and stood up. “Come on mate, we’re off to Redfern. Sid fancies a beer and a chat. I’ll let him tell you all about it when we get there.”
Tony got up. Looked like he was going to be late for dinner. This had better be worth it.
At The Duke of Wellington’s almost deserted public bar a very large dark-skinned man sat at a table on his own. All the other patrons were appeared to be giving him a wide berth and even Tony, who was used to working with some pretty rough-looking sorts on construction sites, was a little intimidated by this tattooed giant.
Dave didn’t appear at all worried and walked over to the man, holding out his hand. “Hey Sid, mate, how are you?”
Sid sat immobile, ignoring the outstretched hand. He looked up at Tony, “You’d be Cicerelli then?”
Tony nodded.
“Take a pew. I reckon you might be a bit of use to me and my friends.”
Tony sat down at the rickety table.
“Dave, why don’t you get Tony and me a couple of VB’s and then you can piss off.”
Dave moved with alacrity, putting the beers down on the table in front of Tony and Sid and making the universal symbol for ‘I’ll call you’, exited the pub.
After a long silence, Sid picked up his beer, drained half of it in one swallow and spoke.
“Has Dave told you about my problem?”
Tony shook his head.
“What has he told you then?”
Tony explained that he knew pretty much nothing other that the fact that Sid had a problem that was worth tens of thousands of dollars to fix and that he was there because he needed money in that sort of quantity. He started to explain about his business and the cash flow issues, but Sid waved to him to shut up. Tony got the impression that Sid already knew all about Tony and his problems and was not really all that interested. Tony was getting really nervous about what he was expected to do for Sid.
“Look Cicerelli, I’m going to tell you about a problem I’ve got. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what will happen if news of this gets out, so I know you will treat this information as highly confidential. It really wouldn’t be good if anyone else found out, and I would know where to come if that happened.” His face contorted into what was supposed to be a smile, but to Tony looked like a terrifying scowl. Tony nodded, still none the wiser.
Sid then explained that he was a distributor of all sorts of illegal drugs and that Dave was one of his mid-level dealers. Dave was a reliable bloke to deal with, but Sid had recently had some issues with a couple of front line dealers who had decided to stick the merchandise up their noses or into their arms or whatever rather than sell it. They had been therefore unable to pay the distributors and Sid was out of pocket for a very large sum.
Tony nodded – he knew exactly what it was like when your customers didn’t pay up.
Sid further explained that he was not really worried about the hundred grand that they owed him – that was chump change to him, but he had had to set an example in case any more dealers thought that they could emulated these two idiots.
“So I had them knocked of course.” Sid casually informed an increasingly frightened Tony.
He went on to clarify that the Police were well aware that these men had been killed, if not by Sid himself, then at least on his orders and were actively pursuing him in an attempt to charge him with their murders. The thing they really needed were the bodies and Sid currently had them in a freezer in a mate’s garage.
A light was starting to come on in Tony’s head. Sid seemed like an old-fashioned sort of criminal and he was clearly looking for an old-fashioned solution. How much more traditional could you get than burying bodies in concrete?
As he realised what Sid was asking him to do, Tony was simultaneously horrified and relieved. Horrified that he was being asked to deal with dead bodies, but relieved that at least they were already dead and neatly wrapped up - putting them into the concrete foundations at the motorway site should be a piece of cake.
“I can see that you are working out how you can do this Tony, so do we have a deal? I reckon you need about sixty grand to get you through the next month, how about we call it a round one hundred? Who knows, I may have more delinquent dealers in the next weeks.”
Tony, feeling like this was all a bit scary, but had worked out that saying “No” to Sid had never really been an option, agreed. Sid finally stuck out his hand and gave Tony a bone-crunching squeeze. “Your shout - reckon you can afford it now.”
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