Circle Of Greed

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Circle of Greed

Foreword

There are a number of different types of thief, the person who takes home pens and other
small bits and pieces from the office, the thief who burgles people’s homes for the video
player to help finance a habit, the mugger who uses the threat of violence to steal a wallet or
the car thief who get’s his buzz from joyriding in someone else’s vehicle, usually at high
speeds, then there’s the professional thief who treats larceny as a career and usually has a
cavalier attitude towards the use of violence, there’s also the highly respected business man
who fiddles his tax returns, however these people endeavour to acquire that which doesn’t
belong to them and no matter how they justify their larceny, whether successful or not and
where-ever the thief fits into this hierarchy of larceny, he still remains a common thief.
I use the word common because these grasping parasites have a lot in common with each
other; they crave what belongs to someone else with an all-consuming passion.
Some Sociologists have explained this avarice as a direct effect of their socio-economic
upbringing, this translated into a language that the majority of us can understand means that if
you’ve got no money, you must be a thief, so can we project this inane excuse to all the poor
people, nonsense, some of the most honest people are poor, and does this excuse equate to all
the rich people being honest, again nonsense as our newspapers show us every day.
Sadly, from the romantic point of view in all of us, there are no Robin Hood’s out there,
robbing the rich to feed the poor has never been an option to a thief, unfortunately stealing to
feed the poor just doesn’t happen and I tend to suspect it never has, on the other side of the
coin stealing from the poor and weak has always been the prerogative of the strong and
greedy, from time to time the successful thief may be philanthropic towards his friends, this
philanthropy can often turn out to be a double edged sword.
The philosophy of every thief, without exception, is that charity begins at home and stays
there.

Possibly the single most identifiable common denominator that tie’s all these thieves into the
same package is the basest of all human vices, Greed, with a capital G. not to be confused
with the need of the starving or the want of a child, no, this is self taught greed.
In every case of robbery, no matter how small or large, the motive from its inception to it’s
execution, from first to last is unadulterated avarice.

THE GREEDY ONES


The explosion was quite spectacular, a young fourteen year old boy testing his new video
camera happened to be on the right beach at the right time, the fishing boat with it’s lights
blazing in the gathering darkness was motoring across the bay, it was the obvious subject, the
failing light would be the ideal yardstick to tell him the camera’s capabilities, suddenly there
was a flash of intense light and the boat lifted out of the water and broke in half, a couple of
seconds later the boy felt the concussion and heard the bang of the explosion, having the
presence of mind to keep filming he watched as the two halves floated for a moment before
sliding below the surface leaving behind a pool of burning oil and fuel.

1
st
February

It was a grey damp rainy morning when Murray stepped through the gates of Pentridge gaol,
not what you would expect from Melbourne at this time of year, as he walked away from the
gate it clanged shut behind him. He turned and gave the forbidding façade an insolent once
over, vowing to himself that he’d never see the inside of another gaol, his blue eyes then
swept the street, it looked like a casual glance but Murray missed nothing, his short black hair
was swept back from a ruggedly handsome face, which displayed a hardness and defiance to
match his taut muscular frame, every inch a dangerous person, a survivor, then his features
softened, he was out after two stinking years, he’d served his time without parole, so he

wasn’t saddled with reporting to anyone, he’d been eligible for a parole hearing but he’d
surprised everyone by refusing to take any part in it.
It was obvious he’d kept to a fitness regime while he was a guest of the judiciary system, he
was wearing a charcoal grey suit, white shirt and red and white striped tie, in fact he was
dressed in the same clothes that he had worn for his court appearance two years earlier and
the suit still sat on his frame as well as the day his tailor had fitted him, dropping his small
canvas bag, which contained his toiletries and a change of undies, he looked up at the grey
rain clouds, heavy with the promise of continued rain, Murray then took a deep breath
expecting to savour the clean free air, some indication perhaps that he was indeed truly free
again, the other inmates had talked incessantly about that first lung full of clean free air but
unfortunately Murray felt a little disappointed, to him it tasted exactly the same as the air he
had breathed inside, and he thought to himself, ‘Maybe I’m missing something’
Murray had been raised in a respectable middle class family, the only child of William and
Helen Murray, now deceased, as a young man Murray had completed University and had a
post grad degree in Mech. Engineering and with these qualifications could have found
employment quite easily anywhere but instead Murray had chosen to be a thief, he hadn’t
graduated from petty crime as most criminals do, he came home from the university with the
clear cut intention of taking to a life of crime, in the same way that he’d studied for his degree
he now studied every aspect of crime, he enrolled in locksmith courses, welding courses,
metal smith courses in fact any course that he thought he might need, being of above average
intelligence he became quite a successful thief never having been arrested or even questioned
about the crimes he’d committed, he abhorred violence although he knew he was capable of
it, in his opinion a violent crime was an ill conceived crime that showed a lack of imagination
and a deeply rooted suicidal tendency.
But if he’d never been arrested for a crime he’d committed or even suspected of being a
criminal how was it that he was being released from prison having completed a two year
prison sentence, the answer was that he now had a criminal record for a crime he was
ironically completely innocent of, although he disliked violence when used as a tool to rob,
he didn’t have the same qualms about pay-back, a little revenge is good for the ego he
decided, and if you used your brain sweet revenge didn’t have to include violence, the

violence he had wanted to commit when he’d been sentenced had lost it’s fire and urgency
over the last two years and had turned into an ice block that was permanently there in the pit
of his stomach, he intended things to change for the scum bags who had set him up, to change
for the worst.
There was no-one waiting to meet him which didn’t surprise him, being unmarried, no
brothers or sisters and both his parents dead and gone twelve year or more now, who else was
going to stand outside the prison gate in the drizzling rain.
Murray turned left and without a backward glance, began to walk down the road looking for a
cab, he had fifty two dollars in his pocket and he thought, even after two years he should still
be able to afford the fare out to Wantirna, the taxi drivers must have been doing alright for
themselves because he’d walked close to a kilometre before one came cruising up on the
opposite side of the road Murray waved it down and crossed the road, the driver got out and
took his bag which he heaved into the boot.
“Lucky I don’t have Aunt Sybil’s Spode dinner set in the bag, eh mate.”
There was no reaction from the cabbie.
Murray sat in the front passenger seat and the driver said.
“Where ya wanna go mate.”
“Wantirna, how much?”
“Thirty bucks, that o.k. for ya.”
Murray nodded, thirty bucks, bloody hell, he thought, I’ve only been away two years, he must
have seen the expression on Murray’s face because the driver said.
“Pentridge?”
Murray nodded again. The cab did a u-turn and the driver didn’t speak again, Murray glanced
at the cab licence, some name he couldn’t pronounce, ‘Greek or Lebanese’ he thought,
‘probably lived in Oz longer than I have and I was born here!’
His mind went back to the events that had led up to his trial and sentence, the events were
still crystal clear in his mind, he’d agonized over it every day of his imprisonment never
allowing himself to forget a single detail.
It had been just after Christmas and Murray had been in his rented flat watching the footy on
the telly when the doorbell rang, opening the door Cecil Carr’s eighteen-year-old son darted

past Murray into the living room.
“Murray, thank god, close the door, you’ve got to help me, the cop’s are after me.”
“Calm down, Ted, tell me what’s happened, what have you done?”
Cecil Carr was a bricklayer, now retired, who had worked for Murray’s dad most of his life,
Ted was his youngest son, a bit of a larrikin who always seemed to be getting into scrapes,
but usually a nice kid.
“We did a smash and grab on the jeweller’s in the Mall but the cop’s chased us, can I stay
here for a while, please Murray, just an hour till they bugger off.” Well what could he do but
agree, an hour or so later Ted thanked Murray and left, Murray thought no more about it and
went to bed, three or four hours later his door crashed in and his flat was full of police, they
dragged Murray out of bed produced a search warrant and then began to demolish his flat,
behind the sofa cushions they found a bag with a few necklaces and a couple of cheap
looking rings, but this didn’t stop them from wrecking the rest of the flat, finding nothing else
of interest they handcuffed him and took him to the station where he was charged with
receiving stolen property to the value of six hundred and fifty dollars, he phoned a solicitor
and was granted bail to appear in court two weeks later, as soon as he was released Murray
drove to Cecil Carr’s house and hammered on the door until Cecil opened it.
“Cecil, Where’s that little toe rag, Ted, I want a word with him, do you know what he’s
done?”
“I’m sorry Murray, come in please, Ted was arrested last night he was refused bail, I’m sorry
he involved you, I think the cop’s must have leaned on him.”
“You tell the little shit to change whatever he’s told the cop’s, and I’m not joking, Cecil.”
Murray was arrested again three hours later and his bail was rescinded for threatening a
witness, two weeks later he was tried and received two years imprisonment, he was due for
parole when he’d served half his sentence. Ted received two years probation because he’d
been so helpful to the police and had confessed to the crime, Ted had thought himself a lucky
young man not being sent to prison, and Murray intended to disabuse him of this thought.
Ted was about to have a bad problem with reality.
For the time being though Ted and Cecil would have to wait, Murray was heading for a house
he owned in Wantirna, there was a parcel there that he needed to retrieve, the problem was

he’d rented the property out and he knew he shouldn’t go to the house without permission,
for this little errand he needed to keep a low profile, in the lease agreement it clearly stated
that he had to give notice to the tenants whenever he wanted to conduct an inspection so he
asked the cabbie to drop him off at the Bervale Inn instead.
He would have to contact the estate agent first and get permission to inspect the property
from the couple that had been renting it for the last three years. The cabbie dropped him and
his bag outside the Bervale and surprisingly took the time to wish him good luck; Murray
paid him and he drove away.
As Murray entered the bar the first person he saw was Jacko Wilson sitting at the bar, the
day’s racing papers spread out in front of him, most of Jacko’s life was spent studying the
racing form, hot in pursuit of that ever elusive winning streak, this obsession had always
seemed to Murray to be a total waste of a quite unique talent, Jacko had the ability, not unlike
a computer, to collect and keep information in his head, he knew everyone and their business,
even though they may not know Jacko from a bar of soap, he knew names, addresses, phone
numbers, maybe even what your Granny had had for breakfast, his brain was like a sponge,
soaking up whatever information was fed into it, the strange thing was though, he’d never
been known to gossip or make use of this talent in any way, not even to make a few bucks.
From the size of his girth Murray assumed he was unemployable, he’d never been employed
as long as Murray had known him but he never seemed short of a dollar, not that Murray had
ever been curious enough to ask him about his finances, one thing he’d learnt early in life was
that you never stuck your nose into a friends business, if he wants you to know he’ll likely as
not tell you.
“Refill, Jacko.”
“I’ll have a V.B. if you don’t mind, thanks.” Turning to see who his benefactor was his face
lit up.
“Hello ya ald bastid.” His Scots accent showing through even though he’d been born in
Melbourne of Scottish parents and the closest he’d ever gotten to Scotland was the
Glenfiddich he poured down his neck, he stuck out his hand and squeezed very gently, thank
god, Jacko was built like the proverbial brick shit house being twice as wide around his gut as
he was around his chest, Murray had only ever seen him riled once and that was when he

witnessed a dirt bag hit a women in this very bar, Jacko had slowly lowered himself from his
stool walked over, picked up the wife beater as though he was a bag of groceries and threw
him the length of the bar, needless to say when he hit the floor the guy jumped to his feet and
kept on running out the door.
Turning to Mick Reynolds, the manager, Murray ordered a whisky for the three of them but
Mick declined, and looking Murray straight in the eye he said.
“I’m working at the moment, maybe later, nice to meet you anyway.”
“No worries, give me a shout when you’re ready.”
Turning back to Jacko they began to talk horses, now whadered, why did Mick act as though
he didn’t know him, they’d gone through the same school’s, the Bervale had been Murray’s
local watering hole for more years than he cared to remember, turning back to Jacko Murray
sneaked a side glance at Mick, who, like a gun dog was staring at the two scruffy blokes, they
looked like throw back’s to the peace movement, both were in their middle twenties, ripped
jeans, tatty t-shirts, looking as though they were overdue for their next needle -----.Drug
Squad !!! Murray let out a breath of relief, it had nothing to do with him, he’d never in his life
had anything to do with that shit, although he knew from some of his recent neighbours in
Pentridge of the enormous amounts of money that can be made selling the shit, but rather
than excite him, making those kind of millions actually scared him shitless and all his life
he’d made it a point to avoid anyone associated with this dirty and violent trade, that included
the pathetic back alley user as well as the multi-millionaire suppliers, this life plan of
Murray’s also included staying as far away from the Drug Squad as he could, he’d always
avoided them like the plague, that included staying as far away as possible from loose
cannons, and as far as he was concerned anyone involved in drugs was a loose cannon, some
of these Drug Squad cops had the reputation of being worse than the filth they were supposed
to put behind bars, so Murray came to the conclusion that Mick must have it wrong.
He went to the public phone in the passageway to call the estate agent; the two grots passed
him and carried on to the toilet, the estate agent said that he would make an arrangement with
the tenants and that he’d call back in fifteen minutes, Murray gave him the number of the
Bervale then went back into the bar followed by the two undercover drug squad who were
coming back from the loo as he put the phone down, they went back to their table and sat

down, Jacko had got a couple of beers in while Murray was on the phone and they now
toasted each other, Jacko pointed to the race being shown on the telly, he then opened a
racing guide as though to show Murray the horses form, lying in the crease was a folded
piece of paper, Murray palmed the paper and slipped it into his pocket and began talking
form with Jacko, Murray ordered a couple of more beers threw a ten dollar note on the bar
and said he was going to the dunny.
He’d no sooner locked the cubicle and sat down when he heard the door open again, he
pulled out the note and read, THEY ASKED 4 U. 2 MORE, RED CAR. CAR PARK, he was
reading it again when the door opened a second time and Jacko shouted.
“Are you alright, your taking your time in there, mate, the next race is about to start, I thought
you’d fallen down the pan.”
Murray laughed, flushed the note away and came out of the cubicle the two undercover cops
were washing their hands so he waited for them to finish, Jacko was still standing by the door
and moved aside for them to leave.
“What the hell do they want with me, Jacko? You know I’ve never had anything to do with
that shit, and I’ve only been out a couple of hours.”
“There’ve been rumours of a couple of these shitbags hi-jacking ex-cons who may have
stached a few bucks for their retirement, I can’t be sure but that’s what this looks like.”
“Thanks Jacko, I owe you one.”
Going back into the bar he noticed the two cops had been joined by their two mates from the
car park these were even scruffier than the first two if that was possible, the only way out was
past were they sat, so he skulled his beer and ordered another couple, then he said to Mick.
“Excuse me, boss, I’m expecting a phone call could you give me a call when it comes.”
“Sure can, mister, here’s your change.”
Murray pocketed the few dollars change and turned back to Jacko who was now engrossed in
the next race that was being televised, surprisingly his horse came in, he not only had the
winner he had a trifecta and began wobbling with excitement as he tried jumping up and
down, this seemed to be Jacko’s lucky day, and he began to order drinks for everyone, Mick
shouted to Murray from down the bar.
“Hey mate, your phone call, you can take it on the public phone.”

Murray nodded and walked to the passage leaving his bag next to Jacko on the floor, he
looked in the back bar mirror, one of the cops started to follow him but his mate grabbed his
arm and whispered something in his ear, he turned looked at Murray’s bag on the floor then
smirked and sat back down, Murray lifted the phone said wrong number before replacing it
and with the key that Mick had slipped to him along with his change he hurried through the
delivery door into the rear yard locking the door behind him, he put the key on top of the door
jamb then jumped the fence into the car-park, watching the pub door he walked over to the
only red car in the car-park and going around to the blind side so he could still keep an eye on
the door he let both passenger side tyres down then unscrewed the valves and put them in his
pocket, this car wasn’t going anywhere for a while, then he was off and running like a long
dog, they could have the toiletries and dirty shirts and underpants in his bag.
He’d only gone about two hundred metres when a cab went cruising past he gave a whistle
and the cab stopped he jumped in and ten minutes later he was at the estate agents office.
The pretty young receptionist was talking on the phone and ignored him, the way she kept
crossing and uncrossing her legs, told Murray she was probably chatting to her boyfriend.
“Excuse me, Miss”
The look she gave Murray indicated that she thought he was something the dog had dragged
in off the street and swivelling on her chair she turned her back on him and continued with
her conversation.
He took a deep breath, filled his lungs and bellowed as loud as he could.
“Hellooo. Is anybody here?”
The pencils on her desk were rattling, the receptionist dropped the phone and spun around,
with her hands up to her mouth staring at Murray as though she thought he’d flipped, he was
about to repeat his bellow when three people came running out of an office to his right, one
of them was the agent he’d left in charge of his house, James Ropp.
“Mr Warwick, good to see you again, please go into my office, I won’t be a moment I just
want a quick word with Janet.”
Murray had bought the house from James Ropp about eight years ago as an investment, and
he’d been Murray’s agent ever since, looking after the property and paying the rent he
collected into Murray’s bank account, the name and identity that Murray had used to

purchase the house was John Warwick.
When Murray was seated the agent closed the door and sat in a chair facing Murray.
“I apologise for Janet, she’s young she’ll learn eventually, unfortunately for her it will be
somewhere else.”
“There’s no need to be that drastic, she’s only a kid.”
“Yeh I know, but your little experience is only one of a long list of complaints stacked
against our little Janet, but enough about her, you’re here to arrange an inspection, right,
unfortunately your tenants both work in the city until six o’clock in the evening but they will
be available for an inspection on Sunday morning at 10 a.m. if that suits you, I can assure you
they have taken excellent care of the property. In fact they have asked me to approach you
with an offer to buy it”
Murray thanked him and told him that he’d set his mind at rest about the property being
looked after, so much so that he’d forgo the inspection, telling the estate agent he didn’t want
to take up his tenants only day off and he would be busy himself for the next couple of
Sunday’s anyway, maybe he could arrange for an inspection when he had a free Sunday, as
for selling the property if the price was right he would be open to offers, and that he would
like James to be his agent in any negotiations, Murray then wrote out an authorisation to this
effect, adding that he trusted the agent’s judgement, he then stood up shook the agents hand
and left.
Three doors down was the bank so he turned in and filled out a withdrawal slip for three
hundred dollars and slipped the notes into his wallet, now he felt better, he could now do
what he had set out to do without being jerked around, first thing he needed was some
wheels, nothing flash, an old Holden would do the trick, if the pigs thought he was loaded
they wouldn’t expect him to be driving an old bomb.
By now the cop’s had probably figured out that he wasn’t coming back to finish his drink or
collect his dirty washing, he could imagine that right at this moment Murray wasn’t the most
popular ex-con on their list especially when they found the valve less tyres on their car.
At Bernie’s garage he picked up an old Kingswood, a hundred bucks for two days hire.
Bernie hadn’t changed since the last time Murray had seen him, grease permanently under his
nails, the same greasy overalls covered in oil and of course that cheeky grin that was a

permanent fixture, looking at the Kingswood Murray had his doubts it would last two days,
when he mentioned this to Bernie he gave Murray a short laugh and that cheeky grin he’d
always turned on the teachers at school, you really can’t get upset with him.
“That was a crap deal with Ted Carr, Murray, does the little shit know your out.”
“I don’t know I might give him a bell later.”
“I’d like to see his face when he hears your voice.”
Murray just nodded, before he left the garage he picked up a sledge hammer and put it on the
back seat, Bernie saw him take the hammer, but he just winked and turned his back.
Twice Murray drove past his rented house in Wantirna, he couldn’t see anyone watching the
place so on the third pass he turned into the drive, he sat for a moment or so before turning
the motor off, nobody came out to question him, so collecting the hammer from the back seat
he stepped onto the lawn and walked to the ornamental pond, in the centre of the pond was a
statue of a cherub spitting water into the pond, the water in the pond was about fifteen
centimetre’s deep, slipping off his shoes and socks he rolled up his trousers and waded
through the ice cold water to the statue, he lifted the hammer and with one swing the plaster
cherub disintegrated, he’d never liked the little fat child-like angel, now all that was left of it
was the plastic pipe with two lips still spitting water, obviously Murray’s dislike for this fat
plaster angel wasn’t his only reason for destroying it, the two small cigar boxes in plastic
bags that fell into the water was what he was after, picking them up Murray sat on the grass
and put his shoes and socks back on, picking up the hammer and the boxes, he walked back
to the car reversed out of the driveway and drove back to Bernie’s garage, Bernie stopped
working on the tray of a Ute and came sauntering over.
“Anything wrong, Murray?”
“Naw, just thought I might change wheels, got anything a bit more upmarket, not Victorian
plates though, maybe to buy.”
“Take about three hours, need the papers?” Murray nodded “O.K. what name?”
Murray told him, he said.
“Use the office I won’t be long, there’s beer in the fridge”
Murray retrieved the two boxes from the Kingswood, wiped all the parts of the car that he’d
touched and went up about four steps to the office, sitting at Bernie’s desk Murray tipped out

the contents of the boxes, three separate identities, passports, tax file numbers, driving
licenses, credit cards, bank cards, birth certificates and ten tight bundles of hundred dollar
notes, each bundle to the value of five grand, looking through the desk drawers he found a
plastic document pouch, he kept out the papers for the identity that would cover the car
Bernie was in the process of acquiring, he also kept out one bundle of notes the rest he put in
the pouch which he put under his shirt in the small of his back, when he sat down it didn’t
feel too uncomfortable, feeling shattered with fatigue he leaned back in the chair and closed
his eyes and without realising it he must have nodded off because it was dark in the office
when he woke to the sound of voices out in the workshop, being as quiet as he could he stole
a peek around the door and froze, it was the four guardians of justice from the Bervale Inn,
Bernie was saying that he hadn’t seen or heard of Murray for three or four years, that being
the last time he had repaired his car, the scruffiest of the four did all the talking and seemed to
be the boss, he gave Bernie a card and asked him to call if Murray showed up, with that they
filed out the door Murray heard the car doors slam but no engine noise, always believing that
the old adage about discretion being the better part of valour was a good one, he stayed were
he was, Bernie started up his welding machine and the workshop was soon lit with the blue
flashes coming from the tray of the Ute.