The Martindale Street Massacre: Inspired By True Events

By David Smart

It's Monday morning in a quiet suburb. Shots ring out just after dawn. Five people are found dead in a small two-room apartment on Martindale Street. Among the dead is a uniformed Police Detective and half-a-kilo of pure heroin.

This is the story of The Martindale Street Massacre. A story of violence, revenge, sex and corruption, of secrets someone would kill to protect.

This is the Inspired-By-True-Events telling of the long night that led to a deadly dawn...

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Smart
• Release date: Jun 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310413421

David Smart

David A. Smart is a neophyte novelist and accomplished asthmatic. He lives in a state of perpetual bemusement.

Book preview

The Martindale Street Massacre:

Inspired By True Events

by

David A Smart

Copyright © 2017 by David A Smart

www.netnews.com

(extract 20.3.06)

TAINTED DRUGS NEW WEAPON IN GANG WAR

Sydney.

Police and health workers are concerned over an alleged, and deadly, new weapon in the ongoing battle for supremacy in the so-called ‘Sydney Drug War.’

Deliberately tainted or ‘cooked’ doses of heroin and the popular amphetamine compound crystal meth are being employed by various criminal organisations as a means of ‘disposing’ of competitors.

They see it as a clean method of execution, explained Detective Inspector Alex Malthe of the Major Crime Unit. "The deaths seem accidental. Overdoses occur frequently among users. There’s usually little, if any, investigation.

The most common poisons used are either lye or sodium hydroxide. It’s considered a safe method because death can occur up to an hour after injection of the chemicals. The main fear we have is that some of this stuff may have leaked out to the public. Det. Insp. Malthe cautioned We can’t be sure that the trade of these compromised substances hasn’t moved onto commercial markets. It’s a hard thing to keep track of.

The chemicals are said to crystallise very easily and are most often found in so-called ‘rock’ form. Anyone suffering from symptoms such as nausea and vomiting, trembling or vision loss after taking any form of street drug should seek urgent medical attention.

In a related story, a dramatic early morning raid by police on a property in Sydney’s eastern suburbs has resulted in the arrest of Edmund Wylden. Mr. Wylden has long been alleged as a major supplier of illegal arms and narcotics in the Sydney area. He has three previous arrests but no convictions. Police have not revealed at this stage the charges against Mr. Wylden and the Wylden family was today unavailable for comment.

-Sarah Orland

syd/[e-mail]

ONE

TURNING SUCCESS AT LAST! INTO

SUCCESS THAT LASTS!

________________________________________

night

Brendan Maguffin was a star on the rise. He was, at twenty two, already an operator, a player, a man to be feared and reckoned with. His connections went all the way to the top of the criminal pyramid. Born rich and determined to become richer, he was a man firmly on the road to success.

At least, this was how Brendan liked to think of himself. It was a fiction he had composed very carefully and one he worked hard to sustain. It was important to him that people regard him this way.

For the past year, Brendan had rented a two-room apartment with a balcony that offered him, on clear days, a view of the good side of the harbour. He had also recently bought a nearly-new BMW painted in a shade of magenta that the salesman had said, was "so close to red it might as well be red."

Added to which, he had a beautiful and devoted girlfriend, an assistant nightclub hostess named Tyla, who he cheated on as regularly as he could and he was a founding member of an up-and-coming band that performed a fresh and innovative mix of R&B, hip hop and rap. The band was called No Gun, No Respekt, or more concisely, NGNR. Brendan had come up with the name himself. They were yet to be picked up by a record company and none of their songs had been accepted by any of the major radio stations but Brendan felt confident they would soon have a breakthrough. He had a personalised licence plate which read MRF.UNK

As he drove to the prearranged meeting place with a half kilo of heroin tucked into his glove compartment, Brendan listened to NGNR’s latest demo disc. They had recorded the disc’s title song, Cop Cappin’ just that afternoon and Brendan was particularly proud of it.

He pulled over to the kerb leaving the ignition on so he could hear the end of the song. He had written the final line himself and it gave him a profound thrill every time he heard it.

Capped the mother fucker ‘fo’ he capped another brother, Brendan sang along with the disc, beaming to himself as he shut off the engine. That demo had been well worth the money, he decided. He continued humming the tune as he reached into the glove box and retrieved the half-kilo. With the money he was about to make tonight he could afford to mass-produce and market the disc. Independent of any record label. Independent of the craven mainstream music industry. Independent of his father. He got out of the BMW, smooth and unhurried, pointing the key ring at the car without turning around, aiming it over his shoulder. The car beeped its obedience. Brendan walked around the corner to the house where he was expected.

_______________________

Well, when you consider what I had to offer them, Brendan continued A private jet, secluded storage space, a safe haven just slightly inland, all up North, all good to go, all full discreet, it’s no wonder they wanted to keep me on side, you know?

Roy Guthrie’s boredom was so intense it seeped through him like a sickness. He took a swig from his beer bottle and glared at his watch, as though to psychically will the minutes forward. A child of the digital age, Roy had only learned to read analogue time in prison. One of two accomplishments which had kept Roy from imploding during an otherwise wasted six months.

Roy found it incredible. Every time they were together Brendan would launch into this same story. The story of how half a kilo of heroin fell miraculously into his lap. It was his proudest acquisition. The paragon of his burgeoning criminal career. The story never changed, not even in one detail, and Brendan always forced it on Roy as though he were telling it for the very first time, with all the same declaratory inflections and tension-building pauses, unaltered from the previous recital.

The plane’s actually my old man’s, Brendan reported, exactly on cue But he had a bit of a scare in it recently and he never uses it anymore. You know my dad, nerves of saline. He wanted to sell the fuckin’ thing but I talked him out of it, told him I wanted to be a pilot or some shit.

Roy wandered over to the small parcel resting on the coffee table. Half a kilo, that was what Brendan had promised and it looked about right to Roy who was, he readily admitted, no expert. He had, though, certainly done his best to pass for one earlier in the evening when Brendan had first presented the parcel. Roy had knelt before it at the table, casting a sceptical, proficient eye over its contents, slicing open the plastic wrap which encased it and peeling it back with all the caution and sobriety of a heart surgeon.

Frankly, Roy was surprised that Brendan - his reputation as a bullshit artist having attained mythical dimensions over the years - had in fact been telling the truth about all of this. Even with the sample Brendan had provided him a week earlier Roy had still had his doubts. But now, Brendan had proven as good as his word. Even the mix - some pure white, some pink rock - had proven correct.

They’ve been using the place for years of course, Brendan said with contrived disdain Paying me a fee. Here Brendan paused and Roy watched Brendan leaning forward, his hand hovering, pressing the point. I mean, I know who these guys are, where they come from and I respect that and all, and, yeah, of course, they’ve earned their spurs and all that, but, god, I’m in this thing too y’know, and, respect, I think, should be a two way deal. Right? You know what I’m saying? They’re goin’ around like fuckin’ captains of industry or whatever. Paying me cash, y’know, like I’m a fuckin’ servant or something, like I’ve got my hand out, like I need them slipping me cabbage under the table-

Roy frowned Cabbage?

"Yeah, you know...coin, money. But you know me mate, everybody knows I don’t need any fuckin’ money. I said to them, to Eddie, I told him -‘Mate, I want in. It’s like that. Money means fuck-all to me. If I want money I go to my olds, tell ‘em whatever sob story they wanna hear that week and they throw it at me, y’understand? What I want is a piece of something, just break me off a little of the merchandise and you can keep your fee. That’s it’ - They agreed of course. It’s hungry times for people in their line of work mate and they get a good deal from me. I really left ‘em no choice anyway. I was like ‘hook me up or find yourselves another port of call.’ I was pretty harsh in my manner I guess. But you hafta be in this business y’know? Brendan pointed at the parcel with the neck of his beer bottle And that’s it right there, the end result. My little half-key, my little dividend right there."

Roy nodded. Hook me up. A piece of something. The merchandise. These phrases, coming from Brendan, struck Roy as comical. Brendan caught him grinning and smiled back.

"Actually dad would fuckin’ crrack it if he knew what the old place was being used for, he confessed That was the first resort he ever owned. It’d hit him hard if anything ever happened to it. But, fuck it Roy, I’m a pragmatist, y’know, everybody knows the place is just going to waste up there. So why not use it? Why not make some money up there?"

Brendan concluded this story by applauding his own daring and ingenuity with a forceful swig of beer and a loud potent burp.

Feel like another? he asked cheerfully.

Roy shook his head. He didn’t care for Brendan, a spoiled rich kid desperate to be notorious. He hated the sight of him in fact, hated any rich kid who dressed in fashionable designer rags. The moment Brendan had entered the house Roy had felt his hackles rise. The first thing Brendan had said upon entering the place was Nice house, in a tone loaded with subtext. An obvious, snide reference to the effeminacy of the surroundings that inspired an almost uncontainable hatred in Roy. He was embarrassed enough at the way his mum had decorated the place without having condescending arseholes like Brendan drawing his attention to it. Just to look at Brendan in his turned around baseball cap and baggy FUBU street gear was enough to set Roy’s teeth on edge. He wasn’t impressed by the kid’s stories of weighty connections or by his tough guy charade either.

For Roy, who had genuine firsthand knowledge of how the life was really lived, who knew well the thrill of running into a pawnshop or a service station - shotgun held chest high, barking orders, snatching cash, taking control - who’d many times felt the invigorating jolt of watching a person crumpled at his feet begging for their life, who’d actually lived a portion of his own life inside a prison cell, all of Brendan’s posturing and cheaply-bought attitude was simply embarrassing.

Roy had served six months in prison on two separate armed robbery charges. A month before he was due to go in, Trudy, his dopey fat cow of a wife had served him with an apprehended violence order which required him to stay away from her for one full year. Roy couldn’t believe it. After four years of faithful docility, of timidly accepting the beatings he dealt out to her when she deserved them, here Trudy was running to the law over something so inconsequential, a few light slaps that, at the time, even she had agreed had been justified. Roy was at a loss to understand where she had got the nerve to do such a thing and immediately assumed she had begun seeing someone else and was acting on his bidding.

Trudy’s AVO had put Roy in an awkward position upon his release from prison. The conditions of his early release required him not to set foot outside of his residence for the next three months. The conditions of the apprehended violence order required him not to set foot inside his residence for the next five months. Legally he was not allowed to live anywhere. In the end, and after a lot of bureaucratic wrangling, he was permitted to take up residence with his mum and her boyfriend, where he still lived.

And where he was acutely and unendurably miserable, He quarrelled almost incessantly with his mother and had, on more than one occasion, come to blows with her boyfriend. He was humiliated and frustrated by his present living arrangement and he laid the blame squarely at his ex-wife’s doorstep, which he was forbidden to go anywhere near. Trudy. Conniving and traitorous, she had blind sided him, robbing him of his dignity and independence, of his rightful place in the world. He thought maybe he would kill her one day. He hadn’t made up his mind yet. It was something he plotted idly in his spare time.

Haven’t seen ya at the gym lately mate. Roy said to Brendan with an air of subtle rebuke You stopped goin’ or what?

Oh, yeah, I can’t really be bothered with that stuff at the moment man. Brendan replied, rolling his empty beer bottle between his hands, cooling his palms with it. That’s lifestyle, vanity shit. I’m keeping focused on the bigger stuff these days. No distractions y’know?

You used to be right into it, even more than me. Roy recalled, stretching with a not entirely convincing accompanying yawn, showing off his muscular arms, hooking his left arm back to scratch his ear. He fixed Brendan with a look, daring him to stare, inviting his envy I’m goin’ even more now, since I got out, I go four-five times a week mate, it’s like I’m hooked on the fuckin’ place.

Brendan changed the subject What do we do now Roy? He nodded toward the parcel With that I mean.

Roy let his arms drop and began pensively rolling his shoulders Well Jez said he’d be home by about one. Why don’t you get yourself another beer? In about twenty minutes well start headin’ over there.

He said he was happy with the sample, everything’s cool?

Happy as Larry mate, don’t worry about it.

How much do you reckon we could get? How much scratch?

Scratch?

Yeah. Money, Roy. You know what I mean. How much do you reckon?

Well I haven’t properly weighed it yet or nothin’ but...

It’s good mate, the weight’s right. It’s the best quality. Top drawer. Top drawer gear, that’s what Krystov called it.

Yeah I’m sure that’s what Krys called it, he’s sellin’ you the shit. Jez might be a little more sceptical though mate. We might hafta convince him a little more.

You can trust Krys, Roy. He knows the value of a mate. And another thing, he didn’t fuckin’ sell me anything. Remember? This is my cut. I earned it

Roy smirked Okay. You earned it. He took Brendan’s empty bottle from him.

Well I mean, let’s stay eye to eye on this thing y’know? Brendan persisted I’m not a junkie, I don’t buy this shit, I sell it. Simple distinction. I’m on the big end of the transaction brother, we both are.

Roy headed into the kitchen to get the beers. He took his time, letting Brendan know he was becoming bored with the conversation.

So how much? Brendan asked as soon as Roy had returned Fifty you reckon?

Fifty thousand ay? Roy handed Brendan a beer. He took a swig from his own beer and scratched his chin with the bottle. His turn to bullshit. Yeah I reckon we could get about that, give or take. Depends who you fence it to. Jez and them are usually pretty fair.

Sick. Brendan replied, his voice husky with excitement This is so fuckin’ cool Roy.

Roy nodded vaguely Drink your beer.

_____________________

So these blokes, Brendan began as he put on his jacket and Roy tramped through the house, switching off lights what’re their names again, Jez and who?

Jez and Marty. Don’t worry about it.

I’m not. I’m not worried. Brendan replied, surprised and disappointed that his veneer of cool was crumbling as quickly as it was I just wanna know who I’m talkin’ to y’know? When we get there.

Roy lifted the