The Dog Bites: The Legend of Kit Palmer

By Kit Palmer

this book is different.

it is a series of events that occurred while Kit Palmer was a police officer, laced together with the story line of Kit being the best fuckin’ cop in Australia and given almost educational-textbook-like status by the addition of real police philosophy and true life experiences.

the story of Kit Palmer is told in just the way Kit expresses himself, with no excuses for grammar, punctuation, political, or verbal correctness. it’s all recorded just the way it comes out.

natural and real.

there are no capital letters. Kit thinks they are silly except when writing his own name of course. it is written in a staccato style which is so alike the words that tumble from Kit’s mouth.

some of the places and characters have been changed to give confusion and ponderance to the reader; while some have remained true to give more mental acrobatics to those who knew Kit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781682229385

Book preview

ISBN: 978-1-6822293-8-5

Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid, the detective…must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. he must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor…he talks as the man of his age talks, that is, with rude wit, a lively sense of the grotesque, a disgust for sham, and a contempt for pettiness. He is cynical yet idealistic, romantic yet full of despair, an essentially gentle man moving across the landscape of beauty, decadence and violence.

Raymond Chandler 1888 – 1959.

Due to bad language and extremely adult thoughts.

dedication

this book is dedicated to cops everywhere who know the reality of good and evil. who understand the true meaning of words like compassion, empathy, a far go, staunch, stupidity, and give me a break. it is dedicated to the families of policemen and women all over the world who have to put up with the highs and lows of police life after hours.

it is dedicated to my children, whom i love dearly.

…and to harry the dog.

introduction

this book is different.

it is a series of events that occurred while Kit Palmer was a police officer, laced together with the story line of Kit being the best fuckin’ cop in australia and given almost educational-textbook-like status by the addition of real police philosophy and true life experiences.

the story of Kit Palmer is told in just the way Kit expresses himself, with no excuses for grammar, punctuation, political, or verbal correctness. it’s all recorded just the way it comes out.

natural and real.

there are no capital letters. Kit thinks they are silly except when writing his own name of course. it is written in a staccato style which is so alike the words that tumble from Kit’s mouth.

some of the places and characters have been changed to give confusion and ponderance to the reader; while some have remained true to give more mental acrobatics to those who knew Kit.

glossary of terms

this book could not be understood by the great majority of folks (hopefully) without a full explanation of some of the terms used.

ambos: ambulance officers

bazza: short for barry

biffin: to hit

billy lids: kids or children

bob hope: dope or drugs

braces: suspenders that men wear instead of a belt so their pants don’t fall down

brooch: a beautiful ornament that only lady’s wear, normally on their left breast

cib: criminal investigation branch

date: your crackhole, arse, or ring gear, or sometimes a number on the calendar

dick: short for detective or just your dick (penis)

dickeroonee: slang for dick, cock, or penis. normally used when you are having a joke

dildo: a plastic, rubber, or metal device shaped like a penis used for female stimulation sometimes with a motor for extra effect

dog: a police informant; a policeman who informs on his mates; just a prick of a bloke also used to describe an actual dog sometimes

dogged: a person who had been an informant

dunny: toilet or shit house

fag: cigarette

fart sack: bed

fitzgerald inquiry: a public inquiry where the lawyers and others got angry that the politicians and police were winning the fight against the crooks so they went to the press and complained about the police

fraudie: a person who commits fraud

frock: clothing that is all in one piece from neck to about the knees, which only real ladies wear

fuck me dead: a purely colloquial term not meaning ripping it right up me date ’til i drop, but that you kind of don’t believe or are surprised at something. you could use it even like fuck me dead, you’re beautiful

fuck me: same as fuck me dead but not as important; when you hear something that surprises you, you can say fuck me

groute eyland: a large island off the coast of the northern territory, full of colored folk

horse: heroin

humpie: small makeshift hut or shelter

in the bin: arrested and in the watchhouse

nape: the back of the neck

nolle: nolle prosequi; to drop a criminal charge

nug: means gun in some cop language

ocker: australian language, normally slang

paw: father, grandfather, and someone older than five

pinching: stealing; making an arrest

pink celica: a sports-type car made by toyota

pins: commonly known as legs, normally two of them together pointing to the ground or sometimes apart and horizontal

piss: urine or beer or even to leave somewhere quickly (used as

piss off)

pommie: meaning an englishman. the word came from prisoner of mother england you can even say

fucking pommie quid: dollar note or money; used to be a pound note

rmw: r.m. williams cowboy boots and western clothing

root: sexual intercourse

servo: service station

sheltered workshop: special workplaces that cater to underprivileged people

soc: scenes of crime unit.

spats: shoes of high quality that are of two tones, normally brown or black and white, with holes in them

spud: potato

spoonie: an unfortunate person who is mentally disabled in some fashion. taken from when you polish a dessert spoon really shiny and look at the back of the spoon—you look funny, right?

stick beak: have a secret look

strides: trousers or pants

taa bag: taa is short for trans australian airlines. bought by qantas.

tats: tattoos

the bin: a watchhouse or jail. you could say let’s throw the bastard in the bin

tits: breasts, sometimes with tats on them

turned over: searched. kick the door in and talk to him (or her).

twin set: worn by ladies when their frock is being cleaned and consisting of a fine wollen jumper with a cardigan over the top. a brooch can also be worn.

ute: utility or small truck

utes: two of them

yellowbelly: freshwater fish that can grow big

youse: slang for you (plural); used by crooks and women who don’t wear frocks and brooches

xxxx cocktail: beer

the characters

albert and col – grandparents of susan hayworth and good people

barry – fed cop in sydney whom Kit learned from

billy – big welch cop at the police academy

brian delaney – in charge of the detective offic

captain america – druggie who stabbed jade with a needle

chubby checker – sergeant at clayfield

col rollins – cop from dodge city who liked grabbing crooks by the balls

coopers flat lil – bikie chick

darryl hardman – Kit’s partner who died

dave newton – partner of Kit’s in dodge city

dean franks – cop from dodge city

denise – female cop in dodge city

errol – inmate with information on children. he liked chips.

fred clayton – detective at dodge city cop shop

gary pitman – partner of Kit’s in dodge city for a while

gregory maynard harrison – pitt street felon

irene corbett – mental health patient

jade – druggie who lost her fingers by a spaceman

jane – charged with the murder of her ex-husband in dodge city

jenny thanh – vietnamese translator

jimmy – son of the goddess samantha

john – christian coffee shop owner in the valley

john – another john who was the border with jane, both charged with murder

john fowler – dodge city police chaplain

john mcginty – cop from dodge city who liked a drink

john raymond – detective in dodge city with the mace

john roberts – caravan park resident who forgot his wife’s name

jonsey – Kit’s partner in sydney

judge mclochlan – district court judge

judy denton – lady fed cop worked with jonsey and kit

keith – fed cop with tea bags

kel – fed cop in sydney who worked with barry

ken best – rapist and a flea

ken maloney– senior sergeant from dodge city. a bit crazy.

ken winter – father of rape victim

kevin miller – stole cars at dodge city west railway station

kim tran – murderer

mr and mrs so and so – susan hayworth’s foster parents

pi van tran - murderer

Kit Palmer – the best fuckin’ cop in australia

len clampett – partner of Kit’s in dodge city for a while

leon – sexually alternate male in the valley

mal wiseman – partner of col rollins but didn’t like grabbing crooks by the balls

mark jeremy preston – rapist and a flea

merle – jonsey’s wife

michael – detective who had the hose

mick gordon – prosecutor

mick slaughter – traffic branch cop, gold coast

mick the prosecutor – prosecutor from dodge with the dildo

pamela – the painting who wore a frock and a brooch

rita hayworth – mother of susan hayworth and a bitch

samantha – the goddess who wore a frock and a brooch.

sledgehammer – the best fuckin’ cop outside of australia

susan hayworth – child in sydney rescued by Kit, jonsey, and judy

ted mcintyre – stock squad cop who had a silly horse

terry lewis – a police commissioner

thomas – intellectually impaired person who missed his train

wesley – a crook in dodge city and a friend of Kit’s

westie – a friend of Kit’s who played music

the dog bites

(the legend of Kit Palmer)

index

part 1 – the early years

the plastic fork

the court

the feds

the rolls

fed friends

the goddess

the tea bag

success

the reactor

my old mates

greeks

moving on

gettin’ pissed off

part 2 – queensland police

actually leaving

night out

clayfield

the loss

fun

the city

part 3 – stock squad and more

stock squad

the island

lying in the swag

the bell

her majesty

swearing in

confessions

part 4 – being a detective

tea bag induction

horse hair

tape recording

false alarm

children

problem solving

glad-wrapped barbed wire and women

a horrible crime

the valley

evidence

a distraction

witnesses

crime scene

a plan

gone hunting

the capture

tickin’ over

the interrogation

the moral

more on the children

part 5 – the wild west

moving again

dodge city

keeping in touch

bad citizens

frisbee

a phone call

the flag

the prosecutor

a double murder

the raids

the arrests

another phone call

back to work

more information

show day

high as a kite

a reunion

a change

stickin’ together

she did it

another murder

the enquiry

the 18th tee

a stick of marijuana

helplessness

a phone call (again)

part 6 – murder and mayhem

thinking too much

murder most fowl

making the arrest

a beautiful girl

promotion

an outside life

dodge city cleanup

the cleaning lady

seniors and superiors

more frocks

drugs and other substances

the Kit balance

more about weeds

dell street

forward planning

new years day

an accident

leaving dodge

part 1 – the early days

..the magistrate was a good bloke..

the plastic fork

here I am on a plane from sydney to perth thinking, what a fine day.

I had not been to perth before and am puckered up like a clown with my best suit on, handcuffed to a criminal who I had to off-load in perth before shuffling back to india. you had to handcuff ‘em in those days.

well the prick leans over and says to me real funny-like:

let me go, i’ll give you eleven thousand dollars. well in 1976 that was a lot of money.

I say, geez man you’re fuckin’ good—now you tell me, should have told me before we got on the bloody plane half-jokingly.

i want to stay in australia Mr. Kit.

anyway I give him one with me elbow right into his rib cage. he doubles over and spits out his plastic fork.

no, fuck ya, you’re going home ya prick.

I take his knife off him and let him eat with his fingers, which he’s obviously used to as he doesn’t spill a bean. just my luck, i think, stuck for four hours with some bloke who wants to jump ship on me.

the court

anyway that’s what it was like. Kit Palmer, that’s me, in my twenties, just come out of the justice closet and joined the cops. I was a lean bloke, clean of line with a playful smile, just a shake off being tall but big enough to worry a few folks. I used to wear bushman’s clothes and I walked with a confidence that told the world:

get the fuck out of me way.

up to then, I’d been floating around drinking piss, surfing, shoeing a few horses, working in the local courthouse thinking I was really important and hanging out with a crazy woman.

actually a few, but one of those women was the type when you were driving your car along happy as the breeze, she would up and attack you—yeah, fuckin’ attack you. bang bang fuckin’ bang, leave bark off ya and not knowing what the hell it was all about, but one of these women you can’t get away from; the pricks who keep following you and climbing through windows and screaming and throwing beer over you and making a scene.

like the ones where your mate tells you, geezas, she needs a biffin’.

well I did not hit shielas; that was not me go…and no good tough man does that sort of shit, so I had to live with the bullshit.

I was just an ordinary bloke. I used to drive an old vw car with a record player plugged into the cigarette lighter listening to muddy waters. you had to have it balanced just right though and not drive the bloody car; just stay still, know what I mean.

or if you’re real lucky, have your mate hold the player with one hand and the can of beer in the other.

sun-filled days on the beach being really cool and nights drinking beer and asking girls for a dance.

lucky man, hey.

I was working hard training horses in my time off, and with the tie on doing the 9-to-5 thing at the courthouse. every saturday morning in our town we would take turns in sitting on the bench because there was no magistrate on duty.

we had to hear and determine the drunk drivers, piss heads, and assaults and work out the bail options for more serious offences.

well one saturday morning it was my go again and I had been out drinking the night before with me mates. drunk as a monkey’s uncle and had a fight with some fool. we won’t go into who won, but I remember stewie, so we called him, me mate, pulling me away.

well come saturday I was hung over, had to go and sit on the bench, and I wanted a bloody surf. so I went into court wearing thongs, board shorts, white shirt, and a tie.

In came the parade of arrests. who should be there but me old mate from the night before with a black eye and torn shirt, full of sorrow. he was in for disturbing the peace and had no bail to get out.

he looked at me.

I looked at him.

he dropped his head.

I smiled.

he got convicted.

and fined $50.00. that’s justice for ya, hey.

the prosecutor, mick gordon, said to me:

did you know him, Kit?

shit I know ’em all, man, have to keep your eyes open in this town and know who’s who in the fucking zoo, mick.

bloody courthouse—you have no idea. justice was great. truth, justice, and the australian way, man. the cops had send-offs for each other and so did we and as we were all in the same compound and breathed the same air, we used to have all the send-offs in the courtroom. this happened a lot.

beer in those days was in 5-, 10-, or 18-gallon wooden kegs and you had to hit a nail into the wooden plug on the top of the thing to let the piss flow out the tap. so we used to put the usual 10 gallon on the court bench, propped up on one side by the bible and on the other side by the criminal code. hit her with the hammer and start drinking.

driving home was always a problem, so we made sure the boys from the traffic branch came to every send-off.

the traffic branch sergeant was a fat, short bastard called mick slaughter, and he used to wear leggings and a leather jacket and thought he was really the duck’s guts. he was a good bloke, and at one of these send-offs, I said:

"mick, you’re a bit like me—totally screwed by the system but won’t conform to it, hey. when I was a three-year-old, mick, I was on a farm and my paw sold milk. well I fucked off one day with me dog and I went walk about for a couple of days. every bastard was lookin’ for me but I just kept walkin’ and having a real good time. red the dog never left me, stuck with me.

"well they found me late the next day happy as can be, me with me dog.

I am a bit like that now, mick, I sort of wanta piss off from this bullshit. anyway, I am heading for a surf. see ya later.

the feds

so one day I said to myself, fuck this, Kit, I am off.

I told the boss I was leaving. packed up me old holden, with some goodies. I had managed to upgrade from the vw by this time and off I took, leaving not a trace in the world where I was, except for a couple of false clues with the locals that I was up in groute eyland fuckin’ gins. well that worked ’cause no one looked for me.

or no bastard cared.

I don’t know.

shake rattle and roll all the way to south of adelaide and got a job the first day there running a cattle station. minus six degrees, one blanket, and sheets of paper to keep me warm—and no women—one hour drive to town for a drink, and the dog used to roll in shit every morning and come and lick me all over to wake me up.

this is all fine of course, but you know what it is like: a man has to be a man. I was stuck out on the ninety-mile desert freezing me balls off and getting lost every time I went into town for a beer and a chocolate. no horses to ride and I had to muster the cattle one off in this beat-up suzuki 3-cylinder machine. I was lonely and needed some action.

so I pissed off again. not really pissed off, I resigned officially and with consideration for the property owner. then, after roving around for a while, I met an old mate from the courthouse days and he said to me:

join the cops, Kit, i will give you a leg up into the commonwealth police.

now in those days they were called the commonwealth police, but now it is the federal police—a bit posher. they still do the same job, but it is a bit more organized and professional.

so that is how I got from where I was to the coppers in sydney, and with me old mate the indian, who wanted to pass his last roll of notes off to me.

now the feds in those days were regarded as being less than a police force. they were thought of as minor security guards and not worth much as far as policing goes. the state police did not like them, there were idiots running the show, and it was hard to get real role models for me to follow and look up to.

…but there were a couple.

there was this bloke called barry. well, fuck me, barry was a tough nut, I tell ya. he could start a fight, finish one, and pretend it never happened. barry and I were in a plainclothes unit that looked for people who overstayed their visas, others who were convicted of crimes and had to be deported, people like that, and other interpol inquiries finding real crooks.

there was barry the boss, kel the no. 2, and me. kel was six feet six inches tall and a man-mountain. barry was fuckin’ mad and I was green, man, I mean green.

green with fuckin’ envy.

I was there about a week and barry and kel went out on a raid looking for this chinaman who had to be deported because he was a convicted criminal. I didn’t go for some reason, can’t think now why. they got the chinaman and started to bring him back to the watchhouse at redfern and he escaped.

well the uniform bloke who was tagging along dobs kel in for loosing his prisoner and kel gets fined by the cop boss four dollars for some breach of bloody procedures. fuck me. four dollars because the bastard pisses off. what are you supposed to do, shoot him? then it would be more than a four dollar fine. geez how is that shit.

so we were after this chink. night and day we were after him. kel had been fined four dollars for fuck’s sake.

we got a tip that the chinaman was at a flat in marrickville, 100 percent. barry, kel, a couple of other nonevent cops and I loaded up and got out to this address. the door got hit and there was this nice chinese lady there with her friend, all so polite but didn’t know a thing. everyone searched the place from top to bottom, except the kids’ room of course. that would not be right, hey.

fuckin’ bullshit, said barry, so we were in. off came the door and inside the cupboard was the chinaman.

now the chinaman was a large bloke, must have been doing weights or something, like someone out of the mafia with tats and looked a mean bastard. kel belted him straight off without blinking an eye, bashed him until the chinaman learned some real good english. barry, not to be outdone, gave him a whack as well and said to him: that’s for the four dollars, ya prick.

I just looked and said to kel, fuck me, kel, good one.

now this was about six fifteen in the morning.

so everyone thought they had done a good job. we took the chinaman to the police station and booked him on the standard charge of assault police. the plan was to get him convicted real quick at 10:00 a.m. when the court opened and then shoot him off to the feds holding compound until he could be deported.

10:00 a.m. came along and the chinaman fronted court in handcuffs because he was a danger to society of course, and the prosecutor asked for an adjournment because he didn’t have the right paperwork or something. so it got adjourned to 10:30 a.m.

no problems.

10:30 came along and in came the chinaman, again in handcuffs, because he was still a danger to society. the magistrate said he couldn’t handle the case then because he had to hear other matters. so he adjourned it until 11:30 a.m.

I said to kel. fuck me, if we don’t get the chinaman on soon his fuckin’ eye will start to close up.

11:30 and the chinaman came in, again handcuffed, ’cause he was a danger to society, and his left eye was starting to show signs of wear and tear. no sorry, said the magistrate. can’t hear it now. have to be after lunch at two thirty p.m. court adjourned.

like I told you, I was green you see, and me arse was starting to twitch.

geez kel, I said. this bastard won’t be able to see his dick to piss by that time. what will we do?

"ride it out, man, ride it out," said kel wisely.

ok, so here it goes: 2:30 p.m. on the dot, the chinaman came into court, so did the prosecutor, so did we, and the chinaman’s left eye was closed and his right eye didn’t look normal. he was handcuffed because he was still a danger to society. the charges were read out to him. the magistrate started to ask the chinaman questions like:

"do you understand the charge?

"what happened to your eyes?

do you understand english?

he said to the prosecutor, sergeant, is he a danger to society?

all that sort of stuff.

anyway like all good chinamen, he chose not to display his wonderful hold on the english language and said nothing. just hung his swollen head. he was a good bloke, I tell you.

the prosecutor explained that the chinaman was a danger to society and had to be deported.

convicted and sentenced to six months suspended. get him out of here.

the chinaman was a good bloke, the magistrate was a good bloke, the prosecutor was a good bloke, my arse stopped twitching, kel still lost his four bucks, and barry was grinning because he was still fuckin’ mad.

thank fuck for that, said kel.

yeah, I said sweating slightly.

you know why that chinaman wanted to get away so bad? said barry.

no.

because he has escaped from china three times before, the last time he swam across some channel near hong kong or somewhere like that and got away, the silly prick. this time when he goes back, they will probably kill the bastard.

at this time of my life, I had no real thoughts of anything. I had just got married, started a new career in the cops, and was learning from a couple of crazy bastards whose only philosophical thoughts

Reviews for The Dog Bites

[Dan · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book is wonderful. I can see that there is no excuses for street grammar or written etiquette. Reads and feels authentic from the thoughts of a real Detective.