I was attached to the DEA; targetting Lebanese and Romanian middle level drug dealers. Mind you I wasn’t on my own, and if we came across something juicier or not quite Lebanese or Romanian, we wouldn’t hesitate to to investigate that either. It was a real pain to pass something good over to one of the other Task Forces. But they had their referrences as did we, and we had to stick pretty much within our area of expertise.
During that time, the early 90′s, we caught wind of an Albanian – Benny the Ball. A high value target reputed to have murdered and buried a whole choir of competitors and potential informants, out in the drifting sand dunes of Bundeena and Kurnell. And since he was a man of varied tastes, the rumours of some bodies interred in the Botany sand dunes, was also taken quite seriously.
We were able to get a police undercover operative in close contact with Benny. Now, as you may have gathered, Benny was a violent person. He had reputedly got away with murder in his home country and was building quite a reputation in the underworld of his adopted country. He did not back down to competition and did not take well to ‘grasses’. He was a large and aggressive criminal who thought nothing of topping the competition, crushing his underlings and thought cops were like toll booth operators, throw them some money and don’t even slow down.
So the electronic and physical surveillance of Benny the Ball and his inner circle, began. This was just after he was charged with murder (and bailed … gee that happened a lot, piss weak judges and magistrates letting the turds back on the streets literally, literally before the police had finished their paperwork – but then again through equally piss weak and traitorous coppers, the entire prosecution failed). The murder was of a competitor in a strip club. Benny got shot in the process. The investigation into the murder was later found to be faulty and Ball was not convicted. But back to what we were doing.
Oscillating between the Rockslavia, Melbourne and Bondi, we kept a close eye on the taker, the breaker and the maker.
I knew the cop really well. We came to the DEA at the same time, our careers matched to a point, we both loved the job and were both good at it. I know why he did the undercover bit too. If it was my turn, I would have too … but fuck, it was dangerous.
Through surveillance, we got the goods on Benny. Scared the absolute shite out of a supergrass in the process, but justice prevailed and we arrested Benny the Ball.
The Special Weapons people were organised for the ‘take down’, it was too dangerous for us poor agents. They had been told by the minister, (that’s how much interest had been generated through the investigation) not to take any chances, the target has reputedly murdered 5 people and was on bail for the murder of a 6th. A police officer and a valuable informant were at risk. Take no chances.
Needless to say the Special Weapons guys were wandering around in an ‘inflamed’ state. They’d been given a hunting license. If Benny’s hands went out of sight, it was likely he would die.
Anyway, the take down was organised by the SWOS, and because of the operational contingencies, the location was flexible. Eventually the ‘take down’ took place on the Cumberland Highway, just past the Smithfield Tavern, next to a bit of vacant ground.
The convoy of surveillance and support vehicles and cars with SWOSes and bosses stretched for miles in front and behind the target vehicle. Eventually the boss cockey of the Special Weapons decided enough was enough and brought a halt to the caravan …. why this was in front of the Smithfield Tavern, I never got to ask.
I was about a mile behind the arrest when it happened, so I never saw anything. I wasn’t really important in the scheme of things, I was tasked with interviewing The Ball, not about the offences. We knew he had been instructed by his ‘brief’ enough not to say much and had heaps on tape, all we needed was to get him talking on video tape.
As soon as the arrest went down, the Cumberland Highway was shut, cars and armed police all over the place. Now, as I was the one interviewing him, he wasn’t going to be moved from where he was until I said so. From the time of the pinch until he was bailed, I had the say so about his movements. Pity I was a mile away and the traffic was frozen.
I drove the shitty Mazda ‘Bongo’ van I’d been in as close as I could and then abandoned it on the side of the road and ran the rest of the way. I met up with the other interviewer and we jogged to the arrest site. We could see ahead of us Ball’s car stopped at an angle on the roadway, skewered by the high intensity light beam of the Police helicopter. The overhead power lines were vibrating and swishing in the down wash, rotor blades thumping in the night making our chests vibrate and hair swirl in the air, building the intensity of the bust. Benny the Ball was easily visible, a large shadow, spread eagled on the roadway surrounded by a semi-circle of Special Weapons Operators, guns at port arms.
As we went past the pub, someone fell out and yelled, “What’s happened man?” Quick as a flash my offside said, “Someone fell out of the helicopter.” And we kept on running. Even after 15 years, I wish I’d thought of that line.
Ball had been dragged out of the car, never once hiding his hands from the special weapons people. He was handcuffed by the time I got there. Big wrists, I mean BIG wrists behind his back. He was in quite a bit of discomfort, but there was nothing I could do, they were the biggest handcuffs we had. So off we went to the Crime Commission Offices.
“I’m not going to tell you anything” exclaimed the Ball. “That’s okay” I said.
“My solicitor, he say ‘Benny, you talk too much, whenever you get caught for anything you talk too much’ so I say okay, next time I say nothing, so I say nothing.” and so it went.
We reached the Commission and took Benny to the interview room. Bear in mind how little I actually knew of the operation. Sure, I’d done surveillance, was a good mate of the operative and had had dealings with the giveup. I’d even photocopied the money and dogged the crook to and from the airport. But I didn’t know the ins and outs of when the offers and actual supplies that had taken place. I was just the pretty boy there to get the big guy to talk on video.
We sat down in the brightly lit room. The video recording equipment behind the mirror glass, cool air blowing down on us. It was, kinda, then, that I noticed the gravel rash that had taken off half the skin of Benny’s face. I knew I would have to ask him about that at some stage. So on we went, the usual: time, date, place, name, address, relatives, reason for arrest , then … argh … Benny decided it was time to tell me how he knew that ‘fucken bastard’ was a informer, a dog “I keel heem, fukin fukin, I keel heem ded.” Crap, he was talking. I’ll have to ask him about the operation! You know, the one I didn’t know all that much about.
I asked him some half arsed questions about supplying a kilo or so heroin to which he replied equally half arsed. I asked him about the shooting at the night club where he’d been shot. ‘Why did he shoot you?” I asked, “May be” said Benny, “he didn’t like me.” And then I was stuck with putting it to him about the 10 kilos he had offered our undercover officer. His reticence in replying impelled me to offer, “Benny you told me earlier that your solicitor told you to say nothing as you always say too much, is that correct?” To which he replied,”Yes I always say too much.” “Okay”, I cut him off, “End of interview. But before we go, can you tell me how you got those marks on yours face?” indicating the gouges on his cheek. The big bastard looked me straight in the eye, grinned and said,”I cut myself shaving.”
Good crook.
Anyway Benny eventually went to gaol for the heroin, though he did get off the shooting at Kingscross.
