Enforcer

Enforcer by Caesar Campbell, Donna Campbell Page B

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Authors: Caesar Campbell, Donna Campbell
Tags: Business, Finance
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on the floor looked real. Two sheilas were standing there and one of them fainted. Then Bull went and stepped on the eye and shattered it. The second sheila fainted. Cracked her head on the bar on the way down. People were disappearing, pouring out the door. They thought we were going to kill everyone in the place.
    The bloke who ran the Venus Room said, ‘Can’t youse do things outside?’
    ‘Ahhh, give us a beer,’ Bull said. So he gave Bull a beer. Bull went back to drinking and then turned to Turk. ‘All right, hand in your nominee badge.’ Turk went up to the end of the bar, got a knife and cut the badge off his vest.
    At the next club meeting I said to Scultz, Lurch and my brothers, ‘This can’t go on. The club’s never gunna grow if we’re gunna make it that to get in everyone’s gotta be able to fight as well as youse can fight. Being a good fighter is a big help in a bike club, but it’s not the be-all and end-all. You’ve gotta have blokes who can work on a bike, you’ve gotta have a bloke who can wire a bike, a bloke who can spray-paint a bike.
    ‘I know what youse are getting at. Youse figure that if you can fight – and really fight – you’re gunna have blokes that won’t run away when the going gets tough. But to me, that’s the wrong way to think about it, cos I’ve seen blokes who’ve been really top bluers and as soon as they’ve copped a few good smacks in the mouth they’ve chucked it in. Yet you can have blokes who can’t fight real well but who’ll stay there to the end and cop a hiding no matter what. To me, they’re the tougher bloke.’
    In a fight, our blokes were worth thirty or forty normal blokes, but I tried to get it into their heads that fighting was just a skill. ‘Put it this way, if you went up against a professional tennis player, you’d get your arse wiped. But that doesn’t mean that the tennis player is a better bloke than you, it just means that he can play tennis better. And you could turn round and kick the shit out of him.’
    But they threw it back at me that we didn’t need more people. ‘If you got the quality you don’t need the numbers,’ they said.
    ‘But it’s not about numbers, it’s about the club continuing,’ I argued. ‘You mightn’t be in the club in twelve months’ time. If it keeps dropping down, who’s gunna take your place?’
    The meeting ended but not the argument. We continued to debate the issue meeting after meeting.
     
    W E WERE down at Bull’s place on the Hume Highway at Ashfield and we had a nominee by the name of Mad Dog. Bull, Shadow and Snake had known him for years before the club started, but when he came round I said, ‘There’s no way he’s ever gunna make it as a member.’ I’d seen him in blues and he’d go running round and hide behind Bull or Snake or myself. He was one of these blokes that joined clubs for the protection of the club, to have the numbers behind him.
    ‘Yeah, but he’s a good bloke,’ Snake argued.
    ‘All right, he can be a nominee, but he’ll never make a member.’
    This night, it was about eight-thirty and there was a bottle-o up at Enfield that used to shut at nine-thirty. ‘Mad Dog,’ Bull ordered, ‘go up and get us five cases of beer.’
    ‘How do you expect him to bring back five cases of beer on his bike?’ I asked Bull.
    ‘He’s a nom,’ said Bull. ‘He’ll find a way.’
    So Mad Dog headed off. A bit over an hour later, we heard this dirty great screeching noise coming down the road. Here’s Mad Dog with a piece of rope running off the back of his bike dragging an upturned car bonnet behind him with the five cases of beer on it. He’d gone into a car yard near the bottle-o, undone the bonnet of one of the cars, loaded the beer then dragged it all the way down the Hume Highway. Only problem was he’d left a whopping great scratch mark on the road leading straight to Bull’s driveway.
    We unloaded the beer, then Bull and Mad Dog reloaded the bonnet with

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