Enforcer
First published 2010 in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
1 Market Street, Sydney
Copyright © Caesar Campbell
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Campbell, Caesar.
Enforcer / Caesar Campbell with Donna Campbell.
ISBN: 9781405040082 (pbk.)
Campbell, Caesar.
Bandidos (Gang).
Comancheros (Gang).
Motorcycle gangs – Australia.
Organized crime – Australia.
Criminals – Australia – Biography.
Other Authors/Contributors:
Campbell, Donna.
364.10660994
Typeset in 12.5/16pt Sabon by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed by McPherson’s Printing Group
Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.
These electronic editions published in 2010 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
Enforcer
Caesar Campbell with Donna Campbell
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EPub format | 978-1-74262-351-1 |
Mobipocket format | 978-1-74262-350-4 |
Online format | 978-1-74262-348-1 |
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I would like to dedicate this book to my husband’s brothers and their mum, Phyllis Campbell.
And to my parents, Max and Margaret Murrell.
—Donna Campbell
OTE
F
ROM
D
ONNA
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would meet a man like Caesar Campbell and end up living a biker lifestyle with him for more than three decades. This is why, over the years, I got Ceese to start telling me his stories. I took notes. We would laugh, I would cry, as the memories flowed. I started to think it would be a great way for our kids, our grandkids, my parents and friends to learn about this lifestyle, which is so different from their own. And also to fill them in on the real story behind what they called the Milperra Massacre. Then I thought it would make a great Christmas present for Caesar. A friend loaned me an old computer that I battered it all into before printing it up as a manuscript, covering our lives up to 1986. I never in a million years thought it would come out as a book, but a journalist rang Caesar one day and he seemed pretty interested in it all and he asked if we had any other stuff lying around. And that’s how the manuscript found its way to publisher Tom Gilliatt at Pan Macmillan and into your hands.
This is what really happened. Some of the names have been changed.
—Donna Campbell
ERFECT
D
AY
Thunder of the Harley between my legs,
out with my brothers,
a full tank of gas,
my colours proud above all else.
My ol’ lady on the back, the open highway.
Riding with my brothers.
The real deal,
being a Bandido.
—Caesar Campbell
I
’d left my lemon squash at the bar of the Ashfield Tavern and gone to have a leak when I was interrupted by John Boy, a bloke I’d just met from the Comancheros.
‘Mate, there’s some blokes out there trying to lift your bike onto a ute,’ he said.
Out the front I found three of them with the front wheel of my customised Harley WLA up on their tray. I reached them just as they got the back wheel on.
‘Whaddya think you’re fuckin’ doin’?’ I said. ‘Put the fuckin’ bike back down.’
I didn’t want them getting any dints in it, so I waited just long enough for them to sit it on the kickstand before –
whack –
I king-hit the bloke closest to me. He went down and I started stomping on his head. One of his mates came at me and the adrenaline began to pump. I could feel the rush that came when I was outnumbered and the odds blew out. I grabbed the second bloke by the hair and bashed his head into the back of the ute.
Bang
.
Bang
. Still stomping on the bloke on the ground.
The third bloke was just about to jump on my back when John Boy stepped in and wrestled him to the ground, the two of them punching the shit out of each other. I finished off my two and picked up John Boy’s bloke. Put a sleeper on him and he was out cold. I dropped him to the ground with his mates and John Boy went
boot
, right in the mouth. Teeth everywhere.
I pulled my boning knife from the sheath at the back of my belt. Curved, four-inch blade, perfect for boning rabbits. I took the first bloke’s right hand and cut straight down at the base of his knuckle, slicing off his little finger. Then I did the same with his mates. Two of them were unconscious, but one wasn’t. He voiced his objection fairly loudly.
I wrapped the fingers in my hanky and shoved them in my vest pocket. John Boy just looked at me.
‘When cunts upset me I collect the odd finger or two,’ I explained.
John Boy got on his bike and I got on mine. It had been good of him to help me out. He was from a different club, he didn’t have to get involved.
‘If there’s ever anything I can do for ya,’ I said to him, ‘you got me word I’ll do it.’
‘Righto,’ he nodded. ‘I’ll see ya round.’
I headed home. Walked in the door and threw the hanky at my old lady, Donna.
‘Not more fingers,’ she said. They went in the jar with the other twenty-odd.
At the time it seemed an unexceptional night. But seven years later, mourning the loss of two of my brothers, wanted for murder and banged up with a body full of bullets, I would look back on that night as where it all began. Now it’s so obvious I can almost hear the gears crunching. My promise to John Boy, keeping my word; the revs as I switched clubs, and then the split. The acceleration as the crazy leader with a Napoleon complex and a wandering cock took us on his full-bore hell ride, wind in my hair, sun on my back, until we were rumbling into a pub car park in Milperra towards a shoot-out that would kill seven people. The Milperra Massacre, the newspapers called it.
I never call it that. I call it the ambush.
I always keep my word, but making that promise to John Boy was the biggest mistake I ever made.
M
y grandfather, Joseph ‘Joey’ Campbell, was the light heavyweight boxing champion of the New South Wales police force. He once fought Les Darcy in an exhibition match in Newcastle to raise money to buy horses for the police, but apparently it turned into more than an exhibition match because both Darcy and my grandfather fancied the same woman, Margaret O’Brien. The ten-round bout was declared a draw, but my grandfather considered that he won the biggest prize, because he ended up with Margaret, my grandmother.