“Detective Nelson, Homicide squad.” Nelson flashed his badge briefly, more from habit than to impress.
Dendy took a quick, furtive look at Nelson and a shadow of derision passed across his face, which made Nelson smile briefly. In some ways, Nelson enjoyed dealing with people like Dendy because there was no confusion. It was black and white that he was the enemy of the police and society.
“Mark, I’m not going to beat around the bush because that’s not my style,” Nelson said firmly. “I need some information and I need it quickly.”
Dendy cursed as the race finished and threw his betting ticket on the ground. He turned and faced Nelson.
“Oh? What sort of information?” he replied with false geniality.
“I want to know about the Fogliani family. First Emilio Fogliani was murdered and now two bodies have turned up in one of their warehouses and I want to know why.
“I’m always prepared to help out where I can Detective…..”
“Nelson.”
“Nelson. As I was saying,” said Dendy, as he began to show slightly more interest at the prospect of recouping his losses. “Sure, I know some stuff about the Fogliani family but I’m not sure it’s in my best interests to be telling it to the likes of you.”
“Why not?”
“Because people like the Foglianis and their friends don’t take too kindly to their private affairs being discussed with the cops.”
“It’s ok, I won’t tell them anything.”
Dendy smiled tightly.
“Ok Detective man, but my information don’t come cheap.”
“How much?”
“Maybe five grand might make me loosen my tongue a little.”
Nelson felt a growing disgust for the man as his fetid breath and body odour assaulted him.
“Five grand? Sounds a little steep,” replied Nelson, a frown creasing his forehead.
“Yeah well information can be expensive. If you don’t like the price you can go and crawl back into the arsehole you came out of.” Dendy turned away and grabbed another betting card. He had to rush because race two in Shepparton was coming up in four minutes and he had a solid tip that had been given to him by his friend’s uncle who knew a guy who knew the trainer of the horse, or something like that.
Nelson realised the conversation appeared to be over as far as Dendy was concerned. He sighed bitterly. “I don’t have time for this shit,” he mumbled under his breath. He briefly thought about leaving Dendy to his losing streak, but the thought of reaching another dead end left him with a sick and sour taste in his mouth. He looked up and noted the black dome video cameras in the ceiling and then took a quick look around the club to see who might be watching. The place was empty except for a few disaffected elderly patrons who were onto their third schooner already and the barman who was applying himself diligently to washing five hundred schooner and midi glasses. Nelson grabbed Dendy’s arm and twisted it roughly and quickly behind his back.
“Let’s take a walk. This place smells like a toilet,” growled Nelson roughly, his reasonably pleasant demeanour instantly evaporating.
Dendy momentarily tried to struggle but Nelson had the element of surprise on his side and also outweighed the older man by a good ten kilograms. Nelson frog marched him out the nearby fire exit and into the alley beside the club. A white delivery van was parked in the alley entrance and ensured Nelson had some privacy from those walking past in the street beyond.
“Hey, no need to get rough, tough guy,” said Dendy, still holding his betting ticket and pencil.
“Ok,” growled Nelson menacingly. “I’ll give you one more chance. Now tell me what I want to know.”
Dendy laughed out loud. “You’re really starting to scare me. You guys are all the same. Go fuck your….” Dendy didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Nelson ripped a savage right uppercut into his ribs and followed it up with a crashing left hook to the side of his head. Dendy had already been on the way down after the first blow but the second blow ensured he crashed into the ground with force. His ears rang, his vision darkened and blurred and blood began to flow freely from a deep cut that had opened on his cheek. He desperately searched for his next breath but failed to find it and could only manage a slight wheeze.
Nelson crouched down to the prostrate man, his face close to Dendy’s ear. “Now you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I’ll tell you something about me for free.” Nelson’s voice was quiet and calm. “I’m here to get some information and I will do whatever I have to do to get it. Do you understand?”
Dendy managed to spit in Nelson’s direction. Nelson slammed a downward punch into Dendy’s ribs and heard a satisfying crack. Dendy shrieked in pain as the cartilage between his ribs separated, sending shooting, excruciating pains through his body.
“Do you believe me now or will I keep working away at you? I’ve got all day you know. I’ll take it slow and I will hurt you like you’ve never been hurt before.” Dendy slightly lifted his head and looked into Nelson’s eyes, which showed nothing but a calm stare and he realised he had made a serious error in judgment and as a result his day had just got a lot worse. Dendy had survived dealing with some of the toughest and most dangerous criminals in Sydney because despite his failings as a human being he was normally a good judge of men. He knew when to push hard against those who could be pushed and he knew when to back off. The look he saw in Nelson’s eyes reminded him of some of the people he did business with and it scared him as Nelson crouched above him, alone in the alley.
With great effort, he gave a slight nod of his head.
Ignoring the man’s pain, Nelson grimly pulled him into a sitting position with his back against the wall, literally and figuratively.
“Good. Start talking.”
Dendy found that he could now manage to talk when he exhaled in short raspy breaths.
“I don’t know who killed Emilio Fogliani. Fogliani was just an old man……who acted tough, and lived off the handouts from his nephew. It came out of the blue……”
“Was it gang related? Or maybe someone trying to settle an old score?”
“I don’t think so. Not that I know of.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, but if it was, then no-one is talking about it. Normally word gets out.”
“What do you know about two dead bodies at the Fogliani warehouse in Strathfield. Who are they?”
“I’m not sure……but maybe I can guess. A couple of days ago, two guys were flashing a picture around trying to find someone. They were offering good money.”
“Who were these guys?”
Dendy tried to gently maneuver himself into a more comfortable position which only resulted in sending new spasms of pain stabbing through his torso.
“I seen them around, hired muscle. They’ve worked for the Foglianis before.”
“What did they want with this guy?”
“They didn’t come out and say outright, but they hinted that it had something to do with Fogliani getting smacked.”
“Who was the guy in the picture?”
“I didn’t know at first. But he had a prison tattoo on his neck. I told them to leave a copy of the photo with me and I’d get back to them. I asked around some friends of mine who’ve been on the inside recently and one of them remembered him.”
“What did you do then?”
“I phoned through the information and later in the day someone dropped off a little money for me.”
“What name did you give them?” asked Nelson, the flat implacable stare in his eyes masking the flutter of excitement growing within.
“His name was Torres, Manuel Torres.”
Nelson savoured the name. It meant nothing to him, but inwardly he gasped at the possibility, the hope, that he had just found the missing link. He casually thanked Dendy for his help, left him in the alley with his shirt full of cracked ribs, satisfied with his mornings work. He considered giving Dendy one hundred dollars for his help but decided against perpetuating his gambling addiction. It would be better spent elsewhere. Nelson returned to his
