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David Lewis, EX Screw, Navy Diver, Bouncer, nightclub owner and sometime Private Inquiry Agent who still works for Centurion Armoured as an Armoured Vehicle Operator is back and in more trouble than Brick Bradford.

After years of scamming and moving in some seedy circles making a Dirty Dollar Lewis has left Sydney’s Northern Beaches for a tree change, buying a farm North in the quiet and picturesque Mt Seaview region,  on the New South Wales Mid North Coast. Where yet another involvement in a  scheme to make some lucrative spondoolies with Lurk merchant Seedy Phil Moore lands David into contact with Career Criminal Steve Forbes, a nasty piece of work who wants David to join him,  in on an audacious  heist that will make them both rich if they can manage to pull it off, while still trying to keep a couple of steps  ahead of each other.  

As if that wasn’t enough on his plate Lewis’s good friends the Lamb’s turn to him for help  with a big problem of their own with a couple of bikies  from the Sydney Chapter of The Animals OMG, who have fronted up for a piece of the action from The Baa Baa’s erotic  internet amateur dirty  talking business. Lewis who is old school doesn’t believe in letting friends down and is always on the hunt for a quid smells what he thinks will be an easy earn.

But it isn’t all doom and gloom Dave meets up with an old flame and former Federal Police Officer Rachel Dawes who manages to cast a spell on him with a penchant for her own brand of kinkiness. The scene is set for possibly the biggest and most dangerous rort of Lewis’s life.  

In Store Price: $24.95 
Online Price:   $23.95



Ebook version - $AUD9.00 upload.

ISBN: 978-0-9942751-3-4    Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 214
Genre: Crime Fiction

Cover: Clive Dalkins

By the same author:

Good as Gold
Some Days Are Diamonds
Lure of the Dirty Dollar

For Mum and Dad,

for making me the man,

that I am,

the good, the bad, the ugly and the cynical.

Ken MacKenzie
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published:  2015
Language: English



About the author 


Ken MacKenzie has been in the security industry for over thirty years, working on doors in pubs and clubs on Sydney’s northern beaches in the mid-eighties through to the nineties.

The last twenty three years he has been employed driving armoured cars around both metropolitan and regional areas of New South Wales.

He currently resides on a farm in the small village of Byabarra on the mid-north coast, dividing his time working, writing and wandering in the bush in the Mt Seaview area.

Chapter 1 

Seedy Phil Moore’s place was in the industrial area of Port Macquarie, a big part of his business was tied up in the transport industry. The office I now sat in was the ultimate man cave. It was part of a large shed in a big yard fenced in by your standard eight foot high, chain-link cyclone fencing. The office was separated from a huge workshop, by a thick concrete wall and completely soundproofed, so you couldn’t hear any trucks in the yard and or workshop, but being a Sunday afternoon it was as quiet as the grave anyway. The workshop was shut and all the trucks were out on the road plying their trade up and down the Pacific Highway, or some other major road system in the sun-drenched land down under, making Seedy Phil richer, or that’s what I thought.


A huge bar ran halfway down the far wall on my left, kitchen, bathroom and laundry off to the right. The fat cunt even had a full size billiard table in the middle of the office. There was a bedroom, behind a door, over on the side of the shed, near the bar, a big desk stood opposite. A lounge area in one corner was where we now sat. I was on the comfortable soft black leather lounge and Seedy Phil sat opposite me in a matching plush armchair, the biggest fucken’ screen TV I’d ever seen in my life was playing some hard-core porn. But I hardly noticed the big-titted young blonde starlet smoking the cock of the silver-haired old cunt lying on his back on the black silk sheets on the big screen televish, who looked ready to drop dead from a head-job induced heart attack. I was too busy eyeing the bloke in a plain black slim fit t-shirt, blue denim jeans and runners, sitting next to Seedy Phil in an identical chair and sipping on a bourbon and Pepsi Max like me, who had entered the room only a few minutes earlier. He was in his early thirties, taller than me, I guessed around six two and pretty fit, an ex-juicer I reckoned, that had made some mad gains on the gear and still pumped some heavy duty iron and regularly too, by the look of him. I took another sip of my own glass of bourbon and Pepsi Max and sniffed the sweet aroma of Seedy Phil’s mini cigar smoke that wafted around the room, pushing away the longing thought of tempting fate and having just one after years of no smokes, well tobacco anyway. Phil lifted his right leg and farted, the noise, or screech was drawn out, like the air escaping from a balloon.

“Fuck, excuse me boys, a bit more choke and that would of started.” He laughed. Neither me nor the young bloke remarked, I had a funny feeling running through me that I should of made an excuse to leave and the fit bloke seemed preoccupied as well. I wasn’t worried about Phil’s flatulence, everybody that knew him was aware of Phil’s loose arse, that was partly due to the fact Seedy Phil was an old swinger, that bounced on both sides of the trampoline, with blokes and sheilas and had seen more than a prick or two in his fifty-odd years. But I just wasn’t sure what purpose the muscle was for, he didn’t look like a gay boy to me, though I’d say Phil would of done the business with him, if he’d had the chance, but I couldn’t see that happening, not this bloke. And Phil and I were mates, well business associates anyway; there was no bad blood between us. I’d invested a lot of money in a few of Seedy Phil’s schemes and made a motza and had just sunk most of it back into a new venture of a golf club retirement village for rich old cunts with more Bugs Bunny than sense. It was down at Bonny Hills, the completed set up would net us both more spondolers than the Port Macquarie Hastings Council had blown building the white elephant Glass House. And that was some serious fucken’ freight they’d lost on that venture.

“Hey Steve, get us another drink will you, mate?” The big bloke looked at Phil and seemed about to say something, then turned and looked back to me. “What about you? You want another too?” I still had half a glass and thought I might hang onto it in case I needed to use it as a weapon and was sorry I hadn’t brought along a little protection.

“No, thanks anyway mate, I’m right.”

“Sorry boys, I haven’t introduced you two. Dave, this is Steve Forbes, Steve, Dave Lewis.” We nodded at one another and the young bloke put down his own near full glass on the big coffee table that sat between the two of them and me and got up, taking Phil’s glass from his outstretched hand and wandered over to the bar.


“As I was saying Davo, everything is going great guns with the council, I had to sling a fair bit as you know, but we’re on track. Ha ha,” he laughed. Phil looked every bit the lurk merchant that he was, sitting there dressed in pressed grey trousers and a white business shirt.

“Great Phil.”

Things just weren’t adding up as to why exactly he wanted to see me today, but I wasn’t going to ask and pre-empt anything. I watched big Steve as he held Phil’s glass up to a bottle of Dimple Scotch Whisky that was sitting upside down from the top of the bar in a row of other bottles of high class grog. He pushed the glass’s rim up against the auto pourer and I saw a couple of nips drop into the glass and float the ice in the bottom. I smelt a rat and turned back to Seedy Phil who I noticed was sweating freely even with the, you-beaut air con keeping the room super cool.


Looking back I watched Steve walk across the room with Seedy Phil’s glass in his hand, Phil smiled nervously and reached out and took the proffered glass, as he did Steve swiftly brushed his now empty right hand to his back and brought up a small revolver and pushed it out and fired twice into Seedy Phil’s head. Phil dropped his glass in his lap, the fluid and ice spilling onto his groin, making it appear, he’d pissed himself. His mini cigar fell to the carpeted floor, along with the glass as he collapsed back in his chair, his eyes open and unseeing, dead as a maggot. Blood ran down from the two small head wounds, one above and to the front of his left ear, the other closer to his jaw line. My glass was halfway to my mouth when I saw all this happen in a flash, I stopped and lowered my drink as I watched Steve swing the gun casually in my direction, but not directly at me, realising even though he only held a .22 calibre, at this close range I was one fucked unit if he fired. I couldn’t believe what was going on and didn’t even have time to think when Steve spoke.

“Fuck I hate rude cunts! Don’t you, Dave?” He nimbly squatted down and retrieved Seedy Phil’s cigar from the carpeted floor, before it had time to burn much of the plush dark brown carpet and rose again easily, placing the little cigar in the ashtray on the coffee table, his eyes never leaving me. I didn’t know what to say and sat there dumbly, trying to think of something to save my life.

“Didn’t know this fat cunt wanted you dead, did you?” He laughed and slipped the pistol into the front of his jeans, where if he wanted, he could draw and fire in a second or two. I drained my drink in one swallow and kept the glass in my hand. Steve had my full attention.

“What do you mean?”

“He spent all the money you invested in his golf club for the rich and stupid.”

“Bullshit, he’s made me good money the last few years in a couple of other ventures I’ve invested in. I’ve seen the plans, contracts, emails, all the relevant documentation, for the land and the fucken’ golf resort.”

“Mate, he paid me ten large to waste you, five up front and,” he pulled Seedy Phil’s fat body forward and reached behind it and brought a white envelope out from the back pocket of Phil’s trousers, “here’s the balance.” He let Seedy Phil’s inert body drop back into the upholstery, as he waved the open envelope at me, I could see all the green hundred-dollar notes with elastic bands wrapped around each bundle, there looked to be at least five bundles. He slipped the envelope in his own back skyrocket.

I shook my head. “Fuck me dead, I need another drink, do you mind?”

“No mate, go for your life, Dave.”

I got to my feet and wandered over to the bar.


Grabbing a few ice cubes from the bucket in the small fridge under the bar and a can of Pepsi Max I dropped the ice in the bottom of the glass and stood up and scanned the bottles mounted upside down in a long row above the bar. Deciding on the Gentleman Jack I pushed my glass under the bottle and poured a double, popped the can, adding the fizzy Pepsi Max to the bourbon and walked back to the lounge and sat down, taking a hefty slug before I spoke. It looked like this bloke didn’t need me dead, so I thought I might push the boundaries a bit and see just how far I could go with this guy.


“OK Steve, I’m feeling pretty fucken’ stupid right now, you seem to hold all the cards. Are you gunna fill me in with what’s going on, or just fuck me around playing games?”

He seemed to be studying me, more intently than I thought he needed, as he stood there in front of me. “Phil’s been running drugs all over OZ for my mob for a number of years. Simplicity itself really; when we had a shipment that had to go to say Victoria, Queensland, or any fucken’ where in Australia, we contacted Seedy Phil and he organised for a driver headed that way to meet up with one of our people and take delivery of the shit, you know a box not much bigger than a couple of cigarette cartons full of pingas, speed, coke, meth, or even steroids that the driver just kept in his sleeper cab, is worth a fucken’ fortune. We’d have one of our mob collect at the other end. The driver gets a cash bonus off Seedy Phil, when he gets home. We of course supply this cash bonus, plus Phil’s earn. Anyway, not long back most of my mob got blown up in a big explosion on one of our boats in Sydney Harbour; a rival gang thing, I imagine you know how it all works.”

I looked hard at him as my brain began to remember the events I recalled from newspaper and TV footage I’d seen about a boat full of crims being blown up on Sydney Harbour about a year ago.

“Anyway with the boss gone, who was my uncle, I was left to run the show, but of course he being an old colourful figure, now dead, left a natural vacuum that I had to somehow plug. I mean basically every cunt out there was ready to fill the void, the Chinks, Russians, Romanians, Lebos, bikies, you name ’em, there’s a fucken’ shitload out there. You see where I’m coming from. Every cunt was out for his piece of our operations.” He stopped and looked over at the dead Seedy Phil. “Every cocksucker was trying it on, Phil here ripped me off on a couple of consignments, reckoned his boys thought the coppers were onto them when they were driving around the country side, so they had to dump the gear in the bush, or in rivers as they crossed bridges, the lying fat cunt, did he really think I was a mongo jerry? So I had to make a start somewhere, the heat in Sydney was too hot, I thought I’d come up here and sort Phil out first, let the word get around, not to fuck with me and that I meant business, then work my way back into the Sydney scene, nice and easy. I put it to Seedy Phil that he was fucking me and he shit himself, told me how he’d blown a great deal of his money on the high life, drugs, booze, blokes, babes and big noting himself, keeping up with the Jones. He told me all about you, how you had a quid and had invested big with him, told me a lot about you actually. Said if I necked you, he’d cut me in on the golf-club deal, give me your share, nice cunt hey old Seedy Phil? I said I’d think about it, he even offers the ten big ones for me to off you, can you believe that? But that’s not the funny bit; I start sniffing around and find out through two bikie blokes I know up here, who are part of the Animals OMG sent up here to look for new business, that Seedy Phil’s only told me half-truths. Apparently everything’s on the drip, he’d blown all his hard currency, yours included.” Steve waved his hands around and began to laugh out loud. “The dumb fucking, cock-sucking, arse-licking moron owes nearly as much money as the Federal Government gives in aid every fucken’ year to Indonesia.”

I took another sip. This put a new spin on things, if Phil had spent all my money what was he gunna split with Steve, or was he just trying to pit me against Steve, but he hadn’t spun me anything to make me wary, I’d come here not thinking any bad thoughts of anyone, in fact I didn’t even know Steve would be present, I’d never even heard of him personally, but I’d read about his outfit’s demise, I knew who he ran with and it wasn’t the fucking Vienna Boys’ Choir.


“I could probably help you out; see if we can recoup any of Seedy Phil’s assets. We could split it, maybe cover both our losses.” I needed to get in his confidence if I didn’t want to end up dead as dog shit like Seedy Phil, but I knew it was a little too obvious.

He smirked. “Relax old boy, you’re sweet, I don’t intend on knocking you unless I have to. I’ve got other plans where you can help out, but we’ll discuss that at a later time.”

I felt a whole lot better knowing I wasn’t about to get one to the head and thought I’d start getting more buddy buddy, there sounded like there might be a bit of an earn in it for me and with the apparent sudden loss of my fortune I’d need every fucken’ Drachma I could get my cunt scratchers on. That of course was as long as I stayed useful to this fit young cunt and kept a step or three ahead of him, but it wasn’t going to be easy, he was a smart rooster.

I nodded my head at the stiffening Seedy Phil. “What are you gunna do with him?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Dump him somewhere; any ideas? You know the area better than me.”

“Yeah, I’ve got just the spot for the thieving fat cunt to wait out eternity!”


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