Hits and Memories: Chopper 2 (14 page)

Chapter 21

Hopalong Tom, the snake with one leg

‘He played all of us like a violin’.

ONE-legged private investigator Tom Ericksen was a master of living in the shadowy world between the police and the underworld.

In the 1950s Ericksen, the son and grandson of policemen, was an insurance salesman who sold policies to members of the force.

He then became a private detective and debt collector, and was the leading repossession agent of a major credit firm.

Ericksen made a number of contacts with junior police who were struggling on poor wages. He employed them during their days off to work in the repossession game.

Some of them went on to take senior positions in the force in the 1970s and 1980s. Ericksen was a master at attempting to exploit his past relationships with these men.

Another man he employed at the time was Gianfranco Tizzoni, the man involved in the murders of anti-drugs campaigner Donald Mackay and dope dealers, Isabel and Douglas Wilson. Tizzoni later turned ‘supergrass’ and informed on mafia boss, Bob Trimbole.

Both Ericksen and Tizzoni carried documentation giving them authority to act for the now defunct Federal Narcotics Bureau. Ericksen acted as a bodyguard for a well-known Melbourne lawyer in the 1960s.

He loved mystery and used electronic gear in a bid to compromise people he thought could be exploited. He once used a Melbourne lawyer in a bid to set up one of the top detectives in the state.

He bugged the lawyer’s chambers in the hope of recording the policeman making admissions which could be used against him. The bid failed because no admissions were made.

Ericksen kept a dirt file, where every scrap of information about prominent people in the criminal justice system was kept to be used against them, and he traded information between police and criminals. He claimed to have major contacts with the PLO and Libyan agents and travelled the world, claiming to be a diplomat or an ambassador. He often used a Hutt River Province passport to move between countries.

Ericksen used Melbourne hitman Christopher Dale Flannery as his muscle, and once used the paid killer to methodically bash a city retailer in his Exhibition Street office.

After Flannery disappeared in 1985, Ericksen began to lose his influence. He was targeted by the National Crime Authority in Operation ‘Viper’ and was charged with 195 counts of giving secret commissions and 11 charges of making threats to kill.

But he didn’t live to stand trial. He died a blind diabetic with heart disease, in August 1988. He was 52.

‘HOPALONG’ Tom Ericksen was a private investigator with a wooden leg, a lot of enemies and some friends in high places. I was approached to kill him in 1987. I gave it some serious thought and planned to plant a series of jumping jack mines along his driveway. I had the gear to do it but the deal became complicated because of the people involved.

I was supposed to be paid $250,000 for the hit. The price seemed like bullshit and when there was no deposit coming I got suspicious. I don’t knock people on credit.

Then certain police advised me to steer clear of the whole episode. Even men with no ears must learn when to listen and this was one of those times.

Anyone who got involved with Tom, friend or foe, was dancing up the road of insanity. Even police involved in trying to convict him ended up half paranoid. Nothing about Ericksen could be believed.

He was the perfect conman, because he believed his own lies. He acted in a manner which suggested that he was some sort of secret agent. He told me he not only had PLO connections but was on side with the IRA and had done work for the outlawed Italian secret society, P2.

Tom was the master of disinformation and played the police and the underworld off against each other. Alice in Wonderland lived in a world of total reality compared with Tommy, believe me.

The police had a code name for him, they called him ‘The Viper’. Funny name, that. I’ve never seen a snake with a wooden leg. The underworld had another name for him: ‘The Riddler.’

I am now told about the contract I was supposed to take to kill Tommy, that in fact he was the man behind it because he wanted an attempt on his life as part of some mysterious mind game. He was a dangerous Walter Mitty of the highest order. His favorite bedtime reading was Sherlock Holmes. James Bond, and other thrillers that he tried to turn into real life.

Tom made a small fortune through his trickery and protected it in a world of paranoia, suspicion and intrigue with the cops and crooks dancing like puppets.

Chris Flannery and Ericksen were close for some time. Ericksen convinced Flannery he had high government connections. In his personal diary he carried the number of the CIA in Washington and Virginia. But the truth is he got them out of the American telephone books.

I agreed to be a witness for him against the National Crime Authority. He and I had agreed on a number of matters and I sent Margaret to see him. The bloke had a mini-tape recorder inside his wooden leg. As I look back on it there is no doubt that ‘Hopalong Tom’ was a complete nutter, and a dangerous one.

There must be a host of criminal figures, high-ranking police and a few media people who must cringe with embarrassment to think they ever got involved with ‘Hopalong’. I must include myself in that, as he played all of us like a violin.

*

THROUGHOUT the years I have been dealt with and confronted by and questioned by all manner of police — state, federal and the National Crime Authority, the Victoria Police internal security unit, the Federal Police internal investigation division and various state and federal task forces. And, in my experience, I must confess that the most paranoid and secretive outfit was the NCA.

I was questioned by the NCA in relation to my involvement with Tom Ericksen. On each visit to the NCA I noticed that they tended to speak in riddles — in a sort of code. I will give a classic example of NCA-speak . . .

‘Hi, Chopper. Well, we don’t have to tell you what this is about.’

To which I would say: ‘No. What do you want to know?’ And they would answer something like ‘It’s about the one-legged bloke. You know. T.E.’

‘Oh, yeah’ I would answer.

Then the NCA bloke would say: ‘Well, we know what’s going on. What we want to know is why you’re putting your head in’.

‘My head in what?’ I would say.

‘Well, it’s been on TV that you’ve been paid to kill him, and we know you’re in touch with him and that you’ve been involved with him for years. So what’s the go with the court case? What are you getting out of it?’

‘What the hell are you on about?’ I asked.

‘We know you’re going on his side against us,’ they would say. ‘We know what Tommy’s up to’.

By this time I was getting peeved. ‘So what do you want to talk to me about,’ I said.

‘We are just letting you know it won’t work, and we can’t offer you a deal. But if you come good on this our way, we can whisper in a few ears. You know how it goes. Don’t worry. We won’t somersault you. All we want to know is what Tom’s game is. Which way he intends to jump.’

To which I replied: ‘All I’m willing to say, gentlemen, is that I was approached by two men who I now know to be NCA informers in relation to me killing Tom Ericksen, and I knocked the approach back’.

‘Look, if you side with Ericksen, you’ll lose. We have him on the PLO thing. We have him on tax. We have him all the way. Introducing you to discredit our witnesses won’t work. But if you’re willing to walk away, wipe Tom, lose your memory and tell him to piss off . . . well, you know’.

I said: ‘Well, I know what?’

‘Well, one hand washes the other. Strings can be pulled. How much is Tom paying you?’

By this stage I had a bloody headache. After three visits I was totally confused as their double talk and riddles became more scrambled. Then Tom died — and I got a letter from the NCA saying ‘We can’t help you’.

I never asked them for their bloody help. The NCA lived in a world of their own. Total insanity.

My agreeing to be a witness for Ericksen against the NCA could have created big problems for me. As a police force the NCA was a dangerous comedy. They lived and acted like paranoid spies, confusing themselves and everyone else . . . and Ericksen was twice as mad. With him in one ear and the NCA in the other it was unbelievable.

They spoke in riddles and code in case they were being bugged. Meanwhile, they were bugging me. It was total comedy. I must add that dealing with ‘Hopalong’ Tommy would have sent any policeman a touch mental. I wasn’t sorry to see him die. Had he not ended up dying I probably would have ended up shooting the old trickster myself. Ha ha.

Chapter 22

Renee, a hard act to copy

‘I found her to he a sassy little thing with a lot of spunk’

I REMEMBER Frank Sinatra once describing the Australian press as a pack of whores and liars. Who am I to argue with the great Cranky Frankie, the Don Vito of the musical world? Well, maybe I disagree with him just a little bit about some people in the media business.

Before my first trial over the Collins shooting I received a lovely letter from Renee Brack of the
Hard Copy
program from Channel 10, wishing me all the best for my court case.

I had done an interview for
Hard Copy
with Renee and I found her to be a sassy little thing with a lot of spunk. When this skinny little girl bounced up to me at the Launceston Airport, I am ashamed to say that I was gripped by the overpowering urge to pull her on like a wet, soapy sock. However, good manners, and the fear that I would almost certainly be stabbed to death by Margaret, held me in check.

Renee proved to be a hands-on reporter, eager to have a go at shooting with the infamous ‘hole-in-the-head’ shooting club. She took to firearms like a duck to water.

She wouldn’t weigh more than eight stone soaking wet in an army overcoat with bricks in the pocket, but she has a heart as big as Phar Lap’s — and a much better figure. I was most impressed with the girl’s guts. She was prepared to fire the .357 magnum and even the pump-action shotgun. She was a natural, and if she ever needs a gun she knows where to come.

She had dash, and was far from the wimpy ‘care for another pink gin’ brigade that I have encountered in the past. People with guts in the television world are few and far between, in my opinion.

Being the gentleman I am at all times with the fairer sex, my desire to please Renee and give her a good story backfired on me a little bit. They shot some footage of me playing Russian Roulette with a .357 magnum. I was pissed during the filming, and in my experience Russian Roulette and drunks do not mix.

Renee wanted some good footage, so after convincing her that the gun was unloaded I put it to my head and pulled the trigger. I then put it to her head and pulled the trigger.

She nearly fainted, but it was all just a joke. Or so I thought at the time. The
real
joke was that after the camera was turned off I re-checked the weapon and pulled the trigger twice, pointing the gun at the ground. It went off. The bloody thing was loaded after all, with one shell and five empty chambers.

The cameraman asked whether it had been loaded all the time, and I said: ‘What do you think I am, stupid?’ But I was bluffing, don’t worry about that. The truth was, if I had pulled the trigger twice more while the barrel was pointing at Renee’s head, it would have been all over for her. It would have been great for TV, but not so great a career move for Renee.

The worst thing is, I bet
Hard Copy
would have used the footage . . . I would have got life, but they would have got an award. And they reckon the underworld is unscrupulous. But seriously, I still don’t think Renee knows how lucky she is to be alive.

I had a look at all the footage and I realise now that by trying to give them some good TV I condemned myself out of my own stupid mouth. The Crown has the footage and tried to use it in the first trial. I would have come over as a right mental case, which would be most unfortunate for the grandson of a Seventh Day Adventist bishop. You could say the gunplay filmed by
Hard Copy
was good for ratings, bad for courtrooms.

After seeing the footage I wrote to the Tasmanian DPP, Mr Damian Bugg, and informed him I was prepared to plead guilty to the charge of being too good-looking in a public place.

In the end, they were not allowed to run the footage in the courtroom. The funny thing is that during the filming, Renee wanted to know if I could show I was a good shot. To show her I’m not just a pretty face, young Trent Anthony held out a stubby of beer and I shot it from a fair distance away. It exploded everywhere and apparently looked pretty dramatic on TV.

Funny how things turn out. In the end, it was Trent who was a key witness against me. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I don’t think Trent would fancy holding any stubbies for me these days.

Renee was meant to be a witness for the Crown in the first trial, but the Crown must have decided she would be more my way than theirs and so they didn’t call her. But they tried to use part of her interview with me on
Hard Copy
against me. They also tried to use part of the book against me, even though the jury was not allowed to read it.

Renee wrote again wishing me the best for the second trial. So, in spite of Frank Sinatra’s opinion of Aussie journalists, I can say that at least one of them is a mature, gutsy, good-hearted woman who was fun to meet.

Who’s Frank Sinatra, anyway? Just another singing Dago. I’ve never had much time for the mafia and all that ‘Godfather’ crap. The only horses' heads that have ever worried me have been on beaten favorites.