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 He had grown up on the
streets of Sunshine with the late Andrew
“Benji” Veniamin (right) and their 10-year run of
delinquency and crime began when they were barely in
their teens.
They swore they would
back each other until death.
Even if he limped a
little, Johnny could still summon up the rage he needed
to command fear.
With pistol in hand, he
had complete control, he could torture and maim his
rivals – dealers and addicts who would never go to the
police.
Johnny and his friends
called it “playing doctors”.
The squealing turned them
on.
It was better than sex
and the lads had plenty of that too.
While he was torturing
some poor soul who had failed to pay up or offended the
honour of some gangland VIP, Johnny could hear a voice:
“The dog deserves this, give it to him some more. Don’t
be weak, give it to him.”
He discussed the voice
with Veniamin and Benji
said he heard it too.
The voice was low and
guttural, sensual yet terrifying.
They concluded it was the
Devil, reminding them of their destiny.
Benji’s
father Apollo, a God-fearing man, had warned them that
they would go to hell for what they were doing, but Benji
and Johnny had just shrugged and said they would take
their chances.
If Benji
and Johnny made it to 30 they were going to be
disappointed.
Their team was on top.
Every second day Johnny
and Benji would be out
collecting cash for PK.
It was BMWs, Porsches and
SS Commodores all the way, a couple of times a month
they would give the baseball bats in the boot an outing.
Then one day Johnny felt
a tremor of mercy.
He began to feel sorry
for the people he tortured.
He would come back to his
boss and urge him to cut the guy some slack.
Then he heard the new
voice.
It was five years since
Johnny had been kneecapped, and he was driving with Benji
along Glengala Road, the stereo blaring some rap tune.
He looked across at his
friend, all pumped up and ready for battle.
Paradoxically, Benji
was wearing a black T-shirt with a big red cross on the
chest.
Dangling from his neck
was a simple wooden crucifix.
That’s when he heard
the voice.
The Devil had previously
whispered, but this new voice shouted: “Johnny, the
path you are headed on leads direct to the cemetery or a
lifetime in jail.
This is not your destiny.”
It was here, he told his
mates, that God called him to give up his life of crime.
Benji
would go through his own crisis of faith, but he never
believed he could get away.
The pastors could forgive
them, said Benji, but
God knew the full story.
On March 23, 2004, Benji
died at the hands of Carlton crime identity Dominic
“Mick” Gatto, who claimed self-defence.
PK
had already been murdered in October 2002.
Had he ignored the voice,
there’s little doubt Johnny would have ended up in the
cemetery too.
He hasn’t been seen
around Sunshine for years.
The last thing his mates
heard he was working on a road gang and giving his
testimony in an Assemblies of God church, names deleted
of course.
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