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the drug squad seemed concerned that Locchi was selling drugs in a street behind the Coca Cola sign, close to the then brand new police station.
    This apparent immunity infuriated a task force operating independently of the Kings Cross network. This was Operation Hobby, run by the New South Wales Crime Commission. Their idea was to catch crooks, a novelty in a district where crime had been franchised for decades.
    The Hobby investigators set up in a flat about 100 metres from Locchi’s window. The idea was to film undercover buyers to gather enough evidence to make arrests.
    But there was a problem: a tree in the footpath obscured the view of the window. They either had to move position, which was nearly impossible, or move the tree. A detective called Mick Kennedy volunteered to move the tree. He had a chainsaw and a utility. At dawn one summer morning he swapped number plates on the utility in case someone noted the registration and reported him, parked around the corner and approached the tree with the chainsaw.
    It had been a warm night and the street was crawling with people, so there was no chance of doing the deed unseen. So he decided to be as public as possible.
    There were plenty of eccentric, drugged or deranged people wandering Kings Cross, ignored or avoided by other pedestrians. He pretended to be one of them.
    â€˜I behaved like a mad bloke and had an argument with the tree,’ Kennedy recalls. ‘I shook my fist at the tree and said “I’ll show you!” then grabbed the chainsaw and cut it down.’
    Being Kings Cross, everyone minded their own business. Not even keen Greens argue with lunatics with chainsaws.
    The operation was a success. The investigators were able to film an undercover operative buying drugs at the window, then break into the fortified apartment.
    Inside, they found retired prostitutes handling the heroin for Locchi. One was willing to testify against him after being reassured that he would get a hefty jail sentence.
    â€˜He pays well but he’s dangerous,’ she told the detectives.
    She explained why she and others hated the man who supplied her with money and drugs. He carried a cordless electric drill so when he caught a prostitute who owed him money he would drill her knee – or her skull – as a warning.
    It was DIY, Kings Cross style. But in the end, a chainsaw beats a cordless drill.

2
TEFLON JOHN, THE NEW KING
    â€˜He’ll end up wearing the bracelets or a bullet.’
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    TO hear John Housain Ibrahim tell it, he’s never lost a fight. That’s a good thing around Kings Cross because anyone who loses fights there doesn’t get much back up. ‘Loyalty’ in the Golden Mile is for winners only – and there’s usually a price tag attached.
    Ibrahim learned to fight early in life – but he also learned something even more valuable. That is, when not to fight.
    An example that seems to have slipped his mind is when a tough Melbourne gunman (and ex-boxer) called Tony Brizzi came calling on a club the young Ibrahim was running in Kings Cross in the early 1990s. Brizzi was the ‘muscle’ for one Bill A., who wanted to negotiate taking over the club. As soon as they stepped into the room with Ibrahim, Brizzi pistol-whipped him and told him to quit the club,because Bill was taking it. Even Bill was surprised by this. Ibrahim said he was going to complain about the hostile takeover bid to his friend, a senior police officer he named.
    Brizzi knocked him down again for impertinence, took his wallet and emptied the till. He said he was disgusted with both of them for even considering bringing police into a man-on-man confrontation.
    But before he left he warned Ibrahim: ‘You come near me and I’ll kill you. I’m from Melbourne and we don’t shoot below the knee caps.’
    Ibrahim got the message. Brizzi would eventually die of lupus but he never lost a minute’s sleep over flogging