Set in contemporary times, Some Days Are Diamonds is the story of a crime family living and running their various illegal endeavours of drug running, brothels and extortion to name a few in the exclusive Sydney suburbs of Rose Bay, Clontarf, Sylvania Waters and the seedier inner city. 

Big Jim Dunbar is the patriarch of the family. His godson, Steven Forbes, is one of his right-hand men, the son of his former mate and business partner. The two have a natural bond as Big Jim brought Steve up when both his parents and innocence were blown away by a lone gunman when Steve was a small boy. 

But somebody is trying to put the frighteners onto the outfit, with a bombing campaign on their brothels and that of an associate, Tim Smith, and his criminal enterprises. Steve is ordered to look into who is behind the bombings and bring the bastards to task. 

Fast, filthy and violent, Some Days Are Diamonds is the second book by a writer who doesn’t mince words, which is how the real bad-arse crims go about their day-to-day business of polluting society to make an illegal earn, if you don’t believe that, you still believe in the tooth fairy!

In Store Price: $AU22.95 
Online Price:   $AU21.95


Buy as an Ebook version -  $AUD9.00

ISBN:   978-1-921919-98-5
Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 144
Genre: Fiction

Cover: Clive Dalkins

Author: Ken MacKenzie
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published: 2013
Language: English

Chapter 1 

 I turned to walk out of the laundry, after checking on my hidden drug stash and stopped, there wasn’t a prison officer present, but Jacko Williams and three of his arse-wipes were. By their smart-arse smiles I knew someone was going to be in trouble, but I didn’t know who the unlucky bastard was until a couple of the fuckwits grabbed me, then I knew it was me who was gunna get fucked stupid. A hundred thoughts ran through my mind, I’d only been inside six weeks and I had at least two years to do of my five-year sentence, if I kept my nose clean, and now I knew if they got into me I’d neck myself for sure. I forced myself not to struggle as they dragged me closer to Williams, I didn’t want to give the bastards a reason to belt me unconscious while I still had a chance to talk my way out of a belly full of gorilla snot.

“What the fuck’s going on Jacko?” He grabbed hold of both my ears and spat into my face through his broken yellowed nicotine stained teeth.

“You’re gunna suck my cock, then me and the boys are gunna fuck the guts outta ya!”

I felt sick and my bowels began to rumble. Williams took a step back, sweat running freely down his bald head from the excitement. He dropped his shorts and held out his hard, ugly, wart-covered and heavily-tattooed prick as the two goons that held me each kicked one of my knees out from under me. I fell to the floor and the two thugs bent my arms back and together, I tucked my chin into my chest and kept my head down as I spoke. “OK you’ve got me, what do you want, I know I can buy my way out of this Jacko, the old man will pay.” I snuck a look up; his prick was only inches from my face as he laughed.

“Suck this, cunt!”

Suddenly as a disturbance started near the entrance to the room, Jacko stepped back, naked from the waist down. I used the interruption to my advantage and managed to break free my right arm as I heard someone yell out my name. I ignored them and reached into the back pocket of my shorts and grabbed my prison-made cutthroat razor and, as I broke loose of the other thug, I heard Jacko yell out, “We were only fucken’ around Rod, we weren’t gunna root Stevie or nothing!”

I sprang out of a crouch and slashed Jacko across his ball bag, at the base of his cock, he screamed, doubled over and grabbed at his genitals, blood pissing between his fingers. I squatted again, then came up under him and slashed his throat from ear to ear, his neck erupted in a fountain of deep crimson blood as he fell to the floor and writhed in an ever increasing pool of his own blood. The gurgling stopped in minutes as he lay still in death, as I looked down, I saw I was covered from head to foot in Jacko’s blood. It seeped into my clothing, my body becoming sticky. I spun around, the fighting was just finishing as Rod and his crew bashed Jacko’s three arse-wipes into submission.

When the fighting stopped Rod walked over and stood beside me and looked down at Jacko. “Jesus Steve, you sure fucked him good, old mate!”


When I woke the bed sheets were stuck to me, but it was my own sweat, not Jacko’s blood. I shivered as I remembered the nightmare that had been a reality just over three and a half years ago while I had been a guest of Her Majesty at the Malabar Mansions. Fuck, if Rod had been a minute later I’d have been chewing Jacko’s hammer, the thought of it angered me. Williams was doing life for a double murder, but he wasn’t smart enough to set the laundry scene, that had been set up by someone else and I was pretty sure after speaking to the old lags I got to know over the next couple of years who that low dog was. I was never charged over offing Williams; nobody was game to give me up. Rocket Rod was due to be released in a few days, that’s probably what had triggered the nightmare, I hadn’t had one for a while.

I rolled over and looked at the body lying next to me under the sheet, she was supposedly eighteen, but I had my doubts, I thought she may have been a little younger. She had long auburn hair, half a dozen earrings in each ear and also sported a nose stud, pierced belly button, tongue piercing, clit ring and the mandatory tattoos on her neck and lower back. I pulled back the sheet, the early morning was still humid, as Sydney was experiencing another incredibly hot summer. I ran my eyes down over her back and noticed the slight roundness of her body I thought was puppy fat. As I spied her peachy arse I felt myself begin to harden, I reached over and ripped a condom from the packet on the bedside table and rolled it on, then I lifted her left leg and slowly began to enter her. She started moaning softly as I pumped a slow rhythm in and out of her, reaching round I grabbed her left tit and pulled on the nipple, her moans began to peak and I increased my tempo as I ground into her deeper and harder, using my hand under her arse to force her leg higher so I got a better angle. Her vaginal muscles clamping and unclamping around my hardened prick with each thrust, I kept it up for a bit, her moans getting louder, then I suddenly emptied out in a shattering orgasm. I didn’t feel guilty that I hadn’t waited for her to come; she’d already gotten her rocks off several times throughout the night. I rolled onto my back and peeled off the rubber and threw it to the floor, as she rolled over and faced me. She had a pretty face and smiled at me.

“You could of woken me first.”

I suddenly realised I couldn’t even remember her name, even though we’d fucked for most of the night as if we’d been old lovers.

“You’re lucky I didn’t stick it up your arse.”

She must have thought I was kidding, because she giggled and was about to say something when the door flew open and the old man walked in.

“I’ve been fucken’ looken’ for you all night! Is shagging all you ever think about?”

“It’s my night off, Jim,” I said as I casually got out of bed and began to dress. The girl sat wide eyed on the bed, scared shitless as she faced the notorious Big Jim Dunbar,  drug dealer, standover man, brothel keeper, thug, hit man and probably one of Australia’s hardest cunts still alive, my Uncle Jim.

He shouted at the naked girl. “You, get up, get your clothes and fuck off!” She was up off the bed, her clothes bundled in her arms, and out the room in seconds. He slammed the door shut behind her.

I sat down in a chair and lit a smoke. “What’s the problem, Jim?” He seemed to relax a little; he looked on me as one of his children. Although we weren’t naturally related, he’d brought me up since I was six, when a lone gunman had blown away my innocence, along with both my parents. My father and Jim had been best mates and business partners. “Some fucker’s just bombed Hurstville!”

“Christ, anyone hurt?”

“No, but the prick who’s trying to shut me down is going to feel some pain when I get my cunt-scratchers on him!”

“That’s the third bombing in the last few months, any ideas who’s behind it?”

“No. I’ve spoken to the Chinks and the Viet’s and they reckon it’s not any of them. If you can trust ’em, which I don’t. And I talked to Timmy Smith and he told me he had a warehouse full of hot grog and smokes go up in flames out Liverpool way, lost two of his blokes in it, said the Fire Brigade investigation mob found traces of some military explosives, sem something.”

“Semtex, fuck.”

“Yeah that’s the shit, anyway he’s got some bloke onto it and I want you to sniff around as well.”

“Don’t forget I’ve got to fix Boden before the next council meeting on the 20th.”

“Yeah, I know, then look into this shit, do you need any help with Boden?”

“No mate, it’s sweet.”

“Right, well I’ll get going.” Just then there was a knock at the door. Instinctively I picked up my bum bag that held a small pistol and slipped it out. Jim reached inside his jacket and pulled out a 9mm Glock, as he stepped nimbly to one side of the door before yelling out, “Yeah?”

“It’s me, Kev!”

“Come in.” Big Jim’s eldest son walked into the room, I gave him a nod and Jim pushed himself off the wall as we both re-hid our weapons when we saw he was alone.

“G’day, Steve.”

“What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to keep cockatoo downstairs!” Kev was a younger version of his old man, tall, around six four, with a barrel chest and shiny dark hair. But whereas Jim had a thickening of the waist, due to his heavy indulgence of the piss, Kev carried very little body fat, opting for regular exercise at the gym. However the image died right there, Jim was smart, cunning and totally unpredictable. Kev was dumb as dog-shit and unbelievably predictable. He now stood there looking at his father innocently as he took a mobile phone from the back of his pants and passed it to him.

“Steff rang; your mobile must be flat.”

Jim looked over at me, a dirty look on his face as he snatched the phone from Kev. “That’s because I’ve been phoning around all fucken’ night looken’ for you, cunty!” I laughed as he dialled his home number and after a minute spoke into it.

“What’s up, darl? It’s four o’clock in the morning. No I’m alright, yeah, I found the bugger, he’s here at Albion Street. Yeah, you’re right, I should of looked here first. Yeah, yeah I know, yeah OK, I’ll be home in an hour or so, bye love.” He handed the phone back to Kev and turned to me.

“Alright Steve, we’re off, let me know when you’ve topped that dog Boden!”

“No worries, Jim.” They said goodbye and left. I finished getting dressed and walked out of the room. As I descended the stairs, I saw Maggie the Madam of the place; she walked over from the reception desk. “Jim told me about Hurstville, he’s left a couple of boys for security.” She pointed behind her to the one way mirror behind the desk. “They’re in the office.”

“Good, call me if you need me.” I smiled.

“Thanks, Steve.”

Maggie was my favourite Madam; she’d been with Jim for a lot of years. She was still a good sort, in her early fifties, with natural blonde hair cut to a fashionable bob, with small hard-looking tits and medium build. I’d never had the pleasure of bedding her, but I think she knew I wanted to, I wasn’t exactly backwards in coming forward, but Maggie had always been around when I was growing up, she was almost like an aunty. I was mentally undressing her as she continued to speak. “How was Chantelle?”

I laughed, remembering my latest conquest’s name, well not really a conquest, paid fucks don’t count. “Not bad.”

It was her turn to laugh. “She couldn’t have been too shabby, you had her most of the night.”

“Well, I couldn’t have the one I really wanted.”

She looked puzzled. “Who’s that?”

I smiled at her. “You!” Then I bent and gave her a peck on the cheek. She blushed as I turned and walked down the hall and out the front door.


Locking my car I made my way across the road to the marina where I lived on board one of Big Jim’s boats, the Lucky Lady. I walked down the alleyway and, using my key, unlocked the security gate that led to the building and the moored boats. I passed the marina office complex which housed a boat chandler, takeaway, boat brokers and amenities. The whole building was shadowed in darkness. I continued on and skirted around the workshop and huge slipway, then unlocked the second gate and strolled along the jetty past the millions of dollars of high-powered luxury motor vessels and squillion-dollar yachts. The various jetties were laid out in a large crisscross pattern that connected them to one another.

As I walked, I breathed in the strong salty smell of Rose Bay, the gentle breeze was blowing straight into my face. I approached Jim’s boat and stopped and had a bit of a look around to see if anyone was about, all appeared quiet so I slowly walked across the wharf and climbed down onto the pontoon that my home was tied up to. The boat was secured fore and aft to four huge pylons buried deep into Sydney Harbour’s bed.

Stepping down onto the Lucky Lady’s aft deck I passed the engine cover which hid the two huge turbo diesel engines that propelled the forty-foot vessel along at a fantastic speed when required of it. One of the reasons she was bought for our criminal activities, she made an ideal drug runner or conveyor of bodies to the open sea for deep sixing.


I walked forward to the open cockpit, opened the cabin door and climbed below, switched on the light and went through into the for’ard cabin where I peeled off my clothes and changed into a grey singlet and black shorts, put on my runners, relocked the boat and climbed back up onto the wharf to begin my daily run along New South Head Road.

It was five forty-five by the time I got back to the boat, I did six sets of chin-ups on the rear spoiler and six of close stance diamond push-ups, all to failure. When I finished I rolled over onto my back on top of the engine cover, sucking in great lungful’s of air and watched the sun begin to rise.

Life was sweet, it’d treated me well, still I had earned it, most of the bashings and killings I’d done over the years had been for the business, though a few had been for my own preservation, or gain.

I’d been inside a couple of times, the last with Rod, Jim’s younger son, for the bashing of a bookie who tried to shonk big Jim, we should of killed the cunt instead of just giving him a hiding. Still, plenty of time for that later. Rod would be out on Friday, we’d go into town, get on the piss, rock up to Albion Street, or the Cross, and get a couple of girls and cruise back to the Lucky Lady for a few cones and or some lines of Okey dokey and an all-inner.

The sky began to clear as I sat up to watch the sunrise; it was a brilliant yellow ball, surfacing above the horizon. I always liked this time of day, especially after I’d trained, I had the feeling I’d accomplished something. I followed the sun’s rapid rise until the darkness had truly receded, then I climbed to my feet and unlocked the cabin and went below for a shower.

I sat at the table eating a beaut brekkie of eggs and toast, all fried up in a pan of butter and sipped my first coffee of the day, black as the ace of spades, I could feel the caffeine kick in, as I watched the news of Europe on Fox. Russia was still in deep shit, nothing new there. I’ll bet heaps of those poor fuckers wished the little old father was still pumping, Uncle Joe may have been a dead cunt, but the rest of the world were shit scared of him. No way anybody would’ve dreamt of ripping him or his beloved Mother Russia off. Not like every man and his dog were doing these days, they’d have copped a visit to the Lubyanka, confessed to their sins after a heavy duty interrogation, that could last for months, then a seedy, speedy show trial and a sentence of between ten and twenty-five years for sabotage to the economy. You would do your time moving from one Gulag to the next out the back of bum fuck, in Russia’s enormous wilderness, the Taiga and or the Tundra of the Arctic Circle, cutting timber or mining coal, uranium, asbestos, gold or some other precious resource. I’m fucken’ sure there was no such government apparatus as work cover there to ensure safety in the Gulags. I drained the dregs of my cup and killed the television.

After pouring another coffee from the drip-filter pot I walked out back to enjoy a smoke. Sitting on the engine cover I lit up, drawing deeply on my smoke. The sun had climbed high in the sky and everybody was out and about. I was sitting there enjoying my coffee and durry when my phone rang.

I headed back downstairs for it. “Yo!”



“Yeah mate, listen you got that gear for me, bro?”

“You got the dollars?” I countered.

“Yes, mate.”

“Beauty, what about I meet you at your place, at say ten thirty. OK?”

“Great, I’ll see you then, mate.”

“Yeah righto, buddy.” I hit end and walked back out onto the aft deck. I checked my watch, I had a few things to do and plenty of time to do it in. I sat and smoked and sipped my coffee as I watched the early morning traffic on the water go by.


Turning the corner into Diamond Bay Road, I stopped outside the big mansion, whose garage I rented for a nominal weekly fee. I actually rented a few around Sydney as various hiding places, all in different names, something one requires in my line of business.

Sitting in my Holden ute I looked around for a few minutes, all seemed in order, so I hopped out and strolled up the driveway to the old garage that stood back from the street and unlocked and opened the roller door, walked inside and switched on the light. I had a quick look around; everything seemed untouched since my last visit, including the window in the back wall, which I’d previously covered in black plastic. I checked its lock, then retraced my steps back to the black beast, started it back up and reversed up the driveway and into the garage, climbed out and shut and bolted the door.

I unlocked the hard plastic cover over the ute section, it slid silently back on its hydraulic rams to the fully open position. Turning to the pile of furniture covered in a green tarp, I pulled it clear and took one chair, then another beside it, from under a medium-sized dining table, revealing a good sized hidey hole. I grabbed the two big green garbage bags from inside the hole and walked back to the ute. Dropping them both into the ute tray, I undid the yellow drawstrings on each and breathed in the gunja’s heady smell as I checked to make sure that the dope was OK. Once I was satisfied the gear was intact I retied both bags and grabbed hold of the rope attached to the plastic ute cover and pulled it down, closing and locking it. I replaced both chairs and recovered the furniture with the green tarp, then I walked over to the roller door and, removing a piece of black electrical tape I had covering a quarter-inch hole I’d drilled there, checked the immediate area, although my vision was limited it helped quell my paranoia.

Satisfied I unlocked and opened the roller door and kicked the ute in the guts and eased it out of the garage. Got out, switched off the light and relocked the roller door, before driving off.

Fifteen minutes later I pulled up in front of some units a hundred metres up from Rio’s old weatherboard house at the back of Clovelly. I repeated my usual observations, as I did of any area in which surveillance might occur. Content all was A-OK I locked and left the ute and, as I made my way back to Rio’s, I checked that the small seven-shot automatic was still secured in the waistband of my shorts.

I’d known Rio for years, him and I and Rod had gone through school together. His real name was Richard Wilkes, when we were kids of about eight or nine Richard, Rod and me and the gang, a heap of tin lids from Woollahra public school, who called ourselves the Woolla boys, were playing on a building site of a block of units, fucking about as kids do. We were jumping from one floor down to the next onto a pile of gyprock on the floor below. We’d been jumping for ages on the huge pile of shit we’d heaped together when fate reared its ugly head. Rio jumped and landed feet first onto a length of deformed rio steel bar, sticking out of the reinforced concrete floor. It went straight through his foot, blood pissing out of it. He had to have twenty-odd stitches internal and external and was left with a slight limp.

I walked up the driveway and mounted the steps to the small porch. As I opened the flyscreen door I saw the front door was slightly ajar, I called out first Rio’s name, then that of his live-in girlfriend Sandy. I got no answer and felt a shiver run up my spine as if someone had just walked over my grave, I instinctively put my right hand on the grip of the gun and pushed open the door with one foot as I freed the pistol, pulled back and released the slide and went through the door in a crouch.

The smell of discharged firearms and blood filled my nostrils. I found Sandy lying face down in a pool of blood and brain matter, her head turned slightly away from me, a small hole in the back of her head. I knelt beside her and scanned the lounge room, my senses stressed to the max, I got back up into a crouch and, stepping over Sandy’s inert body, looked down and saw that most of her face was blown away, revealing a gaping bloodied mess.

I didn’t stop to see any more and skirted around the lounge and made my way to the kitchen out back. I propped myself up against the wall next to the kitchen door and slowly snuck my head around the corner. I was met with the sight of Rio’s body slumped on the floor in a sitting position, feet out straight, his back against the far blood-smeared wall. I don’t know why, but I decided there and then that I was alone. I walked into the kitchen, still holding the pistol, though it hung down at my side and moved over to Rio. He’d copped one in the chest and another in the head, above the left eye, both small entry holes, but I knew the exit wounds, like Sandy’s face would be a much different story, hollow points had that effect on mere human beings. A silenced .38 revolver lay at his feet, as Rio sat there staring straight ahead into oblivion. There’d be no more laughs for my mate Rio, not on this fucking planet anyway.

I was standing there thinking about Rio, wondering why any low cunt would want to whack him, when I heard the first far off siren. And a flash of inspiration hit me, I’d been set up, some dog or dogs had topped Rio and Sandy just to finger me. I slipped the gun back in my waistband as I ran back through the house looking where I’d been and making sure that I hadn’t left any trace of my presence, when I remembered the front fly-screen door. I bolted for the door and, grabbing the bottom of my t-shirt, I leant around the frame and wiped the handle clean as the wail of nearing sirens increased in pitch. Then I spun around and headed for the back door, I’d never make it to my car without someone, if not the gendarmes, spotting me. I used the bottom of my t-shirt again, this time to unbolt the latch on the rear screen door and sprinted across the backyard, thankful that Rio was a greenie and had done his bit for the ozone layer and planted dozens of palms all over his property. This gave me plenty of cover from the neighbours as I tried to reach the back fence which I knew adjoined a small park and right of way.

I hit the five-foot high paling fence at a gallop and using both hands to assist my forward trajectory hurdled over and dropped down on the other side of the fence. I landed in a crouch and was glad to see the park deserted, as I made my way out of there and down the right of way towards the road that linked up with Arden Street.                                                                                                                                                                               

I hit Arden and began to walk North, waving at every passing taxi, thank fuck the fourth one stopped. I jumped in and gave him the name of Rio’s street, which by road was much longer than the short cut I’d just taken on foot.

The taxi turned the corner and I saw that already the street was packed with several cop cars, both marked and unmarked, and two ambulances. I hoped I had got back before the sniffer dogs turned up and got anywhere near my ute, although it wasn’t registered in my name, it was covered in my prints, also I didn’t want to lose the two bags full of pot.

It looked like I’d just got back in time, the cops appeared to be about to close the street off. I directed the cabbie, who seemed unfazed about all the activity in the street, up alongside my car, paid the fare and hopped out, hitting the button to deactivate the car alarm, unlocking it, I casually jumped in, fearful that the piggies would grab me at any moment. I was pretty well known by a lot of the Demons in Sydney, but fortunately it appeared they were all inside, probably pinching souvenirs, as only the general-duties’ boys were in the street, keeping the inquisitive away.

I started up and cruised slowly down the street, looking in the rear view I saw the GD’s moving about Rio’s front yard with rolls of blue and white crime-scene tape, I’d only just made it, by the hair of my chinny chin chin.

I pulled up at another of my hides, a garage in a block if units in Anzac Parade, Maroubra, just up from Fitzgerald Avenue, an old three-storey red brick job, built in the early seventies. I rented the garage from an old piss head I knew through another bloke, who could use a quid, he’d lost his licence that many times for drink driving and driving whilst disqualified, he wasn’t due to get his brief back until the year 2025, but I reckon he’d be well and truly brown bread from the grog by then.

I performed my usual security procedures, unlocked the roller door and backed the ute in, after relocking the garage door, I grabbed the smoko and dumped it in some big cardboard boxes I had stored under a large sky blue plastic sheet. I didn’t have a hole drilled in the door, it would’ve stuck out like the proverbial set of dogs’ balls, but once in awhile you had to have a punt.

I unlocked and lifted the door, drove the ute out, retraced my steps extinguishing the light before I relocked the garage door, hopped in the ute and fucked off.



 Click on the cart below to purchase this book:                 


All Prices in Australian Dollars                                                                    CURRENCY CONVERTER

(c)2013 Zeus Publications           All rights reserved.