Red light king and hardest man in Sydney slug it out . . . in court
Two of the Australian underworld’s most colourful characters are locked in a libel battle, and the nation is gripped, Philip Sherwell writes from Sydney.
Tom Domican has a message. The 76-year-old, Dublin-born fitness fanatic, who was once known as the hardest man in Sydney and has been cleared of seven murder-related gangland charges, is sick of being associated with the underworld.
‘‘It’s gone on for 30 years and I’ve had enough,’’ he says angrily (and with added expletives), hints of his Irish accent still evident after five decades in Australia. ‘‘It hurts me, it hurts my family and it has to stop.’’
The target of Domican’s ire is John Ibrahim, the son of Lebanese immigrants who rose from teenage bouncer to nightclub baron with an estimated $60 million property empire.
Ibrahim, 50, has written a bestselling memoir about his years as Sydney’s ‘‘playboy prince of darkness’’, recalling how he survived the bullets and blades of would-be assassins and dozens of police investigations, in the process earning the nickname ‘‘Teflon John’’.
In one passage in Last King of the X – a reference to Ibrahim’s involvement in the sleazy Kings Cross area of Sydney, renowned for neon-lit nightclubs, prostitution and drug-dealing – he wrote that he was told ‘‘people looking to get rid of me’’ had approached Domican.
He said Domican, whom he described as a veteran of turf wars over illegal gambling and the heroin business, ‘‘laughed off’’ the approach because he knew Ibrahim and his brother.
The portrayal has infuriated Domican. He has sued Ibrahim and the publisher, Pan Macmillan Australia, for ‘‘greatly injuring’’ his reputation, saying that the words carried the imputation that he was ‘‘willing to be hired to kill people other than the lbrahims’’ and ‘‘a violent criminal . . . in gang wars’’ and the drug trade.
Ibrahim and his publisher have responded in combative fashion. Pan Macmillan’s barrister told a court hearing that they would fight the case with a ‘‘truth defence’’ based on Domican’s alleged past exploits.
The lawsuit sets the scene for a gloves-off court battle that will resurrect a cast list of notorious criminal characters and incidents from the city’s gangland history. At its heart will be two colourful Sydney figures – who share a long record of beating criminal charges – asking a judge in a civil case to rule on questions of character, standing and alleged crime links.
‘‘I’ve only got a fine to my name – no convictions. I’m clean,’’ said Domican, who worked in the construction industry, as a boxing trainer and as a Labor Party organiser.
During repeated run-ins with the law in the 1980s he was cleared of charges of murder and five conspiracies-to-murder charges, but found guilty of one attempted murder – a gun attack on Dale Flannery, an infamous hitman known as ‘‘Mr Renta-Kill’’, who later disappeared. The conviction was quashed by the High Court after he had served six years in prison.
When it comes to Ibrahim, he is still pumped up. ‘‘Just read his book to see what type of character he is,’’ he says, though he deploys much stronger language. ‘‘What he wrote about me is outrageous. I’ve got no connection with the underworld or drugs, and I’ve never been a standover guy.’’
He proudly shows me a magazine article about his days as a kickboxing trainer, which describes him as the ‘‘hardest man’’ in Sydney. That is a compliment to his fitness and his demands as a trainer, he says, and carries no ulterior message.
The lawsuit pits two very different characters who have spent decades as media staples. While Domican has not strayed from his working-class roots, Ibrahim has used his fortune to build a flashy new mansion overlooking the Tasman Sea in the affluent suburb of Dover Heights.
He sports a perma-tan set off by his gleaming whitened teeth, and his gym-toned torso is accentuated by a scar running from abdomen to chest – the legacy of a stabbing outside one of his clubs.
Ibrahim also cites his unblemished criminal record after a teenage assault conviction. But the promotional material for his own book describes him as ‘‘Australia’s most notorious underworld figure . . . staying one step ahead of the cops, the outlaw gangs and hungry triggermen’’ and hails the memoir as a ‘‘crime saga like no other’’.
At a royal commission on police corruption, Ibrahim was described as the ‘‘lifeblood of the drugs industry of Kings Cross’’, but he has always denied any role in the narcotics trade. He paid $160,000 in an agreement with another crime commission that did not involve an admission of criminal activity.
His family certainly does not share his clean record. His three brothers are either in prison or facing charges for organised crime offences. And Sarah Budge, his glamorous companion, who recently secured a new modelling deal, is facing trial for possession of a loaded Glock handgun.
Ibrahim retired from the nightclub business three years ago, citing a clampdown on licensing hours that he said was the final nail in the coffin for Kings Cross.
‘‘I’m Mr Legit by now, but I’m definitely no saint,’’ he wrote. ‘‘In my occupation I inevitably cross paths with drug dealers, straight cops, crooked cops, crime syndicates, standover guys, kids targeting me with drive-by shootings and plastic gangsters who want what I’ve got, only without working for it.’’
His book, a swaggering account of business, sex, crime and violence, proved an instant bestseller and is on its sixth edition. It was nominated for the Ned Kelly award for crime writing – named after the Australian outlaw – and there are negotiations for a film spin-off. Domican is not one of its fans.
‘‘Everyone in Sydney is looking forward to Tom Domican staring down John Ibrahim in court, except book publishers, who are terrified record libel payouts are heading their way,’’ said Stephen Brook, a media commentator. – Fairfax
‘‘What he wrote about me is outrageous. I’ve got no connection with the underworld or drugs, and I’ve never been a standover guy.’’ Tom Domican