Mohammed Khan appeared before Magistrate Jeff Clarke on one count each of murder and interfering with a corpse.
Khan, who appeared composed in the docks, was represented by lawyer Grant Cagney and made no application for bail.
A woman and two children sat at the back of the court room with detectives, crying and motioning towards Khan at the end of the short proceedings.
It is believed the woman and children were Khan’s family.
Khan was remanded in custody to reappear on June 29.
The word on the Geebung street is that the weeping woman at the back of the Rockhampton court room is the reason that her husband Mohammed Khan is sleeping in a cold cell tonight, and that his best mate is headless and sleeping with the fishes forever.
The accused man Mohammad and the dead man that he is said to have murdered, Syeid Alam, were best mates, a pair of Rohingyan refugees who’d fled from the Buddhist Death Squads in south-western Myanmar (Burma) – never believe the hype that the karma crew are peace loving pacifists, it’s a crock of crap – and together had traveled over mountains and through jungles, across water and through wastelands, facing many dangers, toils snares along their path until the lifelong friends finally reached the promised land, and bent down to kiss the golden soil of the wide brown land.
For the first time in their lives those blokes had hope, and opportunity, and the prospect of reward in this their new home, the land of cut red tape, and lowered taxes – except on the poor of course, they cop double, but like many Australian’s still, the pair of pals didn’t know that at this early stage – for Tony Abbott didn’t stop their boat, and here they were, and their future shone bright.
The pair worked hard, taking any menial job they could find, no matter how hard or low paid, because they wanted to get ahead. They picked fruit, they scrubbed floors, they carted pallets on and off factory floors, whatever it took to earn a dollar Khan and Aled did it, seven days a week if they could.
Khan saved and scrimped and shaved his living costs until finally he had accumulated enough dough to bring his blushing bride over to join him in his new home down under, and after the usual 12 month bureaucratic rigmarole – Tony forgot to tell you that all that cut red tape tape was recycled and reused over at the Department of Border Control and Immigration – finally they were reunited, and began rooting like rabbits under the Rockhampton sun, for by this time the boys had hit the mother lode and scored a gig at the butchery in the Beef Capital, the local contract worker filled meatworks.
Regular cash was rolling in and the pair of pals were sitting pretty. Khan’s missus threw him a couple of tin lids, he had money in the bank, and his best mate Syeid was by his side. What more could a stateless lad from a war-torn want from life hey?
Just one thing.
You see, Syeid was doing the back door dog on his mate Mohammed. He had manipulated his roster so that he and Khan were on different shifts down at the slaughterhouse, and while Mohammed was on the killing room floor slipping the knife into stunned cows, his friend Alam was sticking the knife in his back and his dick into his mate’s missus.
How long had this flagrant breach of the fifth commandment of the Bunger rulebook been going on?
But it was always going to end badly. And now it has, and a cuckolded husband is said to have cut off his best mates head, and a woman sits in a courtroom crying, and all the hopes and dreams of everyone involved have turned to dust, and when you boil it down to its core its all because of a bloody root.
It’s a story as old as time itself, and there is nothing I can add to such a well known tale.
But I will say one thing, and give you a heads up.
In Geebung they would never have found the body, for the murky depths of Downfall Creek run deep, and the gentle winds that blow over the Bunger’s Zillman Waterholes tell no tales about beheaded bad-arse bastards who bonk their best mate’s brides.