Something that not many people know about Big Hutch is that he's a keen researcher of Aztec religion and mythology. Many an evening I've spent in his company as he's sat with a glass of fine cognac in hand, regailing me in tales of his adventures excavating the ruins of the Mesoamerican pyramids of Puebla, or his days as a cabin boy on a fishing trawler on Lake Texcoco.
After years of dedication to the ancient laws and ethics of the Aztec lands, these past couple of weeks must have seen Hutch cursing Tlaloc, the Aztec god of rain, for our man's stay in Sydney has been blighted by persistent showers.
Such is Hutch's disgust, he's hatched plans to leave not just Sydney, but the entire continent, vowing only to return once Tlaloc has lifted his drizzly hoodoo.
Following victory in a high stakes backstreet game of craps in China Town, Hutch has commandeered an old Nazi seaplane and plans to make his escape across the Southern Ocean in the next day or two. He will be joined by a small Asian boy that he has come to affectionately refer to as Short Round.
When asked if he thought Hutch's renegade plans were nuts, Short Round would only say:
"He no nuts, he's crazy!"
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