Scorpio's Lot

by Ray Smithies

  ‘So, to what do we owe the pleasure?’

  ‘There’s a delicate and serious matter to discuss,’ I said. ‘I’ve come here tonight as a relative and friend who’s very concerned about everyone’s safety. Helen, it’s very difficult for me to know where to start because you’re not aware of all the facts.’

  Helen frowned. ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘I believe this would be best handled if I could just have a quick word with Brigit first.’

  Helen appeared agitated and grudgingly left the room.

  ‘Brigit, I believe your life is in danger from the same people that instigated Jake’s murder.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’

  ‘I’m deadly serious.’

  ‘But how can you be so sure?’

  ‘I have my source.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘That I can’t divulge. I was told in strict confidence.’

  ‘This is bloody ridiculous!’ she protested.

  ‘The delicate side of the matter is telling Helen about your drug involvement. She needs to know because this is where your danger lies.’

  ‘Is there any way we can avoid telling her?’

  ‘Afraid not, she must be told in light of what I’m about to tell you both.’

  ‘Well, Tom, it’s my decision and I prefer not to.’

  ‘Brigit, you don’t understand. Your life is far more important than your pride.’

  ‘All right then, but your story better be convincing, otherwise you’re history.’

  Brigit called for Helen’s return and once she was seated I asked them both to try and listen without interruption and not be too hasty in jumping to conclusions. There would be plenty of time for questions afterwards.

  I began with the cliff incident, giving an account of the suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of Jake Reynolds. With sufficient evidence to suggest foul play, it was also reasonable to assume the intended target was undoubtedly Jake himself, given his predicable morning route. There was enough evidence to suggest that the perpetrator was part of the local drug syndicate and Jake had stumbled across something highly incriminating to their organisation.

  ‘Tell me, Brigit, did Jake ever mention what he’d uncovered?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘For reasons I’ll explain later, it’s this very point that places your life in danger, I’m sorry to say.’

  I continued to relate the events of this past week, drawing attention to Brigit’s role in the local drug trade. I chose my words cautiously, being careful not to create a scene between the women, and pointing out that it was marijuana being sold to the young ones and not heroin. Helen sat with her eyes bulging, barely controlling her anger. To her credit she remained in her seat without jumping up and throwing a tantrum.

  ‘I have it on good authority the men in this local drug syndicate are a ruthless lot and without hesitation will go to extreme measures to protect their investment. What you need to consider is the high probability that Jake was privy to a crucial piece of information, which ultimately led to his death. Following the incident on Thursday night he went to the police station and reported the matter to Sergeant Burke. Unfortunately Jake couldn’t or wouldn’t elaborate on what he’d overheard, except to make reference to some underground network and the distribution of drugs.’ I looked at Brigit. ‘We need to assume this organisation is of the belief that Jake had told you and you’re now seen as a threat to their operation. What makes the circumstances different from Jake or anyone else is that you’re employed by the syndicate and for that reason alone they need to act cautiously in determining your fate.’

  ‘Tom, you’re scaring me,’ said Brigit.

  Ignoring the emotions, I continued to search for answers. ‘Was Jake ever involved in drugs?’

  ‘Never. He even disapproved of those in his sport who were taking certain drugs to enhance their performance.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of this so-called underground network?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Jake know of your involvement?’

  ‘Hell, no! If he did it would’ve been the end of our relationship.’

  ‘With regards to your role in all this, do you have names and descriptions of these people, and was there a regular meeting place where you carried out the exchange?’

  Brigit told her story focused in my direction only, ignoring the gestures and sighs coming from Helen. Brigit explained the intended rendezvous was always chosen at random and only one person from the syndicate ever made the exchange. He was a person of large build, around six feet tall and called himself Charlie. Their meetings were always held at night and he wore heavy dark clothing and a large rimmed hat that made it near impossible to see the man’s features.

  ‘Brigit, I cannot believe you are dealing in drugs!’ said Helen, unable to contain herself any longer.

  ‘Look, you know I haven’t had a job for some time so this has become my income. I’ve got to live, damn it.’

  ‘But schoolchildren, for goodness sake! Are you out of your mind?’ snapped Helen.

  ‘For God’s sake, give me some credit. At least I’m not an addict,’ retaliated Brigit.

  ‘Will you two cut it out,’ I intervened, trying to regain some order. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to focus on the problem.’

  ‘As I see it, we need to phone the police,’ reasoned Helen.

  ‘I’ve already spoken to Detective Forbes, the man in charge of the case, and highlighted these dangers. He seemed reluctant to do anything, claiming my remarks were only speculation. I asked for police protection but he could only offer random patrols, saying that lack of resources prevented any full-time surveillance.’

  ‘If what you’re telling us is true, then random calls are hardly an acceptable level of protection,’ Helen added.

  ‘I see two alternatives, Brigit. Either a trip to the police station or we hide you from these fiends and quickly.’

  ‘Hide me? Where do you have in mind?’ said Brigit.

  ‘Let me explain. I’ve discussed the matter with Emily, who doesn’t object to hiding you in one of our caravan sites for a while. We can spread the news around town that you’ve gone away to convalesce for a while.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Helen said. ‘I still say the police are the only sensible choice -’

  ‘What, and risk Brigit being caught when they’re not around.’ I interrupted.

  ‘Tom, do you think this is really necessary?’ Brigit said. ‘I mean, it sounds a bit dramatic and –‘

  ‘Shush!’ I whispered, cutting Brigit short. ‘I think I heard a sound coming from outside the house.’

  There was immediate silence. We heard the smoldering logs from the open fire, then the faint sound of footsteps on a bricked footpath. Helen clutched Brigit’s arm. Someone was out there pacing the length of the path. This two-storey house seemed solid enough and forced entry would take some effort, given the doors were supposedly locked and metal shutter blinds were fitted to all exterior windows.

  Then we heard more footsteps in from the opposite direction. Could there be a second person? But then I realised the one set of steps were pacing up and down the same path.

  More silence, and I could see both Brigit and Helen were scared. The look on their faces suggested the syndicate was about to carry out their evil deeds. Was the news I had just given them about to become reality or was it just my imagination? A louder noise coming from the other side of the house made everyone jump. This time the distinctive sound of metal pounded against my eardrums. It now appeared there were two people hell bent on entry. What was going on out there? Were they pulling down a section of roof spouting? Then it suddenly occurred to me that they were trying to force entry by demolishing one of the window shutters.

  Helen whispered, ‘We need to hide in the cellar.’

  ‘Why the cellar?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s a cleverly concealed entrance which mi
ght be our saving grace. The bookcase that runs along the wall in the hallway actually has an entry door leading to a cellar beneath the foyer. You’d never know its whereabouts unless shown.’

  ‘How strange, why would anyone go to all that trouble?’

  ‘I’ve often thought of that and could only conclude this house was probably built by some eccentric who wanted to protect his prized wine collection.’

  ‘We’ll go to this cellar of yours as a last resort. For the moment I need to know what’s happening outside. They’re probably assessing the place to work out how to gain entry.’

  ‘Will you two shut up? I’m trying to listen,’ Brigit intervened.

  Silence reigned again. We heard no footsteps now and the disturbing metallic sound had stopped. Everybody was tense. The three of us stood motionless in the lounge room in anticipation of some further sound. The wait seemed like eternity. I’ve got to do something, I thought. But what? I was becoming desperate and frustrated, for I knew the women were depending on me.

  ‘There’s no good in just standing and waiting around for something to happen. I’m going upstairs to check things out just in case there are noises coming from the roof. Helen, I need to know where your ceiling manhole is located.’

  ‘Just outside the bathroom and toilet, but why would you need to know that?’

  ‘If these guys decide to come through the roof and are carrying torches, they’re likely to enter via the manhole rather than smash their way through the ceiling. I want you two to stay together while I’m upstairs. I won’t be long.’

  I climbed the staircase carefully, hoping these thirty steps or so wouldn’t creak and give away my ascent. I paused on the landing and listened, but no sound greeted me. I cautiously walked toward the bathroom door, looking up to see if the manhole cover had been removed. It still sat perfectly flush with its surrounds. So far so good, I thought. No forced entry, so what next? I checked the bathroom and three bedrooms - as expected I was totally alone on this level.

  The unexpected sight of a baseball bat leaning against the back bedroom wall was too tempting to dismiss. I reached for the sporting club, believing it at least provided a means of defence, and perhaps a weapon if the occasion arose. It was time to go back down. Helen and Brigit would undoubtedly be anxious for my return.

  When I reached the bottom of the staircase Helen made an obvious and predicable remark. ‘I see you’ve found my baseball bat. Good thinking, it might prove useful.’

  There was a sudden thumping on the front door as the intruders tried to break in.

  I had had enough. I reached for the landline in the passageway. ‘I’m calling the police.’ But when I picked up the handpiece I could hear no dial tone. Realising the line had been cut I retrieved my mobile. I dialed 000 and waited for the connection. On hearing ‘Emergency, how can we help you?’ I explained our predicament, gave the address and urged an immediate response.

  The unruffled and straightforward reply simply stated, ‘The police will attend to your situation very soon’. The line went dead.

  When I related the words to Helen and Brigit, Helen bellowed, ‘Very soon! How long is very soon?’

  ‘Immediately would be my guess,’ I replied to ease Helen’s anxiety.

  The noise coming from the front door had ceased. The solid hardwood entrance had proven to be a formidable obstacle. Silence had been reinstated and an uncomfortable waiting period followed. How long would the police take? The short-lived lull was again interrupted by a mighty pounding upon the rear door. Helen and Brigit screamed. The laundry door was distinctly more vulnerable than its front counterpart and I knew it would take only a short time for the intruders to break entry.

  ‘Bloody hell, these people are determined! Where are the police?’ shouted Helen.

  ‘It’s been two minutes since the call,’ I said. ‘We can’t simply wait around for the inevitable. It’s time we made a run for it. My car’s out front.’

  ‘But Tom, these bastards could be out the front as well,’ said Brigit.

  ‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take. I’d say our chances are better than relying on the police to arrive before they break through the back door. I’ll go first. If something happens to me go straight to the car. It’s unlocked and there’s a spare key in the glove box.’

  I cautiously opened the front door. Helen and Brigit kept close behind. There appeared to be no immediate threat. We proceeded through the opening, still hearing the commotion from the rear of the house. Stepping from the verandah onto a bricked footpath, the sudden appearance of a second intruder came as a shock. He was dressed in a long coat and wearing a rimmed hat. It was impossible to identify him. His manner was aggressive and intimidating.

  Yelling obscenities, he came toward me with what appeared to be a dagger. I yelled at the women to continue toward the car. I raised the baseball bat, my pose similar to that of a striker about to hit a home run. The man approached, waving his weapon and taunting me. He then lunged with his knife and missed. My swing was equally ineffective. The man turned to attempt a second assault. I was ready for his attack. The southpaw commenced a series of short jabbing lunges, sneering as his knife cut into the night air. I waited patiently for his actual strike. He then charged, yelling as he rushed forward. I swung the bat, hitting him on the arm that held his weapon. He let out a painful scream, dropped the knife and clutched his injured limb.

  Not waiting for the assailant to regain his composure I made a dash for the car. Upon reaching the driver’s seat I could see the other man had arrived in the front yard, obviously attracted by his accomplice’s screams. Helen and Brigit sat nervously in the back seat.

  I fumbled with my bunch of keys and finally, with the correct insertion, prayed like hell the cold motor would start on the first try. Nothing. I turned the key a second time but again no sound. Looking back, I could see one of the men running across the front lawn and actually reaching the car as the motor ignited on my third attempt. Fortunately Helen and Brigit had had the good sense to lock their doors, but my situation was about to take a turn for the worse. The assailant wrenched open my door before I could take off. Now exposed to his mercy I took my foot off the accelerator and let fly with my right leg, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards onto the asphalt road.

  Five minutes had transpired since the emergency phone call and still no sign of the police or the sound of an approaching siren. ‘What’s taking them so long,’ I muttered to myself. To make matters worse the second man had now arrived, and with the rear door proving impossible to open he let loose a frenzy of repeated kicks against the door panel, screaming obscenities as he continued his assault. The women had become hysterical. I repositioned my leg upon the accelerator and floored the pedal as the assailant’s knife flew through the door opening, weaving its path between my shoulder and the steering wheel. Thrown with such force the blade became embedded on the dashboard above the glove box, causing a rapid vibration as it sat jammed in the synthetic dash.

  We had become mobile as I leaned across to close my door, and in seeing the first attacker climb to his feet, I let fly with the sound of screeching tyres and enough fumes to kill a flock of passing pigeons. We were finally on our way.

  In the rear vision mirror I could see the assailants climb aboard their 4WD.

  ‘Are you both okay in the back?’ I said.

  ‘As well as can be. Bloody hell, Tom, just get us out of here!’ yelled Brigit.

  ‘We have a twenty-second lead,’ I said. ‘It’s not enough time to drive directly to the caravan park. The police station’s in the opposite direction and I have no intention of turning around. Somehow I need to create a diversion.’

  For a while I drove aimlessly through the streets with no real purpose as to route or direction. I had to shake off these guys, but how? Providing we kept to bitumen our chances of maintaining or increasing the distance was possible. It would be fatal to venture onto gravel roads, given our pursuers were aboard a Toyota Lan
d Cruiser.

  Brigit reached for her mobile phone and dialed 000. The recipient incurred a verbal lashing regarding the delayed response, which to my way of thinking now seemed irrelevant. Brigit continued with her punishing tongue, pointing out we were now being chased by these same hoodlums through the streets and outer perimeters of Pedley. Her directions were vague and confusing. It was ridiculous to expect the law to be able to find us.

  I yelled at Brigit to inform the authorities we were travelling east of the CBD and what our car’s make and number plate was. We would phone again if the thugs caught up.

  So the chase had begun that would not only test my driving skills but also the ability to lose them in the night. Diverting from a major thoroughfare, I randomly selected a side road and kept a vigilant eye on the rear vision mirror. I had no idea where this would lead us - it was more to establish if these hoons had spotted us.