by Ray Smithies
Believing the assassin had disappeared, my thoughts centred on the whereabouts of the Keeper and Piedpiper. But what was I supposed to be looking for? Burke had said that the Keeper probably exceeded his fifty years and the Piedpiper could possibly be some high-profile local figure. It’s like looking for a bloody needle in a haystack, I thought. Had this so-called document transfer already taken place? Who did I know in the community that had a high profile? Possibly Ben Johnson or Stephen Buchanan. Perhaps the pharmacist Simon Walters. I’m getting desperate, I thought. James Slattery knew a lot of people, but surely he was too young to be mixed up in this sort of business, and besides, the guy was basically a decent person despite his unpredictable ways. Certainly there were other candidates I knew less of, but it seemed ludicrous to consider any of them. Strong evidence would be required by law before I could go around town pointing my finger at someone. Understandably, defamation of character would become an issue in the absence of proof.
~ * ~
Marlow had decided Klaus Schmitt and Dean Templeton were to be removed prior to any document being transferred. A specific instruction was relayed to Neville Bradbury and Mick to take the Traffik duo to an awaiting car being attended by Charlie and Sol. The Keeper would now lay in wait until his order had been carried out.
Believing the present situation provided ideal opportunity, Marlow’s subordinates proceeded toward the unsuspecting pair. The crowd was currently absorbed with the parade and there was no immediate police presence to report. The men in violet were conveniently positioned to the rear of the spectators, making the task less conspicuous and easier for retreating. Approaching the pair from behind, Bradbury commenced his intrusion with a quiet but forceful command.
‘You have a gun with a silencer pointed at your back. Do as you’re told or I’ll pull the trigger.’
The men squirmed ever so slightly but maintained their unassuming stance with eyes focused directly ahead. The taller man of the two continued to grasp hold of the stuffed giraffe.
Bradbury continued his directive both calmly and deliberately. ‘Facing right, you’re to proceed at a steady pace toward the Esplanade Hotel on the corner. Upon reaching this intersection you’re to turn a further right and commence your descent down Williams Street until you reach a car park entrance. At this point you’re to stop and await your next order. We’ll be watching your every step, so should you decide to create trouble or make a run for it then you’ll get a bullet in your back. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes,’ replied the duo simultaneously.
The procession of rival syndicates commenced their march down Pitt Street. For Bradbury and Mick this stretch represented the most challenging part of the route, since the gathered crowd could provide opportunity for the Traffik pair to contemplate a quick diversion. Quite unexpectedly, the presence of two uniformed officers who seemed to be redirecting a section of the spectators suddenly fuelled the crisis. Bradbury wasn’t sure what next to do if the police decided to intervene.
‘I need you people to stop for a moment,’ ordered one of the officers, displaying his vertical palm.
Still maintaining their rear advantage, Bradbury leaned forward to his captives and whispered, ‘Move and you’re dead.’
The small contingent stopped as one.
Mick was literally shaking in his boots, but he had the good sense to stand behind and shield his nervousness from the Traffik pair. He was genuinely relieved to have Bradbury by his side to handle the situation. Two paramedics wheeling a patient parted the crowd as they came into view. The trolley circumnavigated the four men and continued on its path up Pitt Street. Bradbury looked down on an elderly man who appeared to have passed out.
‘You may proceed now,’ the same officer said to them.
Following a few anxious moments, the dubious foursome resumed their path down Pitt Street. Bradbury and Mick maintained their closeness, forever wary the Traffik pair would attempt to break free. After turning right into Williams the immediate observation was less daunting, for the side street was near deserted and a sense of urgency no longer prevailed. They now had a total grasp on things with the absence of the bustling public. A gravel path greeted the men as they descended abruptly toward a distant car park. Upon reaching the entrance Bradbury gave the order to stop while Charlie and Sol brought the car around. Their next destination was a ten-minute drive to the farm. Traffik’s payroll had been marginally reduced, so it would seem.
~ * ~
Having received clearance from his subordinates and with no apparent threat from Forbes and co, Marlow decided to press ahead and pass the incriminating document. Time was of the essence and it would be careless to become lackadaisical in the belief that Schmitt and Templeton were the only threat in close proximity. The envelope would have to be passed now and quickly. He proceeded steadily but cautiously toward the awaiting Piedpiper.
Within arm’s reach of the intended target, two women suddenly appeared from nowhere in a somewhat intoxicated and playful mood. Deciding to select one of the men at random, they picked Victor Marlow. He gave the impression he was a person of means and persuasion. They explained to him that their money had run out. Could he buy them both a drink? The confrontation drew ill-timed attention and somehow Marlow had to quickly decide on how to handle the unforeseen encounter.
Standing between the Piedpiper and the two freeloaders, he decided to tackle the situation in a conspicuous way. There was no point ignoring the fact, for the women had already made their intentions blatantly clear. He placed both hands in each coat pocket in search of two separate necessities. To the women’s left he knew this pocket contained some small valued notes and loose change, while to the Piedpiper’s right his hand held the envelope.
He then deliberately but cleverly gave the impression he had accidentally dropped the money on the footpath. His hesitation to retrieve the cash had proven to be a masterstroke in assessing human behaviour. Both women immediately crouched down to gather the notes and coins, drawing attention away from him.
Fully aware of Marlow’s intention to create a diversion, the Piedpiper had already taken possession of the envelope during the fiasco, which was now deeply buried in a side coat pocket.
With the transaction successfully completed, Marlow turned to the women and said, ‘There you are. I’m sure that’s sufficient to buy another round of drinks.’
‘Thanks, we’ll be at the Esplanade if you wish to join us,’ invited the one who had accumulated the most money.
With a slight nod of the head, Marlow knew it was his cue to leave and not be seen standing beside his regional head for longer than was necessary. In a passing gesture he added, ‘I’ll consider your offer, ladies.’
~ * ~
Attempting to gather his troops to check out the men in violet, Forbes appeared livid at the delayed response shown by his officers.
Peering through his binoculars from a third-storey building, Burke couldn’t help but be amused at the police behaviour from below. As a result of Harrison’s earlier sighting of the boat assassin, Forbes had directed his men to that side of the street, jaywalking through the parade as they attempted their crossing. With the men in violet now taking precedence, they were all ordered to return and again the obstacles of the street spectacular played havoc. He couldn’t decide which was more entertaining, the carnival procession or the police parade. If you didn’t know better you’d swear it was a Keystone Cops routine, thought Burke.
‘What in God’s name has taken you lot so long?’ Forbes protested.
Tired of his superior’s constant bickering, Parnell responded with a snipe at the pompous detective. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, it’s not exactly a stroll in the park crossing Pitt Street!’
‘Spread out and find these guys in dark blue or bloody violet!’ ordered Forbes. Any news on Bradbury, Buchanan or Johnson?’
‘We lost sight of Bradbury a little while ago. Buchanan and Johnson haven’t moved from their original spot since
the parade started.’
Forbes was unaware that his remaining surveillance would no longer produce any sightings. His principle target - the Keeper - had eluded him some five minutes earlier, but in fairness to the constabulary, he thought, the absence of identity amidst this sea of spectators was always destined for failure. He could now only contemplate what might have been.
~ * ~
With the passing of the last float heralding the conclusion of a successful parade, the traditional walk of the masses down Pitt Street had commenced. Reminiscent of the crowds converging on the straight following a Formula 1 Grand Prix, the mob was determined to maintain the festive party mode.
Still very much in the carnival mood herself, Emily turned to me and asked, ‘Tom, being such a beautiful day I’d like to wander around the carnival for a bit. We don’t have to return right away, do we?’
‘Of course not, Em. Let’s check out the displays and sideshows near the oval. Would you like to join us, Martha?’
‘Certainly. I’m in no hurry to get back.’
Departing the main street en route to the showgrounds, we weren’t alone on our short walk. People in their droves were heading in the same direction, each willing to participate in the local exhibits. Descending Williams Street, we crossed an embankment where the colour and sound of entertainment was enticing.
The buskers were out in force, each competing for and accumulating any loose change they could muster up from the passing crowd. There was no shortage of amusements for the young at heart, including a penny arcade and the traditional rotating clown heads. Children walked by devouring toffee apples and fairy floss and a Mad Max roller coaster provided many screams for the unexpected. We occasionally stopped upon hearing some loudmouth bellow out from a sideshow.
‘The world’s strongest man!’ called one.
‘Be shocked by the greatest freak show on earth,’ yelled another.
Fortune-tellers, magicians and jugglers typically and not surprisingly contributed to this avenue of second-rate exhibitions. A certain way to empty your wallet if you’re gullible enough, I thought.
At the end of this line of cons a large crowd had gathered, breaking out in periodical laughter and applause. Perhaps this was the curiosity show. As if it were a magnet, it drew a steadily increasing audience.
‘Better check this out,’ I suggested to Emily and Martha.
Standing amidst these spirited spectators, a stage stood before us complete with a overhead banner reading: BEAT THAT STORY - YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT IN LIFE. A compère holding a microphone welcomed all comers to approach the podium and deliver their story within five minutes. Each contestant would be judged by the crowd’s reaction, with a $100 prize awarded to the winner.
Some chap around thirty years, encouraged by his mates to step forward and deliver his humiliation, received an enthusiastic round of applause as he climbed on the stage. The compère introduced Jason to the crowd as he handed across the microphone.
‘First I must tell you all that I’m a constable in the police force.’
Wolf whistles and a few stirring Bronx cheers followed for just being a cop. His embarrassment then followed.
‘On this particular day I was dressed in full uniform but off duty. To assist my pregnant wife I volunteered to do the grocery shopping and had parked the family station wagon in one of those high-rise car parks. Following the supermarket runaround and returning to my car, I placed all the shopping bags to the rear of the wagon. Driving down the spiral exit I had only travelled some two levels when the contents from the shopping bags were being thrown in all directions. I decided to stop the car and rearrange the groceries so as to make them more secure.’
Jason stopped to acknowledge more cheers and then continued his story. ‘Having finished the task and shut the rear door, I couldn’t help but notice the queue of vehicles behind me, all waiting for me to recommence my descent. In full uniform I climbed back into the car. To my astonishment I discovered the steering wheel was missing. I tried to decide what next to do. It suddenly occurred to me that I was actually sitting in the back seat. In full view of the queuing vehicles I then transferred myself from the back to the front driver’s seat, amidst the sound of six car horns simultaneously blaring at my stupidity. The sight of a red-faced policeman was irresistible.’
Jason’s embarrassment drew a huge roar of laughter and I couldn’t help but wonder that no one would even think of doing something like this, let alone carry it out.
The time had come to leave the carnival for there were park duties to be finished, and besides, there would be a further two days of festive activity to be attended and enjoyed. Today the carnival had proven to be the best tonic.
We dropped Martha off on the way home, now both feeling a bit tired after all the standing and walking throughout the day. Whilst the elusive Keeper and Piedpiper may have eluded the men in blue, it did however, provide a break from the predicable and routine chores of the caravan park.
~ * ~
I
t was late afternoon when a certain envelope became apparent. Delivered to the outdoor mailbox at the Pedley Police Station, it was marked for the attention of Alan Forbes Esquire, strictly confidential. The dubious-looking arrival prompted the detective to call his team into the office to discuss the enclosure. This supposedly incriminating document had stirred the emotions for sometime and now the moment had arrived to disclose its contents.
Upon opening and reading the page aloud to his captivated audience, Forbes seethed at the impertinence shown by the southern drug boss. The detective’s normally pale face had turned a distinct shade of red, his plumpish body shaking with fury at the derogative message.
My Dear Detective Alan Forbes,
Your apparent inability to succeed in the noble art of detection was indeed our saving grace. As explained to my learned friend the Keeper, we held an unfair advantage due to the constabulary’s lack of conception in knowing our true identities. May I suggest that when next we meet, either or both of us has a name plaque like they do at airport arrivals so as to encourage fair play and sportsmanship.
Yours truly,
The Piedpiper of Pedley
PS. The attached is a list of Traffik personnel, whom are at your disposal.
‘The bloody insolence of the man!’ fumed Forbes as he glanced at the attachment reflecting the address details of five individuals.
‘I’ve heard of this Traffik organisation,’ Doyle claimed. ‘I suggest we phone Bailey who can provide further details via his database.’
‘I tend to agree,’ responded Forbes, who immediately dialed for the narcotics detective and placed the call on loudspeaker.
‘Graeme, as anticipated, the incriminating document has fronted at the station.’
‘Good, and the contents?’
‘A covering note and a list containing names and addresses of five Traffik members.’ Forbes recited the particulars.
‘Ah, the Traffik syndicate. I might have guessed,’ stated Bailey.
‘What can you tell us about their operation?’
‘Traffik is a relative newcomer to the industry that’s made considerable headway in recent years. Word is out they’re in pursuit of a regional stronghold as a means to both flourish and survive. Infiltrating these organisations is a near-impossible feat unless word of mouth is channeled in the right direction. In this instance the Scorpio organisation feels threatened, due to recently inherited circumstances and understandably they’ve taken steps to exploit their competitor.’
‘And the five names?’ prompted Forbes.
‘I’ve looked up my database and these individuals certainly match our records. Three such listings bear the names of the hierarchy, but their supreme head known as Indigo is excluded. The remaining two names are probably their drug distributors.’
‘Why Indigo?’
‘We assume it has something to do with the artistry behind the syndicate. Within the drug underworld Traffik is associated w
ith the colours blue and violet, which effectively means the colour of indigo. I’ve seen this transcribed on stationery and the like -’
‘Martino sighted two men at the carnival dressed this way,’ interrupted Forbes.
‘There you are. I’ve always maintained this form of advertising will be their eventual undoing.’ Bailey said. ‘And what became of these two men?’
‘Unfortunately they gave us the slip,’ responded Marsh.
‘Graeme, has narcotics ever investigated this lot?’ Forbes asked.
‘Certainly, but to no avail. They might as well be an accumulation of any names you wish to conjure up. There’s simply no traceability and I daresay the names are bogus anyway.’
‘What about the taxation department?’
‘No, already been down that path. The important breakthrough here is the list of addresses. I’ll have my men knock on some doors today.’