by Ray Smithies
‘It looks and functions exactly the same way as the remaining two cubicles,’ reassured Bradbury.
‘Then how do you gain entry?’
‘By way of a concealed trapdoor. When the toilet bowl is rotated anticlockwise the floor collapses in front giving way to a descending staircase, which is why the excessive depth of each cubicle.’
‘Very ingenious and possibly the most unlikely place anyone would consider looking,’ said Marlow.
‘Yes, a clever and inconspicuous concept,’ agreed Bradbury.
‘Okay, enough about bloody toilets for a while,’ said Marlow. ‘For the moment we need to decide on the fate awaiting our four prisoners. I want Ferret, Schmitt and Templeton taught a lesson that will serve as a reminder to those who dare challenge and expose the Scorpio organisation. Instruct Morgan and Charlie to do with them as they wish.’
‘Do you think that’s wise, given the high presence of the media and constabulary?’ questioned the more cautious regional head.
‘To hell with them! There’s already been enough damage so a bit more to whet the appetite won’t hurt, and besides, I want to leave a loud and clear message for the Traffik boss to stop meddling. If the media want their story, then bloody hell we’ll give them something to rock the foundations of Pedley! Their punishment must shock all parties concerned, but it has to be carried out after the carnival has concluded.’
In this sort of mood no one dared question the Keeper’s motives, for his word was law and ultimately best left to run its course.
‘And what fate awaits Brigit O’Neil?’ asked the Piedpiper, who then realised it was probably an inopportune time to raise the issue, given Marlow’s mood.
‘According to your diagnoses, the girl has not harmed the syndicate and was never privy to classified information. She’s currently a liability to the operation, but it would be unjust to apply any form of punishment given her apparent innocence. She’s simply a victim of circumstances. I suggest she remains in her cell until further notice, but give her some spoils to lessen the burden of confinement,’ the Keeper instructed.
‘Very well, we’ll make her stay a tad more comfortable,’ replied the Piedpiper.
‘Another matter that’s played on my mind is the whereabouts of this evasive third entrance,’ declared Marlow. ‘What concerns me is, if anyone hits on the idea we have a further problem to deal with.’
‘But the general public’s of the opinion this network is only a fabled story,’ said Sol.
‘Nevertheless, we can’t afford to be lackadaisical about the matter.’
‘Agreed,’ said Bradbury.
‘Who in Pedley is likely to know of the underground?’ Marlow asked. When the question drew blank faces he said, ‘Perhaps a newspaper editor who has written some relevant article, or an elderly citizen who chooses to hold onto the secret in fear of some reprisal by the masses?’
‘I cannot think of one individual,’ volunteered the Piedpiper.
‘Keep focused on the possibilities and report to me if you suspect anyone.’
‘Certainly.’
‘Finally, the southern leg of our organisation. I’ve decided to reduce stock levels to thirty percent below reserves, so in the short term the logistics operation will be concentrated upon consignee distribution. These clients will need to understand that deliveries won’t be as frequent as they would like, at least until the hype from these recent events subsides. To operate at maximum transport capacity will only attract unnecessary attention as well as run the risk of exposing the storage facility. Incoming consignments will be temporarily frozen until I believe the time is right to recommence with additional orders. Are there any questions?’
‘How long do you anticipate the hold on incoming supplies to be?’ asked Bradbury.
‘How long is a piece of string, Neville? God knows. However long it takes to consider the movements as being undetectable. For the moment any additional stock that was destined for Pedley will be handled via the city. This of course is only a short-term measure. Anything else?’
Choosing not to challenge Marlow’s contradictions or inconsistencies, the Piedpiper nonetheless thought that the punishments awaiting Ferret and the Traffik duo would only prolong the southern operational recovery, contrary to Marlow’s insistence about it being only a temporary measure.
With no response the Keeper called the meeting to a close. He felt an early night was in order following the activities of the day. His return helicopter trip was scheduled for an eleven o’clock departure in the morning. Victor Marlow’s obsession for scorpions had always been accepted -reluctantly - by those amongst the fraternity. He often defended the misunderstood creature, claiming that of the fifteen hundred known species, only around thirty or so had a sting potent enough to be dangerous to humans. Occasionally he would release certain members from their cages and allow them to roam free amidst the confines of his city office. He particularly enjoyed the spectacle at feeding time, often releasing grasshoppers, crickets and ground spiders on the carpeted floor and waiting for the inevitable. These breeds were generally non-poisonous, but a small bottle of antivenin always sat conspicuously on a nearby shelf to reassure others who mistakenly ventured in about some unrelated matter. Stupid fools, he often thought. They had no respect for these creatures.
Thus the syndicate’s name of Scorpio came to be. Marlow’s fixation wouldn’t allow it any other way. Lump it or like it, the scorpion insignia was here to stay. Throughout the years he continued to accumulate the unique and rarely sought-after species. Like trophies on display, the collection was his pride and joy.
Amongst the vast selection, two scorpions were notably Marlow’s favourites. This pampered duo regularly travelled the country with the drug lord and Pedley was always blessed by their esteemed presence. Affectionately called Salt and Pepper, the pair often caused anxiety when released from their cages. Pepper, a sizeable twenty-centimetre male African emperor, was so named due to his shiny black body. His formidable appearance was intimidating, given his massive pincers and thick robust body and tail. Contrary to the emperor’s gruesome look, the sting from a Pandinus imperator was mild, causing only localised pain which subsided after a few minutes.
By contrast, Salt was a unique specimen and had cost the Keeper a great deal of money. She was a North African white albino Androctonus mauritanicus and quite a rare find. Having an overall length of around ten centimetres, she appeared considerably less dangerous than her larger black counterpart. To the ignorant or foolhardy it was unquestionably the threatening Pepper to best avoid. A sting from an Androctonus could be potentially deadly. Marlow carried the antivenin with the deceptive Salt in mind. Failure to act promptly would result in a severe attack on the central nervous system. Additionally, nausea, vomiting and convulsions would soon be apparent. Although death was considered rare, it was generally the result of respiratory failure several hours following the sting.
Marlow’s bizarre behaviour regularly unnerved his subordinates, with one noticeable exception - Brad Morgan. To some extent Morgan shared his superior’s passion for the feared scorpion, but with very different reasons in mind.
On this particular evening he had become bored and was moping around the underground. His exclusion from the Keeper’s earlier meeting had fuelled his restless mood. He was in need of stimulation and preferably of a sinister nature. The psychopath had lain low since the Molly Bloom fiasco and his appetite to satisfy the need was growing at an alarming rate.
At one am and quite alone, Morgan decided to retrieve the two scorpions with the intention of traumatising the Traffik pair, who were held captive in cell five. With the caged Salt and Pepper in hand, together with the bottle of antivenin, he stepped forth in the direction of the unsuspecting captives. A turn of the key prompted a reaction from within. Morgan could hear the distinct sound of a reshuffle of feet and a low muffled groan coming from one of the prisoners. He entered the chamber, having left Salt and Pepper conveniently beside the passa
geway door.
Klaus Schmitt and Dean Templeton were still tied to their respective pillars, and the masking tape still covered their mouths. Their captive state couldn’t have been better for Morgan’s intended theatrical performance.
‘Schmitt and Templeton,’ Morgan said. ‘Trust the five-star accommodation is to your liking? The room service here is impeccable. I suggest you buzz for lobster and preferably wash it down with a bottle of ‘97 Pinot Noir.’
The Traffik pair glared at Morgan’s ridiculous proposition.
‘What’s that? Yes, how silly of me. You’re both tied up and can’t reach the service bell. I daresay the hand-fed method is out of the question since you were blessed with no mouths. Never mind, where there’s a will there’s a way. I’ll arrange to have room service feed you the intravenous way.’
The psychopath began to circle his prey, stopping occasionally to prod away at various body parts. Reaching for the knife in his back pocket, he ran the ominous blade across Templeton’s cheek. He applied sufficient pressure to just break the skin and blood dripped to the bluestone floor. He was enjoying the obvious dominance and sadistic pleasure of the moment.
His concentration was momentarily distracted by Schmitt’s futile attempt to free himself. Twisting and shaking, Schmitt tried desperately to create some slack in the rope but it was bound tightly around his wrists and secured to the rear of the pillar. The task was impossible and the Traffik felon finally conceded his predicament.
The psychopath’s reaction was one of obvious delight.
‘You’re fortunate I haven’t got an anaconda wrapped around those wrists. With every attempt of resistance an anaconda’s grip invariably tightens. Now what should I do with you? Perhaps call upon our resident piranhas so I can hang a skeleton in the corner for those tiresome anatomy classes?’
Schmitt’s eyes were bulging in terror as Morgan made his approach with the intimidating knife. He ran the blade across the man’s forearm, producing two parallel lines about one hundred milimetres long. Then he made two more lines in the opposite direction to create a crossover effect. Blood seeped, prompting Morgan to reach for a dry rag. Following each consecutive wipe the psychopath began playing noughts and crosses on Schmitt’s arm. The Traffik captive stared in disbelief, unable to move his arm from the offending Morgan. Unlike the ease of inserting a cross, the noughts were proving a tad more challenging from the tip of blade. Morgan continued with his madness, cursing the blood for spoiling a good game. Finally he captured three consecutive crosses and with a triumphant yell he ran the blade through the victorious path.
‘There, I knew the crosses would win, they always do! I feel in the mood for another game, but this time it’ll have to be the other arm since I don’t have an eraser.’ Morgan roared, overjoyed at seeing the horror etched upon his captives’ faces.
The Traffik pair shrank in horror at the thought of Morgan’s blade repeating the insane performance.
‘Perhaps not. I’d rather play with Salt and Pepper anyway.’
Schmitt and Templeton looked to each other with puzzled expressions. Were they about to partake in some late-night meal?
‘I hope your feet don’t smell,’ Morgan said to his perplexed prisoners.
Both men glared at their captor as if their ears had deceived them. They couldn’t fathom the connection between feet and salt and pepper. Understandably they feared some sinister intent was about to manifest itself. The Scorpio antagonist deliberated for a moment, enjoying the confusion his comment had brought.
‘I need to take off your socks and shoes. Your feet need to breathe in the night air. To aerate your toes will do you the world of good.’ Morgan commenced the task of exposing the men’s lower extremities.
He then briefly left the room to the surprise of the Traffik pair. They now both stood upon the cool bluestone in bare feet, wondering what purpose this little charade could possibly serve. Within two shakes Morgan re-entered the room carrying something that was draped by a large cloth. It conveniently camouflaged the mysterious contents from the prying eyes of his captives. He placed the object in the centre of the chamber, some two metres from the two prisoners, and gave his dumbfounded audience the following instruction.
‘Please keep your legs together and as straight as possible while I tie them to the pillars.’
Further panic and anxiety was evident as the two men struggled against their existing restraints. Why the bare feet? And now to have their legs bound as well. What had this madman in mind?
‘Now now, it can’t be all that bad,’ taunted Morgan, trying to maintain a hold on the uncooperative legs. The task was proving to be unnecessarily difficult and he let fly with callous swipe. ‘If you don’t keep still I’ll cut your balls off and turn them into marble bags for the local kids!’ he screamed.
The Traffik pair immediately ceased resistance, not wishing to have their private anatomy tampered with. Their captor looked insane enough to carry out such an act.
‘That’s better,’ he acknowledged, completing the last reef knot.
The two men stood rigid, feeling highly vulnerable. They now wondered what fate awaited them.
Morgan seemed more at ease now and actually raised a smile at the misfortune of his adversary. He continued with the dramatics.
‘I’m excited. I feel in a good mood now. Tell me, what did the salt say to the pepper?’
With predictably no response, Morgan let fly with the punch line.
‘Season’s greetings!’ he bellowed, accompanied by a raucous laugh.
The unpredictable mood of the psychopath then suddenly swung to a more subdued and serious tone. He returned to the centre of the chamber and, like a magician about to perform his alluring act, lifted the cloth to expose the caged scorpions. The sight of these two arachnids drew instant fear. The two captives recommenced their struggle against the rope’s stranglehold.
‘Gentlemen, I give you Salt and Pepper, our famed imported African duo. No prizes for guessing who’s who, though,’ said Morgan wearing a crazed smile.
With the aid of a nearby cane he opened the respective cage doors, much to the horror of Schmitt and Templeton. They were now at the mercy of these predators.
‘Perhaps I should explain that scorpions are nocturnal creatures that hunt crickets and beetles and possess an attribute called idle curiosity. Human feet, I daresay, should get their interest, wouldn’t you agree?
‘Our little game should prove interesting since only one scorpion is potentially deadly. The other will leave a localised pain, which will disappear after a few minutes. But which one is best to avoid, I wonder. Salt or Pepper? If you believe your foot has been stung then expect the symptoms to include drooling, slurred speech, tingling, perhaps a swollen tongue and don’t overlook trouble in focusing your eyes. I’m sure there’s more, but I can’t remember it all.’
The two scorpions had by now departed their cages. The staked captives tried desperately to loosen the tightly bound rope surrounding their calves but the attempt proved useless. The secured reef knots refused to budge.
Pepper, perhaps the most adventurous and curious of the pair, had begun his travels toward the toes of Klaus Schmitt. He stopped half a metre short as if surveying the area. Schmitt was nearly beside himself as the large shiny black creature reared his intimidating tail, reminiscent of a submarine periscope ascending ocean waters. His agile body moved across the bluestone surface with relative ease. Those two massive pincers were uncomfortably close. The terrified man groaned beneath the masking tape.
Pepper progressed to the base of Schmitt’s feet, his claws seemingly investigating an unusual prey. The scorpion applied no pressure from his pincers as he ambled around the base of the foot. Deciding no threat was apparent he climbed on the captive’s toes, stopping momentarily to study the contour of his find. Sweat poured from Schmitt’s forehead and he believed the inevitable was about to happen. The creature began to climb and circle his ankle in search of prey. Unable to control the s
ituation any longer, Schmitt made the fatal mistake of allowing his emotions to cause a sudden reaction. The resultant movement compelled Pepper to inflict his dreaded sting.
Schmitt immediately felt a tolerable soreness. The intensity of pain increased. His muffled scream from behind the tape surprised even Morgan with its forceful loudness. But Schmitt was fortunate. The sting from an African emperor could only inflict a mild poison and antivenin would never become an issue. The psychopath decided to allow nature to take its course and have his adversary fret over the possible consequences. After all, Pepper’s assault was not life threatening and there would be no lasting side effects.
Morgan’s attention was now directed toward the smaller, more cautious albino. The less aggressive and more docile Salt had by this time travelled some two metres from her cage. Unlike her counterpart, she took a less direct path, stopped and retraced her steps. The behaviour of the white scorpion was unpredictable. As if drawn to the movement of Dean Templeton’s foot, the albino commenced her curious approach toward this mysterious source. The captive, sensing the scorpion’s interest, produced an equally loud noise from beneath his masking tape.