Scorpio's Lot

by Ray Smithies

  ‘We need to inspect this intersection again and see if there’s some telltale sign of a bygone well,’ Forbes acknowledged.

  ~ * ~

  It was just after two am when Arthur Simpson suddenly awoke and sat upright in bed. His dream seemed real enough as he gathered his thoughts. The articles he had read at Perkins Press in the city were playing on his mind. There had always been a vague recollection of the man they once called Lou Hanna and his ongoing run-ins with the authorities over drug deals and distribution. He was eventually sent to prison for his crimes and by and large the community had all but forgotten this individual over time.

  That was until now. Through his dream, the penny had finally dropped. This very same person was amongst them today, but under a different identity to enable an inconspicuous existence. The time lapse would have to be at least seventeen years, but Arthur was adamant the two were the same person. This breakthrough would be particularly useful if the same person was mixed up in drugs today. Had his dream identified the Piedpiper? It was a feasible deduction after all. His first port of call would be to inform Tom Harrison and Detective Forbes tomorrow.

  Additionally, Arthur Simpson’s persistence was about to pay off as he decided instead to focus on the underground network as opposed to returning to bed. In the confines of his living room, he painstakingly spent the next few hours playing with his three-pointed star on a street map.

  At daylight the phone rang, but Arthur chose to ignore the irritating sound. His overnight excitement in discovering the possible entrances overshadowed the nuisance of some intrusive phone call. Unbeknown to Arthur, it was Tom who had no choice but to leave a recorded message.

  Arthur rechecked his scribbled notes, then focused on what he considered to be the correct circle and positioning of the three-pointed star. The accumulation of all the clues tied in with his hypothesis. He was tempted to call Tom to break the incredible news, but decided instead on a walk to check if his theory was correct. After all, credibility was important. He didn’t want to be some ageing eccentric who just happened to get it wrong. It was now time to test the concept, but which of the three entrances would he explore first? Arthur decided on the remote site initially, given its location and the likelihood of fewer people.

  The morning stroll provided an overcast sky, but with the absence of rain. Arthur had decided on the use of an umbrella, not prepared to risk the unpredictable coastal weather. He had walked half the length of Finch Street and turned left at the intersection of Williams. The coastline was now close by and light rain was beginning to fall. A further block down and housing gave way to coastal scrub and a heavy accumulation of rock.

  Arthur looked at the map under the cover of his golf umbrella. He appeared to be in the right area. The rocky terrain was steep in places, and as he assessed the climb before him, he noticed at varying heights the rock formation provided a number of plateaus. For the young at heart it would be an excellent incline to ascend, but at Arthur’s age and with rain progressively becoming heavier, he decided on the safer route. From where he stood a gravel road could be seen on the top plateau amidst the jagged rocks. A car had just driven off, possibly discouraged by the worsening weather. Arthur commenced to climb the longer but less adventurous path.

  Now in his mid-eighties, the man had remarkable energy and will to succeed. Having successfully launched himself to the top following a fifteen-minute grueling climb, he paused for a moment to analyse his surrounds. The rain had turned the road before him into nothing more than a muddy track. Looking around he could see there was no shortage of rocks, ranging in size from pebbles to giant boulders. But where was this alleged entrance? he wondered. According to his calculations it had to be here.

  Arthur studied the ground and then the immediate rock arrangement to his left. The sheer dominance of these stone structures resembled large upright monolithic tablets about to topple over. Arthur was confident this had to be the site. He stepped closer to examine the unusual formation. Layers of rock tablets had effectively become the incline face. The stone fascia appeared granite-like but was thinly layered. It was an unusual phenomenon that Mother Nature had created and shaped over time.

  It was time to phone Tom and have him come over for a second opinion. Reaching for his mobile while carrying out a balancing act with the umbrella, he commenced dialing. Unexpectedly, Arthur then received a forceful instruction. The voice was strong and deliberate.

  ‘Stand still, do not turn around and throw your phone to the ground!’

  Arthur immediately obeyed the command, releasing his mobile to the mercy of the wet and muddy track. His body arched with this unexpected demand. He continued to hold the umbrella.

  ~ * ~

  That’s strange, I thought, reaching for my mobile. One missed call, the screen told me. I keyed for the return number knowing full well it was Arthur trying to reach me. I wondered what the old-timer wanted as I listened to the persistent ring go yet again to the recorded message. I would try again later. Not knowing Arthur’s whereabouts, I decided to contact Hamish instead.

  ‘Care to join me down at the central star well?’

  ‘Sure, Tom. I’ll meet you there in ten.’

  I was first to arrive at the Pitt and Williams intersection. While waiting for my Irish sidekick I thought a quick look around wouldn’t hurt. Traffic was steady but not overly busy at this time of day. I stared down Pitt Street, taking in the surrounding buildings and general road surface. Where in the bloody hell would a well once have stood? This intersection had been there for eternity. It was still in the same damn spot. I told myself to forget the present-day structures and tarred roadways for they were only distractions and camouflaged the precise location. Focus, I kept repeating to myself. There had to be some indication, no matter how trivial.

  Hamish appeared beside me. ‘You look angry, Tom, standing there glaring at everything in sight.’ He looked up at the sky and added, ‘Hope the rain holds off for a while.’

  ‘Frustrated is an understatement, Hamish.’

  ‘You’re going about it the wrong way, my friend. Taking in the total site is only confusing you. Get back to basics and try viewing a bit at a time.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Our strongest lead is the word alongside, is it not?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Alongside implies off-centre, so what do we have?’

  ‘You’re talking the bleeding obvious! Where’s all this heading, Hamish?’ I grumbled at his theatrics.

  ‘You miss my point. It’s highly probable the answer lies in one of these corners.’

  ‘But we’ve already looked at these corners umpteen dozen times, along with everything else and there’s nothing!’ I bellowed.

  ‘Not quite. I’ve spotted something that requires explanation. Look at each of the corners and tell me what they have in common?’

  I studied the four corners, wondering what Hamish was implying. ‘Certainly not the buildings ... can’t be the roads since Pitt Street is wider than Williams. The footpaths aren’t the same ... I give up, Hamish.’

  ‘You’re not very observant.’

  ‘Stop playing games!’ I fumed.

  ‘On the contrary, Tom, I’m deadly serious. The answer is in the traffic light poles. There’s one noticeable aspect,’ declared Hamish in a diplomatic tone.

  I stared at the lights as amber turned to red on Williams. I was still at a loss as to what Hamish meant. ‘What?’ I snapped back.

  ‘Why is one pole considerably lower than the other on the north side of Pitt Street?’

  Hamish was right. Although only a road crossing separated the two sets of lights and they were erected on level ground, it was clear there was an obvious difference that begged explanation. How clever of Hamish to spot this, I thought. Sizing up both poles that supported their respective traffic lights, the height variation must have been in the region of a metre and a half.

  ‘Well done, Hamish. I’ve been staring for ages and didn’t
twig. Sorry for my impatience.’

  ‘I just happened to notice the contrasting heights walking toward you. If you look closely at the respective footpaths, see how they both protrude at the corner intersection. Eliminate these protrusions and you’d be left with two traffic lights that would encroach on the roadway -’

  ‘And according to the article we read in the Advertiser, the well was removed because it was considered an obstacle that interfered with the passing traffic,’ I interrupted in my sudden rush of enthusiasm.

  ‘I’m excited!’ roared Hamish to the surprise of a passerby.

  ‘Don’t get too carried away, my friend. There are some enquiries to be made before we can lay claim.’

  ‘With whom?’

  ‘My guess would be with the council offices. I’m sure someone there could provide the answer, and if not, at least tell us the contractor who installed the lights. We’ll call in there tomorrow when I have more time.’

  ~ * ~

  Arthur Simpson had been blindfolded by the two men, whose identities remained concealed. Like it or not, he was about to experience the despised or intrigue world of the subterranean passageways. He trembled as he heard the mechanics closing the granite door behind him. Like Brigit’s ordeal before him, the use of camouflage had again taken on a reverse role. Gone was the black hood and he noticed his captors were now wearing balaclavas. Standing on the very platform that had greeted young Brigit, he peered down into the obscurity of the cellar darkness.

  On reaching the basement he stood and waited for his next instruction. He stared in disbelief at the sheer scale of the network that his great-grandfather had observed all those years back. The three men proceeded down the main arterial complete with a stench and dampness to deter Arthur’s welcome. The enormity of all these skulls compiled in receding chambers confirmed his belief that the underground had indeed been transformed into a subterranean cemetery.

  The tunnels dripped with unrelenting rhythm, to the point where all three men were forced to sidestep the persistent water droplets. Arthur’s immediate reaction was one of despair to be in what could only be described as a place from hell. He continued to take in all before him as they progressively entered wider passageways. The occasional terracotta and bronze artifacts stood erected on stone pillars, each depicting the elements of earth, fire, air and water.

  Then lights illuminated the tunnel, and the stench and condensation all but disappeared. The immediate surrounds became far more pleasant. Surprisingly, the submerged site offered a comfortable temperature despite the cold exterior of bluestone and granite. At the command of his taller captor, Arthur was suddenly instructed to stop beside a metal door and await further orders. Again he stood trembling, wondering what in hell was about to unfold. He could hear distant voices, possibly three people in conversation, no doubt discussing his intended fate. He heard return footsteps.

  ‘Okay, old man, into this room,’ the man gestured on opening the door.

  ‘But what do you want from me? I’ve done you no harm!’ Arthur pleaded.

  ‘Curiosity was your undoing, old-timer. You should’ve walked away from those rocks when you had the chance, but instead you chose to snoop around and place a phone call.’

  Arthur was led into a cell which was reminiscent of the one occupied by Brigit two doors down. His basic needs would be accounted for and a collection of books sat face down on a small bedside table.

  ‘A meal will be brought to you shortly,’ said the man, still wearing his balaclava.

  ‘You can’t leave me in this godforsaken place!’ objected Arthur.

  ‘I’m afraid you have no choice.’

  ‘How long will you keep me here?’

  ‘That depends,’ he responded.

  ‘On bloody what!’ Arthur bellowed.

  ‘It’s not my decision, old-timer.’

  ‘Then whose is it?’

  ‘Our regional head and that’s enough of your damn questions!’

  ‘Ah, I might have guessed - the elusive Piedpiper.’

  Without acknowledgement the man then departed, locking the door behind him.

  ~ * ~

  A

  ny progress on this additional person we asked for, Victor?’ queried the Piedpiper.

  ‘I may have someone in mind, but have you explored the possibility of finding someone here in Pedley?’

  ‘You know full well our local resources are zilch! I’m depending on you to provide us with someone from the city. Like I said, if you want to deplete this stock, which entails labour and logistics, then a further resource is required. The cops are everywhere so trucks and courier vans are out of question, leaving numerous car trips as the safest option. And that becomes a time-consuming task, agreed,’ declared the Piedpiper.

  ‘Very well, the person I have in mind is Gino Palmero. He’s a good man, both hardworking and totally trustworthy. I’ll send him down in a few days. In the meantime brief Neville about his arrival, since Broad-bent will be his initial point of contact.’

  ‘Thank you, the additional hand will make a difference.’

  ‘Now I must leave, for duty calls back home. On my return trip I’ll phone and arrange for Gino to arrive by next Wednesday,’ he vowed.

  With the meeting concluded Marlow was led to his sports car, ably attended by a personal bodyguard who sat waiting behind the steering wheel. Having a spirited passion for fast machines, he promptly let his feelings be known.

  ‘Passenger’s side, Max. I’m driving back.’

  As it was approaching the latter part of the afternoon, Marlow wondered if he should collect a copy of the daily newspaper prior to leaving Pedley. If he were to wait until the city it could prove a trifle difficult to pick up an edition. The paper was important to Victor due to his daily monitoring of stock. He had a considerable amount of money invested in blue chip, including some risky but high-potential mining shares. It was mandatory to keep abreast of daily movements that could fluctuate the big dollars in either direction. Unbeknown to the Keeper, this decision would prove to be his eventual downfall.

  ‘Back in a minute,’ he said to his bodyguard. ‘I need to buy today’s paper.’

  He had parked his gleaming British racing green MGF Sports in Pitt Street directly opposite the newsagent. Unfortunately for Marlow, his vulnerability to lure attention came part and parcel with the very makeup of the man. He constantly chose to overlook this apparent weakness. After all, there weren’t too many people who truly knew his active role in the drug underworld, or so he thought.

  Marlow’s curiosity in attending Ferret’s funeral had exposed his identity to the Traffik supremo, made worse by allowing Indigo the privilege of seeing him drive off in his MG. He had grossly underestimated the support the man would gain from within the underworld. Many considered the actions of Scorpio to be unacceptable in the extreme. Contrary to the public’s perception, a code of ethics presided over the fraternity, a price Marlow would dearly pay for his defiance. Victor’s description was now fulfilled for all to see. The advantage was strictly Indigo’s, since Marlow could only guess at what the Traffik lord and master might look like.

  Having collected his mandatory paper, Marlow and his bodyguard departed Pedley bound for the M3. Dialing his 2IC, the Keeper instructed that Gino Palmero be transferred to the southern operation in three days’ time and report to Neville Bradbury on arrival.

  With the completion of the call Marlow contemplated for a moment the current matters at hand. Although he had granted the Piedpiper an extra employee and relinquished territorial responsibility, he was nonetheless reasonably content with the outcome. His regional head may have been the ultimate winner, but he had every confidence in the southern operation regaining the apparent lost ground. Morgan was now out of the equation and the accumulation of drugs would start to disperse following the arrival of Palmero. He briefly pondered on the defunct Traffik operation that would no longer challenge for the southern rights. In addition city demand was high, which had
pushed the going rate to new heights. Yes, all in all business was reasonably favourable, thought the Keeper as he turned on the radio for some appropriate music.

  Trailing half a minute behind on the same freeway, the inconspicuous Indigo sat behind the wheel of a Nissan Patrol 4WD. He was totally focused and committed on capturing his sworn enemy responsible for the destruction of Traffik. Patience, timing and location were essential throughout this obsession to settle the score. He would intercept the Keeper on reaching the city and with assistance of two backup vehicles Marlow would finally be his to do with as he wished.

  Although his key resources had been largely depleted due to Scorpio’s intervention, Indigo still had sufficient numbers at his disposal to launch a fullscale assault. He was not stupid in realising Marlow could never be underestimated, for the man had a reputation and uncanny knack of giving one the slip.