Scorpio's Lot (118 page)

And finally myself. I could only
contemplate that my fellow committee members were analysing yours truly as
well.

So in the end there was nothing
to suggest otherwise. Not one fellow committee member came remotely close to
cast suspicion. I could only conclude the man from above had got it all wrong.

My thoughts were suddenly
interrupted by Indigo finally breaking his silence. He walked across to the
Scorpio pair still seated in the middle of the gallery. His remaining
accomplice, Ivan, continued to stand nearby with gun pointed at anything that
remotely moved. Indigo commenced his theatrical performance that was soon to
have some diabolical repercussions.

‘Now I expect some cooperation
from you two. Tell me, does your leader stand before you?’

‘No. You’ve already sent two of
your men into the passageways to hunt him down,’ responded the shorter man who
called himself John.

‘Then have you seen or had any
encounters with these eight before?’ persisted Indigo.

‘Yeah, with four of them,’
acknowledged Luke.

‘Oh, and who might they be?’

The taller Luke singled out
Darren Burke, Martha Kellett, Helen O’Neill and myself. The distress levels
were now at fever pitch and we all wondered where this was leading. The two
women shook uncontrollably as the four of us were ordered to step forward.

‘In what capacity do you know
these people?’ he asked, directing his question back at the man who provided
the identities.

The Scorpio accomplice briefly
explained about their search for Brigit O’Neill and subsequent encounters
involving Peterswood and the
Molly Bloom.
He further spoke of their
break-in at the O’Neill’s residence and the night they issued a warning at the
caravan park. Satisfied with the man’s explanation, Indigo instructed the
committee members to fall back in line. He glared at the remaining four persons
without uttering a word. His cold and intimidating stare was enough to send a
chill up my spine. He then directed a further question to the seated pair.

‘Identify these men who were
shot.’

‘The one lying beside you was the
Piedpiper’s personnel bodyguard who -’

‘And the man on the chamber roof?’
Indigo cut in.

‘His name was Mick. He was what
you might call me lackey or assistant. The best rat is a dead rat!’ flared
Luke, not sorry to see the traitor eliminated.

The disclosure of the renegade
didn’t come as a huge surprise to the one called Luke. The Scorpio thug
suddenly became talkative, expressing his hostility toward the traitor.

‘The bastard’s been suspected for
some time, but we couldn’t pin anything on him. Like I said, the squealer got
what he deserved. I hope the prick rots in hell -’

‘Enough,’ Indigo said.

It soon became apparent that Luke
was indeed the elusive Charlie. His build, speech and mannerism suggested no
other. I felt tempted to walk over and throttle the bastard. The second Scorpio
captive who appeared to be of southern Italian descent was a total unknown.
Indigo’s attention was again fixated on the unfortunate eight. Still half
convinced his nemesis stood amongst this group, he decided to increase the
tempo of his interrogation. He chose to have the Scorpio pair witness his
forthcoming charade for the purpose of gauging their reaction. Indigo turned
around to face the nervous eight and then delivered a frightening remark.

‘To extract the devil amongst you
I’ve decided to play a game. It’s called Russian roulette and there are two methods
of spinning the barrel. Either I do it on your behalf, or you as eight
individuals do it independently. To make it fair I will allow you each to spin
your own fate, because I may unintentionally catch a glimpse of the bullet and
purposely have someone shot who I don’t take a liking to. Now that would spoil
the fun, don’t you think?’

Shock and horror was immediate.
The sound of cries could be heard in response to the blatant disregard of our
most precious possession. In complete disbelief we watched the Traffik leader
empty the remaining bullets from his gun. He then retrieved one bullet and slid
the deadly missile into a randomly selected chamber. The axis of the barrel was
then closed and spun a number of rotations. He then looked up and smiled in seeing
our horrified reaction.

At a blink of an eye pandemonium
erupted. Some of the eight had dropped to their knees wailing in terror,
crawling closer to the bluestone wall as if looking for an escape. Some
remained standing and shaking and their faces had turned distinctly pale,
reflecting extraordinary fear. Those who had descended to the floor began to
huddle together, each trying to shield from behind the other. It was a cruel
and disturbing scene and one that Forbes could no longer tolerate.

‘You can’t be serious!’ he
snapped at Indigo.

‘Excuse the pun, but I’m deadly
serious.’

Indigo’s lackey took a step
closer to the detective, claiming he would shoot if there were to be any
interference from the men in blue. Forbes reluctantly retreated two steps,
horrified that such a despicable act was about to be performed. Ivan then
shouted at the eight people to fall back in line, standing single file in front
of the wall.

The Traffik leader then continued
with his theatrics.

‘So let me explain our little game.
There are six chambers within this barrel, but only one contains a live bullet.
Each person will have the gun pointed at their head and I will pull the trigger
resulting in either a click or a bang. Don’t despair, for your chances of
survival following round one are statistically eighty-three percent. Round two
drops to sixty-nine and round three reflects a fifty-eight percent chance of
seeing the sun rise again. Unless the Piedpiper is prepared to step forward now
and spare this suffering for others, I will continue to fire until the bullet
is released,’ he declared to further screams for mercy.

Indigo chose to commence his
deplorable act with Ashley Collins and progressively work through the eight in
the sequence they stood. He walked toward the man to have him spin the barrel.
Nervously he started the rotation, his hand constantly shaking in terror.
Collins let go following three revolutions. Maintaining a hold on the gun,
Indigo pointed and released the trigger. A click resulted, sending the reporter
almost into a state of collapse. He had survived.

Ben Johnson, next in line to this
hit-or-miss experiment, was reduced to a trembling mess. The publican
momentarily stepped behind the sergeant, but was promptly brought back into
line by the outstretched arm of Indigo. Like his predecessor, he too spun the
barrel and waited the inevitable. A further click and the weeping Johnson was
spared.

When Darren Burke took centre
stage, Forbes could no longer tolerate this madness, particularly with his
sergeant now subjected to possible death.

‘Stop this immediately!’ shouted
Forbes.

‘Shut the fuck up, fat boy, or I’ll
include you in the line-up,’ bellowed Indigo.

Trembling but showing no facial
emotion, Darren spun the barrel and waited.
Click.
He was saved.

With each possible execution the
Traffik leader kept a vigilant eye on the Scorpio pair in hope that some
telltale sign would emerge as to who the Piedpiper was.

It was now Helen O’Neill’s turn
and the poor woman was having trouble in spinning the barrel. Shaking all over,
she had difficulty in controlling her hand to perform the simple function. Her
heart pounded as she relinquished the authority over the gun. Finally ready,
she crossed herself and simply stood with eyes closed and waited.
Click.

Richard Smyth, Martha Kellett and
Stephen Buchanan all resulted in blanks. It was now my turn and I could only
surmise that following seven failed attempts, the odds were increasingly
stacked against me. I spun the barrel. The cycle noise came to an abrupt stop.
My life seemed to pass by in an instant as I waited.
Click.

Indigo had failed round one, and
to rub salt into the wound, no clue was forthcoming from either of the Scorpio
pair. Determined that something would eventually give, he pressed on with his
inhumane antics.

‘So, no fatal blows! Either you’re
all innocent or we have one very stubborn person amongst you. Unless the
Piedpiper is prepared to step forth we will proceed with round two, whereby
your survival rate will now be reduced to sixty-nine percent.’

Indigo paused but no one laid
claim.

I now feared the worst, believing
this second sequence would undoubtedly seal someone’s fate. Ashley Collins
escaped a second time. Ben Johnson was so distressed he vomited as he took hold
of the barrel. From a short distance Forbes continued to look on helplessly.
Predictably, most people chose to turn away when the trigger was pulled.
Johnson waited and survived. Darren Burke and Helen O’Neill both chose the
quick option, rather than prolong the agony that had been demonstrated by the
publican. Again they were both spared.

Twelve consecutive shots had
resulted in blanks and with each progressive committee member, it was both
statistically and highly probable the next shot would release a fatal blow.

Richard Smyth, whose bloodied
right shoulder had gone unattended, was now preparing himself for the second
attempt and like many before him was a fumbling mess. The poor bugger spun the
barrel an excessive amount of revolutions, believing this action would be his saving
grace. He stood poised waiting for the gun to fire. Bang. The bullet was
released into the man’s skull, instantaneously blowing his brains to pieces. In
a split-second Richard Smyth was dead. Blood was immediately transferred to the
stone wall from where he once stood. Indescribable screams and cries promptly
followed.

Both Helen and Martha collapsed,
the latter splattered in blood as a result of standing beside the deceased. Ben
Johnson and Ashley Collins turned distinctly pale, both feeling light-headed
and on the verge of fainting themselves. Darren Burke and Stephen Buchanan
simply stared unmoved as if in a trance. They both appeared in shock and would
need a moment to recompose themselves. My own reaction was one of total
disbelief, as if caught up in a nightmare, and I was about to awake with only a
bad dream to reflect on.

The scene continued to be
chaotic, with most people unable to handle the consequences. Some were still
screaming at the sight of the bloodied Smyth lying on the ground, while others
began wandering around the gallery. Forbes and his men had climbed to their
feet, wanting desperately to assist the traumatised committee members. Forbes
realised that any attempt to make physical contact could result in the Traffik
duo causing further slaughter. The Scorpio pair still seated in the middle of
the gallery, simply stared in horror expecting their turn would soon follow.

Indigo was beginning to lose
control of the situation. In a sudden release of vocal temper, he roared his
disapproval at what was unfolding.

‘Shut the fuck up, the lot of
you, and sit down!’ he bellowed.

His demand was immediately
acknowledged in fear of further repercussions.

‘So you’ve lost one of your
members, big deal! My gut feel tells me he wasn’t the Piedpiper anyway. He
seemed the most unlikely choice,’ mocked Indigo.

The Traffik leader ordered his
lackey to cover the head of Richard Smyth, claiming the grotesque sight would
make him retch. How hypocritical of the bastard, I thought. He then directed
his energies toward John and Luke, glaring down on the two as they sat huddled
and frightened. Indigo then roared at the pair to come clean with the identity
of the Piedpiper, stating a similar fate awaited them if they didn’t oblige.
Luke reiterated what he had said before, claiming their regional head was still
at large within the subterranean system. Indigo was intent on the fact that
their leader was still among the seven surviving committee members.

In a sudden rage of
uncontrollable emotion he let fly with his boot, repeatedly kicking into both
men as they sat defenceless and in screaming pain. To add insult, the Traffik
leader began waving his reloaded weapon, yelling threats that his gun would be
aimed at their kneecaps and elbows if they didn’t cooperate.