Scorpio's Lot (133 page)

Paul Marsh had persuaded the
captivating Piochsa to return with him to the city.

Hamish was back in Peterswood
attending to his daily farm duties. I couldn’t help but miss the silly bugger.

Arthur Simpson was back on deck
and ‘rarin’ to go’ on his next mission, he kept reminding me. Contrary to many
that recognise and concur with their twilight years, Arthur relished the most
that life could offer. It was impossible to contain the old-timer for too long.

Danny Murdock continued to make
steady progress following the horrific injuries he received from the Broadbent
bombing. The long and arduous treatment was producing the desired result.

As for James Slattery and Kurt
Muller, they continued to cross paths with the law, their dubious ventures
often as transparent as metal drawn to a magnet. Consistently cautioned for
minor offences, the pair was never quite clever enough to outsmart the scrutiny
of Sergeant Burke.

Ben Johnson became a born-again
Christian. His kidnapping and Russian roulette experience had transformed the
man into a mild-mannered publican. At least a small positive had emerged from
all the turmoil.

In recognition for his services
above duty, Chris Martino received a promotion to senior constable, an
acknowledgement that was both gratefully accepted and justly deserved.

Brigit O’Neill’s arm had
relinquished the support of plaster, enabling her to once again drive the
beloved VW Bug. Her days of wheelin’ and dealin’ the Pedley streets were now
but a distant memory. Once bitten, twice shy, she had explained to me one day
recently. Brigit maintained her distance with James Slattery, claiming any
reconciliation would only open up old wounds. Determined to go straight and rid
her days of the drug trade, she had commenced employment as a junior with
George Franklin and Associates, a self-motivated move that had thrilled her
stepmother no end. Her relationship with Helen had grown distinctly closer in
light of recent events.

Helen’s trauma at the hands of
Indigo had also had a positive outcome. She received counselling to help
overcome her precarious condition and the treatment had proven beneficial in
getting her back on track. She was, after all, a strong-willed woman, which put
her in good stead to beat the odds.

I was both relieved and impressed
with the swift action brought down by the authorities. Determined to avoid the
subterranean from becoming a public stage show or ghetto for society’s
outcasts, orders had come from a very high source to close off the three sites.
It was considered mandatory, given the fluctuating tide presented a dangerous
environment with the risk takers and idle curious in mind. With the
entranceways totally sealed, the authorities were of the opinion the sites
would now be left to rest in peace. The underground, it would seem, was
destined for a further dormant period of two hundred years or beyond.

Unfortunately I didn’t quite
share the constabulary’s optimism. Perhaps they were a little premature with
their judgment, given a passing 4WD I had seen only yesterday looked remarkably
similar to the one driven by Scorpio during the chase. The colour and make was
identical, but more alarming was a rear window sticker depicting ‘I luv NY’.
Not only had the label been applied to the same right-hand side, but was also
distinctly similar in size, with the same bold red lettering. I recalled Brigit
making a comment about the sticker at some point. To the best of my
recollection, the syndicate’s car was never retrieved and confiscated by the
law. If this was indeed the same vehicle, then who in the hell was driving the
bloody thing?