Scorpio's Lot (45 page)

‘So I can take you to a coffee
lounge with perhaps a tempting nightcap after your shift.’

‘Depends what nightcap you have
in mind.’

‘Um ... perhaps a Sambuca or
maybe a cocktail of your choice.’

‘You’ve been doing some homework
behind my back, haven’t you? How did you know Sambuca’s my favourite?’

‘Oh, just a wild guess.’ Marsh
was hardly able to contain his emotions with this unexpected good luck.

‘Yes, I would like that, but
nothing too late because I’ll be up at seven in the morning for my next shift,’
Piochsa responded. ‘Paul, I must keep moving for there are customers to be
served. I will see you shortly.’

Pleased with himself, Marsh
returned to his original drinking location to further observe proceedings. As
it was almost half an hour prior to closure the patron numbers had reduced
considerably, allowing him more visual contact with the behaviour of security.

The two bouncers maintained their
never-ending ritual of pacing the length of the bar, together with an
occasional random check on both the neighbouring poker venue and dining room
facility. Tonight had provided security with a relatively quiet and
trouble-free evening. Believing this to be the case, Marsh’s frame of mind had
moved into countdown mode in anticipation of his rendezvous with Piochsa when a
late arrival appeared through the main bar entrance door.

A man of around five-eight in
height and unfriendly appearance made his way directly toward one of the
bouncers, as if on a mission to announce some last-minute instruction. He was
impeccably dressed, to the point of looking totally out of place amongst the
patron’s attire of denim and lumber jackets. After all, this was a haven for
serious drinkers and not some catwalk parade on cup day. He had an air of
authority or perhaps a degree of arrogance as he marched across the floor
toward his objective. As the detective watched, the man retrieved a small brown
envelope from his pocket and put it into the outstretched hand of Tweedledee.

Marsh’s curiosity level had just
quadrupled. Was it simply an innocent exchange? Or was it some drug-related
substance or messenger instruction? He had been forewarned about some shonky
deals being performed in this very establishment. It was time to wander over
and investigate.

Somewhat surprised at the sudden
appearance of Paul Marsh invading their space, the new arrival spoke up. ‘Bloody
hell! You’ve got the whole fucking bar to rest your glass, so beat it.’

‘What’s in the envelope?’ asked
Marsh, directing his question toward the bouncer.

The stranger spoke up. ‘None of
your fucking business! This is your last warning, sunshine, or I’ll have my
friend throw you out.’

Displaying his badge, Marsh
continued. ‘I’ll make it my business, so let’s see the contents.’

Tweedledee looked at the stranger
as if seeking confirmation to pass the contents. Realising it would be foolish
to disobey the authorities, Tweedledee reluctantly passed the envelope, much to
the annoyance of his colleague.

The detective peered at a
collection of notes. ‘Well, well, a nice little sum of money. There must be at
least three grand in here. People just don’t go around carrying this sort of
cash on them, so what’s this all about?’

‘I’m only passing on some
winnings, officer,’ claimed the stranger.

‘And what sort of winnings might
they be?’

‘Horseracing. Gavin had a win
today and I’m acting on behalf of the bookmaker.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes.’

‘Name of the bookmaker?’ Marsh
was deliberately testing the man.

‘Stuart Ellis.’

‘And where was the meeting?’

‘Middleton this afternoon.’

‘Name of horse and race number?’

‘Golden Galaxy in the fourth.’

‘And the odds?’

‘Twenty-five to one, I think.’

The arrogant stranger had
answered without hesitation, almost to the point of anticipating the line of
questioning. His contemptuous smirk irritated the detective, giving the
impression that he intended to hold the trump card whatever Marsh could muster
up.

‘So what’s the crime, officer?’
he taunted.

‘There’s been no offence
committed, but I suggest you exercise a bit more caution when next carrying
such a vast and thick amount of money around with you.’

‘Oh, are you suggesting higher
denominational notes and less paperwork, or maybe a cheque when next we
accumulate our winnings?’ mocked the stranger.

‘You get the general idea, so don’t
play smart with me,’ warned Marsh. ‘I’ll have your names please.’

‘Come now, officer, we haven’t
broken the law.’

‘Just for the record, in case
something does happen to the money.’

‘Very well. My name is Henry
Lloyd and my friend here is Gavin Jackson. Satisfied?’

‘That wasn’t too difficult, was
it?’ Marsh was amused with his bit of payback. ‘And the name of the other
security person?’

‘Angelo Caresso, sir,’ replied
Tweedledee with a degree of respect.

‘Do you have any ID on you, Mr
Lloyd?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ he declared
aggressively.

The stranger was becoming
agitated with all this cross-examination and decided he wanted to put an end to
all this nonsense. ‘So, officer, if you have no further need of me I’ll be on
my way.’

‘You’re free to go,’ concluded
Marsh, who wanted to rejoin Piochsa for that long-awaited rendezvous at the
coffee lounge.

The arrogant stranger then
quickly left the premises, ignoring the farewell gestures coming from Gavin
Jackson.

Contemptuous little prick,
thought Marsh.

It was now officially closing
time and the two security guards ushered out the remaining patrons. Piochsa
suggested meeting at the La Pette Coffee Lounge in five.

When Marsh arrived he saw Piochsa
seated in a far corner beside a log fire. She gestured with a handkerchief to
attract his attention. Paul grinned, thinking he would have to be one of the
three blind mice if her location was to become something of a challenge.

‘My god, you waste no time. Did
you arrive by Porsche, by any chance?’ he asked, enjoying the light-hearted
moment.

‘Don’t be silly. La Pette’s only
around the corner from the Esplanade, so it was quicker to walk,’ she responded
with a cordial smile.

‘You have an unfair advantage,
being a local and knowing all the shortcuts.’

‘Did you sort out your problem
with security? I noticed it became a bit heated at one stage.’

‘Yes, but it backfired in my
face, so to speak. I suspected some drug deal was being exchanged but it turned
out to be an envelope full of money from some win on the horses,’ replied
Marsh, still annoyed at the stranger’s insolence. ‘The short arrogant one
called himself Henry Lloyd. Ever seen him before?’

‘I’ve seen him come into the
Esplanade from time to time, always near closing time and only with the
intention of talking to security. Odd person, to say the least and often rude
and inhospitable. I’ve heard him referred to as Brad before, but never Henry.’

‘So what will it be, Piochsa?’
asked Marsh upon the waiter’s arrival.

‘Short black and Sambuca, thank
you, Paul.’

‘Make that two, please,’ he
instructed the waiter.

Conversation flowed beautifully,
but oddly in reverse with respect to Piochsa’s journey through life.
Unintentionally it started in Pedley and had worked its way back to her days in
Budapest. Her family had faced hardships due to the continual struggles that
are generally accompanied with unemployment. Well educated within Hungary and
with the will to assist her family financially, she had decided to explore her
opportunities offshore in search of higher rewards.

‘So you send money back home?’

‘Yes, generally on a monthly
basis and what I can afford at the time. By day I’m a pathologist at the Pedley
hospital, and together with my earnings from the Esplanade I try to transfer at
least a thousand dollars monthly.’

‘Wow, that’s a big slice out of
any pay packet.’

‘I still live comfortably, and
besides, the pathology salary here is double what one would earn in Hungary,’
claimed Piochsa with an air of modestly.

‘You must be a saint in the eyes
of your family.’

‘Paul, that’s enough about me.
What about your trials and tribulations in life?’

‘I’m your thirty-four year old
humble servant of the law, based in the city and down here in Pedley to assist
in solving these recent murders.’

‘Yes, nasty business, all that
crime at the moment, particularly with what happened on that boat some days
back,’ said Piochsa gravely. ‘But Paul, it’s your personal life rather than the
professional aspect I’m interested in.’

Paul told his life story,
covering his backpacking days throughout Europe, his loves and losses, in
addition to his sporting achievements and philosophy ideals. His audience
appeared totally engrossed.

‘I would never have picked you
for being such a deep person, Paul. Your ideals have merit but I don’t necessarily
agree with them all. Nevertheless there’s a fairly high degree of intellect
hidden behind that macho image you project.’ Piochsa laughed as she saw Paul’s
eyebrows elevate with surprise.

‘Was that a compliment or a
criticism?’

‘You choose. It makes it more
interesting then, don’t you think?’ Piochsa was clearly enjoying their
rendezvous by the log fire, which staff had just topped up with red gum. ‘By
the way, I’ll need to leave very soon so as not to disturb George.’

‘Who’s George?’ asked Marsh.

‘George is an IT specialist who
has a business in Pedley. He’s also the person I share the house with.
Sometimes George comes in late and without exception he’s always quiet, but he
also expects the same in return.’

‘Are you two together, so to
speak?’ Paul was a little taken back with this sudden mention of someone called
George.

‘No, we’re just good friends,’
laughed Piochsa, seemingly amused at the suggestion. ‘Socially we seldom mix as
we each have our own group of people, and besides, George can be out to some
ungodly hour, which I can’t handle. He’s the night owl, not me. Thanks, Paul,
for a wonderful evening, but I must be on my way now.’

‘Pleasure. I’ve enjoyed tonight.’

~ * ~