Scorpio's Lot (59 page)

‘And access to the passageway?’

‘Under the end cubicle in the
gents’ toilets.’

‘Is that toilet still functional?’
enquired the Keeper, seemingly surprised to hear of such an unconventional
entranceway.

‘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 passageway 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.