Scorpio's Lot (75 page)

But what was Morgan’s ultimate
intent? thought the Piedpiper. Was Sol simply a shield to assist with escape or
was the plan to purposely inflict further carnage? But Sol was not Morgan’s
bone of contention, for this dubious honour belonged to Bradbury. The situation
was as puzzling as it was threatening.

Morgan continued with his
irrational approach. ‘So I’m gutter scum of the lowest form?’

‘You’re doing yourself an
injustice by not allowing us to pursue the truth,’ the Piedpiper replied
calmly. ‘A simple phone call to the church will put a stop to this insanity.’

‘Insanity!’ roared Morgan. ‘Is
that what you call it? Your decision had already been made to believe Bradbury.’

‘Not necessarily.’

Morgan’s twitch became more
apparent. Shaking and cursing, he paused for a moment to regain composure. He
now seemed oblivious to his damaged arm. ‘Do you realise how important I am?’
he asked.

‘Yes,’ responded his superior,
who recognised that their captor was now seeking reassurance and self-belief.

‘I’m the most wanted man in
France today. Do you have any idea how long it’s taken me to achieve this
honour?’ Morgan gloated.

‘Probably a while, given you
would’ve had some serious competition.’

‘Exactly, but not what I would
call serious competition, more like incompetent rivals.’

‘They must’ve had some degree of
skill level,’ came an ill-timed remark from Bradbury

‘They did not!’ shrieked Morgan,
who did not take kindly to Bradbury’s input. He went into a frenzy of
uncontrollable shaking.

Morgan’s retaliation for Bradbury’s
blunder was catastrophic. He lowered the knife he held at Sol’s throat to the
man’s covered arm and instructed him to roll up his left sleeve. Morgan
inserted the blade into the exposed flesh, delivering excruciating pain. Sol
let out an unrelenting scream. The Piedpiper’s observation was more acute, for
Morgan failed to return the knife to Sol’s throat, deciding instead to maintain
the blade by the man’s side. Ignoring the stab wound, this was the first sign
that Morgan’s defences had become slack.

‘These tools are my children.
Instruct and they obey!’ blathered the psychopath. ‘Do you think I have a good
collection of weapons?’

‘Very comprehensive,’ affirmed
the Piedpiper, knowing this game of agreement had to be maintained.

‘I think so too,’ acknowledged
Morgan, who had suddenly become calmer. His mannerisms were now almost
childlike, his face projecting a vacant stare as if he was in never-never land.
He started giggling to himself, not wishing to share the perplexed humour. But
in an instant he snapped out of his trance.

‘It’s important to experiment
with a variety of instruments. Personally I prefer the antique selection. They
knew how to devise nasty tools back in those days, don’t you agree?’

‘That’s probably why they’re
outlawed today,’ the Piedpiper replied.

‘I suppose so. Perhaps I was born
in the wrong era.’

The regional head quickly nudged
Bradbury, indicating this was not the time to respond to that question. Morgan’s
face again reverted to faraway idiocy. His inconsistent behaviour had become
both alarming and intimidating. To make any advance, the Piedpiper knew the
timing had to be precise to enable a successful attack. Morgan continued to
hold one knife beside Sol while he returned the other to a side pocket. Sol was
still suffering a degree of pain, his blood-soaked arm in need of medical
attention. Morgan went on the offensive again in his obscene, unrelenting
style. He could not allow his foe to gain the upper hand in ridicule.

‘I don’t like you!’ he declared,
looking Bradbury squarely in the eye. ‘Always Mr Right, aren’t we? Never
putting a foot out of place. Your grovelling makes me sick. You’re always the
one to jump higher than you need to. I hope you’re reincarnated as a lemon tree
so I can piss on you!’

Bradbury glared at the insulting
Morgan, but had the good sense not to retaliate.

Sol had become restless with this
continual harassment. His arm was throbbing, but he felt there was still
sufficient strength in his body to manage a swipe at the assailant, should the
opportunity arise. From the corner of his eye he noticed the Piedpiper had
retrieved a small pistol, conveniently out of sight from the unsuspecting
Morgan. Timing was now everything. To push Morgan to one side and allow his
superior direct aim was the objective. Both Sol and the Piedpiper realised that
Morgan could never be underestimated. He was totally tuned in to his
surroundings and apparent threat. It would be fatal to believe otherwise.
Bradbury was oblivious to this newfound development. Simultaneously Brad Morgan
seemed a little unnerved with this sustained period of silence.

‘Our little gathering has gone
very quiet. Contemplating a further session of prayer, are we, Mr Right? On
second thoughts, perhaps the Piedpiper could act as priest while you reiterate
what really happened in that confession box,’ Morgan snarled.

The Piedpiper had become anxious
to finish this charade, but would not under any circumstances verbally force
the issue in fear of a reprisal from the unbalanced psychopath. Sol looked down
to see the limp grip employed by Morgan. He held the knife loosely, as if the
blade was about to fall and hit the ground. It was now time to act. He managed
to make direct eye contact with his superior, whose gun was poised and ready.
There appeared a psychic or telepathic understanding between the two on what
their next move would be.

In one swift shove Sol managed to
break loose from Morgan’s feeble grip. Caught totally unaware, the psychopath
lost balance but remained upright. Quickly gathering composure, he let fly with
his knife and embedded its punishing blade deep into Bradbury’s right shoulder.
With Sol now alienated from the immediate threat and his captor freely exposed,
the Piedpiper pointed and fired, hitting Morgan in the stomach. Convinced this
would not stop the psychopath, a second bullet was fired - a direct hit to the
chest.

Morgan’s attempt to reach the
Piedpiper was futile. He fell to the floor after his first step. Lying still in
a pool of blood, attention was now drawn to the fate of Bradbury. Alive but in
terrible pain, Sol quickly withdrew the knife to the sound of an agonising cry.

Bradbury then fainted. While
attempting to rearrange the warehouse manager to have him lay more comfortably,
Sol was unaware that Morgan loomed from behind in one final assault. Despite
the pistol wounds, the psychopath suddenly reared like a possessed beast. He
was not done for yet. Gripping the second knife firmly, he steadily approached
his target. Blood flowed from Morgan’s body as he crawled, then arched his way
nearer. He was determined to have his grand exit and take one other person with
him.

Sol and the Piedpiper continued
to tend to Bradbury, unaware of Morgan’s heinous advances. Struggling with each
forward motion, the psychopath used his elbows to push his body closer.
Although his progress was slow, he continued to make headway. The distance had
now been greatly reduced. A trail of blood flowed freely from his midriff as
his punished body slowly crawled on the bluestone surface. Sol’s back loomed
within striking distance.

Now in a position to seek
revenge, Morgan raised the blood-soaked blade to make the downward thrust. A
glimpse of movement caught the Piedpiper’s eye. With incredible reflexes the
regional head turned, took aim and fired a bullet directly into Morgan’s head.
The impact released the knife, which landed safely to Sol’s right side. A
single bullet was sufficient, for the deadly missile had cleanly entered the
forehead and exploded within the psychopath’s skull. Morgan’s brain was blown
to pieces. The crazed madman slumped to the floor, hitting his head on the
bluestone surface. His eyes remained open, still projecting their evil and
daunting presence. The infamous Brad Morgan was dead.

~ * ~

In
her cell about fifty metres away, Brigit O’Neill was disturbed to hear the
sound of gunfire. She wondered what all the commotion was over, hoping at first
it would be the authorities who had finally discovered this subterranean night
mare. But as time progressed she realised her hopes were in vain, for this
confrontation could only mean it was underground business. She climbed back
into her bed, wondering when Ferret would finally return to the neighbouring
cell.

~ * ~

he symbolic trademark of Scorpio was still visibly entrenched in
the minds of the local task force. Following the atrocity on Pedley Hill,
Forbes’ determination to bring these criminals into custody had heightened.
Whilst not detracting from previous attempts, it had now become a full-on assault
to hunt these felons down. The public and media alike had clearly made their
intentions felt. Pressure was mounting for quick arrests.

Forbes had randomly
selected this particular evening to observe the local drug behaviour at the
four designated locations disclosed by Hassan. At sixty-thirty pm, with his men
positioned in pairs, they waited in expectation of Charlie’s appearance. The
winter night air was bitterly cold, emphasised by the rising vapour that
exhaled from each spoken word. It was going to become uncomfortable and
time-consuming, waiting for the drug dealer’s arrival. Here was a situation
that warranted its just reward, thought the detective.

Equipped with two-way
at the delegated areas under Forbes’ interaction and command, all was in
readiness for the imminent arrest. Forbes’ first pair - Doyle and Burke - were
surveying the west end of Pitt Street, a block down from the bustling surrounds
of the Esplanade. There was the usual array of revellers parading the main drag
in search of dope or free grog. They were loud but generally non-aggressive and
the two men chose to ignore them. Burke, in particular, having a better
understanding of the locals, couldn’t envisage Charlie amongst this lot. To be
seen amidst this crowd and the bright lights of Pitt Street just wasn’t his
trait. After all, he would only draw attention away from these revellers, which
seemed totally out of character.

The second
duo of Gallagher and Carpenter had the unenviable task of beach patrol at the
far northern end of Pitt Street. Weather conditions here were at their most
deplorable. The sea breeze had strengthened
and intensified the punishing waves against the
nearby rock pools. The noise was intense and a resultant fine mist engulfed the
air, saturating all comers who dared to walk within its perimeter. Carpenter
believed a hardship allowance should be included in his pay packet for having
been sent to this godforsaken area.

Gallagher was more realistic in
his evaluation, wondering how two-way conversation could possibly be heard
above all this noise. After what seemed around thirty minutes of surveillance,
only two people had been observed. One imbecile was sighted jogging beside the
water’s edge and a second decided to quickly retreat following a glance at Mother
Nature’s onslaught. The odds were more favourable to win the lottery than to
have Charlie suddenly manifest himself on this stretch of beach.

In the more receptive surrounds
of the town’s central parkland, the combination of Forbes and Marsh had effectively
been designated as group three. Their vigilance in surveying the full length of
the park was a challenging proposition. The sheer number of trees and garden
beds presented a difficult task in detecting the whereabouts of one individual.