Scorpio's Lot (89 page)

The tunnels dripped with
unrelenting rhythm, to the point where all three men were forced to sidestep
the persistent water droplets. Arthur’s immediate reaction was one of despair
to be in what could only be described as a place from hell. He continued to
take in all before him as they progressively entered wider passageways. The
occasional terracotta and bronze artifacts stood erected on stone pillars, each
depicting the elements of earth, fire, air and water.

Then lights illuminated the
tunnel, and the stench and condensation all but disappeared. The immediate
surrounds became far more pleasant. Surprisingly, the submerged site offered a
comfortable temperature despite the cold exterior of bluestone and granite. At
the command of his taller captor, Arthur was suddenly instructed to stop beside
a metal door and await further orders. Again he stood trembling, wondering what
in hell was about to unfold. He could hear distant voices, possibly three
people in conversation, no doubt discussing his intended fate. He heard return
footsteps.

‘Okay, old man, into this room,’
the man gestured on opening the door.

‘But what do you want from me? I’ve
done you no harm!’ Arthur pleaded.

‘Curiosity was your undoing,
old-timer. You should’ve walked away from those rocks when you had the chance,
but instead you chose to snoop around and place a phone call.’

Arthur was led into a cell which
was reminiscent of the one occupied by Brigit two doors down. His basic needs
would be accounted for and a collection of books sat face down on a small
bedside table.

‘A meal will be brought to you
shortly,’ said the man, still wearing his balaclava.

‘You can’t leave me in this
godforsaken place!’ objected Arthur.

‘I’m afraid you have no choice.’

‘How long will you keep me here?’

‘That depends,’ he responded.

‘On bloody
what!’
Arthur
bellowed.

‘It’s not my decision, old-timer.’

‘Then whose is it?’

‘Our regional head and that’s
enough of your damn questions!’

‘Ah, I might have guessed - the
elusive Piedpiper.’

Without acknowledgement the man
then departed, locking the door behind him.

~ * ~

ny
progress on this additional person we asked for, Victor?’ queried the
Piedpiper.

‘I may have someone in mind, but
have you explored the possibility of finding someone here in Pedley?’

‘You know full well our local
resources are zilch! I’m depending on you to provide us with someone from the
city. Like I said, if you want to deplete this stock, which entails labour and
logistics, then a further resource is required. The cops are everywhere so
trucks and courier vans are out of question, leaving numerous car trips as the
safest option. And that becomes a time-consuming task, agreed,’ declared the
Piedpiper.

‘Very well, the person I have in
mind is Gino Palmero. He’s a good man, both hardworking and totally
trustworthy. I’ll send him down in a few days. In the meantime brief Neville
about his arrival, since Broad-bent will be his initial point of contact.’

‘Thank you, the additional hand
will make a difference.’

‘Now I must leave, for duty calls
back home. On my return trip I’ll phone and arrange for Gino to arrive by next
Wednesday,’ he vowed.

With the meeting concluded Marlow
was led to his sports car, ably attended by a personal bodyguard who sat
waiting behind the steering wheel. Having a spirited passion for fast machines,
he promptly let his feelings be known.

‘Passenger’s side, Max. I’m
driving back.’

As it was approaching the latter
part of the afternoon, Marlow wondered if he should collect a copy of the daily
newspaper prior to leaving Pedley. If he were to wait until the city it could
prove a trifle difficult to pick up an edition. The paper was important to
Victor due to his daily monitoring of stock. He had a considerable amount of
money invested in blue chip, including some risky but high-potential mining
shares. It was mandatory to keep abreast of daily movements that could
fluctuate the big dollars in either direction. Unbeknown to the Keeper, this
decision would prove to be his eventual downfall.

‘Back in a minute,’ he said to
his bodyguard. ‘I need to buy today’s paper.’

He had parked his gleaming
British racing green MGF Sports in Pitt Street directly opposite the newsagent.
Unfortunately for Marlow, his vulnerability to lure attention came part and
parcel with the very makeup of the man. He constantly chose to overlook this
apparent weakness. After all, there weren’t too many people who truly knew his
active role in the drug underworld, or so he thought.

Marlow’s curiosity in attending
Ferret’s funeral had exposed his identity to the Traffik supremo, made worse by
allowing Indigo the privilege of seeing him drive off in his MG. He had grossly
underestimated the support the man would gain from within the underworld. Many
considered the actions of Scorpio to be unacceptable in the extreme. Contrary
to the public’s perception, a code of ethics presided over the fraternity, a
price Marlow would dearly pay for his defiance. Victor’s description was now
fulfilled for all to see. The advantage was strictly Indigo’s, since Marlow
could only guess at what the Traffik lord and master might look like.

Having collected his mandatory
paper, Marlow and his bodyguard departed Pedley bound for the M3. Dialing his
2IC, the Keeper instructed that Gino Palmero be transferred to the southern
operation in three days’ time and report to Neville Bradbury on arrival.

With the completion of the call
Marlow contemplated for a moment the current matters at hand. Although he had
granted the Piedpiper an extra employee and relinquished territorial
responsibility, he was nonetheless reasonably content with the outcome. His
regional head may have been the ultimate winner, but he had every confidence in
the southern operation regaining the apparent lost ground. Morgan was now out
of the equation and the accumulation of drugs would start to disperse following
the arrival of Palmero. He briefly pondered on the defunct Traffik operation
that would no longer challenge for the southern rights. In addition city demand
was high, which had pushed the going rate to new heights. Yes, all in all
business was reasonably favourable, thought the Keeper as he turned on the
radio for some appropriate music.

Trailing half a minute behind on
the same freeway, the inconspicuous Indigo sat behind the wheel of a Nissan
Patrol 4WD. He was totally focused and committed on capturing his sworn enemy
responsible for the destruction of Traffik. Patience, timing and location were
essential throughout this obsession to settle the score. He would intercept the
Keeper on reaching the city and with assistance of two backup vehicles Marlow
would finally be his to do with as he wished.

Although his key resources had
been largely depleted due to Scorpio’s intervention, Indigo still had
sufficient numbers at his disposal to launch a fullscale assault. He was not
stupid in realising Marlow could never be underestimated, for the man had a
reputation and uncanny knack of giving one the slip.

Still oblivious to his constant
surveillance, the Keeper was actually enjoying the late afternoon drive. He
judged that sunset would prevail in around half an hour and with it would come
the first glimpse of the city outskirts. With this newly acquired relaxed and
optimistic mood, Marlow decided to treat himself to dinner and some choice
cognac at his favourite club. Cheviers offered five-star service where fat
wallets were considered a prerequisite for entry. His taste buds had now
beckoned for a hasty arrival. He alerted the bodyguard to his change of plan.

‘How about a dozen oysters
Kilpatrick, some choice eye fillet and a good red at Cheviers?’

‘Sure, boss.’

‘Excellent! My shout, Max.’

Outer suburbia now surrounded the
two advancing vehicles. Indigo had maintained his short distance throughout the
journey, never once allowing the subdued light to make him lose sight of his
objective. He phoned his awaiting accomplices with an update on the Keeper’s
progress and position. Interception would be at Indigo’s discretion and only
when the time was right and the appropriate street provided an ideal ambush.
Marlow suddenly swung left off the M3 and onto a major CBD bypass. This
arterial would lead to the northern suburbs, an area which Indigo was quite
familiar with. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly, thought the
Traffik supremo, smiling at the possibilities.

A right-hand turn brought the vehicles
into a more subdued, less-travelled roadway, but in doing so Indigo had made an
error. Unintentionally he had reduced the distance between the two cars and he
was made more conspicuous by the absence of surrounding and passing traffic. He
quickly phoned backup, issuing orders to close in and deciding to leave the
line open for ongoing instructions.

In an instant Indigo had lost the
advantage, for Marlow immediately knew the car in his rear vision mirror was in
pursuit. The race to gain the ascendancy had just begun. The Keeper sensed that
Cheviers, disappointingly, would now have to take a raincheck.

‘We’ve got company, Max. Hang on
while I give these pricks the slip,’ Marlow said.

With tyres screeching and the
accelerator floored, he took the initiative to gain the immediate advantage. He
knew his MG would react more swiftly and obediently when handling the tight
turns. With his knowledge of cars, he anticipated the Nissan would have trouble
when called on to suddenly brake and stop. It was highly probable the 4WD was
fitted out with antilock brakes, making the vehicle’s maneuverability extremely
difficult for rubber being dragged to a stop over asphalt. The car was
undoubtedly guided by traction-control computers, which meant the wheels never
had to work harder than necessary Marlow immediately knew this to be an
exceptional advantage if the situation arose.

Turning sharply into a one-way
winding stretch of road, the Nissan didn’t hold back with its assault.
Travelling at over ninety kilometres an hour the risks were now apparent, but
the pursuer continued to hold traction and maintain his aggressive distance.
Braking suddenly to manage a left diversion, Marlow found himself confronted
with numerous side-road obstacles up ahead. Unintentionally he had chosen a
route that encompassed the edge of a bustling city market where stall traders
were in the throws of closing shop. Fortunately, being near day’s end, the
crowds had already dispersed, leaving only a handful of people to negotiate a
path around. Still the Nissan persisted at close range.

On seeing the fast-approaching
cars, the remaining few traders ran to the safety of an open shed, abandoning
their merchandise to escape the likelihood of being hit. Reminiscent of a scene
from the film
Ronin,
the inevitable had to happen. Marlow’s attempt to
go around these obstructions was impossible and in the space of five seconds
the MG had smashed through three fruit carts. Oranges, pears and apples became
airborne in all four directions and then commenced to splatter their contents
on everything in sight, including that of Indigo’s trailing Nissan Patrol. To
add bedlam, an ice cream vendor, a hot dog stand and a clothes rack of denim
attire could not escape the consequences. The aptly named Market Street had
been transferred into a monumental fiasco.