Scorpio's Lot

by Ray Smithies

  A straight section of bitumen followed the turn-off, which provided opportunity to check their whereabouts. Half a minute later, a reflection from the mirror suddenly caught my eye and I knew their headlights were less than a kilometre back. We had gained some time but ever so slightly.

  With a few scattered houses now coming into view, I sensed we must have travelled a near circle. This road was leading us back into Pedley. More opportunity for diversion in a built-up area, I thought. Unless it was an illusion, their high-beam lights now appeared to be getting closer. Pedley couldn’t come quickly enough. I floored the accelerator, reaching speeds of up to one hundred, determined to lose them once and for all. Around corners, down allies and across bridges, I led them on a wild goosechase through every conceivable path I could think of, never once taking the conservative option. It was a full-on attempt to escape their grip on things. There were no headlights in the rear vision mirror, so had my obsession to play the illegal speedster paid off? I was sure I had succeeded for there was still no visible proof after one minute.

  Back in town I made a number of turns and then deliberately chose a straight stretch to see if they were still on our trail. No lights to be seen after a minute. I felt more at ease and could sense the women shared my sentiments. I chose a side street I knew led in the direction of the caravan park. At eleven-thirty pm the comforts of an on-site van seemed more appropriate for Helen and Brigit than a trip to the local police station, which was probably shut at this hour.

  From out of nowhere an on-coming vehicle with blinding high-beam lights headed directly toward us, on the same side of the street. There was little time to react. I slammed the brakes hard, the sudden change in motion causing the car to swerve and hit the gutter, spinning the vehicle to a halt. The motor ceased. There was a screech of tyres and the approaching blinding light stopped immediately in our path. No more than a metre separated the two vehicles. Two doors slammed, but the brightness from the car lights made it impossible to detect the mens’ whereabouts. I yelled to Helen and Brigit to keep the doors locked while I tried the ignition. But it was too late.

  Suddenly Brigit’s side window was smashed by a crowbar, sending the women into terrified confusion. A second assailant attempting to break through on Helen’s side had all the hallmarks of a crazed madman. Grunting and cursing, he had worked himself up into a frenzied state as if possessed by the devil itself.

  Now screaming obscenities, the man continued to punish the car, repeatedly kicking at the side door and window. The glass pane gave way, shattering into pieces over the back seat and its occupants. He leaned forward to release the door catch. Helen shrieked in terror, simultaneously trying to fend off her attacker and pull Brigit away from the clutches of the other.

  With the door now open, the first man took hold of Helen roughly and dragged her toward the road, but she had had the good sense to remain buckled in. In his crazed and obsessed state, the assailant realised the safety belt would need to be released if he were to secure his prey. Screaming continued from both women.

  My front seat position was proving to be a handicap. Brigit was beyond arm’s length and Helen’s dilemma had reached a critical point. I had to do something to assist them, and quickly. Think! I spotted the steering wheel lock resting on the front passenger’s seat. At around half a metre of hardened steel, it made a formidable weapon. Helen’s belt had become unfastened and her slender stature couldn’t resist the bullying tactics of her aggressor. I reached for the weapon and took aim. The thug from Brigit’s side saw my intent and immediately yelled to his accomplice.

  But the deed was done. With one downward thrust the steering lock connected squarely with the man’s forearm, sending him into a continuous scream. When he retreated to tend to his wound I focused my attention on the other side, for the first man had already leaned forward through a further broken window and had hold of Brigit. With her arm supported by a sling, her ability to fight back was restricted. I still had the lock in my hand, but with Brigit in the far rear seat the distance was too great to swing the bar effectively. I immediately passed it to Helen, yelling at her to ram it into his face. With two hands grasping the bar, she lunged forward and completely missed her target. I screamed at her to try again. Not only did she break his nose with her second swipe, but a third blow landed squarely to the side of his head, rendering the man unconscious.

  Sliding backward through the window opening, the assailant caught his head on some glass protruding from the side frame. Two large fragments were catastrophic in punishment, carving their passage upon his skull as he slowly descended into a collapsed heap through the opening.

  We had managed to escape again but this was no time to wait around for another onslaught. We had to move quickly, and now. With a turn of the ignition the motor responded. I placed the gear lever in reverse, and gave myself room to go around the 4WD.

  ‘Hold on!’ I roared.

  In my rush to escape the carnage the engine accelerated to four or five thousand revs, creating one hell of a noise and leaving behind a thick cloud of smoke. I tore down this stretch of road, constantly looking across at the mirror. We were into our third block past the first intersection and no sign of life from behind. I tried to remain calm and focused. The night air rushing in where windows once served was incredibly cold. The women huddled together to gain some warmth, but it was all in vain since the draught had turned the car’s interior into something reminiscent of a wind tunnel. I felt for my two companions, thinking that no person deserved the trauma we’d just been through. These guys must be desperate to silence Brigit, I thought. I wondered if they ever accepted defeat. A minute had passed and still no 4WD in pursuit. I was now confident the worst had passed.

  ‘Did either of you recognise those men?’ I called over the wind in the car.

  ‘No,’ Helen shouted back and added, ‘I didn’t think to get their number plate.’

  ‘They were trying to drag us from the car!’ Brigit snapped. ‘Number plates were the last damn thing on my mind!’

  ‘Tom, would you take us to the police station now. This matter has gone way beyond a joke,’ insisted Helen.

  ‘Certainly. I’m low on fuel anyway and the service stations are probably all closed at this hour. We’ll run out of petrol if we keep travelling around. There’s probably no more than ten kilometres left in the tank.’

  As anticipated, the police station was closed for the night. At 12.14 am the local authorities would have considered a day’s duty to be well and truly over. This was not one of your open-all-hours city outlets.

  ‘Tom, I’m not going back to my house tonight,’ Helen declared. ‘Who knows what mess they’ve left it in, and besides, I wouldn’t feel safe in case those thugs return.’

  ‘Take us to your caravan park. At least we won’t have to handle another round of Forbes’ interrogation!’ insisted Brigit.

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Glad to hear you’ve come to your senses.’

  The return trip was a quiet affair. No one uttered a word during the five-minute journey. There was no moon and this cold winter night was extraordinarily dark. There was no sighting of the 4WD now and for the first time in over two hours I felt a sense of relief. I deliberately parked my car inside the garage, not wanting to advertise the damage of the evening.

  Without disturbing Emily, I took Helen and Brigit directly to site B8 in the second avenue of caravans. I opened the annex door and quickly drew the curtains behind us before switching on the light.

  Emily had already arranged some clothes, blankets and towels in the van to avoid drawing attention during daylight hours. I thought this site would prove to be suitable, for not only was it close to our residence but it was also sufficient distance from the prying Ruth Evans in C3.

  ‘Try to get some sleep. I have a spare key and I’ll check on you early tomorrow morning. Here’s my mobile number if the need arises. Under no circumstances unlock the door for anyone and keep the blinds drawn at all times. I’ve chose
n this site because it’s close to our residence and has both a shower and toilet facility.’

  ‘Thanks for all your help, Tom. I’d hate to think where Brigit might be now if it weren’t for your visit tonight,’ Helen gratefully responded.

  Brigit nodded in agreement.

  ~ * ~

  The following morning over breakfast I related the events of the night before to Emily, who was understandably shocked at the extent of violence.

  ‘As if Brigit and Helen haven’t already had enough traumas,’ she said.

  ‘I checked on them earlier and both seem okay. They didn’t sleep too well but under the circumstances that’s to be expected. I’m almost certain no one saw us arrive, but I’m thinking it might be best to move them to a different site tonight.’

  ‘But why would you do that, Tom?’

  ‘I’m trying to keep a step ahead just in case we were spotted. As soon as it’s dark enough we’ll move them discreetly into C7. That site’s rarely used and it’s still close by.’

  ‘Tom, I don’t agree. This is a matter for the police now,’ protested Emily.

  ‘And what are the police going to do? You only have to recall my phone call with Forbes, who made it quite clear he didn’t have the resources to provide protection.’

  ‘Yes, but he based that decision upon speculation and not on what has since transpired.’

  ‘But they’ll only return Helen and Brigit to the house and then we’re back to square one waiting for the next assault. At least this way they’re hidden and safe,’ I added, trying to justify my actions.

  ‘Rubbish! The police would have to provide protection. For goodness sake, Tom, it’s their duty,’ Emily insisted.

  ‘Oh, and where do you propose they could be taken to? Bloody hell, we’re talking about the welfare of my niece here, and I for one am not prepared to take that risk.’

  ‘I have no idea, Tom, but I’m sure the authorities would have their best interests at heart.’

  ‘That’s your trouble, Em. You’re too damn gullible. Do you really believe the Pedley cops could guarantee one hundred percent round-the-clock sanctuary? I have my doubts.’

  The heated argument was at a stalemate and I had no intention of relinquishing Brigit’s cover.

  ‘Tom Harrison, you are one stubborn man. The law is not yours to dictate, but more importantly, what do Brigit and Helen have to say about all this?’

  ‘Brigit wants to lay low for a while. She doesn’t trust Forbes, believing him to be nothing short of a scaremonger. His interrogation techniques border on intimidation, she kept telling me. She feels the publicity surrounding their disclosure will only make the syndicate upgrade their assault.’

  ‘And Helen?’

  ‘Helen’s less convincing, but concedes that she has no desire to return home immediately. She agrees that the caravan park does provide a suitable retreat and is sceptical regarding the law’s protection of Brigit. Both feel that lying low for a brief time has its merits.’

  ‘Very well, but I can’t say I’m totally convinced. The decision is ultimately theirs, so they’ll have to live with their judgment. By the way, where did you put the car last night?’

  ‘I parked it in the garage because of the damage. I didn’t want to attract any attention. You know what people are like and particularly with Ruth Evans on the prowl.’

  With breakfast done I decided to catch up on some unfinished plumbing work in the laundry block. This would be a convenient way of keeping an eye on B8 and I could also see if anyone loitered near the van. I knew that Helen and Brigit would keep the blinds closed and I would visit them tonight regarding our next move. Communication for now would only be by mobile phone. Trust nobody.

  Through the laundry window I saw Kurt Muller walking past on his way to the office. Unpleasant chap, I thought. Probably about to complain of some trivial matter that had no immediate solution. Poor Em, no one deserves the full brunt of his punishing tongue so early in the day. I heard Kurt muttering something of no consequence, but more importantly I observed he didn’t once look directly toward B8.

  Around five minutes later I heard the whining voice of Ruth Evans earbashing some unfortunate soul. Laying down my tools, I peered through the window to observe the woman’s verbal onslaught. Ruth Evans had no rival. Her mouth was like a machine producing hundreds of repetitive parts per minute. So intense was her delivery she did not pause between sentences and I wondered where her next breath would come from. If idle chatter ever became an event at the Olympics, Ruth would win gold every time. I didn’t recognise the woman she was talking to. Perhaps she was some local Ruth had become friends with over time. The poor woman constantly nodded her head as if completely hypnotised by Ruth’s verbal powers.

  Without warning the unthinkable happened. Something fell inside B8, causing Ruth to stop her onslaught. Both women stepped a little closer to the caravan. Curiosity was Ruth’s trademark and this situation wasn’t going to disappear without further investigation. I had to think and act quickly, knowing I must intervene and take control of the matter. I stepped outside to block their advance.

  ‘Ah, Ruth, pleasant sort of day, don’t you think?’ I said.

  ‘Tom, we just heard a noise coming from this van. With no residents occupying this one I think you should investigate,’ insisted Ruth.

  ‘No need for alarm, ladies. We’ve had a problem with rats over the last week in this vicinity, so I’ve laid traps in three vans with the hope of catching some of the blighters. What you just heard was one of traps going off, which has caused something to fall.’

  ‘They must be big rats to cause that sort of noise.’

  ‘Yes, big and ugly. Would you like to help me dispose of this one?’

  ‘Not on your nelly! Dirty creatures that spread disease,’ claimed Ruth.

  ‘As you wish,’ I responded, a little surprised that my tactic had worked so effectively.

  ‘By the way, Tom, this is my good friend Marge Samson who lives in Pedley.’

  We exchanged pleasantries and the two women continued on their way. Ruth glanced back with an apprehensive look. She then stopped, hesitated and scratched her head, giving the impression that something didn’t sit quite right. I think my story was convincing enough, but all the more reason to switch sites tonight. Half a minute went by and I could still hear Ruth’s voice from a distance. That woman presented an enormous risk in protecting the residents of B8.

  ~ * ~

  The consequence for failure had its price in the underworld. The efforts of Charlie and his henchman would be dealt with in due course. The regional head was furious when learning of the debacle and requested that Sol make a phone call that morning in the presence of both Bradbury and Charlie. After the regional head came on the line Sol changed to speakerphone.

  ‘You let me down, Charlie. You failed to carry out a simple instruction. Two women and some unknown male person are not what I would call formidable opponents and yet they managed to elude your every challenge. What do you have to say for yourself?’

  ‘They got lucky, boss. It won’t happen a second time.’

  ‘Wrong answer, Charlie! Luck didn’t play a part. They were simply too clever. They kept a step ahead at all times and maintained that advantage throughout the night. Tell me, did you recognise this man and do you have any idea where Brigit O’Neill is now?’

  ‘Yeah, it looked like that caravan guy Tom Harrison, but I got no idea where the O’Neill girl is now.’

  ‘I’m told you were both injured. Would you tell me to what extent, as I can’t afford to have you both idle and sitting around for days on end.’

  ‘Me arm was hit by some metal thing, but I’m okay. Mick’s got a broken nose and some cuts to his head. He was unconscious for a bit and I got him restin’ for a while, but he’ll be all right in a day or two.’

  ‘And what about Harrison and the women? Were any of them injured by any chance?’

  ‘The O’Neill girl had her arm in plaster, bu
t nothin’ else.’

  ‘You mean to say that one middle-aged woman, a teenager with her arm in plaster and one male person were your only resistance and you still couldn’t manage to get the upper hand? You leave me speechless, Charlie!’ declared his boss.

  ‘Them’s the breaks, but we did some damage to their car,’ replied Charlie pathetically.

  ‘Am I supposed to acknowledge that remark as some sort of consolation?’

  ‘No, boss.’

  ‘I want someone to start checking the local panelbeaters from tomorrow, just in case our friends decide to have their car repaired. Additionally, I want you all to keep your ears and eyes focused on the whereabouts of Brigit O’Neill. I believe she’s hiding in Pedley and probably right under our noses, so we need to flush her out and bring her to the underground. My guess would be the caravan park, with Harrison’s involvement. That will do for now but no more failures. Should I have to warn you a second time, Charlie, then action will be taken. I hope my point is taken seriously,’ declared the regional head.