by Ray Smithies
Morgan squealed with delight on hearing the troubled sound. His sadistic torment was proving to be highly entertaining.
Salt stopped briefly beside the man’s trembling leg and unexpectedly reared her tail in a display of defiance. Stalking her unfamiliar prey, she strutted about at the base of Templeton’s foot, occasionally using her pincers to feel the intended meal. With no forewarning the scorpion commenced climbing the prisoners leg, cautiously at first, then accelerating to where the ropes were tied around his lower limb. She paused momentarily to inspect her discovery.
Up to this point Templeton had been careful not to make a sudden move, having learnt the lesson from his accomplice’s mistake. Unfortunately for the mistreated prisoner, he was beginning to feel lightheaded and the possibility of passing out was quite apparent and unnerving. Despite his dilemma he continued to stand remarkably still, but with sweat now profusely dripping from his upper extremity, there was another problem. Should the trail of droplets make contact with the scorpion below, then quite possibly the creature’s reaction would be to strike. With his body literally saturated, he could sense pools of perspiration gathering on the bluestone.
Templeton daren’t breathe, let alone blink an eye. His predicament was unrivaled in the extreme. Recalling Morgan’s earlier comment, he knew that with Schmitt’s apparent survival, the deceptive albino held the deadly venom. He began to shake with sheer terror and his rigid and motionless stance gave way. He could no longer hold it together.
The white scorpion struck with all its intended potency. Templeton’s pain was acute. He immediately knew that something was dreadfully wrong. His sudden, violent trembling caused the creature to fall down on the bluestone.
Morgan returned the albino to its cage. Templeton’s constant bellowing from his taped mouth was not without its enthralled audience. How the psychopath enjoyed the misfortune and suffering of others. Again he squealed with laughter at seeing Templeton’s terrible predicament. The sight of the man’s struggle influenced Morgan to add some mileage to an already insane situation.
‘Isn’t she something? I get a particular kick out of watching Salt’s little escapades. Let me point out that you are in the initial stages of a severe attack,’ Morgan told Templeton. ‘Unfortunately, from your point of view the symptoms are more brutal than that of your compatriot. Temperature is now rising, which will lead to fever, vomiting, frothing of the mouth and convulsions. The venom injected will soon attack the entire body and central nervous system and unless we take measures to correct an otherwise hopeless outcome, you maybe dead within a few hours due to respiratory failure.’
The Traffik prisoner stared at his enemy with a look of immense horror. He understood the reprisals associated with competing syndicates, but this madness was beyond the apprehension of any sane person.
Morgan continued with his lunacy. ‘Since I’m a fair man, Mr Templeton, I will remove the tape; otherwise you’ll choke in your own vomit. But a word of warning. Should you choose to scream, rant or rave, you will leave me no choice but re-tape your mouth.’
Morgan ripped off the masking tape with one swift action.
Templeton was beginning to turn a distinct pale colour. Perspiration continued to pour freely and a fever was about to take control. His condition was deteriorating at an alarming rate. Finally in a position to talk, he forced his slurred speech upon the captor.
‘I need antivenin and quickly!’
‘All in good time, Mr Templeton. You’ve caused Scorpio some anxious moments with your presence and this is your punishment for trespassing.’
‘But we’ve done you no harm.’
‘On the contrary, your puny little outfit has focused on Pedley as a regional operation. Our esteemed leader won’t tolerate such action.’
‘But... but, there’s been no -’
‘No buts, please! It’s like the old saying “trespassers will be prosecuted”. In your case you’ve wandered too far beyond the restricted boundary,’ Morgan taunted.
‘What will become of us?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps flip a coin and we could repeat tonight’s performance? Heads for Salt and tails for Pepper. If it lands on end then I’ll set you free. Like I said, Mr Templeton, I’m a reasonable man.’
‘I need that antivenin now!’
‘Um ... one genuflect, two Hail Mary’s and a big “please” and then I might consider it,’ he taunted and then added, ‘Now I’m being silly. I momentarily forgot you are tied up. So let’s compensate with five very big “pleases” and we’ll see what transpires.’
‘Please!’
‘I can’t hear you. You need to be bold and believable with your delivery. Now let’s try again, but this time with a bit more conviction.’
‘Please, please, please, please!’
‘One more.’
‘Please!’
‘Thank you,’ acknowledged Morgan, producing the small bottle of antivenin.
He administered the fluid, much to the relief of the captive who by now was on the verge of collapse.
‘You’ll live. Now you owe me one since I’ve just saved your life. But then again, I fail to see how you could return the favor given your predicament.’
Klaus Schmitt, who had been preoccupied with his own dilemma, was still looking a bit worse for wear. Whilst his encounter had proven less scathing, he was nonetheless one very sick individual.
Realising conversation was fast coming to a close, Morgan reached for a marking pen to perform one last deviate act. Ripping apart their respective shirts, he commenced writing two insignias to serve as mementos for the evening. Upon the bare chest of Klaus Schmitt, he wrote the words ‘Ebony’s Enemy’. The less fortunate Dean Templeton became the recipient of ’Ivory’s Infliction’. The psychopath couldn’t resist one last passing taunt.
‘Don’t concern yourself with the ink. It’s both non-permanent and water-soluble and will most likely come out in the next wash.’
Both men were now on the verge of passing out from the trauma.
~ * ~
H
ow in the hell do you get some service in this joint!’ bellowed a voice from the office.
I must have jumped literally a metre in being startled by this unexpected announcement. Could that be the sound of my Celtic comrade? Entering reception, my expectations were immediately confirmed, for there stood Hamish O’Connor with his ginger hair and sporting an ear-to-ear grin.
‘Bloody hell, you do enjoy an entrance. Scared the daylights out of me!’ I protested with an equally wide smile.
‘Nothing like a good surprise. Shakes the coggles in your cranial and gets rid of all the cobwebs, as they say.’
‘What brings you to Pedley?’
‘Have some business to attend to and wondered if you could put me up for a few nights.’
‘Of course. We can give you a van complete with a shower and toilet. There’s been a cancellation so you’re in luck,’ I responded willingly.
‘Nothing too fancy, Tom. You know me. Something basic with a comfortable bed is all I ask.’
‘Did you bring Cain and Abel by any chance?’
‘Yeah, the Dobes are in the car waiting to lick you to death.’ Hamish chuckled.
‘Go and bring them in!’
‘And where’s that gorgeous wife of yours? Come out, come out wherever you are,’ roared Hamish, giving the impression he was about to play hide and seek.
‘You’re wasting your breath, Hamish. Emily’s up the street doing some shopping. She should be back soon. She’ll be pleased to see you.’
‘I tell you what, my friend. If you weren’t married to Em I’d give you a run for your money,’ declared Hamish.
‘For Christ’s sake, would you go and get the dogs?’
Within the space of twenty seconds Cain and Abel came rushing through the open door, spreading their saliva on every conceivable piece of exposed skin I could provide. In a frenzy of affection their long red wet tongues drenched me in Dob
erman dribble. With the pair finally settled I grabbed a nearby towel to dry myself.
‘This is all so unexpected, but glad to have you and your two tongues onboard, Hamish.’
‘Tom, the truth of the matter is I’ve been worrying about Brigit ever since you phoned. I do have some business to take care of, but also felt the need to come over for a few days to see if I can be of help.’
I gave Hamish a rundown on what had happened since Brigit’s kidnapping, including Arthur Simpson’s account of the underground network. ‘I’m not sure how you can help, Hamish, but just being here has given me a boost.’ I replied, to the sound of Emily walking through the back door. ‘Guess who’s here, my dear.’
Hamish and Emily became reacquainted, with Cain and Abel seeking a piece of the action amidst the hugs and avalanche of kisses. Emily was overjoyed to see our Irish friend.
‘Bloody hell, it’s a dry argument,’ hinted Hamish.
‘Sorry, my fault. Got carried away with all this sloppy greeting bullshit,’ I responded with a broad grin. ‘A whiskey, Hamish?’
‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’
I poured from a bottle of Jameson.
Hamish’s eyes lit up at the sight of the amber fluid. ‘Here’s looking up your kilt. Cheers!’ He poured the entire contents into his mouth. ‘Tickles your tonsils, tantalises your throat and plays havoc with your heart. Pour me another!’
‘Hamish, there is a way you may help. It concerns this old-timer Arthur Simpson I was telling you about. We’re planning to take a trip to the city in a couple of days or so to investigate this Pedley underground network. Would you like to come for the ride and perhaps help out on a bit of research?’
‘Count me in. Nothing like a good mission to get the adrenalin pumping.’
‘I doubt you’ll get an adrenalin rush looking through some archives.’
‘So who do you plan visiting?’ Hamish raised his empty glass for a third.
‘Initially the Lands Department and if time permits the city tabloids.’
‘Why not the local paper?’
‘We plan to visit the Pedley Advertiser prior to the city trip.’
‘So Emily, what do you think about all this?’ Hamish enquired.
‘Can’t say I’m overly happy about the idea, but if it means the eventual rescue of Brigit then I guess I’ll make allowances.’
‘While you’re in town, Hamish,’ I said, ‘we could soak up a bit of carnival tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll find the odd fiddle or two and enjoy a good craic.’
~ * ~
A Monday morning meeting with Johnson at the Esplanade was not exactly Paul Marsh’s ideal way of idling the hours away. After all, today was a public holiday and the last opportunity to enjoy the carnival. Billed as the grand finale, tonight there would be a masquerade ball in the town hall followed by a spectacular firework display at ten o’clock. Frustrated at the thought of confronting this arrogant publican again, he would have preferred to spend his time with the captivating Piochsa. He sighed, knowing Forbes would not permit the sampling of local pleasures, and besides, the Hungarian beauty was currently working the pub shift. Accompanied by John Doyle, he approached the hotel office for an expected confrontation.
‘Ah, Detective Marsh, we meet again. I see you’ve brought a friend along.’ The publican followed them into his office.
‘Good morning, Mr Johnson. We need a few moments of your time.’ Marsh introduced his colleague to the offensive man.
‘So what’s this all about? Thought I made it quite clear on your last visit there was nothing further to discuss,’ stated Johnson abruptly.
‘We need to talk to your security guards regarding an exchange of money and some information concerning a person by the name of Brad Morgan.’
‘What exchange of money? And who in the bloody hell is Brad Morgan?’
‘Morgan was the person who passed a large sum of cash. I assume from that remark you don’t know the man.’
‘Never heard of him and what’s this money all about?’
‘We suspect something illegal is going on, Mr Johnson,’ responded Marsh.
‘That’s bullshit and let me tell you -’
Marsh cut in. ‘I’m not particularly interested in your objections, Mr Johnson. It’s security we wish to speak to. Tell me, how many of these people do you employ?’
‘I employ five such people. Which one do you want?’
‘Initially Gavin Jackson and Angelo Caresso,’ Marsh responded. ‘Are they both in?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what are the names of the remaining three?’ asked Doyle.
‘Ross Dwyer, George Trevaskis and Gary Watkins.’
‘Would these three be here, Mr Johnson?’ Marsh asked.
‘The only other on duty today is Trevaskis due to the excessive crowds. Dwyer and Watkins commence their shift tomorrow. What in hell are you implying with this so-called exchange of money?’
‘Settle down, Mr Johnson,’ Marsh said. ‘We simply need to talk to these men about what this money represents and to obtain some details about Brad Morgan. It would be appreciated if we could interview Jackson in your office.’
‘I’ll get him, but I haven’t the time to sit around and listen to your idle chatter.’
‘Thank you, Mr Johnson,’ Marsh called out politely to the retreating publican.
The detective could see he had hit a raw nerve. Johnson’s denial of Morgan didn’t seem overly convincing. He was hoping security might slip up during interviews.
A giant of a man standing six-three and weighing at least one-thirty kilograms entered the room and lowered his large frame into the one remaining vacant chair. Doyle cringed as he watched the bouncer sit down, thinking the seat might suddenly give way to the excessive weight. Marsh immediately recognised the guard as being his imaginary Tweedledee from the other evening.
‘Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Jackson,’ Marsh said. ‘We need to ask some questions regarding an exchange I witnessed some nights back.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘There was a vast amount of cash passed to you by another individual. Would you please tell us how you came into possession of this money?’
‘I won it on the races just like the other man described.’
‘And the name of that other man?’
‘Henry Lloyd,’ claimed Gavin Jackson.
The publican suddenly re-entered, seemingly annoyed that his staff was not attending to their duties.
‘Time’s up, detective. I have a business to run here and this line of questioning can be conducted after hours at your police station,’ stated the publican with a raised voice.
‘Sit down, Mr Johnson, and shut up,’ roared Marsh.
‘Oh, you’ve done it this time. I will report this insolence to your superiors,’ Johnson retaliated.
‘I couldn’t give a shit if you phoned the police commissioner! You will remain seated and listen to me. Failure to cooperate with the police may result in a report to the liquor licensing commission with threat of loss of licence. Do I make myself clear?’
Ben Johnson nodded and remained still. Fight fire with fire and these aggressive types generally revert to a more subdued behaviour, thought Paul Marsh.
‘Now back to you, Mr Jackson. You’re claiming the money was won on a horse race and that the other man’s name was Henry Lloyd. Is this correct?’
‘Ah ... yes.’
‘Do not take me for a fool, Mr Jackson. I’ll give you one more chance to answer me truthfully. What will it be?’
The security guard hesitated, wondering how he should answer in the presence of his employer.
‘The truth please or I’ll arrange to have these premises turned inside out,’ persisted Marsh.
Jackson continued to remain silent, not wishing to cooperate with the law. The detective was seething. His patience had now run out and he let fly.
‘You listen to me and listen carefully. If you continue this way I will personally see to it
that the Esplanade is subjected to every conceivable raid, audit and search warrant I can muster up. Now come clean, Mr Jackson, or this establishment may forfeit its licence.’
The guard finally thought the better of his options. ‘It wasn’t a horse race. It was drug money.’
‘Good, we’re finally getting somewhere. And what sort of drug rewards you with a three-grand payout?’
