by Ray Smithies
‘Then explain why you held a knife to Father Byrne,’ said Bradbury.
Morgan was starting to feel the heat. The pendulum was beginning to turn in Bradbury’s favour. Saturation point was looming fast and in one last desperate attempt to save his own neck, he took the unprecedented step of reversing the roles.
‘It wasn’t me who held the knife. The traitor in our midst is yet again avoiding the consequences of his actions. For once in your life, Bradbury, have the balls to speak the truth.’
‘Good try, Morgan, but it won’t work. You’ve only got to speak to the church or hospital to verify what I’m saying.’
‘Then so be it. You’re on borrowed time, Bradbury. The betrayer is always caught out in the end,’ said Morgan, refusing to budge.
The trading of words continued. Morgan was now fully aware that this conversation could not leave the confines of underground. His defiant stand on the issue would be ridiculed by all who had witnessed the event. His one chance of survival was to eliminate Bradbury. Erase him from the equation, so to speak. But how? In the presence of Sol he couldn’t simply reach for a gun or knife and kill him. He would have to create a situation whereby self-defence would be seen as an acceptable excuse.
He began to devise his cunning plan to agitate the unsuspecting Bradbury into creating the necessary scene. Morgan was a master of deception and this situation brought no major challenge for the maestro. He utterly refused to allow some two-bit warehouse manager to gain the upper hand and be subjected to any comeback mockery. He continued with his unrelenting verbal assault.
‘There’s honour among the criminal fraternity, but in your case you’ve chosen to switch boats to create havoc. Treason is a very serious offence and the punishment carried out is generally of the highest order,’ said Morgan.
‘But you have no proof!’ insisted Sol, taking on the role of judge and judicator.
‘The gift of the gab is your only defence, Morgan. This can all be sorted out with a quick phone call to St Patrick’s. They’ll verify the truth,’ Bradbury insisted.
‘No, best we visit in person so there’s no mistake,’ Morgan said, stalling for time.
‘I have a question,’ called a voice.
The three men stopped at the sound of this unexpected person.
Sol was first to acknowledge the presence of his superior. ‘Ah, Piedpiper, thank goodness you’ve arrived. We might finally get to the bottom of this mess.’
The sudden presence of the regional head had a contrasting effect. Neville Bradbury predictably appeared reassured, while Morgan simply stared in absolute disbelief.
‘You’re the Piedpiper!’ he bellowed in utter shock. ‘That’s impossible. There has to be some mistake.’
‘No mistake, Morgan. I’ve been listening to this unfolding story from the next room. I would’ve preferred not to have revealed my identity, but the implications and consequences of this matter have made it necessary for me to intervene.’
Morgan continued to glare at the Piedpiper as if he had seen a ghost. He had not anticipated this person to be the southern drug lord. Finally overcoming the initial shock and regaining some degree of composure, he made his feelings known.
‘Very clever with your contrasting cover that people would never believe. You’re the last person I suspected,’ he declared, still shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Enough of this stupidity. As I said before, there’s a question that begs a response. Tell me, Morgan, why did your initial recollection of the event make only reference to Bradbury’s confession?’ questioned the Piedpiper.
‘For obvious reasons. You don’t have to be a Rhodes scholar to work that one out,’ he replied.
‘Oh, then please enlighten me.’
‘Because the bastard would’ve told the priest about our operations. Surely anyone can work that out.’
‘But you have no proof of this, so why the theatrics?’ the Piedpiper responded coolly.
‘Then ask yourself why he would go to confession in the first place. Your traitor’s conscience had got the better of him. What else would they talk about? Come on, it’s so damn obvious it’s a joke.’
‘Maybe in your mind, Morgan. The fact is, you have no idea and nor does anyone else. To my way of thinking the more important issue for initial discussion was Neville’s so-called rendezvous with these men in the church grounds. This had all the ingredients for an alleged sabotage or defector situation, but instead you chose a confession to alert Sol to an existing problem. It was only when some pressure was applied you decided to throw this in like an afterthought,’ counteracted the Piedpiper.
Morgan had a formidable opponent when it came to a battle of wits. Few surpassed the drug boss in this field. The psychopath was beginning to feel the heat again. Whatever he conjured up, the Piedpiper had a ready answer. Desperation was starting to show on his face.
‘You’re as gullible as the rest of them. Can’t you see when a problem is staring you right in the face? You act appropriately, not beat around the bush as if you’re on some bloody butcher’s picnic,’ he flared at his regional head.
‘You listen to me, Morgan! The fact of the matter is you’ve chosen the wrong person to persecute. Do you really believe that Bradbury would betray us?’
‘Are you implying that I’m guilty before proven innocent?’ countered Morgan.
‘Your gutter scum of the lowest form ...’ The regional head was howled down by Morgan’s inability to accept self-ridicule.
‘Noooo!’ he screamed. ‘Take a good look at yourself. You lack the skills to take this operation to the next level. You lack the balls to make the tough decision and carry out execution when appropriate. And you have the audacity to question my motives!’
‘I’ve haven’t begun to start with you! I have built this southern enterprise into a multi-million dollar business only to see it deteriorate in the space of three weeks. Do you have any idea as to why this has happened? One Bradley Morgan, to be precise. You have stirred the emotions and attracted the attention of the nation as result of your constant interference and mindless trail of murders. What you have created in this short time would take most people a lifetime to achieve. My track record speaks for itself, so don’t come at me questioning my skill levels,’
Morgan finally accepted he had run his race. No longer required by the southern operation, he now decided on retaliation to leave his mark. To eliminate Bradbury would give the psychopath a degree of satisfaction, for in Morgan’s mind to leave empty-handed would be an exit without honour. Anger and irrational behaviour had now replaced the satire and calm exterior that was his usual trademark. A noticeable twitch had emerged, and with his head slightly tilted to one side he looked like a possessed demon about to explode. This disturbing sight even raised the eyebrows of the Piedpiper. Morgan screamed, his body rigorously shaking in an uncontrollable tantrum. He had literally lost the plot. In a sudden act of vengeance he drew a knife and grabbed the unsuspecting Sol as a shield. He held the blade to Sol’s throat.
The Piedpiper knew Morgan would carry out his callous act if pushed too far. Caution and patience were paramount. The Piedpiper had not anticipated Morgan to turn against his own. How the drug lord loathed the psychopath for creating such a scene. And wasn’t hindsight a wonderful thing - there had been ample opportunity to eliminate this bastard before now. Pretend to appease the jerk and when he least expects it, have him bumped off. But in reality there had been no prior confrontation to allow for such an act. The Piedpiper had to grin and bear it, for circumstances now dictated otherwise. Morgan held the advantage and something had to be devised to reverse the situation.
The regional head signaled for Bradbury to retreat a couple of steps to reduce the element of threat. The psychopath had become a time bomb and this was not the moment to light the fuse.
Morgan drew a second knife, and to the horror of his obedient audience ran the blade down the full length of his own forearm. Although the wound was superficial, it non
etheless emphasised he was deadly serious with his intent. Blood flowed down the arm and onto his hand, dripping to the floor in continuous pulsation on reaching the fingertips. His wide eyes, with conspicuous convex-like pupils, reflected the look of a madman. He then stabbed the same arm in multiple regions. The self-mutilation commenced slowly at first, but progressively increased in tempo as Morgan pushed the blade through to the bone. As he twisted the knife, blood streamed from his arm at an alarming rate. He paused and grinned at his astonished observers.
‘That little demonstration speaks a thousand words, so don’t mess with the maestro, comprendi?’
He reached for a cloth to stop the blood flow. Tying the cotton fabric didn’t appear to be overly challenging and he succeeded in accomplishing the task with the use of only one hand and his teeth. This would now become a game, strictly coordinated and carried out to Morgan’s set of rules. He currently held sway, so any thought given to negotiation or compromise would have to be placed on temporary hold. To disobey his orders at this point would have its consequences. The regional head was no fool, knowing full well Morgan’s capability and mental state. Unpredictability loomed as the biggest threat.
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 mak
e 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.
