by Ray Smithies
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.
The chase again picked up momentum, now leading its speed demons through a city bypass tunnel which opened onto a wide boulevard that ran its course beside the Templer River. The two cars roared pass a number of commuters who each received their fair share from a blasting horn. From across the water Marlow spotted two cars travelling in the same direction and at an impatient rate. He knew immediately that his pursuer had called for backup, which would now test all the cunning, driving skills and directional knowledge he could muster. It was mandatory to choose the correct route, preferably a path that would keep his pursuers’ backup team at bay.
Predictably Marlow chose to divert his course away from the river, enabling him to increase a respectable distance from the second set of pursuers. The Nissan, however, had now gained ground to the point where he couldn’t see its headlights in the rear vision mirror. Viewed from either end the two vehicles appeared locked together.
Marlow was now beginning to feel the heat and in a fleeting moment he pondered as to the whereabouts of the police. They were conspicuous by their absence. Perhaps the inclusion of the cops would be the preferred option. As a result, he decided it was high time they take the law into their own hands. Believing the use of firearms would act as a deterrent, Marlow instructed his bodyguard to retrieve a gun from the glovebox. A silencer was fitted to lessen the public’s attraction.
Winding down his side window and leaning through its somewhat limited opening, Max took aim amidst the erratic zigzags, braking and cornering. He fired into the night air, but the bullet’s resultant path was hopelessly off target. He fired a second that was equally ineffective. Slipping back into his seat and rewinding the window, Max decided to wait for a straight section of road with the intention of shooting at the Nissan’s tyres. The target was simply too difficult while in bumper-to-bumper pursuit.
Approaching a red light, Marlow decided to risk all as he ploughed through the intersection to escape Indigo. He narrowly missed a courier van and was forced to apply the brakes. To his disappointment the Nissan was equally determined to maintain the ascendancy. With Indigo still hot on his trail, he now found himself in unfamiliar territory. The terrain had become undulating and the roads considerably narrower. Up hill and down dale, the two vehicles pushed relentlessly forward, to the point where certain crests enabled the cars to become airborne. With every descent the MG and Nissan slammed heavily on the asphalt with a punishing thud.
Up ahead a large truck was carelessly parked, its dominant presence halfway across the roadway. The restrictive opening would test the driving skills of both drivers. Due to the other vehicle’s size the 4WD clipped the corner of the truck, smashing the side rear mirror into a hundred pieces. The adrenalin and testing of nerves had Marlow in total overdrive. At this rate he wondered how much more he could handle.
Braking hard, he took a left onto a major thoroughfare and was immediately confronted with heavier traffic. Squealing tyres and screeching brakes accompanied the zigzag maneuvers being performed along the three-lane arterial drag. Marlow had to find an exit road and quickly, for it was sheer madness to depend on the traffic’s awareness of the situation.
Travelling alongside the centre strip was distinctly to Marlow’s disadvantage. He quickly glanced across to the outside neighbouring lanes and could immediately see he was confronted with a difficult challenge. The evening peak hour commuters had occupied the two lanes in a single-file arrangement. Intrusion was virtually impossible unless he was prepared to sideswipe a vehicle or two in the attempt. This he decided to rule out, believing he would more than likely cause a pile-up due to someone’s inability to control their steering. A break in the traffic beckoned around two hundred metres ahead. There was sufficient opening to accommodate the MG, should he choose to swing across. Marlow floored the accelerator to gain the ascendancy. With opportunity presenting itself he quickly cut across the two temporary vacant lanes, oblivious to the whereabouts of the aggressive Nissan Patrol. He now focus
ed on the first available exit.
In realising his sizable 4WD stood little chance of repeating the MG’s successful negotiation, Indigo suddenly braked to allow the left-hand lanes to clear. In losing the initiative his patience was tested as he had to wait for the slower traffic to pass. In a tight squeeze he pushed his way into the central lane, effectively causing the car to the rear to swerve sideways. He had one more deviation to negotiate. To his annoyance the traffic drove closer and slower on the outside lane.
But this was no time for hesitation. He swung the wheel hard, forcing a bright-yellow VW Beetle to encroach on the emergency laneway. The young woman driver, whose eyes looked remarkably similar to Marty Feldman’s, instantly dropped her mobile phone and screamed.
The Traffik supremo had reached his desired lane. He immediately pulled across to the emergency corridor and pumped the accelerator pedal to overtake this row of Sunday drivers. Looking ahead, he could see the MG climbing an exit road and immediately knew he had to reach the incline before the lights turned green. With absolutely no regard for the slowing commuters, he swung back into the funeral procession to allow for his negotiated departure from the arterial. Indigo had made up sufficient ground to again be back in the hunt. Forced to brake and stop, only three vehicles separated the racing duo, thanks mainly to the red light ahead.
The traffic began to flow slowly, increasing to a moderate speed on reaching level ground. The road provided sufficient width, and with no side-parked cars to create an obstruction the race for dominance once more reignited. The two drug gurus immediately pulled out and floored their respective pedals. Tyres squealed in adjusting to the tempo of the motor revs. Fumes billowed across a dozen windscreens, creating havoc amongst the remaining drivers. They could only hear the commotion, wondering if there was about to be a smash amidst this smokescreen of confusion.
Marlow suddenly diverted left in hope the trailing cloud would serve to give Indigo the slip. He had chosen a quiet suburban street that wound its way through a typical middle-class neighbourhood. The tree-lined avenue offered numerous crossroads, each complete with a circular, raised garden bed. For whatever reason, Marlow chose to press forward and reach the end of the roadway. He went over a speed hump and approached the second last roundabout, only to see the sudden arrival of a car to his right. Ignoring the give way, he maneuvered through the tight semi-circle to screams of abuse coming from the short-tempered driver. The two cars nearly collided. Marlow caught a glimpse of a passenger leaning out the window waving a gun and immediately knew the first of Indigo’s backup team had arrived. The trailing 4WD continued to make up ground.
A hail of bullets followed, punishing the MG’s bonnet and side paneling. Their relentless gunfire exploded the windscreen, spraying a thousand particles on its occupants. Max retrieved his gun and commenced the exchange through the convenience of the windowless opening. Amidst the barrage of retaliation a bullet caught the bodyguard’s left shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon on the floor. The pain was intense and blood ran freely from the wound, soaking his clothing. He lent down to recover the gun and resumed his protection of the Keeper. Gunfire was now evident from the following Nissan. A bullet had penetrated the back window. The dual onslaught was proving difficult to compete with.
Whilst hopelessly outnumbered, the bodyguard could still manage the use of his good arm. Marlow’s protector was an able marksman whose skills made him a formidable opponent. Max scored a direct hit, marginally reducing the odds. An unrelenting retaliation continued down the tight and winding suburban roadway. Marlow’s frustration was undeniable in wanting to assist his bodyguard, but the need to steer and control the sports car throughout the pursuit overruled any further possible role. Lump it or like it, he was totally dependent on Max with the firearm and his own apparent driving skills to rid this lot.
And then the unthinkable occurred. A bullet penetrated Max’s skull, the deadly missile causing the bodyguard to slump forward on the padded dashboard. The direct hit instantly killed Max Kirby. Horrified at the loss of his devoted colleague Marlow quickly retrieved the gun, which had conveniently fallen into his lap.
A bullet suddenly smashed the passenger side window, sending Marlow into a panic attack. The resultant noise frightened the Scorpio boss, since he was now alone in this deadly pursuit. The glass fragments smothered him, causing him to momentarily discard his driving duties. The MG veered sharply to the right, resulting in the front wheel catching a raised pavement and causing the sports car to spin continuously and come to a halt.
Marlow was now in a dilemma, for up ahead he could see a fast-approaching panel van that undoubtedly was about to contribute to the carnage. To his rear, the Nissan Patrol was braking hard to prevent any retreating exit. The loop was now complete and any escape route had effectively been cut off. Cornered, with no way out, he conceded he had run his race, but he wasn’t about to give up without a fight.
The door was immediately opened and Marlow quickly crouched behind its limited protection. Indigo was to his rear, with only the back of the car effectively creating a shield. His dilemma was made more awkward since the low rear end blocked his view beyond the door. With no choice but to lie low, he had become a sitting duck. A brief exchange of gunfire followed. A bullet caught his lower leg, conspicuously in full view below the car door. Confused and frightened, he somehow managed to crawl back into the car, despite the handicap of the gun wound. He sat contemplating his fate.
Indigo cautiously stepped forth from his 4WD, knowing full well his enemy was still armed. Was this Marlow’s way of declaring surrender? He called out for the Keeper to relinquish his gun and throw the weapon on the roadside. Marlow reluctantly obliged. Indigo then issued orders for a body search in case a second weapon was concealed. Following clearance, the Traffik boss approached the MG’s driver’s side and arrogantly spun his fingers to imply he wanted the window wound down. He then stood waiting for his instruction to be carried out.
‘Mr Marlow, I presume?’
‘Ah ... yes.’
‘Please step out of the car,’ Indigo ordered in a quiet but firm voice.
Marlow opened his door and awkwardly arose from the low-lying vehicle. He grimaced from the painful leg wound. His large frame seemed in stark contrast to the snug interior of the sports car. Four of Indigo’s lackeys stood still in the background.
‘My name is Indigo, supreme leader of the Traffik syndicate. Tell me, Victor, does this mean anything to you?’
‘No ... should it?’
‘Come now, don’t take me for a fool. You should know who I am.’
‘Oh, and why is that?’
‘Your squealing to the police, in addition to the imprisonment and unspeakable acts of cruelty and murder carried out against the Traffik syndicate.’
‘You have the wrong person!’ Marlow replied abruptly.
‘Then would you please enlighten me as to who the responsible person is?’ queried the calm but forceful Indigo.
‘The Piedpiper issued orders to carry out that business,’ responded Marlow, quick to divert the point of blame.
‘The Piedpiper?’
‘Yes, my southern regional head. I wasn’t aware of these matters until after the event.’ He was desperate to avoid responsibility.
‘And who is this Piedpiper?’
‘That I won’t divulge. You know the rules.’
‘Never mind, there are ways and means of finding out. You are pathetic, Victor. Or should I call you the Keeper? You stand there groveling and pleading your innocence when clearly you must accept responsibility for your syndicate’s actions.’
‘But... but...’
‘Shut the fuck up! You haven’t even got the balls to come clean. Instead you blame others for your atrocities.’
‘What are you going to do with me?’ Marlow was now desperate and frightened of the consequences.
‘Enough talk!’ snapped his captor, nodding to his waiting entourage.
Marlow stood shaking
with fear. Two of Indigo’s lackeys came forward and commenced punching him in the stomach and side. He fell to the ground, doubling up in pain, while the assailants maintained their onslaught with a few choice kicks to his back and head. Blood started to flow from the deeper wounds.
‘Stop!’ called Indigo, who wanted Marlow to remain conscious for the finale he had planned. This was payback time for his horrendous crimes against Traffik. Indigo was hell-bent on making his nemesis suffer to the very end.
‘We’re going on a short trip, Victor. I have something very special to show you.’
Marlow was pushed into the back of the Nissan, seated and wedged between two oversized thugs. The trail of vehicles, including Marlow’s MG, commenced the journey to an unknown destination. Battered and bleeding profusely, he could only sit and wonder where Indigo was leading this convoy of runabouts.
Through the many back streets of the urban sprawl, the Traffik boss led the procession at a conservative pace. His soon-to-be realised objective was now only minutes away. In leaving behind this residential landscape, the road descended into a gully that was in stark contrast to the leafy surrounds of Penton Hills suburbia. The sight took on a more industrial and commercial aspect where foliage gave way to concrete jungles filled with factories and offices.
