by Ray Smithies
‘In what capacity do you know these people?’ he asked, directing his question back at the man who provided the identities.
The Scorpio accomplice briefly explained about their search for Brigit O’Neill and subsequent encounters involving Peterswood and the Molly Bloom. He further spoke of their break-in at the O’Neill’s residence and the night they issued a warning at the caravan park. Satisfied with the man’s explanation, Indigo instructed the committee members to fall back in line. He glared at the remaining four persons without uttering a word. His cold and intimidating stare was enough to send a chill up my spine. He then directed a further question to the seated pair.
‘Identify these men who were shot.’
‘The one lying beside you was the Piedpiper’s personnel bodyguard who -’
‘And the man on the chamber roof?’ Indigo cut in.
‘His name was Mick. He was what you might call me lackey or assistant. The best rat is a dead rat!’ flared Luke, not sorry to see the traitor eliminated.
The disclosure of the renegade didn’t come as a huge surprise to the one called Luke. The Scorpio thug suddenly became talkative, expressing his hostility toward the traitor.
‘The bastard’s been suspected for some time, but we couldn’t pin anything on him. Like I said, the squealer got what he deserved. I hope the prick rots in hell -’
‘Enough,’ Indigo said.
It soon became apparent that Luke was indeed the elusive Charlie. His build, speech and mannerism suggested no other. I felt tempted to walk over and throttle the bastard. The second Scorpio captive who appeared to be of southern Italian descent was a total unknown. Indigo’s attention was again fixated on the unfortunate eight. Still half convinced his nemesis stood amongst this group, he decided to increase the tempo of his interrogation. He chose to have the Scorpio pair witness his forthcoming charade for the purpose of gauging their reaction. Indigo turned around to face the nervous eight and then delivered a frightening remark.
‘To extract the devil amongst you I’ve decided to play a game. It’s called Russian roulette and there are two methods of spinning the barrel. Either I do it on your behalf, or you as eight individuals do it independently. To make it fair I will allow you each to spin your own fate, because I may unintentionally catch a glimpse of the bullet and purposely have someone shot who I don’t take a liking to. Now that would spoil the fun, don’t you think?’
Shock and horror was immediate. The sound of cries could be heard in response to the blatant disregard of our most precious possession. In complete disbelief we watched the Traffik leader empty the remaining bullets from his gun. He then retrieved one bullet and slid the deadly missile into a randomly selected chamber. The axis of the barrel was then closed and spun a number of rotations. He then looked up and smiled in seeing our horrified reaction.
At a blink of an eye pandemonium erupted. Some of the eight had dropped to their knees wailing in terror, crawling closer to the bluestone wall as if looking for an escape. Some remained standing and shaking and their faces had turned distinctly pale, reflecting extraordinary fear. Those who had descended to the floor began to huddle together, each trying to shield from behind the other. It was a cruel and disturbing scene and one that Forbes could no longer tolerate.
‘You can’t be serious!’ he snapped at Indigo.
‘Excuse the pun, but I’m deadly serious.’
Indigo’s lackey took a step closer to the detective, claiming he would shoot if there were to be any interference from the men in blue. Forbes reluctantly retreated two steps, horrified that such a despicable act was about to be performed. Ivan then shouted at the eight people to fall back in line, standing single file in front of the wall.
The Traffik leader then continued with his theatrics.
‘So let me explain our little game. There are six chambers within this barrel, but only one contains a live bullet. Each person will have the gun pointed at their head and I will pull the trigger resulting in either a click or a bang. Don’t despair, for your chances of survival following round one are statistically eighty-three percent. Round two drops to sixty-nine and round three reflects a fifty-eight percent chance of seeing the sun rise again. Unless the Piedpiper is prepared to step forward now and spare this suffering for others, I will continue to fire until the bullet is released,’ he declared to further screams for mercy.
Indigo chose to commence his deplorable act with Ashley Collins and progressively work through the eight in the sequence they stood. He walked toward the man to have him spin the barrel. Nervously he started the rotation, his hand constantly shaking in terror. Collins let go following three revolutions. Maintaining a hold on the gun, Indigo pointed and released the trigger. A click resulted, sending the reporter almost into a state of collapse. He had survived.
Ben Johnson, next in line to this hit-or-miss experiment, was reduced to a trembling mess. The publican momentarily stepped behind the sergeant, but was promptly brought back into line by the outstretched arm of Indigo. Like his predecessor, he too spun the barrel and waited the inevitable. A further click and the weeping Johnson was spared.
When Darren Burke took centre stage, Forbes could no longer tolerate this madness, particularly with his sergeant now subjected to possible death.
‘Stop this immediately!’ shouted Forbes.
‘Shut the fuck up, fat boy, or I’ll include you in the line-up,’ bellowed Indigo.
Trembling but showing no facial emotion, Darren spun the barrel and waited. Click. He was saved.
With each possible execution the Traffik leader kept a vigilant eye on the Scorpio pair in hope that some telltale sign would emerge as to who the Piedpiper was.
It was now Helen O’Neill’s turn and the poor woman was having trouble in spinning the barrel. Shaking all over, she had difficulty in controlling her hand to perform the simple function. Her heart pounded as she relinquished the authority over the gun. Finally ready, she crossed herself and simply stood with eyes closed and waited. Click.
Richard Smyth, Martha Kellett and Stephen Buchanan all resulted in blanks. It was now my turn and I could only surmise that following seven failed attempts, the odds were increasingly stacked against me. I spun the barrel. The cycle noise came to an abrupt stop. My life seemed to pass by in an instant as I waited. Click.
Indigo had failed round one, and to rub salt into the wound, no clue was forthcoming from either of the Scorpio pair. Determined that something would eventually give, he pressed on with his inhumane antics.
‘So, no fatal blows! Either you’re all innocent or we have one very stubborn person amongst you. Unless the Piedpiper is prepared to step forth we will proceed with round two, whereby your survival rate will now be reduced to sixty-nine percent.’
Indigo paused but no one laid claim.
I now feared the worst, believing this second sequence would undoubtedly seal someone’s fate. Ashley Collins escaped a second time. Ben Johnson was so distressed he vomited as he took hold of the barrel. From a short distance Forbes continued to look on helplessly. Predictably, most people chose to turn away when the trigger was pulled. Johnson waited and survived. Darren Burke and Helen O’Neill both chose the quick option, rather than prolong the agony that had been demonstrated by the publican. Again they were both spared.
Twelve consecutive shots had resulted in blanks and with each progressive committee member, it was both statistically and highly probable the next shot would release a fatal blow.
Richard Smyth, whose bloodied right shoulder had gone unattended, was now preparing himself for the second attempt and like many before him was a fumbling mess. The poor bugger spun the barrel an excessive amount of revolutions, believing this action would be his saving grace. He stood poised waiting for the gun to fire. Bang. The bullet was released into the man’s skull, instantaneously blowing his brains to pieces. In a split-second Richard Smyth was dead. Blood was immediately transferred to the stone wall from where he once stood. Indescribable screa
ms and cries promptly followed.
Both Helen and Martha collapsed, the latter splattered in blood as a result of standing beside the deceased. Ben Johnson and Ashley Collins turned distinctly pale, both feeling light-headed and on the verge of fainting themselves. Darren Burke and Stephen Buchanan simply stared unmoved as if in a trance. They both appeared in shock and would need a moment to recompose themselves. My own reaction was one of total disbelief, as if caught up in a nightmare, and I was about to awake with only a bad dream to reflect on.
The scene continued to be chaotic, with most people unable to handle the consequences. Some were still screaming at the sight of the bloodied Smyth lying on the ground, while others began wandering around the gallery. Forbes and his men had climbed to their feet, wanting desperately to assist the traumatised committee members. Forbes realised that any attempt to make physical contact could result in the Traffik duo causing further slaughter. The Scorpio pair still seated in the middle of the gallery, simply stared in horror expecting their turn would soon follow.
Indigo was beginning to lose control of the situation. In a sudden release of vocal temper, he roared his disapproval at what was unfolding.
‘Shut the fuck up, the lot of you, and sit down!’ he bellowed.
His demand was immediately acknowledged in fear of further repercussions.
‘So you’ve lost one of your members, big deal! My gut feel tells me he wasn’t the Piedpiper anyway. He seemed the most unlikely choice,’ mocked Indigo.
The Traffik leader ordered his lackey to cover the head of Richard Smyth, claiming the grotesque sight would make him retch. How hypocritical of the bastard, I thought. He then directed his energies toward John and Luke, glaring down on the two as they sat huddled and frightened. Indigo then roared at the pair to come clean with the identity of the Piedpiper, stating a similar fate awaited them if they didn’t oblige. Luke reiterated what he had said before, claiming their regional head was still at large within the subterranean system. Indigo was intent on the fact that their leader was still among the seven surviving committee members.
In a sudden rage of uncontrollable emotion he let fly with his boot, repeatedly kicking into both men as they sat defenceless and in screaming pain. To add insult, the Traffik leader began waving his reloaded weapon, yelling threats that his gun would be aimed at their kneecaps and elbows if they didn’t cooperate.
This was madness at its highest level. The Scorpio pair had repeatedly told Indigo their leader was at large and not amongst the seven. What else could they do? I was beginning to wonder which was the lesser of the two evils, Scorpio or Traffik?
Suddenly Forbes stood up and declared in a loud voice, ‘Stop this! There’s a better way to resolve the matter.’
‘Oh, there is? Then tell me how,’ said Indigo.
‘We have one thing in common and that is our desire to correctly identify the Piedpiper, even if for very different reasons,’ stated Forbes.
‘Agreed.’
‘Then have Arthur Simpson brought to the gallery.’
‘Who in the hell is Arthur Simpson?’
‘We believe he’s being held prisoner in the underground and may know the identity of the Piedpiper. If Arthur can assist, then we’ll at least have an independent and unbiased answer,’ Forbes claimed.
‘Good, we at least agree on something.’ Indigo then turned to the one called Luke. ‘You! Stand up and fetch Arthur Simpson immediately. Ivan will accompany you, so don’t get any wrong ideas.’
Luke reluctantly climbed to his feet, feeling the pain Indigo had just inflicted. He walked in the direction of a row of chambers and then turned right to exit the gallery. With his gun poised, Ivan followed some four paces behind. Forbes concluded that their departure implied that Arthur was here after all. It had been a hunch, but one that had some merit given his sudden disappearance and reputable knowledge of the underground’s past. The gamble had paid off and now the outcome rested squarely with the pensioner. Forbes’ only apprehension would be that of Traffik’s reaction if Arthur were unable to carry out a positive identification.
Within five minutes Arthur Simpson’s emergence still came as a surprise to everyone. The man looked decisively drained and haggard, and he wore a sullen face as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The poor bugger reflected a picture of loneliness and despair. How could any sane person allow this deterioration to happen?
On reaching the centre of the gallery, Arthur suddenly recognised me and immediately broke out in a smile at seeing a familiar face. I returned the compliment and felt a little emotional at seeing my friend reduced to this level. He appeared puzzled as to why so many people had congregated in this one area, and in particular, the sighting of two deceased bodies.
‘What’s going on here?’ Arthur said.
It was the Traffik leader’s cue to take control.
‘We need your help to solve a problem, old man. Look at these seven people standing in a line and tell me if the Piedpiper is amongst them. Take your time and study each person carefully, then give me your answer.’ An excited Indigo sensed that the culprit’s identity was about to be revealed.
Arthur stepped forward and commenced his perusal from left to right. On completing his short walk he returned to the middle. His examination was finished far quicker than what Indigo had anticipated. Anxious to learn the result, he rushed Arthur into declaring the outcome.
‘Well, what’s the answer?’ he asked impatiently.
‘The Piedpiper is not amongst these people.’
‘Are you sure? Take another look!’ he insisted.
‘Absolutely certain,’ responded Arthur.
‘Then look at this man over here,’ ordered Indigo, lifting the cover to expose the remains of Smyth’s disfigured face.
‘Again, no,’ declared Arthur, who grimaced at the grotesque sight.
‘And to think Richard Smyth’s life could have been spared,’ declared Forbes, unable to hold back his disgust.
‘Shut up, detective!’ Indigo yelled back and then asked the million-dollar question. ‘Then who in the hell is the Piedpiper?’
‘Lou Hanna, to be precise,’ Arthur said.
‘Who?’ questioned a dumbfounded Indigo.
‘He was one of the original drug trafficking pioneers to this region, long before Scorpio came on the scene. Back in those days Lou Hanna had set up a flourishing business and unfortunately tempted the youth of Pedley into his sleazy world. As time passed the authorities eventually caught up with him and he was sentenced to jail for a number of years,’ explained Arthur.
‘How do you know this?’ asked Indigo.
‘Two things, actually. One is my vague recollection of the incident and the other came from an article I read on the internet at Perkins Press in the city.’
‘Go on.’
‘If my facts are right, Lou eventually returned to Pedley after an absence of fifteen to twenty years. I daresay his appearance has dramatically changed since those days, but there’s a good chance I may still be able to recognise him.’
‘But I’ve never heard of him.’
‘Naturally. The man’s not an idiot. He’s returned under an assumed name,’ declared Arthur.
‘Which is?’
‘Well, that’s where it gets a bit tricky because I’ve only seen glimpses of the man since his return and I’m not yet totally convinced they are one and the same person. I need to see him up close to be absolutely sure. I have my suspicions, but I’d prefer to wait to make a positive ID. I certainty don’t want the wrong person accused.’
Indigo paused to contemplate on Arthur’s admission. He had to accept his instinct was wrong on this occasion. The old man’s answer had surprised him, but he had one trump card left up his sleeve and that was the person being hunted down by his two accomplices. Could this possibly be the elusive Lou Hanna after all? He couldn’t discount the Scorpio pair declaring this individual as their regional head. He informed Arthur Simpson of his one remain
ing task. Indigo now waited in the hope that Martin and Dave wouldn’t let him down.
~ * ~
T
he hunted man had a distinct advantage over his Traffik opponents: an intimate knowledge of the subterranean system. His one major handicap, however, was the inability to move freely. The bullet imbedded in the right leg had slowed his pace considerably, to the point where any assumed supremacy had now been forfeited. The ledger had been squared, so to speak, whereby any previous advantage had now been nullified. Luck and some cunning intuition would now play a key role in the eventual outcome.
He had a minute’s start to find a suitable refuge. Choosing to remain on the same level could prove to be a clever ploy, given his adversary might think distance was the preferred option. What he hadn’t foreseen was the telltale sign of his injury. A trickling blood trail had become distinctly evident on the bluestone passageways. Some three corridors into the subterranean maze, the subdued camphene light reflected the evidence. Now conscious of his predicament, it was imperative he stop the flow of blood. The Scorpio compatriot couldn’t disrobe and tie his jumper around the injury because he didn’t have the time. For the moment he would have to grin and bear the consequences. He hoped and prayed his blood trail would go undetected.
