Scorpio's Lot Read online

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  Scorpio’s Lot

  Ray Smithie

  No copyright 2012 by MadMaxAU eBooks

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  U

  nfortunately, as fate would have it, Jake Reynolds was to take a turn for the worst. The unexpected events that would shortly unfold were to change his life and many others’ forever.

  In no mood to simply laze around home, he decided at precisely eight pm to walk down to the centre of Pedley township. Those who dared the five-minute downhill path in the middle of winter were punished by a cold coastal breeze, which provided a walk that was both invigorating and perhaps a trifle foolhardy. This trail of gravel descended through the ti-tree scrub beside a jutting cliff edge, where safety rails and warning signs had deteriorated over time. Jake often chose the route along this track that many had requested be placed off limits.

  Upon reaching level ground he noticed a number of late-night traders closing shop, perhaps in anticipation of no further sales being made on such a cold night. The pubs, nonetheless, were still open, as was the central shopping mall and local cinema. In a restless mood Jake ambled along the length of the shopping centre, crossed the road and made his way toward the parkland gates beside the foreshore.

  Entering the park he could see Jack Frost was up to his usual winter tricks, having already woven an icy trail across the manicured lawns and gardens. He was hoping there wouldn’t be a repeat of his previous visit, when some derelict on a park bench covered in newspapers had begged for money. The parkland had often been described as Pedley’s showpiece, for not only was it a place of great beauty and tranquility, but it also offered spectacular coastal views over the bay. Jake selected the path to his right, not for any particular reason other than the sound of breaking waves against a nearby rock pool.

  His chosen pathway provided an occasional street lamp that emitted poor illumination and was dressed in traditional Brunswick green as if from a bygone era. A descending fog produced an eerie effect as it circled and smothered each lamp in a cloud of mist. Exerting its influence amidst the fog breaks, a quarter-moon shone on the frosted lawn. The night parkland was indeed a gloomy place to visit in winter.

  He had only walked for some two minutes when he heard the sound of distant voices. Two or perhaps three people, he thought. He wondered if someone was in trouble, for the voices now suggested a shouting match between two people. What on earth could be going on? He crept to within five metres, being careful not to reveal his presence. He was now in a position to observe and listen to these two voices in disagreement, while a third person stood by looking on in silence.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, you know the bloody rules!’ roared a frightening and hulking man.

  ‘Got as much right to go underground, damn you!’ fumed his weedy counterpart.

  The bickering seesawed, and with neither party prepared to compromise the voices grew distinctly louder. The weedy person refused to take no for an answer regarding some underground network. There was further argument over the distribution and payment of drugs. It was becoming ugly and Jake had no intention of playing peacemaker with this lot.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this shit!’ called the silent observer, whose patience had obviously worn thin. He was a big man with an intimidating presence who projected a degree of authority. Strolling forward to settle the matter, he issued an order to his larger accomplice and then retrieved a knife from his side holster.

  ‘Grab the bastard. I’ll deal with this.’

  With the weedy man held firmly by the hulking thug, Jake then observed the callous act of cold-blooded murder. The attacker stabbed, again and again, each thrust being met with the most terrifying scream. Jake’s heart pounded and his breathing became erratic. Fighting for control, he wondered what to do. In his confused state he leaned forward and accidentally broke the branch immediately in his path, resulting in a noise that begged attention.

  The two men turned to see that someone had fallen into a nearby scrub and instantly dropped the blood-soaked body.

  ‘What the ... get him!’

  The thugs crept toward young Jake, cautious at first in fear that he was armed. Unfortunately for Jake, he had never trained in the art of self-defence. He thought that his greatest asset - the ability to outrun his opponents - would now be tested, but, hindered by dense foliage when attempting to free himself, the possibility of escape had now eluded him. Thinking quickly, he picked up a broken branch about the size of a golfing driver and with his weapon raised waited until the assailants were in striking distance.

  ‘The prick wants to fight with a fuckin’ branch ... watch it!’

  The two thugs closed in from either side, prompting Jake to start waving his branch. Knowing it was a lost cause to continue with these random swings, he had to choose which man would incur the thrust of his weapon. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a knife being held by the man who had committed the murder. Jake’s decision was spontaneous, but in taking this risk he knew the hulking assailant to his rear would lunge when given the opportunity.

  ‘Come on, ya piece of shit, give it ya best try,’ taunted the man with the knife, who successfully avoided Jake’s every attempt. ‘Is that the best ya can do?’ he urged, forcing Jake to waste his energy.

  Gathering all his strength for one last assault, Jake made a direct hit with the branch, causing the thug to drop his knife and fall backwards into the same ill-fated bush. Jake had no sooner completed his lunge than he felt an acute blow to the kidneys by the second assailant. Although in pain, Jake knew this would be his only opportunity for escape. With one opponent there would always be a chance, but to wait for the second to regain composure, never. He avoided the second fist from the southpaw and made his escape.

  Jake ran as fast as his legs could carry him, weaving a path around the many garden beds and trees and narrowly missing the thrust of the knife as it caught the trunk of a golden ash. He was determined that fog and darkness would not deter his getaway, for he knew his survival meant reaching the safe haven of the shopping centre. As he turned a further corner and saw the entrance gates to the park, he knew that escape had become a distinct possibility.

  He tore down the street to where late-night shoppers were still congregated. Fitness and quick thinking were his saviors tonight, and with the crisis behind him he felt a sense of triumph and extraordinary relief.

  His thoughts were now totally focused on informing the authorities. This matter was simply too serious to delay, and besides, the station was only a short two-block sprint away.

  It was Sergeant Darren Burke who wore the brunt of Jake’s excited verbal onslaught. Unable to make sense of the young man’s high-speed gabble, the officer requested he slow down and recommence. He was left to ponder over Jake’s assault, in addition to a drug underworld murder and some vague reference to underground networks and the distribution of drugs. Rounding up his troops, the sergeant took immediate action to have the parkland site investigated.

  Pedley, it seemed, was not accustomed to violence at this level.

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  W

  hy had Fridays repeatedly become a labour of endless chores that had to be completed before nightfall? Was it coincidental or did the weekend exert its influence? Today was no exception, for my list of duties appeared endless, on top of what I would normally call my routine tasks. Today Emily had excelled in the art of delegation.

  Approaching day’s end I had accomplished all before me and felt rather like a jack-of-all-trades and master of none. Returning to clean up and join my wife for dinner, I paused for a moment and stood looking down at the fishing trawlers returning from the day’s catch. It was late afternoon and the winter chill was intensified by the sudden presence of a southerly breeze. The cli
ff’s edge I was standing near provided spectacular views over Sapphire Bay, so named for its distinctive sea colour, and to my east stood the low-lying CBD of Pedley township. I could see the distant container ships en route to the open sea and a sinking sun about to disappear from view.

  I had never grown tired of the bay scenery, for Pedley offered exceptional vantage points along its five-kilometre coastline. Life at present was good and nothing could spoil the tranquility of the moment. The land I stood upon boasted all the credentials to instill this serene state of mind. Then again, my point of view was probably biased, for I had purchased this five-acre site complete with a caravan park some two years earlier to set up our financial security and a desirable lifestyle. Pedley had undergone a major transformation in recent years, from its once-renowned retirement image where progress, it seemed, had laid dormant for eternity. Today the township was a thriving tourist Mecca, with employment and business opportunities waiting for those who dared to venture outside the city perimeters.

  Suddenly my moment of contemplation was broken by a distant voice.

  ‘Tom ... Tom, where are you?’

  ‘Coming,’ I yelled back to my wife, picking up some tools I had been using that afternoon.

  Standing on the verandah waiting for my arrival, she was still beckoning as I came into view. My wife Emily was a tower of strength. Now in her forty-second year, she was both acutely intelligent and possessed of patience far beyond that of mine. Attractive, with smart dress sense, she still had the attributes to turn heads with her long-flowing black hair and slender figure, a result of many years of dedicated aerobics. Although not by choice, ours had become a childless marriage and adoption had never been a consideration. But life at the park had its compensations, if only for the diversity of the resident tenants.

  ‘Tom, I have an errand for you before the shops close tonight.’

  Fridays, bloody Fridays, I thought.

  Emily explained the need to buy some washers for the shower block, which couldn’t wait until morning. We would have dinner on my return. I immediately drove into town and parked the car in front of the council offices, conveniently located some five doors down from the plumber’s. Looking up, I could see a banner had been erected above the council entrance: YOUNG ACHIEVER’S AWARD, JAKE REYNOLDS, SATURDAY 11.00 AM. I was fond of young Jake, not only for the lad’s likeable personality but also for the motivation and self-belief he projected. He had already achieved great heights in long-distance running and had become a perfect young role model in the community. Such was his talent that there was a possibility he would be chosen for the next Olympic Games. Better run this past Emily when I return, I thought.

  Entering the plumbing shop, a familiar face greeted me as he stood waiting to be served. Arthur Simpson was probably the town’s most senior citizen, a colourful old-timer with a quick yarn to spin if given half the chance. The locals loved Arthur for his entertainment value, quick wit and general approach to life.

  ‘Hello, Tom. I see your good lady wife has you well trained.’

  ‘Yes, another last-minute chore requested by Emily,’ I responded.

  ‘Will you both be attending Jake’s award tomorrow?’

  ‘Most likely, Arthur. I’ve just this minute seen the banner on the office building.’

  ‘There’s also a picture of him winning the state marathon run. He’s a good lad, young Jake. Deserves all the local support he can get.’

  ‘We should catch up for a drink one day soon,’ I suggested.

  ‘Bloody oath, Tom. Just don’t make it too long this time.’

  Following my purchase of washers and further small talk with Arthur, I went my separate way.

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  Later that evening, and ironically in the vicinity of last night’s parkland murder, Brigit O’Neill, an attractive and strong-willed nineteen year old, was receiving her weekly quota of dope with instructions to have the full quantity sold within five days. The syndicate who had employed her services for the past nine months was now demanding quicker returns, maintaining that Brigit’s clientele were easy targets for soft drugs. Her responsibility was to infiltrate the younger inhabitants of the community, which included senior students from the local secondary schools. These added pressures were now beginning to have a detrimental effect on Brigit.

  ‘What? Five days! You gotta be kidding!’ she snapped.

  ‘And why not?’ declared the dealer. ‘Ya makin’ a lot of deals.’

  ‘Look, I’m dealing with kids who aren’t exactly loaded and you’re expecting all this in under a week.’

  ‘Ya got it easy compared to the coke and H trade. Ya paid well, so what’s ya problem?’

  ‘That’s not the point. These kids don’t earn a wage like your other regulars. It pisses me off that you expect all this in five days,’ complained Brigit.

  ‘I can always tell me boss you want out, so what’ll it be?’ asked the dealer arrogantly.

  Brigit could see this was getting nowhere, so she accepted the exchange reluctantly and they parted company. The night air was too damn cold to be haggling with this imbecile, and besides, the possibility of scoring clientele during these winter evenings had limitations. Tonight was better spent indoors. At this time of year business was generally reliant upon the afternoon patronage that frequented the likely haunts of trade.

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  I awoke the next morning to the persistent sound of the front door bell. Two, three, four impatient rings as I headed to greet this unwelcome visitor. This was Saturday, my morning for a lie-in. Damn it, where’s Emily, I thought. Passing the hall clock, which was striking eight, I opened the front door. Standing before me was Sergeant Darren Burke from the Pedley Police Station. I knew Darren through Rotary and the monthly community meets, but could see immediately that this was no social call.

  Grave-faced, he commenced, ‘Tom, I have some bad news. There’s been an accident.’

  I went pale and froze, waiting for the punchline.

  ‘Jake Reynolds and Brigit O’Neill have fallen from the cliffs edge adjoining your property at the northern end,’ continued Burke. ‘The paramedics are here and I have two of my constables in attendance trying to keep the public at bay.’

  ‘Brigit! My god, are they all right?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. We won’t know anything further until the paramedics get them to hospital.’ He added, ‘Tom, isn’t Brigit related to you in someway?’

  ‘She’s my niece.’

  ‘I thought there was some connection. Tom, I need you to accompany me to the cliff right away.’

  I started to follow Darren when Emily entered through the back door in a traumatic state.

  ‘Tom, I’ve just learnt what’s happened from Martha. Brigit’s in a bad -’ she cried.

  I cut her short. ‘Not now, Em. Darren wants me to accompany him to the cliff immediately. We’ll talk later.’

  ‘Emily, was that Martha Kellett you were just talking to?’ asked Burke.

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘I need to talk to her later since she was the person who alerted the police.’

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  At cliff’s edge the situation confronting the paramedics was indeed a challenging task. They found the bodies of Jake and Brigit half-buried in soil and debris from the collapse. Carefully but swiftly the men removed the last of the deposits, then placed and strapped the casualties upon two broad stretchers. Incredibly, they were both still alive and it was mandatory to reach hospital quickly and establish the extent of their injuries. Time was of the essence as they assessed the appropriate return route to the awaiting ambulances. Believing it to be an impossible task to haul the two stretchers up a twenty-metre steep embankment, the paramedics chose the longer path of less demanding terrain to reach their objective.

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  Approaching the cliff site in the company of Sergeant Burke, it puzzled me as to how I slept through all this turmoil. I could see the four paramedics carefully position Jake and Brigit
aboard the ambulances in front of an inquisitive group of spectators. A passing glance could only detect two motionless bodies lying strapped and prepared for the five-minute journey. How I longed to intercept and take a closer look at Brigit. The shrill of sirens commenced their intrusive effect, prompting the onlookers to move and allow the ambulances to exit.

  Upon sighting our arrival, Constables Chris Martino and Peter Jennings immediately came over to address their sergeant. Ushering him to one side, Martino commenced his briefing.

  ‘The situation is far more serious than first thought. The paramedics have described Reynolds’ condition as critical and have him on life support. It’s touch and go if he’ll pull through. Brigit O’Neill is unconscious and in a serious condition, with internal bleeding and a fractured arm.’

  The young constable appeared shaken by the ordeal. I knew he had only been in the force for a short time and had recently been posted to Pedley. This was probably his first traumatic encounter since graduating from the academy.