Scorpio's Lot (62 page)

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?’

‘Marijuana.’

‘Only marijuana? That seems an
excessive sum of money for dope.’

‘I swear that’s all. The payout
covers two weeks of sales,’ confessed a nervous Jackson.

‘And how do you distribute these
drugs?’

‘To clients visiting the
Esplanade.’

‘Where do you keep these drugs?’

‘They’re hidden behind the bar or
kept in my pocket depending on the size of the deal.’

Turning to the publican, the
detective asked, ‘Are you aware of these transactions, Mr Johnson?’

‘No, I’m not!’

Marsh turned back to the security
guard. ‘Who is your dealer, Mr Jackson?’

‘A man called Charlie.’

‘Thank you for being truthful.
That name is consistent with our investigations.’

‘But Charlie’s deals are not
carried out on these premises,’ stated Jackson, feeling the stares coming from
the publican behind his desk.

‘Oh, so where are they generally
conducted?’

‘At a random location and only
after dark.’

‘Who is Henry Lloyd and what’s
his role?’

‘Um...’

‘Spit it out, Jackson!’

Cornered and feeling intimidated
by Marsh’s continual threats and Johnson’s persistent glare, Jackson wisely
chose to cooperate with the law. ‘That’s not his real name.’

‘Then what is?’

‘Um ... Brad Morgan.’

‘You have not answered my
question completely, Mr Jackson. His role, please?’ demanded Marsh.

‘He’s another drug dealer.’

‘Then why the two dealers Charlie
and Morgan?’

‘Morgan’s a newcomer. He’s only
been seen in Pedley over the past two weeks or so, but he seems to be a person
with influence and handles the larger sums of money. Charlie’s domain is
strictly street deals only.’

‘Do you have any idea who Brad
Morgan is?’

‘I’ve already told you he’s a
drug dealer,’ reiterated Gavin Jackson.

Ben Johnson interrupted again,
unable to keep quiet. ‘For Christ’s sake, he’s already answered this question.
How much longer is this going to take?’

‘I’ll decide that. Again, Mr
Jackson, do you only know Brad Morgan as a drug dealer?’

‘Yes! I can’t tell you any more
about the guy except to say he calls into the Esplanade just before closing
time. He never orders a drink or speaks to anyone other than us security
guards. I haven’t seen him since the night you called.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Well, he has a very short fuse.’

‘Go on,’ encouraged Marsh.

‘I’ve seen him explode when one
of the other guards didn’t reach his quota. He went berserk in front of the
patrons, not giving a damn who overheard the reprimand. I mean the whole scene
was way over the top, but one notable thing about Morgan is he develops a bad
twitch when aggravated.’

‘What sort of twitch?’ Doyle
asked.

‘His head tilts to the right side
and he starts shaking. It looks bloody weird, as if he’s possessed or
something. I don’t think the guy’s the full quid if you ask me.’

‘A word of warning - don’t mix
with this one,’ Marsh said.

‘And why is that, detective?’
queried Johnson.

‘Because the guy’s a psychopathic
killer.’

The publican scoffed at the
absurd comment. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I’ve never been more serious,’
Marsh declared. ‘We’ve had three positive sightings to confirm Morgan was the
person responsible for the massacre aboard the
Molly Bloom.
This man has
a history of using various torture methods on his victims before execution. He
has reputedly used whips, nails and suffocation techniques drawn from his vast
array of arsenal. This fiend obviously gets his kicks from watching others
suffer.’

Both Johnson and Jackson sat
motionless. The mere thought of a crazed killer in their midst left both men
dumbstruck. The face upon the security guard had turned a distinct shade of
white. Johnson continued to stare into oblivion as if in a trance.

‘You can now appreciate the
seriousness of our visit,’ said Marsh.

‘Yes,’ replied Johnson, regaining
his faculties.

‘Would you please ask Angelo
Caresso and George Trevaskis to come to the office,’ requested Marsh.

The suddenly contrite and
obliging Johnson immediately rose from his chair to carry out the detective’s
wishes.

Gavin Jackson continued to sit
quietly in his chair, visibly disturbed at having and unknowingly conducted a
deal with a serial killer. The arrival of the two further security guards was
equally immense and intimidating in stature. The Italian and Greek colossuses
were larger than Jackson and Marsh could only surmise that both men were on a
daily course of anabolic steroids. Standing to offer their chairs to the new
arrivals, Marsh and Doyle continued with their interviews.

‘Please be seated,’ Marsh said.

He quickly briefed the guards on
what had been discussed prior to their arrival. Both humiliation and shock were
reflected on the two distraught faces. Like Jackson, their ignorance in
allowing this violent person to participate in a business arrangement was a bit
hard to accept.

‘Let me be blunt, gentlemen. The
purpose of this visit is to forewarn you of this ruthless assassin. It is
imperative that should this individual be seen again, you are to immediately
contact the Pedley Police Station and report his sighting. Having intervened
myself the other night, I think it’s highly unlikely Brad Morgan will show his
face again in this establishment. Unfortunately, due to my ignorance that same
evening, I too allowed the killer to walk free. I assure you it won’t happen a
second time. With regards to the drug matter, I don’t ask but demand that all
supplies be forfeited to the station by seven this evening. Should you fail to
carry out my order, I will come down heavily on each individual, and this
establishment. Don’t play games with me. To repeat my earlier warning, I will
arrange both heavy penalties and random audits if my request is not adhered to.
Effective immediately, drugs do not exist on these premises. Abide by these
instructions and I will put in a good word for a lighter fine. Do I make myself
clear?’

‘Yes,’ responded the chorus of
attendees.

~ * ~

During
Marsh’s heated and unyielding lecture, Doyle had excused himself to inspect the
premises. Convinced that the storage and trafficking of drugs flourished
within, and probably in greater abundance than the establishment would freely
admit, the detective was determined to uncover any damning evidence.

By nature John Doyle was
vindictive, contemptuous and had an ego to complement his arrogance. Compromise
and tolerance seldom prevailed, for his mentality dictated that people were
perceived as guilty before proven otherwise. Today opportunity beckoned. If
Doyle could uncover some unscrupulous venture then the accolades would
invariably follow. Subsequently the hunt had begun.

Unaware of the police presence,
Piochsa continued to clean and rearrange the endless trail of glasses and
bottles in the main bar. Her list of chores invariably had to be completed
prior to the influx of patrons that frequented the saloon at opening time. She
went about her business of transferring the schooner and shot variety to a
nearby ledge beneath the bar and then noticed the conspicuous-looking parcel
lying to one side of the existing glassware. If she had not squatted down to
assess the shelf space available, there was every chance the package would have
gone undetected.

Piochsa picked up the neatly
bound foil bundle, wondering if someone had mistakenly left it behind. It
looked totally out of place on a ledge whose sole purpose was to store clean
glasses. Holding the ominous package, she deliberated on whether or not to open
it. She fondled and rotated the silver foil, speculating on its contents.
Suddenly her contemplation was interrupted by a forceful voice.

‘I’ll take that package,’ said
Doyle.

Piochsa literally jumped with
shock. Two wet glasses fell on the bar floor. She looked up to see a
grey-suited man standing beside her.

‘What do we have here?’ Doyle
said, displaying his badge.

‘Have no idea, officer. I found
it on the ledge beneath the bar.’

‘Hardly fish and chips wrapped in
this.’ Doyle removed the foil. Under the final layer a self-seal plastic bag
appeared, filled to the brim with marijuana.

‘There’s enough here to feed the
habit for a dozen people over a month. Okay, what’s going on?’

‘Like I said, I discovered the
package under the bar!’

‘Your name, please?’

‘Piochsa Szabo.’

‘Well, Ms Szabo, it would appear
you have some explaining to do.’

‘That’s bloody ridiculous.’
Piochsa was annoyed with the policeman’s insinuation.

‘On the contrary, we have a
serious situation here. Upon my return I’ll be reporting this incident to my
superiors. I daresay you’ll be contacted for further questioning.’

~ * ~

uesday morning had commenced like any other day except for one
noticeable difference. At six o’clock, amidst a gathering fog and bitter icy
frost, a small group of intoxicated party revellers from last night’s
masquerade ball were trying to navigate their path back home. It was still
reasonably dark and the sun wouldn’t herald the new day’s arrival until around
an hour’s time.

Two men and a woman
dressed in party attire were so drunk they literally had to lean on each other
to maintain an upright stance. The attempted walk home was a staggered
undertaking to say the least. A movement in the distance caught the eye of one
of the men. Gazing in an easterly direction at a hill overlooking Pedley, his
blurred vision picked up the obscure outline of something resembling totem
poles in the moon’s reflection.

‘Thought I saw
something move on that hill,’ he claimed.

‘It’s your bloody
imagination,’ called his female companion.