The Scorpion's Tale (29 page)

“What must I do to find him?”

Joaquin polished off his second drink and
wiped his mouth with his napkin. “To find him, you must know how he
thinks, what he feels, where he has come from, and where he is
going. You must know his pain and discover his secrets–those that
even I do not know. You must learn what still drives him in his
passion for killing after so many years. It’s only then that you’ll
have a chance to locate him.”

“Whoa, wait a minute, Joaquin! How the hell
am I supposed to do that? I don’t have a lifetime to learn about
the Scorpion. Time is running out for me! Pablo Munoz told me that
he’s now following me!”

Joaquin looked a little pale. “I know. It
wouldn’t surprise me if he were already in St. Thomas. Look around
this bar. He could be anyone.”

Steven looked slowly around to see if anyone
seemed interested in their conversation. “I’m only concerned with
men who are about six feet tall, bearing a large mark on their ring
finger and a distinct tan line around their neck,” Steven said.

Joaquin smiled. “So you
do
have some
information.”

“If you call that useful; Billy Veeksburn
gave me that tidbit. On its own, it’s pretty useless.”

Joaquin looked off into the distance. “Billy
Veeksburn,” he repeated softly. “That’s a name I haven’t heard for
quite some time. Billy was a wild man. I liked him. We worked
together in Las Vegas and on the Mexican border.” Joaquin sucked on
an ice cube from his depleted drink. “Pablo told me that James
killed Billy.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“That saddens me. Another of my comrades from
the old days is gone. There are so few of us left.” Joaquin moved
forward in his chair. “Let me help you with the only part of James’
life I know. James was brought up in an orphanage run by
Benedictine Nuns deep in the Amazon. I don’t believe he knew his
real parents. English missionaries arranged to adopt him when he
was ten years old. Returning to England with James, they lived in
North Hempstead, on the outskirts of London. His parents added
Edward Smith to the only name he was born with, James. They never
knew about, nor did he ever discuss, his life prior to the
orphanage.”

“Somehow James Edward does not sound as
terrifying as the Scorpion.”

Joaquin chuckled softly. “No, I suppose not.”
He shifted back into his story. “His adoptive parents traveled
constantly to the four corners of the world, visiting missionaries,
teaching, and healing. They were a well-intentioned couple, however
their focus and enthusiasm for helping the poor did not extend to
their son. They did little to give him the love a child needs to
blossom into a stable and secure adult. James was far superior to
his classmates in all fields of study and his intelligence became
evident by his pre-teen years. He was also an excellent athlete,
yet he didn’t participate in team sports. His interest lay solely
in individual contests. The picture I showed you was taken at a
formal banquet honoring the best in sports, where James was named
the youngest All-English Fencing Champion.”

Steven momentarily thought about his own
childhood and the father he missed. “Poor James, a killer because
he was neglected.” Bullshit, he thought. “I have no sympathy for
him.”

“His parents arranged for James to attend a
boarding school, where he saw his parents only at Christmas. He
grew up lonely, frustrated, and bitter that his second set of
parents abandoned him, too. Although he excelled in academics and
athletics, he lacked social skills and had no friends. His
loneliness hardened him.”

“James was offered admission to Oxford,”
Joaquin continued, “but prior to enrolling, his parents were killed
in an uprising in South Africa. Their bodies were shipped back to
England for burial and at eighteen years of age, James was
penniless and entirely alone. His parents had made no provisions
for him.”

“A tragic figure,” Steven scoffed, having no
empathy for this killer or his hard luck life. “Many people have
suffered similarly, without resorting to cold bloodedness.”

Joaquin ignored Steven. “I met James at a
very exclusive hotel in London. I was at the top of my game and
spent lavishly and ostentatiously. James was working as a bellboy
by day and as an in-house cat burglar by night. I was impressed
with the way he entered my hotel room one evening, intending to
clean me out of everything. He was handsome, charming, and very
savvy. I knew instantly he was destined for greatness.”

“Yeah, and he became a great baby
killer!”

Joaquin quietly regarded Steven for a few
moments. “I don’t have to continue talking about James if it
disturbs you. You came to me for information, which I am providing.
We can discuss other subjects if you prefer.”

“I’m sorry,” Steven said, realizing he had
insulted his host. “Please continue. I’ll hold my tongue.”

Joaquin forced a smile. “James was intrigued
with my money, the fancy clothes I wore, and the women I had. I
became his employer and mentor.”

Joaquin ordered a third round of drinks.

Steven shook his head. “If I have any more
rum, I’m not going to be able to stand.”

“We’ll stop at three,” Joaquin replied.

At that moment, the ferry from St. John
pulled up to the dock, and they both watched in silence as the
passengers disembarked.

Joaquin unexpectedly stated, “You know,
Steven, you remind me of what James once was, not what he has
become. He was a true friend and a great man, as difficult as that
may be to believe. He once had a passion for life and many of my
best memories are with him. It saddens me to think about what he is
now.” Joaquin signaled for another round. Both men sat contentedly,
sipping rum and watching the passengers boarding the ferry for the
return trip to St. John.

-------------------

Evening found Joaquin and Steven on the porch
re-hydrating themselves. Clarice had driven them back to Joaquin’s
condominium, since both were too impaired. They were now sprawled
out on Joaquin’s couch. Both lay relatively motionless in the
darkness, breathing in the salty air. “Where do I have to go now?”
Steven asked. “Can this end already?”

“You’ve got one final stop. Have you ever
been to Ecuador?”

Steven’s mood sank even lower. “No.”

“You’ll be traveling to Quito. You’ll be
meeting Pierre Mateuse, a priest and missionary who is serving the
native Indians in the mountain country. Before you travel into the
mountains, you must become acclimated to the altitude in Quito,
which is about nine thousand feet above sea level. If you go
directly to the higher elevations, you will get altitude sickness,
and you cannot afford to be disabled in any manner. You must stay
in Quito for forty eight hours. I will give you the name of a
beautiful hotel. After two days, you can go searching for Padre
Mateuse.”

“Tell me…why should I meet this priest?”

“Pierre worked for me and was James’ best
friend. He too was once an assassin, but that abruptly ended when
he killed the wrong people. He was so devastated that he tried to
kill himself. A priest saved his life and he decided to commit
himself to God, becoming a missionary to atone for his sinfulness.
He moved to the Ecuadorian mountains and has remained there ever
since.”

“Have you told him I am coming?”

“I have sent word to him. Communication is
difficult in the mountains and Pierre travels among different
missions. I don’t even know if he’ll receive my message.”

“How will Pierre help me?” Steven asked. “I
thought you were the person who knew everything about the
Scorpion.”

Joaquin nodded sympathetically. “Have
patience my friend. Pierre is the only person who can guide you to
the lair of the Scorpion. He is the only person who knows that
location and I am the only person who knows how to find Pierre.
It’s that simple!”

“How do I know the priest will help me? I
mean, you said yourself he was the Scorpion’s best friend.”

“I said he was
once
his best friend.
And yes, unfortunately, you won’t know whether Pierre will help you
until you ask him. You’ve traveled this far, so I assumed you’d
have no problem making this last leg of your journey.”

“When you killed those people in retaliation
for the murders of your wife and children, was it worth it? Would
you do the same thing if you could do it over again?”

Joaquin sat upright on the couch and looked
at Steven with a fatherly expression.

“I am a tired old man with many regrets. I
live comfortably enough, but I have relatively little to show from
the dangerous ventures I pursued in my youth. I squandered a
fortune and now have little financial security. I am no longer a
threat to anyone and have outlived my enemies in a world where my
associates have very short lives. I neither possess valuable
information nor keep secrets that would make me anyone’s target. I
only want to spend the rest of my days near the ocean, and to die
in peace, drinking rum and smoking a Cuban cigar. But I still live
with the fear that at any moment, someone from my past could step
out of the shadows and end my life.”

Steven looked puzzled, having been given an
answer unrelated to his question. Joaquin sensed his confusion. “I
know that I didn’t answer your question, but I wanted you to know
something about me before I answered you.”

Steven nodded.

“Was it worth it? I can’t give you a simple
answer. My wife was a wonderful woman. I never before knew such
love and never will again.”

Steven felt like he was hearing his own
story.

“My daughters were very young; Maylin was
five and Annabelle was three. They worshiped me as only little
girls can adore their fathers. They brought joy into my world,
which was a world full of death. I know that you understand this.
Regretfully, the time I had with my family was instantly cut short.
When they were murdered, I had nothing left. I lost what little
compassion I possessed and I could no longer see the good in the
world. All I sought was vengeance. I believed that it was righteous
vengeance and that God was on my side. Revenge was my sole reason
for living and it propelled me forward through each day, each
minute of regret, each nightmare that came upon me. I killed twelve
people in retaliation for the slayings of my family, and I did it
in the name of ‘justice’! I tortured the ones who pulled the
triggers and I enjoyed it immensely. I actually savored their
agony, as monstrous as that seems. I listened to them beg for the
mercy of a quick death that would not come. I watched as they took
their last breaths. I felt a sense of tranquility from their final
silence.”

Joaquin exhaled deeply. His hands were
trembling. Steven thought about all the ways he’d envisioned
killing the Scorpion and the pleasure he would derive from watching
him die.

Joaquin looked sadly at Steven. “I was young
and angry, Steven. But more importantly, I was a completely
different man back then. It has been many, many years, but I still
see their faces contorted in pain. I still hear their screams and
pleas for mercy and I still wake in the middle of the night and see
my family reaching out to me. In the end, Steven, I could not bring
back my family. Was it worth it? You’re goddamn right it was for
the man I was twenty-five years ago, but ironically, not for the
man I am today. If I could, I’d go back and talk with my younger
self and tell him that no matter what he did, the pain would never
go away. Was it the right thing to do? Yes. Punishment was deserved
and delivered. At the time I felt that I had no choice. Maybe I
did. I think every man has a choice, Steven. You have to make your
choice. I cannot make it for you because in the end, only you can
decide whether it was worth it. If you are doing it so you can
sleep again, don’t bother. If you do it simply because James no
longer deserves to live, then I wish I was young enough to help
you.”

Joaquin stood and motioned Steven to follow
him into the living room. “Come, let’s go inside.”

Steven took one last look at the beach, lit
only by a waxen moon. He could hear the wind moving the palm
fronds. The island was beckoning him to stay forever and leave his
past behind. But his memories of his wife’s laugh and the sweet
bubbling squeals of his daughter forged his resolve into that of
iron. The Scorpion would die not for him, but for them. He came
into the living room and locked the patio door behind him, as if to
ensure that he would not be changing his mind.

After taking Steven to the airport, Joaquin
returned to his apartment, went straight to the bar, poured himself
a healthy glass of Cruzan rum, and moved toward the balcony, only
to stop dead in his tracks. Seated on the balcony in Joaquin’s
favorite chair was a man dressed in white slacks and a matching
oxford shirt. His thick blond hair was brushed back off his face.
He wore wire-rim eyeglasses and held one of Joaquin’s crystal
glasses. He looked up at Joaquin and beckoned him to join him on
the balcony.

“Sit down Joaquin and join me for a
drink.”

Joaquin slowly walked to a chair and sat
down, never taking his eyes off the man.

“Have you been well, old friend?”

“I’m getting old, James, much too old for
your drama.”

“Did you enjoy your lengthy lunch with Mr.
Capresi?”

Joaquin felt strangely calm in the presence
of his old pupil. “I did. We had a pleasant conversation.”

“I certainly remember a day when you could
hold your liquor, Joaquin. You both made spectacles of yourselves
yesterday. Really Joaquin, you passed out at the table and required
a lift home? Where is the nobility in such behavior?”

Joaquin shrugged his shoulders. “Too much
rum. It happens to the best of us. Where were you sitting?”