The Scorpion's Tale (41 page)

Steven slept for the duration of the flight,
only to be jolted awake as the jet bounced off the unevenly paved
airstrip. A few minutes later he was boarding a seaplane with two
silent guards. Their weapons did the talking. As the seaplane flew
by, Steven watched the jet accelerate down the runway. Suddenly, a
brilliant flash of light and a subsequent boom emanated from the
jet as he watched it explode. The seaplane quickly veered off to
the north, and Steven turned away from the window to catch the
casual expression on the faces of the guards sitting across from
him, knowing that they had anticipated the explosion. They were
both grinning widely. One made a childish face, waved, and simply
said: “Bye-bye”. Just a few less loose ends for the Scorpion,
Steven thought.

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

Detective Johnston stepped onto the white
beach. One of his guards walked in front of him, down a trail
through the vegetation. The second man shoved his rifle butt into
the detective’s back, prodding him to follow. The path quickly
changed from sand to packed dirt; Detective Johnston tripped
several times on exposed roots from the jungle surrounding him.
They walked in silence, the only sounds made by exotic birds flying
through the canopy. The path emerged from the jungle directly in
front of an impressive façade of an ancient castle, built of
massive stones, blackened over time and covered with overgrown
vines. Bright sunlight could not dispel its dark and cold
appearance. There was no moat, gatehouse, or drawbridge, nor was
there any castle bastion. A series of worn, terraced steps led up
to a set of heavy wooden doors with sculptured doorknockers that
resembled gargoyles. The lead guard opened the door, beckoning
Detective Johnston to enter. The doors slammed behind him with the
sound of an electronic bolt.

For the briefest of moments, Detective
Johnston was unable to believe he was inside a structure, since the
outside jungle had encroached into the castle’s interior. He
surveyed the chamber with the veteran eye of a homicide detective,
instantly sensing an ancient despair that chilled his spine.

The room was immense; the size of his high
school gymnasium. Oddly, it was a contradiction in time: ancient
rot and modern technology mixed in with new and crumbling
furnishings.

Until recently, the castle had clearly been
abandoned for decades. Moss grew on the rock walls, and the rotted
vestiges of once fine mahogany and leather furniture were strewn
haphazardly against the south wall. Against the backdrop of the
jungle’s attempt at reclamation, there were several sets of new red
leather chairs and a well stocked bar that stood out as a mockery
to time. On each wall, Detective Johnston observed thick yellow
cables, stretching along the rock ceiling thirty feet above him,
hanging with vines that grew in scattered clusters. The cables were
carefully and logically placed, attached to sets of video cameras
that were obviously monitoring him from all angles.

Hung on the north wall, underneath an open
walkway six feet below the ceiling, was the focal point of the
expanse: a large oil painting which the detective could still make
out despite its decomposition. It was a man standing in a military
uniform, surveying the immensity of the room. Below the portrait
was a huge fireplace that comprised half the northern wall.
Detective Johnston moved toward the hearth, his steps echoing on
the stone floor, drawn by a feeling that something significant lay
within the fireplace’s recess. The hearth was sealed shut by rusted
bars. He kicked a brittle object and immediately recognized what it
was from the sound it made. On top of a heap of moss lay a skull
surrounded by numerous other human skeletons. Peering closer, he
saw two skulls had bullet holes where brains had once been
housed.

He jumped when the still of the room was
disturbed by a booming voice over a loudspeaker.

“Welcome, Detective Michael Johnston.”

Detective Johnston walked toward the closest
video camera and addressed it directly. “Am I going to have the
honor of knowing my host’s name?”

“You may simply call me Scorpion,” the voice
replied. “We are waiting for our other guests to arrive before we
can begin. Meanwhile, please make yourself at home. There is a
well-stocked bar. Passage beyond this room is impossible.”

“Are you going to fill me in on what’s going
on?” the detective asked, aware that he wasn’t going to get a
straight answer without employing his interrogator’s guile.

“All in good time, Detective. For now, just
relax and have that drink.”

“Mr. Scorpion, should I toast your
incompetence in your last assignment? Killing a pregnant woman and
child?”

“Constable, you may toast to anything you
want, including your own ineptitude, for you are here, as I willed
you to be, and you are under my control.”

Detective Johnston heard an almost
imperceptible change in the Scorpion’s voice. He knew he had struck
an emotional chord, as expected, since Charlie had told him that
the Scorpion was conflicted over the killings. His interrogation
rule was to keep the person talking to bring light to the
unknown.

“Poor little Scorpion. I may be inept for
being led here, but I’m no baby killer. Did you spend much time
researching the behavior of your two-year-old victim before you so
capably hunted her down? You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Constable, with the noted exception of
Steven’s family, I only kill those deserving death.”

“Don’t flatter yourself little Scorpion–a
killer is a killer.”

“You know Constable, you amuse me,” the
Scorpion said, his voice back to a monotone. “If you truly believe
name calling will upset me, then . . .”

Johnston interrupted him with a louder voice,
“all we were doing was discussing your lack of professionalism in
murdering a pregnant woman. Does that hurt your feelings little
Scorpion?”

“Detective, are you here to kill me?”

“I want to bring you to justice,” Detective
Johnston answered, a little too eagerly.

“I am so glad that I included you in this
group of hypocrites who refuse to admit to themselves their true
personas,” the Scorpion scoffed. “How will you bring me to justice?
Are you going to handcuff me, take me from my island, with my
henchmen surrounding you in the jungle, and swim with me on your
back until you get to New York City? Please, Detective, do
try.”

A set of handcuffs dropped at his feet from
the walkway above.

“Do you not want to kill me?” the Scorpion
repeated.

“No,” Detective Johnston answered, with
considerably less vigor.

“You know, Detective, you initially were not
part of the cast invited to finish this Greek tragedy.”

“What changed your mind?” the detective
asked, hoping to figure out what was planned before anyone else
arrived.

“Detective, I was wondering why you followed
Steven around the world. It makes no sense unless you want to kill
me. But you say you do not. Why have you followed Steven,
Detective? Am I missing something?”

“No you aren’t, Little Scorpion. I do my job
wherever it takes me. It’s my profession, and I’m good at it.
Better than you. Why do
you
want Steven? You killed his
family. He’s no threat to you.”

“Now, now, Detective. You want honesty from
me, yet your lies sadden me. Let me answer my own questions. You
see, Detective, in this new age of the internet, answers are one
push of a button away.”

Detective Johnston moved to the bar and
poured a tall glass of gin.

The Scorpion continued. “Detective Michael
Johnston, whose lovely wife Ruth was killed in a crime of
opportunity while jogging in Central Park. The killer was never
found, even though you dedicated thousands of hours in pursuit of
justice. Tell me Detective, would you hire me to kill the person
who murdered your wife? That is what I do. Be truthful. There is no
time for pretense.”

Detective Johnston glared into the camera
lens, hatred in his eyes. “No, I would want that pleasure for
myself!”

“Detective, I ask again–why do you follow
Steven?”

“To save his life.”

“You lie. Why do you follow him?

“To kill you,” he said, draining his drink.
“You are evil and I despise your very existence. I seek to kill the
killer.”

The Scorpion then ended his interrogation.
“Ah, the truth at last. My dear Detective, you will have your
chance.”

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

Fifteen minutes had passed since Detective
Johnston’s conversation with the Scorpion. His mind was a blur. He
heard the electronic bolt and looked up to see a young woman
escorted into the main room by guards. The electronic bolt clicked
again.

Detective Johnston walked over, extending his
hand to her. “Hello, I’m Michael Johnston.”

She tentatively shook his hand. “Is this your
house, Mr. Johnston?”

He laughed. “No, this is not my house. I’m a
guest of sorts. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“My name is Giovanna Milani.”

He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “Your
name is familiar, but at the moment, I can’t place it.”

Giovanna shrugged. “Who are you?”

“Actually, I’m a detective in New York.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“I really don’t know. I haven’t even met our
host yet. He introduced himself through the intercom and told me to
relax until more guests arrive. I assume you are one of them. Would
you like a drink? There’s a great bar on the other side of the
room.”

“Gin and Tonic. I need one to calm my
nerves.”

Johnston prepared a drink and sat beside her
on the couch. “So, what are you doing here?”

She regarded him suspiciously, uncertain
whether to answer or not. He seemed honest, but she had no idea of
his role in this insanity.

“Let’s just say this wasn’t my first vacation
choice.”

The detective laughed. “That’s an
understatement. Did you get a look at the goons who escorted us
from the plane? And this castle reminds me of the ‘Addams
Family.’”

Giovanna’s polite smile dissipated as their
host addressed them over the loudspeaker.

“Ms. Milani, welcome to my island. It’s nice
to see your beautiful face again.”

Giovanna looked puzzled as the detective
glanced questioningly at her.

“Of course you wouldn’t remember me. I was a
total stranger who briefly shared a gondola with you in Cervinia.
Our paths crossed for only a matter of minutes. But while you were
contemplating your incestuous lifestyle and removing your clothes
for a complete stranger on a stranded gondola, I was saving your
life.”

Giovanna tried to say something but she could
formulate no words.

The Scorpion laughed. “I see you have already
met Detective Michael Johnston. Two more to go before the
festivities commence. Your boyfriend will be arriving in exactly
one hour. I apologize for any inconvenience, but you must
understand that it was quite necessary to keep you both separated.
I knew he would behave better if he were kept in the dark about
your whereabouts. Reports indicate he has been the perfect
gentlemen.”

“What do you want from us?” Giovanna asked,
trying to regain her composure as she desperately searched her
memory to recall whether she had seen him on the mountain that
day.

“As soon as Nicholas and our other guest
arrive, I will be happy to answer all your questions. We will
converse soon.”

They waited a few seconds, but it was clear
the conversation was over.

“Who is he?” Giovanna asked.

“He asked me to address him as ‘Scorpion,’’’
the detective replied.

The color faded from Giovanna’s face and she
looked faint.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nick told me the Scorpion is a professional
assassin who killed my family as well as people in New York. He
told me he had a friend whose pregnant wife and daughter were
killed by him.”

Detective Johnston collapsed back into the
couch.

“Are you okay, Detective?”

The detective now looked at her from a
completely new perspective, with a surprised expression. “Your
mother, father, and brother were murdered in San Remo.”

Giovanna nodded her head.

“Your brother’s name was Roberto Milani and
he was working with JTS Imports in New York City, but he was
handling their operations from San Remo.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Giovanna admitted.

“Who is this boyfriend of yours?”

Giovanna considered her answer and decided
she had nothing to lose by being candid. “Nick Manzione.”

The detective slammed his fist on the leather
couch. “Christ almighty! I don’t believe this! And he’s on his way
here now?”

Again, Giovanna nodded.

He stared off into the distance. “What the
hell is he up to?”

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

One hour later, the front door opened and two
guards escorted Nick inside. Giovanna jumped off the couch and
raced over, embracing him.

Nick diplomatically accepted her welcome, but
was more interested in the large man on the sofa. He kissed her as
he aimed her toward the couch.

“Who are you?” Nick asked rudely.

“Detective Michael Johnston from the Suffolk
County police department.”

“Johnston? What the hell are you doing
here?”

The detective grinned. “I was going to ask
you the same thing, Manzione.”

Giovanna looked incredulously at Nick. “Nick,
do you know the detective?”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Well, sort of. He’s
investigating my friend Steven. We never met, but I’ve heard a lot
about him.” Nick turned towards Detective Johnston. “Hey,
Detective, do you still think Steven killed his wife?”

Detective Johnston frowned. “I know Steven
didn’t kill anyone. What brings
you
here?”