Scorpio's Lot

Scorpio's Lot, a combination of raw emotion, humour and the unexpected, is a fast-paced story of gangland reprisals and the ways in which these vendettas affect the lives of innocent people. It is an unforgettable adventure, told against the backdrop of the alluring countryside of southern Gippsland in Victoria, Australia

~ * ~

Scorpio’s Lot

Ray Smithie

No copyright 
 2012
by MadMaxAU eBooks

~ * ~

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.

~ * ~