Scorpio's Lot (60 page)

‘I need to take off your socks
and shoes. Your feet need to breathe in the night air. To aerate your toes will
do you the world of good.’ Morgan commenced the task of exposing the men’s
lower extremities.

He then briefly left the room to
the surprise of the Traffik pair. They now both stood upon the cool bluestone
in bare feet, wondering what purpose this little charade could possibly serve.
Within two shakes Morgan re-entered the room carrying something that was draped
by a large cloth. It conveniently camouflaged the mysterious contents from the
prying eyes of his captives. He placed the object in the centre of the chamber,
some two metres from the two prisoners, and gave his dumbfounded audience the
following instruction.

‘Please keep your legs together
and as straight as possible while I tie them to the pillars.’

Further panic and anxiety was
evident as the two men struggled against their existing restraints. Why the
bare feet? And now to have their legs bound as well. What had this madman in
mind?

‘Now now, it can’t be all that
bad,’ taunted Morgan, trying to maintain a hold on the uncooperative legs. The
task was proving to be unnecessarily difficult and he let fly with callous
swipe. ‘If you don’t keep still I’ll cut your balls off and turn them into
marble bags for the local kids!’ he screamed.

The Traffik pair immediately
ceased resistance, not wishing to have their private anatomy tampered with. Their
captor looked insane enough to carry out such an act.

‘That’s better,’ he acknowledged,
completing the last reef knot.

The two men stood rigid, feeling
highly vulnerable. They now wondered what fate awaited them.

Morgan seemed more at ease now
and actually raised a smile at the misfortune of his adversary. He continued
with the dramatics.

‘I’m excited. I feel in a good
mood now. Tell me, what did the salt say to the pepper?’

With predictably no response,
Morgan let fly with the punch line.

‘Season’s greetings!’ he
bellowed, accompanied by a raucous laugh.

The unpredictable mood of the
psychopath then suddenly swung to a more subdued and serious tone. He returned
to the centre of the chamber and, like a magician about to perform his alluring
act, lifted the cloth to expose the caged scorpions. The sight of these two
arachnids drew instant fear. The two captives recommenced their struggle
against the rope’s stranglehold.

‘Gentlemen, I give you Salt and
Pepper, our famed imported African duo. No prizes for guessing who’s who,
though,’ said Morgan wearing a crazed smile.

With the aid of a nearby cane he
opened the respective cage doors, much to the horror of Schmitt and Templeton.
They were now at the mercy of these predators.

‘Perhaps I should explain that
scorpions are nocturnal creatures that hunt crickets and beetles and possess an
attribute called idle curiosity. Human feet, I daresay, should get their
interest, wouldn’t you agree?

‘Our little game should prove
interesting since only one scorpion is potentially deadly. The other will leave
a localised pain, which will disappear after a few minutes. But which one is
best to avoid, I wonder. Salt or Pepper? If you believe your foot has been
stung then expect the symptoms to include drooling, slurred speech, tingling,
perhaps a swollen tongue and don’t overlook trouble in focusing your eyes. I’m
sure there’s more, but I can’t remember it all.’

The two scorpions had by now
departed their cages. The staked captives tried desperately to loosen the tightly
bound rope surrounding their calves but the attempt proved useless. The secured
reef knots refused to budge.

Pepper, perhaps the most
adventurous and curious of the pair, had begun his travels toward the toes of
Klaus Schmitt. He stopped half a metre short as if surveying the area. Schmitt
was nearly beside himself as the large shiny black creature reared his
intimidating tail, reminiscent of a submarine periscope ascending ocean waters.
His agile body moved across the bluestone surface with relative ease. Those two
massive pincers were uncomfortably close. The terrified man groaned beneath the
masking tape.

Pepper progressed to the base of
Schmitt’s feet, his claws seemingly investigating an unusual prey. The scorpion
applied no pressure from his pincers as he ambled around the base of the foot.
Deciding no threat was apparent he climbed on the captive’s toes, stopping
momentarily to study the contour of his find. Sweat poured from Schmitt’s
forehead and he believed the inevitable was about to happen. The creature began
to climb and circle his ankle in search of prey. Unable to control the
situation any longer, Schmitt made the fatal mistake of allowing his emotions
to cause a sudden reaction. The resultant movement compelled Pepper to inflict
his dreaded sting.

Schmitt immediately felt a
tolerable soreness. The intensity of pain increased. His muffled scream from
behind the tape surprised even Morgan with its forceful loudness. But Schmitt
was fortunate. The sting from an African emperor could only inflict a mild
poison and antivenin would never become an issue. The psychopath decided to
allow nature to take its course and have his adversary fret over the possible
consequences. After all, Pepper’s assault was not life threatening and there
would be no lasting side effects.

Morgan’s attention was now
directed toward the smaller, more cautious albino. The less aggressive and more
docile Salt had by this time travelled some two metres from her cage. Unlike
her counterpart, she took a less direct path, stopped and retraced her steps.
The behaviour of the white scorpion was unpredictable. As if drawn to the
movement of Dean Templeton’s foot, the albino commenced her curious approach
toward this mysterious source. The captive, sensing the scorpion’s interest,
produced an equally loud noise from beneath his masking tape.

Morgan squealed with delight on
hearing the troubled sound. His sadistic torment was proving to be highly
entertaining.

Salt stopped briefly beside the
man’s trembling leg and unexpectedly reared her tail in a display of defiance.
Stalking her unfamiliar prey, she strutted about at the base of Templeton’s
foot, occasionally using her pincers to feel the intended meal. With no
forewarning the scorpion commenced climbing the prisoners leg, cautiously at
first, then accelerating to where the ropes were tied around his lower limb.
She paused momentarily to inspect her discovery.

Up to this point Templeton had
been careful not to make a sudden move, having learnt the lesson from his
accomplice’s mistake. Unfortunately for the mistreated prisoner, he was
beginning to feel lightheaded and the possibility of passing out was quite
apparent and unnerving. Despite his dilemma he continued to stand remarkably
still, but with sweat now profusely dripping from his upper extremity, there
was another problem. Should the trail of droplets make contact with the
scorpion below, then quite possibly the creature’s reaction would be to strike.
With his body literally saturated, he could sense pools of perspiration gathering
on the bluestone.

Templeton daren’t breathe, let
alone blink an eye. His predicament was unrivaled in the extreme. Recalling
Morgan’s earlier comment, he knew that with Schmitt’s apparent survival, the
deceptive albino held the deadly venom. He began to shake with sheer terror and
his rigid and motionless stance gave way. He could no longer hold it together.

The white scorpion struck with
all its intended potency. Templeton’s pain was acute. He immediately knew that
something was dreadfully wrong. His sudden, violent trembling caused the
creature to fall down on the bluestone.

Morgan returned the albino to its
cage. Templeton’s constant bellowing from his taped mouth was not without its
enthralled audience. How the psychopath enjoyed the misfortune and suffering of
others. Again he squealed with laughter at seeing Templeton’s terrible
predicament. The sight of the man’s struggle influenced Morgan to add some
mileage to an already insane situation.

‘Isn’t she something? I get a
particular kick out of watching Salt’s little escapades. Let me point out that
you are in the initial stages of a severe attack,’ Morgan told Templeton. ‘Unfortunately,
from your point of view the symptoms are more brutal than that of your
compatriot. Temperature is now rising, which will lead to fever, vomiting,
frothing of the mouth and convulsions. The venom injected will soon attack the
entire body and central nervous system and unless we take measures to correct
an otherwise hopeless outcome, you maybe dead within a few hours due to
respiratory failure.’

The Traffik prisoner stared at
his enemy with a look of immense horror. He understood the reprisals associated
with competing syndicates, but this madness was beyond the apprehension of any
sane person.

Morgan continued with his lunacy.
‘Since I’m a fair man, Mr Templeton, I will remove the tape; otherwise you’ll
choke in your own vomit. But a word of warning. Should you choose to scream,
rant or rave, you will leave me no choice but re-tape your mouth.’

Morgan ripped off the masking
tape with one swift action.

Templeton was beginning to turn a
distinct pale colour. Perspiration continued to pour freely and a fever was
about to take control. His condition was deteriorating at an alarming rate.
Finally in a position to talk, he forced his slurred speech upon the captor.

‘I need antivenin and quickly!’

‘All in good time, Mr Templeton.
You’ve caused Scorpio some anxious moments with your presence and this is your
punishment for trespassing.’

‘But we’ve done you no harm.’

‘On the contrary, your puny
little outfit has focused on Pedley as a regional operation. Our esteemed
leader won’t tolerate such action.’

‘But... but, there’s been no -’

‘No buts, please! It’s like the
old saying “trespassers will be prosecuted”. In your case you’ve wandered too
far beyond the restricted boundary,’ Morgan taunted.

‘What will become of us?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps flip a
coin and we could repeat tonight’s performance? Heads for Salt and tails for
Pepper. If it lands on end then I’ll set you free. Like I said, Mr Templeton, I’m
a reasonable man.’

‘I need that antivenin now!’

‘Um ... one genuflect, two Hail
Mary’s and a big “please” and then I might consider it,’ he taunted and then
added, ‘Now I’m being silly. I momentarily forgot you are tied up. So let’s
compensate with five very big “pleases” and we’ll see what transpires.’

‘Please!’

‘I can’t hear you. You need to be
bold and believable with your delivery. Now let’s try again, but this time with
a bit more conviction.’

‘Please, please, please, please!’

‘One more.’

‘Please!’

‘Thank you,’ acknowledged Morgan,
producing the small bottle of antivenin.

He administered the fluid, much
to the relief of the captive who by now was on the verge of collapse.

‘You’ll live. Now you owe me one
since I’ve just saved your life. But then again, I fail to see how you could
return the favor given your predicament.’

Klaus Schmitt, who had been
preoccupied with his own dilemma, was still looking a bit worse for wear.
Whilst his encounter had proven less scathing, he was nonetheless one very sick
individual.

Realising conversation was fast
coming to a close, Morgan reached for a marking pen to perform one last deviate
act. Ripping apart their respective shirts, he commenced writing two insignias
to serve as mementos for the evening. Upon the bare chest of Klaus Schmitt, he
wrote the words ‘Ebony’s Enemy’. The less fortunate Dean Templeton became the
recipient of ’Ivory’s Infliction’. The psychopath couldn’t resist one last
passing taunt.

‘Don’t concern yourself with the
ink. It’s both non-permanent and water-soluble and will most likely come out in
the next wash.’