Scorpio's Lot (74 page)

‘You bastard, Morgan! What you
did back at the church was a prick of an act. You haven’t got an ounce of
decency in you!’

‘Oh, that’s calling the kettle
black. Who’s the one caught passing cardboard and bond paper on the church
grounds? No, on second thoughts, transfer paper would be more appropriate.’

‘What in the hell are you talking
about, Morgan?’ challenged Bradbury.

‘Try explaining that little
get-together beside the church and why you passed a document to those men.’

‘You’re talking bullshit! There
was no fucking document and no such meeting.’

‘I beg to differ because you made
the transfer so blatantly obvious. You need to take a short course in subtlety.
I recommend the School of Loyalty. They’re renowned for students maintaining a
high degree of allegiance, but unfortunately you chose the path of deceit and
now you’re pushed into a corner. The bottom line, Bradbury, is that there can’t
be a place for renegades in this establishment.’ Morgan was relentless in his
attack.

‘Don’t believe him, Sol. The
bastard’s imagination has got out of control.’

‘Denial is such an overly
predictable choice. History has given us Judas, Quisling and Benedict Arnold.
You’re just another bad seed to throw onto the pile,’ taunted Morgan.

‘This fuckin’ nonsense has gone
far enough!’ snapped Sol.

‘No, let me finish, Sol,’ said
Bradbury. ‘You haven’t heard my side of things. I went to church with the sole
purpose of taking confession. What was discussed is irrelevant because a priest
will not disclose the nature of these sins, but I assure you there was no
reference to the underground and no mention of names.’

‘And we’re supposed to believe
this hocus-pocus,’ grumbled Morgan.

‘For Christ’s sake, shut the fuck
up and give Neville a chance to speak!’ shouted Sol.

‘Following confession Morgan
decided to confront Father Byrne and pressure him into breaking the sacred
trust. I told him he was wasting his time and to take the matter up with me and
leave the church alone. He decided to tackle and injure the priest instead.’
Bradbury then elaborated on the rest of the confrontation and eventual trip to
hospital.

‘Is this true, Morgan?’ Like
Bradbury, Sol regarded the church with a degree of respect and believed it was
no place to commit violence.

‘Bullshit! I was the one trying
to protect the priest,’ Morgan claimed.

‘Then explain why you held a
knife to Father Byrne,’ said Bradbury.

Morgan was starting to feel the
heat. The pendulum was beginning to turn in Bradbury’s favour. Saturation point
was looming fast and in one last desperate attempt to save his own neck, he
took the unprecedented step of reversing the roles.

‘It wasn’t me who held the knife.
The traitor in our midst is yet again avoiding the consequences of his actions.
For once in your life, Bradbury, have the balls to speak the truth.’

‘Good try, Morgan, but it won’t
work. You’ve only got to speak to the church or hospital to verify what I’m
saying.’

‘Then so be it. You’re on
borrowed time, Bradbury. The betrayer is always caught out in the end,’ said
Morgan, refusing to budge.

The trading of words continued.
Morgan was now fully aware that this conversation could not leave the confines
of underground. His defiant stand on the issue would be ridiculed by all who
had witnessed the event. His one chance of survival was to eliminate Bradbury.
Erase him from the equation, so to speak. But how? In the presence of Sol he
couldn’t simply reach for a gun or knife and kill him. He would have to create
a situation whereby self-defence would be seen as an acceptable excuse.

He began to devise his cunning
plan to agitate the unsuspecting Bradbury into creating the necessary scene.
Morgan was a master of deception and this situation brought no major challenge
for the maestro. He utterly refused to allow some two-bit warehouse manager to
gain the upper hand and be subjected to any comeback mockery. He continued with
his unrelenting verbal assault.

‘There’s honour among the
criminal fraternity, but in your case you’ve chosen to switch boats to create
havoc. Treason is a very serious offence and the punishment carried out is
generally of the highest order,’ said Morgan.

‘But you have no proof!’ insisted
Sol, taking on the role of judge and judicator.

‘The gift of the gab is your only
defence, Morgan. This can all be sorted out with a quick phone call to St
Patrick’s. They’ll verify the truth,’ Bradbury insisted.

‘No, best we visit in person so
there’s no mistake,’ Morgan said, stalling for time.

‘I have a question,’ called a
voice.

The three men stopped at the
sound of this unexpected person.

Sol was first to acknowledge the
presence of his superior. ‘Ah, Piedpiper, thank goodness you’ve arrived. We
might finally get to the bottom of this mess.’

The sudden presence of the
regional head had a contrasting effect. Neville Bradbury predictably appeared
reassured, while Morgan simply stared in absolute disbelief.

‘
You’re
the Piedpiper!’ he
bellowed in utter shock. ‘That’s impossible. There has to be some mistake.’

‘No mistake, Morgan. I’ve been listening
to this unfolding story from the next room. I would’ve preferred not to have
revealed my identity, but the implications and consequences of this matter have
made it necessary for me to intervene.’

Morgan continued to glare at the
Piedpiper as if he had seen a ghost. He had not anticipated this person to be
the southern drug lord. Finally overcoming the initial shock and regaining some
degree of composure, he made his feelings known.

‘Very clever with your
contrasting cover that people would never believe. You’re the last person I
suspected,’ he declared, still shaking his head in disbelief.

‘Enough of this stupidity. As I
said before, there’s a question that begs a response. Tell me, Morgan, why did
your initial recollection of the event make only reference to Bradbury’s
confession?’ questioned the Piedpiper.

‘For obvious reasons. You don’t
have to be a Rhodes scholar to work that one out,’ he replied.

‘Oh, then please enlighten me.’

‘Because the bastard would’ve
told the priest about our operations. Surely anyone can work that out.’

‘But you have no proof of this,
so why the theatrics?’ the Piedpiper responded coolly.

‘Then ask yourself why he would
go to confession in the first place. Your traitor’s conscience had got the
better of him. What else would they talk about? Come on, it’s so damn obvious
it’s a joke.’

‘Maybe in your mind, Morgan. The
fact is, you have no idea and nor does anyone else. To my way of thinking the
more important issue for initial discussion was Neville’s so-called rendezvous
with these men in the church grounds. This had all the ingredients for an
alleged sabotage or defector situation, but instead you chose a confession to
alert Sol to an existing problem. It was only when some pressure was applied
you decided to throw this in like an afterthought,’ counteracted the Piedpiper.

Morgan had a formidable opponent
when it came to a battle of wits. Few surpassed the drug boss in this field.
The psychopath was beginning to feel the heat again. Whatever he conjured up,
the Piedpiper had a ready answer. Desperation was starting to show on his face.

‘You’re as gullible as the rest
of them. Can’t you see when a problem is staring you right in the face? You act
appropriately, not beat around the bush as if you’re on some bloody butcher’s
picnic,’ he flared at his regional head.

‘You listen to me, Morgan! The
fact of the matter is you’ve chosen the wrong person to persecute. Do you
really believe that Bradbury would betray us?’

‘Are you implying that I’m guilty
before proven innocent?’ countered Morgan.

‘Your gutter scum of the lowest
form ...’ The regional head was howled down by Morgan’s inability to accept
self-ridicule.

‘Noooo!’ he screamed. ‘Take a
good look at yourself. You lack the skills to take this operation to the next
level. You lack the balls to make the tough decision and carry out execution
when appropriate. And you have the audacity to question my motives!’

‘I’ve haven’t
begun
to
start with you! I have built this southern enterprise into a multi-million
dollar business only to see it deteriorate in the space of three weeks. Do you
have any idea as to why this has happened? One Bradley Morgan, to be precise.
You have stirred the emotions and attracted the attention of the nation as
result of your constant interference and mindless trail of murders. What you
have created in this short time would take most people a lifetime to achieve.
My track record speaks for itself, so don’t come at me questioning my skill
levels,’

Morgan finally accepted he had
run his race. No longer required by the southern operation, he now decided on
retaliation to leave his mark. To eliminate Bradbury would give the psychopath
a degree of satisfaction, for in Morgan’s mind to leave empty-handed would be
an exit without honour. Anger and irrational behaviour had now replaced the
satire and calm exterior that was his usual trademark. A noticeable twitch had
emerged, and with his head slightly tilted to one side he looked like a
possessed demon about to explode. This disturbing sight even raised the
eyebrows of the Piedpiper. Morgan screamed, his body rigorously shaking in an
uncontrollable tantrum. He had literally lost the plot. In a sudden act of
vengeance he drew a knife and grabbed the unsuspecting Sol as a shield. He held
the blade to Sol’s throat.

The Piedpiper knew Morgan would
carry out his callous act if pushed too far. Caution and patience were
paramount. The Piedpiper had not anticipated Morgan to turn against his own.
How the drug lord loathed the psychopath for creating such a scene. And wasn’t
hindsight a wonderful thing - there had been ample opportunity to eliminate
this bastard before now. Pretend to appease the jerk and when he least expects
it, have him bumped off. But in reality there had been no prior confrontation
to allow for such an act. The Piedpiper had to grin and bear it, for
circumstances now dictated otherwise. Morgan held the advantage and something
had to be devised to reverse the situation.

The regional head signaled for
Bradbury to retreat a couple of steps to reduce the element of threat. The
psychopath had become a time bomb and this was not the moment to light the
fuse.

Morgan drew a second knife, and
to the horror of his obedient audience ran the blade down the full length of
his own forearm. Although the wound was superficial, it nonetheless emphasised
he was deadly serious with his intent. Blood flowed down the arm and onto his
hand, dripping to the floor in continuous pulsation on reaching the fingertips.
His wide eyes, with conspicuous convex-like pupils, reflected the look of a
madman. He then stabbed the same arm in multiple regions. The self-mutilation
commenced slowly at first, but progressively increased in tempo as Morgan
pushed the blade through to the bone. As he twisted the knife, blood streamed from
his arm at an alarming rate. He paused and grinned at his astonished observers.

‘That little demonstration speaks
a thousand words, so don’t mess with the maestro,
comprendi?’

He reached for a cloth to stop
the blood flow. Tying the cotton fabric didn’t appear to be overly challenging
and he succeeded in accomplishing the task with the use of only one hand and
his teeth. This would now become a game, strictly coordinated and carried out
to Morgan’s set of rules. He currently held sway, so any thought given to
negotiation or compromise would have to be placed on temporary hold. To disobey
his orders at this point would have its consequences. The regional head was no
fool, knowing full well Morgan’s capability and mental state. Unpredictability
loomed as the biggest threat.