Scorpio's Lot by Ray Smithies Page A

drug dealers, praying on the innocence of
schoolchildren and the young people in the community. It became easy pickings
and she was getting in too deep. My possessiveness of her was no more than
protection from these pricks because I had concerns for her safety. We often
argued and she accused me of being obsessive and having an arrogant nature. I
still have feelings for her but now she rejects all my advances.’
     
    ‘Did you know Jake Reynolds?’
Marsh asked.
     
    ‘Certainly. He was an okay sort
of guy, but I held some resentment because of Brigit taking an interest in him.
Don’t get me wrong, I was as surprised as anyone else in hearing about this
tragedy.’
     
    ‘Was Jake involved in the drug
scene?’
     
    ‘Not that I’m aware of. He wasn’t
the type to get involved because of his commitment to training and the
possibility of being selected for the Games. My guess is Brigit would’ve never
divulged her secret for fear of losing him,’ declared James.
     
    ‘And what about yourself?’
     
    ‘No, detective, I have neither
the interest nor money to support that habit.’
     
    ‘What can you tell us about the
local drug syndicate?’ queried Forbes.
     
    ‘Nothing really, but like most
people I’m aware of its existence.’
     
    ‘Were you home on Friday night
and early Saturday morning?’ asked Forbes.
     
    ‘No, I went to O’Riley’s Inn with
some friends. Later we decided to go on to the Regency Nightclub and I was home
around two and didn’t get out of bed until midday on Saturday.’
     
    ‘Very well, that should do for
now,’ said Forbes.
     
    ‘Just one more thing - how’s
Brigit doing?’ James asked.
     
    ‘We visited her today and she’s
making good progress.’
     
    Round one of the detectives’
enquiries had now concluded. Their interviews had been productive and they had
a clearer understanding about Brigit’s involvement within the drug scene. It
was time to round up the troops and reiterate on what had transpired.
     
    ~ * ~
     

     
     
    I
    n
a side street off the main drag in Pedley, two men were unloading a consignment
of merchandise and placing the shipment along a wall. The signage from the
front entrance of the warehouse read: BROADBENT, IMPORTERS AND DISTRIBUTORS OF
FINE PRODUCE. With the remaining boxes now stacked against the wall, the
courier driver climbed aboard his van and departed. The roller door was
immediately lowered.
     
    ‘Where in the hell is Ferret. He’s
never bloody around when ya need him!’ griped the tall warehouse assistant. His
cigarette remained firm between the lips. No hand came forth during exhaling.
     
    ‘Fuck knows, probably gone to
grab a bite somewhere,’ replied his equally annoyed colleague.
     
    ‘All this work has gotta be done
by nine, for Christ’s sake!’
     
    The two commenced to segregate
the boxes according to labeling. Wine to the floor, coffee and tea placed upon
some nearby shelving, and various canned products loaded on a timber pallet
ready for delivery to a local supermarket later in the morning. Their boss was
about to arrive and would expect to find this task completed.
     
    Broadbent had been a respected
local identity for some years and there was never a reason for the authorities
to believe otherwise. The supermarket commodities were perceived by the public
to be Broadbent’s sole source of income, but the company was in fact a front
for accumulating and distributing a wide variety of drugs.
     
    It was an extremely well run
business. The company was always careful to project the one image should an
unannounced representative from some hotel, restaurant or supermarket chain pay
a sudden visit. There was a small front office leading directly to the
warehouse, and this, together with loading bays and a small fleet of vans,
completed the premises, or so the public thought.
     
    The syndicate that purchased the
property with the intention of setting up such a deception had done its
homework well. Unbeknown to