PART CHAPTER 16 THE STIGMA ENIGMA by Michael Walsh. A fleeing gangster on a North Sea ferry is pursued by vengeful vigilante Jack Scarlet.

Within an hour of locating and settling into his onboard cabin, the athletically fit Jack Scarlett had aged considerably. When later he left his cabin on the vessel’s lower deck, he had added ten years or more to his appearance.

The passenger was burdened by whatever ailment it was that caused his stoop, maybe by the discomfit of a disabled leg that caused his limp. The seemingly partially disabled and disadvantaged Jack Scarlett evoked compassion from passengers he chanced upon as he made his uncertain way to various parts of the ferry.

Short-sighted, the traveller inquired of a passing tourist as to which toilet he could use, the male or the female. He did so whilst standing a mere metre before the gender identification signs posted on the doors of the passengers’ bathroom.

There were several near accidents with travellers carrying drinks or trays. Jack Scarlett’s dark-tinted glasses were evidence enough of his poor eyesight.

Sitting at a table situated across the restaurant the smartly dressed business type felt a pang of sympathy for the approaching diner carrying his dining tray as he approached. Being the peak of the season, there were few spare tables to be had.

It would be difficult if not impossible for the approaching voyager to find an unoccupied table.  Sympathetically, Enzo Saporito raised his hand.

‘Here, put your tray down here,’ he invited as the older gent lost in a world of his own neared Saporito’s table. ‘I know how difficult it can be to find a table, especially when you are travelling alone. You’re alone pal?’

‘Yes, it is very kind of you; I am not used to travelling by ferry. I usually have my dog with me but there were difficulties.’

Assuring the outwardly incapacitated diner that his offer of a shared table was no bother, Saporito smiled and said he was glad to help.

The silence at their table was soon broken by Jack Scarlett’s mumbled apology for disturbing him. His tough-looking fellow traveller warmed to the man’s cordiality. The mobster relaxed as his new companion enjoyed his meal.

Enzo Saporito was in a benevolent mood. Far removed from the ever-present threat of arrest or attack by rival gangsters an occasional opportunity for him to travel alone brought a false sense of security.

Here on the ferry, he was far distant from the officers of Merseyside or Greater Manchester Police. The trafficker in drugs and migrants had not told anyone, not even his current girlfriend of his travel plans.

As he relaxed, the Merseyside felon looked forward to sealing a deal that if all turned out well would propel his street credibility and bank balance upwards.

With a smug smile of condescension, Saporito helped his enfeebled table companion to relax and even stooped to pick up a dropped table napkin.

Inwardly pleased at his being recognised as a sophisticated traveller of means and influence, the drug dealer when ordering his fourth beer insisted that his companion be included in the round also.

‘I’m not very well off, sir,’ his guest sighed. ‘I am not in a position to return your kindness.’

‘Think nothing of it, my friend. I am not a poor man.’

Vigilante Jack Scarlett relaxed as he quietly sat at the dining table and smiled at the travelling crime wave sitting opposite. It was a stress-free good-humoured Enzo Saporito who at his recently ordered glass excused himself to visit the nearby toilet.

‘Make sure you use the right one,’ smiled his new friend. ‘I nearly used the lady’s toilet. These spectacles aren’t much help.’

Either from the effects of the alcohol or the slight roll of the vessel, it seemed to Jack Scarlett that his new friend might be under the influence of alcohol.

Jack Scarlett experienced no problems with his eyesight as in his new friend’s absence a small sachet of Rohypnol was produced and when added to Saporito’s drink quickly diluted in the half-empty glass.

‘I am told rape is a worse fate than death. Soon, my friend, you will be able to tell me if death is the preferred choice.’

Within twenty minutes or so the Liverpool gangster’s return, Enzo Saporito was finding his words less easy to come by.  Weirdly, the Liverpool criminal was feeling a little faint as his disabled table guest reassured him that he appeared in fine health.

‘You are looking well. As long as you don’t get seasick, which is dreadful,’ smiled the deceptively incapacitated passenger.

Rohypnol is a cause-and-effect drug that Enzo Saporito would be familiar with. But it was now too late. The Rohypnol added to the mobster’s drink in his absence was having its effect.

Jack Scarlett feigned interest and concern as Saporito’s speech slurred. The repeat offender and regular tenant of Liverpool’s tough Walton Prison was feeling increasingly unwell and had become confused.

Enquiring his new friend’s cabin number, it was difficult for Jack Scarlett to understand the confused response to his request. His deck and his cabin number were incoherently mumbled by the confused gangster.

A later examination by Scarlett of the contents of his victim’s pocket would confirm that he had his victim’s cabin number right.

Soon afterwards, with assistance from the ex-mercenary, the delirious Enzo Saporito found himself comforted by the familiarity of his cabin and his belongings.

Fighting back the desire to vomit, the drug pusher tried desperately to recover his senses as assisted by Scarlett, he finally sprawled spread-eagled on the cabin’s bed.

The enfeebled Enzo Saporito was in no condition to resist as the neck of the container after Scarlett’s fingerprints had been wiped, was first pressed into his hand and then applied to his half-open lips.  It was a small matter that required little assistance from his assassin.

By now, Jack Scarlett could rest assured that Saporito’s fate was sealed as surely was the cap on the now half-empty bottle of Firewater. The drain cleaning fluid had been applied as directed and was sure to clear this particular racketeer’s sewer.

‘Take your medicine, there’s a good boy,’ Scarlett murmured as he watched with interest the contorted features of his quarry’s face.

‘Think of it as a parting gift from Tammy Nelson, you bastard.’

Following a routine glance around the ferry’s cabin to make certain nothing had been overlooked, Jack Scarlett spoke softly almost to himself.

‘Do not go gently into the good night, old age should burn and rage at end of day; Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.’

Jack Scarlett had no idea who had penned those immortal words. He did recall their being used at a jungle clearing service conducted by comrades for the oldest of his flock who had met a cruel and premature death during a firefight in Angola. PLEASE SHARE OUR STORIES ON SOCIAL MEDIA

THE STIGMA ENIGMA. Michael Walsh award-winning novelist. Double-crossed in love, ex-mercenary Jack Scarlett has the sinister sinners of Liverpool’s underworld in his cross-hairs. Detective Chief Inspector Eric Jansen vows to stop his high-octane lethal feud. Can Detective Chief Inspector Eric Jansen stop Jack Scarlett, and does he really want to? CLICK PIC OR LINK TO BOOK https://michaelwalshbooks.wordpress.com/