The Evil And The Pure (24 page)

“You did,” she smirked. “You said there were too many horny Italians there.”

Kevin smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t know you were serious
. I can arrange a holiday if you really want to go.”

Tulip shrugged and faced the TV again.

Clint cleared his throat, started to say something, stopped. Kevin getting annoyed — he hated all this beating around the bush. Thought of asking Clint why he was here, but Clint was the sort who ran if confronted. Instead he sat back, watched soaps, waited.

The next advert.
Clint cleared his throat again. Got it out this time. “Phials hasn’t cuh-cuh-cuh-contacted you any tuh-time lately, huh-has he?”

Kevin
shook his head. “He doesn’t have our number. He always books through you. That’s the arrangement.”

“Good.” Clint chewed his lower lip.

“Are you accusing us of operating behind your back?” Kevin snapped.

“
No. That never crossed my mind. I… I need to ask a fuh-fuh-fuh-favour.”

“Oh?” Kevin on guard instantly.

“Fast Eh-Eddie’s away for a while. Security at the luh-luh-lab isn’t as tuh-tight without him. I want you to tuh-tuh-tuh-take these with you next time you guh- guh-go.” Clint produced three small pouches. Kevin stared at them suspiciously.

“What’s in them?” Kevin asked.

“Some cuh-coke. A few E’s. Two baggies for him, one for yuh-you.”

“
We can pay for our goods,” Kevin growled. “We don’t need to trade favours for them. And Phials isn’t allowed drugs.”

“
I know.” Clint smiled jaggedly. “It’s no big deal if you say nuh-no. I just feel suh-sorry for the poor buh-buh-buh-bastard. He luh-loves to get high. Can’t with Fuh-Fuh-Fast Eddie watching over him all the time. Though I’d guh-give him a suh-suh-surprise while Fast Eddie was away. That’s all.”

“And if
the drugs were found on us?” Kevin snorted.

“Suh-suh-suh-say it’s for yuh-yourselves. The guh-guh-guys on the door won’t know any duh-duh-duh-different.”

“I don’t want to do it,” Tulip said. “Drugs are bad. People die taking drugs.”

Clint gawped. “But yu
h-yuh-yuh-
you
…”

“I’m an addict,” Tulip said sadly. “I don’t want to become a supplier too.
I can live with hurting myself but I won’t harm others.”

“
I’m sure Clint’s products are safe,” Kevin murmured, staring at the pouches, trying to figure this out. Clint wasn’t the sort to spring a surprise for the sake of it. There had to be more than he was telling them. Kevin curious. “We’d just have to smuggle in the drugs?”

“Kevin!” Tulip squealed.

He silenced her with a wave of a hand.

“Nuh-nuh-not quite.” Clint grinned nervously. “I wuh-want to stuh-stuh-stuh-stay. While yuh-yuh-you and Ph-Ph-Ph-Phials…”

Kevin’s features hardened and he got ready to kick Clint out.

“No,
” Clint yelped, reading Kevin’s expression. “It’s not th-th-th-that. I’m not interested in suh-sex. I need to ask Phials something when he’s ruh-ruh-relaxed. Cuh-catch him with his guard down.”

Kevin softened. “
I see. You want us to loosen him up for you.”

“Yeah.” Clint smiled shakily.

“What makes you think we’d do that?” Kevin asked coolly. “We like Tony.”

“Fuh-fuh-
five hundred pounds,” Clint said softly. “Just to sneak in the drugs and say yuh-yuh-yes when Phials asks if I can stuh-stuh-stuh-stay.”

“And if he doesn’t ask you to stay?”

Clint grinned. “Leave that to muh-me. Five hundred pounds — nuh-nice holiday money. And a baggie for yourselves tuh-too.”

“It’s wrong,” Tulip said.

“Everything we do is wrong,” Kevin retorted, mulling it over, reluctant to turn down free cash and drugs. “What if Phials OD’s?”

“He wuh-won’t.
It’s guh-guh-guh-good shit.”

“A thousand,” Kevin said.

Clint smiled. “Five huh-hundred. Not worth any muh-more than that.”

“A thousand,” Kevin reiterated. “Five hundred each. We stand to lose a lot
more if the drugs are discovered on us and we’re banned from seeing him again.”

Clint
mulled it over. Nodded. “OK. Fuh-five up front, the ruh-ruh-rest after.”

Kevin rubbed his fingers together. Clint dug out an envelope and passed it across
with the baggies. Kevin counted and beamed. “A pleasure doing business with you.” The men shook hands. Tulip looked on sourly, started to object again, then focused on the baggies and licked her lips. She wan’t due a hit, but seeing the baggies, knowing what was inside, the craving grew within her and she couldn’t resist. She reached out with trembling fingers, took one of the pouches from Kevin, and the deal was truly sealed.

TWENTY

Gawl o
bserving Clint in church as he struck his measly deals. Hopes sinking — all of Clint’s customers were low-lifes, handing over tattered notes, shaking until they got their hands on the merchandise, hurrying out to shoot up, desperate, addicted, worthless. No TV stars, no pop stars, nobody who even looked like they held down a steady job. Starting to lose interest in the dealer, but nothing better to do with his time, so he endured.

He renewed
contact with Fr Sebastian. The priest loathe to let Gawl back into his life. Didn’t have the money he owed, said he’d spent it on girls when Gawl left him in the lurch. Gawl laughed. Told Fr Sebastian to forget the money. Asked if he wanted Gawl to line him up with new girls. The priest said he’d made his own arrangements in Gawl’s absence and could get along nicely without him. Gawl didn’t like that but he didn’t object, told Fr Sebastian he’d be here when the priest needed him. Left troubled, wondering who’d supplanted him as the priest’s pussy supplier. Clint Smith? If so, the dealer’s days were numbered. Gawl needed Fr Sebastian. Not prepared to sit back and let Clint steal his kiddie-fucking cash cow.

Keeping a watch on Fr Sebastian in the evenings. Hanging around outside the church, following the priest whenever he left,
skulking around the neighbourhood after him. Harmless house calls – old ladies, potential targets for Gawl if nothing better presented itself – until one afternoon he scurried out, collar hidden, shaking nervously, hunger in his eyes and stride. Gawl had seen the priest like this before. Grinned and tracked him, getting close, knowing Fr Sebastian wouldn’t notice a bomb going off the way he was. Followed him to a flat in Long Lane. A plump, pretty, sad girl opened the door and admitted the priest. Gawl recognised her. He’d seen her in church several times, always with a slightly older man.

So that’s where Fr Sebast
ian had found his pussy. Gawl chuckled to himself on the landing. The sly bastard had preyed on one of his flock. Probably invited himself round on an innocent pretext, then slipped it to her. No problem breaking this up — just threaten to tell the older guy (probably her brother, too young to be her father) what the priest was up to.

Gawl waited
. The priest normally finished in a quarter of an hour. He laughed softly when he saw the door opening twelve minutes later, Fr Sebastian practically floating through, much lighter now he’d shot his load. The laughter stopped when a man closed the door after the priest and Gawl glimpsed the girl’s companion, the guy who was probably her brother.

What the fuck
?

Wondering if he’d read the situat
ion wrong, if this had been a normal house call. But there was no mistaking Fr Sebastian’s sexual relief. Only answer — the brother must be in on it. Maybe not a relative at all. A pimp? Didn’t matter. Just made Gawl’s job a bit harder.

Fr Sebastian pressed a button for the lift. Gawl hurried down the stairs. Got to the
ground floor first. Grabbed the priest as he stepped out. Hurled him against the wall. Fr Sebastian thought he was being mugged. “Take my wallet. Take my watch. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Quiet,
” Gawl hissed.

Fr Sebastian’s eyes widened. “
Gawl
?”

“Now I know where ye get yer pussy, Father.” Giggling as Fr Sebastian’s face whitened. “A nice wee girl. Is she tight enough for ye?”

“She’s… she’s not… she’s just…”

“Shut up,
” Gawl snapped. Leant in close, breathing in the priest’s face. “If ye come back here again, I’ll kill her. From now on ye fuck where I tell ye t’ fuck. I’ll arrange all the girls ye want, young and eager, just like before, right? Just gi’e me the nod when ye’re horny and I’ll fix ye up.”

“I… I don’t…”

“D’ ye want me t’ kill her?” Gawl growled. “D’ ye want me t’ cut her tits off and slice her face open and –”

“No!” Fr Sebastian cried.

“Then don’t go back.” Gawl released the priest, brushed him down, kissed his forehead and winked. “Normal service has been resumed.”

TWENTY-ONE

Another dull
, lonely night in Margate. Fast Eddie struck lucky with a young, good-looking but obese Spanish woman on a tour of the UK, vanished with her early, leaving Big Sandy to sit alone and brood. He missed London, a city boy, lost out here in no man’s land. Read the papers every day, thumbed through a couple of novels, but no real interest in books. He’d spent the last few nights reading random passages from a Gideon’s bible. Sitting in his tiny room, studying God’s words, thinking about the life he’d led, the sins he’d committed, the blood on his hands, the impossibility of redemption, spirits sinking lower than ever.

He wanted to phone the Bush to ask when he could return. Didn’t. The Bush had said he’d
get in touch when it was safe. Big Sandy experienced enough to know that you didn’t pester Dave Bushinsky.

He went for a long walk but was still back at
the boarding house before eleven. He hoped Fast Eddie would have finished with his Spaniard and returned, so he’d have someone to talk with. But Fast Eddie was still on the job. Big Sandy figured he’d probably stay at her place. He picked up the bible then laid it down again. Not tonight, already depressed, the bible would just make matters worse.

He showered, water tepid,
never hot here. Stayed immersed in the spray a long time, sandy hair plastered to his skull, eyes shut, thrum of the water drowning out all other sounds, thinking about Larry Drake and the woman. How the hound had stripped Drake’s flesh from his bones, the terror in the woman’s face when he’d opened the bathroom door and she realised she was damned.

Big Sandy had
led a clean life on many counts. He’d never knowingly slept with another man’s woman, avoided drugs, was respectful to the elderly, provided for his family. Wouldn’t matter much when stacked against his guilty count – murder, violence, burglary, extortion – but Big Sandy was proud of his few virtues. Men in his line were not obliged to respect any of God’s laws, so it pleased Big Sandy that he hadn’t given in to the legions of temptations that he was faced with every day. Of course pride was another sin…

With a sigh he s
tepped out of the shower, dried himself, went to bed early. Lay still, willing sleep to claim him, but it was a couple of hours before he drifted off. A troubled sleep when it came, dreaming about his mother and finding her butchered. Davey Connors was there in the dream, standing over her corpse, grinning, a knife in one hand. He lunged and Big Sandy woke sweating.

Heart beating, he stared at the ceiling. Looked over. Fast Eddie hadn’t come back. He
checked the bedside clock. 3:57. He groaned, remembering the dream, knowing he wouldn’t sleep again tonight, shivering, wishing he had Sapphire to hold and comfort him.

“I can’t take this,” he whispered. He needed something to take his mind off murder and bloodshed, to stop him thinking about the corpses in his life
, the stains on his hands and soul. Work normally kept the dark thoughts at bay, but now that he was stranded here, he had to find some other distraction. But what? Margate a place with few options. What if he got out of here for a while, took to the road, nothing to do with work, but…