The Evil And The Pure (26 page)

“
A1,” Phials giggled.

“Bet it’s better than the shit you’r
e working on — the miracle drug.”

“Never,
” Phials howled. “My shit’s the best in the world.”

“
I can’t wait to try it,” Clint said. “When do you think you’ll have it ready?” Phials mumbled something incoherent. “If we had it now, imagine the crazy shit we could get up to,” Clint pressed. Phials moaned, thrusting into Tulip, barely hearing what Clint was saying. “If you’ve cracked the formula, why not cook some up? Or tell me where it is and I can get one of the others to prepare it for us.”

Phials
paused as Clint’s words sunk in, self-protection mechanism kicking in. “What?” Shaking his head, trying to focus.

“Have you cracked the formula?” Clint grinn
ed, unaware that Phials had clicked back into place, writing the chemist off as just another junkie who’d reveal his darkest sexual fantasy when high, no idea that users of Phials’ stature existed, men with secrets so dark that they’d never reveal them, no matter how wasted they got.

Phials stared hard at Clint, mind clearing, seeing the fix now, Kevin and Tulip in on it, Clint planning to pump him dry and
serve his head up to Dave Bushinsky on a coke-lined silver platter. A great rage built in the usually timid man. “You… fucking… bastard.”

Clit smiled nervously,
getting the sense that he’d lost his grip on the situation. “Hey, doc, I was just –”

“
Fucker!
” Phials screamed, wrapping his fingers around Clint’s throat, fingers slipping, chasing him from the bed, erection wilting, scrambling after Clint. “Kill you! I’ll kill you all! Fuckers!” Grabbed a paperweight off the dressing table and lobbed it at Kevin. It sailed wide, smashed into the wall, knocked a small hole in the plaster. Kevin panicking, imagining the damage it would have done if it had connected with his head.

“Tony! Calm down! This isn’t…
” Clint stopped abruptly as Phials whirled on him and lunged for his throat again. He slapped the chemist’s hands away but suddenly the tall black man was over him, pinning Clint to the floor, screaming incoherently, spitting on Clint, unconsciously urinating on him.

Kevin Tyne
grabbed his trousers and ran for the door, calling for Tulip. But the stoned Tulip only giggled and asked, “Is he going to kill Clint?” Kevin stopped, saw Phials choking Clint, Clint’s eyes bulging, tongue sticking out. Ready to flee and leave Clint – his own fucking fault – but then Tulip knelt beside Phials to take a closer look. Kevin couldn’t leave his sister — Phials might kill her too. He cursed and dived after her, pulled her away. Phials thought he was being attacked. He lashed out at Kevin and slipped off of Clint. Clint sat up, gasping, terrified. Phials came at him again. Clint kicked him away, shrieking. Phials shook his head, woozy. Clint kicked him again, between the eyes.

Kevin
grabbed Tulip, thrust clothes at her, threw her towards the door. Clint stumbled after them. Phials groaned and grabbed for his ankle. Clint kicked him again, then stamped on the chemist’s hand. Phials howled. Clint ran.

Tulip fumbl
ed with the door. Kevin shoved her aside, yanked the door open, hurled Tulip through. He followed, Clint just behind. Phials was on his knees now, crawling after them, snarling, urinating, moaning. Kevin slammed the door shut, struggled into his clothes, barking at Tulip to get dressed. The door started to open. He put his shoulder against it and shoved hard, knocked Phials back to the floor. Shut the door again. Grabbed Tulip and Clint – both stunned, helpless – and herded them towards the stairs, past the startled guard who’d come to investigate.

“What the fuc
k?” the guard shouted.

“He lost his head!” Kevin screamed. “He tried to kill us! I think he’s high!”

“Fuck.” The guard whitened — his number one priority, make sure Tony Phials didn’t have access to hard drugs. His head on the block if the Bush heard about this. “Get out of here,” he snapped, hurrying up the stairs. “I’ll take care of Phials. And hey!” he shouted after them. “Not a fucking word about this to anyone.”

Kevin nodded fearfully, paused and watched the guard collide with
Phials at the top of the stairs and wrestle him to the floor, Phials screaming bloody murder. Then he ran with Tulip and Clint through the lab, panting, heart racing, cursing himself for letting Clint talk him into this, half-afraid Phials would overpower the guard, catch up with them and slaughter them all, praying to God to save them, promising him anything in exchange for their safety, even vowing to stop abusing his sister if they made it out of here alive —
that
afraid.

TWENTY-FOUR

Gawl watched Clint Smith make his regular Friday deals in the Church of Sacred Martyrs. Depressed again. Fr Sebastian was back in his pocket, Gawl setting him up with girls when his needs grew too strong for him to contain, taking all the money the priest could raise, setting up another burglary — he’d squeezed more names out of the priest and had cased their houses, but pretty sure it would be peanuts no matter which of the old cows he hit. Drinking more than ever, most nights too drunk even to fight, waking in alleys outside pubs, crawling home, shivering, stinking, head pounding.

Not sure why he was bothering with Smith.
The young dealer was small-time. No profit in him for Gawl. But he’d got into the habit of shadowing Smith, and without fail he found himself at each of Smith’s church sessions, regardless of how hungover he was, sometimes trailing him as he did business on the Tube or in clubs. At least when he was following Smith he felt like he had some kind of a purpose.

His last customer of the day attended to, Smith rose and slipped into
the confessional, Gawl figuring,
Fr Sebastian must be planning to get high. He’ll be looking for company tonight. Better make sure I’m available.

Gawl f
ollowed Smith as he left the church. Fr Sebastian would need time to beg God for strength, before giving in to his demons and looking for Gawl. A few hours at least to kill. Better to spend them trailing Smith than sitting in the church waiting for the priest to summon him.

Smith led Gawl to the Elephant & Castle, then up the Walworth Road
and off it into a cul-de-sac. Gawl figured he was visiting friends. About to depart when he saw Smith slide open a door fronting a decrepit garage. Gawl frowned as Smith disappeared from sight, wondering what he was up to and what lay behind the door. Scanned the rest of the cul-de-sac — mostly abandoned shells. He strode to one of the houses opposite the garage and checked the door, rotten, loosely hinged, easy to break down. Gawl loitered a while, wary of observers. Seeing nobody, he put his shoulder to the door and knocked it open, swinging it closed again as soon as he was inside. Made his way to the front room, squatted inside the window and trained his sights on the apparently disused garage.

Hours passed, the sun dropped, street lamps came on. No sign of Clint Smith. Gawl thought about Fr Sebastian, alone, horny, anxious.
He should go see to his meal ticket, keep him happy, keep the money rolling in. But his curiosity had been aroused. What could be keeping Smith so long?

Getting cold inside the dark
, deserted room. Gawl losing interest, not just in the surveillance but in Clint Smith full stop. The dealer not worth his time and effort. Sick of London and ill-founded dreams. Making plans — hit one of Fr Sebastian’s flock, maybe rape and kill the bitch while he was at it, blow London.

He’d almost made up his mind
to leave when Kevin and Tulip Tyne walked up to the door of the garage and slid it open. Gawl watched slack-jawed — he knew nothing of Smith’s connection to the Tynes and couldn’t understand why they were here at the same time as the dealer. Forgot all about Fr Sebastian and leaving, immune to the cold, eyes harsh in the darkness.

Keeping a lonely vigil, but
alert and curious now. Trying to imagine what lay behind the peeling, cracked garage door, something strong enough to draw both a small-time dealer and a whore and her brother/pimp. Some kind of underground club? A brothel? But then where were all the clients?

All of a sudden the door
was yanked open and Smith and the Tynes spilled out, faces twisted with panic, running, stumbling. The girl fell and cried out. She was half-naked. Her brother picked her up and thrust a jumper at her. As she wriggled into it, he turned on Smith and shouted at him. Gawl didn’t catch all the words but picked out a few choice curses. Smith yelled back, pale and shaking as he buttoned up his trousers.

Kevin Tyne started to close the garage door. Paused. Stuck his head inside. Drew back looking more terrified than before. Yelled something that sounded like
, “Files!” Grabbed his sister and ran, Clint Smith hot on their heels, overtaking them at the corner of the cul-de-sac, all three swiftly vanishing from sight.

As Gawl
stared, wide-eyed, a large naked black man stumbled out into the street, bellowing wildly, shaking his arms, head whiplashing left and right, high or crazy or both. Three men hurried out of the garage and surrounded the black man, tried to shepherd him back inside. He roared at them. Attacked one. They knocked him to the ground. The one he’d attacked pulled a gun. Another barked a command at him, protectively stepping in front of the black guy. The man who’d drawn the weapon glared at his colleague then put the gun away. All three bent and picked up the lunatic. His legs and arms thrashed wildly but they hustled him inside, the one at the rear pausing to slide the door shut. The last of the action, the cul-de-sac ghostly quiet after that.

Gawl in the shadows of the house, tremblin
g with confusion and excitement, sensing something in the brewing, no idea what the fuck it might be, just that it smelled BIG.

TWENTY-FIVE

Big Sandy sitting in the back of a van, keeping a close eye on the road outside. He could see out through the darkened windows but nobody passing could see in. He’d been here a couple of hours. Wasn’t comfortable being in position such a long time but didn’t want to lose his parking spot. It was almost right in front of the house. Originally he’d planned to drive around, maybe get something to eat, but when he saw the space he couldn’t resist.

Fast Eddie didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. Big Sandy had hired the van and told Fast Eddie only that he was going for a drive. Fast Eddie wanted to come, eager to escape Margate for a day. Started to argue when Big Sandy refused. Then he caught Big Sandy’s expression and realised this wasn’t a joy ride. The giant had business in mind. Fast Eddie had no idea what it might be, but
if Big Sandy didn’t want to tell him, that was fine. Fast Eddie knew better than to stick his nose into the big man’s affairs.

Big Sandy had spent nearly two hours driving to Hastings. Several years since he’d last swung by this way, respecting the promise he had made. If he’d been recalled to London, he would have dismissed the temptation and kept his distance. But the
idea had lodged in his brain and, as the days dragged on, it became an irresistable summons. Finally, several days after that sleepless night, he caved in.

Megan was at work. Big Sandy knew that she worked for a travel firm. He also knew she
’d been dating her boss for the last couple of years. He was fine with that. It had been a long time since he’d had any claim over her. He hoped her lover treated her well. According to the reports he’d received from the investigator he’d hired to keep an eye on her, the guy was solid, a divorced father of three who ran a legit ship and had never been in trouble.

Big Sandy hadn’t come to see Megan. He’d
felt close to her once, but not so close that he was distraught when their paths diverged. No, he was here to see Megan’s daughter Amelie.
His
daughter.

A young man when he’d sired his only child. Megan had been on the scene for several months. They got on well, had a fun time
together, but neither would have described it as a serious relationship. A faulty condom changed that. Big Sandy remembered Megan telling him. She wasn’t sure how he’d react. Said straight up that she was keeping the baby. Big Sandy said he wanted it too. Telling the truth, even though he’d never thought about parenthood before.

They spent more time together and Big Sandy helped her prepare for the birth, but Megan only moved in with him a few months after Amelie was born, when she got sick of the constant arguments with her mother, who loved the baby but didn’t want to
be directly involved in raising the child. Megan uneasy at first. Big Sandy gave her lots of space and time. Eventually she settled in and they lived for nearly eighteen months as a normal couple.

That was easily the sweetest time of Big Sandy’s life. He looked back on those days with fondness and thought of them often. A big smile every morning when he woke up and remembered he was a father and went to feed Amelie and change her and play with her. A big smile every night when he came home, loving it when she cried out with happiness and wrapped her tiny arms around one of his huge hands, swinging from him, barely bigger than a teddy bear.