The Evil And The Pure (44 page)

“Confident of finding him?”

The Bush nodded. “Now that time is no longer an issue, I’m sure we’ll track them down. We can play it cute. I’ve already notified a lot of our people. We’ll spread the word that the search is off. Admit defeat.”

“But go on searching anyway?” Big Sandy guessed.

“Yes, but quietly. They’ll think the heat is off, wait a bit longer, make their move, and we’ll catch them.” The Bush asked Big Sandy if he’d like anything to drink. Big Sandy accepted a beer, his first since Tuesday. “What have you been working on?” the Bush enquired. Big Sandy told him about his search for Gawl McCaskey. “Any leads?”

“Not yet. But he’s the one. If we get him, we
’ll get them all.”

“Think
that he did this to me because I wouldn’t give him a job?”

“No. He’
d been asking all over for work, turned down by everyone. He just saw a good thing, persuaded somebody to back him, and went for it.”

“I’m not so sure they had help,” the Bush said. “If they’d had time to plan this properly, yes, they could have found people with the money and means to make it work. But it reeks of a rush job. I think they may have gone into it alone.”

“Then who’s hiding them?” Big Sandy snorted. “Who’ll get them out of the country? Who’ll sell the formula?”

“I know,” the Bush laughed. “It’s crazy. But
wouldn’t it be hilarious if they pulled this off without thinking ahead and are holed up somewhere, no idea what to do next, tearing their hair out?”

“It’d be brilliant,” Big Sandy smiled. “But it couldn’t happen. Nobody’s
that
dumb.”

Clint frantic, toying with exit strategies all weekend. Monday morning, still didn’t know how to work it. They had plenty of money – he’d transferred his savings in cash to the church before the break-out – and he and Gawl both knew people who could provide them with fake passports. But had to figure that the forgers would betray them for the reward that had surely been posted, or else demand a fortune for their services. One idea was to sneak out of the country – steal a yacht or hide in a truck bound for France, something like that – and find a forger in mainland Europe who hadn’t heard about them. But that would take a lot of time, they’d be vulnerable, and Phials would have plenty of opportunities to give them the slip.

Worried about Phials,
the doc doing too much coke and grass, stoned out of his skull, having frequent sex with Tulip, no apparent interest in their predicament. But Clint had caught Phials studying him slyly a couple of times, the doc’s eyes focused. Clint thought he was putting on an act, assessing Clint and Gawl. If they came up short, maybe he’d formulate a plan of his own and ditch them.

He discussed it with Gawl, careful not to mention his
suspicions about Phials. Gawl was already wary of the chemist and Clint didn’t want him losing his cool. “Wuh-when do you think we should make our muh-muh-muh-move?”

“January or February,” Gawl said. “We’ll let Christmas
pass, wait for bad weather – easier t’ get about when everyone’s stuck indoors – then slip away.”

“You duh-don’t think we should go
earlier?”

Gawl squinted at him. “The plan was t’ lay up here for a month or two.”

“I know. Buh-but if we went now, we’d maybe catch them by surprise. They wuh-wouldn’t be expecting it.”

Gawl tilted his head warningly. “Don’t lose yer nerve, Clint.”

Clint bristled. “I’m nuh-not losing my nerve. I just th-th-th-think –”

“Don’t think,
” Gawl barked. “Or if ye must, think about how we’re gonna get passports and keep Phials under wraps when we’re transporting him and what we’ll do if his
contacts
turn out t’ be bullshit.”

Clint cringed
then slunk away.

That evening, in the study, watching the news on a portable TV, eating corn flakes. Only idly interested until the sports section, when the bi
g news of the day was announced, Alan Sugar selling his controlling shares in Spurs. Clint thought of cousin Dave and the fit he must be throwing. Went looking for Gawl. Found him upstairs with Tulip, Kevin sitting outside their bedroom door, listening to them have sex, weeping. “You should steer clear while they’re at it,” Clint told him.

Kevin stared up at Cli
nt through his tears. “Fuck off,” he moaned.

“You’re just tormenting yourself sitting here. You –”

“Fuck off!” Kevin snapped, louder this time, half getting to his feet.

“Easy,” Clint s
aid, stepping away. “Tell Gawl I want to see him when he’s finished. I’ll be in the living room.”

Fr Sebastian
was already there. He looked awful, pale, thin, trembling, unshaven. Clint tried to have a chat with him, but he ducked out, said he was heading back into the church, where he was spending most of his time, praying desperately for an end to this nightmare.

Clint poured himself a vodka and sipped slowly.
Gawl entered, doing up his flies. “Ye wanted t’ see me?”

“Newsflash,” Clint smirked. “Alan Sugar’s selling his shares in Spurs.”

“That’s no news,” Gawl yawned.

“
He’s gone public, announced it to the media. They expect him to name a buyer by the end of the week.”

Gawl sat, thinking about that. Studied Clint’s smi
le. “Why are ye so happy?”

“It means Dave’s been cut out of the deal.”

“So?”

“He wanted to sell Phials’ formula to raise the money to finance the bu
y-out. Now that he can’t, he won’t be so all-fired-up to get Phials back.”

“Phials is still worth millions t
’ him,” Gawl said.

“Sure, but Dave wanted Spurs. Without the club, money’s just money. He’d like more, the same as anyone else, but it’s no
longer essential.”

“You think he’ll turn round and let us have Phials?” Gawl asked sceptically.

“Of course not,” Clint said. “But Phials isn’t as valuable as he was. Dave won’t chase us as hard as he would have if Spurs was still up for grabs.”

Gawl
scowled. “But it also means that if we try t’ sell Phials t’ him, we won’t get as much as we could have a week ago.”

Clint frowned. “
We’re taking him to America as planned.”

“
Aye. But if the worst came t’ the worst and we couldn’t get him out of the country and had t’ cut a deal…”

“We’
ll cut it with somebody else,” Clint said stiffly. “I already told you Dave would rather kill us than deal with us. Come on, have a drink, this is good news.”

“Yeah,” Gawl said. “I suppose ye’re right.” Taking the drink once Clint had poured a glass for him, saluting the dealer and smiling
, Clint not noting the strained nature of the smile, unaware of the whirring cogs inside his partner’s brain.

Kevin sat in the hallway,
crying with frustration, listening to Gawl McCaskey fuck Tulip. He wanted to charge in, attack McCaskey, kill him. But that was an idle dream. McCaskey would crush him without even shifting out of low gear.

Clint turned up in the middle of Kevin’s torment and told him he shouldn’t be sitting out here. Kevin told him to fuck off.

Picking apart their predicament as he waited for McCaskey to finish. Damned if they stayed, damned if they fled. Swaying continuously between their options. Wait, hope McCaskey and Clint got away with Phials and left the Tynes alive. Or attempt an escape and take their chances with Dave Bushinsky. Logcially it didn’t look good either way. If they stayed, McCaskey would probably kill them, while if they escaped, Bushinsky would slaughter them once he got rid of McCaskey and Clint. No reason why either party should let them live and run the risk of having the Tynes come back to haunt them.

What if they escaped and avoided Bushinsky, got out of the country, holed up somewhere f
oreign? That seemed like their only real hope. But they had no money, no passports, not even spare clothes.

Clint had money.
Kevin thought about stealing from the dealer. But even if he could, their passports were back in their apartment and Bushinsky’s men would be keeping watch there. They might even have confiscated the passports to make sure Kevin and Tulip couldn’t use them.

The door opened. McCaskey came out,
flies undone, leering at Kevin. “She’s a grand wee fuck.” Kevin glared daggers. Told McCaskey that Clint wanted to see him. Hurried in to check on Tulip. She was dressing, eyes vacant.

“Did he hurt you?”

Tulip sighed. “No.”

Kevin sat on the edge of the bed. Stared at his hands, twisted into feeble fists. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do anything about it. You could once. Not now.” She sighed again. “It’s Christmas this day week.”

Kevin
blinked. “Is it?”

“Today’s the 18
th
.”

He shrugged. “I’ve lost track of time. I suppose you’re right.”

“I’ve been thinking about our last Christmas with Mum and Dad. You came round, we had dinner, you and Dad got tipsy, we played charades.”

Kevin chuckled. “It seems so long ago.”

“I’ve never enjoyed Christmas since,” Tulip said wistfully. “I recall that day, how happy we were, no idea it was our last Christmas as a family.”

Kevin said nothing, ashamed to tell her that the last two yuletides, when he’d had her all to himself, had been his happiest
ever.

Tulip finished dressing, walked around and crouched by his sid
e. She took his hands. Gazed at him earnestly. “I don’t want to spend Christmas here.”

“Neither do I,” he said, “but what choice do we have?”

“Christmas would be a good time to escape. The church will be packed on Christmas Eve. We can sneak through, shelter among the crowd, slip out with them when they’re leaving, go to the police, tell them everything.”

Kevin thought about it.
Better than any plan he’d come up with. The only part he didn’t like was going to the police. But since they had no passports or money, what were their alternatives? Besides, they didn’t have to tell the police about their appointments. They could invent some story to explain how they’d got mixed up with the kidnappers, maybe persuade Fr Sebastian to accompany them and back up their version of events.

Tulip read Kevin’s thou
ghts. Gripped his hands tighter, hope growing in her heart. “You think it would work?”

“Maybe,” he said hesitantly. “But we’d have to come up with so
mething good to tell the police. We can’t let them know how we came to be associated with Clint, Phials and McCaskey.”

Tulip pouted.
“We can’t worry about that now.”

“Our lives won’t be worth anything if the police find out I’ve been acting as a pimp for my sister,” Kevin said bluntly. He saw tears twinkling in Tulip’s eyes. He kissed her forehead reassuringly. “It’s a good idea. But we have to make sure we don’t do anything stupid later. Getti
ng out is the main thing, but holding on to our freedom if we escape is important too.”

While they were d
iscussing Tulip’s plan, Fr Sebastian knocked on the door. Kevin welcomed him. “Glad to see you,” he beamed, shaking the bemused priest’s hand. “We were just talking about you.”

“Really?” Fr Sebastian smiled crookedly.

“Any news, Father?” Tulip asked brightly.

“No.” He stared at her, then at Kevin. He hadn’t expected such a response. He wasn’t sure how to react.

Kevin saw the confusion in the priest’s eyes — then the lust. He pulled Tulip away. She frowned at him but he ignored her. “What can we do for you, Father?” he asked quietly, stepping between the priest and his sister.

“Just… calling to see… how you were,” Fr Sebastian wheezed.

“No,” Kevin said stiffly. “You weren’t.”

Behind him, Tulip’s eyes widened. “Father!” she gasped.

Fr Sebastian’s head dropped. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “But I’ve been locked up here like the rest of you. I have needs.”

“You can’t,” Kevin
snapped.

“But I… we did… before…”

“Before was before. Now you can’t.”

“But Gawl does. And Tony. Why not
…”

Kevin
took a step forward. Pressed his face close to the priest’s. “Get out,” he snarled, a hypocrite’s moral outrage burning deep within him.