The Evil And The Pure (30 page)

“Huh-huh-how do you know muh-muh-my –”

“Don’t argue,” Gawl barked and shoved Clint ahead of him again. This time Clint didn’t stop. He reeled forward, eyes locking on Tess, lumbering after her, Gawl close behind, urging him on, prodding him to make him go faster, Clint feeling like he was dreaming.

They caught up with Tess
, fell in line a few paces behind. Tess didn’t see them. Clint reached to grab her. Gawl stopped him. Shook his head. Mouthed the words, “Not yet.” They slowed and dropped back, keeping a safe distance, Gawl studying the streets and buildings, Clint operating in a daze. As they approached a packed car park near the bottom of East Street, Gawl slapped Clint on the back, moved to one side, waited until the girl was walking past the cars, then darted forward, grabbed her, stuck a hand over her mouth, hauled her over the low bars of the car park, dragged her in between a cluster of cars and slammed her down on the ground hard, so she gasped for breath. Clint watched, stunned, then stepped over the bars and drifted across to where the stranger had the girl pinned.

“Get down, ye arsehole, before someone sees!”

Clint dropped to his knees. Tess struggled. Gawl released her mouth, then slapped her brutally, knocking her head sideways. “Thought ye could fuck wi’ Clint Smith, did ye?” he snarled, then punched her in the stomach. Tess’ eyes shot wide, pain flaring, unable to breathe, terrified, but still clutching her purse, not prepared to abandon the drugs without a fight. “Get over here,” Gawl grunted at Clint. He crawled across. “Look at this bitch,” Gawl laughed, grabbing her cheeks and pinching them together. “Thinks she’s lady fucking cool.” Slapped her again, her eyelids fluttering, limbs spasming. Gawl snatched her purse from her fluttering fingers and gave it to Clint. “Take what’s yers.” Clint nodded weakly, opened the purse, rooted through. “Not like that,” Gawl groaned. He grabbed the purse from Clint, upended it and shook it empty, then tossed it away. Clint spotted his baggie and pills among the mess of tissues and condoms. Scrambled for them and pocketed them. Tess moaned loudly. Gawl seized her by her throat and shook.

“OK,” Clint wheezed. “I’ve guh-guh-got e
verything. Let’s guh-guh-guh-go.”

“Not so fucking fast,” Gawl
growled. “Kick her a few times first.”

Clint blinked. “What?”

“Kick her. In the ribs.” Gawl stood, keeping his head ducked, and demonstrated. Tess cried out with pain and threw up.

“Why?” Clint asked, genuinely confused.

“T’ prove ye have power over her,” Gawl said. “T’ show her who’s boss. T’ make sure she never tries shit like this wi’ ye again.”

“But if someone spots us…” Clint looking around, worried.

“Fucking do it,” Gawl snapped, grabbing the back of Clint’s neck and squeezing hard. Clint yelped, then kicked out automatically. His foot struck Tess in the thigh and she shied away from him. “Good,” Gawl murmured, not letting go. “Now a bit higher.”

Clint kicked again, this time connecting with her stomach. To his shock he found himself grinning when she groaned. Without needing to be prompted, he kicked her again. And again. Losing himself to the moment, snarling, laying into her, paying her back not just for what she had done, but for what had happened with Phials and all the others over the years.

Gawl let go of the younger man’s neck and watched with satisfaction as he struck the whimpering whore over and over. He thought about letting Clint go on until bones snapped, until blood pumped from her lips. But murder might be a step too far for the dealer. Gawl wanting to draw him in, not frighten him off.

“Enough,” Gawl said, touching Clint’s shoulder lightly.

Clint stopped and leant back against a car, dizzy-headed, smile fading. Fear crept back in. What would happen when she told the police? She knew his name. There was blood on his shoes. Probably security cameras around the car park. He started to shake, bravery deserting him.

“Don’t worry,” Gawl chuckled, reading Clint’s mind. Pulled a knife and set it against the girl’s throat. Waited for her eyes to swim back into focus, then made a shallow nick. She whimpered with pain and terror. “Ye say a word about this t’ anyone,” Gawl said softly, “and ye know what’ll happen, don’t ye?” He k
need the girl in the ribs when she didn’t respond. “Don’t ye!”

“Yes,
” she whimpered, curling up, sobbing, shivering, cold, wet, hollow.

“Women,” Gawl laughed, clapping Clint on the back and guiding him out of the car park. “Ye jus
t have t’ know how t’ treat ’em.” Clint grinned weakly, pulling his jacket tight around himself, starting to shiver with aftershock. “C’mon,” Gawl said, picking up the pace, hurrying Clint along.

“Wh-wh-wh-where are we guh-going?” Clint wheezed.

“A pub of course,” Gawl snorted. “T’ celebrate.”

“Celebrate wh-wh-wh-what?”

“The death of a coward,” Gawl laughed, “and the birth of a fucking
man.
”

Clint thought about that as they walked, then gazed up into the rough blue eyes of his grotesque saviour — and smiled.

THIRTY-ONE

Fucking Dan B
owen, making him work on a Saturday. Kevin had come
this
close to taking a pop at the little tyrant and bowing out on a bloody high. Only thing stopping him — without Clint’s contacts, he and Tulip had to scout for new clients and rebuild their customer base. That would take time, and money wouldn’t be as plentiful as it had been. He needed the job to tide them over. But once they’d re-established themselves, that was it, he’d quit in the middle of a shift, wait until it was really busy and some of the staff were out sick or on holidays, tell Bowen to go fuck himself and drop him in the shit.

Grinning at the thought as he trailed home, a grey Saturday, rain holding over from the day before. Maybe he’d tell Big Sandy that Bow
en had been bothering them, set the giant on his case, see how Bowen dealt with that!

Thoughts turning away from Dan Bow
en and towards Tulip as he swung on to Long Lane. Nothing planned for tonight but he’d get on the phone when he was home, make a few calls, try to arrange an appointment. Thursday with Laskey had been great, a forceful reminder of what Kevin had been missing, confirmation that he couldn’t survive without the sexual element, needing his voyeurism more than a drug, on a high afterwards, oblivious to everything, including Tulip’s distress.

Thinking of her tears as he rode the lift up to their apartment. She’d wept until she fell asleep, and again Friday morning. He’d stayed home with her for an hour, comforting her, going to work late (the reason Brown hit him with the Saturday shi
t), but his words had no effect. Tulip begged him to stop, set her free, seek help. He lied and said he’d consider it, but he knew she’d seen through him. He couldn’t and wouldn’t stop, not as long as he could get away with it.

Opening the door he he
ard voices, soft murmurs coming from Tulip’s bedroom. There was someone with her. Kevin rushed to the door and barged in, thinking that Laskey or one of their other clients had found out where they lived. Stopped short when he saw a teenage girl on the bed with Tulip, the pair sitting cross-legged and talking. The girls stared at Kevin, Tulip hostile, the other girl curious.

“Hi,” Kevin said weakly. “I heard you talking. I… I do
n’t believe I know your friend?”

“This is Rita,” Tulip said archly. “We went to school together.”

Kevin smiled and nodded at the girl. She nodded shortly, squinting at him suspiciously. Kevin’s stomach dropped. Had Tulip told her friend about them? He started to panic. Maintained his shaky smile. Not sure what to do.

“Rita will be
leaving soon,” Tulip said and gestured for him to get out.

Kevin ha
lf-waved to Rita, turned, closed the door, staggered to the TV room. If she’d told, that would be the end of him. He could control his sister, keep her quiet and compliant, but he couldn’t do anything about her friend. If Tulip had told, Kevin knew it was over, Rita would talk to her friends, parents, teachers, police. They’d come for him, take Tulip away, lock him up.

His first instinct was to
grab a knife from the kitchen, kill Rita, dump the body somewhere far from the apartment. Dismissing the thought almost as soon as it formed. He wasn’t a man of violence, and even if he could bring himself to commit murder, Tulip would turn him in, he couldn’t push her
that
far.

His next instinct,
pack a bag quickly, as soon as Rita left, and get the hell out, don’t tell Tulip where they were going, head for the countryside, somewhere far from London, rural, an old cottage, no telephone.

He heard the door of Tulip’s room opening. The girls walked to the front door
. Stood there a moment, talking, Kevin straining his ears. Heard Rita say, “Let me know,” and Tulip reply, “I will.” The door opened, closed. Tulip drifted into the TV room, arms crossed, looking distant. “How was work?”

Kevin opened his mouth to roar. Controlled his temper. Shrugged shakily. “The usual.” Tried thinking of some similar conversational line. Could
n’t. Came straight to the point but phrased his question casually. “Who was that?”

“I told you —
Rita. We were at school together.”

“I haven’t seen her before.”

“We talk on the phone, meet up occasionally when you’re at work.”

“How occasionally?”

“Not often.”

“Here?”

“Usually at her place or a park or café.”

Kevin trembled. “You go out when I’m at work?”

“Sometimes.” Tulip stared at him oddly. “You didn’t think I stayed in
all
the time, did you? Or only went out when I had to go shopping?”

That was exactly what Kevin thought but he didn’t say so. “How many other friends do you have?” he asked instead.

“Not many,” Tulip replied glumly. “Most of my old friends are still at school. Those who aren’t tend to hang out with the people they go drinking and clubbing with. It’s hard to stay friends with people when you’re not socialising with them.”

“
Why was Rita here today?”

“I asked her to come
.”

“Why?”

Tulip hesitated. “That’s none of your business.”

“I think it is,” Kevin growled. “This is my apartment. I pay the bills. I want to know what she was doing here.”

“It’s my apartment too,” Tulip said softly. “It was mine before it was yours. You left to get your own place.”

“And came back to
look after you when Dad died,” Kevin reminded her, phrasing it softly, lovingly. “Why was she here, Tulip?”

Tulip crossed to the couch, sat, turned on the TV. “We were just talking
.”

“What about?”

“Girl talk.”

“Did you tell her about
us? Our appointments?”

Tulip
gawped. “Are you crazy? You think I’d tell Rita –
anyone
– that I’m a junkie and a whore, that my brother watches me have sex and masturbates?”

Kevin relaxed. “I thought you might –”

“What we do is disgusting,” Tulip interrupted ferociously. “I wouldn’t dare tell anyone.”

“You tell Fr Sebastian,” Kevin reminded her.

“That’s different. When I confess, I’m not speaking to him, I’m speaking to God.” She turned off the TV and got to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Kevin asked.

“My room. I don’t want to be with you right now.”

Kevin half-rose to stop
her. Sat again, letting her go, best not to upset her any further, give her a few hours to herself, let her calm down. Relieved she hadn’t told her friend about them but still worried. He didn’t want Tulip to have friends. Friends were dangerous. Thinking hard about how to get her away from Rita and any others and make her his alone, so he could keep her.

THIRTY-TWO

Gawl McCaskey,
king of the fucking world! Quaffing champagne in Brown’s in Shoreditch, Clint footing the bill, watching strippers gyrate on stage. Each girl circulated prior to going on, collecting a pound from everyone in the club, Clint tossing fivers to those he especially approved of, high on sex and champagne, bleary-eyed, grinning drowsily, hugging Gawl, blurting out every few minutes, “I can’t believe we
did
that!” Gawl smiling condescendingly, the dealer getting on his nerves.

Ten pounds for a personal lap-dance in the back, twenty if you wanted two girls at the same time. Clint mad for it, dragging Gawl back with him, drooling as they went through their mechanical routines, Gawl as bored as the strippers but
faking enthusiasm, cracking dirty jokes, making crude comments. The only time he put his foot down was when Clint wanted a black stripper. “I don’t have anything to do with darkies,” Gawl snarled and stormed off to the bar. Clint blinked dumbly, grinned apologetically at the stripper, paid her, then went after Gawl and bought more champagne, not commenting on his new friend’s racist streak.