The Evil And The Pure (45 page)

Fr Sebastian backpedalled. Hit the door with his shoulders. Scrabbled for the handle. Started to open it. Paused. “If I told Gawl and Clint, they’d make you let me,” he said sulkingly.

“You won’t tell them,” Tulip said. She stepped up beside Kevin, eyes sad, heart heavy. “You aren’t evil. Weak, yes, but not evil.”

Fr Sebastian’s eyes welled with tears
. “I’m sorry,” he cried, meaning it. “God forgive me.” He threw the door open, lurched into the hallway, stumbling for the bathroom, hands over his mouth, bile frothing up his throat.

Kevin closed the door. When he turned, Tulip launched herself at h
im, wrapped her arms around him and wept, hugging him, thanking him. He stroked her hair, whispering kind words, loving her like a brother. When the tears passed they sat on the bed and she smiled gratefully. “Thank you,” she said again.

“For what?”

“You could have let him have me.”

“No. I can’t do anything about the others but I can fight off Parry. That much at least I have the strength to do.”

“But you didn’t do it when he first came looking for me.”

Kevin blushed. “That was different. Another time and place.”

“But you could have let him have me again. It would have been simpler. And it would have made him easier to deal with if we’re to include him in our plan. But you didn’t. You stood up for me, no matter what the cost.”

Kevin held a shaky smile.
He hadn’t thought of that. Instantly regretting his protective burst, wishing he’d let Parry have her.

Tulip didn’t see that.
She was still blinded by his temporary flash of chivalry. Clutching him close, she reached a snap decision. Moved away from him on the bed, placed her hands over her stomach, observed him seriously. “I have something to tell you. I’ve been trying to tell you for ages. Actually,” she grinned guiltily, “I wasn’t sure if I should. I thought about keeping it to myself.”

“What are you talking about?” Kevin laughed.

“Remember when you walked in on me and Rita?”

“Your friend
from school? Sure.”

“She
didn’t come round just to talk. Rita works in a pharmacy. I was pretty sure but I wanted to be certain. She brought a kit and helped me with the test.”

“Test?” Kevin frowned. “Are you ill?”

“No, silly.” Tulip patted her stomach and smiled nervously. “I’m pregnant.”

Gawl thinking hard about Phials, Clint, the Bush, Tottenham Hotspur, the future. Clint relieved that the situation was
no longer infused with urgency. Gawl not so pleased. Urgency was good. Urgency created confusion. Urgency kept the price on Phials up Up UP! In a race against time they had the advantage over the Bush, he had to act swiftly, impulsively, without thinking everything through. On an even keel he could plot, out-think them, lay traps.

Mulling it over,
Gawl made his way back to Tulip, hoping sex would help him focus — his thoughts often clarified in the afterglow. When he opened the door, Kevin was on the bed with his sister. She was crying. Kevin’s face was red. “Lover’s tiff?” Gawl grinned.

“Get out,
” Kevin shouted, leaping to his feet.

“What?” Gawl blinked with surprise.

Kevin took a couple of furious strides towards him, as if he meant to repel Gawl forcibly. Then he faltered, took in Gawl’s size, smiled cringingly. Minced the rest of the way and whispered, “Tulip’s sick. Not tonight, OK?”

“What’s wrong with
her?”

“I don’t know. She’s just sick.”

“She looks fine t’ me,” Gawl laughed, pushing Kevin aside.

Kevin sprang back, his face set again. “I’ll scream if you go near her.” Gawl choked with laughter at the feeble threat. Reached out to nudge Kevin
aside. Kevin stood his ground. “I’ll kick up the kind of fuss that attracts attention. I’ll throw things through the window. You want the police to come?”

Gawl’s expr
ession darkened. “Don’t fuck with me, Tyne. I’d kill ye before ye got yer second squeal out.”

“Maybe,
but how do you think Tulip would react? Think she’d sit there nice and quiet and let you have your way with her? Or would she go apeshit?” Gawl hesitated, not sure what to make of this new, confrontational Kevin Tyne. Kevin pressed home his advantage. “You need to give her a break. Come back tomorrow or the next day, when she feels better. Not now.”

Gawl looked over Kevin’s head.
Tulip was still weeping. He relented. “If she needs anything, let me know, I’ll send Fr Seb out t’ get it.”

“Thank you.” Kevin
led Gawl out and closed the door on him.

Gawl stood in the corridor, momentarily thrown. Then he shook his head and stormed downstairs to the kitchen, where he sat in darkness and thought alone, cold
ly, decisively.

Clint and Fr Sebastian came
in while Gawl was thinking, for drinks and snacks. He ignored them, putting the pieces of his plan together, keeping it simple, easier to calculate all the angles and odds. Phials came in later, grinning twitchily, looking for drugs. “Not now,” Gawl said.

“But I need my shit, man.”

“We have t’ start rationing. It won’t last forever.”

“I know,
but a bit of grass, surely…”

Gawl opened his mouth to tell Phials to get lost. Instead found himself saying, “OK, but later
, when Fr Seb’s asleep, so that we don’t have t’ share with him.”

“My man,
” Phials beamed, slapping Gawl’s back, sauntering away.

Gawl took a long, ragged breath,
the debate over, options eliminated, set for the showdown. Fear kicking in now that the safety net had been removed. No more procrastinating. Locked on course, fuck the risks.

Eleven thirty. Midnight. Half twelve. Gawl went on one of his regular patrols. Fr Seb asleep. The Tynes asleep. Back to the study. Phials fidgeting on the small foldaway cot which served as his bed in the tiny room connected to the study, originally a prayer chamber. Gawl kept the chemist confined here at night, while he and Clint bedded down in the study, one of them on watch at any given hour. Gawl stood in the darkness, listening to Clint’s breathing. When he was sure the dealer was asleep, he padded across the room, nudged the door of the prayer chamber open and jerked his head at Phials. Phials rose and followed quickly.

Through the house, into the church. Dark, illuminated only by a few electronic candles and the occasional glowing halo. Gawl made for the altar. He’d been here earlier to stash the tools he’d need. Phials followed, whistling, unsuspecting.

Gawl dug a bag out from behind a curtain, along with a short length of rope. He handed the bag to Phials. “Hold that a minute.” Phials took the bag, smiling. Then Gawl punched him. He dropped, still clutching the bag. Gawl was on him quick, jerking his hands up behind his back, the rope around his wrists, tying a hasty but firm knot. By the time Phials’ head cleared his hands were bound and Gawl was working on his legs with another length of rope.

“What the fuck’s going on?” Phials shouted.

“Not so loud,” Gawl said.

“Fuck you! What’s –”

Gawl covered Phials’ mouth with a large hand. Opened the bag with his free hand. Dumped the contents on the altar — knives, a hammer, nails, a lighter, pliers, a blank notebook, three black pens. Phials took in the objects. Understood immediately. “No,” he moaned into Gawl’s calloused palm.

“Yes,” Gawl grunted, taking his hand away. He reached into a pocket and produced a gag. “I don’t want t’ silence ye but I will if ye raise yer voice.”

“This is madness,” Phials croaked, fear hitting hard. “Why are you doing this? You’ll fuck everything up. Clint –”

“Clint’s a waste
of space,” Gawl cut in bluntly. “So am I. If ye didn’t know that before we broke ye out, ye’ve put it t’gether by now. Ye know we’re a pair of clowns. We haven’t a chance in hell of getting ye out of England, never mind all the way t’ New York. We wouldn’t even be able t’ begin t’ put a fifty million dollar deal together.”

“I’ll handle the deal,” Phials said quickly. “All you have to do is –”

“Please,” Gawl winced, “no more bullshit. We both know yer only way out of this was to gi’e us the slip and shoot off on yer own, maybe toss us t’ the Bush as a bone in the hope he’d be so busy ripping us apart that ye could disappear before he thought t’ look for ye. It took me a while t’ see it – I’m not the brightest bulb – but ye must’ve been wise t’ it from the start. We were yer only way out of the lab, but this is as far as we can take ye.”

“Gawl, you’ve got this all wrong, I never –”

Gawl slapped him quiet and picked up the notebook and a pen. “I want the formula. Write down everything we’ll need, all the steps involved in its production. Leave nothing out. Don’t play cute. I’ve a chemist lined up t’ test it. He’s not in yer league but he’s got enough smarts t’ follow clear instructions. We’ll test it on junkies. If it works, we’ll sell it t’ the Bush. If it doesn’t – if ye try t’ pull a fast one – I’ll cut yer nose off and there’ll be no more snorting coke.”

Phials
trembled. “What happens to me in the meantime?”

“We keep ye here. Once the deal goes through, we leave ye. The Bush’ll want ye and he’ll pay more if ye’re part of the deal. I
t’ll mean going back t’ the Lab but wouldn’t ye rather be a prisoner than dead?”

“Not necessarily,” Phials said bitterly.

Gawl laughed. “Oh, I think ye would. If not, just keep yer trap shut and ye’ll be dead by dawn. Lots of pain first, but a guaranteed death at the end.”

Phia
ls wet his lips with his tongue, terrified. “How do I know you won’t kill me once I’ve given you the formula?”

Gawl shrugged.
“This is all about money. Ye’re worth more t’ me alive than dead. I don’t know what the Bush’ll do with ye – he might kill ye himself – but that’s a worry for another day.”

Phials’ brain exploding as he
searched for a way out, figuring all the plays. Gawl let him think. He knew the chemist was screwed and the sooner Phials realised that, the easier he’d be to deal with. After a while Gawl picked up a small knife. “Do I have t’ slice ye up a bit?”

“Dave won’t cut a deal with you,” Phials said as calmly as possible. “Let’s talk about this. I can ring a few numbers in New York, set
up some –”

Gawl clamped the gag over Phials’ mouth, tied it in place, undid the front of
the chemist’s trousers and yanked them down, along with his boxer shorts. Grabbed the flesh of the chemist’s scrotal sac, pulled it out tight, hacked at it with the knife, not the whole sac, just the flesh on the lowest underhang of his genitals. Phials writhed, screaming into the folds of his gag. Gawl had to sit on top of the chemist’s chest, pinning him down, to finish the job, sawing through the last threads of flesh, tearing the strip loose, tossing it away. Blood oozed, but not uncontrollably, Gawl careful not to hit anything vital this early in the proceedings.

He waited for Phials’ gagged screams to abate. Raised the knife to his lips
and licked the blood off the blade. Phials went rigid. Gawl lowered the blade. He wasn’t smiling. “Now ye know. I’m a fucking psychopath. I’ll do things no one else would, not even Dave Bushinsky’s torturers. Give me the formula.”

He removed the gag.

Phials coughed up vomit and spit, gasping for breath, eyes bulging. Stared down at his blood-soaked groin and whined. Gawl leant in close and whispered, “Once I made a man eat his own bollocks.”

Phials vomited some more then
nodded weakly. “You’ll have to free my hands.”

“I’ll handle the pen,
just tell me what to write.”

“Too
complicated.”

“Ye think I can’t spell?”

Phials snarled at Gawl. “If you want me to do this, free my hands and give me a fucking pen. That’s the only way it’ll work.”

Gawl studied Phials’ e
xpression for deceit. Found only a desperate desire to comply and avoid further torture. He loosened the knots binding Phials’ hands, then passed the notebook and pen to him. Stood back, exchanging his small knife for a sturdier one, prepared for anything.

Phials rubbed his hands together, sullen, hateful. Flashed on a picture of him driving the tip of the pen into Gawl’s neck. Almost went for it. But commonsense
prevailed — a pen no match for a knife. Opened the notebook and started to write.

Phials wrote swiftly. It was the first time he’d committed the formula to paper but he had it set in his mind, every last ingredient and equation. Mentally running with escape plans while he was
scribbling, not ready to admit defeat. He had to get to Clint, turn him on Gawl, get out of here with the dealer. He could manipulate Clint. A fool to think Gawl would be as easy to use. He should have done a runner long before this, taken his chances on the streets.