The Evil And The Pure (32 page)

Phials knew what was happening. Bushinsky was losing patience. He needed the formula, believed Phials had perfected and stashed it,
had sent in his goons to try to locate it. That was the first stage and it didn’t bother Phials, let them search, they were doing no harm and they wouldn’t find anything. It was the second stage – when they’d found nothing and Bushinsky had to decide whether to accept Phials at his word or increase the pressure on him – that freaked the lab-bound doctor. Because as thorough a job as Bushinsky’s men were doing on Phials’ living quarters, come the second stage they’d do just as thorough a job on
him
.

THIRTY-FOUR

Clint a man re-born, and loving it. A string of brothels this last fortnight, hungry for sex as he had never been before, feeling powerful, but also feeling that he had to keep proving to himself that he had changed, that he was a man who could do anything, that he wasn’t the timid dealer he had once been. Always accompanied by Gawl. Hanging out with the Scot almost as intoxicating as rolling naked with the hookers. Clint had never had a friend like this. Gawl listened, understood, advised, cared. There were no barriers between them, the rough Scot like a father to Clint, closer to the young dealer than his real father had ever been.

He’d told Gawl about Shula. Gawl had flinch
ed when he’d mentioned her name but Clint hadn’t noticed. Gawl unusually quiet while Clint was raving about her, talking about his plans to win her heart, cursing the name of Larry Drake. He hadn’t been to see her yet. He asked Gawl if he thought he should pay a visit. “I’d leave it a while,” Gawl said, smiling sickly. “She’s still probably upset about it. Gi’e her some time t’ recover. Not the sort of thing a wee girl bounces back from quickly.”

They’d meet most afternoons in a pub, have a few beers, talk about their lives, their dreams, football, women, the news of the day. Some evenings Clint had to leave early to deal – he was spending more than usual, and didn’t like digging into his savings too much – but they’d meet again later, have a few more drinks, move on to a strip joint or brothel, Gawl introducing
the currently insatiable Clint to a variety of hookers, Clint not feeling the least bit unfaithful to Shula — he would never cheat on her if they became a couple, but to him there was no conflict in spreading himself around while he was single. At the end of the night Clint might do some more dealing or they’d hit another pub or club, then stagger home late to sleep it off. They usually went their separate ways but occasionally Gawl slept on Clint’s couch. Clint had stayed at Gawl’s one night when he’d got drunk in the King’s Head, but Gawl’s flat was a tip and he was in no hurry to spend another night there.

“Why don’t you find a decent place to live?” Clint asked
, a couple of days after his night in Gawl’s. “Somewhere with hot water and heaters that work?”

“Luxuries make a man soft,” Gawl laughed, then shrugged. “I don’t plan t’ grow
auld there, but it’ll do for the time being. I don’t have the money t’ rent and I can’t be arsed looking for some flash squat with mod cons.”

“I could cover your first month’s rent,” Clint said. “Loan you enough to bide you over till you get back on your feet.”

“I’m on my fucking feet,” Gawl growled. “I don’t need charity.”

“I’m not suggesting a handout,” Clint said quickly. “It’d be a loan. You could pay me back when you can afford it.”

“And when would that be?” Gawl enquired sarcastically.

“Well… whenever you get a job.”

They were drinking in a pub overlooking the Thames. Gawl paused at that point and gazed moodily over the brownish water of the river. “What d’ ye think I’ve done t’ get by all these years?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know.” Clint smiled. “Interior decorator?”

Gawl laughed. “Aye.” Grew serious. “I did what I had t’. A lot of years on building sites and roads, breaking my back. When I wanted an easier ride, I stole.”

“You’re a thief?” Clint wasn’t surprised.

“I’ve been one,” Gawl corrected him. “I’m not at the moment. Wouldn’t be living in the shit-hole that I am if I was stealing.” Mixing truth with lies, wanting Clint to know parts of his life but not the whole.

“Why did you stop?” Clint asked.

“Got sick of prison. Spent some of my best years there. Decided I didn’t want t’ die in a cell. I’m not saying I reformed – did I fuck – but I’m not that good a thief, always getting caught, no future in it. I never did find anything in life that I was much good at.” Winked. “Except fucking and drinking.”

“Here’s to fucking and drinking,
” Clint cheered, downing the rest of his pint. All the beer was sickening him – waking with a hangover most mornings, stomach churning, mouth desert dry – but he wouldn’t admit that. Besides, the hangovers and dodgy stomach were a small price to pay for what Gawl had brought into his life, self-confidence, friendship, strength. Clint was back to his slick best, making good money whenever he set his mind to it. Nervous in the Church of Sacred Martyrs that first Monday, but no sign of Tess, no police. Plain sailing after that.

It didn’t take Clint long to tell Gawl of his American dreams, hitting New York in style, living as a gangster
in a mansion, mounds of money, sending home for Shula. Gawl didn’t laugh, only listened carefully, nodding thoughtfully. “How d’ ye plan to finance the move?” he asked one night, as they caught a cab home.

“That’s what I’m working on,” Clint giggled
then frowned. “
Was
working on. I knew a guy, thought I could use him. Things went to shit. Don’t know what I’m going to do now. But something will come along.”

Gawl knew Clint was talking about the garage
and the black guy, but he said nothing, let it drop. A few nights later he steered talk round to America again. Told Clint of his own experiences there, how hard it was for a nobody, the brick walls he’d run into. “New York’s teeming with muscle and dealers. What use would they have for the likes of ye and me?”

“You’re thinking of going?” Clint asked, surprised.

“Half-thinking,” Gawl chuckled. “Ye’ve got me excited, the way ye’re always talking about it. I’m a bit long in the tooth t’ be heading off on an adventure, but maybe one last trip before I retire disgracefully…”

Clint excited, discussing it
with him the next few nights, eager to persuade Gawl to join him, certain he could make it if he had a partner. Clint waxed lyrical about women, money, the lifestyle. Gawl reminded him of their low position on the totem pole, constantly throwing their lack of cash and influence into Clint’s face, waiting for him to start talking about the garage.

And eventually Clint t
old Gawl about Tony Phials, his meeting with cousin Dave, the promise of a couple of million if he could deliver the formula that Phials was working on, getting Phials high and trying to coax an answer out of him (he didn’t mention Kevin and Tulip, and Gawl pretended not to know about them), Phials thwarting him, running him off, end of the dream.

“Not necessarily,” Gawl disagreed, trying to figure out an angl
e, dreaming of what he could do with a slice of two million pounds. “The way ye tell it, ye’re the only friend Phials has. Prison’s a lonely place, ye take any friends ye can. He’s mad at ye now but in time he might mellow, forget and forgive, accept ye back.”

“It’ll be too late,” Clint sighed. “I’ve been reading the sports pages since Dave told me of his
dream to buy Tottenham Hotspur. All the pundits agree that Sugar’s going to sell soon.”

“Fuck Spurs
,” Gawl snorted. “Fucking kikes, he’s better off without ’em. When the dust settles he’ll still want t’ cut a deal with Phials and he’ll find something else t’ spend the money on.”

“I don’t think so,” Clint said. “
He plans to put Phials under pressure. If Phials
has
cracked the formula, he’ll spill his guts. If he hasn’t, he probably never will once Dave’s interrogators are done with him. Dave knows this will be his last chance to pressure Phials if he goes down that route, which is why he hasn’t set his team loose on the doc yet, hoping to get the formula some other way. But time’s running out. He’ll have to act soon if he wants Spurs, and he
does
.”

“Then ye have t’
get yer arse in gear quick,” Gawl hissed. “Phone Phials. Drop in on him. Get back in his life. Get him talking. Try pumping him full of shit again — just because it failed once doesn’t mean it’ll fail twice.”

“No,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Best to forget about To
ny Phials. I’m doing well dealing. I’d be making a fortune if I spent more time at it and stopped blowing my profits on women and champagne. Maybe you could work with me, be my back-up. If things go well I can tell Dave about you, he’ll maybe give us more work, push some bigger deals our way. The reason he keeps me at this level is that he thinks I’m weak, and I guess in the past I have been. But with you I’m strong. Together we could make a real go of it.”

“Maybe,” Gawl muttered. A month or two earlier
he’d have jumped at that chance. But he had the scent of a killing, the lab, Phials, millions. Hard to settle for peanuts when there were diamonds dangling almost within reach.

Clint didn’t
register Gawl’s discontent. He only saw the pair of them working as a team, Gawl by his side protecting him, the two growing strong as one, Gawl needing him as much as he needed Gawl, never imagining that Gawl might see him as Clint saw Tony Phials, a pawn to be manipulated, a means to a personal ends, expendable. Intoxicated by the promise of his friendship with Gawl, blind to the very real dangers of it.

THIRTY-FIVE

Shopping with Tulip up Oxford Street, giving her a free head, telling her to buy what she liked, make-believe it was her birthday, not worry about the cost. She was suspicious – what was he after? – but soon forgot her suspicions in the shops and jewellery stores, trying on audacious outfits, Kevin beaming, checking out rare gem stones, grimacing good-naturedly. They returned home laden with bags, Tulip rushing straight to her bedroom to try on her new clothes and trinkets, Kevin collapsing on the couch in the TV room, calculating the cost of the shopping spree, trying not to wince.

He felt
the extravagance was warranted, trying to buy Tulip’s loyalty. If he kept her distracted – gave her everything she wanted in the way of material goods – he hoped to keep her happy. He’d been taking her for granted, not spoiling her, little wonder she’d turned to her friends for support.

Not na
ive enough to think the clothes and jewels would win her round entirely. A good start, nothing more. He’d have to pamper her, dazzle her with gifts, treats, surprises. A holiday would be good, somewhere sunny, a fortnight without any appointments. On reflection, maybe just a week, didn’t think he could last a fortnight. Or perhaps they could arrange an appointment or two while on vacation, combine pleasure with need. Maybe Tulip would enjoy their liaisons if they were part of a laidback holiday. He knew in his heart she wouldn’t – the scenic settings wouldn’t alter the perverse nature of their relationship – but it was an idea.

A new apartment was another idea. Move out of London, away from Tulip’s friends, somewhere pleasant, open fields, a more relax
ed way of life. A new start would be beneficial for both of them and might serve to bring them even closer together. Without friends to meet with when Kevin was at work, Tulip would be desperate for his company, delighted to see him when he returned home.

The problem was
money. He only realised how far off being able to afford a new start they were when he began checking into the possibility of selling up. He’d spent a lot of his recent free time on the phone to estate agents, sounding them out. Their apartment was well located but it was part of a council block. Also it needed a lot of work, and if he couldn’t pay for the repairs (he couldn’t) the new owner would have to foot the bill, which meant lowering the price further. He could definitely sell, but what could he buy with the profits? And how long could they survive on them?

Brooding about their lack of funds as he stretched out on the couch, a headache b
uilding, trying to think of a way to generate more money. Surest way — pimp out Tulip, set her to work as a prostitute, take himself out of the sexual equation. But that was a non-starter. She wouldn’t do it and he couldn’t do it to her even if she would.

Perhaps they could
schedule more appointments, try to cram as many into each week as they could, maybe do more than one a night, set up day appointments too. He could quit work if they were pulling three or four appointments a day. Save. Invest wisely. Move in a year or two when they were financially comfortable.

But could he hold on
to Tulip that long? And would she tolerate three or four men a day? And how would he pay for holidays and gifts in the meantime? Groaning, rolling off the couch, heading for the medicine cabinet. Tulip came swanning out of her bedroom, twirling in a new dress — a week’s wages. “What do you think?”