The Evil And The Pure (36 page)

Clint frowned. “How can it be too bloody much?”

“Two million
’s a reasonable sum t’ people like yer cousin. Fifty’s a different story. Ye don’t dole out that sort of money unless ye absolutely have t’. I’d rather a guaranteed million than a pie-in-the-sky twenty-five.”

But he had to agree that the chances of Phials handing them the formula while he remained imprisoned were slim. So he put his doubts about the aftermath aside and focused on the possibility of
freeing the chemist.

“It’s not a real prison,” he mused. “He isn’t under lock and key
in a cell. The lab isn’t a fortress. We could knock through a wall or the roof, go in with a team, shoot down anyone who got in our way, frogmarch him out.”

“But where do we get the
team?” Clint asked.

“Exactly.” Gawl sipped from a bottle of cider, trying to think leisurely, letting ideas come freely. “We can’t hire the fucking A-Team. If we do this, we do it by ourselves, maybe one or two others
, though I don’t like the idea of involving anybody else, too many opportunities for a double-cross.”

And assuming they
freed him, where would they stash him? How would they get him out of the country?

“Why not hide him here?” Clint asked.

“We probably won’t be able t’ do this anonymously,” Gawl explained. “We’ll be seen, identified, pursued.”

“But nobody knows where you live, do they?”

“A few do.”

“So we find a hotel or boarding house.”

“Ye think yer cousin won’t check every hotel and boarding house in London?”

“He can’t check them
all
,” Clint chuckled.

“He fucking can,” Gawl snorted. “He
’ll put out descriptions of us. Set a reward that’ll have yer own fucking mother sniffing around after ye, eager t’ turn ye in. Don’t be under any fucking delusions, we’re putting our heads on the block. If we do this, we have t’ plan for every possible hitch. We’ll need a place t’ hide, maybe for months until the heat dies down. Phials will need drugs during that time. We’ll need food, drink, other supplies. But we’ll all be housebound, unable t’ go out.”

“Then we need a safe haven,” Clint mused. “Some
body working with us but who isn’t part of the break-out, who can house us and shop for us.”

“And smuggle us out when it’s time,” Gawl nodded.

Clint didn’t have to think long about that. “It’s obvious,” he grinned. “Father Sebastian. He’s tied to both of us but nobody knows. He could put us up behind the church. Nobody would suspect a priest. It’s perfect.”

“C
ould we trust the wee fucker?” Gawl growled. “He hates my guts. By selling us out t’ the Bush, he could get rid of us both and make a powerful friend at the same time, line his pockets with cash…”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Clint said confidently. “We’d tell Dave about his fondness for little girls. He knows Dave wouldn’t stand for that.”

“And if he calls our bluff?”

“He won’t.”

Gawl pulled a face. “Remember what I said, we have t’ plan for every hitch. What if he decided t’ go t’ the Bush, gamble on us not living long enough to talk?” Gawl scratched his chin hard. “Father Seb’s a good idea but we’d need some form of insurance, something t’ tie him tight t’ us.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Gawl sighed.

And the discussions continued.

Later in the day, making some progress but not much. Gawl could get his hands on guns, maybe some explosives, but guns no good unless they could get inside the lab, and neither of them knew anything about
dynamite. Clint suggested bringing in an expert, to which Gawl said, “Ye know any explosives experts?”

“No.”

“Me neither. So shut the fuck up.”

Getting snappier as the day wore on, racking his brains, coming up blank. Trying to keep it simple, at a level he c
ould deal with. Most direct method — kick down the door, storm the lab, drag Phials out. But the door couldn’t be kicked down, it was too sturdy. Clint could buzz to be admitted, Gawl could wait outside, rush in after him, open fire. But security always tight at the lab, no chances taken, Phials usually never permitted anywhere near the door when it was open.

“What if we drugged the guards?” Clint said. “Phials could cook something up to knock them unconscious. Then he could simply open the door himself and walk straight out.”

“If he could do that, he’d have done it by now and wouldn’t have come begging for help. They probably eat at different times, never all together, or they test the food or some shit like that.”

“What if I went in by myself, smuggled a couple of guns in, and Phials and I shot our way out?”

“How would ye smuggle the guns in? Stick ’em up yer arse?”

“There must be some way,” Clint pouted.

“If we had state of the art guns, which we could disassemble and reassemble, aye, it’d be child’s play. But we’ll be looking at rusty auld revolvers because that’s all we know how t’ get our hands on.”

“What
if I set a fire? We could sneak out in the confusion.”

“Is there a sprinkler system?”

“Yes, but I could fiddle with it, disable it.”

“Any idea how ye’d do that?”

“No. But what if I set a monstrous fire that the sprinklers couldn’t cope with?”

“
How d’ ye plan on getting out of there ahead of the flames?”

Hitting a brick wall whichever way they ran at it. Finally, in the evening, frustrat
ed, Gawl suggested they head to a pub. “Let’s get rat-arsed. Genius might strike while we’re drunk or hungover.”

“I doubt it,” Clint said miserably. “I’d rather keep a clear head.”

“We’re going mad in here. Let’s go out for a few pints at least.”

“You can if you want. I’m staying.”

“Ye’ve got t’ learn t’ relax,” Gawl grunted. “If ye can’t see a thing from the front, ye have t’ come at it from the side. We need t’ unwind, have a few beers, get laid, give our brains a…”

He stopped, flashing on an image of Tulip and Kevin Tyne in the church the day before, Clint telling him about their double act. He’d thou
ght a lot about them that night, hot for the girl but no interest in her brother. Talk of Baby P and Phials had driven them from his mind, but now he returned to the brother and sister act, something about the pair niggling away deep in his brain.

“How often do the Tynes visit Phials?”

Clint shrugged. “Kevin and Tulip? They haven’t been since our bust-up.”

“
But when they
were
visiting — how often?”

“Maybe a couple of times a week,
depending on how horny Phials was.”

“What’s security like when they visit?”

“The same as always, except when Fast Eddie was away, looser then, which is how I smuggled in the drugs.”

“How many guards on the door when they enter?”

“Usually just Fast Eddie.”

“And if he’s not there?”

“Somebody else. Maybe a couple.”

“The
rest of the guards?”

“In the games room or the control centre or on patrol. Why?”

Gawl shook his head. “Just thinking out loud.” Matching the Tynes to Tony Phials, then matching them to Father Sebastian. An idea germinating, only the ghost of one, but his instinct was to run with it. “I want t’ check out the Tynes.”

Clint blinked, bewildered. “Now?”

“Aye, if they’ll see me.”

“Don’t you think we should –”

“Like I told ye,” Gawl cut in, “we need t’ relax. Ye can sit here and stew if ye like, but I plan t’ get laid.”

“So let’s go to a brothel. I haven’t spoken with Kevin since –”

“Clint.” Steady. Steely. “D’ ye trust me?”

Clint stared back uncertainly. “Y
uh-yes.”

“Then don’t ask questions. Get on the phone t’ Kevin Tyne. Arrange a meeting. Apologise for what happened with Phials. B
eg for forgiveness. Make things right. Get me in, their gaff if ye can swing it, though we can go t’ a hotel if not.”

Clint nodded slowly. Got his mobile out. Paused. “You’re not just going there to fuck the girl, are you? This ties in with
Phials?”

“Aye.”

“That’s all I needed to know.” Clint dialled Kevin’s number, prepared to eat crow and say whatever he had to, trusting Gawl implicitly.

Big Sandy dropped by the lab Sunday afternoon, strolled by Phials at work, smiled icily at the chemist and nodded. Phials shook, nodded back, scurried away quickly. Big Sandy’s job to keep him scared, wind him up, crack him psychologically, save them the messy task of having to torture him. Big Sandy playing the part of the would-be torturer, though he wouldn’t actually have much to do with it if they got that far. He was a brute force, a human wrecking ball. Phials’ tormentor would be a man with smaller hands, more guile, an artist of infliction.

Checking with Fast Eddie, who was keeping a closer eye than usual on Phials, monitoring his behaviour. Fast Eddie said he hadn’t been acting any differently, though he’d arranged a meeting with Clint Smith on Friday after a few weeks of no contact. Big Sandy
saw nothing suspicious in that, Phials nervous, caught between a rock and a hard place, only natural that he’d seek the relief of his beloved weed.

“Maybe we should ban Clint till this is over,” Fast Eddie suggested. “Increase the tension by denying him
his regular hit.”

Big Sandy considered that. “No. He might slit his wrists if we push him too hard. Let Smith come.”

“You think Phials knows the formula?” Fast Eddie asked.

“
No idea or interest,” Big Sandy sniffed.

“How long do you think he’ll let this run if he
does?” Fast Eddie persisted.

“Does it matter?”

“We’ve got a book going. The pot goes to the guy who calls it closest.”

“I’d never bet on a man’s life,” Big Sandy said stiffly. Squinted and thought about it. “But I’d say he’ll run it to the wire, even
to the first stages of torture. If he’s kept the formula to himself this long, he’s not going to give it up cheaply. He’ll only spill once he realises the Bush is prepared to ride him all the way.”

“So you reckon he’ll crack during the first hour of torture?”

“Yeah.”

“Put money on it?”

Big Sandy shook his head. “Like I said, I don’t bet on men’s lives.”

Thinking about Phials on and off for the rest of the day.
Also thinking about God. Would he come to Phials in his hour of need? Murmur to him, as the Bush’s man set to work, “This is it, Tony, enough’s enough. You made a noble stand, now tell them what they want to know and spare yourself the rest.” Big Sandy thought there were moments in everyone’s life when an inner voice kicked in. Was that God whispering in your ear?

And what if Phials
couldn’t
produce the formula? Would God reveal it to him at the last moment? Would God take pity on the chemist? Big Sandy didn’t think so. God didn’t work that way. Big Sandy didn’t believe in miracles, only in God’s good advice, which individuals were free to heed or ignore as they saw fit.

A quiet night in, watching TV, thinking about God and Phials, a difficult time getting to sleep. Still had
the chemist in his thoughts the next morning, so he made his way to the Church of Sacred Martyrs to sit alone and brood. After a couple of hours of peaceful meditation he spotted Clint Smith entering. Smith slipped into the confessional, where Fr Sebastian was holding court, then to a pew near the back of the church. Big Sandy frowned. He’d never made Clint for a Christian. His frown darkened as he saw a teenage boy slide up to Clint, slip him money and take a baggie. The little bastard was dealing. The house of God, and he was treating it like a skanky pub.

Big Sandy filled with rage. Did Fr Sebastian know about this?
Not knowing about the priest’s unseemly habits, Big Sandy doubted it. Churches were a place of privacy, where people didn’t interfere with those who wanted to pray quietly. That was why he felt comfortable coming here, knowing he wouldn’t be bothered. He figured Smith was operating without Fr Sebastian’s knowledge, no reason why the priest should have a clue what was going on, especially as he spent most of his time on this day of the week inside the confessional. Clint had seen a chance to manipulate the system and taken advantage of it, not caring that he was making a mockery of the church, flicking God the finger and demeaning his house on Earth. But Big Sandy
did
care.

Big Sandy rose, intent on storming to the back of the church, dragging Smith out, pummelling him to within an inch of his life, driving him off forever, putting the literal fear of God into him. Stopped when
he saw a familiar couple enter — Kevin and Tulip Tyne. Sat again, not wanting to lay into Smith in front of Tulip, spare her the sight of violence. He watched Smith closely. Saw Kevin take a pew close to the dealer, waiting in line behind two junkies.

Tulip
rose and headed for the altar. Spotted Big Sandy. With a surprised smile she genuflected then slid in beside him. “Hello.”

“Hi,” he grunted. “How are you?”

“OK.” Tulip sounded downcast. She wasn’t facing him directly, head tilted, jaw shaking lightly. Big Sandy reached across, gently took hold of her chin, turned her head around. Her left cheek was bruised, scratches on her neck.

“Kevin?” he asked quietly, releasing her.

“No.” She looked over her shoulder, tears in her eyes. “A client. Clint sent him to us. He came on Saturday and again last night. He was fine the first time but last night he hurt me, didn’t stop when we told him to.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Too late by the time we realised he was a threat. I think Kevin wants to talk with you about it after he’s done with Clint. It’s good that you’re here.”

“A nice coincidence.”

“Or God’s handiwork.”

“No,” Big Sandy said softly. “If God was going to get involved,
he’d have had me there when you were being hurt, so I could have stopped it.”

“It’s not that bad.
” Tulip smiled painfully, lightly touching the bruise.

Big Sandy glanced
around. Kevin was next in line, waiting impatiently. Big Sandy noted Kevin’s dark features and took a small measure of comfort from them. At least he wasn’t a willing participant in his sister’s beating.

“Does Smith deal here often?” Big Sandy asked.

“Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.”

Fr Sebastian’s confessional days. Confirming what Big Sandy believed, that the priest was unaware of this, locked away inside his box whenever Clint was in the church
.

“Been doing it long?”

“A few months.”

Big Sandy breathed out through his nostrils, angry. “H
e won’t be doing it much longer.”

“You won’t…?
” Tulip gasped, thinking he meant to kill the dealer.

“No.
” Big Sandy chuckled. “Just teach him a few harsh facts of life.” Though if Smith hadn’t been related to the Bush, he might have taken it a stage further.

Silence, Tulip praying, Big Sandy keeping an eye on S
mith. He saw Kevin Tyne sit beside him, a brief, abrasive conversation, Kevin making sharp gestures with his hands, Smith nodding weakly. Smith thrust money and a baggie at Kevin. Kevin relaxed slightly and pocketed the cash and drugs, snapped something again. Smith nodded and offered Kevin his hand. Kevin ignored it, stood and marched away. Smith stared after him, then slid out of his pew and hurried from the church, ignoring his other clients. Big Sandy keen to follow, but Kevin was striding towards them and Tulip had said her brother wanted to speak with him. So he stayed seated and let the dealer pass unchallenged.

Kevin registered surprise when he saw Big Sandy sitting next to Tulip, then
smiled and slipped in beside them. “I was going to phone you later.”

“Tulip’s been telling me.”

“You saw what that bastard did?” Kevin snarled, wrapping a defensive arm around her. “He’s an animal.”

“Who was it?” Big Sandy asked.

“A guy called Gawl McCaskey. Scottish. Large, ugly bastard. Half his left ear is missing. Know him?”

“Heard of him.” Eyes Burton h
ad said something about McCaskey to the Bush, that he was looking for work. Hadn’t recommended him, just told the Bush about him and left it at that.

“Somebody should teach
that prick a lesson,” Clint hissed.

“He couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t set him up with Tulip,” Big Sandy retorted softly.

Kevin stiffened. “You’re not going to do anything?”

Big Sandy sighed. “What did Smith have to say?”

“Full of apologies,” Kevin snorted. “Tried to pay me off. Said he hadn’t known McCaskey was violent. Promised he wouldn’t send him our way again. But that’s not enough. Somebody should do to him what he did to Tulip. Animal!”

“I’ll have a word,” Big Sandy said. “Do you know where he lives?”

“No.”

“I’ll ask around
, but it’ll be next week before I can follow it up.” Under orders not to draw attention to himself until after Friday. “Will you need me any time soon?”

Kevin sighed.
“I doubt it. I want to give Tulip a rest after what that bastard did. Besides, with her face like that…”

“You’re all heart,” Big Sandy said
frostily. Smiled at Tulip. “You’ll be OK?”

“Yes,” she smiled back.

“Call me the next time you want to get into the ring with one of these beasts.”

“I never want to get into the ring,” Tulip said, glanc
ing sharply at Kevin, then down at her crossed hands. Closed her eyes and prayed.

Big Sandy stood, nodded farewell to Kevin, let himself out. Checked for Smith
in case he was hanging around but there was no sign of him. Clint Smith and Gawl McCaskey, two small, personal problems he’d have to deal with. Smith the more irritating of the two. A man who paid for the pleasure of a whore had a right to expect a certain leeway. McCaskey had overstepped the line by getting rough with Tulip, but it wasn’t like he’d assaulted an innocent. A strongly worded warning not to do it again would suffice. But Smith, dealing in a church, spreading poison through the parish… that was a different matter. Smith deserved what Phials had coming, a shitload of pain. After the weekend, Big Sandy would see that he got it.