The Evil And The Pure (48 page)

“There are charities…”

“I told you, we’ll have to keep our heads down. We’ll need money for lodgings, food, baby clothes, medicine, books, toys…”

“
All right,” Tulip sighed. “I understand. But even if we were to accept their blood money, why should they give us anything?”

“Let me worry about that,” Kevin smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what was happening, so you don’t pipe up, horrified, when I start trying to muscle in on their action.” He felt ridiculous talking like a movie gangster but he could think of no more suitable expression.

They headed downstairs. Clint, McCaskey and Fr Sebastian were in the study, no sign of Tony Phials. Clint and McCaskey were stiff with tension. Something had changed, Kevin sensed it immediately. Cautious as he sat with Tulip, waiting for them to speak.

A few seconds of edgy silence, broken bluntly by McCaskey. “I killed Phials in the church last night. Stabbed him t’ death then cut off his head. The body’s in the closet under the stairs if anyone doesn’t believe me.”

Kevin and Tulip gawped. Fr Sebastian turned white and blessed himself.

“The game’s almost over,” McCask
ey continued. “In another few days we’ll be gone and ye can get on with yer lives.”

“Until Dave Bushinsky catches up with us,” Kevin interjected bitterly.

“That’s what we brought ye down t’ talk about,” McCaskey said. “Fr Seb’s fine – nobody knows that we stayed here – but ye’re in a different boat. We haven’t talked much about what happens t’ ye when we leave. Now’s the time.”

“We’
ll be clearing out,” Clint said, “leaving England. We can take you with us and set you free abroad.”

“But –” Gawl began, meaning to tell the Tynes they’d have to work for their freedom.

“Not good enough,” Kevin interrupted, catching both Gawl and Clint off-guard. “We’re not going to let you strand us in a foreign country. You dragged us into this, ruined our lives, set Dave Bushinsky on our backs. Now you want to abandon us and leave us to the wolves? No way.”

“Ye don’t have muc
h fucking choice,” Gawl growled, starting to rise. Clint laid a hand on the Scot’s arm, nodded him back into his chair.

“You have a
different idea?” Clint asked Kevin.

“Pay us,” Kevin said quietly. “All I keep hearing is how much money the pair of you are going to make. Slide some of it our way. Set us up with a nest egg, so we can disappear and live in comfort like you.”

“Why should we?” Clint asked.

“It woul
d keep us sweet.” Kevin forced a shaky smile. “We could make life difficult for you if we wanted. Much simpler to buy our compliance.”

“How much were ye thinking?” Gawl asked.

Kevin wet his lips and croaked, “Five million?” Gawl burst out laughing. Clint smiled. Kevin fumed. “What’s so crazy about that? You keep talking about fifty million. You wouldn’t miss –”

“The plan’s changed,” Clint cut in. Gawl was still laughing. “We’re selling the
formula to Dave now.”

“Dave?” Kevin frowned.

“Bushinsky.”

“But
he’s the guy you stole it from.”

“There were too many complications the other way,” Clint said. “We
’re going for the easy money. It’s safer but a lot less, a long way short of fifty million.”

“How much?”

Clint looked to Gawl for guidance. The pair hadn’t meant to reveal more than a shade of their plan to the Tynes, but they hadn’t expected Kevin to ask for a pay-off. Gawl stopped laughing and leant forward, scratching his chin, studying Kevin. Decided to reel out some statistics. “We’ll start the bidding at four million – pounds, not dollars – but settle for two.”

“Je
sus. That’s a long way short.”

“But it’s real
money,” Gawl said. “The fifty mill was fantasy.”

Kevin recalcul
ated quickly. “OK. If you get four, we’ll take a million. Three, we’ll take three-quarters. Two, half a million.”

“
Fuck you,” Clint exploded. “I’d rather –”

Gawl grabbed him and dragged him outside, smiling at Kevin, Tulip and a still-in-shock Fr Sebastian. “A moment t
’ ourselves, please.” In the hall outside he shook Clint silent. “What the fuck are ye shouting about?”

“That little prick wants to take half a million off
us,” Clint yelped. “The nerve of the fucker! I say we take him into the chuch and finish him off like Phials.”

Gawl shook his head wearily. “Don’t ye see? He’s playing int
o our hands. He wants t’ get involved. I don’t know why, but this is perfect. Now it’ll be easy t’ convince him t’ hand over the formula.”

“But at a price,
” Clint huffed. “Settling for a million was bad enough, but if I have to give a quarter to that scummy –”

“Who said anything about giving him money?”

Clint frowned. “
You
did.”

Gawl shook his head. “I’ll
agree t’ half a million but that doesn’t mean I’ll gi’e it t’ him.” Gawl lowered his voice. “We’ll promise him all the money he wants. Use him and Tulip as planned. They’ll play along, thinking they’re part of the scam. When we get back here, we’ll kill him, keep it all for ourselves.”

Clint blinked at the obviousness of it. “What about Tulip?”

Gawl shrugged. “If she doesn’t freak out, we’ll let her live, maybe take her with us. I’ve grown fond of the wee bitch. Otherwise we kill her too.”

Clint gulped. Thought it over. Nodded. “But we have to make it
seem like he’s forcing our hand. He’ll smell a rat if we give in to his demands too easily.”

“Agreed.”

The pair returned to the study. Fr Sebastian was still white-faced and trembling. Tulip was rubbing her stomach. Kevin was trying to look cool.

“A quarter of a million,” Clint said stiffly as he and Gawl sat.

Kevin smiled witheringly. “We wouldn’t last long on that.”

“Three-fifty,” Clint growled. “We have to arrange
travel, passports, safe houses. That will all come out of our cut.”

Kevin mulled it over. “And if you get the four million?”

“We’ll give you six hundred and fifty thousand,” Clint said. “If we get three, then half a mill.”

“But ye’ll have t’ work for yer cut,” Gawl said. “We’re not gonna hand it over just because we like the look
of ye. If ye want t’ be part of this, ye have t’ be a real part. Dig in with us. Run risks. Face the Bush.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We got the formula for the drug from Phials before we killed him,” Clint explained, as if he’d been an equal partner in the torture and execution. “We’re going to arrange a deal and set up a swap, the cash for the formula. If you want a cut, you’ll have to assist us with that.”

“I’m not sure…” Kevin stalled.

“We’ll be there too,” Gawl said. “Ye’ll be running no greater risk than us. We can do it without ye, in which case ye get nothing. But we stand a better chance of pulling it off with ye, in which case ye get the price we’ve agreed.”

While Kevin was thinking about that, Tulip spoke up suddenly. “What about Fr Sebastian?” All eyes turned on her. “He deserves to be included too.”

“I want no part of this,” Fr Sebastian squeaked. “I just want you out of here, so I can get back to normal.”

“I like the cut
of yer jib, Father,” Gawl chuckled, then faced Kevin. “I’m gonna thrash out a deal with the Bush this afternoon. Are ye in or out?”

Kevin
exhaled shallowly. He didn’t like this, felt he was signing up for a ride he couldn’t control. But it was the only way. If it worked, he’d have money, freedom, the baby, Tulip, everything. Staring straight at McCaskey, not blinking, he said, “We’re in.”

Gawl walked to the Elephant & Castle, caught a cab, gave the driver the address of the Bush’s Whitechapel office, sat back and concentrated on his breathing as he drove to his date with destiny/death. Terrified but thrilled. It didn’t have to be face-to-face, would have been safer to phone the Bush. But Gawl wanted to be there, to sit down with the gang boss as an equal, look him in the eye, show he had balls. A calculated risk – the Bush might flip and set his men on Gawl – but he was in the mood for risks.

Thinking about his life. A petty, wasteful
, forgetful existence — except for the murders. Proud of the women he’d killed. They were his legacy, the mark he’d made on the world. Gloating, feeding off the memories, wondering if he’d meet them again in hell. Sure he was going there if it existed, not bothered, this world his only concern.

Looking ahead,
he could go a long way on a million. Check into a hotel on a sunny sandy island, drink himself catatonic every night, pay beautiful hookers to pamper him. Gamble, but cautiously, careful not to blow everything. Tell tall tales in bars and clubs. Impress young gangsters and their girlfriends. Grow old and fat on the local cuisine. Die of a heart attack, smiling. Murder? Perhaps. But only if he could get away with it. Maybe take a holiday a couple of times a year, hit a city, butcher a prostitute, nobody cared about them. A wonderful, blood-soaked end to his career.

The taxi pulled up outside the Bush’s
office. Gawl checked his watch. A quarter past three. They’d spent most of the morning discussing the plan, Kevin asking lots of questions. He’d also raised the issue of passports. Gawl and Clint would be able to use theirs freely – if all went well, the Bush wouldn’t track them out of the country – but the Tynes’ were in their apartment. Gawl said he’d make the Bush hand them over with the money. Kevin said he’d better, vowed to queer the deal if he didn’t see their passports first.

Gawl ready to go at
midday. Clint told him to wait, the Bush’s lunch hour could fall anywhere between twelve and three. Gawl impatient but he heeded Clint’s advice, Clint the Bush expert. Going over the plan again and again. They were fixed on Wednesday for the hand-over, but couldn’t decide on the location. They debated the merits and drawbacks of Tube stations, banks, airports, restaurants, parks, a crowded area or a deserted stretch. Safety uppermost in their thoughts. They’d been arguing for more than an hour when Tulip unexpectedly chipped in with, “What about the London Eye? Lots of people, so they can’t start shooting. You can check out the scene from Westminster Bridge. Not easy to park a car, but plenty of taxis and buses go across the bridge, and Westminster and Waterloo station are nearby.” They all stared at her, startled — then smiled.

Gawl stepped out of the cab. He was wearing one of Fr Seb’s long ja
ckets over his jumper and jeans, unbuttoned to make it easier for the Bush’s men to search him. He wasn’t carrying any weapons. He slicked his hair back, ran a finger over the top of his half-severed ear for good luck, entered the building.

The receptionist took no
notice of him as he approached. She was on the phone and made him stand in silence for a couple of minutes before she hung up. Smiled thinly, dismissing him as a nobody with one quick glance. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’d like t’ see Mr Bushinsky.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“He’s rather busy today, sir. May I take your name and a contact number?”

“I’m Gawl McCaskey.”

“Could you spell…” She stopped and stared as the name hit her. He winked. “One… second please.” Fumbling for an intercom button. A hushed conversation, eyes on Gawl the whole time. He stood rock solid, sweating but not fidgeting, gazing at her forehead, avoiding her eyes. The receptionist hung up and managed a weak smile. “Somebody will be here shortly to –”

One of
the doors to the foyer burst open. Eyes Burton charged in. Made Gawl. Half drew his gun. Gawl spread his empty hands, keeping them far out from his sides. Eyes slid his gun back into its holster but kept his hand on it. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he wheezed.

“I want t’ see the Bush.”

Eyes blinked stupidly. Realised the receptionist was gawping at him. Coughed and pulled the door open. Gestured Gawl through. “Nobody comes in until we tell you,” he grunted at the receptionist. “Close the office. Don’t interrupt us.”

Gawl stepped past Eyes into a long grey corr
idor. Eyes let the door close, grabbed Gawl and slammed him against the wall. Two more guards appeared and covered Eyes while he frisked the Scot. Satisfied that Gawl was clean, he stepped away and prodded Gawl ahead of him, down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, to where the Bush was waiting.

The Bush seated behind a long oak desk. Face neutral. Elbows resting lightly on the table. Fingers steepled. Prepared for anything. Studied Gawl
curiously as Eyes herded him in, an ugly, scarred, brutish man. So this was the neanderthal who’d cheated him out of Phials, the wonder drug, Spurs. Hatred flared in his chest. He thrust it down —
Keep it for later.
Gawl sat and smiled shakily at the Bush. The Bush didn’t smile back but said coolly, “A drink, Mr McCaskey?”