The evil and the pure, p.19
The Evil And The Pure, page 19
“I do. Buh-but Eddie isn’t here and the nuh-nuh-nuh-new guys aren’t as th-th-th-thorough.”
“You think Kevin and Tulip could smuggle something in?” Hope blinding Phials to the obviousness of the set-up, hunger winning out over his intellect.
“Wuh-wuh-worth a truh-try. Of course they muh-mightn’t have anything on them, or they mightn’t want to sh-sh-share, or they muh-might be stuh-stopped coming in, but if we duh-don’t ask…”
He phoned a dummy number, moved to the far side of the bedroom, conducted a muffled one-way conversation, Phials rigid on the bed, trying to remember his last real high, excitement flooding his system.
Clint turned off his mobile, pocketed it, faced Phials glumly – Phials’ stomach dropped – then grinned. “They have coke and E’s. They’ll do their best to smuggle them in.” Stutter disappearing, eyes bright, locked on to his course, no turning back, in command now. Phials panted like a happy puppy, imagining the buzz, already feeling it. Clint watched smugly, thinking, Who’s the dumb, exploitable asshole now?
TWENTY-THREE
Tulip was unhappy about the drugs, but otherwise she was more cooperative than she’d been in a long time. By no stretch of the imagination upbeat – she never looked forward to their appointments – but resigned. After several visits, Fr Sebastian had stopped coming. Kevin not sure what had happened – the priest avoided him in church, ashamed, afraid – but quick to make the most of the unexpected windfall. He told Tulip he’d had words with Fr Sebastian, told him never to return. Tulip relieved, hugging Kevin, kissing him the way sisters all over the world innocently kissed their brothers, insisting they go for a celebratory meal, thanking him over and over, Kevin acting nonchalent, no big deal, he lived to serve.
Nervous as they approached the lab, the small pouches hidden in Tulip’s curly auburn hair, tied in with tiny pieces of thread, invisible to the eye. Fast Eddie sometimes combed through her hair. If the guards did that, they’d discover the drugs. Tulip had a story prepared – drugs for another customer – but she wasn’t a good liar, especially when she was high, as she was was now, smiling crookedly.
Opening the large outer door, sliding it shut behind them, pressing the button, waiting for the inner door to open. Kevin didn’t recognise the guard. He forced a smile as he stepped forward and spread his arms. “Fast Eddie’s night off?”
“He’s away,” the guard grunted, patting Kevin down, a careful job but not as probing as Fast Eddie. “Holidays.”
“Home or abroad?” Kevin asked, Tulip’s turn to be searched, tense as the guard ran his hands up her body and over her shoulders — relaxing as his fingers slid down her back, not touching her hair.
“Don’t know,” the guard said. He stepped aside and nodded at a security camera. The door closed. He turned away from the Tynes. “Follow me.”
Through the lab, up the stairs to Phials’ room. The chemist opened the door quickly when they knocked, breathless, eyes alight, ushering them in without even an hello, slamming the door on the bemused guard. “Did you bring the gear?” Snapping, anxious, more interested in the drugs than Tulip. Clint watched, alert, smiling, smug.
Kevin reached into Tulip’s hair and pulled the baggies free. Phials went limp. Stared at the pouches, tears in his eyes. “How much?” Willing to pay whatever they asked.
Kevin glanced at Clint, tempted to make him pay for his own drugs. Decided not to be greedy. “No charge.” He handed the baggies to Phials.
Phials too stoked to thank him. He yanked the pouches open, shut his eyes in delight, hurried to the dressing table, popped a couple of E’s and began making lines of coke. About to snort the first line when he remembered his manners. Smiled at his guests. “Ladies first,” he said, offering Tulip a rolled up note.
Tulip leant forward and inhaled deeply, expertly. The more she took, the less real it seemed. Kevin was worried she might OD but he didn’t want to start an argument with her, not when she was high, no telling how she would react.
Phials offered the note to Kevin and Clint. Both men shook their heads. Phials was so excited, he forgot that Clint was the one who’d originally requested the drugs. “All the more for me,” he murmured, thinking, Don’t blow it all tonight. Save some. Make it last. Knowing he wouldn’t heed his good advice, never able to call time when he went on a binge.
Phials leant over the dressing table. One line up his left nostril, one up his right. Pinching his nose tight, quivering with ecstasy, head filling with lights, grinning at Tulip, more beautiful than ever. “We’re going to do some godalmighty fucking tonight,” he whispered, moving towards her. “Wait till you see me hard on coke. I can keep it up all night.”
Tulip smiled shakily and let her eyes roll towards the ceiling, zoning out as Phials groped her. With the help of the coke she imagined herself elsewhere. Anywhere.
Kevin began unbuttoning his trousers. Stopped when he spotted Clint gesturing furiously at him. Remembered the script. Coughed and spoke loudly. “Time for you to leave, Clint.”
Clint came back with, “Tony suh-said I could stay.”
Kevin frowned ridiculously, a lousy actor, but Phials too far gone to notice. “We’re not into group sex. Please leave.”
“Tony?” Clint said. Phials didn’t hear him. “Tony!”
Phials looked up, dazed. Waved absentmindedly at Kevin. “Let him stay. I’ll pay extra. Get high. Get laid. Get happy.”
Kevin swung in close to Clint. “What do we do now?”
“Whatever you normally do,” Clint replied, watching as Phials simultaneously popped an E and rolled Tulip’s jumper up. He had no interest in the glimpse of naked flesh, focused purely on Phials.
Kevin was watching Clint intently. If Clint made a move on Tulip, he’d have him thrown out. But he saw that Clint had eyes only for the chemist. He relaxed and spun away, circled the pair on the bed, losing himself to the passion.
Clint kept to the background at first, a neutral observer, no excitement as Phials stripped Tulip and mounted her, mild distaste at the sight of Kevin jerking off, nothing more. Phials as wild and persistent on the drugs as he’d claimed, a variety of positions, breaking only to make swift attacks on the coke and E’s.
As Phials got higher and wilder, Clint realised he’d have to get closer to the action to interrogate the chemist, and quickly, before he went comatose — Clint now wished he hadn’t added so many E’s to the pouch. He slipped up beside the bed. Kevin paused when he saw Clint zeroing in, but relaxed when Clint patted his groin and winked — no erection.
Clint tapped Phials on the shoulder. “Mind if I join in?” Phials laughed with horny delight. Arched upwards to kiss Clint. Clint saw the kiss coming, ducked it – not part of his plan! – laughed and snuggled up to Tulip, cuddling her, running his hands over her, kissing her shoulder, putting on a show for Phials. Leaning over the table, he pretended to snort some coke. Phials cooed. Clint picked up a couple of E’s and put them between Tulip’s lips. She started to swallow. “No,” he whispered. “Not for you — for Tony. Pass them to him.” Tulip didn’t like letting the pills go, but she did as ordered, kissing Phials, letting him take the E’s from her with his tongue, Phials almost choking on the pills.
Clint decided it was time to act. He was half-naked, sweating, making grinding motions against Tulip, cackling hysterically whenever Phials laughed. Pretending to snort more coke, he collapsed across the bed. Nudged Phials. “Is this great shit or what?”
“A1,” Phials giggled.
“Bet it’s better than the shit you’re working on — the miracle drug.”
“Never,” Phials howled. “My shit’s the best in the world.”
“I can’t wait to try it,” Clint said. “When do you think you’ll have it ready?” Phials mumbled something incoherent. “If we had it now, imagine the crazy shit we could get up to,” Clint pressed. Phials moaned, thrusting into Tulip, barely hearing what Clint was saying. “If you’ve cracked the formula, why not cook some up? Or tell me where it is and I can get one of the others to prepare it for us.”
Phials paused as Clint’s words sunk in, self-protection mechanism kicking in. “What?” Shaking his head, trying to focus.
“Have you cracked the formula?” Clint grinned, unaware that Phials had clicked back into place, writing the chemist off as just another junkie who’d reveal his darkest sexual fantasy when high, no idea that users of Phials’ stature existed, men with secrets so dark that they’d never reveal them, no matter how wasted they got.
Phials stared hard at Clint, mind clearing, seeing the fix now, Kevin and Tulip in on it, Clint planning to pump him dry and serve his head up to Dave Bushinsky on a coke-lined silver platter. A great rage built in the usually timid man. “You… fucking… bastard.”
Clit smiled nervously, getting the sense that he’d lost his grip on the situation. “Hey, doc, I was just –”
“Fucker!” Phials screamed, wrapping his fingers around Clint’s throat, fingers slipping, chasing him from the bed, erection wilting, scrambling after Clint. “Kill you! I’ll kill you all! Fuckers!” Grabbed a paperweight off the dressing table and lobbed it at Kevin. It sailed wide, smashed into the wall, knocked a small hole in the plaster. Kevin panicking, imagining the damage it would have done if it had connected with his head.
“Tony! Calm down! This isn’t…” Clint stopped abruptly as Phials whirled on him and lunged for his throat again. He slapped the chemist’s hands away but suddenly the tall black man was over him, pinning Clint to the floor, screaming incoherently, spitting on Clint, unconsciously urinating on him.
Kevin Tyne grabbed his trousers and ran for the door, calling for Tulip. But the stoned Tulip only giggled and asked, “Is he going to kill Clint?” Kevin stopped, saw Phials choking Clint, Clint’s eyes bulging, tongue sticking out. Ready to flee and leave Clint – his own fucking fault – but then Tulip knelt beside Phials to take a closer look. Kevin couldn’t leave his sister — Phials might kill her too. He cursed and dived after her, pulled her away. Phials thought he was being attacked. He lashed out at Kevin and slipped off of Clint. Clint sat up, gasping, terrified. Phials came at him again. Clint kicked him away, shrieking. Phials shook his head, woozy. Clint kicked him again, between the eyes.
Kevin grabbed Tulip, thrust clothes at her, threw her towards the door. Clint stumbled after them. Phials groaned and grabbed for his ankle. Clint kicked him again, then stamped on the chemist’s hand. Phials howled. Clint ran.
Tulip fumbled with the door. Kevin shoved her aside, yanked the door open, hurled Tulip through. He followed, Clint just behind. Phials was on his knees now, crawling after them, snarling, urinating, moaning. Kevin slammed the door shut, struggled into his clothes, barking at Tulip to get dressed. The door started to open. He put his shoulder against it and shoved hard, knocked Phials back to the floor. Shut the door again. Grabbed Tulip and Clint – both stunned, helpless – and herded them towards the stairs, past the startled guard who’d come to investigate.
“What the fuck?” the guard shouted.
“He lost his head!” Kevin screamed. “He tried to kill us! I think he’s high!”
“Fuck.” The guard whitened — his number one priority, make sure Tony Phials didn’t have access to hard drugs. His head on the block if the Bush heard about this. “Get out of here,” he snapped, hurrying up the stairs. “I’ll take care of Phials. And hey!” he shouted after them. “Not a fucking word about this to anyone.”
Kevin nodded fearfully, paused and watched the guard collide with Phials at the top of the stairs and wrestle him to the floor, Phials screaming bloody murder. Then he ran with Tulip and Clint through the lab, panting, heart racing, cursing himself for letting Clint talk him into this, half-afraid Phials would overpower the guard, catch up with them and slaughter them all, praying to God to save them, promising him anything in exchange for their safety, even vowing to stop abusing his sister if they made it out of here alive — that afraid.
TWENTY-FOUR
Gawl watched Clint Smith make his regular Friday deals in the Church of Sacred Martyrs. Depressed again. Fr Sebastian was back in his pocket, Gawl setting him up with girls when his needs grew too strong for him to contain, taking all the money the priest could raise, setting up another burglary — he’d squeezed more names out of the priest and had cased their houses, but pretty sure it would be peanuts no matter which of the old cows he hit. Drinking more than ever, most nights too drunk even to fight, waking in alleys outside pubs, crawling home, shivering, stinking, head pounding.
Not sure why he was bothering with Smith. The young dealer was small-time. No profit in him for Gawl. But he’d got into the habit of shadowing Smith, and without fail he found himself at each of Smith’s church sessions, regardless of how hungover he was, sometimes trailing him as he did business on the Tube or in clubs. At least when he was following Smith he felt like he had some kind of a purpose.
His last customer of the day attended to, Smith rose and slipped into the confessional, Gawl figuring, Fr Sebastian must be planning to get high. He’ll be looking for company tonight. Better make sure I’m available.
Gawl followed Smith as he left the church. Fr Sebastian would need time to beg God for strength, before giving in to his demons and looking for Gawl. A few hours at least to kill. Better to spend them trailing Smith than sitting in the church waiting for the priest to summon him.
Smith led Gawl to the Elephant & Castle, then up the Walworth Road and off it into a cul-de-sac. Gawl figured he was visiting friends. About to depart when he saw Smith slide open a door fronting a decrepit garage. Gawl frowned as Smith disappeared from sight, wondering what he was up to and what lay behind the door. Scanned the rest of the cul-de-sac — mostly abandoned shells. He strode to one of the houses opposite the garage and checked the door, rotten, loosely hinged, easy to break down. Gawl loitered a while, wary of observers. Seeing nobody, he put his shoulder to the door and knocked it open, swinging it closed again as soon as he was inside. Made his way to the front room, squatted inside the window and trained his sights on the apparently disused garage.
Hours passed, the sun dropped, street lamps came on. No sign of Clint Smith. Gawl thought about Fr Sebastian, alone, horny, anxious. He should go see to his meal ticket, keep him happy, keep the money rolling in. But his curiosity had been aroused. What could be keeping Smith so long?
Getting cold inside the dark, deserted room. Gawl losing interest, not just in the surveillance but in Clint Smith full stop. The dealer not worth his time and effort. Sick of London and ill-founded dreams. Making plans — hit one of Fr Sebastian’s flock, maybe rape and kill the bitch while he was at it, blow London.
He’d almost made up his mind to leave when Kevin and Tulip Tyne walked up to the door of the garage and slid it open. Gawl watched slack-jawed — he knew nothing of Smith’s connection to the Tynes and couldn’t understand why they were here at the same time as the dealer. Forgot all about Fr Sebastian and leaving, immune to the cold, eyes harsh in the darkness.
Keeping a lonely vigil, but alert and curious now. Trying to imagine what lay behind the peeling, cracked garage door, something strong enough to draw both a small-time dealer and a whore and her brother/pimp. Some kind of underground club? A brothel? But then where were all the clients?
All of a sudden the door was yanked open and Smith and the Tynes spilled out, faces twisted with panic, running, stumbling. The girl fell and cried out. She was half-naked. Her brother picked her up and thrust a jumper at her. As she wriggled into it, he turned on Smith and shouted at him. Gawl didn’t catch all the words but picked out a few choice curses. Smith yelled back, pale and shaking as he buttoned up his trousers.
Kevin Tyne started to close the garage door. Paused. Stuck his head inside. Drew back looking more terrified than before. Yelled something that sounded like, “Files!” Grabbed his sister and ran, Clint Smith hot on their heels, overtaking them at the corner of the cul-de-sac, all three swiftly vanishing from sight.
As Gawl stared, wide-eyed, a large naked black man stumbled out into the street, bellowing wildly, shaking his arms, head whiplashing left and right, high or crazy or both. Three men hurried out of the garage and surrounded the black man, tried to shepherd him back inside. He roared at them. Attacked one. They knocked him to the ground. The one he’d attacked pulled a gun. Another barked a command at him, protectively stepping in front of the black guy. The man who’d drawn the weapon glared at his colleague then put the gun away. All three bent and picked up the lunatic. His legs and arms thrashed wildly but they hustled him inside, the one at the rear pausing to slide the door shut. The last of the action, the cul-de-sac ghostly quiet after that.
Gawl in the shadows of the house, trembling with confusion and excitement, sensing something in the brewing, no idea what the fuck it might be, just that it smelled BIG.
TWENTY-FIVE
Big Sandy sitting in the back of a van, keeping a close eye on the road outside. He could see out through the darkened windows but nobody passing could see in. He’d been here a couple of hours. Wasn’t comfortable being in position such a long time but didn’t want to lose his parking spot. It was almost right in front of the house. Originally he’d planned to drive around, maybe get something to eat, but when he saw the space he couldn’t resist.
Fast Eddie didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. Big Sandy had hired the van and told Fast Eddie only that he was going for a drive. Fast Eddie wanted to come, eager to escape Margate for a day. Started to argue when Big Sandy refused. Then he caught Big Sandy’s expression and realised this wasn’t a joy ride. The giant had business in mind. Fast Eddie had no idea what it might be, but if Big Sandy didn’t want to tell him, that was fine. Fast Eddie knew better than to stick his nose into the big man’s affairs.
Big Sandy had spent nearly two hours driving to Hastings. Several years since he’d last swung by this way, respecting the promise he had made. If he’d been recalled to London, he would have dismissed the temptation and kept his distance. But the idea had lodged in his brain and, as the days dragged on, it became an irresistable summons. Finally, several days after that sleepless night, he caved in.
