The evil and the pure, p.36
The Evil And The Pure, page 36
SIXTY
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 jackets 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 corridor. 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?”
“Just water, thanks.”
Eyes poured water into a white plastic cup from a cooler in the corner. Set the cup in front of Gawl. Looked to the Bush for orders. “Wait outside. You hear anything out of the ordinary, come in firing.”
“Ye got the head?” Gawl asked as Eyes stepped out.
“What do you want?” the Bush tossed back, not in the mood for bullshit.
“I got the formula from Phials before I killed him,” Gawl said.
“That was clever of you,” the Bush sneered. “Did you test it?”
“No.” He’d discussed with Clint whether he should lie or tell the truth. They decided on the truth, keep talks on the level from the start.
The Bush blinked. “Then how the fuck –”
“He was terrified. In pain. Facing worse. He thought I’d let him live if he gave me the formula. He knew what’d happen if he tried t’ play me for a sap. It’s real.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“No. But I’m betting my life.”
The Bush grunted, noting the sweat trickling down Gawl’s cheeks, the shiver of his shoulders. “You brought the formula?”
Gawl chuckled sarcastically. “Aye. Why wouldn’t I?”
The Bush tilted his head, acknowledging that it had been a dumb question. “So where is it?”
“Clint has it,” Gawl lied. “If I’m not back by five, he disappears, sells it elsewhere, ye never see him again.”
The Bush checked his watch. “That gives me more than an hour and a half to rip you apart and wring his hiding place out of you.”
“Ye wouldn’t break me that quickly,” Gawl said.
“Want to bet?” Soft, menacing, reading Gawl, ready to sic Eyes and his other troops on him if he flinched in the face of the challenge.
Gawl grinned. “Wouldn’t do ye any good anyway. Clint’s gone walkabout till he hears from me. I’ve no idea where he is. Now, are we gonna do business or hurl threats at each other?”
The Bush settled back in his chair. Gawl hadn’t crumbled. Prepared now to hear him out. “Tell me what you want.”
Gawl leant forward, loving the feeling of being in control, on a par with Dave Bushinsky. “We could get more for the formula if we sold it on the open market.”
“So why are you here?”
“Because the risk increases with the price. When we broke out Phials, we thought he could handle the sale, he told us he had contacts ready t’ sweep in the minute he was on the loose. We trusted him and that was a mistake. We accepted that, discussed the situation, dealt with it.”
“By cutting off his head.”
Gawl shrugged. “He’d have fucked us over. I saw that after a few days.” Played it bold. “Ye should’ve seen it too when ye had him under yer thumb.”
“I had Phials in hand,” the Bush growled. “It was that bastard Clint I trusted. He was my mistake, not Phials.”
“Whatever. Point is, I did what you should have. I squeezed the formula out of Phials, then killed the fucker. I would’ve liked t’ test it first but we lacked the resources. If we’d had more time, we could’ve set something up, but there’s yer club t’ consider, the super fucking Spurs.”
The Bush stiffened. “Too late for that, or haven’t you heard?”
“I heard Sugar’s selling, but a buyer hasn’t been announced yet.”
“It will be soon.” The Bush’s mole had told him about ENIC.
“All the more reason t’ hurry,” Gawl smirked. “Deals can be bushwhacked at the last minute. If ye come in with a better offer, ye’ll get yer club, no matter how late in the day it is.”
“Sugar doesn’t work that way,” the Bush disagreed. “He’s a man of his word. A week ago, if I’d had the capital, I could have hit him with an offer. Now…” He shook his head. “I’ve given up on that dream.”
Gawl didn’t like the sound of that, four million looking more and more out of their reach. Pressed ahead regardless. “Whether ye can buy the club or not, ye’d be crazy t’ turn yer back on the fortune ye can make from the drug.”
“Maybe money isn’t that important to me,” the Bush said softly, testing Gawl again. “Maybe I’d rather see you and Clint squirm.”
Gawl smiled. “If that’s the case, I’m fucked. That’s a gamble I took coming in. But it’d make no sense. Revenge is one thing, business another. Phials was nothing personal t’ ye. What we did wasn’t personal either, just business. Only a fool confuses one with the other, and I don’t think ye’re a fool.”
“Indeed I’m not.” The Bush impressed despite his loathing of the man. For a nobody, McCaskey was handling himself impeccably. The Bush decided to advance the discussion. “Tell me –” The phone on his desk buzzed. He snatched for it angrily. “I gave orders not to be disturbed!” On the point of slamming the phone down. The person on the other end spoke rapidly. The Bush frowned then sighed. “I forgot about her. No, let her stay. Get her something to drink. I’ll be ready for her shortly.” Replacing the phone gently, the Bush turned to Gawl again and said quietly, “How much do you want?”
“Four million,” Gawl blurted.
“Not a hope,” the Bush smiled, pleased that Gawl had set the bar so low — he had been anticipating a ten million starting point. “I admire you for coming here, it shows you have a spine. But at the same time it’s an admission that you have no one else to turn to. You want to grab some easy money and make a quick getaway. I could hold that over you and beat you down to chump change, but I don’t want to belittle you. Name what you think is a fair price and I promise I won’t gyp you.”
Gawl wet his lips. “Two million, one for Clint, one for me.”
The Bush nodded slowly. “When would you want it?”
“T’morrow.”
“Too soon,” the Bush demurred. “It takes time to –”
“Don’t jerk my chain,” Gawl snarled. “Two million t’morrow or no deal.”
“Would I be expected to pay in advance?” the Bush asked softly.
“A straight swap,” Gawl said gruffly. “I’ll ring ye just before the meet, tell ye where t’ send yer man. Tulip Tyne will be with us, hanging back. We’ll withdraw when we’ve checked the cash and she’ll come forward with the formula. Everyone goes home happy.”
The Bush thought it over, playing with a pen that was lying on his table, imagining the scene, if he could send in a team at such short notice to take down the blackmailers. Gawl saw this in his eyes and said quietly, “Why risk it going wrong by trying t’ screw us? A couple of million is nothing t’ ye. All ye have t’ do is give us the money and let us go. We haven’t made any copies of the formula or kept pages t’ ourselves, we won’t come looking for more cash. A one-off deal, no fear of a fuck-up as long as we all play it square.”
“What about the Tynes?” the Bush murmured. “What do they get?”
“Don’t worry about that pair,” Gawl said. “Toss their passports in with the money, then forget about ’em.”
“You’ll take care of them?”
“Aye.”
“Like you took care of Tony Phials?”
Gawl looked away, fake bashful. The Bush thought some more, weighing up the pros and cons. He could probably arrange an ambush, even without much warning of where the swap would take place, come out with the formula and the money — but if it went wrong the formula could be lost or destroyed.
“You can’t stay here if I pay you off,” the Bush said and Gawl’s eyes lit up as he realised he was close to pushing through the deal.
“I’ve no intention of staying,” he grunted.
The Bush tapped the table with the pen. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours to get out of the country and never come back. After that, all deals are off. I won’t have you embarrass me on my own turf.”
“That’s fine by me,” Gawl said. “I’m sick of this shite-hole anyway.”
“What if I test the formula and it doesn’t work? Do I get a refund?”
Gawl and the Bush shared a laugh. “No refunds,” Gawl chuckled. “But ye’ll easily be able t’ track me down. I won’t be laying low – I want t’ enjoy my money – so I won’t be hard t’ find.”
“What if it works and I hunt for you anyway?”
Gawl shrugged. “Why would you? Only a petty man goes panting after a couple of million like a dog when he’s just made tens of millions or more.”
The Bush laughed. “I’m sorry I didn’t hire you when you were looking for work. You’d have been a fine addition.”
Gawl almost blushed. “So, are we agreed? We’ll do the swap at midday, I’ll ring half an hour before t’ let ye know where. Aye?”
“Aye,” the Bush smiled. “I’ll send Big Sandy. Is that OK with you?”
“Whoever the fuck,” Gawl sniffed.
The Bush set down his pen and sighed. “There’s just one sticking point.”
“What?” Gawl sweating afresh.
“Clint,” the Bush said and his face twisted. “You said this wasn’t personal and for the most part you’re right. But with Clint it is. He’s blood, I gave him his start and did my best to nurture him, yet he fucked me over. With you it was business – I was fair game – but with him it was an insult.”
“He –” Gawl began.
“Don’t interrupt,” the Bush barked. The door to the office flew open. Fast Eddie appeared, gun in hand. The Bush waved him away then spoke softly. “Clint is part of the deal or there is no deal. Make sure he’s with you when you collect the money. Big Sandy will subdue him and bring him to me with the formula.”
“He’s my partner,” Gawl said, even softer than the Bush.
“I don’t care. You I can deal with. Clint, never.” The Bush watched Gawl as he turned the thought over, weighing betrayal against profit, blinking and shivering. The Bush grinned slyly. “Think of it this way. No Clint means no sharing. Two million for yourself, Mr McCaskey.” He stood and walked to the door, to show Gawl out. “Take the idea away with you. Mull it over. If you don’t ring me, I’ll know you place friendship ahead of profit. I’ll understand. I’ll even admire you. That won’t stop me hunting you down like –”
“I don’t have t’ take it away,” Gawl cut the Bush short. “Ye can have yer answer now.” He offered the Bush his hand and said emotionlessly, “It’s a deal.”
Down the stairs, along the grey corridor, Eyes Burton behind him, Gawl fighting back a smirk, ecstatic, nothing could stop him now, he was going all the way. Sorry about Clint, but that was life. Never a real triumph without a sacrifice. He’d think of Clint occasionally when he was lying in the sun, sipping champagne, an actress or model blowing him in the open air. But not often.
Gawl smiled at the thought, then pushed the door to reception open and walked in on Shula Schimmel.
The Bush’s niece was talking with the receptionist, telling her that she was going shopping with her uncle, he was taking her to her favourite stores as a treat before she returned home to Switzerland. She was standing half-turned to Gawl, who stopped as if he’d been struck. In his mind’s eye she looked up, saw him, screamed. He tried to run. Eyes drew his gun and winged him. The Bush stormed in as Shula pointed at Gawl and cried, “That’s the man who raped me!”
Cold sweat. Disbelief. Was this God paying him back for his years of cruelty? Had fate let him get this close to success, just to yank it away from him abruptly, spit in his eye and howl with laughter? A disgusting way to go. He felt sick. A second ago he was enjoying his highest high. Now he’d dropped lower than he would have thought possible. Game over. Gawl fucked.
Shula turned as he’d anticipated. Stared at him as he’d known she would. He readied himself to run, feeling a twinge in his upper back where the bullet would catch him. But then…
Shula’s gaze passed over him, clear and unknowing, and he realised — She doesn’t recognise me!
Gawl stood, gaping, until Eyes nudged him. “Get a move on.” Gawl looked back, blinked, then focused on Shula again. She was gazing around the office, no interest in the tall, broad, rough, ugly man in the doorway. She remembered almost nothing of the night she had been raped. She assumed like everybody else that it had been Larry Drake.
Gawl was in the clear. He walked to the door. Nodded politely to Shula as he passed her. She half-nodded back. He started to get a horn as he recalled the night he’d fucked her. Hurried past in case she noticed. Barged out of the office. Eyes said something but Gawl ignored him, strode away at top speed, grinning at his daring, his wit, his close escape, knowing now that nothing could come between him and his holy grail, lord of the world and all he surveyed. Thinking, Fuck what they tell ye in the movies and books. Bad guys do come out tops!
SIXTY-ONE
Big Sandy couldn’t sleep. Didn’t even try. Went to Sapphire’s, not wanting to pester her, but unable to be by himself this night. A marathon three hours of love-making, slow, repetetive, lots of talk afterwards, mostly about Sapphire and her girls, letting her complain about them, tutting in all the right places, acting like a real boyfriend, wondering if this was the shape of things to come, both uneasy and intrigued if it was.
