The Evil And The Pure (53 page)

“This is too coincidental to be luck,” the Bush disagreed. Big Sandy didn’t reply. The Bush studied him. “You don’t seem too
agitated. You just found and killed the man you’ve been hunting for thirty years, yet you stand here, reporting to me calmly, like it was no big thing.”

“It’s the biggest thing of my life,” Big Sandy said. “But it’s over. Later it’ll hit me
hard and I’ll obsess about it, cry about it, cheer about it. Right now there’s my fuck-up, the lost money and the missing formula to account for.”

The Bush snorted admiringly,
Big Sandy far cooler than the Bush would have been in the big man’s shoes. He sat back, fingers coming together, addressing the problem. After a minute of silence he shrugged. “The money’s gone. The formula’s history. You acted as anyone would have in your position. I don’t blame you. We forget about it and get on with our lives.”

“We can’t,” Big Sandy said. “I was seen killing McCaskey. Photographed.”

The Bush frowned. “So we smuggle you out of the country, hide you somewhere safe, set you up with a new identity.”

“That won’t be
easy. My face can be altered but not my build. People will notice me wherever I go. It’ll cost a lot of money to hide me, and the danger of my being unearthed will always exist. Plus, word of what happened today will spread. Stories will be told, how you trusted me with two million pounds, how I lost it, how you rewarded me for my fuck-up. Very embarrassing for you. A lot simpler to write me off and –”

“What are you talking about?” the Bush snapped. “You think I’d betray you? You think I don’t know how to be loyal?”

“I’m not questioning your loyalty,” Big Sandy said, unfazed. “But business is business. You said yourself how important this deal was, how you couldn’t afford to lose two million. The money it would cost to defend me… the loss of face… the aggro… I add it all up, and from where you stand I don’t think I’m worth it.”

“You’re suggesting I have you
killed?” the Bush cried incredulously.

“I’m just trying to
anticipate the way you’re going to think in the coming weeks, save us both time and hassle. I won’t live like Tony Phials, a prisoner, with the threat of retaliation hanging over my head. You’re being gracious now, but I look ahead and see your options narrowing, your thoughts turning, your people advising you to cut me loose as the liability I am.”

“I wouldn’t do that
,” the Bush said unconvincingly, but they both knew from experience that he would. He’d sacrificed loyal servants before when he’d had to. Business always came first. There were plenty of vultures waiting in the wings to swoop upon him and pick his bones clean at the first sign of weakness.

Big Sandy waited patiently for his boss to think the situation through. Finally the Bush sighed and lowered his hands. “How do you suggest I handle this?”

“Three things you can do,” Big Sandy responded instantly. “One, ship me off quickly and quietly, like you were saying, pay for me to lay low, take the heat when the cops come looking for me, endure the mockery when word gets out how much I cost you. But I don’t think that’s a feasible course of action.”

“So lay out my alternatives,” the Bush smiled.

“Two, have me executed.” Big Sandy spoke without emotion. “Leave my body where the cops can find it. That gets them off your back. It also puts out the message that nobody fucks with Dave Bushinsky. You’ll be seen to have acted brutally and swiftly, making the best of a bad lot.”

The Bush nodded,
impressed that Big Sandy was able to lay it out so clearly and bluntly, as if it was somebody else’s life he was talking about. “And my third option?” he asked softly.

“The Tynes and Smith are still in London. As far as I know, they
fled on foot from the Eye. They can’t return to their safehouse now that Fr Sebastian has killed himself. They have the money but no idea how to get away with it safely. They’ll panic. If we respond swiftly, we might be able to find them, recoup your losses, maybe get the formula too.” Big Sandy licked his lips, the only sign that he was nervous. “You could give me twenty-four hours. I’d spearhead the search. If I find them, I’ll redeem myself, earn the right to walk away a free man. There’ll be a reason for you to reward me. You won’t lose face.”

“And if you don’t find them?” the Bush asked.

Big Sandy shrugged. “My freedom if I succeed. My execution if I fail.”

The Bush raised an eyebrow.
“You’d stand there and take a bullet voluntarily?”

“I’ll do what’s right, like I’ve always done,” Big Sandy replied evenly.

The Bush thought it over. “How would you search for them?”

“The
hounds. I wasn’t taking much notice, but I think Tulip went one way, Smith and Kevin another. I’d give Tulip’s scent to one of the hounds, Smith or Kevin’s scent to the other.”

“What if they’ve thought of that?”

“I’m gambling that they won’t, not in the heat of the moment. While I’m heading the hunt on foot, you can put out word that they’re on the loose. Offer a reward again. Cover all points of departure. Throw up a net like before.”

“What if I catch them before you?” the Bush asked.

“Then it’s your call. I’ll accept your decision.”

The Bush considered it silently. “If you’re made by the cops during the hunt?”

“I won’t be handling the hounds alone,” Big Sandy said. “You can have a few words with the team, tell them what to do in an emergency.”

The Bush chuckled. “You frighten me, the way yo
u’re taking this in your stride.”

“There’s no other way to take it,” Big Sandy demurred. “I’m in
deep shit. I can whine and go down. Or I can keep my head and do my best to pull myself out.”

The Bush decided. “Get the
hounds. Fast Eddie will help. I’ll send men to assist. You have until dawn. Report back here if you don’t find them. Depending on the circumstances, I might grant you more time or I might not.”

Big Sandy nodded obediently. Got to his feet. Struck for the door.

“Sandy,” the Bush stopped him. “Did it feel good, killing McCaskey?”

Big Sandy grinned bleakly. “Yeah.”

“Worth whatever you must face as a consequence?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad for you.” The Bush smiled. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Big Sandy left to fetch the
hounds.

SIXTY-SIX

Clint and Kevin fled, panting, faces red, eyes ragged with terror, bags of money clutched tight, ignoring the startled stares of those they passed, looking back often for signs of pursuit. At Waterloo Bridge Clint paused, doubled over, catching his breath, moaning. Kevin stood tall, shaking, quick shallow breaths, thinking,
Tulip!
When he caught his breath he gasped, “We have to go back.” Clint laughed sickly and didn’t look up. “Tulip’s alone. We have to find her. We –”

“Gawl’s dead!” Clint shouted. A couple of pedestrians stopped and
stared. He lowered his voice. “Big Sandy flipped and killed Gawl. The cops saw it — and us. We stole Dave’s money — he’ll want it back. The streets are going to be crawling with people looking for us – cops and Dave’s thugs – and you’re worried about your fucking sister?” Paused and half-smiled, impressed despite everything else that he hadn’t stuttered. “Forget Tulip.”

“I c
an’t,” Kevin cried.

“Then go look for her
, but the money stays with me.”

Kevin
clutched his bag possessively. Clint sighed. “Westminster will be crawling with cops by now, so we couldn’t go back for Tulip even if we wanted.”

“The church,” Kevin mumbled. “She’ll return to
Sacred Martyrs.”

“Maybe,” Clint agreed. “But we can’t go there
until it’s dark.”

“Why not?”

“We were seen with Gawl. Our descriptions will be circulated by the police. People were taking photos. They could be aired on the news. If we go to the church in the middle of the day, we’ll be seen by parishioners, they’ll report us.”

Kevin nodded wearily. “So where?”

“North,” Clint decided, leading the way on to Waterloo Bridge. “We’ll hide until night. Talk this over while we’re waiting. Make plans.”

“And Tulip?” Kevin asked, following meekly.

“We’ll figure that out later,” Clint said, not meaning it, caring only about getting the hell away.

Walking quickly, collars up to mask their faces, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the busier streets, saying nothing. Both men shocked and scared, but Clint the less shaken, the same strength he’d displayed in the cellar at the lab, surprisingly cool under fire. Eyes peeled, looking for a place they could hide. His thoughts kept darting to the million pounds he was carrying. They hadn’t checked the bags yet. He wanted to rip them open, dig down deep, feel, smell, taste the money. But they couldn’t do that in the open, so he forced himself to keep moving.

Twenty-five
minutes later they came to a building under construction, encased in scaffolding, roped off, nobody at work. A quiet street, no traffic. Clint walked to one end of the building to be sure it was deserted, then backtracked and stepped over the ropes, Kevin just behind him, hurrying forward into dark cool shadows.

Once hidden safely, Clint
set his bag down and hunkered over it. Kevin just dropped his bag and slumped against a wall, sobbing softly. Clint struggled with the zip, tore it open, jammed his hands inside, came up clutching
THOUSANDS!
Rolls of notes bound together with elastic bands. Clint whimpered. Focused on one of the stacks, dropping the others back into the bag. Rolled off the elastic band, fanned out the notes, checking watermarks and serial numbers, eyes glowing. He flashed the money at Kevin. “They’re real.” Kevin stared, dazed, then opened his bag and took out a couple of rolls. Checked them. Smiled weakly. Pulled out more. “What are you doing?” Clint asked.

“Making sure it’s all there.”

Good idea. Clint quickly thumbed through his fan of notes, counting them, then dumped the contents of the bag out on to the floor. Two passports fell along with the money. Clint tossed the passports to Kevin, then arranged the stacks of cash neatly. Did a quick count. Moved on to Kevin’s pile. It all added up as far as he could tell. “Two million!” Clint whooped.

Kevin
ogled the money, momentarily forgetting everything except the riches at his feet. It looked like monopoly money. Almost anticlimactic. It would have been more exciting if the haul had been in the form of gold or diamonds.

“Put it
all back,” Clint said, starting to bag his share. “If somebody walked in on us and saw this…” Kevin thought about that and began bagging even quicker than Clint. When they had the money stashed, the men stared at one another and shared a shy smile. “We did it,” Clint whispered.

“Two million,” Kevin giggled. Then he remembered Tulip and Gawl. His smile faded. “What the hell happened with Big Sandy?” Clint shook his head uncertainly. “Was it a set-up? Did Dave Bushinsky plan it that way?”

“I don’t think so,” Clint frowned. “Big Sandy was alone. If it had been a trap, there would have been others. He flipped. Were you watching his eyes? He went berserk. I don’t know what it was about, but it wasn’t planned.”

“Did he definitely kill
Gawl?” Kevin asked.

Clint’s features blackened. “Yes,” he said, mourning his
friend’s loss. “Poor Gawl. He thought he had it all sussed out, every angle covered, but nobody could have bargained on Big Sandy losing his nut.”

“There must have been a reason,” Kevin insisted.

“Yes,” Clint agreed. His eyes hardened. “But we can question it later. First we have to get out of here and figure a way to spend this money before Dave gets his hands on us. Gawl’s dead, he can’t help us now, we’re on our own.”

“So’s Tulip,” Kevin noted glumly.

“Where do you think she’ll run if the police didn’t get her?”

“The church,” Kevin said without hesitation. “It’s the only place she can go.”

“What about friends?”

“No, she knows I couldn’t…” He stopped. About to say she knew he couldn’t find
her if she went to her friends, since he didn’t know who they were or where they lived. But what if she didn’t
want
to be found? What if she chose this moment to strike out on her own? He and Clint had the money. The Bush would be looking for them, not Tulip. And Tulip hadn’t been with them when the police arrived, so the cops wouldn’t be looking for her either. The perfect time to ditch him.

“What’s wrong?” Clint asked.

Kevin shook his head. “Nothing,” he wheezed.

“You don’t think she’ll go to the church?”