Chapter 61 #2
Luckily, the clowns were in the middle of staging some sort of road traffic accident: where a granny clown tried to get across the zebra crossing with her tartan shopping trolley, only to shy back at the last minute as a life-size puppet Zebra thundered across it on inline skates.
Which meant the whole Orphan Crew were laughing at that, rather than spotting Logan’s merry gang of idiots.
Logan strolled down the steps to ground level, acting all casual as the Zebra made another pass and Granny got a second fright. ‘I need someone on the entrance.’
The clown car filled up on ‘petrol’ and the patrol car filled up on doughnuts, momentarily abandoning their hot-pursuit.
Barrett: ‘Entrance secured.’
And there he was, standing just outside the fairy-lit foyer, pretending to stretch his legs.
The Lion puppet reappeared, also on skates this time, and set off after the Zebra. And after a bit of bumbling and running about, the police piled into their patrol car, pedalling furiously to catch up. Blues-and-twos going.
Tufty and Kate disappeared behind their seating block.
The patrol car almost ran over one of the clown-clowns, leaving him spinning round and around on one leg, so for some inexplicable reason, the clown car wheeched after the patrol car.
Kind of got the feeling logic wasn’t really a priority here.
Logan ducked behind the stands.
A heavy curtain of black fabric concealed whatever structure held the seats up. Which had the added bonus of hiding what was going on out here from anyone in there.
He paused for a moment, letting Tufty, Kate, Doreen, and Biohazard catch up.
Keeping his voice low, just in case. ‘OK, they’re in the second last block of seating. Kate, Biohazard: you take this side. Doreen: you’re in the middle. Tufty: with me.’
A wave of laughter roared through the big top, followed by honking and animal noises and sirens, as the clowns got on with the show. Meaning there was no chance anyone would notice Logan and the wee loon sneaking their way around the back of the stands.
More laughter, and a clatter of applause.
Logan checked Doreen, Biohazard, and Kate were in the right place, then tapped Tufty on the shoulder. Pointing at the heavy fabric blocking off the supports.
Tufty eased the curtain back, exposing a forest of scaffolding poles, with clips and pins and bits wrapped around in yellow-and-black warning tape. The whole structure resting on wooden boards and mud mats – liberally sprinkled with fallen popcorn and spilled peanuts.
Bingo.
A figure lurked near the front of the bleachers, leaning on a post, staring through a gap in the seating and out between someone’s legs, watching the performance.
Charles MacGarioch.
A tin of lager dangled from the fingers of one hand as he laughed along with the crowd.
Right: the bastard wasn’t getting away this time.
Logan eased his way into the scaffold jungle, creeping closer, the seats above his head getting lower with every tier as he advanced on Clueless Charlie.
Tufty snuck in, staying off to one side.
A quick glance left, and there was Doreen, while Kate tiptoed in from the far corner. And just in case, Biohazard guarded the far edge.
Whatever was going on out there, someone must’ve been directing the crowd, because they all stamped their feet and clapped in rhythm. Sending dust and yet more popcorn pattering down onto Logan and his team.
MacGarioch tried to join in with the clapping, but it clearly wasn’t easy while holding a tin of lager. The thing slipped through his fingers, hit the mud mats, and spoofed up a little jet of foam and golden liquid. ‘Shitey wank-fucks . . .’ Scrambling to retrieve it before too much spilled out.
Then he froze.
Before turning to stare at Biohazard. Then Kate. Then Tufty. And finally: Logan, less than a dozen feet away.
‘Charles Edward MacGarioch, I am arresting you under section one of the Criminal Justice, Scotland—’
That tin of lager hurled through the ranks of scaffolding poles, heading straight for Logan’s head. But before it could smash into his face, it hit one of the uprights, crumpling and spewing supermarket own-brand pilsner everywhere.
MacGarioch went left – presumably, because if he’d gone right, he’d have to get past every member of Logan’s team to escape – meaning he reached the edge of the seating block before anyone else. Shoulder-charging the black fabric wall.
Which didn’t do much more than shudder and bounce him back into an upright with a clang.
Logan surged forwards, dodging his way through the metallic-bamboo forest as MacGarioch grabbed handfuls of fabric and yanked, ripping the covering away from its Velcro fastenings.
Then he was away – running towards the ring.
Sod.
Logan ducked out after him, into the aisle between the two seating blocks, skidding on the popcorn-slippy floor. Rushing forwards.
The crowd’s cheers and whoops crashed against him like a rugby scrum.
Out here, things had taken a weird turn: now the Lion was chasing the patrol car, which was chasing the Zebra, which was chasing the clown car, which was chasing the old lady, round and round the ring.
The cars were only pedal powered, but they were still going at a fair clip. The Zebra, Lion, and old lady had no problem keeping up on their skates, though. Swirling faster and faster, lights and sirens going, as the crowd roared.
MacGarioch hurdled the wooden blocks that lined the ring, and came within two inches of being run over by the clown car. He legged it for the curtain at the back.
Logan jumped the kerb, jinked between the patrol car and the Zebra. ‘STOP! POLICE!’
For some reason, the audience seemed to think this was all part of the show, pointing and hooting as Logan gave chase.
Almost at the other side, MacGarioch glanced back over his shoulder, arms and legs still pumping. Not watching where he was going. Straight into the path of the patrol car.
As car crashes went, it was nowhere near as bad as Spencer Findlater’s encounter with a Toyota Hilux, but the impact was still enough to send Charles MacGarioch tumbling over backwards and bring the patrol car to a sudden lurching halt.
Presumably the pedal car had been rigged to fall apart at a later part of the show, because it immediately suffered a rapid unscheduled disassembly. The wings collapsed away from the frame, the headlights pinged out on springs, the doors flew off, and the boot and bonnet both poinged up.
And as they weren’t wearing seatbelts, the police clowns jerked forward in their seats – slamming the passenger’s head into the dashboard while the driver rocked back, still holding the now-detached steering wheel.
The crowd cheered and applauded.
They did it again two seconds later, when the Lion, still going at full pelt and unable to stop at short notice, slammed straight into the open boot.
The driver stumbled out of the car, holding his detachable steering wheel, blinking at the wreckage. His fellow officer stayed in the passenger seat though, with both hands clutching their big red nose as blood streamed down their smiley make-up.
MacGarioch scrambled upright, leaping the patrol car’s open bonnet, just as Logan grabbed at his jacket.
Didn’t get a firm enough grip to stop him, but it screwed up the jump, and instead of landing on his feet, ready to scarper, Charles MacGarioch went tumbling down the other side.
The Zebra, old lady, and clown car trundled to a halt. Then the clowns climbed out of their vehicle, looking every bit as dour-faced and murderous as they had driving around town.
Balling their fists, they advanced on Logan.
Either the crash or the botched leap had caused a bit of damage, because MacGarioch hurpled towards the curtain through to the backstage area, like a sawdust-covered Igor.
Only he never got there, because Kate pounced from the other side, catching him in a flying rugby tackle. And down he went again.
A huge roar of approval swept through the crowd, people getting to their feet and cheering-on the little leopard as she struggled to get the much bigger MacGarioch in an armlock.
Logan skirted the wreckage and hurried over to help.
Jericho McQueen shot to his feet. ‘HEY! LEAVE HIM ALONE, YOU LEOPARD-FACED BITCH!’
And with that, the Orphan Army charged, storming down from their seats and into the ring while the weenies ran around with their hands in the air, screeching and grinning and screeching some more.
Logan grabbed MacGarioch’s other arm, before he could land a punch on Kate’s head. Twisting it into a wristlock. ‘Charles MacGarioch, I’m detaining you under—’
Was as far as he got, because a clown battered straight into Logan’s ribs, sending them both thumping to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and big floppy shoes.
The other clowns piled in, and so did the Lion and the Zebra, and the little old lady. Then Tufty, Biohazard, Doreen, and Barrett. Then it was the Orphans, turning what should’ve been a straightforward arrest into a good old-fashioned circus brawl.
Yeah . . .
This whole op hadn’t exactly gone to plan.