Chapter 63
Backstage, the Rumplington Brothers’ Circus of Delights wasn’t quite as magical. Through here, in the space behind the curtain, the walls were wobbly, temporary things, with a tented roof and modular shelving racks for props and the like.
Most of the Zebra and Lion puppets were suspended on frames, next to the Tiger and Elephant. Like art exhibits in a bizarre abattoir. While the wreckage of the patrol car lay piled up in the corner.
The show had started again, and the audience clapped and cheered as the barrel organ pounded out its tunes, and the high-wire troupe went through their routines. But no clowns, because they were all in here.
Police Clown Number One was a large man in slightly smudged make-up and handcuffs. ‘Well, how were we supposed to know you were cops?’
His mate from the passenger seat, sat on a folding chair, head thrown back, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and holding a wodge of paper towels to his bleeding nostrils with the other. Voice a mumbled, bunged-up, growl: ‘Leave it, Gerry.’
The Old Lady Clown was in cuffs as well, looking as if she was brewing-up a walloping shiner for tomorrow.
One of the Clown-Clowns slouched against the wall, vaping. While the other nursed a pair of battered testicles with a bag of frozen peas. Which can’t have been easy in handcuffs.
Doreen, Barrett, and Biohazard – all looking decidedly rumpled – stood guard, while Logan pulled Charles MacGarioch to his feet.
Unlike the clowns, both his hands were cuffed behind his back.
‘What were we supposed to think?’ Gerry scowled. ‘Come charging into the ring, beating up some random bloke!’ His grazed chin jerked upwards. ‘Just cos you right-wing thugs got badges, you think it’s OK to brutalise—’
‘For fuck’s sake, Gerry!’ The Old Lady Clown kicked him in the shin. ‘Stop making it worse!’
‘Ow!’
‘Serves you right.’
Idiots.
Logan escorted MacGarioch out through the back and into a fenced-off area that bordered the park’s three concrete-lined ponds.
A bunch of Transit vans and a handful of caravans were crammed in – nowhere near enough to service the whole circus/funfair setup, but enough to keep a presence on site so people wouldn’t nick things.
The Orphan Posse loitered by the ponds, under the watchful eye of Tufty and Kate – who both looked a bit scruffy and slightly tattered, with their feline faces all smeared-and-smirched from the fight.
Alexis was in cuffs, and so was Jericho, wincing as Ralph blotted his swollen eye with damp cloth.
Ralph dumped the cloth in a bucket, and waved at Logan, then strolled over. Nodding at the prisoner du jour. ‘Hey, Charlie.’
Charles MacGarioch smiled back. ‘Hey, Ralph.’
He fell in beside them as Logan marched MacGarioch towards a waiting patrol car.
‘I know it all got a bit “spirited” in there, but they were only trying to defend their friend. And the circus guys thought they were being public spirited. You know, intervening in a fight?’ A shrug.
‘I mean, we’re always told that’s the mark of a healthy society, aren’t we?
That good people are ready to intervene when they see an injustice? ’
‘They assaulted six police officers in the process of arresting a wanted man. That’s “attempting to defeat the ends of justice”, punishable by imprisonment and a dirty-big fine.’
‘Yes, and I’m sure they’re all really, really sorry. But it wasn’t intentional, really, was it? And if Alexis gets a criminal record they might throw her off her Uni course: what film or TV company’s going to give her a second look then?’
Logan stopped and subjected Ralph Hay to a full-on Paddingtoning.
He just smiled back.
God’s sake . . .
Logan rolled his eyes, then turned to Tufty. ‘Constable Quirrel.’
‘Sarge?’
‘Miss Cunningham bit you.’
The wee loon grinned. ‘Yeah, but only because she didn’t recognise me with the face paint on. She’s absolutely mortified now.’ Giving his head a swanky wobble. ‘Never bitten a film star before.’
‘Do you want to press charges?’
Tufty curled one side of his face up, then pulled back his sleeve to expose a semicircle of teeth-marks. ‘Nah. I’ll pop some Savlon on it when I get home.’
Fair enough.
Logan puffed out his cheeks. ‘Uncuff her, then. And check with the rest of the team – anyone they don’t want to prosecute gets off with a caution and a stern talking to. Everyone else spends tonight in the cells.’
‘Sarge.’ And away he skipped to spread the good tidings: the Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Fairy.
‘Thanks, man.’ Ralph Hay nodded at Logan. ‘You’re one of the good guys.’ Magnanimous in victory.
‘Ever thought of joining the police? Or the Diplomatic Corps.’
‘Nah.’ His smile widened. ‘Going to be a merchant banker, like my Uncle Pete.’
Strange how quickly you could go off someone.
‘Yes, well . . .’ Logan tightened his grip on Charles MacGarioch and marched him over to the patrol car.
‘Bye, Charlie. Stay frosty, OK?’
‘Bye, Ralph.’
‘Mind your head.’ Logan squeezed him into the back, did up his seatbelt, then clunked the door shut and got in the other side.
The blue-and-white lights swirled, but because it was only ten minutes since the Great Big-Top Brawl, no one from the press had arrived yet, so there wasn’t a swarm of cameras and microphones to fight their way through – just a handful of arseholes who whipped out their phones to film the patrol car as it rolled down the access road, turned left onto Westburn Road, and slipped silently into the traffic.
MacGarioch turned in his seat, craning his neck to capture every last moment of the circus, funfair, and park. ‘Do you think they’ll let my mates visit me in prison?’
Logan frowned at him. ‘Why’d you do it, Charlie?’
The big top disappeared behind the trees, then the edges of the fair vanished, and finally even the trees faded into the distance.
A sigh, then Charles MacGarioch faced front again.
‘Dunno.’ One shoulder came up. ‘Needed the money. Keira and me are gonna open a B&B in Ireland. Property’s never cheap, is it.
Then there’s your overheads: food and laundry and soap and towels and wee packets of shortbread and teeny pots of jam and tea-and-coffee-making facilities in every room. ’
Wow.
Looked as if Ralph Hay had been right about Charlie not winning Celebrity Mastermind anytime soon. OK, so he wasn’t exactly Lenny from Of Mice And Men, but he was no Professor Moriarty either.
‘Yeah,’ Logan nodded, humouring him, ‘all those little expenses soon add . . .’ Swivelling around to stare across the car. ‘Hold on: you “needed the money”? What money?’
‘Spencer says I’m meant to go “no comment” till I get a lawyer.’
‘What money, Charlie?’
His brow creased as the wheels inside groaned and squeaked their way around. Until finally: ‘No comment.’
Damn.
Still, it’d been worth a go.