She could do those wrists now.
But first...
Natasha placed the blade’s tip against the edge of her mask’s mouth hole, wriggling it between the zip’s plastic teeth, twisting the knife so the jagged cutting edge pointed away from her face. Then sawed.
Nothing happened to start with, the thing just juddered back-and-forth and back-and-forth and then a sizzlingrippingsound as the knife carved through leather.
She kept going – hacking away at the gimp mask, cutting up one cheek and around the top of her eyebrows. Didn’t matter about the sharp sting of metal slitting heat-swollen flesh, didn’t matter about the blood, as long as she got this bastarding thing off.
She sawed her way down the other side, and a big chunk of mask hinged forward to flap wide open.
What was left still covered her ears, and her chin, and mostof her head, but for the first time since she woke up yesterday, her face was free.
Natasha wiped her other hand across it – wet and sticky, the fingers and palm covered in bright scarlet.
A laugh jangled free, followed by another one, and another until she was sitting on the floor, rocking, screeching it out. An angry, hysterical,unhealthysound.
Eventually it passed, leaving her sagging against the workbench, breathing hard, ribs aching like she’d suffered another kicking.
She got to work with the blade again, sawing downwards from the side of her mouth. Hacking through to the bottom of the mask.
Soon as the knife ripped through the last bit of leather, she dropped it and pulled at the mask with both hands, hauling it off and flinging the bastard away.
The unwell laughter burbled away, just beneath the surface.
OK, so her hands weren’t free, and she was still chained to this bloody anchor, and she’d probably just given herself tetanus, septicaemia, and all manner of rat-borne diseases, but it was astart.
And now she had a weapon.
61
Laughter oozed through the big top’s walls, joined by frequentOoooohs of amazement andAhhhhhs of wonder.
Out here, the crowd was thinning out. Probably something to do with the circus not being licensed to sell alcohol – so while the kids headed home to bed, the adults headed off to enjoy Aberdeen’s legendary nightlife. AKA: get wankered.
Logan lurked by the Whack-a-Mole stall, which some enterprising soul had customised, so the playing field was a big Mrs Doyle’s face out of which hairy moles popped up for the player to wallop. Extra points if you could hit the green melanoma.
Twenty minutes into the last performance of the Rumplington Brothers’ Circus of Delights and there wasstillno sign of Charles MacGarioch. All his mates were inside, enjoying the show, but the racist wee shite had finally missed an official Orphan Outing.
Pfff...
Yeah, but hemightstill turn up.
But why would he?
Everyone knew the police were after him – it was all over the newspapers, TV, radio, and internet – even if they didn’t knowwhyhe was a wanted man. But MacGarioch did.
Maybe the boy wasn’t as thick as he looked?
Perhaps it would be better to stake-out his grandmother’s flat instead? Have her followed. After all, if he couldn’t staythe night at Keira Longmore’s house because his nan would have a fit, how could he justify being away from home for two-and-a-bit whole days? He’d have to get in touch with hersomehow, right?
Question was: would the Chief Super approve the manpower and overtime to run another ICSO?
Could divert the team from Seaton Park?
Yeah, but what if he turned up there, soon as they left?
And knowing Logan’s luck...
