Even if it was a sodding disaster, and he’d have some explaining to do tomorrow. And Charles MacGarioch would still be on the run. And the press would be in raptures of self-righteous indignation. And the top brass would be screaming for results. And Soban Yusuf would be lying in a mortuary drawer, awaiting Isobel’s not-so-tender ministrations...
Wasn’t exactly agreatday’s work.
The Ringmaster from the poster strode into the ring, wearing his bright-red faux-military uniform with lots of braiding. Raising his top hat for a bow to the audience. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, I must insist:no flash photography! We cannot risk startling the animals. For who knowswhatmight happen...’
He stepped back with a big flourishing gesture, and the rear curtain opened. Spotlights swooped in as a Lion and Tiger slunk into the ring, followed by a huge lumbering Elephant.
They were part puppet, part marionette, part animatronic, and part costume. Life-sized and lifelike.
The audienceOooooh-ed andAhhhhhh-ed as the ‘animals’ launched into the kind of routine most circuses could only dream of.
Logan let his gaze wander around the big top, picking out Tufty and Kate, Barrett and Doreen, and Biohazard sittingall on his own. Then across the sea of faces to where Charles MacGarioch’s Orphaned Chums had taken over a chunk of the seating block – second from the far end – with the weenies on the bottom row, then the younger teens, then Jericho and Alexis and Marshall and Ralph. The weenies were agog at the animals, and the teens seemed to be too.
Which was kind of lovely and wholesome, especially after all the horror and suffering.
Looked as if Jericho was cultivating his bad-boy gangsta image by sneaking in some tinnies. And yeah,technicallyLogan could march over there and give him a hard time about it – what with council bylaws and everything – but there was no need to be a dick, as long as he wasn’t hurting anyone.
And at least Jericho was trying to be discreet.
He popped his empty in a bag, so no littering, then dug out a fresh six-pack of lager: handing one to Alexis, who passed it to Marshall, who passed it to Ralph, who opened it and had a sneaky drink. The next tin stopped at Marshall. Then it was Alexis’s turn.
Finally, Jericho opened one for himself, but instead of drinking it, he put the can down at his feet as everyone burst into applause for the Elephant’s latest trick.
Maybe the lad was a bit stoned, because when the Elephant moved onto the next thing, Jericho opened another can and took a sneaky scoof. Laughing and cheering along with the rest of the crowd, as the Tiger and Lion jumped through hoops of artificial fire.
Oh, to be young and stupid...
By the time the animals had finished their set, the Secret Orphan Drinking Club were all passing their empties back to Jericho, who popped them, one by one, into his bag. Then finished his own tinny. It joined the collection.
A wee pause, then he did somethingstrange.
Jericho reached down to his feet and picked up that extra beer he’d opened. Only instead of drinking it he gave it a wee shake – as if making sure it was empty – then slipped it into his bag with the others.
Hold on a minute.
OK, it was possible he’d downed two tins in the time it took everyone else to drink one, but...
Another six-pack emerged from Jericho’s personal off-licence, and away we go again: one passed all the way along, then a second, and a third, then one for the floor, and one for Jericho.
The sneaky bastard...
Yeah, the tin was placed at Jericho’s feet, but what happened afterthatwas hidden behind the head and shoulders of the teen sitting in front of him on the next row down.
Logan raised the extension to his mouth and pressed the talk button. ‘Anyone still about? Ithinkthe fox is in the hen house.’ He leaned over and kissed Tara – trying not to smudge her face-paint. ‘Watch the monster.’
Then shuffled out of his seat, pardon-me-excuse-me-ing along to the steps as the spotlights swirled around to focus on a clown car rattling and banging out from behind the curtain. It was a smaller, pedal-powered version of the one that’d been driving all around town, and before it had even gone half a circuit around the ring a similarly rattle-bang version of a patrol car pedalled out after it – complete with two clowns in high-vis waistcoats and Police Scotland black.
And God knew, Logan had worked with enough of those.
The clown car juddered past a prop speed camera –FLASH– and a ‘high-speed’ chase ensued, complete with lights and sirens.
Tufty:‘Where is he, Sarge?’
‘Right-hand side of the tent, where they’ve just unrolled a zebra crossing.’
Doreen:‘Not seeing him, Guv.’
‘That’s because he’s underneath the bleachers.’
