Natasha took a deep breath.
Closed her eyes.
And dropped.
Thunk. Then a muted squeal...andping: she crashed to the concrete floor, forehead smacking against the workbench’s leg, setting the world ringing like an old-fashioned telephone.
Took a good minute before she could move again, and when she did, the metal cuff was still firmly locked around her wrist...but it wasn’t attached to the collar any more.
Her right hand was free!
The arm it was attached to had turned into a flopping riot of numbness laced with pins-and-needles though, the tendons in her elbow screaming after being bent like that for the last two and a half days. The useless limb dangled at her side, trembling with teeth-grating fizzy pain as she used her still-shackled left hand to feel for a ragged gash in her throat.
Looked like the mask did its job.
Yeah: the screwdriver was a bit bent, but still in one piece. Meaning once her arm came back to life she could have another go, and get the left one free too.
Soon asthathappened, she’d finally get a decent grip on the stupid, rusty sledgehammer, batter the chain off her anchor. And get thehellout of there before DS Davis returned...
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 werewesupposed 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 theClown-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 cuffedbehindhis back.
‘What were wesupposedto 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 itworse!’
‘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.’
