Unsurprisingly, Mr FreezyWhip didn’t stop.
Logan and Barrett ran for the police van, scrambling inside just as Tufty completed his three-point turn.
PD Branston was still in the centre seat, beaming away as if this was the most fun she’d had in years.
Useless sod. What was the point of having a police dog if it didn’t chase and bite the bad guy?
‘Where the hell were you?’
Branston barked a happy bark, not in the least bit bothered.
Then everyone got shoved back into their seats as Tufty floored it again.
Up ahead, Mr FreeezyWhip performed an expert drift around from Papermill Gardens onto Papermill Drive, thenopposite lock onto Gordon’s Mills Road – smooth as a classic Magnum.
Tufty wasn’t quite so slick, and the police van squealed and lurched through the two turns, wallowing like a speedboat, throwing the occupants against the van’s walls, seatbelts, and each other.
It looked as if Charles MacGarioch hadn’t been wasting his time, playing all those rally and driving games – weaving Mr FreezyWhip in and out of the traffic, both oncoming and outgoing, sometimes up onto the pavement, sometimes roaring into the empty gaps. But always absolutelypeltingit as ‘Greensleeves’ tinkled out.
Tufty was having a tough job keeping up, and it was sodding boiling in here, so Logan buzzed the window down to let in a roar of air and sirens.
There was an appreciativewoof, and PD Branston lumped her paws into Logan’s lap so she could stick her head out of the window, partially blocking his view of the road with her big hairy back, tail wagging away inches from Tufty’s face.
A much greyer head popped forwards from the back of the van: Steel, Airwave handset in her hand. Pressing the button as they raced past bungalows and a startled minibus full of boy scouts. ‘Alpha Charlie Six to Control – we are in pursuit of an ice-cream van, heading north on Gordon’s Mills Road. Request backup ASA-fiddling-P!’
There was a pause, then a distorted voice crackled from the little speaker,‘Hud oan: anice-creamvan?’
‘Backup! Get us some sodding backup before someone dies!’ She let go of the button, and thumped Logan. ‘This is what happens when we don’t have a buggering helicopter.’
Barrett held up a hand. ‘That’s another two quid in the swear jar.’
She turned and gave him the middle-finger salute.
Up ahead, just visible through Branston’s brown-and-black fur, an old lady with an ancient Labrador was three-quarters of the way across the pedestrian crossing by Tillydrone Play Park. Standing there, like a statue, eyes wide, clutching the dog’s lead as Charles MacGarioch jinked Mr FreezyWhip into the oncoming traffic to avoid battering straight through her.
Tufty did the same, and the driver of a plumber’s van had to jam on his brakes to avoid becoming a hood ornament.
The Labrador watched Branston whoosh by – tongue flapping like a soggy windsock – unperturbed by the whole near-death experience.
Looked as if a couple of wee boys on their bikes, slowly rolling across the entrance to Gordon Brae, weren’t going to be so lucky.
Tufty thumped the horn and the sirenponk-honked, but instead of hurrying out of the way, the idiots rolled to a stop and stared at the ice-cream van barrelling towards them.
Jesus, this was going to be a complete blood—
At the last moment, Mr FreezyWhip screeched hard left, almost losing control as the van skewed up onto two wheels...then thudded down again – shimmying its way along the heat-rippled tarmac, following the river.
Tufty hauled the police van around the same corner, past grubby grey boxes and monolithic tower blocks on one side; trees, scrubland, and the ever-steepening slope down to the swollen River Don on the other.
Logan checked the rear-view mirror.
The kids just shrugged and cycled on, as if they hadn’t been moments away from knowing what steak tartare felt like.
Now that they were on the straight, the police van’s bigger engine was closing the gap.
Steel thumbed the Airwave’s button again. ‘Still on Gordon’s Mills Road. Headingwestnow. Repeat: west!’
Down to the right, sunlight flared off the river, strobing through gaps between the trees and bushes. A slab of Communist-grey flats on the left.