MacGarioch tried to join in with the clapping, but it clearly wasn’t easy while holding a tin of lager. The thing slipped through his fingers, hit the mud mats, andspoofed up a little jet of foam and golden liquid. ‘Shitey wank-fucks...’ Scrambling to retrieve it before too much spilled out.
Then he froze.
Before turning to stare at Biohazard. Then Kate. Then Tufty. And finally: Logan, less than a dozen feet away.
‘Charles Edward MacGarioch, I am arresting you under section one of the Criminal Justice, Scotland—’
That tin of lager hurled through the ranks of scaffolding poles, heading straight for Logan’s head. But before it could smash into his face, it hit one of the uprights, crumpling and spewing supermarket own-brand pilsner everywhere.
MacGarioch went left – presumably, because if he’d goneright, he’d have to get past every member of Logan’s team to escape – meaning he reached the edge of the seating block before anyone else. Shoulder-charging the black fabric wall.
Which didn’t do much more than shudder and bounce him back into an upright with aclang.
Logan surged forwards, dodging his way through the metallic-bamboo forest as MacGarioch grabbed handfuls of fabric and yanked, ripping the covering away from its Velcro fastenings.
Then he was away – running towards the ring.
Sod.
Logan ducked out after him, into the aisle between the two seating blocks, skidding on the popcorn-slippy floor. Rushing forwards.
The crowd’s cheers and whoops crashed against him like a rugby scrum.
Out here, things had taken a weird turn: now the Lion was chasing the patrol car, which was chasing the Zebra, which was chasing the clown car, which was chasing the old lady, round and round the ring.
The cars were only pedal powered, but they were still going at a fair clip. The Zebra, Lion, and old lady had no problem keeping up on their skates, though. Swirling faster and faster, lights and sirens going, as the crowd roared.
MacGarioch hurdled the wooden blocks that lined the ring, and came within two inches of being run over by the clown car. He legged it for the curtain at the back.
Logan jumped the kerb, jinked between the patrol car and the Zebra. ‘STOP! POLICE!’
For some reason, the audience seemed to think this was all part of the show, pointing and hooting as Logan gave chase.
Almost at the other side, MacGarioch glanced back over his shoulder, arms and legs still pumping. Not watching where he was going. Straight into the path of the patrol car.
As car crashes went, it was nowhere near as bad as Spencer Findlater’s encounter with a Toyota Hilux, but the impact was still enough to send Charles MacGarioch tumbling over backwards and bring the patrol car to a sudden lurching halt.
Presumably the pedal car had been rigged to fall apart at a later part of the show, because it immediately suffered a rapid unscheduled disassembly. The wings collapsed away from theframe, the headlights pinged out on springs, the doors flew off, and the boot and bonnet bothpoinged up.
And as they weren’t wearing seatbelts, the police clowns jerked forward in their seats – slamming the passenger’s head into the dashboard while the driver rocked back, still holding the now-detached steering wheel.
The crowd cheered and applauded.
They did it again two seconds later, when the Lion, still going at full pelt and unable to stop at short notice, slammed straight into the open boot.
The driver stumbled out of the car, holding his detachable steering wheel, blinking at the wreckage. His fellow officer stayed in the passenger seat though, with both hands clutching their big red nose as blood streamed down their smiley make-up.
MacGarioch scrambled upright, leaping the patrol car’s open bonnet, just as Logan grabbed at his jacket.
Didn’t get a firm enough grip to stop him, but it screwed up the jump, and instead of landing on his feet, ready to scarper, Charles MacGarioch went tumbling down the other side.
The Zebra, old lady, and clown car trundled to a halt. Then the clowns climbed out of their vehicle, looking every bit as dour-faced and murderous as they had driving around town.
Balling their fists, they advanced on Logan.
Either the crash or the botched leap had caused a bit of damage, because MacGarioch hurpled towards the curtain through to the backstage area, like a sawdust-covered Igor.
Only he never got there, because Kate pounced from the other side, catching him in a flying rugby tackle. And down he went again.