‘What are you talking about?’ said Ernesto, trying to pull away, but he couldn’t, because Armitage had his arm gripped firmly in strangling position. Meanwhile, the rest of Armitage’s body was writhing as if he was struggling to get free.
‘Ow!’ said Armitage. ‘Please help me! I’m terrified!’
‘Freeze!’ shouted a firm, policemanny voice. ‘Put your arms up.’
Armitage let go of Ernesto and crumpled, choking, onto the floor. Ernesto raised his arms, but only for a moment, because the policeman immediately pushed him against a wall and clamped him into handcuffs.
‘Wait!’ yelled Hannah. ‘It’s all lies! Armitage is the thief.’
‘She’s his accomplice,’ said Armitage, in a hoarse, just-strangled voice. ‘She’s his daughter and she wants to get him off.’
‘I’m his daughter! Am I really? Or are you just saying that to get me into trouble?’
‘She doesn’t even know who she is!’ said Armitage to the policeman. ‘The pair of them are criminally insane. They should be locked up forever.’
‘I haven’t done anything!’ said Ernesto. ‘I’m just looking for my son.’
‘And he can’t even keep track of his own children,’ said Armitage. ‘He’s a bad parent on top of everything else.’
‘I’m not a thief!’ protested Ernesto, as the policeman began to pull him away.
‘Very convincing,’ said the policeman, sarcastically. ‘Your pockets are stuffed with money from an open safe, you’ve been holding a hostage at strangulation point and you’re already wearing prison uniform. I’d say this is an open and shut case.’
‘I haven’t done anything!’ said Ernesto.
‘He hasn’t done anything!’ said Hannah.
‘Woof!’ said Rudolph, in agreement.
‘Oh, my neck!’ said Armitage. ‘The pain is indescribable! I feel like I’ve swallowed a chainsaw! I think I need a breathing tube. Call an ambulance.’
Suddenly, there was a very loud crash, as a trapeze, dangling from who knows where, smacked into the side of the box office, sending Queenie Bombazine in full Mermaid of the Skies costume through the window. Shards of glass flew everywhere, but Queenie appeared unharmed.
‘That man hasn’t done anything!’ she bellowed. ‘It’s my money and he can have as much of it as he wants. No crime has been committed here, except for by this slimeball – Armitage Shank – who is wanted by every police force in the country.’
Everyone was rather taken aback by this spectacular entrance, so much so that a long silence filled the room.
The policeman, who was a big circus fan, and was at this moment feeling distinctly star-struck, responded in a rather unprofessional manner. He gave Queenie a round of applause. His name, incidentally, was Bill, but since we already have a boy called Billy in this story, to avoid confusion the policeman shall henceforth be known as Old Bill.
‘Well?’ said Queenie, fighting the instinct to take a bow. ‘Let him go!’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ replied Old Bill, suddenly remembering that he was on duty. ‘Robbery is robbery is robbery, even if the victim of the robbery subsequently claims in suspicious circumstances that she wanted to be robbed in the first place. He’s guilty as sin, madam, and it’s my job to enforce the law. In fact, if you weren’t well known as a fine and upstanding citizen, I’d have a good mind to arrest you as an accomplice in the crime of burgling yourself, but instead I think I’ll just ask for your autograph.’
‘Burgling myself!? What utter nonsense!’
‘I saw them whispering to each other earlier,’ Armitage mock-whispered to Old Bill. ‘Plotting. They’re definitely in it together, along with that girl over there. She’s the worst.’
‘If you could just sign this bit of paper here,’ said the policeman, ignoring Armitage, ‘and write, “For Glenda. Best of luck with the hip replacement.” It’s my wife. She’s a huge fan.’
‘I don’t care how much of a fan she is and how many hips she’s having replaced! You may not have my autograph! Unless you release this man – in which case I will sign anything you like as many times as you like.’
Old Bill pondered for a moment, then sadly shook his head. ‘Sorry, madam, that’s more than my job’s worth. But I want you to know I’m your biggest fan. Me and Glenda. Joint biggest. We buy tickets to all your shows. Except tonight, obviously, because I’m working. And what with Glenda’s hip and everything that was another problem. But usually—’
‘You’re my stupidest fan is what you are.’
‘That’s very rude,’ replied Old Bill. ‘You’re a very rude lady. Glenda will be so disappointed to hear what you’re really like.’
‘You’re arresting the wrong man! You are taking away an innocent, decent citizen and leaving behind the burglarising scourge of the nation!’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Old Bill, ‘but there’s no call for bad manners. Now goodbye, madam, and no hard feelings.’
‘Yes hard feelings. Very hard feelings indeed! Rock hard!’
‘This is all going to be very hard to explain to Glenda,’ said Old Bill, sadly, as he dragged Ernesto away.
‘I’m innocent!’ yelled Ernesto. ‘That man’s framed me!’
‘He’s guilty!’ yelled Armitage. ‘He tried to frame me!’
‘He’s innocent!’ yelled Hannah.
‘Guilty!’ yelled Armitage.
‘Innocent!’ yelled Hannah.
‘Guiltly guilty guilty!’ yelled Armitage.
‘Innocent innocent innocent times a hundred no returns!’ yelled Hannah.
‘Guilty times infinity, so there!’ yelled Armitage.
‘You’re very immature,’ said Hannah.
‘You’re very immature,’ said Armitage.
‘Innocent times infinity plus one!’ yelled Hannah.
‘Guilty times guilty times infinity plus infinity!’ yelled Armitage.
‘There’s no such thing as infinity plus infinity, because infinity is already infinity!’ yelled Hannah.
‘Yes there is!’ yelled Armitage.
Perhaps we should leave this debate on the finer points of criminal justice and mathematics here. You get the gist.
The chase
While Hannah and Armitage discussed the nature of infinity, Billy gazed down anxiously at the atrium from his secret, high-up hiding place. Was Armitage about to meet his doom? Had the police caught him with his hands in the safe? Would Ernesto swoop in at the perfect moment and take Billy away to a life of endless circussy wonderfulness? Or would Armitage sneak out of trouble again and walk away with the phablet of his dreams?
These were the questions pounding round Billy’s head while he waited. And as we know – but he doesn’t – the answers to these four questions were no, no, no and probably.
When Billy looked down and saw his father being dragged away in handcuffs, his heart very nearly broke.
‘Dad!’ he called, leaning out from his balcony high above the atrium. ‘Dad! Is that you!? What’s happening? Why are you in handcuffs?’
Ernesto stopped and looked around frantically, desperate to catch a glimpse of his son, but he couldn’t see Billy anywhere.
‘Up here! I’m up here!’
‘Billy? Is that you?’
Billy was waving furiously, outside the nick-nack, bric-a-brac, tic-tac, pack-a-mac, quick-snack, backpack and roof-rack shop, so far up that Ernesto could barely see him. Billy knew that if he tried to run down the stairs or use a lift, his father would be gone before he could reach him. He did a swift calculation on the topic of angles, trajectories and the solidity of candy-floss stall roofs, then launched himself off the balcony into mid-air.
‘Billllllyyyyyyyyyy!’ wailed Ernesto, thinking he had fallen, terrified that the tragedy of Esmeralda’s death might be repeating itself in front of his eyes.
‘Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!’ shouted Billy, as he did a back somersault with a double pike and triple flip-flop and quadruple wing-ding.
This was Esmeralda’s signature move. Ernesto had never seen anyone else do it. Until now. And he had certainly never seen anyone do it as part of a perfect descent onto the canvas roof of a candy-floss stall, leading to a neat trampoline bounce, a couple more somersaults, and an immaculate landing.
‘BILLY!’ said Ernesto, his eyes filling with tears.
‘Dad! I’ve been waiting for you,’ replied Billy, throwing himself into his father’s arm or, rather, into the place where Ernesto’s arms would have been if they weren’t handcuffed behind his back.
Imagine that! Your long-lost son! A tender, yearned-for embrace! Handcuffs! Oh, pass me a tissue. No, more than that – I need a whole box. Actually, make it two boxes and a towel. And a mop.
Old Bill was so moved by this handcuff-hug that his eyes were now brimming with tears as well. ‘I . . . I . . . I’m sorry,’ he sobbed, ‘but the hugging of suspects is . . . is against regulations. I . . . I . . . boohoo . . . sniffle sniffle50 . . . I’m going to have to insist on the immediate termination of . . . of . . . oh, it’s hard being a policeman. You have to be so mean sometimes, and I’m not a mean person. I like sunshine and flowers and balloons and kittens, especially fluffy tabby ones with white paws and cute little pink noses . . . Where were we again . . . ? Er . . .’
‘WOOF!’ barked Rudolph.
But everyone ignored him. There was far too much going on for anyone to pay any attention to a mere dog. Even one who could stand like a meerkat.
‘WOOF WOOF!’ barked Rudolph again, dismayed, as he often was, by the idiocy, blindness, scruffiness, unpunctuality and bad posture of the human race.
‘NOBODY MOVE!’ boomed a voice from up in the atrium. ‘HE’S GETTING AWAY!’ This was the voice of an old lady, but an old lady in possession of an unusually powerful pair of lungs. Everybody looked up. The owner of the voice was so far away that for a moment she was unrecognisable. Then, without any warning, she launched herself off the balcony, performing a back somersault with a double pike, triple flip-flop and quadruple wing-ding, landing on the candy floss stall and bouncing to a standstill right next to Billy and Ernesto.
It was Granny.
‘What the . . . ?’ said Old Bill, who was by this point more confused than an Eskimo in Ikea.
‘What the . . . ?’ said Ernesto, who was now more befuddled and bamboozled than a puppy in a tumble dryer.
‘Who the . . . ?’ said Billy, for obvious reasons.
‘Your granny, that’s who,’ replied Granny. ‘Now STOP HIM!’
Granny reached out a long, bony finger and pointed towards the exit of the Oh, Wow! Centre, in the direction of a shocking sight. Armitage! Tiptoeing away! His pockets spilling banknotes. A sack on his back bulging with booty.
Rudolph was close behind, still barking, with an exasperated expression on his face that seemed to mean, ‘Finally! Are you all deaf or what?’
‘What the . . . ?’ said Old Bill, who was generally quite slow on the uptake and, as I’m sure you have already figured out, not particularly good at his job.
‘How the . . . ?’ said Ernesto, who now felt a glimmer of hope that justice might be done after all, but who was still too thrown by the sight of a granny doing a back somersault with a double pike, triple flip-flop and quadruple wing-ding to think straight.
‘Come on!’ said Billy, because thankfully at least one person there had an alert mind and quick feet.
Billy set off and gave chase. Armitage continued to run away, dodging the security guards at the door of the centre, and beginning to circle the huge atrium. Old Bill joined the chase, followed by Ernesto, followed by Queenie, followed by Reginald Clench, who’d now come off stage, but was still dressed in a grass skirt and carrying a tuba.
While running at full speed, Clench gave three sharp tuba blasts on a high C sharp. A high C sharp on a tuba is a low C sharp on any other instrument, but, unless you have perfect pitch, that’s not important right now. Three blasts of a tuba’s high C sharp meant one thing. It was a message known to every member of the Ecstatic Aquatic Splashtastic Circus. An emergency message which meant, ‘Rampage alert! Stop whatever you are doing, leave the sea lions and the piano tuna to entertain the audience, and come immediately.’
The whole cast obeyed the call and joined the chase: Jemima Steam, carrying three flaming torches and still steaming slightly from her rear end; Zygmond Tszyx and Zygmond Tszyvn, trailing a cloud of bubbles; Cissy Noodles and her now rather soggy poodles; the Aquabats of Arabia; Bunny Weasel and her momentarily unsynchronised otters; sundry sea-lion trainers, dolphin handlers, fish fanciers and sharkists; and last of all Ruggles Pynchon, who had been halfway through a magic trick and was therefore invisible from the waist down.
All of them ran as fast as they could, one after the other, in a long, jumbled, drippy, bubbling, flaming, steaming, ottery line behind Reginald Clench, Queenie, Ernesto, the policeman with the wife with the dicky hip, Billy, Rudolph and Armitage.
This had not been Armitage’s plan. He had been so close to sneaking away with all the loot, but now he was being chased by . . . he turned his head to check who was chasing him . . . and that sight is a vision that will haunt him until the end of his days, or until he meets his dooooooom, whichever is sooner. Armitage was a man who had made plenty of narrow escapes in his time, but even though he was a good runner, a master of disguise, and a skilful slipper-away, right now he was in a serious pickle. He’d been chased before, but not like this.
He needed to think fast. That was a lot of people to shake off. And dogs. And otters.
At this point, the Oh, Wow! security guards, showing admirable skill in the art of crime prevention, noticed something was up and they gave chase too.
Armitage sprinted faster than he had ever run before, still tailed by Rudolph, Billy, Old Bill, sundry mammals and fully-costumed circussers and a wheezy, out-of-breath gaggle of security guards. On and on the snake of chasers ran, gradually getting longer as various other people joined in. Soon, behind the criminal, his sort-of son, the policeman, the circussers, otters, poodles, marching Labrador and security guards were fifteen programme-sellers, twenty-one shop assistants, thirty-two walkie-talkie-holding people in high-visibility jackets,51 forty-one passers-by who thought it was a game and four more dogs, just because dogs can’t watch people run without joining in.
It was a large atrium, which ran in a circle all the way round the auditorium. Armitage ran and ran, still clutching his sack of loot, chased by a line so long (a hundred and thirty-nine people, eleven dogs and six otters) that he now found himself running into the back of the last person who was running after him.
‘Get out of my way,’ snapped Armitage. ‘Can’t you seen I’m in a hurry?’
The slowest chaser stopped, turned, and saw that the person behind him was also the person who was supposed to be in front of him. It took a moment to figure out how this could have happened and, during this very same moment, Armitage realised it was time for a Plan B.
He darted for the nearest emergency exit, rushed through, and jammed a broom into the door handles. As Plan Bs go, this one was pretty basic, but it would have to do.
The door buckled, heaved and creaked.
It didn’t open.
The broom held.
For a creamy and delicious moment, Armitage thought he had got away.
But, as he turned to run for his getaway scooter, a cackle of triumph rising in his throat, something huge and curiously smelly loomed up in front of him. Narcissus. With a girl on his back. That girl. Hannah.
Armitage executed a neat swerve to run round the camel, but Narcissus executed an equally neat swerve, swerving into Armitage’s swerve, knocking him off his feet.
Armitage splatted to the ground, just as the broom gave way and a hundred and fifty-six (mostly human) bodies tumbled out.
‘Got you!’ said Hannah.
If she had been the cackling sort, this would have been the perfect moment for a big, hearty, gloaty one. But that wasn’t H
annah’s style.
‘Got you!’ said Old Bill, who didn’t have much imagination, so resorted to copying Hannah.
‘I . . . I . . . I was just trying to put the money somewhere safe. There are bad people around,’ stammered Armitage.
‘Codswallop,’ said Old Bill. This was one of his favourite words and he rarely had the opportunity to use it. ‘You’re nicked, good and proper, and no mistake.’
‘You can use those handcuffs over there, can’t you?’ said Hannah, pointing downwards.
‘I suppose I can,’ replied Old Bill, unlocking Ernesto and slapping the cuffs onto Armitage’s wrists.
Ernesto, his arms free, could now, at long last, hug his son. Never, in the extensive and cuddly history of hugs, can there ever have been an embrace as perfect as this one.
Within seconds, a hundred and thirty-nine people were weeping tears of pure joy, one person was weeping tears of frustration and self-pity, and a camel was beginning to feel peckish.
‘This was all your doing, wasn’t it?!’ yelled Armitage, pointing a long, bony finger towards Queenie Bombazine, who was at that moment removing a shard of broken glass from her ear.
‘Look in the sack, Armitage,’ replied Queenie. ‘Even if you had got away, it wouldn’t have done you any good.’
Armitage glanced at the money spilling out of his sack and noticed, for the first time, something strange about the banknotes. Although they were the right colour, and although they did say £50 in the corner, they did not show the usual picture of the Queen with a crown on her head, nor did they bear the words, ‘Bank of England’. These £50 notes were quite different. In the middle was a drawing of Armitage with a potty on his head and a kipper in his mouth, and at the top were the words ‘Bank of You’ve Been Kippered’.
Even though Armitage already knew he’d been done like a kipper, this was a depressing sight. His kippering was even more comprehensive than he’d thought.
Circus of Thieves on the Rampage Page 10
