Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Looking down at himself in the darkness, he admired his covertness. He really did love these clothes, it added a bit of realism to his missions, making his fantasy come to life. He was like some clandestine freedom fighter, a man with floors, but able to get the job done. He loved the missions. The mission’s were all part of the bigger fight, and he was the only one taking the fight too them in any meaningful way.

  An animalistic snort came out of the blackness behind him, making him jump. Standing still in the darkness, he could feel his heart rate increasing with the excitement. An image of an angry Lion popped into his head. Muscular and fierce, waiting in the darkness behind him, waiting for any sign of fear, fear he would not show. He remembered another animal, Maria Staverly; her supple but strong body came to mind, making him smile. Last night had been fun… it… no she, had been so easy, and now the world knew how easy she was as well. Of course, it had been bloody, at first, but then it had become easier. She had relaxed into it, letting her inhibitions go, putting everything she had into it, putting on a real performance. Somebody had to do the hard yards.

  He gripped the tin he was holding in his left hand a bit tighter and shook the contents for the umpteenth time that night. The liquid sloshed around inside, and he smiled some more. He imagined the surprise of his cautious colleagues, his supposed ‘brothers and sisters in arms’. For all their big talk, they did not really do ‘direct action’. He was sick of that; his kudos relied on the stories of daring-do he always brought out when the time was right. Hell, he would tell them too anyone that would listen, whatever the time. Women wanted him and men wanted to be him, when he told them about how cool he was. Fuck yeah… he was getting amped now. If the mountain will not come to Mohamed, then Mohamed will go to the mountain, or some shit like that, he could never quite remember quotes. It did not matter though; he was doing well, and tonight would put the final nail in the box he was constructing around the evils of the Circus. He was going to burn it all down. Did he care about the animals…? Did he fuck, but it helped him get laid, and after tonight he would 'get laid', ad-infinitum. He just had to wait for those stupid clowns too leave the tent.

  He crouched down behind a wooden barrel filled with some sort of animal feed, the stench making him gag slightly, and waited in the darkness. He was prepared to wait all night for this. It would only make things sweeter. As it was, he only had to wait a few minutes before movement caught his eye, over where he knew the tent entrance to be. Shuffling his position, he peered around the barrel cautiously…he did not want to be seen. Not now, it was so close. He counted the shadows as they moved away from the tent. Four, he had seen four go in and now he had seen four come out…, it was time.

  Maria lay on the ground next to the girl called Jo, a police officer no less… Despite her mistrust of the cops, this girl was different. She very much doubted that she was here on official business, not now she had taken the pill so easily. What was her story? Did it really matter? There was a connection she had felt almost instantly when she had seen her standing at the door to her caravan. It was something in her eyes, unspoken, but very descriptive. The same as it had been with the first girl she had ever been with, all those years ago. It had scared her back then, the new feelings she was having. Girls were supposed to be just friends, not that she had ever had many. It was the travelling lifestyle not lending itself too long-term liaisons with anyone. This girl had been slightly older; she was more confident in herself than Maria had been back then, lived a different life. It was an intoxicating combination. She had been with many girls since and many boys as well. She felt the muscles tighten in her cheeks, smiling in the semi darkness. There was no point in limiting her options.

  It was nice though, laying here with the police officer named Jo, a comfortable easy feeling flowing through her body. Helped no doubt by the pill… she needed this. Mick’s death had affected her more than she wanted it too. She needed the escape, and this was about the only way she knew how. Emotions did not come easy too her, she knew she was a cold person, and lately she had been finding out that she was capable of things that normal people may find abhorrent. Then what really was normal these days?

  Mick… poor Mick, he did not deserve to die as he did. She knew things had been getting worse between them recently; he had started to get demanding of her. Acting more like the father she never had. She had never met her real parents; she was a child of the circus. It was an accepted fact that her parents had died and left her an orphan when she was just a baby. They had been circus performers, just as she had eventually become, and so the circus took care of their own, but no one spoke of them… ever.

  She remembered the Clowns, how they used to be; they had apparently taken her in, raised her into her teens. They had shown her love and nurturing, what a child would not give to live with a bunch of Clowns. It had been a blissful childhood, but then they discarded her like a used ticket stub left on the bleachers. She remembered it vividly; it was just after she started performing with Ant. She remembered being lost, an empty feeling she could not shake. She wasn’t a clown; she wasn’t anything, just a girl with no history. She had found herself drawn to Ant, his act looked so exciting, and the way he had looked at her…, like a father.

  They had not really spoken to her since. She hated the Clowns for that.

  The circus was her family though, and Mick was… had been… the head of the circus, and now he was dead. She had been searching her memory for any glimpse of what happened the night Mick had died, but the pill had made sure nothing came back. She was not stupid though, she knew she had left the hospital and gone into town. She would have gone to the Robbie Burns Hotel, as she always did when they were in Dunedin. She also knew the fastest way to the hotel from the hospital was through the alleyway that Mick had died in. The blood was what worried her most, where did that come from? She could not remember seeing it after she fell, but then she could not remember much else of that night either. The pill gave her another kick of pleasure, muddling her thoughts, as if it was reminding her why.

  The girl called Jo, stirred beside her. She had been willing at first, but the pill had taken a bigger effect on her than normal. She was obviously not a big user. Looking at the girl beside her, eyes closed, slight smile on her face, she wondered if Jo thought about sexuality in the same way as she did. Maybe Jo was experimenting with something inside of her that needed to be fed, just as she herself had done all those years ago. Either way it was probably for the best that it went only as far as it had. Jo would be well aware of a woman’s monthly cycle, not a pleasant introduction to the fairer sex for anyone, and if this was an experiment, she did not want her period to affect any of her conclusions. She wanted to see this girl again. A Cop and an acrobat, it was not the most likely combination, but stranger things had happened in her life.

  The tail end of the pills pleasure was waiting in the periphery to invade her again, so she let go and sank into the happy place she always went too, beside her newfound companion.

  Both girls lying on the sawdust covered ring, curious in thought, safe in each other, but totally oblivious to the black smoke that had started to curl and climb up the sides of the tent choking the already dark ringside.

  It was not very far by car from the police station to the Oval. The time of night was making it even faster with the lack of traffic, and the fact the blue and red blinking lights in the grill of the car pushed what vehicles there were too the side of the road, giving them a clear run. Bridger looked into the rear vision mirror, out of habit; just too make sure Brian was not falling behind. He was not expecting any trouble, but it always helped, the more people you had to rely on, if things started to deteriorate. Desperate people could do stupid things and so he wanted boots on the ground as soon as they arrived on scene.

  As he accelerated down the very gradual decline of Princess Street, the blue and red lights reflecting off the surrounding buildings, Bridger had too force himself too slow his breathing, as the adrenalin star
ted to build in his system. An early arrest, another killer off the streets, this is what it was all about, catching the bad guys. His earlier misgiving on Maria’s motive properly quelled the more the team had discussed the apparent physical evidence. He was already planning the direction of the interview he was going to conduct with Maria once they picked her up.

  Up ahead, he saw a Police vehicle arrive on the south side of the Oval, although it was a clear night, its flashing roof lights seemed obscured somehow in a thin dark fog. That would be Gillian Holler and Steve Kirkland, who had been at another job nearby and had put their hands up too help when Bridger had asked. Anything to get them away from the faux suicidal ramblings of an intoxicated and lonely old man, according to what Steve had told him over the phone; leave that to the junior members of the team.

  What was that smell of smoke?

  The deep rasping sound of powerful air horns, coupled with the insistent red flash of an emergency beacon joined their procession, heading in the same direction.

  “Looks like the Fire boys have a job on” Grant stating the obvious, as Bridger pulled the car to a stop at the bottom of South Road.

  A large red fire engine passed close by, the displacement of air rocking the car slightly. Up ahead, Gillian’s patrol car had completely disappeared in a haze of choking black smoke, which was now threatening to swallow them as well. Bridger looked over too his left; the same dense fog had enveloped the Circus and had it a central core of red heat pulsing through it. He could feel it prickling at his skin through the glass in the door. Putting the car in reverse, he drove backwards, blindly hoping Brian had not followed him into the quagmire. The smoke had come out of nowhere; the fire had obviously just taken hold as they had approached. He had certainly not seen anything unusual less than thirty seconds ago.

  Coming free from the smoke, Bridger put the car into park and flung his door open. The rancid smell of smoke and burning rubber stung his nostrils and the back of his throat, making him cough uncontrollably. He moved further back from the circling Black Death surrounding the area the circus occupied on the Oval. Grant had done the same, while trying vainly to cover his mouth and nose with a windscreen cloth he had taken from the car. Brian and Becky had stopped a safe distance back and were standing off to one side.

  “That smoke just came out of nowhere Mike. When you disappeared into it… well, that’s when I thought it best too stop where I was.” Brian almost looked sheepish as he spoke.

  “It looks like the main tent is on fire.” Becky said, pointing above the trees. The top of a once yellow tent had angry orange flames licking at the seams, the wall of heat and destruction roaring up from the sides and culminating at the top, making it look like a large bonfire. “I hope there was no one inside when the fire started, nobody could survive that.” She had to speak up a little louder over the immense roar of the fire, which sounded alive and very angry. They could do nothing but stand there and watch as the drama unfolded.

  As Bridger stood with the group and watched, out of the thick wall of smoke appeared large shapes, dark and foreboding; they pushed their way into the fresher air that was further into the Oval. He realised that they were the cages containing some of the animals. The Clowns, assisted by a few others, were pushing them too safety. The frightened noises coming from the pacing animals within, only just audible over the fires roar. No sooner had the Clowns pushed one too safety, they disappeared back into the choking mess for another. One after the next, the fresh air at the centre of the Oval started filling with cages. It was a surreal sight, a makeshift refugee camp of caged fright, presided over by sooty faced clowns. The animals pacing, the clowns in charge, the others bent double trying to catch their breath. The Clowns did not go back into the smoke this time; they did not even pay any mind too their more human helpers. Instead, they turned their attention to the animals in the cages. Bridger watched the strange scene, as one by one the animals bowed to the Clowns and settled. He could not hear what they said and their actions were unclear in the smoky haze, but whatever it was they did, it had an immediate effect.

  The roar of the fire suddenly changed too an angry hiss, the smoke went from filthy black too an ugly grey, and then steam cooled the fierce dry heat of the flames within. Bridger could see two fire fighters struggling with a writhing hose moving along the side of the tent putting up a wall of water. The flames responded instantly, and shrank into themselves as they struggled to maintain any heat.

  “Fire is a living thing you know.”

  The voice turned Bridger’s attention away from the action; Station Officer Jack Perry was standing beside him watching his men work the fire. “What’s that Jack?”

  “Fire… It is a living thing, and the three things that it needs to survive are, oxygen, fuel, and heat. Take away one or more of those things and it will die.” Jack Perry was indicating the hissing and steaming monster beside them. “Fortunately a tent has little substance and provides little fuel; the fire is easier to control. What is inside has me slightly worried though. The wooden bleachers might be harder to deal with, all those wooden planks and such. I guess we will see very soon…” Walking away from Bridger, Jack Perry was already throwing out more directions too his struggling men.

  Bridger had known Jack for a long time; they had attended many of the same incidents when Bridger had been a response constable and Perry a lowly fire fighter. He had heard him spout that little piece of information numerous times in different forms and every time he had delivered it with the gravitas of an expert to a layman. All Bridger ever saw were grown men playing with hoses and spoiling the fun of the voyeurs that always gathered like moths to a flame. How much of an expert did you need to be?

  Just like a magic trick, the smoke turned completely too steam and drifted into the sky, the noise died away and the buckled and twisted skeleton of the bleachers rose from the smouldering ground as the steam cleared, creating an eerie spectacle. The only sound now was that of the fire pump providing the water to the hoses. He could see pieces of still burning canvas doted around some of the twisted steel girders.

  Bridger heard Jack call more instructions to the fire crew. “Clear the bleachers before they ignite as well. Do a full sweep and damp down all of the hotspots you find.” He could see another three hoses trailing away from the screaming pump on the fire appliance. The two-man crews on each line, visible now after the tents destruction, were struggling under the weight of a hose full of water to get it to the right place. A few minutes of what looked like a huge effort ensued before he saw one of the fire fighters raise his hand and call ‘water off’. The noise of the pump receded, leaving a ringing in his ears, the smell reminding him of November bonfires doused by spring rain.

  “Well that’s that then… Time for your input I think Mike.” Jack had returned too where Bridger was standing with the others “It’s not often we get beaten to a fire by the Police who were not told about it in the first place, and for you to be at work at this time of night it must have been important.”

  The question threw him for a second, with all the excitement he had almost forgotten about Maria. The reason they were there in the first place. Bridger looked around at the pockets of soot-blackened Carnies milling around the edges of the burnt out Big Top. Maria would be here somewhere, but whatever had caused the fire had just made their job that much harder. “We need to speak with one of the Carnival workers in relation to the death of Michael Wilson…” Bridger had an uneasy feeling building in his stomach the more he looked at the blackened mess. The evidence they needed was here somewhere. “Do you think any of the caravans have been damaged in the fire Jack?”

  “I think they have been lucky tonight, the caravans look to be okay, the fire seems to have been contained in the area of the Big Top. Although anything inside that would be a goner, it would have been over a thousand degrees in there.”

  ‘Boss, over here…, we have got a couple of Crispies’

  Bridger’s blood ran cold, the insensitiv
e call from one the fire fighters had just told him something they did not need right now. A ‘Crispy’ was the wrong end of black humour, used by fire fighters to describe a death by fire. They now had two burnt bodies on their hands.

  Jack Perry was already jogging over to the middle of the charred ring, Bridger and the others followed suit. Some of the Carnival workers had also heard the call and started too edge forward, wondering what the commotion was. Bridger saw Gillian and Steve approaching from the other side. “Keep everyone back from here will you Gill. They don’t need to see this.” He turned his attention back to what ‘this’ was.

  Two blackened and charred forms lay huddled beside each other, what was left of their bodies fused together. Two inhuman heads, wizened and charred, were grinning at them from the mess of fat and black tissue. The smell of well-cooked meat was overpowering.

  Bridger turned away and sucked in a deep breath in an effort to stop himself from vomiting.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bridger looked down at the hideous two-headed creature, birthed by fire, which was lying before him. He had cleared everybody away from the immediate area after the fire brigade had set up spotlights too light up the grizzly scene in a cold clinical light. The lights were now making it impossible for him to avoid any of the vile detail under their brightness. Becky was the only other person with him. Brian and Grant had taken the opportunity to move back to a safer distance, further away from the smell… and the horror.

  “Who do you think they are Mike?” Becky’s stomach had obviously held stronger than his, her voice did not sound any different, despite the circumstances.

  Bridger cleared his throat “I’m sure we will know soon enough once the word gets around, they will realise someone is missing and then we can start the identity procedures just too confirm that they have lost more of their friends.” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded clinical and detached, but what else could he be. This was not a happy Circus right now and things were just getting worse for them. He changed the subject.