Circus of Thieves on the Rampage (17 page)

‘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.

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 sniffle
⁵⁰
. . . 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.