Read Online Circus of Thieves and the Raffle of Doom by William Sutcliffe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Sutcliffe
Ads: Link
Frank.
‘
You
have.’
‘
You
have.’
Etc.
Hank and Frank were not very good burglars. On stage, they made a precise and carefully controlled routine look like total chaos; off stage, in their criminal chores, they turned what ought to
have been a carefully controlled routine into something that approached total chaos. In short, they clowned like burglars, but they burgled like clowns.
Meanwhile, back at the Big Top, Hannah and Billy were just beginning phase one of their plan.
‘First things first,’ said Billy. ‘We need the key.’
‘What key?’
‘To the truck. Follow me. You’re the look out.’
‘Brilliant! I’ve always wanted to be a look out!’
Billy dashed off between a row of caravans, and Hannah sprinted behind.
‘Wait!’ she whisper-shouted.
‘What? We have to hurry.’
‘It’s just . . . what am I looking out for?’
‘Armitage!’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Or any of the others. We trust no one.’
‘OK.’
‘Except each other.’
‘Of course.’
‘Now let’s go.’
They soon arrived at a caravan that was larger, glitzier, sleeker and generally superior in every way to all the other caravans. Apart from anything else, it was silver, like a bullet, not
white, like a fridge. (Which isn’t to say that bullets are better than fridges, just that silver is a much cooler colour for a caravan.) This was Armitage’s caravan. Inside, a light was
on.
Billy stood on tiptoes to look in through the window, but there was a problem. He wasn’t tall enough. He jumped, but there was a similar problem. He couldn’t jump high enough.
Hannah cupped her hands together. ‘Bunk up,’ she said.
‘Are you strong enough?’ Billy asked.
‘Of course I am. I bunk people up all the time.’
He put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder and raised himself up into her hand-stirrup. It was then that Hannah realised they had a third problem. Billy was heavier than Hannah’s usual
bunking companions, and she wasn’t strong enough after all. Her fingers were slipping. Billy, meanwhile, glancing swiftly through the window, realised that there was also a fourth problem.
Armitage was inside, which wasn’t good, and he was COMING OUT, which was worse.
As luck would have it, problems number three and four combined to produce their own solution.
Before Billy could indicate that he had to get down, Hannah’s hands gave way. Billy fell, landing on Hannah. Hannah fell. Billy rolled under the caravan, and just as the door above him
began to swing open, he reached out and pulled Hannah in after him.
They held their breath as a pair of black suede trainers descended the steps that were just inches from their noses. 28 Armitage paused, his feet
holding still for a moment as if he was looking all around, then, with a strange toes-landing-first run, he dashed off into the darkness.
Billy recognised the outfit: head-to-foot skin-tight black Lycra, black leather gloves, black eye mask. This was Armitage’s burglarising kit. Theatrical? Perhaps. Subtle? No. Practical?
No. But Armitage was a performer through and through, and he simply couldn’t undertake any task without the proper costume.
Armitage considered his attire to be a masterpiece of camouflage. He thought it made him almost invisible.
It didn’t. Whenever he walked down the street wearing his black Lycra onesie, everyone noticed him, everyone stared, and many people actually burst out laughing. However, it did still work
as a cunning disguise, since all the people staring at him simply thought, ‘Oh, look. There’s a man going to a fancy dress party dressed as a burglar.’ It never occurred to
anybody that he actually
was
a burglar. See? Cunning.
The sound of three hundred gasps, followed by a drum-roll, a few seconds of silence, then one or two screams, immediately drowned out by a tumultuous round of applause, burst from the Big Top,
indicating that Fingers had not been eaten alive in a tank of piranhas, but had miraculously popped
‘
You
have.’
‘
You
have.’
Etc.
Hank and Frank were not very good burglars. On stage, they made a precise and carefully controlled routine look like total chaos; off stage, in their criminal chores, they turned what ought to
have been a carefully controlled routine into something that approached total chaos. In short, they clowned like burglars, but they burgled like clowns.
Meanwhile, back at the Big Top, Hannah and Billy were just beginning phase one of their plan.
‘First things first,’ said Billy. ‘We need the key.’
‘What key?’
‘To the truck. Follow me. You’re the look out.’
‘Brilliant! I’ve always wanted to be a look out!’
Billy dashed off between a row of caravans, and Hannah sprinted behind.
‘Wait!’ she whisper-shouted.
‘What? We have to hurry.’
‘It’s just . . . what am I looking out for?’
‘Armitage!’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Or any of the others. We trust no one.’
‘OK.’
‘Except each other.’
‘Of course.’
‘Now let’s go.’
They soon arrived at a caravan that was larger, glitzier, sleeker and generally superior in every way to all the other caravans. Apart from anything else, it was silver, like a bullet, not
white, like a fridge. (Which isn’t to say that bullets are better than fridges, just that silver is a much cooler colour for a caravan.) This was Armitage’s caravan. Inside, a light was
on.
Billy stood on tiptoes to look in through the window, but there was a problem. He wasn’t tall enough. He jumped, but there was a similar problem. He couldn’t jump high enough.
Hannah cupped her hands together. ‘Bunk up,’ she said.
‘Are you strong enough?’ Billy asked.
‘Of course I am. I bunk people up all the time.’
He put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder and raised himself up into her hand-stirrup. It was then that Hannah realised they had a third problem. Billy was heavier than Hannah’s usual
bunking companions, and she wasn’t strong enough after all. Her fingers were slipping. Billy, meanwhile, glancing swiftly through the window, realised that there was also a fourth problem.
Armitage was inside, which wasn’t good, and he was COMING OUT, which was worse.
As luck would have it, problems number three and four combined to produce their own solution.
Before Billy could indicate that he had to get down, Hannah’s hands gave way. Billy fell, landing on Hannah. Hannah fell. Billy rolled under the caravan, and just as the door above him
began to swing open, he reached out and pulled Hannah in after him.
They held their breath as a pair of black suede trainers descended the steps that were just inches from their noses. 28 Armitage paused, his feet
holding still for a moment as if he was looking all around, then, with a strange toes-landing-first run, he dashed off into the darkness.
Billy recognised the outfit: head-to-foot skin-tight black Lycra, black leather gloves, black eye mask. This was Armitage’s burglarising kit. Theatrical? Perhaps. Subtle? No. Practical?
No. But Armitage was a performer through and through, and he simply couldn’t undertake any task without the proper costume.
Armitage considered his attire to be a masterpiece of camouflage. He thought it made him almost invisible.
It didn’t. Whenever he walked down the street wearing his black Lycra onesie, everyone noticed him, everyone stared, and many people actually burst out laughing. However, it did still work
as a cunning disguise, since all the people staring at him simply thought, ‘Oh, look. There’s a man going to a fancy dress party dressed as a burglar.’ It never occurred to
anybody that he actually
was
a burglar. See? Cunning.
The sound of three hundred gasps, followed by a drum-roll, a few seconds of silence, then one or two screams, immediately drowned out by a tumultuous round of applause, burst from the Big Top,
indicating that Fingers had not been eaten alive in a tank of piranhas, but had miraculously popped
Similar Books
