Show Stopper

by Hayley Barker

  “Come on girls. We don’t have time for this.”

  “I’m sorry,” she splutters, wiping her eyes. She takes a deep breath, obviously trying desperately to compose herself. “I just pictured you in one of my leotards!” She bursts out laughing again and Greta joins in.

  “Did you straight away think of that orange sequinned one? The really skimpy one? Me too!” They’re giggling again. This is infuriating. Why are girls so annoying?

  “I just meant was there a guy’s costume? That’s all. Come on, any minute now they’re going to work out what’s going on, if they haven’t already.”

  Finally, the urgency of the situation seems to hit home and they calm down a bit.

  Both girls carry on rifling through the boxes, searching out the most sensible costumes. They even find one for me.

  We all turn our backs to each other discreetly and get changed. Mine’s a tight fit, but I manage to squeeze into it.

  “Can I turn around?” I ask when it’s on.

  “Hold on.” Hoshiko is the slowest; I’m sure she’s not in a good way. “OK. I’m ready. On the count of three.” We all turn around and, just as I knew they would, they explode into fits of laughter again.

  HOSHIKO

  I know it’s warped to find anything even remotely funny right now. Amina is dead, and we’re being hunted by the police; tonnes of them, ready to shoot us down.

  But if I didn’t laugh, didn’t let Greta’s infectious giggles work their magic, I’d collapse in a heap of despair right now. Better to laugh than give up and, my God, he does look bloody hilarious.

  The costume we’ve given him is a suit, but it’s a suit made for me; a suit that has been especially designed for a girl to look sexy in. It’s based on some guy called Charlie Chaplin, who lived hundreds of years ago. The trousers are black, but they’re made of Lycra and they’re really, really tight – they don’t leave much to the imagination, if you know what I mean. They’re too short for him as well and the shirt won’t fasten properly. He’s managed to do the middle button up, but the others won’t close and it strains across his chest, gaping open at the top and bottom. I can’t help staring at his body.

  That’s another thing about all this life and death stuff; you’d think I’d be far too frantic and panicked to notice anything like that but, oddly, I feel more aware of it all than I ever have before.

  I’ve only just met him and now we’re going to die.

  I’ll probably never get to be on my own with him again, never get to feel him close to me, never get to touch him.

  OK, deep breath, back to the costume. He’s wearing a really old-fashioned hat. It’s called a bowler hat and it’s this little round, black thing. He’s tried to pull it as low as he can but his head is too big for it and it perches there, precariously.

  I know he’s embarrassed and that it’s not fair of me to keep laughing like this, so I try really hard to stop. Avoiding any eye contact with Greta, which would definitely set me off again, I somehow manage to speak.

  “It’s no good. You look too silly. You’ll have to put the police costume back on again.” He stares down at his clothes, forlornly.

  “But any second now, they’ll click. Then they’ll be looking for a police officer.”

  “Ben, if you get shot down and there’s a picture of your body on the news, trust me, you don’t want to look like that!” Greta and I both burst into peals of laughter again.

  “Fine.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Turn around, ladies.”

  Greta turns away, but I grin at him, one eyebrow raised. His cheeks have gone all red and he’s looking coyly down at the floor; it’s so sweet.

  “You too, please,” he instructs me. “Come on, turn around.”

  I snort derisively, but do as he says and slowly turn away. I can’t resist one more look back over my shoulder though. “Hoshiko! I mean it. Turn around!”

  So I stand there, waiting for him to change. I can’t stop smiling to myself. But it’s not really because he looked so daft, and it’s not the thought of him in a leotard either. It’s because he’s here, with me. Because he came to get me, and because whatever happens now, whether we live or die, at least for a few days, we found each other.

  BEN

  I prise off the tight trousers, putting my first outfit back on again as quickly as I can.

  “OK, you can look now.” They both turn around and I give them a grin. “I guess women’s clothes aren’t my thing?”

  It’s only now that I really notice what they’re wearing. They’ve both changed into tight black leotards and leggings.

  Hoshiko is sitting on the floor, her legs elevated on a box. Her stage name seems to suit her more than ever; those huge dark eyes have a feline slant to them and the gloss of her hair catches the torchlight as it shines on her.

  I keep shining the light on her, and she stares back at me. Then I notice her feet. The bandages have turned black and they’re shredded and frayed so that they don’t cover all of her flesh. It gapes through in an angry red colour, moist and sticky.

  “My God. Your feet.” She moves them away quickly.

  “They’re fine. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “I thought Amina said they’d be OK?”

  “I know.” She looks up at me. “That was if I rested them. I don’t think she thought I’d be running from the police and crawling along miles of dirty tunnels.” She attempts a smile. “Honestly, they don’t hurt that much.”

  I know she’s lying. I look at Greta and her eyes meet mine in an exchange of mutual concern. Hoshiko’s not having any of it though.

  “Come on, guys. You said we had to hurry, Ben. What now?”

  It’s as if my radio wants to know too, because it suddenly resumes again.

  “Unit twelve? Unit twelve? Unit twelve? Something’s not right here. We have to assume they’ve taken him down. Officer down. Again! For Christ’s sake, get up there!”

  That’s it then. There’s only one thing for it, I guess. If they’re all coming up, we’ve got to go down. Right now. Back where it all began, back into the Cirque.

  HOSHIKO

  The plan, if you can call it a plan, is to turn off the torch, open the hatch, drop down from the ropes into the Cirque and head out of a fire exit, all without being detected. Once we’re outside we make a run for it, I guess, although I don’t think any of us have a clue where to.

  I’ve been trying so hard not to pay attention to the pain in my feet, but when I think about the drop, about having to land on them once more with the full force of my body, it’s enough to make my eyes water.

  Ben catches me looking at them. They don’t look like feet any more, just grey and red lumps attached to my legs. They’re disgusting. I don’t want him to see them and I hide them away again as quickly as I can, but he eyes me doubtfully.

  “You can’t land on them. I’ll catch you.”

  He must have read my mind. I fight my natural instinct to resist his help: the time for stubborn pride is gone.

  “OK. I’ll drop into your arms.”

  “Perfect. Greta, you go first, then me and then Hoshi.” He pauses. “What about the radio, and the guns and the grenade? We might need them.”

  “I’ll drop them down to you.”

  “You can’t drop the grenade. When it hits the floor, it might go off. I can probably hold it while I jump.”

  An image of the grenade going off in his hands flashes in my mind. A slow motion shot: one massive explosion in his face and then … obliteration … no more Ben.

  “No!” my cry is involuntary. “It’s too risky. We’ll have to leave it behind.”

  He nods. “OK. You’re right. I’d rather not blow my own head off.”

  “What if they come?” Greta’s voice is small and frightened. “What do we do?”

  “We do whatever we have to.” Ben’s reply is loaded with intent. It fires me up. Every time I close my eyes, I see Amina swinging there. Whatever happens now, I have to ma
ke sure she hasn’t died for nothing.

  “Ben’s right. Greta, these guys have done really, really bad things and they want us destroyed. Listen to me, none of this is your fault: it’s our mess. If they come and we tell you to run, just run, OK. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Don’t try to save us; you’ve already done that.”

  She looks down at the floor. I’ve come to realize that she’s as stubborn as I am, and as determined.

  “Greta? Do you hear me?” Her eyes flick up to meet mine.

  “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  “You might not have to. I just want you to promise that you’ll run if we tell you. Please.”

  She looks back at me, holding my gaze.

  “No. Not unless you’re running too.”

  “Guys, I don’t think there’s any point worrying about this now. We’ve got no idea what’s going to be waiting for us.” Ben’s tone is focused. “Hoshiko and I will take the guns. Greta, you’re in charge of the keys: they might come in really useful. We’ve got to go. Every second we’re up here, they’re one step closer.”

  Right on cue, a beam of light appears from just down the corridor. He grips my hand, I grab hold of Greta’s too and she reaches out for his. For a second, we stand again in our little circle.

  Ben nods, looks at me and gives a funny little grin.

  “Let’s go.”

  BEN

  We ease back the hatch from the nearest opening and I peer down into the arena. There’s enough light creeping in from outside to be able to see that it’s completely deserted.

  It’s so quiet, without the noise of the crowds and the sound of the music. There’s the same smell from before of beer and popcorn, sweat and smoke, but it’s different too, like everything is waiting in the hushed silence. Waiting for something to happen, waiting for a show.

  The beam of light wending its way down the low attic corridors is getting closer. There’s no time to lose now.

  We feed the rope out and Greta scrambles down it, landing lightly. She looks up at us, gives a thumbs up and creeps away, ducking down behind the nearest row of seats.

  I’m next. I’m bigger and much clumsier, but I lower myself through and, eventually, down. I’m standing there, waiting for Hoshiko, who seems to be taking much longer to appear than necessary, when the ring is suddenly flooded with light.

  HOSHIKO

  At first, I can’t even bring myself to peer down, into the ring. I’m so scared that Amina’s still going to be there, hanging.

  I should have told Greta before, softened it somehow for her. She doesn’t deserve to find out this way; doesn’t deserve to have that swinging corpse imprinted on her mind too.

  Finally, because of Greta, I find the courage from somewhere. I push my head tentatively through the opening and make myself look, upward and leftward.

  She’s gone. Thank God. Maybe she’s already floating around in that jar. I shiver. Wherever she is now, I couldn’t face seeing her again. The noose still hangs there, ominously, where she was.

  I’ve wasted precious seconds.

  I’m about to lower the first gun down to Ben when the light glare hits. I jerk back quickly, pulling my head back.

  Edging forward a little, I can still see Ben, but not much further. He’s looking to his left. Frozen there. A rabbit, caught in the headlights.

  There’s no alarm or sirens. Not hundreds of footsteps approaching, just one pair. A tap-tapping of feet, echoing in the empty ring and then the voice of the devil himself breaking the silence.

  “Well, well, well. What have we here? Benedict Baines, as I live and breathe. This is a pleasant surprise! I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you again. Playing dress-up, are we? How delightful.”

  I lean forward a little more, just enough to see what’s going on, although I’d know those sarcastic tones anywhere.

  Silvio stands in the centre of the ring, Bojo at his feet. The spotlights shine down on him. He has a gun and it’s pointed at Ben.

  He looks up at the hatch. I draw back, but it’s too late: he’s seen me.

  “And Hoshiko’s here too. What a fortunate reunion.”

  I don’t know what to do. I stay there, silently, crouching in the attic, the light to my left coming increasingly closer as whoever’s on the end of the torch clambers along the crawl space towards me.

  “Darling, if you think this all going to end happily for you and your little Romeo here, you really should know me better than that by now.” He holds the gun up, aiming it at Ben’s head. “Get down here, my dear, right now, or I’ll blow his brains out.”

  “No!” Ben’s eyes don’t move from Silvio’s. “He’s lying, Hoshiko! They need me alive. Stay there. Don’t come down.”

  Silvio laughs, indulgently.

  “You really do have an elevated sense of your own importance, don’t you, young man? Think you’re something special because of Mummy, do you? Well, Mummy’s washed her hands of you. They all have. You’re just another criminal, and you’ve threatened my Cirque. You’ve made me look weak. Look around you. Why are we shut tonight? Because of you and Juliet, that’s why. Let me assure you, nothing would give me greater pleasure than putting a bullet through your skull.”

  “Don’t come down, Hoshi; he’s going to shoot me anyway,” Ben cries out.

  “My dear little feline, if you come down right now, I give you my word, I won’t shoot either of you. I’ll hand you over to the police.” He laughs again. “They’ll probably shoot you anyway, but presumably you don’t want to sit up there and watch while I pump lead into him here and now.”

  “Stop!” There’s a cry from across the arena. Greta must have crept away while we were all distracted, and now she stands defiantly on one of the podiums. An easy target. What’s she doing? There’s something in her arms: Bojo.

  “Let them go or I’ll break his neck!”

  Silvio laughs.

  “No you won’t: you’re besotted with my little friend. Give him back to me.” He takes a step towards her, the gun still pointing at Ben. “Bojo. Come on, little fella. Come to Daddy.”

  “Bojo, stay here with me, there’s a good boy.” She croons, stroking him softly. The little monkey looks back and forth from Greta to Silvio, leans forward and chatters into Greta’s ear.

  “You’re wrong. I might care about him, but I love Hoshiko more. Come on, Bojo, come with Auntie Greta.”

  Holding Bojo tightly in one arm, she starts to climb up the bars of podium. She’s getting higher and higher. Eight feet, ten feet, twelve feet up.

  “Maybe I can’t break his neck, but I will drop him, if you don’t let us go.”

  Silvio laughs again, not quite as confidently this time. “You won’t. You haven’t got it in you, girl.”

  He waves the gun at Ben, then up at me, and back to Greta.

  He fires.

  The sound is deafening. I reel backwards. He’s fired up here. The metal ceiling above me is ruptured and bent. He’s missed me by millimetres.

  “He’s next. Now, let Bojo go, and come down.” Bojo is clinging tightly to Greta now, whimpering and looking down fearfully.

  Silvio takes another step towards her, still aiming at Ben.

  I quickly throw a gun down. It clatters and spins across the floor, resting at Ben’s feet.

  Silvio swivels his arm to the hatch.

  “So, she’s survived!” he calls. “Next time I’ll blow your brains out.”

  The noise from the corridor is much louder now and I can make out the shape of someone appearing through the darkness. Any second now and I’ll be caught.

  I look down. My eyes meet Silvio’s. He turns away from me, swinging the gun backwards and forward between Ben and Greta.

  The three of them are in a kind of triangle. Silvio in the centre of the arena. Ben down here, beneath me. Greta over on the platform. They both face Silvio.

  I crane my head down a little further: look at where he’s standing; look at what’s above his head. A plan forms in
my mind. It’s risky, but it might just work.

  BEN

  I think I always really knew it would come down to this, that it would all be for nothing. All I can think about are Hoshiko and Greta. How do I get them out of this?

  Silvio doesn’t look like a bad guy. He’s tiny really, with fine, chiselled features. There’s something chilling about him though, and it’s not just the fact that he’s aiming a gun at my head. You just look at him and you know, somehow, that he’s evil.

  Greta stands above us, her chin thrust forward in defiance.

  There’s only one choice left for Hoshi to make now. Stay there and get caught by the police, or come down and get shot by this crazed ringmaster. Some choice.

  “Look,” I plead with Silvio. “I’m the one they want most of all. I’ll come with you right now: you’ll get all the glory. Please. Greta will give you back your chimp and you can let her and Hoshi go. No one will ever know.”

  He laughs, maniacally and then snarls.

  “Bojo is not a chimp, you imbecile! You think I’d let Hoshiko go now, after everything she’s done? This is my Cirque. Mine! The people in it are mine. They need to be taught that no one, no one, challenges my authority; no one even so much as breathes here without my say-so. Have you any idea what revenue you’ve cost me? What damage to my reputation?”

  I realize with a shiver that the guy is completely insane. A – what’s the word? – a megalomaniac. He’s facing towards me, waving the gun, up to the hatch where we’re all assuming Hoshi still is, back to me, then to Greta, so he doesn’t see the hatch to the left of him slowly move.

  He doesn’t see a girl on a trapeze drop down above his head.

  Greta and I see though. We see her, and we see what she’s holding in her mouth.

  The grenade.

  She catches my eye and fixes on me. She doesn’t take it off me as she swings across. It’s like it was that first night in the Cirque.