The Toyminator (11 page)

“They stick those up your nose,” said Jack.

“Nose, bum, it’s all the same to me. Bits of body never do what they’re supposed to anyway. Take that sailor doll over there.” Tinto pointed and Jack did lookings across. “Obviously built upside down,” said Tinto.

“He looks the right way up to me,” said Jack.

“Then how come his nose runs and his feet smell?”

“We should have seen
that
one coming,” said Eddie.

“But it wasn’t the chickens, was it?” said Jack to Eddie. “We heard who did the murderings – it was those doppelgangers of us.”

“Probably in league with the chickens,” said Tinto, and he tittered.

“Did you just titter?” asked Eddie.

“There’s a screw loose in my voice box,” said Tinto. “Are you going to pay for these drinks or engage me in further conversation in the hope that I’ll forget to ask you for the money?”

“It’s always served me well in the past,” said Eddie.

“Well, not tonight,” said Tinto. “Pay up. Twenty-five beers and that’s …” And Tinto named the sum in question and that sum in question was correct.

“How did you work
that
out?” asked Eddie.

“Aha!” went Tinto, and he touched his printed nose. “Because I have a pocket calculator.”

“So where do you keep it? You don’t have any pockets.”

“Who said that?” asked Tinto.

“I did,” said Eddie.

“Well, that just shows you how smart
you
are,” said Tinto. “I don’t need a pocket to own a pocket calculator, because a pocket calculator is a calculator in the shape of a pocket. I thought everyone knew that.”

“Actually,
I
didn’t,” said Jack. “Might we have a look at this calculating pocket?”

“Certainly,” said Tinto, and he rootled beneath the bar counter and brought out something that resembled a bag made out of shiny fabric. “Wallah,” went Tinto.

“Wallah?” went Eddie.

“Wallah,” went Tinto. “That’s the calculating pocket’s name.”

“Wallah?” went Jack.

“Yes?” said Wallah. “How can I help you?”

Jack looked at Eddie.

And Eddie once more looked upon Jack.

“And there was me thinking that I’d seen everything,” said Jack, “what with the space chickens and all. Where did you get this calculating pocket, Tinto?”

“I do have a name,” said the calculating pocket.

“Excuse me,” said Jack.

“Won her in a competition,” said Tinto. “You have to work out the number of gobstoppers in a bigjar.”

“And
you
got that right?” asked Eddie.

“Well, I had a little help,” said Tinto. “I asked to meet the prize first, before I bought a ticket to enter the competition, and I asked her to work it out.”

“That’s called cheating,” said Eddie.

“And your point is?” Tinto asked.

“No point at all,” said Eddie. “But it was dishonest.”

“Possibly so,” said Tinto, “but then so is engaging a barman in conversation in the hope that he will forget to charge you for your drinks.”

“You can put a ‘Hm’ in about now if you wish, Jack,” said Eddie.

“Hm,” Jack put in.

“So pay up, or you’re barred,” said Tinto.

Eddie sighed, pawed his way into a trenchcoat pocket, wormed out a wallet and set it down upon the bar top. “Help yourself,” he said.

Jack viewed the wallet and Jack viewed Eddie.

Tinto helped himself to money and wheeled himself off to the till.

“Where did that come from?” Jack asked.

“Count Otto’s pocket,” said Eddie.

“You stole his wallet?”

“Well, he won’t be needing it now, will he? He’ll be needing heavy sedation and a straitjacket.”

“I’m sure there’s some kind of justice or moral in that,” said Jack, “but for the life of me I can’t think what it might be.”

“I’m sure there must be somewhere,” said Eddie, “if you think very hard about it. Same again?”

“I haven’t finished these yet.”

“Then drink up, it’s Count Otto’s round once more.”

“I’ll have a short, if I might,” said Wallah the calculating pocket.

Jack reached forward and picked up Wallah.

“Put me down,” said the pocket.

Jack shook the pocket about.

“And don’t do that, it makes me feel sick.”

“How do you think it works?” Eddie asked. “It’s probably empty – have a look inside.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Wallah. “We hardly know each other.”

“Just a little peep,” said Jack.

“Certainly not,” said Wallah. “Not until you’ve bought me a drink, at least. What kind of a pocket do you think I am?”

“A female one for certain,” said Jack.

“Don’t start,” said Eddie. “I know where that line of thinking is going.”

Jack returned Wallah to the counter top. “This is all very entertaining,” he said.

“Not
that
entertaining,” said Eddie.

“Well, maybe a
bit
,” said Jack, “but it’s not helping
us
, is it? That other you and me will probably be coming back tonight to perform more evil deeds. Suck the life out of more innocent citizens of Toy City. They have to be stopped, Eddie, and we have to stop them.”

“I know,” said Eddie. “But I don’t quite know how.”

“We go back to Toy Town,” said Jack, “get our hands on those weapons at Bill Winkie’s. Lie in wait, then blow the blighters away.”

“Blow the blighters away?”

“Bang, bang, bang,” went Jack, and he mimed blowings away. “Case closed and we collect the reward.”

“Case closed, perhaps, but there’s no reward.”

“Then we’ll settle for case closed.”

“No,” said Eddie, taking further beer. “It’s not enough. That other me and you, they are evil cat’s-paws for some big boss somewhere, who wants whatever is in those jars. The soul-stuff of the murder victims, or whatever it is. It’s the big boss we’re looking for.”

“Fair enough,” said Jack. “I’ll hold the cat’s-paws at gunpoint and you can bite the details out of them.”

“That does have a certain brutal charm.”

“I hate to interrupt you,” said Wallah, “but you really are going about this all the wrong way.”

“Excuse me, please,” said Eddie, “but Jack and I are professionals. We are private detectives. We know our own business.”

“Oh, get you,” said Wallah. “Too proud to take some kindly offered advice.”

“I didn’t say
that
,” said Eddie.

“You did, in so many words,” said Jack.

“Please yourself, then,” said Wallah. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t care.”

“We’d like to listen,” said Jack. “What would you like to tell us?”

“
He
doesn’t want to listen,” said Wallah.

Eddie shrugged.

“Yes, he does,” said Jack.

“He doesn’t, and he’s not even funny. You should get yourself a better comedy sidekick than him.”

“Cheek,” said Eddie, raising a paw.

“Don’t hit me,” cried Wallah.

“He’s not hitting anyone.” Jack moved Wallah beyond Eddie’s hitting range. “Talk to
me
,” he said. “You’d like to talk to
me
, wouldn’t you?”

“Actually, I would.” Wallah’s voice was
definitely
female. Jack gave Wallah a little stroke.

“What a lovely soft hand you have,” said the calculating pocket.

Eddie turned his face away. “I’m going to the toilet,” he said.

Tinto returned with Eddie’s change, but finding no Eddie returned this change to his till.

“I could help you,” said Wallah to Jack. “I could help you to solve this case.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Jack, and he gave unto Wallah another little stroke.

Wallah the pocket gave a little shiver.

“How
exactly
could you help us?” Jack asked.

“There is an expression,” crooned Wallah, and it was a crooning little voice, “in crime-solving circles, when seeking a culprit of a crime involving theft. That expression is ‘follow the money’.”

“I don’t follow you,” said Jack.

“I haven’t finished yet,” said Wallah. “These present crimes – the murdered monkeys and the clockwork band – your comedy sidekick is right in that you must follow the money, as it were, to the big boss. But doing so will require a degree of calculation that you and your sidekick, and no offence intended here, are not sufficiently skilled in making. And that’s where I come in.”

“I still don’t
exactly
follow you,” said Jack, but he gave Wallah another stroke. And Wallah sighed. Erotically.

Jack withdrew his hand.

“Please don’t stop,” whispered Wallah.

Jack stared down at the calculating pocket. There was something not altogether wholesome about this.

“Further crimes will be committed,” Wallah crooned further. “And in order to get ahead of the game and succeed, it will be necessary to calculate where these crimes will take place and what they will be. And that is where I come in. Let me help you. I really
can
help you. I
really can
.”

“How,
exactly
?” said Jack once more.

“Lean over a bit and let me whisper.”

Jack leaned over and Wallah whispered.

Eddie returned from the toilet.

“Why exactly,” said Eddie, climbing up onto his barstool, “do blokes feel it necessary to pull all the toilet rolls out and throw them all over the floor? And will someone please explain to me the purpose of flavoured condoms?”

“Stop,
please
!” said Jack. “That’s quite enough of
that
.”

“Do
you
use flavoured condoms?” asked Eddie. “And if so,
what
flavour? I’d have thought chocolate was out of the question.”

“
STOP
?” shouted Jack. “I don’t know what comes over you at times.”

“Just idle speculation,” said Eddie.

“Well, be that as it may, drink up your drinks – we’re leaving.”

“
We
?” said Eddie.

“We,” said Jack.

“Now that surprises me,” said Eddie, “because I recall you taking the telephone number of that dolly in Nadine’s Diner this morning and asking her what time she got off. I bought you some flavoured condoms, by the way.”

“That dolly will have to wait,” said Jack, although there was a note of regret in his voice. “Something has come up regarding the case. We have to go.”

“What?” said Eddie. “And why?”

“Another crime is about to be committed. Another murder. Several murders, in fact.”

“And how did you work this out?”

“It’s a
calculated
guess,” said Jack.

They drank up their beers and they left Tinto’s Bar.

Tinto waved them goodbye, took their empty glasses and polished them clean.

“It was a real joy to get money out of that Eddie Bear,” he said to the pocket that lay on the counter top. “And I stiffed him for his change and everything. That’s the last time he ever gets one over on me.”

The pocket on the counter top had nothing to say in reply to this.

But then again, trenchcoat pockets rarely do.

“No,” said Eddie. “
Not
the ballet.”

He sat in the passenger seat of the Anders Faircloud once more. Jack was once more at the wheel. But for once the Anders Faircloud was not performing high-speed death-defying automotive manoeuvres. It was sort of poodling along and clunking sounds were issuing from the bonnet regions.

“You’ve overwound this car,” said Eddie to Jack. “And you’ve trashed the engine with all your high-speed death-defying automotive manoeuvres.”

“I’ll fix it when I have time,” said Jack, ramming his foot floorwards but eliciting little response. “I know clockwork. And I’ll soup-up the engine, spraunch the springs, caflute the cogs, galvate the gears and other things of a workshop nature generally. You wait until you see how fast it will go then.”

“The poodling’s fine by me,” said Eddie, “but as I was saying, oh no, not the ballet.”

“The ballet it has to be.” Jack poodled through a red light, causing concern amongst righteous motorists. “That is where the next murders will occur. We can be ahead of the game this time, Eddie.”

Eddie yawned and shuddered slightly. “As I am sure you know,” he said, between further yawns, which set Jack off, “we bears are known for our remarkable stamina, and can go for many days without sleep.”

“Bears hibernate all winter,” said Jack, informatively.

“Yes, but that’s because they stay up all summer clubbing ’til dawn.”

“And your point is?” Jack asked.

“I’m knackered,” said Eddie. “Done in, banjoed, wrecked and smitten. I don’t think I can take the ballet.”

“The ballet is soothing,” said Jack. “You can take a little nap.”

“I’ll take a
big
nap, believe me. And that is not professional for a crime fighter. Five minutes of ballet and I’ll be gone from this world.”

“You’ll be fine.” Jack smiled and drove; the car lurched and hiccuped.

Eddie yawned once more, this time behind his paw, did little lip-smacking sounds and promptly fell asleep.

“We’re here,” said Jack, and he woke Eddie up.

There was no real question as to whether when they built the Toy City Opera House, which also housed the ballet, that they had built it for the patronage of toys. They hadn’t. This was a man-sized affair, as was Old King Cole’s, built for the elite of Toy City. The elite that was man.

Jack had to cruise around for a bit looking for a place to park, but once parked-up, in a rather seedy alleyway, he and Eddie plodded on foot to the glorious, grand establishment.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Jack.

“Frankly, I hate it,” said Eddie. “It sends out all the wrong messages.”

“Right,” said Jack. “Well, I don’t really recall exactly what the protocol is here. The last time we came was when you were first made mayor, remember? We had some times then, didn’t we? We were fêted everywhere.”

Eddie
did
remember. “Wasn’t I sick in the royal box?” he said.

“Yes,” said Jack. “Just a little. So I think I’d better carry you in under my coat, or something.”

“You
what
?”

“We don’t want any unpleasantness, do we?”

“I could wait in the car, I don’t mind.”

“Eddie, a crime is going to be committed here. A murderous crime. A multiple murderous crime.”

“You have yet to tell me how you know this to be.”

“I have my sources,” said Jack, and he stuck a hand into his pocket. A tiny sighing sound coming from within went unheard by Eddie.

Because Eddie was now nearly being stomped upon.

The fashionable set, Toy City swells, the fêted glitterati, were hustling and bustling around the two detectives. Exclusive fragrances perfumed the air, diamonds dazzled and shimmered amongst fur stoles, gowns and gorgeousness.

“Do you have tickets?” Eddie called up to Jack.

“No,” said Jack, and he grinned.

“Phew,” said Eddie. “Then at least we won’t get in.”

“We’ll get in – I have my special lifetime membership card.”

“You hung on to that?”

“I have a walletful,” said Jack, “for all those posh places that wanted the bear and his partner who had saved Toy City to patronise their premises.”

“Scumbags all,” said Eddie. “Scumbags and treacherous turncoats. And my lifetime membership was lost in the post, as I recall.”

“You’ll be back on top, Eddie,” said Jack, lifting Eddie from his paw pads and tucking him under his arm. “Once we’ve saved the city once more.”

Eddie made a growly groan. “Just listen to yourself,” he said.

“I’m confident,” said Jack, elbowing his way into the crowd with his free elbow. “We have the edge, we’ll succeed.”

“The edge?” and Eddie shook his head.

The Toy City Opera House owned to a doorman whose livery put that of Old King Cole’s severely to shame. This man was magnificent. So much so that thankfully he was beyond description.

He held up his gloved hand against Jack’s slovenly approach.

“No tradesmen,” said this personage.

“How dare you,” said Jack, making the face of outrage and adopting once more the haughty tone. “I am a lifetime honorary member of this here establishment, and can therefore attend any opera or ballet, free of charge, in the very bestest seats that you have, as it happens. Would you care to see my gilt-edged membership card?”

“Dearly,” said the doorman. “Few things would give me greater joy.”

“That’s a smirk on your face,” said Jack, lowering Eddie to the marble flooring and rootling out his wallet. “We shall see who’s smirking soon.” Jack flicked through a number of cards that offered him lifetime privileges, some at certain establishments that really suited Jack.

“There,” said he, presenting the doorman with a grand-looking one.

The doorman perused this grand-looking card. He held it close to his smirking face, inspected it carefully, raised it up to the light. Marvelled at the watermark and the special metallic strip. Checked the ID photo and everything. “Wow,” he went, and he whistled. “You weren’t pulling my plonker-piece, were you, your princeship.”

“No, I wasn’t,” said Jack. “Now hand it back and stand aside and be grateful that I do not report you for your insolence.”

The doorman whistled once more and returned Jack’s card to him. Then he leaned forward, still smirking, and informed Jack in a curt and brusque manner exactly what Jack could do with himself.

“What?” went Jack. “How dare you!”

“I dare,” said the doorman, “because your card has no currency here. Shove off.”

“What?” went Jack. “What?”

“Do you ever read the newspapers?” the doorman asked Jack.

“Actually, I do,” Jack said.

“Well, not too long ago,” said the doorman, “Toy City was plagued by a mad mayor. A hideous freak, he was, with glass dolly eyes and these really creepy hands –”

Eddie flinched and took shelter at the rear of Jack.

“Well, this abhorrence put into place certain edicts,” the doorman continued. “He appeared to have it in for his betters, you see. Inferiority complex, inverted snobbery or have it as you will. I’ve been reading all about that kind of business in this self-help manual I bought. Anyway, this mad mayor did away with all the privileges of the monarchy. Edict Five, as I recall.”

Jack said, “What?” and Jack looked down at Eddie. Around and behind himself and then again down at Eddie.

Eddie made a foolish face and shrugged.

“Ah,” said Jack. “Ah, but –”

“Ah, but what?” asked the doorman.

“Ah, but the mad mayor was kicked out. Tarred and feathered.”

“Yes.” The doorman smiled. “But not all his edicts were rescinded. Actually, the management of the Opera House quite liked Edict Five – they were fed up with the monarchy always poncing free tickets for all the best bashes.”

“Oh,” said Jack.

“So on your way,” said the doorman. “Scruffy trenchcoated oik that you are.”

“You will answer for this,” said Jack.

“Word has it,” said the doorman, “that The End Times are upon us, and that all of us will answer soon for something or other.”

“You must let us in,” Jack protested.

“Us?” said the doorman. “I wouldn’t have let you take that tatty bear in with you anyway.”

“But,” said Jack, “we are detectives. We’re here on a case. We have the authority of Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis.”

“Yes, of course you have, sir. Now move along please, we have posh people trying to get in.”

“Let us in!” Jack demanded.

“Please don’t make me use force,” said the doorman. “As enjoyable as it would be for me, I regret to say that it would probably leave you with permanent damage.”

Jack made fists and squared up to the doorman.

The doorman made bigger fists and squared himself down to Jack.

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” said Jack.

“I can assure you that I have,” said the doorman, “because I am no longer listening.”

Posh folk pushed past Jack on either side. Jack retreated down the marble steps with Eddie following on.

“You and your bloody edicts,” Jack said to Eddie.

“Actually, I feel rather justified in imposing that one,” said the bear. “Can we go home now, please?”

“We have to prevent a crime.”

“I’m still not really convinced.”

“Eddie, evil will be done here and only we can stop it.”

“You could call your associate, Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis.”

“He might not have faith in my source,” said Jack.

“About your source –” said Eddie.

“Damn,” said Jack, and he sat down on the kerb. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Eddie sat down beside his friend. “Tell me about this source of yours,” he said.

“Can’t,” said Jack. “I am sworn to secrecy.”

“What?” said Eddie. “Why? We don’t have secrets. We’re partners.”

“Look, Eddie, I don’t want to go into it now. We have to get inside the Opera House and that’s all there is to it.”

“Well,” said Eddie, “if your mind is made up, and that
is
all there is to it, then you’d best follow me.”

“Where to?”

“Just follow.”

Jack rose and followed Eddie. The little bear led him around the corner and down an alleyway and to the stage door. Several Stage Door Johnnies surrounded the stage door.

“Disgusting,” said Eddie, stepping over one of them. “You’re supposed to flush those things away.”

Jack made an appalled face. “Was that a condom gag?” he asked.

“Take it as you will,” said Eddie. “Knock at the door, please, Jack.”

Jack knocked at the door.

The backstage doorman opened it. He was a clockwork fellow, somewhat rusty and worn.

“Ralph,” said Eddie.

“Eddie?” said Ralph.

“Ralph, how good to see you after all this time.”

“All this time?” said Ralph, and he scratched at his tin-plate topknot, raising sparks.

“We’re here on a bit of business,” said Eddie. “Would you mind letting us in?”

“Again?” said Ralph.

“Why is he saying ‘again’?” Jack asked Eddie.

“I don’t know,” said Eddie. “Why are you saying ‘again’, Ralph?”

“Because I’ve already let you in once,” said Ralph. “And your comedy sidekick there.”

“What?” said Jack.

And, “What?” said Eddie. And, “Oh dear,” said Eddie. “This is bad.”

“How did you get past me?” Ralph asked. “I never saw you go out again.”

“We didn’t,” said Eddie. “That wasn’t us.”

“Oh yes it was,” said Ralph. “I’d recognise those crummy mismatched button eyes, and the tatty old raincoat and the –”

“Have to stop you there, Ralph,” said Eddie. “Those were two impersonators. Two very bad and evil beings.”

“Uncanny,” said Ralph.

“What?” said Eddie once more.

“That’s what you said to me earlier, when I let you in. You said that two impersonators might turn up and try to get in, but that I was to refuse them entry because they were very bad and evil beings.”

And Ralph slammed the stage door shut upon Jack and Eddie.

And Jack and Eddie stood in the alley.

And Jack said, “Damn,” once more.

Eddie Bear looked up at Jack. “It seems,” said Eddie, “that I was wrong and you were right. We
have
to get into the Opera House.”

“We
should
phone Bellis,” said Jack, “get him to bring a task force, the Army, whatever is necessary. Everything. What do you think?”

Eddie gave his head a couple of thumpings. “I think not,” said he. “And before you ask why, I’ll tell you for why. These murderers, or soul stealers, or whatever Hellish things from beyond or above they are, are disguised as
us
. And it does not require the gift of precognition to predict the inevitable consequences, as in when a bunch of overexcited police snipers gun us down by mistake.”

“Ah,” said Jack. “You think that might happen?”

“I’d give you a very good odds on it,” said Eddie. “We will have to deal with this on our own. Just you and me.”

“So how do we get in there?”

“Well,” said Eddie, and he cupped what he had of a chin in a paw, “it will have to be the sewers.”

Jack made a sour face and Jack said, “The sewers?”

“It’s an Opera House,” said Eddie. “Ergo it has a phantom.”

“A
what
?” said Jack.

“A phantom,” said Eddie.

“No,” said Jack. “I mean, what’s an
ergo
?”

“Most amusing,” said Eddie. “But every Opera House has a phantom. Everyone knows that. It’s a tradition, or an old charter, or something. And the phantom always lives in the bowels of the Opera House and rows a boat through the sewers.”

“And he does this for a living?”

“He’s a phantom,” said Eddie. “Who can say?”

“I don’t like the sound of him very much.”

“We really
are
wasting time,” said Eddie. “Let’s find some conveniently placed sewer-hole cover to lift and get down to business.”

“Aren’t sewers filled with business?” Jack asked.

“Yes, and Stage Door Johnnies, and crocodiles, too, I’m told.”

“Perhaps if I bribed that doorman …”

A sewer-hole cover was conveniently located not many paces before them. Jack looked up and down the alleyway and then took to tugging, then struggling, then finally prying open.