The Toyminator (3 page)

“I really thought you were dead. I heard what they did to you. I would have come to your rescue.”

“Would you?” Eddie asked.

“Well, no, actually,” said Jack. “Not at that particular time.”

“What?” Eddie spat out some burger bun. Jack wiped it from his apron.

“You weren’t exactly in my good books at that particular time,” said Jack. “You’re not exactly in them now.”

“Eh?” said Eddie.

“Edict Five,” said Jack, “the one about abolishing the monarchy.
Your
Edict Five. And me an honorary prince. Did you forget that?”

“I thought you’d gone off to the other world. The world of men. That’s where you told me you were going. To sort out the clockwork President.”

“Well,” said Jack, and he made an embarrassed face, “I
was
going to go, but the Toymaker
had
given me a castle to live in, and there
was
Jill …” Jack’s voice trailed off.

“I heard about Jill,” said Eddie, packing further burger into his mouth. “I’m sorry about that.”

“There’s no trusting women,” said Jack. “At least I’ve learned that whilst still young.”

“Don’t be too cynical,” said Eddie. “I know she hurt you, but that doesn’t mean that all women are bad. You’ll find the right one, and when you do she will make you happy every single day.”

“Yeah, right,” said Jack. “But let’s talk about you, Eddie. I
am
glad that you’re alive, truly I am, but your –”

“Hands?” said Eddie. “Eyes? The Toymaker took them away. He said that he blamed himself for what happened. That you shouldn’t tamper with nature, which was pretty hypocritical coming from him, as he created me. He said I should go and do what I was created for.”

“And you’re not keen?” Jack took up another cloth to wipe his hands upon, as the first cloth had made them ever dirtier.

“Was I ever?” Eddie asked. “I am a bear of superior intellect. I am a special bear.”

“You are certainly that.”

“Jack,” said Eddie, “how would you feel about teaming up again? The old team, you and me, back in business together.”

“The old team?” Jack laughed and his laughter was not pleasing to Eddie’s ears, especially to the one with the special tag in it. “The old team? How many times did I come close to being killed?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Nine times,” said Jack. “I counted.”

“You enjoyed the adventure. And we saved the city.”

“Yes, and I’d still be living grandly if it hadn’t been for you fouling it up with your Edict Five.”

“I was just trying to make things right.”

“You’re a very well-intentioned little bear.”

“Don’t patronise me, Jack. Never patronise me.”

Jack shook his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he said. “Look at the state of you. Sniff the smell of you. Go back into business together? What business?”

“If we build it, they will come,” said Eddie. “We have Bill’s office. Well, we will as soon as you have picked the lock and we can get inside. Then we’ll set up. We can call ourselves ‘Jack Investigations’ if you want.”

Jack shook his head. “And what will we investigate?”

“Crimes,” said Eddie.

“I thought the police investigated crimes. Those jolly red-faced laughing policemen. And Chief Inspector Bellis.”

“As if they care about what happens to the likes of us.”

“The likes of
us
?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s
us
, Eddie. You are a toy and I am a –”

“Meathead,” said Eddie. “I know.”

“Man,” said Jack.

“And so you are one of the privileged.” Eddie had finished his burger. But as he was still hungry, he made the face of one who was.

“I’ll fry you up another,” said Jack. “But, no offence, you know what I mean.”

“And you know that that was what I was trying to change. The injustice of the system. The way toys are treated as if they are nothing at all.”

“They are treated as if they are toys,” said Jack, applying himself once more to that Hellish piece of equipment known as a griddle. “No offence meant once more.”

“Toys have feelings, too,” said Eddie.

Jack turned from the grill and gazed upon Eddie. The two of them had been through a great deal together. They had indeed had adventures. They had indeed had a relationship that was based upon trust and deep friendship. A lad and a toy bear. Absurd? Maybe. But then, what isn’t?

“Eddie,” said Jack, “it really is truly good to see you once more.”

“Thanks,” said Eddie. “The same goes for me.”

“Eddie?” said Jack.

“Jack?” said Eddie.

“Would you mind very much if I were to give you a hug?”

“I would bite you right in the balls if you ever tried.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Jack, “because you smell like shit.”

Jack really didn’t need
that much
persuading. He put up a spirited, if insincere, struggle, of course, citing the possibilities of promotion in the field of customer services and the pension plan and putting forward some unsupportable hypothesis that young women found griddle chefs sexy. But he really didn’t take
that much
persuading and, come ten of the morning clock, with Sam shining down encouragingly, Jack took what wages he felt he was owed from the cash register, plus a small bonus that he considered he deserved, and with it his leave of Nadine’s Diner.

“It’s spoon,” he told the crossword-solving dolly as he made his departure. “What the dish ran away with.”

“Does this mean you’re running away from me?” asked the dolly.

“Not a bit of it,” said Jack. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Take you to the pictures.”

Outside in the encouraging sunlight, Eddie said, “Jack, are you
doing it
with that dolly?”

“Well …” said Jack.

“Disgusting,” said Eddie. “You should be ashamed.”

“I am,” said Jack, “but I’m trying to work through it.”

“And succeeding by the look of it.”

Jack tried to make a guilty face.

“You’re a very bad boy,” said Eddie.

The building hadn’t changed at all, but then why should it have changed? It was a sturdy edifice, built in the vernacular style, Alphabet brick, with a tendency towards the occasional fiddly piece, which gave it that extra bit of character. Bill Winkie’s office was on the first floor above the garage, which might or might not still house his splendid automobile. Eddie did ploddings up the stairway. Jack did long-legged stridings.

“It feels a bit odd,” said Jack as he followed Eddie, who with difficulty had overtaken him, along the corridor that led past various offices towards the door that led to Bill’s, “being back here again.”

“We did have some adventures, though.”

“All of them life-endangering.”

“But we came through, Jack, and –”

“Look at us now?” Jack asked.

“We’ll get back on top. Somehow.”

“I’ll give it a week,” said Jack.

“You’ll what?” And Eddie turned.

“I’ve a week’s money in my pocket. I’ll give it a week with you. That’s fair.”

“It’s
not
fair,” said Eddie. “Give a month at least.”

“Well, we’ll see how it goes. So where’s this padlock that needs picking?”

“It’s here,” said Eddie. But much to his surprise it was not. “It
was
here,” said Eddie, “only yesterday, but now it seems to have vanished.”

“Perhaps someone else has moved in.” Jack viewed the door of Bill Winkie’s office,
BILL WINKIE INVESTIGATIONS
etched into the glass. There were some holes in the woodwork where the hasp of a padlock had been. The door was slightly open. Jack did not feel encouraged by this turn of events.

“The door’s open,” said Eddie. “That’s as encouraging as.”

“No it’s not,” said Jack, “it’s suspicious.”

“Depends on how you look at it,” said Eddie. “It’s like the glass of water that is either half-full or half-empty, depending on how you look at it.”

“I’m sure there’s wisdom in your words.”

“I’m sure there isn’t,” said Eddie. “You’d best go first, I’m thinking.”

“And why would you be thinking that?”

“Well,” said Eddie, “you’re bigger than me and have about you an air of authority. And should there be anyone in that office who shouldn’t be there, you can shoo them away, as it were.”

“I see,” said Jack. “And that would be your considered opinion, would it?”

“Well, actually, no,” said Eddie. “I hardly gave it any consideration at all.”

Jack shook his head and pushed open the door. It squeaked a little on its hinges, but it was a different squeak from the door hinges of Tinto’s Bar. An octave higher, perhaps.

Jack and Eddie peeped into the office.

The office hadn’t changed at all.

Light drifted through the half-opened blinds, falling in slanted rays upon the filing cabinet, which contained little other than empty beer bottles; the desk that Jack had broken and inadequately repaired; the carpet that dared not speak its name; the water cooler that cooled no water; and all of the other sparse and sundry bits and bobs that made a private detective’s office a private detective’s office.

“Ah,” sighed Eddie, “home again,” and he sniffed. “And don’t it just smell good?”

Jack took a sniff and said, “Rank.”

“Rank,” agreed Eddie. “But it’s a good rank, don’t you think?”

“I do.”

“And it’s great to be back.”

“It is.”

“And we will have great times, Jack, exciting times.”

“Will we?” said Jack. “Well, yes, perhaps.”

“We will,” said Eddie. “We will.”

Jack looked at Eddie.

And Eddie looked at Jack.

“There’s just one thing,” said Jack.

“One thing?” said Eddie.

“One thing,” said Jack.

“And what would that one thing be?”

“That one thing,” and Jack now glared at Eddie, “that one thing would be that thing
there
. That one thing that you are so studiously ignoring. That one thing
right there
, lying on the carpet that dares not speak its name. Are you following me, Eddie? I’m pointing now, pointing to that one thing – do you see it?”

Eddie followed the pointing finger. And, “Ah,” said Eddie. “You would be referring, I suppose, to the dead body that is lying there upon the floor.”

Jack nodded slowly and surely. “That would be it,” he said.

“It’s a monkey,” said Eddie.

“It’s a
dead
monkey,” said Jack.

“It might only be sleeping,” said Eddie.

“It is
dead
,” said Jack.

“Or run down,” said Eddie, approaching the monkey on the floor. “Its clockwork might just have run down – and run down is a small death, you know, amongst clockwork folk.”

“Look at its eyes,” Jack approached Eddie, who was approaching the monkey. “Those eyes are dead and staring.”

“They’re glass eyes,” Eddie said. “They always stare like that.”

The monkey lay upon the carpet that dared not speak its name. It was one of those monkeys that clap little brass cymbals whilst bouncing up and down. That is all they do, really, but children, and indeed adults, seem to find them very, very entertaining. Indeed, they can never get enough of those monkeys that clap their cymbals together and bounce up and down. Very popular, those monkeys are.

Although this one, it appeared, was dead.

Eddie looked sadly upon the monkey. It lay there, on its side, frozen in mid-clap. This was clearly a monkey that would clap and bounce no more.

“Wakey-wakey, Mister Monkey,” said Eddie. “You can’t sleep here, you know.”

“It’s dead, Eddie – look at it.”

“Perhaps if I were to give its key a little turn?”

“Good idea, Eddie,” said Jack. “You give its key a little turn.”

“You think I should?”

“No, I
don’t
.”

“Stay put, Jack,” said Eddie, and he plodded slowly about the fallen monkey. Eddie leaned over the monkey and sniffed, then stepped back from the monkey and viewed it, his chin upon his paw. He dropped to his knees and examined the non-speaking carpet, then glanced at the ceiling and grunted.

Jack looked on and watched him. He’d seen Eddie go through this performance before and he’d seen Eddie draw conclusions from such a performance. Significant conclusions.

Eddie climbed to his paw-footed feet and looked up at Jack. “There’s been dirty business here,” he said. “This monkey is certainly as dead as.”

“Murdered?” Jack asked.

“Something more than that.”

“Something
more
?”

“This monkey is something more than just as dead as.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jack said.

“Nor do I,” said Eddie. “Stand back a little further, Jack, if you will.” And Jack stood back accordingly.

Eddie reached out a paw and lightly touched the monkey.

There was a sound, as of a gentle sigh. And with it the monkey crumbled. Crumbled away to the accompaniment of the whispery sigh. Crumbled away to dust.

Jack looked at Eddie.

And Eddie looked at Jack.

“Now
that
isn’t right,” said Eddie.

They swept up the dust of the monkey. Well, not so much
they
as Jack. Well, Jack had hands with opposable thumbs after all. Eddie did hold the dustpan.

“Pour what you can of him into this beer bottle,” said Eddie, fishing one with difficulty from the filing cabinet. “There might be something significant to be learned from the dust.”

“Did you know this monkey?” Jack asked as he tried to do what Eddie wanted.

“Hard to say,” said the bear. “Your cymbal-playing monkey is a classic toy, of course, an all-time favourite, but telling one from the other … I don’t know. There was one called Monkey who was with the circus. He used to drink in Tinto’s, but Tinto threw him out because he was too noisy. I knew another one called Monkey, who was also with the circus, did this act where he played the cymbals and bounced up and down. And –”

“So they all look the same, do the same thing, are all with the circus and are all called Monkey?”

“That’s about the strength of it.” Eddie struggled to cork the beer bottle, then set it down on Bill’s desk.

“I’ve got a lot of Monkey left over,” said Jack.

“Put it in the bin,” said Eddie.

“Shouldn’t we cast it to the four winds, or something?”

Eddie grinned at Jack. “See what a nice fellow you are,” said he. “How caring. What was it you said about toys only being toys?”

“That wasn’t what I said. Or I hope it wasn’t.”

“There’s been dirty work here,” said Eddie. “Strange, dirty work. It would seem that we are already on a case.”

“Oh no.” Jack shook his head. “That’s not how it works and you know it. Someone has to offer us a case. And pay us to take it on. Pay us, Eddie, you know what I’m saying?”

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “So what you’re saying,” he said, “is that we should ignore the fact that a dead monkey crumbled into dust on the carpet of this office and wait until we get some meathead client to offer us money for finding their lost dog or something?”

“Well, I’m not saying
that
, exactly.”

“So what are you saying, then?”

Jack gave some thought to an appropriate answer. “I’m saying,” said Jack, “that perhaps we should give this some thought. Perhaps over a drink.”

“At Tinto’s?” said Eddie.

“At Tinto’s,” said Jack.

Eddie took a shower, because Bill’s office owned to a bathroom. And Jack squeezed Eddie dry, which Eddie didn’t enjoy too much, although it made Jack laugh. And Eddie unearthed his old trenchcoat and fedora, and so too did Jack, and so they both now looked like private detectives. And they took themselves down to the garage and, much to their joy, found Bill’s splendid automobile just waiting to take them away.

And so they took themselves away in it, with Jack driving.

As ever, too fast.

It was early yet at Tinto’s, so trade was still slack. Some construction-worker figures with detachable yellow hardhats and gripping hands gripped beer glasses and engaged in theoretical discussions on the good-looks/intelligence dialectic. Eddie had no trouble getting served. “Howdy doody,” said Tinto. “Eddie Bear, come to pay off his tab, by Golliwog. Joy and gladness are mine, to be sure, all praise The Great Engineer.”

“The beers are on Jack,” said Eddie.

“And howdy doody, Jack,” said Tinto.

“Nine beers, please,” said Jack, lowering himself onto a barstool and speaking from between his now raised knees.

“Nine, eh?” said Eddie. “This should be good.”

Tinto poured a number of beers. Eddie disputed this number and Tinto poured more. Then Jack and Eddie got into the thirteen beers.

“Just like the good old days,” said Jack, raising his glass and emptying it down his throat.

“What days were those?” asked Tinto. “I must have missed them.”

“Eddie and I have
temporarily
renewed our partnership,” said Jack. “And there
were
great days and will be again.”

“Bravo,” said Eddie, raising his glass carefully between his paws and emptying a fair percentage of the beer into his mouth.

“Enjoy your great days while you can,” said Tinto, taking up Jack’s empty glass and giving it a polish. “The End Times are upon us and
they
won’t prove to be so great.”

“End Times?” said Jack.

“Don’t get him going on that,” said Eddie.

“Doubter,” said Tinto to Eddie. “If you were of the faith you’d understand.”

“I have my own faith,” said Eddie, struggling with another glass. “I am a member of The Exclusive Brotherhood of the Midnight Growlers.”

“A most exclusive brotherhood,” said Tinto, “as you are the only member.”

“We don’t proselytise,” said Eddie. “You’re either a Growler, or you aren’t.”

“You should join The Church of Mechanology before it’s too late.” Tinto made the sign of the sacred spanner. “Already the prophecies are being fulfilled. Did you see today’s paper?”

Eddie shook his head.

“The faithful are being carried off to glory.” Tinto’s voice rose slightly. “They are being taken up by the big horseshoe magnet in the sky.”

“And that’s in the paper?” Eddie asked. “S.T.C.” said Tinto.

“Ecstasy?” said Eddie.

“S.T.C.” said Tinto. “Spontaneous Toy Combustion.”

Eddie looked at Jack.

And Jack looked at Eddie.

“Go on,” said Eddie.

“The monkeys,” said Tinto. “The clockwork monkeys. All over the city. Last night. They Combusted.”

“All of them?” Eddie looked aghast. He
was
aghast.

“Puff of smoke,” said Tinto. “All of them gone. All of them. Not that there were that many of them, only about half a dozen. The papers says it was S.T.C., but that’s not the truth of it. Carried off to glory, they were. Transcended their physical bodies.”

Eddie and Jack did mutual lookings at each other once more.

“I may be next,” said Tinto, “so you’d better pay up for these drinks. I want my cash register to balance if I’m going.”

“Now, just hold on, Tinto,” said Eddie. “Are you telling me that all the monkeys – and I am assuming that you mean the cymbal-playing monkeys that bounce up and down?”

Tinto nodded.

“That all of these monkeys combusted last night – is that what you’re saying?”

“I think it was
you
who just said that,” said Tinto, “but correct me if I’m wrong.”

“But what happened?”

“It’s what the papers say. Or rather what they don’t.”

“This
is
a case,” said Eddie to Jack. “This is a serious case.”

“
All
the cymbal-playing monkeys?” said Jack to Tinto.

“Thirty-three. Or was it eighty-seven?”

“You said about half a dozen.”

“Well, I’ll say anything, me,” said Tinto, “as long as it makes me popular.”

“Show me this paper,” said Eddie Bear.

And Tinto showed him the paper.

It was the
Toy City Mercury
and the spontaneously combusting monkeys had not made the front-page headlines. Eddie located a small article on page thirteen, sandwiched between advertisements for kapok stuffing and dolly hair-styling.

Eddie read the article. “Eleven monkeys,” he whispered.

“Twelve counting the one in the beer bottle,” said Jack.

“The one in the beer bottle?” said Tinto.

“Nothing,” said Eddie. “But this is all rot. Who is this Professor Potty who has come up with the S.T.C. theory, anyway?”

“Eminent scientist.” Tinto gathered up further empties and took to the polishing of them. “He does that thing where he pours one flask of liquid into another flask and then back again.”

“And?” said Eddie.

“That’s about as far as it goes, I think,” said Tinto. “Not much of an act. But better than playing the cymbals and bouncing up and down. Each to his own, I say. It takes all sorts to make a world.”

“At least he didn’t blame it on me,” said Eddie.

“Yes he did,” said Tinto, “on the next page.”

Eddie had Jack turn the page.

Eddie read, aloud this time: “‘Although there is no direct evidence to link the monkeys’ demise to the ex-mayor,’ Professor Potty said, ‘I can see no reason not to.’”

Jack did foolish titterings.

“This is
so
not funny,” said Eddie.

“Will you be giving yourself up, then?” Tinto asked. “I wonder if there’s a reward. If there is, would you mind if I turned you in?”

“Stop it,” said Eddie. “It isn’t funny.”

“No, it’s not,” said Jack, struggling to regain sobriety. “But it’s all very odd, Eddie. Do you have any thoughts?”

“I think I’d like to meet this Professor Potty and –”

“Other than those kinds of thoughts.”

“No,” said Eddie. “Not as yet. I wonder whether Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis and his jolly red-faced laughing policemen will be investigating?”

“What’s to investigate?” Tinto asked. “The monkeys were taken up to the great toy box in the sky. What could be simpler than that?”

“Maybe so,” said Eddie, “but I suspect that there’s a great deal more to their manner of departure than meets the eye. Bring the rest of the drinks to the corner table over there, Jack. We shall speak of these things in private.”

“What?” went Tinto. “The cheek of you! If you and Jack are on a case, then I should be part of it. I seem to recall helping you out considerably the last time.”

“You certainly did, Tinto,” Eddie said. “But see, you have more customers,” and Eddie indicated same who were entering the bar. “We will not presume upon your time, but we’ll let you know how we’re getting on and ask your advice when we need it.”

Tinto made disgruntled sounds, but trundled off to serve his new clientele. Jack loaded what drinks remained onto a convenient tray and joined Eddie at a secluded corner table.

“Why all the secrecy?” he asked, when he had comfortably seated himself.

“I don’t want to alarm Tinto,” whispered Eddie. “These monkeys were murdered, I’m sure of it.”

“You can’t be sure of it,” said Jack.

“From the evidence left behind in Bill’s office, I can,” Eddie said. “The padlock had been torn from the door – our cymbal-clapping corpse-to-be couldn’t have done that. Whoever killed the monkey removed the padlock and waited in Bill’s office, knowing that the monkey would come there, is my guess. He sat in Bill’s chair and smoked a cigar –
this cigar
.” Eddie produced a cigar butt from the pocket of his trenchcoat with a dramatic flourish and displayed it to Jack. “There was evidence of a struggle and a round burned patch on the ceiling. The monkey was murdered, but as I said, he was more than just murdered. The worst of it is that I think the monkey must have known that someone was trying to kill him and he came to Bill’s office for help, probably thinking that some new detective had taken up residence there. And had I been able to get into that office earlier, perhaps I could have helped him.”

“Or perhaps you would have been murdered, too?”

“Perhaps,” said Eddie, taking up another beer.

“So where do we go from here?”

“We have several options. We might visit Professor Potty and see whether he has anything useful to impart. We might visit Chief Inspector Bellis, perhaps get his blessing, as it were, to work the case.”

“And perhaps get yourself arrested?”

“Perhaps,” said Eddie once again. “But I have another idea. What we have to consider here, Jack, is motive. Why would someone want to murder every cymbal-playing monkey in Toy City?”