The Toyminator (5 page)

Eddie looked at Jack. And Jack looked at Eddie.

“He’s right,” said Jack.

“He is,” said Eddie. “So why is that, do you think?”

“Because of the eternal question,” said Bellis.

“Ah,” said Eddie.

“Ah,” said Jack.

“What eternal question?” said Eddie.

“Oh, come on,” said Bellis. “What came first, the chicken or the egg? I mean, how could you eat the sandwich? You wouldn’t know which bit to eat first. You’d go mad trying. And believe me, I have tried. And I have gone mad.”

“Most encouraging,” whispered Eddie to Jack. “I can see this being a long and difficult evening.”

“Is it evening already?” asked Jack.

“Let’s just assume that it is.”

“There’s no solution to it,” said Chief Inspector Bellis. “It’s one of those things that’s best left alone. Forgotten about, in fact. In fact, let us never mention the subject again.”

“I’m up for that,” said Eddie, offering the chief inspector an encouraging smile. “So, is it all right if Jack and I go now?”

Chief Inspector Bellis shook his head. “Not as such,” he said. “In fact, not at all. There are these charges to be considered. Things do not look altogether good for you.”

“But I am innocent,” said Eddie.

“That, I’m afraid, is what they all say.”

“But Eddie
is
innocent,” said Jack. “And I can prove it.”

“Can you?” Eddie asked.

“Of course I can,” said Jack. “The proprietor of the cigar store said that Eddie purchased those cigars yesterday evening, did he not?”

“I heard him say that,” said Eddie.

Chief Inspector Bellis perused notes upon his desk. “That
is
what he said,” he said. “Shortly before eight, last evening, just before he closed up.”

“That’s right,” said Jack. “He said something about the rain and Eddie leaving puddles on his floor.”

Chief Inspector Bellis did further perusings and nodded.

“Then it can’t have been Eddie,” said Jack.

“No, it can’t,” said Eddie. “I have an alibi. I was in Tinto’s Bar at that time, and that’s right across the city.”

Chief Inspector Bellis made a thoughtful face. It was a very good thoughtful face and both Jack and Eddie were tempted to ask him to make it once more. But only tempted. They showed laudable restraint. “Well, an alibi is an alibi,” said the chief inspector. “But I can see no reason why we should let that stand in the way of letting the law take its course and justice getting done.”

“Eh?” said Eddie.

“What?” said Jack.

“Well,” said Bellis, “as I won’t be following up on the alibi, it hardly matters, does it?”

“Eh?” said Eddie again.

And Jack did another “
What
?” Although louder than the first.

“Crime and punishment share a certain empathy,” Chief Inspector Bellis explained, “in that both are dispassionate. The criminal goes about his work in a dispassionate manner. He cares not whom he hurts or harms. He doesn’t care about the feelings of others. And so the law behaves towards the criminal in a similar manner. The law cares not for the criminal, it simply seeks to lock him away so that he may perform no further crime.”

“But I’m innocent,” said Eddie.

“And if I were not dispassionate, I would care for your woes,” said Bellis. “But that would be unprofessional. I must never get personally involved. There’s no telling what might happen if I did so, is there?”

“You might free the innocent and convict only the guilty,” was Eddie’s suggestion.

“The distinction between guilt and innocence is a subtle one.”

“No, it’s not,” said Eddie. “You’re either guilty or you’re not.”

“I’ll thank you not to confuse the issue. Charges have been made and you have been arrested. End of story, really.”

“This is outrageous,” said Jack. “I demand to speak to your superior.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Oh yes it will,” said Jack. “I will see justice done. I really will.”

“You tell him, Jack,” said Eddie.

“You’ll tell me nothing,” said Chief Inspector Bellis, “because I am dropping all the charges.”

“You are?” said Eddie.

“I am,” said Bellis, “because I
know
you are innocent.”

“You
do
?” said Eddie.

“I
do
,” said Bellis. “And upon this occasion I am prepared to let the fact that you
are
innocent stand in the way of letting justice be done.”

“You
are
?” said Eddie. “Why?” said Eddie.

“Because in return for this,
you
are going to do something for me. Something that I surmise you are already doing and something I wish you to continue doing.”

“I am now
very
confused,” said Eddie.

“I believe I am correct in assuming that you have returned to your old profession,” said Bellis, “that of detective.”

Eddie nodded.

“You see, I
know
that it was not you who purchased those cigars with the mysterious combustible currency.”

“You do?” said Eddie once more.

“I do,” said Bellis once more. “You see, I have these.” And he drew from his desk a number of plasticised packets and flung them onto his desk.

Eddie took one up between his paws and examined it. “Cigar butt,” he said.

“Eleven cigar butts,” said Bellis, “one found at each of the cymbal-playing monkeys’ resting places. All over the city. Eleven cigar butts. The twelfth you showed to Smokey Joe. You went there to enquire whether he recalled who he sold it to, didn’t you?”

“I did,” said Eddie.

“And the twelfth monkey?”

“Dead in Bill’s office,” said Eddie.

“Intriguing, isn’t it?” said Bellis. “And they all died within minutes of each other. And I do not believe that you ran all over the city on your stumpy little legs wiping each and every one of them out – did you?”

Eddie shook his head.

“And now you are investigating these crimes?”

“Yes,” said Eddie. “I am.
We
are.”

“And I would like you to continue doing so.”

“Really?” said Eddie. “You would?”

“Twelve monkeys,” said Bellis. “
All
the cymbal-playing monkeys. Annoying blighters they were, I agree, but they were our kind. They were toys. The murderer must be brought to justice.”

“I don’t understand,” said Eddie.

“About justice?”

“Well, I understand about that. Or at least your concept of it. Which is as just as.”

“Did you read the paper?” asked Bellis. “The crimes made page thirteen. I requested of my ‘superior’ that I be allowed to put a special task force on the monkeys’ case. The memo I received in reply stated that it was a low priority.”

“Typical,” said Eddie. “Disgusting, in fact.”

“I do so agree,” said Bellis. “I blame it on that mad mayor we had.”

“Now just hold on,” said Eddie.

“Yes?” said Bellis.

“Nothing,” said Eddie. “Go on, please.”

“You,” said Bellis, “you and Mr Jack here are going to act on my behalf. You are going to be my special task force. You will report directly to me on whatever progress you are making. Do you understand me?”

Jack nodded. “Up to a point,” said he. “So we will report directly to you to receive our wages, will we?”

Chief Inspector Bellis made a certain face towards Jack. One that Jack did not wish to be repeated.

“Would there be any chance of a reward, then,” Jack asked, “if we could present you with a suitable culprit?”

Eddie now gave Jack a certain look.

“Sorry,” said Jack. “The
real
culprit, then? The
real
murderer?”

“Exactly,” said Bellis. “And in return for this public-spirited action I will forget about all the trumped-up charges that we have piled up against the bear.”

“But I’m innocent,” said Eddie.

“I think we’ve been through that,” said Bellis. “you and Jack will be my secret task force. You
will
find the murderer.”

“We’ll certainly
try
,” said Eddie.

“Oh, you’ll do more than that. You will succeed.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Or you’ll feed the boiler.”

“Ah,” said Eddie.

“Ah indeed,” said Bellis.

“Hm,” went Eddie. “Well, we’ll certainly do our very, very best to succeed. You can be assured of that.”

“Nice,” said Bellis.

“But the trouble is,” said Eddie, “that the only clue we had was the cigar butt. And that just led to a case of mistaken identity. So I have no idea what to do next.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” said Bellis.

“I’m not
too
sure,” said Eddie.

“Brrrr,” said Bellis. “Is it cold in here, or is it just me?”

“Ah,” said Eddie.

“Ah indeed,” said Chief Inspector Bellis.

“That Bellis is a monster,” said Eddie. “I’m fuel for his boiler for certain.”

“Look on the bright side, Eddie,” said Jack. “At least we have our freedom.”

They’d had to walk all the way from the police station to the cigar shop to pick up Bill’s car, but now they were back in Tinto’s Bar and Tinto was pouring them a number of beers.

“I’m doomed,” said Eddie.

“You’re not,” said Jack. “He wants the case solved. And he knows that if anyone can solve it, then you are that someone.”

“Thanks for that,” said Eddie.

“Well, you can,” said Jack.

“Not for that,” said Eddie. “For calling me someone rather than
something
.”

“I’d never call you
something
,” said Jack. “You’re Eddie. You’re my bestest friend.”

“So we’re definitely back in business together? You haven’t let this first day out put you off? You’re not going to quit on me?”

“As if I would. But it is a mystery, isn’t it? Twelve monkeys dead, seemingly within minutes. And the cigar butts. And the cigar man thinking you’d bought the cigars from him. What do you make of it all?”

“Dunno,” said Eddie. “Something very odd happened last night. I thought I saw something in the alleyway where I was dossing down in a dustbin, but the timing is all wrong. I do have to say, Jack, that I have no idea at all what is going on. But whatever it is, I don’t like it very much.”

“How are those beers coming, Tinto?” Jack asked.

“Slowly,” said the clockwork barman. “Could you see your way clear to giving my key a couple of turns – I think I’m running down here.”

Jack leaned across the bar and did the business with Tinto’s key.

“Thank you,” said Tinto.

“You’re welcome,” said Jack.

“Let’s drink the beers,” said Eddie. “It has been a long and trying day.”

“Ah, yes,” said Jack. “And it’s definitely evening now.”

“So we should drink beers and get drunk. That is my considered opinion.”

“And the case?”

“I don’t know,” said Eddie, taking up a beer between his paws and moving it towards that portion of his face where many beers had gone before. And, “Ah,” said Eddie, when he had done with his beer. “That does hit the spot.”

“You drink too much,” said Jack.

“Too much for
what
?” said Eddie.

Jack shrugged and said, “I dunno.”

“Then don’t presume to,” said Eddie. “Just drink.”

“You don’t think that you should be applying yourself to the case in hand?”

“Not right now,” said Eddie. “And nor should you. I seem to recall that you were supposed to be meeting up with a certain dolly from Nadine’s Diner tonight.”

“Oh dear,” said Jack. “I’d quite forgotten about her.”

“Bad boy,” said Eddie. “Very bad boy.”

Jack perused his wristlet watch. The time was eight of the evening clock. Jack held the watch against his ear: it was ticking away like a good’n and he had no cause to doubt its accuracy. Mind you, Jack had taken that watch to pieces a couple of times to see just what made it run, as Jack knew all about clockwork. Inside that watch there was nothing to be found except for a couple of cogs that connected the winder to the hands. There was no evidence whatsoever of a conventional mechanism.

But then
that
in a watchcase was Toy City. It still made little sense to Jack. Watches without mechanisms that kept perfect time. Telephone receivers connected by pieces of string. Wooden folk and folk like Eddie, a bear all filled with sawdust, yet a bear that walked and talked and thought and felt. And Jack felt for that bear.

“You’ve gone somewhat glassy-eyed,” said Eddie. “Are you drunk already?”

“No,” said Jack. “No, I’m not. I was only thinking.”

“About the dolly?” Eddie raised his glass and would have winked had he been able.

“About a lot of things,” said Jack.

“Well, don’t let me keep you from the dolly.”

“No,” said Jack. “The dolly can wait. We have a case to solve.”

“Case-solving is done for the day,” Eddie said. “We will start again upon the morrow, as refreshed as and as ready as.”

Jack sank two more glasses of beer.

“Go on, Jack,” said Eddie. “I’ll be fine here. Go and have a good evening out. I’ll see you here later if you want, or if you have a big night of it, then at Bill’s office at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Jack, and he rose from his stool, being careful not to crack his head upon the ceiling. “If it’s okay, then I’ll see you tomorrow. Is it all right if I –”

“Take Bill’s car? Of course.”

“Nice,” said Jack. “Then I’ll be off. And don’t drink
too
much, will you?”

Eddie slid Jack’s share of the remaining beers in his direction and said, “Goodbye, Jack.”

And Jack left Tinto’s Bar.

Jack drove slowly through the evening streets of Toy City. He could have driven at his normal breakneck pace, of course, but he only really did that to put the wind up Eddie. So Jack drove in a leisurely manner, even though he was late to meet the dolly.

Jack did do some thinking as he drove along, about Toy City and about Eddie, and Chief Inspector Bellis and the mysterious deaths of the cymbal-playing monkeys, and at length, when he arrived at Nadine’s Diner, he was none the wiser than when he’d set forth.

The dolly, Amelie, stood outside the now-lit-up diner, her shift done and her temper all-but. As Jack approached her in Bill’s car, he wondered a lot about her. She was, well, how could he put it? So
lifelike
. Just like a
real
girlfriend. Whatever a
real
girlfriend was. One of flesh and blood like himself, he supposed. Did that make his relationship with Amelie somewhat …
indecent
? Jack asked himself.
Perverted? Wrong? Twisted?

“Easy now,” Jack told himself.

Amelie noticed Bill’s car before she recognised the driver. She made a very winsome face towards the shiny automobile and hitched up her short skirt a little to show a bit more leg.

“Strumpet,” said Jack to himself.

Bill’s car whispered to a standstill and Jack cranked down the window. “Care for a ride?” said he.

“You?” and Amelie lowered her skirt. “It’s
you
. You’re late, you know.”

“Blame the garage,” said Jack. “I have just taken possession of this automobile.”

“It’s
yours
?” The dolly now fluttered her eyelids.

“All mine,” said Jack. “I have taken a new job. One with considerable cachet. Would you care for a ride?”

“I
would
.” And Amelie tottered around to the passenger door and entered Bill’s automobile.

“It smells of manky old bear in here,” she said as she twitched her pretty nose.

“Mechanics,” said Jack. “Highly skilled, but rarely bathed. You know how it is with the lower ranks.”

“Oh, indeed I do.” And the dolly crossed her legs. Such long legs they were, so shapely and slender. They were almost like re –

“Where to?” Jack asked. “A romantic drive in the moonlight?”

“A show,” said Amelie, adjusting her over-tight top, which looked to be under considerable strain from her enhanced front parts.

“A show?” Jack said, and his wonderings turned to his wallet. He wondered just how much money he had in it. Not a lot, he concluded, not a lot.

“A lovely night for a drive,” he said.

“Then drive me to a show.”

“A puppet show?” Jack asked. “A Punch and Judy show?”

“A proper show at a proper club. Let’s go to Old King Cole’s.”

“Ah,” said Jack, as Eddie had done whilst speaking to Chief Inspector Bellis.

“You’re not ashamed to be seen with me, are you?” asked Amelie.

“No,” said Jack. “Not at all. Anything but. If it’s Old King Cole’s you want, then Old King Cole’s you shall have.”

“You are such a sweetie.” Amelie leaned over and kissed Jack on the cheek. A delicate kiss, a sensuous kiss. Just like a re –

“Old King Cole’s it is,” said Jack.

Now Old King Cole was indeed a merry old soul and when he wasn’t writing self-help manuals, which was all of the time nowadays as he’d only written the one, he could mostly be found at his jazz club, a rather swank affair on Old King Cole Boulevard, a place where one came to be seen.

Old King Cole had long ago sacked his fiddlers three in favour of a more up-beat ensemble: a clockwork trio, comprised of a saxophonist, drummer and piano player. There had been a brief period when he had toyed with a twelve-piece cymbal-playing monkey ensemble, but in the end had considered it rather too avant-garde, preferring a more traditional sound. The sound of Jazz.

Now jazz is jazz. You either love jazz or you hate it. There is no middle ground with jazz and it’s no good saying you like
some
jazz. Liking
some
jazz is not
loving jazz
. All right, neither is it
hating jazz
, but that is not the point. To truly love jazz you have to have a passion for it. You have to be able to get right inside it, to feel it, to … blah blah blah blah and so on and so forth and suchlike.

Old King Cole loved jazz. Before the passing of the infamous Edict Five, which had dispensed with royalty in Toy City, he had been King of Toy City and with him jazz had reigned supreme. After the ousting of the now infamous mad mayor, he was royalty once more and although jazz had never truly reigned supreme (in anyone’s opinion other than his own) it was back at the top with him, as far as he was concerned, and if you are King you can believe whatever you want because few will dare to contradict you.

Old King Cole’s jazz club was grand. It was stylish. It was magnificent. This was no gaudy piece of flash, this was old money spent well, the work of master builders.

It had been constructed to resemble a vast grand piano, atop it a gigantic candelabra, its candles spouting mighty flames. A liveried doorman, in a plush swaddle-shouldered snaff jacket with cross-stitched underpinnings and fluted snuff trumbles, stood to attention before double doors that twinkled with carbustions of cremmily, jaspur and filigold, made proud with Pultroon finials and crab-handle “Jerry” turrets, after the style of Gondolese, but without the kerfundles.

On his feet the liveried doorman wore crab-toed Wainscotter boots in the trumped end-loungers style and
[8]

On his head he wore a bowler hat.

Jack cruised up in Bill’s automobile, leaned out from his open window and bid the liveried doorman a good evening.

The liveried doorman viewed Jack down the length of his nose. A nose that had been considerably lengthened by the addition of an ivorine nasal Kirby-todger.
[9]

Above his moustache.

“Good evening to you, sir,” said he, raising a richly ornamented glove, richly ornamented with …
[10]
ornaments. “The valet will park your car for you, your lordship. Kindly leave the keys with me.”

“Splendid,” said Jack, and he climbed from the car.

Amelie the dolly did likewise.

The liveried doorman stiffened slightly, in the manner of one who is suddenly taken aback. One who has seen something troubling.

Jack turned towards Amelie, who was struggling to pull down the hem of her minuscule skirt, which appeared rather keen to remain where it nestled.

“Something bothering you?” Jack asked the liveried doorman, affecting, as he did so, a most haughty tone.

“Of course not, your lordship,” said the liveried one, straightening a sleeve that was richly embellished with … rich embellishments.

As further liveried individuals swung wide the double-doors, with their, er, pretty bits and bobs on them, Jack, with Amelie now on his arm, entered Old King Cole’s.

And Jack became all too suddenly aware that he was hardly dressed for the occasion. And he became suddenly aware of much more than that. Heads were turning, whispers were being whispered behind hands and there were tut-tut-tuttings in the air.

And then it dawned upon Jack that Amelie’s choice of Old King Cole’s for an evening out had hardly been arbitrary. She simply could not have gained entrance here alone, nor in the company of a non-human companion. She would never have got past the liveried doorman.

Another liveried personage now approached Jack. “Excuse me, your lordship,” said he.

“You are excused,” said Jack. “Trouble me no more.”

“But I regret that I must,” said the fellow. “Are you a member here?”

“Naturally,” said Jack.

“If I might just see your membership card?”

“Well, if you must.” Jack fished into a trenchcoat pocket, drew out his wallet and from this extracted his membership card.

The liveried personage took this, examined it at length, held it up to the light and examined it some more. Presently he returned it to Jack. “My apologies, your lordship,” said he.

“And I should think so, too,” said Jack. “Now guide us to a favourable table and leave us there whilst you fetch champagne.”

“Champagne?” Amelie did girlish gigglings. The liveried personage led them to a table. It was a rather far-flung table some way away from the stage and in a somewhat darkened corner.

“Is this the best table you have?” Jack asked.

“The
very
best, your lordship. The most exclusive. The most private.”

“Then I suppose it will have to do. The champagne now, and make it your best.”

“Our best?”

“Your best,” said Jack.

And Jack held out Amelie’s chair for her and the dolly settled into it. Jack sat himself down and rubbed his hands together.

“You’re really a member here?” asked Amelie.

“Of course,” said Jack. “A while back, Eddie and I performed a great service for Old King Cole – that of saving his life from the kindly, lovable white-haired old Toymaker’s evil twin. He made Eddie and me honorary life members of his club. Although now that I come to think of it, Eddie never received
his
membership card. It got lost in the post, or something.”

“Is Eddie that manky bear who turned up at the diner today looking for work?”

“Eddie is my bestest friend,” said Jack. “In fact, he is my partner in my new business enterprise.”