The Toyminator

9

“No,” said Eddie. “No, no, no.”

“Yes,” said Jack. “I think so, yes.”

It was nine of the morning clock now and they hadn’t slept, or at least they thought they hadn’t slept. They were back in Bill Winkie’s office. Eddie sat on Bill Winkie’s desk in a bowl of iced water. Jack sat in Bill’s chair upon several cushions.

And, “No,” said Eddie once again. “It can’t have happened, no.”

“I don’t get you at all,” said Jack, rootling around in desk drawers in search of a bottle of something. “You were the one saying that it was space aliens and now we’ve been abducted by space aliens and returned with our memories erased and you’re saying no, it can’t have happened. Why are you saying this, Eddie?”

“Because,” said Eddie, shifting uncomfortably upon his sore bottom. “Just because, that’s all.”

“Just because they’re my kind of space aliens.” Jack shifted uncomfortably in Bill’s chair. “That’s it, isn’t it? You wanted clockwork space aliens with tin-plate ray guns and now you’re jealous –”

“Jealous?” said Eddie.

“No,” said Jack, “jealous is not the word I mean. You’re miffed.”

“That’s nothing like jealous at all.”

“But you are miffed, because it was my space aliens. Because I was right and you were wrong.”

“Then pat yourself on the back for being right.” Eddie made a huffy face. “But pat yourself on the shoulders to avoid your punctured bum.”

“Stop. Don’t even think about that. What do you think they did to us?”

“If I don’t even think about it, then I don’t know.”

“We were abducted.” Jack now made a different face from the one he had previously been making, the one that would have turned the milk sour if there’d been any milk around, but there wasn’t any, because he and Eddie hadn’t got around to buying any, as they spent most of what money they had upon alcohol. The different face that Jack made was of that variety that one sees in those big paintings of the saints whilst they are being horribly martyred in some unspeakable fashion (which often tends to involve certain pointy things being thrust up certain tender places). It is the face of the beatified. There’s no mistaking it.

“What does that face mean?” asked Eddie.

“It means that we have become two amongst the chosen.” Jack linked his fingers, as in prayer. “It means we’re special, Eddie.”

“I was special anyway.” Eddie splashed iced water about himself. “I have a special tag in my ear to prove it and everything.”

“We were taken up,” said Jack, in the voice of one evangelising. “We were taken up into the light.”

“By sexual perverts,” said Eddie. “Don’t forget that part.”

“They might have implanted us,” said Jack, in no less evangelising a tone. Well, perhaps just a little less. Perhaps with a hint of a tone of troubledness to it.

“You mean they’ve made us pregnant?” Eddie all but fell out of his bowl.

“No,” said Jack. “They stick implants up your nose.”

“Up your bum, up your nose? What is the matter with these people?”

“We can’t be expected to understand them,” said Jack. “Their thinking patterns are totally different from ours. It would be like you trying to communicate with a beetle.”

“Some of my best friends are beetles,” said Eddie. “But this doesn’t make any sense, the way you’re talking. I seem to recall that you do not believe in space aliens.”

“I’ve been converted,” said Jack. “I’ve seen the light.”

“Just like that? There could be all manner of other explanations. You shouldn’t go jumping to conclusions.”

“The bright light. The missing time. The erased memories. The …” Jack indicated the area of his anatomy that rested gingerly upon the cushions. “It all fits together. There’s no point in denying it.”

“All right,” said Eddie. “All right. Something happened to us. Something worrying.”

“We were taken up into the light.”

“Stop saying that or I’ll bite you somewhere that will take your mind off your sore bottom. Although not by many inches.”

Jack crossed his legs, said, “Ouch,” and uncrossed them again.

“Something happened to us,” Eddie continued. “I don’t know what and you don’t know what, either. Somehow we will have to find out what. It all has to be part of the case. A big part. Think hard, Jack. Do you remember anything at all?”

“Leaving Tinto’s,” said Jack. “Driving. Then a really bright light, then waking up in the car, which was nearly going over a cliff and into a river.”

“And nothing else?”

“Nothing.”

Eddie dusted at his trenchcoat; its hem was sodden in the water bowl. “We went somewhere after we left Tinto’s. Hold out your hands, Jack.”

Jack gave a doubtful look. “Why?” he asked. “You’re not going to bite me, are you?”

“I just want to look at your hands. Stick ’em out.”

Jack stuck ’em out.

Eddie examined Jack’s hands. “Interesting,” he said. “Turn them over.”

Jack turned them over.

“Very interesting,” said Eddie. “Now stand up, turn slowly around and show me the soles of your shoes.”

“Are you having a laugh, Eddie?”

“Please just humour me.”

Jack rose carefully, pushed back the chair carefully, did a slow twirl, with equal care, then lifted one foot and then the other towards Eddie. With insufficient care, Jack fell down in a heap.

“Always the comedy sidekick,” said Eddie. “What would I do without you?”

“I’m not a comedy sidekick,” said Jack, rising very carefully and lowering himself with considerable care back onto the cushions.

“Well, you had an interesting night out,” said Eddie, “by the evidence upon your person.”

“Did I?” said Jack. “Go on.”

“You took a walk in the countryside,” said Eddie, “through gorse and briar, then along a yellow-bricked road. You lit a candle from a tinderbox and you handled several antique weapons.”

“I did all that? How can you tell?”

“I could leave you in awe of my special senses,” said Eddie, splashing water at Jack, “but the evidence is all over you, on your coat, the soles of your shoes, your fingers and fingernails. And lean over here a little.”

Jack did so and Eddie sniffed at him.

“What?” said Jack.

“You need a shower,” said Eddie. “Your personal hygiene is a disgrace. Typical of teenage boys, that is.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Jack.

“Only kidding. There’s a smell about you, Jack.” Eddie sniffed at himself. “And about me also. A different smell. One I’ve never smelled before.”

“The smell of space aliens?” Jack took to sniffing himself.

“Very probably so. We have to find out what happened to us.”

“I could hypnotise you,” said Jack. “Hypnotic regression, it’s called. Take you back to the moment when we saw the bright light. That’s how it’s done.”

“Jack,” said Eddie, “do you really know how to hypnotise someone?”

“I do in theory.”

“But you’ve never actually done it.”

“I’ve never had sex with a chicken, but I know how to do it, in theory.”

Eddie looked very hard at Jack.

“Sorry,” said Jack. “I don’t know why I said that. But you know what I mean.”

“I certainly do not.”

“No. But you know what I mean.”

“Forget it,” said Eddie. “Teddies cannot be hypnotised.”

“You don’t know that. Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it, I always say.”

“And thus the chickens walk in fear.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. But teddies cannot be hypnotised. I tried it once and it didn’t work on me.”

Jack looked hard at Eddie. “Why did you try?” he asked.

“I had this theory,” said Eddie, “that if hypnotists can hypnotise folk into doing anything they want them to do –”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” said Jack.

“It is around here,” said Eddie. “Believe me. Well, my theory was simple: I’d get the hypnotist to hypnotise me into being Toy City’s greatest hypnotist, then I’d be able to place anyone I wanted under my control.”

“That’s outrageous,” said Jack.

“Naturally, I would only have used my powers for good.”

“Well, naturally.” Jack now made a very doubtful face.

“But it didn’t work,” said Eddie. “The hypnotist said that he’d really tried his hardest. I had to go for ten sessions. It was very expensive.”

“Hm,” went Jack. “Did it ever cross your mind –”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing,” said Jack. “So teddies can’t be hypnotised. But I’ll bet I could be. Shall we visit this hypnotist and see if he can do it?”

“Ah,” said Eddie. “I don’t think he’s practising any more.”

“Oh,” said Jack. “Why not?”

“Well, he gave up when he got out of hospital.”

“Why was he in hospital?” Jack asked.

“He took a rather severe biting,” said Eddie.

“Right,” said Jack, and he recrossed his legs and kept them recrossed, though it hurt. “So,” said Jack, “hypnotists are not a happening thing, then.”

“Oh, they are,” said Eddie. “Though not that one. I know another one. I think we’ll pay him a visit.”

“Right,” said Jack once more. “There’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“First I think I’ll take a shower and then we’ll take some breakfast.”

They took their breakfast at Nadine’s Diner. They travelled there in Bill’s car, via the nearest pawnbrokers, where they pawned Bill’s water cooler. Well, money was short, and they were on an important case. And they were very hungry indeed.

And on the way into the diner, Jack purchased the morning’s edition of the Toy City Mercury.

They took a table by the window, ordered a Big Boy’s Blow-Out Breakfast a-piece, with double hash browns, muffins, dumplings, pancakes, cheesecakes, fishcakes, fairy cakes and Fanny Lapalulu’s Fudgecake Surprise. Jack spread the paper before him and perused the front page news. “DOLLY DUMPLING DEAD” ran the headline, which told it as it was. And beneath it ran text that didn’t.

“Freak accident?” said Jack. “Struck by lightning?”

“Well, what did you expect?” Eddie asked.

“The truth,” said Jack.

“In a newspaper?”

Jack shrugged. “Well, not all of the truth, perhaps.”

“And what is the truth? No one saw anything except a really bright light. It could have been lightning.”

“It wasn’t lightning, you know that.”

“I know that, you know that. Oh, damn, he knows that, too.”

“He?” Jack looked up. “Oh dear,” he said.

Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis smiled his perished smile upon them. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Might I sit down and join you?”

“Oh yes, please do,” said Eddie. “How wonderful to see you again so soon.”

“I thought I might find you here, filling your faces.” Wellington Bellis took a seat. “You’ve seen the paper, I see.”

“For what it’s worth.” Jack tossed the thing aside.

“It’s worth a great deal,” said Bellis. “We don’t want panic in the streets, now do we? We want to get this thing tied up all neat and nice, as quickly as possible, don’t we?”

“Of course we do,” said Eddie. “Jack and I were just planning our next move when you arrived. Such a pity you’ve derailed our train of thought.”

“Such a pity,” said Bellis, and he reached out and squeezed Eddie’s left paw.

“That hurts rather,” said Eddie. “Would you mind not doing that?”

“I want results,” said Bellis, “and I want them fast. I need the culprit banged up at the hurry-up. And if I do not have the real culprit, I will have to make do with the next best thing. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very clear,” said Jack. “Please stop doing that to Eddie.”

“Always the little bear’s protector.”

“Eddie is my friend. Please let go of his paw.”

Bellis let go of Eddie’s paw. Eddie gave it rubbings with his other one.

“You wouldn’t want any harm to come to this dear little chap, would you, Jack?” asked Bellis, smiling horribly. “Such a pity that would be.”

“There’s no need for this.” Jack glared daggers at the chief inspector. “We are doing all that we can. We want to sort this out as much as you do. Especially after what happened to us.”

“What?” said Bellis. “What is this of which you speak?”

“Jack’s talking about Old King Cole’s,” said Eddie. “That’s what you were talking about, wasn’t it, Jack?” Eddie made a frowning face at Jack.

“Ah,” said Jack. “Ah, yes. That’s exactly what I was talking about. Very upsetting for me, that was. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

“Yes,” said Bellis. “You certainly look like shi –”

“Two Big Boy’s Blow-Out Breakfasts,” said a waitress. A long dolly waitress, with long dolly legs that went right up. “Excuse me, sir, if you would.”

Bellis rose from his chair and gazed down upon the two detectives. “Results,” said he. “And fast. Or else.” And he drew a rubber finger across his rubber throat. “Enjoy your breakfasts.”

And Bellis departed.

“What a bastard,” said Jack.

“Language,” said Eddie. “There’s a lady present.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said the waitress. “I’m not much of a lady. A couple of drinks and I’m anyone’s, really.”

“Really?” said Jack. “What time do you finish your shift?”

“Jack,” said Eddie.

“Sorry,” said Jack.

“Six o’clock,” said the waitress.

“Jack,” said Eddie.

“Might we have a pot of coffee, please?” said Jack.

The waitress departed and Jack watched her do so.

“Please keep your mind on the case,” said Eddie. “You’re as randy as.”

“I think she fancies me,” said Jack.

“Of course she fancies you,” said Eddie.

“I have a definite way with the ladies,” said Jack, preening at his trenchcoat lapels.

“You don’t,” said Eddie, tucking into his breakfast.

“I do,” said Jack, now tucking into his. “Amelie says that she loves me.”

“Well, of course she would.” Eddie thrust breakfast into his mouth, which made his words difficult to interpret.

“Because I’m so handsome and nice,” said Jack, although there was much of the, “Beccmmnth mmn sm hndsmn and nnnce,” about the way he said it.

“No, Jack,” said Eddie. “That’s not why and you know it.”

“It is why,” said Jack. “Sort of.”

“Not,” said Eddie. “It’s because you’re a meathead, Jack. Amelie could aspire to nothing better than marrying a meathead. Any meathead.”

“That’s rubbish,” said Jack, spitting muffin as he said it. “She loves me for me, not for what I am.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” said Eddie, spitting pancake back at Jack. “You have meathead status. Why do you think she wanted you to take her to Old King Cole’s? What was that fight you got into about?”

“I never mentioned to you that I’d got into a fight.”

“Evidence,” said Eddie, making a breezy paw gesture towards his partner against crime. “You punched someone. And someone else – a lady, I presume – struck you several times with a sequinned handbag.”

“You really are a very good detective,” said Jack.

“I’m a special detective,” said Eddie. “But believe me, Jack, cruel as it sounds, she loves you for your status.”

“Well, all thanks for that,” said Jack.

“All thanks? I thought you’d be devastated.”

“Well, I’m not, you cruel little sod.”

“Less of the little.”

“I’m not ready to get involved in another relationship,” said Jack. “I’m still smarting from the last one. I’ll settle for the deeply satisfying shallow sex and have done with it for now.”

“You’re a very bad boy,” said Eddie.

“I’m a teenage boy,” said Jack. “What do you expect from me, sincerity?”

“Stop now,” said Eddie. “It’s too early in the day for such honesty. Tuck into your breakfast, then we’ll get this hypnotism thing done. Then –”

“Then?” said Jack.

“I really don’t have a clue,” said Eddie.

Their breakfasting done and their bellies distended, the two detectives dabbed at their mouths with napkins and grinned at one another.

“It’s not a bad old life,” said Jack.

“It has its moments,” said Eddie.

Jack went up and paid the bill.

And took the waitress’s telephone number.

Jack wound up Bill’s car and he and Eddie entered it.

“So, where to?” Jack asked.

“The circus,” said Eddie, “that’s where.”

“I don’t like the circus,” said Jack. “I’ve never been one for clowns.”

“Odd that, isn’t it?” said Eddie. “Clowns are such a popular thing at the circus, but you’ll never find anyone who actually likes them. Odd that, isn’t it?”

Jack shrugged and said, “I suppose so. So where is this circus?”

“I’ll guide you,” said Eddie. “But please drive slowly or I’ll throw up in your lap.”

Jack drove slowly, with considerable care. He followed Eddie’s guidings and eventually drew up the car before a rather colourful funfair affair in a part of the city that he’d never been to before.

Jack looked up at the colourful banner that hung between colourful posts. “Count Otto Black’s Circus Fantastique,” he read. Aloud.

“You’ll like the count,” said Eddie. “Or at least I hope you will.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” said Eddie, “because then it will sort of balance things out.”

“It will?”

“It will,” said Eddie, “because I can’t stand the sight of him.”

The sight of him was something to behold. At Eddie’s urging, Jack knocked upon the colourful door of a colourful gypsyesque caravan. This door opened and Jack beheld Count Otto Black.

Count Otto Black was tall. He was beyond tall, if such a thing is possible. Beyond tall and well gaunt with it was the count. High above on his facial regions were wonderful cheekbones, just beneath deeply set eyes of the deepest of sets. And just above a great black beard that nearly fell to his waist, the count’s nose was a slender arc; the count’s hair, long and black. Count Otto Black wore wonderful robes of rich purple velvet and plush. Mystical rings adorned his long and slender fingers.

“Count Otto,” called Eddie. “Hello up there.”

Count Otto Black gazed down upon his visitors.

“I must be off now,” said Jack.

“No you mustn’t,” said Eddie.

“Oh yes, I really must.”

“So,” said Count Otto Black. And it was a long and deep “So”. “So, Eddie Bear, you have returned.”

“Like the old bad penny,” said Eddie. “You look well.”

Jack looked down upon Eddie Bear. Eddie looked far from at ease.

“Let’s go,” whispered Jack. “I don’t like this fellow at all.”

Count Otto Black took a step back and the colourful door began closing.

“No, please, your countship,” called Eddie, “this is very important. We’re sorry to bother you, but it is important. You are the only one who can help us.”

The colourful door reopened a tad.

“We need you to use your special powers.”

“Ah,” said the voice of the count. “You are hoping once more to become Toy City’s greatest hypnotist.”

“No,” said Eddie. “Not that.”

“I still bear the scars on my ankles,” said the voice of the count.

Jack looked at Eddie. “I thought you said –”

“I did apologise for that,” said Eddie, ignoring Jack.

“Only after I kicked you over the big top,” said the voice of the count.

“I think we’re on a loser here,” said Jack. “And I hate to say this, Eddie, but have you ever considered anger-management counselling?”

The colourful door of the count’s caravan slammed shut.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Jack.

“No,” said Eddie. “We have to know what happened. The count is the only man who can help us.”

“Man?” said Jack. “Not meathead?”

“He’s a bit special, the count.”

Jack raised eyebrows. Two of them. Both at the same time. And both high.

“Stop doing that,” said Eddie. “You’re only doing it because I can’t.”

“I’m impressed,” said Jack, “you showing respect for a meathead.”

“I’m not prejudiced,” said Eddie.

“Well, we’re stuffed here,” said Jack. “Let’s get back in the car.”

“No,” said Eddie. “We must do this. You must do this. Leave this to me.”

Jack dusted imaginary dirt from his trenchcoat shoulders. “Go on, then,” he said.

Eddie called out to Count Otto Black. “Count Otto,” called Eddie, “this is very important. You are the one man who can help us.”

The colourful door of the colourful caravan remained colourfully shut.

“The fate of Toy City depends on you,” called Eddie.

The door, colourful as it was, did not at all colourfully budge.

“It’s about your monkeys,” called Eddie.

A moment passed and then the door opened a smidgen.

“Your clockwork cymbal-playing monkeys,” called Eddie. “Jack and I are on the case. Jack is a special investigator. I’m …” Eddie paused.

The door didn’t move.

Eddie took a deep breath. “I’m his comedy sidekick,” called Eddie.

The door opened wide.

“Say that again,” said Count Otto Black.

“Jack is a special investigator,” said Eddie, “investigating the monkey case. He needs your help.”

“No,” said Count Otto. “Say the last bit again.”

“I’m …” said Eddie.

“Again,” said the Count. “And loudly.”

“I’m his comedy sidekick,” said Eddie.

The colourful interior of Count Otto Black’s colourful carnival caravan was very much the way that such interiors are in movies. Although not those of the Toy City P.P.P.s persuasion. Those circus movies, with handsome juvenile leads who are trapeze artistes and up-and-coming starlets who ride white horses side-saddle around the circus ring, but seem to do little else. And there are elephants, of course, and a bloke who gets shot out of a cannon. And those clowns that no one actually really likes. And a fat lady and a stilt-walker, and high-wire walkers and even fire-walkers sometimes. And a head without a body that was dug from the bowels of the Earth. But none of these are particularly relevant to the appearance of the interior of the count’s colourful carnival caravan. The relevant point about the interior that gave verisimilitude to those featured in movies was that it was so much bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.

Phew.

“Why are they bigger on the inside than the outside?” Jack asked Eddie.

“That’s obvious,” said Eddie. “So you can get a camera crew in, of course.”

“Be seated,” said Count Otto Black, taking to a big old colourful chair of his own and indicating a lesser. Jack sat down on this lesser chair. Eddie sat down on the floor.

“I feel that you could have seated yourself in a somewhat more comical manner than that,” said Count Otto Black.

Eddie sighed. Rose. Toppled backwards. Lay with his legs in the air.

Jack winced and chewed upon his bottom lip.

“Funny enough for you?” Eddie asked.

“I’d like to see it again,” said the count.

Eddie obliged. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Very much so,” said Count Otto Black. And he extended a long hand to Jack. “So you are a special investigator,” he said.

Jack took the count’s hand and shook it. It was a very cold hand indeed. Very cold and clammy.

The count took back his hand and Jack said, “Yes, I am a special investigator and I believe that you can help me in my investigations.”

“Into the death of my monkeys.”

“They were all your monkeys?”

“Each and every one worked for me. There are not too many openings for cymbal-playing monkeys nowadays.”

“No,” said Jack, “I suppose not. I never really thought about it.”

“They are a great loss to my circus.”

“I suppose they would be.”

“In what way?” asked the count.

“Eh?” said Jack.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘pardon’?” asked the count.

“Pardon?” said Jack.

“In what way do you suppose they would be a great loss to my circus?”

Jack glanced at Eddie. It was a “hopeless” glance. Sometimes a single glance can say so very much. Without actually saying anything at all. So to speak.

“Please don’t do it to him, Count,” said Eddie, making a rather pathetic face towards Count Otto Black. “Jack, my … employer, is a very special investigator, very good at his job, but he’s not up to matching wits with you.”

“I’m up to matching wits with anyone,” said Jack. “Show me a wit and I’ll match it.”

“Time is of the essence,” said Eddie. “Please, Count.”

“Quite so,” said Count Otto Black. “So I suppose you have come here to examine the murder scene. Five of my monkeys gone to dust in their dressing room.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Jack. “I assume that the laughing policemen have already visited the crime scene.”

“And stomped it into oblivion. What, then?”

“Well,” said Jack, “it’s like this.”

And Jack explained to Count Otto Black exactly what it was like. He spoke at length and in detail.

The count listened and then the count nodded. And then the count finally said, “And so you wish me to hypnotise you, regress you to the point when you were engulfed by the very bright light and draw out your repressed memory of what happened next.”

“Exactly,” said Jack.

Count Otto Black nodded thoughtfully.

“No, I won’t do it,” he said.