The Toyminator

  A subtler approach was required.

  Slip around to the back, nip into the kitchen and steal? That was an option. Slip around to the back, knock on the door and then beg? That was another.

  By the smiley sun called Sam! By the maker who’d made him! He’d once been the mayor of this city! Dined from plates of gold! Quaffed champagne with Old King Cole! Had his back massaged by a dolly with over-modified front parts! That he had sunk to this!

  Eddie squared what shoulders he possessed. There had to be some other way.

  Upon the door of Nadine’s Diner hung a sign: HEP WANTED, it said.

  ‘ “Hep wanted”?’ queried Eddie. ‘That would be “help” wanted, I suppose. As in the offer of employment. Hmm.’

  The dolly that leaned upon the countertop, a dolly with over-modified front parts similar to those of the masseuse who had once tended to Eddie, did not look up, or even down, at Eddie’s approach. She was doing a crossword. The dolly was a most glamorous dolly, golden-haired of hair, curvaceous of curve, long-legged of leg and all around glamour of glamorousness. She was, as they say – and folk did when they saw her – absolutely gorgeous.

  Now the question as to whether the absolutely gorgeous have very much in the way of brains is a question that in all truth does not get asked very often. Folk have a tendency to take other folk at face value. Well, at first, anyway. That thing about first impressions and all that. And that other question, ‘If you are very beautiful, do you actually need to have very much in the way of brains?’ is of course that other question. And in all truth, neither questions are questions that should be asked at all. To imply that because you are good-looking you are therefore stupid is an outrageous thing to imply. To think that you can gauge someone’s intelligence by how good-looking they are, and if they are very good-looking then therefore they are stupid!

  Outrageous.

  Because, come on now, let’s be honest here – if you are really good-looking, you don’t need to be really intelligent.

  And if that sounds outrageous, then how about this: there will always be a great many more ugly stupid folk in this world (or possibly any other) than there will be beautiful stupid folk.

  Which might mean that things balance themselves out somewhere along the line. Or possibly do not. It’s all a matter of opinion. Or intelligence. Or looks. Or …

  ‘Four-letter word,’ said the dolly in the prettiest of voices. ‘Cow jumped over it, first letter M, fourth letter N.’

  ‘Moon,’ said Eddie, smiling upwards.

  ‘What did you say?’ The dolly turned her eyes from her crossword and over the counter and down towards Eddie.*

  ‘Moon,’ said Eddie, smiling angelically.

  ‘Why, you dirty little sawdust bag!’ The dolly glared pointy little daggers.

  ‘I only said “moon”,’ said Eddie. ‘Go on. Moon.’

  The dolly’s eyes narrowed. ‘Just because I’m beautiful,’ she snarled, ‘just because I have blonde hair that you can make longer by turning a little thing-a-me-bob on my back – which makes me special, I’ll add – you think I’m some stupid slutty bimbo who’s prepared to moon for any scruffy …’ she twitched her tiny nose ‘… smelly bear who comes in here and—’

  ‘No,’ said Eddie. ‘You have me all wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so, mister. I have you all right. Men are all the same – see a blonde head and a pair of big titties and they think they’re on to an easy one.’

  ‘No,’ said Eddie. Well, yes, he thought. ‘Well, no,’ said Eddie, with emphasis. ‘I meant the word in your crossword – the cow jumped over the moon.’

  ‘What cow?’ asked the dolly.

  ‘The one in your crossword clue.’

  ‘And did you see this cow?’

  ‘I know of it,’ said Eddie. ‘It lives on Old MacDonald’s farm.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the dolly.

  ‘EIEIO,’ said Eddie. ‘As in “Old MacDonald had a farm”.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said the dolly.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Eddie.

  ‘That was another of the clues – “Where does Old MacDonald live?” ’

  ‘Glad to be of assistance,’ said Eddie.

  The dolly took to studying her crossword once more. Then she made a frowning face again and turned it back upon Eddie. ‘Doesn’t fit,’ she said. ‘Too many letters.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Where Old MacDonald lives, “EIEIO” doesn’t fit.’

  ‘I’ve come about the job,’ said Eddie. ‘Help wanted.’

  ‘It’s HEP wanted,’ said the dolly. ‘Can’t you read?’

  Eddie sighed inwardly. ‘Well, I’ve come to offer my HEP,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t look very HEP,’ said the dolly, giving Eddie the up-and-down once-over. ‘In fact, you look very un-HEP and you smell like a drain with bad breath.’

  ‘I had to dive into a cesspit to save a drowning dolly,’ said Eddie. ‘At no small risk to my own safety.’

  ‘Can you play the saxophone?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ve never tried.’

  ‘You’re not tall enough anyway.’

  ‘I grow larger when fed.’

  ‘We were looking for a golly.’

  ‘Typical,’ said Eddie. ‘Discrimination again. Because you’re a teddy everyone thinks you’re stupid. Only good for cuddling and picnicking in those damned woods.’

  The dolly cocked her golden head upon one side. ‘I know how it is,’ she said. ‘Folk just see the outer you, never the person who dwells within. Perhaps …’

  ‘Yes?’ said Eddie.

  ‘No,’ said the dolly. ‘You’re ugly and you smell. Get out.’

  Eddie sighed outwardly and turned to take his leave.

  ‘Eddie!’

  Eddie ignored the voice.

  ‘Eddie! Eddie, it’s you.’

  Eddie turned and Eddie stared and Eddie Bear said, ‘Jack.’

  Jack stood behind the counter next to the golden-haired dolly. He wore a chef’s hat and jacket. And even to Eddie’s first glance, he wore them uncomfortably.

  ‘Eddie,’ said Jack. ‘It is you. It is.’

  ‘It is,’ said Eddie. ‘And it’s you.’

  The kitchen of Nadine’s Diner was grim. But then such kitchens are always grim. Such kitchens are places of heat and conflict, with shouting chefs and stress and panic and lots of washing-up. There was lots of washing-up to do in this particular kitchen.

  Eddie sat upon a grimy worktop surrounded by many unwashed pots and pans. A rat nibbled on something in a corner; a cockroach crossed the floor. Jack stepped on the cockroach and shooed away the rat.

  ‘That’s Barry,’ Jack told Eddie. ‘He’s sort of a pet.’

  Eddie munched ruefully but gratefully on the burger Jack had fried for him.

  Jack leaned on the crowded sink and wiped his hands on a quite unspeakable dishcloth. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he said.

  Eddie looked up from his munchings and wiped ketchup from his face with a greasy paw. He was very, very pleased to see his friend Jack.

  Jack smiled at Eddie and Eddie saw that Jack hadn’t changed: he was still tall and spare and lithe of limb and young and pleasing to behold.

  ‘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 Pres
ident.’

  ‘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, wou
ld 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.

  3

  ‘It’s a monkey,’ said Eddie.

  ‘It’s a dead monkey,’ said Jack.

  ‘It might only be sleeping,’ said Eddie.