The Toyminator

10

“No?” said Jack. “No?”

“No,” said Count Otto Black. And he said it firmly. Definitely. Without reservation or regret.

“No?” said Jack once more.

“Absolutely no.” The count stretched out his great long arms, brushing his fingertips against the opposite walls of the caravan. “And I will tell you for why: because it would be dangerous, very dangerous, to you, to your mental health. You have to understand this. Your memory was not artificially erased by some piece of advanced space-alien technology. You did it yourself. Your own brain did it.” And Count Otto stretched out a hand to Jack and tapped him lightly on the forehead. “Whatever happened to you was so appalling, so utterly terrifying, that it was too much for you to take in and retain. Your mind rejected it, spat it out, closed itself to these horrors. The door within closed. It would be folly to reopen it.”

“No,” said Jack, and he shook his head. “I don’t believe that. I’ve seen horrors enough. Nothing could be that bad.”

“Really?” said the count. “And yet I feel that I could whisper words into your ear that you would wish until the end of your days that you had never heard me utter.”

“That I consider most unlikely,” said Jack.

“Really?” said the count, and he leaned in Jack’s direction.

“Don’t let him do it, Jack,” cried Eddie, leaping up. “I saw him do it once to a clown. It wiped the smile right off his face.”

“Big deal,” said Jack.

“A smile painted on a tin-plate head,” said Eddie. “Wiped it right off. The smile fell to the ground and a crow swooped down and carried it off to his nest.”

“Eh?” said Jack.

“Trust me,” said Eddie. “Don’t let him do it.”

“All right, all right, but we have to know what happened, Eddie, and if hypnosis is the only way, then hypnosis it has to be.”

“I won’t be persuaded,” said Count Otto Black.

“We’ll give you money,” said Eddie.

“How much money?” asked the count.

And now a period of negotiation began, of bargaining and bartering and wrangling. It was a protracted period and resting times were taken at intervals, whilst negotiators sat and smoked cigarettes, or paced up and down, or worked out calculations on small bits of paper.

It was coming on towards teatime before all was said and done.

“And that’s my final offer,” said Eddie.

“I’ll take it,” said the count. Palms were spat upon, or in Eddie’s case, a paw, then spitty palm and spitty paw were clapped together.

“Now just hold on,” said Jack. “I want to get this straight. Count Otto will hypnotically regress me –”

“Taking no responsibility for the potential damage to your mental health,” said the count.

“Yes, I understand that. But you will regress me in exchange for what, exactly?”

Eddie read out the list of the count’s demands.

“Bill’s car,” he read, and Jack groaned.

“And your trenchcoat.” Further groanings.

“And your hat and your watch.” Eddie paused. Jack groaned doubly.

“Fifty per cent of the reward money.”

“What reward money?” Jack asked.

“Oh, there will be reward money,” said Count Otto Black. “When all else fails.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Jack. “That means when Eddie and I fail.”

“You’re right,” said the count. “I want sixty per cent.”

Eddie sighed. “We agreed on fifty. And forty on the film rights.”

“Film rights?” said Jack.

“There’s a movie in this.” The count mimed camera crankings. “I would want to play myself, of course, although perhaps it might be better if I were to play the juvenile lead.”

Eddie shook his head and sighed once more.

“I’ll have my solicitor go into all the details of the subsidiary rights, marketing offshoots, merchandising deals and suchlike.”

“How long will that take?” asked Jack, whose patience had worn beyond thin.

“No time at all,” said Count Otto. “I keep him in that box over there.”

“He does,” came a muffled voice from that box.

“Fine,” said Jack. “Fine – take everything we’ve got. The car, my coat, my watch. Do you want my shoes, too?”

The count made so-so noddings with his head.

Jack threw up his hands and said, “Ludicrous.”

“I think the count has been very reasonable,” said Eddie.

“Yes, well, you would. He doesn’t want your hat, your coat and your watch.”

“I can’t wear a watch,” said Eddie. “Watches fall off my paws – I don’t have wrists.” And Eddie made a sorrowful face that almost had Jack sympathising.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Jack. “It’s not fair. It’s not.”

“It is most fair,” said Count Otto Black, “because I am taking nothing from you that you will want.”

“Oh, I think you are,” said Jack. “The car. The coat. The watch.”

“No.” Count Otto shook his head. “You will have no need of these things after I have put you through the period of hypnotic regression. All you will have need of is heavy sedation and the immediate use of a straitjacket.”

“Hm,” went Jack, as “Hm” usually served him adequately at such times.

“So let us begin.” Count Otto Black linked his fingers together and did that sickening knuckle-cracking thing that some folk take delight in doing to the distress of those who have to watch them doing it. “To work, to work. And let me ask you this.”

Jack tried to do the knuckle-cracking thing with his own fingers, but failed dismally. “Ouch,” said Jack. “It hurts.”

“I have to ask you,” said the count, wiggling his fingers and, unseen, his toes, “what is the last thing you remember before the big white light?”

“Leaving Tinto’s Bar,” said Jack.

“Although we know that we did more,” said Eddie. “Went through a briar patch and along a yellow-brick road.”

Count Otto Black made a thoughtful face, but as most of it was lost beneath his beard, the degree of its thoughtfulness was lost upon Jack and Eddie.

“We will take Tinto’s Bar as a starting point,” said he. “Why did you leave Tinto’s Bar?”

“Because Tinto had given a note from a spaceman to what he thought was Eddie, but wasn’t,” said Jack.

“And what did that note say?”

“It said that the location of a landed spaceship was Toy Town,” said Jack, “so we went to Toy Town in the car.”

“Hold on,” said Eddie. “I don’t remember any of that. How come you didn’t mention that you remembered that earlier?”

“He couldn’t,” said Count Otto Black.

“Why not?” asked Eddie.

“Because he didn’t remember it.”

“So how come he remembers it now?”

“Because I just hypnotised him.”

“What?” said Eddie. “I never saw you do that.”

“You did,” said Count Otto, “but I hypnotised you so you won’t remember how I did it.”

“You didn’t,” said Eddie.

“Crow like a rooster,” said Count Otto Black. “You are a rooster.”

“Cock-a-doodle-do!” went Eddie.

“And rest,” said the count. And Eddie rested.

“So you left Tinto’s Bar and travelled to Toy Town,” said the count to Jack. “What happened next?”

“We went to Bill Winkie’s house,” said Jack. “Eddie still had the key and we let ourselves in. And Eddie showed me all these weapons hidden beneath the floor. And then we heard someone coming and we hid beneath the trap door.”

“Tell me what you heard then,” said the count.

And Jack spoke of the conversation that he and Eddie had overheard, regarding things in jars and suchlike. And he told the count that the voices they had heard had been their own voices. And then how they’d climbed out of the hideaway and how there had then been a very bright light.

“And what happened next?” asked Count Otto Black.

Jack sat in his chair and stared into space. His eyes grew wide and his hands gripped the arms of his chair. His knuckles whitened, as did his face. Eddie looked on and Eddie looked on with a sense of growing fear.

“The light,” went Jack. “The terrible light.”

“Go on,” said the count. “The light can’t hurt you now.”

“Oh,” went Jack. “They’re coming for us. Out of the light, they’re coming.”

“Gently now,” said Count Otto Black. “You’re quite safe here, they can’t hurt you here. Who is coming out of the light?”

“Not who,” said Jack, and cold sweat formed upon his brow and trickled down his cheeks. “It’s what, not who. They are not men.”

“Are they toys?” asked the count.

“Not toys. Oh, now, they’re taking us. Up into the light. They have us. In that place, that bright place. They’re putting things up our – Ouch! Stop! Ouch!”

“We’ll take a little break there, I think,” said the count.

“No, we can’t,” said Eddie. “Painful as this is, we have to finish.”

“It’s too painful for me,” said the count.

“Too painful for you?”

“Indeed,” said Count Otto. “I need to take a wee-wee. I should have taken one earlier. I can’t hold on any longer.”

Count Otto Black went off to the toilet. Presently, he returned.

“All better now,” he said. “I took a poo as well, just to be on the safe side.”

“Too much information,” said Eddie. “And you’ve quite spoiled the mood.”

“Well, it’s neither here nor there,” said the count, settling himself down into his chair and wiggling his fingers at Jack. “He’ll be nothing more than a vegetable when all this is done.”

“No, I won’t,” said Jack. “I’ll be fine.”

“See how brave he is?” said Eddie. “He’s as noble as.”

“Please yourselves,” said Count Otto. “Pray continue, Jack. Tell us all about the rectal probings.”

Over in the big top, high-wire walkers paused in their practisings, struck by the screams from Count Otto’s caravan. Pigeons fled their airy perches. Dogs howled in the distance.

“Much too much information,” said Eddie, rubbing at his own bum and feeling rather queasy.

“All right,” said the count, “they did all that to you.”

“They did more,” said Jack. “They did …”

Count Otto Black leaned close as Jack whispered.

“They never did?” he said. The count’s eyes started from their sockets. The count rushed outside and was sick.

“Nice going,” said Eddie to Jack, whilst the count was outside upchucking. “Nice to see the count getting a bit of his own medicine. Because, after all, he is an evil hypnotist.”

“And worse is yet to come,” said Jack.

“Oh good,” said Eddie. “I’ll just keep my paws over my ears, then.”

“Best to,” said Jack.

Count Otto returned and Jack continued with his tale.

And eventually he was done.

Count Otto Black sat staring at Jack and Jack sat staring at him.

“Are you all right, Jack?” Eddie asked.

Jack said, “Yes, I’m fine.”

“No feelings of empathy towards members of the vegetable kingdom?”

“Fine,” said Jack. “Now I’ve got it all out of my system, I’m fine.”

“Well, thanks very much, Count Otto,” said Eddie. “Count Otto? Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

Jack drove away from Count Otto Black’s Circus Fantastique. He drove away in Bill’s Anders Faircloud. Jack was wearing his trenchcoat and his fedora and his watch.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” said Eddie, who sat once more in the passenger seat. “Who’d have thought it, eh? Your revelations driving Count Otto Black into a vegetative state? Who’d have seen that coming, eh?”

“Anyone with more than sawdust for brains,” said Jack. “It was what is called a telegraphed gag. One that you could really see coming.”

“So we really were abducted by spacemen.” Eddie whistled and kicked his legs about.

“No, we weren’t,” said Jack.

“We weren’t?” said Eddie. “But we were taken up into the light and terrible bottom experiments were performed on us.”

“True,” said Jack. “There’s no denying that.”

“But you’re saying that it wasn’t spacemen?”

Jack shook his head.

“Then what?”

“Chickens?” said Tinto. “You were abducted by chickens?”

It was early evening now and they were in Tinto’s Bar.

“He’s winding you up,” said Eddie. “And before you say it, not in the nice way.”

“I’m not,” said Jack, counting the drinks that he had ordered and trying to reconcile them with the number that Tinto had delivered. “We were abducted by chickens. Big ones in spacesuits. Horrible, they were, with nasty beaks and evil little eyes.”

“And you remember this?” asked Tinto of Eddie.

“No,” said Eddie, tasting beer. “I do not. The count only hypnotised me to prevent me from remembering how he hypnotised Jack.”

“Oh, slow down there,” said Tinto. “Too much information.”

“We’re done with that line now,” said Eddie. “It wasn’t relevant anyway.”

“I just fancied using it,” said Tinto. “I’m a barman. I do have rights, you know.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” said Eddie. “Why not use it now?”

“Because I want to hear about the chickens. Could you give me a bit of a wind, please, Jack, I’m running down.”

Jack leaned over the bar counter and turned the key in Tinto’s back.

“Howdy doody,” said Tinto to Jack. “Can I help you, sir?”

“We were talking about the chickens,” said Jack. “The ones that abducted Eddie and me.”

“Well, yes,” said Tinto. “You told me that. But I’m rather confused. These space chickens, was it them that blasted the cymbal-playing monkeys with the deaths rays?”

Jack looked at Eddie.

And Eddie looked at Jack.

“Nice mutual lookings,” said Tinto, plucking spent glasses from the bar and giving them a polish, “but hardly an answer to my question.”

Jack now took to tasting beer. “I’m rather confused myself,” he said. “We were abducted by chickens, for reasons unknown.”

“They’d have their reasons,” said Tinto. “They probably stuck implants up your bum.”

“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.