It came complete with comfy passenger seats in plush fur fabric and a clockwork cabbie called Colin.
'Very plush,' said Jack, comfying himself upon a comfy passenger seat.
'Where to, guvnor?' asked Colin the clockwork cabbie, his tin-plate jaw going dick click click.
'Little Jack Horner's,' said Jack.
'He's popular today,' said the cabbie.
'Why do you say that?' Eddie asked.
'Because I've just come from his place; dropped a customer there.'
Jack and Eddie exchanged glances. 'What did this customer look like?' Jack asked.
'She was a strange one,' said the cabbie. 'Didn't speak. Just handed me a piece of paper with Jack Horner's address on it. She wore this feathered hat thing and she never stopped smiling. I could see her in the driving mirror. She fair put the wind up me, I can tell you.'
'Faster,' said Eddie. 'Drive faster.'
'Faster costs more money,' said the cabbie.
'Fast as you can then,' said Eddie, 'and you can have all the money I've got on me.'
'And all the money I have too,' said Jack.
The driver put his pressed-tin foot down. Til show you fast,' he said. And he showed them fast.
'Eddie,' said Jack, as he clung for the dearness of life to whatever there was for him to cling to.
‘Jack?' said Eddie, who clung on to Jack.
'Eddie, what are we going to do when we get there? We're no match for this woman-thing.'
The cab hung a left and went up on two wheels.
'Big guns,' said Eddie. 'We need big guns.'
'But where are we going to get big guns?'
'Big guns?' The cabbie glanced over his shiny shoulder. 'Did I hear you say big guns?'
'Watch the road!' shouted Jack.
'Big guns, I said,' said Eddie.
'I love big guns,' said the cabbie. 'Well, you have to in this business.' He now hung a right and the cab went up on its other two wheels.
'In the cabbie business?' Eddie was now on the floor; Jack helped him up.
'You'd be surprised,' said the cabbie. 'Folk get into my cab and ask me to drive somewhere, then tell me that they have no money.'
'Oh,' said Eddie. 'So you menace them with your big gun?'
'No,' said the cabbie. 'I shoot them. I'm mad, me.'
'Oh, perfect,' whispered Jack.
'Stay cool,' whispered Eddie. 'Mr Cabbie?'
'Yes?' said the cabbie. 'Oh hold on, there's a red light!'
'I'll wait until you've stopped then.'
'I don't stop for red lights,' said the cabbie. 'Not when there's a really big fare in it for me. I'll probably take the rest of the week off once you've paid up.'
'Ah,' said Eddie. And the cabbie ran the red light, much to the distress of the traffic that had the right of way. This traffic came to a sudden halt. Cars bashed into other cars. A swerving lorry ran into a shop front.
'Nearly there,' the cabbie called back. 'Best get your wallets out, and I'll take your wristwatches too.'
'You're a very funny fellow,' said Eddie.
'Thanks a lot,' said the cabbie, revving the engine and putting his foot down harder. 'And some people say that psychopaths don't have a sense of humour. What do they know, eh?'
'Nothing,' said Eddie. 'But about this big gun of yours...'
'This one?' The cabbie whipped it out of his jacket with his gear-changing hand. It was a very big gun indeed.
'Whoa!' went Jack. 'That's a 7.62 mm M134 General Clockwork Mini-gun. Max cyclic rate 6000 rounds per minute. 7.62 x 51 shells, 1.36kg recoil adapters, muzzle velocity of 869m/s.'
'You certainly know your weapons, buddy,' said the cabbie. 'And this one carries titanium-tipped ammunition. Take the head off a teddy at two hundred yards.'
'We're sawdust,' whispered Eddie.
Jack made shushing sounds. 'I used to work in the factory that manufactured those guns,' he told the cabbie. 'Do you have it serviced regularly?'
'I keep it well oiled.' The cabbie swerved onto the wrong side of the road, which made things exciting for the oncoming traffic.
'How many times have you fired it?’ Jack asked.
'Dozens of times,' said the cabbie, performing further life-endangering automotive manoeuvres.
'And you've not had the chamber-spring refulgated?'
'Eh?' said the cabbie, taking a turn along the pavement.
'Surely you've read the manual?'
'Naturally,' said the cabbie. 'I'm a practising Mechanolo-gist. But what has my religion got to do with this?'
'Nothing at all,' said Jack. 'But if you don't get that chamber-spring refulgated, that gun is likely to blow your arm off the next time you fire it.'
A grin appeared upon Eddie's face. It did not take a genius to figure out what was coming next.
'I could refulgate it for you,' said Jack.
'What do you take me for?' asked the cabbie.
The grin disappeared from Eddie's face.
'You're going to charge me for doing it, aren't you?' the cabbie said.
'No,' said Jack. Til do it for free.'
Eddie's grin reappeared.
'Well.' The cabbie hesitated — although not with his driving.
'Listen,' said Jack, 'I'm only thinking of you. Imagine the unthinkable occurring.'
'I can't imagine the unthinkable,' said the cabbie. 'What would that be like?'
'It would be like us not being able to pay and you having to shoot us, but the gun blowing your arm offinstead. You'd look pretty silly then, wouldn't you?'
'I would,' the cabbie agreed.
'And you wouldn't want to look silly.'
'I certainly wouldn't.' The cabbie handed the gun over his shoulder to Jack.
Eddie looked up at his partner with a look that almost amounted to adoration. 'Wonderful,' he said.
'We'll see,' said Jack. 'Now let's get this chamber-spring refulgated. We don't want the cabbie to blow his arm off when he shoots us.'
'Eh?' said Eddie.
Jack raised an eyebrow.
'Oh I see, you're only joking again. I don't think I'll ever get the measure of your humour, Jack.'
'We're here,' said the cabbie, bringing his cab to a shuddering halt. 'How are you doing with my gun?'
Eddie and Jack ran up the sweeping drive towards Little Jack Horner's mansion. It was a worthy mansion, situated on a lower southwestern slope of Knob Hill. It was appropriately plum-coloured, and had a great many corners to it where, within, one might sit and enjoy some Christmas pie.
The plumly-hued front door stood open.
Jack cocked the 7.62 mm Ml34 General Clockwork Mini-gun. Its polished butt was slightly dented now, from the blow it had administered to the rear of the cabbie's head. Jack hadn't enjoyed striking down the cabbie, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Jack ducked to one side of the open doorway, Eddie ducked to the other.
'What do we do?' Jack asked. 'Rush in, big gun blazing?'
'Sneak in, I think,' said Eddie. 'Big gun at the ready. And remember, she'll be expecting us. She knows we have the list.'
'Let's sneak then.' Jack took a deep breath and then entered the mansion, Eddie close upon his heels.
As Jack did his sneaking, he also did peepings about, not just to seek out the mysterious murderess, but to generally peruse the premises.
Jack was getting a feel for grandeur. For wealth. He'd viewed the overt opulence of Humpty Dumpty's apartment, the gilded rococo chic of Oh Boy! and the romantic harmony of Madame Goose's establishment.
This, however, differed from those, which indeed differed from each other.
'This stuff is old, isn't it, Eddie?' Jack peeped into an elegant room, lavishly furnished with ebonised furniture trimmed -with heartstone and heavy on the ormolu. 'I mean, it's old.'
'Antiques so often are,' said Eddie.
'Yes, but what I mean is this: the folk in nursery rhymes are the old rich of Toy City, aren't they?'