No voice returned to Jack. There was silence, there was blackness, there was nothing more.
“I don’t like it here now,” said Amelie, tucking away her girly things and closing her handbag. “In fact, I didn’t like it here at all before, either. They were horrid, Jack. I’m glad you hit that horrid man.”
“I’m glad you hit his horrid partner,” said Jack. “Perhaps they are still lying on the dancefloor.” Jack made tentative steps across broken glass, reached the dancefloor and squinted around in the ambient gloom. “I think they upped and ran,” he said.
“Let’s go too, then,” said Amelie. “I know much nicer places than this. We could go to Springfellows, where all the clockworkers hang out. Or the Hippodrome, where all the hippos hang out. Or Barbie’s, where dollies’ bosoms often hang out.”
“No, not yet.” Jack was squinting hard now into the blackened void beyond the darkened footlights. “Do you think you could bring me over one of those candles from the tables, maybe two?”
“Well, I could, but I don’t really want to.”
“Please,” said Jack.
“Well, as you ask me so nicely. And as I love you so much.”
Jack did uneasy scuffings with his feet. Amelie crunched through broken glass and brought him a candelabra. Jack held it up before him.
“This is rather romantic,” said Amelie, as she nuzzled close to Jack. “And there’s no one here but us. We could –”
“We could what?” Jack asked.
“You know what.”
“What, here?”
“We could,” said Amelie. “And I might let you do that thing that you’ve always been wanting to do, but I haven’t let you do yet because you haven’t told me you love me.”
“Ah,” said Jack. “That thing.”
Amelie blew Jack kisses.
“Tempting though that is,” said Jack, “and believe me, it’s very tempting, I don’t think it would be a very good idea right at this moment.”
“Huh,” huffed Amelie. “Perhaps you can’t do it anyway.”
Jack put a finger to his lips. “Just a moment,” he said, in the tone known as hushed. “I think something very bad has happened here. I want to look on the stage.”
“Shall I wait here and take off all my clothes while you have a look?”
“Just wait here.” Jack kissed Amelie’s upturned face. It was such a beautiful face. It was just like a re –
Amelie grasped Jack by the arm. “Is there going to be danger?” she asked.
“I hope not,” said Jack.
“Shame,” said Amelie. “I really love danger.”
“Just wait here. And if I shout ‘run’, just run – will you do that for me?”
“I will, my love.”
Jack gave a sigh that would have done credit to Eddie[12] and haltingly approached the blacked-out stage. Certain sounds now came to Jack, but not from the stage before him. These sounds were of distant bells. The bells that topped police cars. These sounds were growing louder.
Jack climbed up onto the stage, holding the candelabra before him. Its wan light shone upon more broken glass and then upon the piano. And as Jack moved gingerly forward, more there was to be seen, and to this more that was to be seen Jack took no liking whatsoever.
Candlelight fell upon the face of the clockwork pianist. It was a face incapable of expression, and yet as Jack peered, he could see it, see it in the eyes, eyes now lifeless, eyes now dead – that look of absolute fear.
Jack held out the candelabra and moved forward once more.
The saxophonist lay on his side. The drummer did likewise. The pianist was flat on his back.
Jack knelt and touched the pianist’s tin-plate chest. And watched in horror as it sank beneath his touch, dissolved and crumbled into dust.
Jack stood and Jack trembled. What had done this? He’d been aware of nothing but a blinding light. Seen no one. No thing.
Now trembling somewhat and wary that whoever or whatever had done this might not yet have departed the scene of the crime, Jack took a step or two further.
And then took no more and gasped.
By the light of the candelabra he saw her. Her head lolled at an unnatural angle, the neck with its many chins broken, the show clearly over. The fat lady would sing no more.
And …
“Hold it right there and put up your hands.”
Torchlights shone through the now not so ambiently candlelit Old King Cole’s. Many torchlights held by many policemen. Laughing policemen, all of them, with names such as Chortle and Chuckles.
“Hands you, up villain,” came shouts, and Jack raised his hands.
And then they were on him and Jack went down beneath the force of truncheons.
“The force,” said the spaceman to Eddie, “it’s either with you, or it’s not.”
“And it’s with you, is it?” Eddie asked.
“Oh yes,” said the spaceman. “I was thinking of going over to the Dark Side just for the thrill of it, you know. We all have a dark side, don’t we?”
“Only if I sit down in a dirty puddle,” said Eddie. “Whose round is it?”
“Yours,” said the spaceman. And he waggled his rubber hands at Eddie. “It’s your round, so go and get the drinks.”
“It’s not my round,” said Eddie.
“Damn,” said the spaceman. “That never works. I should have gone over to the Dark Side. They have better uniforms and everything.”
“Well,” said Eddie, “I’d like to say that it’s been fascinating talking to you.”
The spaceman raised a thumb.
“I’d like to,” said Eddie, “but –”
“Eddie,” called Tinto, “there’s a telephone call for you.”
“A call for me?” called Eddie. “I wonder who that might be?”
“Chief Inspector Bellis,” called Tinto in reply. “Jack’s just been … Now, what would that be?”
“I give up,” called Eddie. “What would it be?”
“It’s a five,” called Tinto. “Like two is a double and three is a treble and four is a quadriplegic.”
“Four is quadruple,” called Eddie.
“Well, it’s whatever five is,” called Tinto.
“Quintuple,” said Eddie.
“That’s it,” called Tinto. “He’s just been arrested for quintuple murder.”
7
Night-time is the right time, when it comes to crime.
Obviously it’s the right time for criminals, because they can skulk about in shadows and perform their heinous acts under the cover of darkness. But it is also the right time for policemen, because the flashing lights atop their squad cars look so much more impressive at night, and it is to be noticed that once they have reached a crime scene and blocked off the surrounding roads with that special tape that we’d all like to own a roll of[13], they never switch off those flashing lights, even though they must be running the cars’ batteries down, because those flashing lights just look so good. They give the crime scene that extra something. They are a must. They are.
“Switch off those damn lights,” shouted Chief Inspector Bellis, stepping from his special police car – the one with the double set of flashing lights and four big bells on the top – and striking the nearest laughing policeman about the helmet. “They give me a headache.”
“Aw, Chief,” went several laughing ones, though these were out of striking distance.
“Just do it,” roared Bellis, “and do it now.” And he crunched over broken glass and approached the ruination that had so recently been Old King Cole’s.
Jack stood in the doorway, flanked by two burly constables. Jack was in handcuffs.
“And take those off!” bawled Bellis.
“Aw,” went one of the burly officers of the law. “But Chief –”
“But me no buts. And where’s that bear?”
Bellis had actually picked Eddie up from Tinto’s. Which had come as quite a surprise to the bear. Eddie was now asleep in Bellis’s car. The driver, a special constable with the name “Yuk-Yuk” printed on his back, leaned over the back of his seat and poked the sleeper with the business end of his truncheon.
13
Well, just think of the fun you could have, sticking it over a friend’s front door while they’re out and seeing their expression when they come home.