“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.
11
“No,” said Eddie. “Not the ballet.”
He sat in the passenger seat of the Anders Faircloud once more. Jack was once more at the wheel. But for once the Anders Faircloud was not performing high-speed death-defying automotive manoeuvres. It was sort of poodling along and clunking sounds were issuing from the bonnet regions.
“You’ve overwound this car,” said Eddie to Jack. “And you’ve trashed the engine with all your high-speed death-defying automotive manoeuvres.”
“I’ll fix it when I have time,” said Jack, ramming his foot floorwards but eliciting little response. “I know clockwork. And I’ll soup-up the engine, spraunch the springs, caflute the cogs, galvate the gears and other things of a workshop nature generally. You wait until you see how fast it will go then.”
“The poodling’s fine by me,” said Eddie, “but as I was saying, oh no, not the ballet.”
“The ballet it has to be.” Jack poodled through a red light, causing concern amongst righteous motorists. “That is where the next murders will occur. We can be ahead of the game this time, Eddie.”
Eddie yawned and shuddered slightly. “As I am sure you know,” he said, between further yawns, which set Jack off, “we bears are known for our remarkable stamina, and can go for many days without sleep.”
“Bears hibernate all winter,” said Jack, informatively.
“Yes, but that’s because they stay up all summer clubbing ’til dawn.”
“And your point is?” Jack asked.
“I’m knackered,” said Eddie. “Done in, banjoed, wrecked and smitten. I don’t think I can take the ballet.”
“The ballet is soothing,” said Jack. “You can take a little nap.”
“I’ll take a big nap, believe me. And that is not professional for a crime fighter. Five minutes of ballet and I’ll be gone from this world.”
“You’ll be fine.” Jack smiled and drove; the car lurched and hiccuped.
Eddie yawned once more, this time behind his paw, did little lip-smacking sounds and promptly fell asleep.
“We’re here,” said Jack, and he woke Eddie up.
There was no real question as to whether when they built the Toy City Opera House, which also housed the ballet, that they had built it for the patronage of toys. They hadn’t. This was a man-sized affair, as was Old King Cole’s, built for the elite of Toy City. The elite that was man.
Jack had to cruise around for a bit looking for a place to park, but once parked-up, in a rather seedy alleyway, he and Eddie plodded on foot to the glorious, grand establishment.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Jack.
“Frankly, I hate it,” said Eddie. “It sends out all the wrong messages.”
“Right,” said Jack. “Well, I don’t really recall exactly what the protocol is here. The last time we came was when you were first made mayor, remember? We had some times then, didn’t we? We were fêted everywhere.”
Eddie did remember. “Wasn’t I sick in the royal box?” he said.
“Yes,” said Jack. “Just a little. So I think I’d better carry you in under my coat, or something.”
“You what?”
“We don’t want any unpleasantness, do we?”
“I could wait in the car, I don’t mind.”
“Eddie, a crime is going to be committed here. A murderous crime. A multiple murderous crime.”
“You have yet to tell me how you know this to be.”
“I have my sources,” said Jack, and he stuck a hand into his pocket. A tiny sighing sound coming from within went unheard by Eddie.
Because Eddie was now nearly being stomped upon.
The fashionable set, Toy City swells, the fêted glitterati, were hustling and bustling around the two detectives. Exclusive fragrances perfumed the air, diamonds dazzled and shimmered amongst fur stoles, gowns and gorgeousness.
“Do you have tickets?” Eddie called up to Jack.
“No,” said Jack, and he grinned.
“Phew,” said Eddie. “Then at least we won’t get in.”
“We’ll get in – I have my special lifetime membership card.”
“You hung on to that?”
“I have a walletful,” said Jack, “for all those posh places that wanted the bear and his partner who had saved Toy City to patronise their premises.”
“Scumbags all,” said Eddie. “Scumbags and treacherous turncoats. And my lifetime membership was lost in the post, as I recall.”
“You’ll be back on top, Eddie,” said Jack, lifting Eddie from his paw pads and tucking him under his arm. “Once we’ve saved the city once more.”
Eddie made a growly groan. “Just listen to yourself,” he said.
“I’m confident,” said Jack, elbowing his way into the crowd with his free elbow. “We have the edge, we’ll succeed.”
“The edge?” and Eddie shook his head.
The Toy City Opera House owned to a doorman whose livery put that of Old King Cole’s severely to shame. This man was magnificent. So much so that thankfully he was beyond description.
He held up his gloved hand against Jack’s slovenly approach.
“No tradesmen,” said this personage.
“How dare you,” said Jack, making the face of outrage and adopting once more the haughty tone. “I am a lifetime honorary member of this here establishment, and can therefore attend any opera or ballet, free of charge, in the very bestest seats that you have, as it happens. Would you care to see my gilt-edged membership card?”
“Dearly,” said the doorman. “Few things would give me greater joy.”
“That’s a smirk on your face,” said Jack, lowering Eddie to the marble flooring and rootling out his wallet. “We shall see who’s smirking soon.” Jack flicked through a number of cards that offered him lifetime privileges, some at certain establishments that really suited Jack.
“There,” said he, presenting the doorman with a grand-looking one.
The doorman perused this grand-looking card. He held it close to his smirking face, inspected it carefully, raised it up to the light. Marvelled at the watermark and the special metallic strip. Checked the ID photo and everything. “Wow,” he went, and he whistled. “You weren’t pulling my plonker-piece, were you, your princeship.”
“No, I wasn’t,” said Jack. “Now hand it back and stand aside and be grateful that I do not report you for your insolence.”
The doorman whistled once more and returned Jack’s card to him. Then he leaned forward, still smirking, and informed Jack in a curt and brusque manner exactly what Jack could do with himself.
“What?” went Jack. “How dare you!”
“I dare,” said the doorman, “because your card has no currency here. Shove off.”