Jack stood in the alleyways to the rear of the Roosevelt, looking up at the waste-pipe outlets and rusty fire escapes; Eddie sniffed his way along the dustbins.
“This one,” said Eddie. “Lid off please, Jack.”
“This is disgusting, Eddie.”
“Look,” said Eddie, “I’m not proud of this sort of thing, but it’s a bear thing, okay? We bears might be noted and admired for our exquisite table manners, but we do like a good old rummage around in a dustbin now and then. You do things that I find abhorrent, okay?”
Jack lifted the dustbin lid. “What things do I do that you find abhorrent?” he asked.
Eddie shinned into the dustbin. “You shag dollies,” he said.
“I … em …” Jack sniffed in Eddie’s direction. There was a rather enticing smell issuing from the dustbin.
“They must have had a big do on last night,” said Eddie. “Look at all this lot.” And he passed Jack an unnibbled cake and a piece of cheese.
“It might smell nice, but I could catch something horrible.”
“Wipe it clean on your trenchcoat … No, on second thoughts …”
There was a remarkably large amount of edible food to be found in that dustbin, and it appeared to have been gift-wrapped in paper napkins and needed next to no wiping off.
Jack had a rumbling stomach, but dined without any joy.
His repast complete, Eddie sat with his back against the dustbin and his paws doing pattings at his swollen belly. “Now that was what I call breakfast,” he said. “I couldn’t eat another thing.”
“Not even this wafer-thin mint?” asked Jack, which rang a bell somewhere.[23]
Jack sat down beside Eddie. “Well, on the bright side,” he said, “and we must always look on the bright side, much as I loathe the idea of dining from dustbins, it looks like we’ll never starve in Hollywood.”
“What the Hell, fella? What d’ya think you’re at?”
Jack looked up in startlement. A ragged man looked down.
If Jack had known anything of the Bible, Jack might have described this man as biblically ragged. He was wild of eye and wild of beard, of which he had more than his share. What face of him was to be seen above the beard and around the eyes was tanned by grime and sunlight. His clothes hung in ribbons; his gnarled hands had horrid yellow nails.
“My Goddamn trashcan!” roared this biblical figure.
“Excuse me?” said Jack, with exaggerated politeness.
“My Goddamn breakfast, you –”
“Sorry,” said Jack, and he rose with some haste to his feet. “We’re new to these parts, we had no idea.”
The biblical figure pushed past him and rootled around in the open bin. “You ate my cake! She said there’d be cake.”
“It was very nice cake,” said Eddie. “I’m not sure what flavour, but very nice nonetheless.”
The biblical figure turned his wild eyes back to Jack. “So,” said he, “a wise guy, is it, making growly voices?”
“No,” said Jack, “I didn’t – that was Eddie.”
“Eddie?” The wild eyes looked wildly about.
“Hello there,” said Eddie. “Pleased to meet you.”
The wild eyes looked down.
The wild eyes widened.
“There is some cake left,” said Eddie. “I tried to eat it all, but I’m ashamed to say that I failed.”
“For the love of God!” The biblical figure fell back against the bin and floundered about like a mad thing. Jack offered what help he could and eased him once more into the vertical plane.
“Get your Goddamn hands off me!”
“Only trying to help,” said Jack.
“Make it do it again, go on.”
“Sorry?” said Jack.
“That little furry thing, make it talk again.”
“I’m not a thing,” said Eddie. “I’m an Anders Imperial, cinnamon plush coat –”
“Holy Baby Jesus!” went the biblical figure, which was suitably biblical but somewhat blasphemous, because you are not supposed to use the name of Jesus in that fashion. “How does it do that? Is it on strings?”
“On strings?” said Eddie. “How dare you.”
“You’re working it somehow.” The wild eyes turned once more upon Jack. “It’s a Goddamn puppet of some kind, ain’t it?”
“Ah,” said Jack, most thoughtfully. “Yes, you’re right, of course.”
“Eh?” said Eddie.
“Knew it.” The biblical figure did a little dance. “Darnedest thing I ever saw. How much do you want for it?”
“He’s not for sale,” said Jack. “He has, er, sentimental value.”
“Eh?” said Eddie, once again.
“Shush,” said Jack to Eddie.
The ragged man knelt down before Eddie. “Cute little critter, ain’t he?” he said. “Though real ragged and he don’t smell too good.”
“That’s good, coming from you,” said Eddie, shielding his nostrils.
“Darnedest thing.” And the ragged fellow rose and did another dance.
“Well, nice as it was to meet you,” said Jack, “and sorry as we are about eating your breakfast, being unaccustomed to, er, trashcan protocol in this vicinity –”
“Eh?” now went the ragged man.
“We must be moving along,” said Jack. “We’re –”
“Carny folk,” said the ragged man. “Don’t tell me, let me guess from your accent. English, is it? Carny man from England, I’ll bet.”
“English carny man?” said Jack slowly.
“Here with the circus. I’ll bet this is one big midway attraction.”
“That’s right,” said Jack. “And we, er, I’m an English carny man and I should be on my way.”
“Can’t let you do that, buddy.”
“Sorry,” said Jack, “but I must.”
“Nope. I can’t let you do that.” And from a ragged pocket the ragged fellow pulled a knife. And it was a big one and it looked sharp.
“Now see here,” said Jack, which is what folk always say first under such circumstances.
“You ate my breakfast – you owe me, buddy. I’ll take your furry thing here in payment.”
“No,” Jack said. “You will not.”
The knife was suddenly very near Jack. What sunlight the alleyway gathered fell on its polished blade.
“You don’t really want to do that,” Jack said, which is another thing folk say in such circumstances – the brave, tough ones, anyway.
“Don’t I really?” The gnarled hand flicked the blade before Jack’s eyes.
“No,” said Jack, “you don’t. Because if you do not put that knife away at once, I will have no option other than to blow your balls off.”
“Jack, really,” said Eddie.
The ragged man did wild-eyed glancings downwards.
Jack held a pistol, aimed at the ragged man’s groin.
“Now what the Hell do you call that?”
“It’s a gun,” said Jack. “Perhaps you’ve not seen one before.”
“I’ve seen plenty o’ guns, fella, but that ain’t a real one – that one’s a toy.”
“It will cause you considerable damage at this close range,” said Jack.
“Oh yeah? What’s it gonna do, hit me with a little flag with ‘BANG’ written on it?”
“It does this,” said Jack, and he aimed the gun into the air and pulled the trigger.
And nothing happened.
Jack squeezed the trigger once more and then once again. Nothing else happened either.
“That’s odd,” said Jack, examining the pistol.
“Ain’t it just!” And the knife’s blade flashed once more before Jack’s face. “Hand me the puppet or I’ll cut ya deep.”
“But you don’t understand –”
“I understand this.” And the knife went up. And the knife went down. And the knife fell into the alleyway. And the wild eyes of the biblical figure crossed and then they closed and the figure fell to the ground.
Eddie Bear stood on the dustbin, holding between his paws the dustbin lid.