But Eddie was hauled once more from the floor.
And Jack in the car gave another terrible shudder.
“Through the gates it is, then,” said he, and he put his foot down hard.
“And put your foot down hard,” said Samuel J. Maggott to the pilot of the helicopter that now stood upon the rooftop of Police Headquarters, slicing the sunlit sky with its blades.
Horrible slicing, mashing sounds came from the chicken cleanser. And terrible cries from Eddie Bear.
And then he was on the conveyor belt again.
And into the drying machine.
And great puffs of steam and smoke belched from this machine.
And further cries came from Eddie.
Cries of vast despair.
And the other Jack clapped his hands together.
And Eddie cried some more.
And the stolen police car smashed through the gates and Jack did further shudderings.
Ahead lay a long, low concrete bunker kind of jobbie. Jack swerved the police car to a halt before it.
“Looks rather formidable,” he said to Dorothy. “I can only see one door, and it appears to be of sturdy metal. Should I try to smash the car through it, do you think?”
“No,” said Dorothy. “Best not. We might well need to make a speedy getaway in this car. I’d use this, if I were you,” and she handed Jack a plastic doodad.
Jack examined same and said, “What is it?”
“Security pass key card,” said Dorothy. “I took it from the guard.”
Jack smiled warmly at Dorothy. “Come on then,” he said.
“Come on then,” said the other Jack. “Up and at it, Mister Bear. Oh dear.”
Eddie Bear looked somewhat out of sorts. He was certainly a clean bear now. Very clean. And dry, too. And sweetly smelling, although he wasn’t personally aware of this. But there was something not quite right about Eddie. His head seemed very big and his body very small. And his arms were all sort of flapping sleeves, whereas his legs were thickly packed stumps.
And as for his ears.
“What have you done to me?” he asked, in a very strange voice.
“Your stuffing seems to have become somewhat redistributed,” said the other Jack. “But no matter. I’ll soon beat you back into the correct shape.”
And outside Jack gave another very large shudder.
And now up in the sky in the police helicopter, Samuel J. Maggott remembered that he had this pathological fear of flying, which his therapist had assured him stemmed back to a freak pogo-stick/ low-bridge accident Sam had suffered as a child.
“Fly lower,” Sam told the pilot.
“Really?” said the pilot. “Can I?”
“Of course you can – why not?”
“Because it’s not allowed,” said the pilot. “We’re not allowed to fly at less than two hundred feet, unless we’re landing or taking off, of course.”
“Why?” asked Sam.
“Helicopters have a tendency to crash into power lines if they fly low,” said the pilot.
“Fly low,” said Sam. “And look out for power lines.”
“Can I fly above all the police cars and the military vehicles that are now speeding along Route Sixty-Six?” asked the pilot.
“That would be preferable,” said Sam.
“Splendid,” said the pilot. And he flung the joystick forward.
And Samuel J. Maggott was sick.
And so was Eddie Bear. He coughed up sawdust and nuts.
“Not on my floor,” said his other self. “You’ll soil my chicken droppings.”
“Sorry,” said Eddie, “but this joker punched me all about.”
“But you look much better.”
Eddie patted at himself. “I don’t feel very well.”
“Then perhaps you’d like a drink?”
“If it’s beer, I would,” said Eddie.
“Jack,” said the other Eddie, “fetch Eddie here a beer, and one for me, too, and one for yourself.”
The other Jack looked down at Eddie Bear. “I don’t think I should leave you alone with him, boss,” said he. “He might turn uglier.”
“He’ll be fine. Eddie and I have much to discuss. Hurry along now.”
The other Jack saluted and then he left the room.
“He never makes me laugh,” said the other Eddie. “Some comedy sidekick he is, eh?”
“Eh?” said Eddie. “Eh?”
“Well, he’s as funny as a fart in a lift.”
Eddie nodded and said, “I suppose so.”
“Sit down,” said his other self.
“What, here, in the chicken poo?”
“Quite so – they are rather messy, aren’t they? But they do call the shots, as it were, so who are we to complain?”
“I’ll just stand then,” said Eddie.
“You do that, good fellow.”
And so Eddie stood. “And while I’m standing,” he said, “perhaps,” and now he shouted. Loudly. “Perhaps you can tell me what in the name of any of the Gods is going on here?”
“Quietly, please.” The other Eddie put his paws to his ears. “It’s a quite simple matter. And I am certain that an intelligent bear such as yourself, one skilled in the art of detection, has, as these Americans would say, figured it all out by now.”
“Are you in charge here?” Eddie asked. “Are you the one in control?”
The other Eddie inclined his head. “I’m in charge,” he said.
“And there’s only the one of you? Not more than one, no other copies?”
“Just me,” said the other Eddie. “Just me, just you.”
“And so you are the murderer,” said Eddie. “The one who murdered the clockwork monkeys, and then the band at Old King Cole’s, and then the orchestra at the Opera House. I saw you there.”
“And I saw you, and I applauded your enterprise, risking all to enter this world. Very brave. Very foolish, but very brave all the same.”
Eddie Bear made a puzzled face. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “Murder your own kind? To reproduce them as free giveaways to sell chicken? It doesn’t make any sense.”
The other Eddie laughed. “You call it murder,” he said, “but here we call it franchising. Your kind are not my kind, Eddie. I am not of your world. Your world is very special. To those in this world it is a land of dreams, of make-believe, where toys live and have adventures. A world of fantasy.”
“It’s real enough for me,” said Eddie Bear.
“But it’s a mess. Every world is a mess, every world needs organisation.”
“This one certainly does.”
“Which is why we are organising it. Let’s face it, you tried to organise yours, didn’t you? When you were mayor of Toy City?”
“Ah,” said Eddie, “that. Well, that didn’t go quite as well as it might have.”
“But you tried your best and we observed your progress. You tried your best but it just didn’t work. And so we decided that the best thing to do would be to wipe the slate clean, as it were. Out with the old and in with the new, as it were. Take the best bits out of the old, employ them in this world. Then do away with the worst.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Eddie, “but I know I don’t like it, whatever it is.”
“I’ll explain everything,” said the other Eddie. “And then you can make your comments. Ah, here comes Jack with the beer.”
Jack entered bearing beers. He gave one to Eddie and Eddie took it between his paws and gave it a big swig.
“I spat in it,” said the other Jack.
And Eddie spat out his swig.
“That wasn’t very nice,” said the other Eddie, accepting his beer.
“I know,” said the other Jack, “but it made me laugh. Cheers!” and he raised his bottle.
“Cheers,” said the other Eddie. “Oh and by the way, I saw a little light twinkling on my desk a while ago. It would seem that someone has penetrated the outer perimeter.”
“That’s right,” said the other Jack. “His friend,” and he cast a thumb in Eddie’s direction.
“My Jack?” said Eddie.
“Your Jack,” said the other Jack, “smashed through the gates in a stolen police car, in the company of some young woman, and entered the bunker using the guard’s security pass key card.”
“Most enterprising,” said the other Eddie. “And where are he and the young woman now?”