The Toyminator (14 page)

“Wake up, Eddie,” said Jack once more. “You’ve used the phrase yourself enough times. Something about ‘Beyond The –’”

“Second Big O,” said the suddenly enlightened Eddie. “Beyond The Second Big O.”

“Exactly,” said Jack. “And there it is, The Second Big O in what once spelt TOYTOWNLAND. That’s where these invaders have come from. They come from Beyond The Second Big O – and
that
is The Second Big O.”

Eddie Bear looked up at Jack. “You genius,” he said.

“Well, thank you, Mister Bear,” said Jack, “but I just reasoned it out. That’s what we detectives do, reason it out.”

“Or calculate,” said Eddie, “As in the Opera House business. Do you feel up to confiding in me about that yet?”

“Later,” said Jack. “For now we have to get after the murderers. What does your nose tell you, Eddie?”

“It tells me,” said Eddie, dismally, “that that is the way they went. Beyond The Second Big O.” Eddie sniffed. “
Through
The Second Big O.”

“Then that’s where
we’re
going. Come.” And Jack set off. And then Jack turned. “Come on, then,” he said.

But Eddie once more stood his ground. Most firmly so, in fact.

“Well, come on then, Eddie,” said Jack. “Let’s go, come on now.”

“Ah,” said Eddie and Eddie stood firm.

“Come on now,” said Jack.

“I can’t,” said Eddie. “I just can’t come.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can’t go through there,” Eddie said. “We must call Bellis, get him to employ troops, send an armed task force through, if he will. If he dares.”

“Dare?” said Jack. “What’s to dare? We’ve got weapons, Eddie. Stop this foolishness, come on.”

“I can’t come on, Jack. I can’t. It’s the end of my world up there. I don’t know what will happen if I leave my world.”

“There’s only the two of them. We’re a match for them.”

“There isn’t just two, Jack. If there’s another world beyond that O, then there could be a whole worldful, another whole worldful and not yours or mine.”

“You don’t know what’s there and you won’t know until we’ve gone through and found out. Those monsters that are impersonating us have killed
your
kind, Eddie, many now
of your
kind. They’ll return and kill more if we don’t stop them.”

“We’ll lie in wait, then,” said Eddie.

“You can walk,” said Jack, “of your own accord, or else I’ll carry you.”

“You wouldn’t!” Eddie drew back in alarm. “You wouldn’t treat me like
that
.”

“All right, I wouldn’t, but I’m pleading with you, Eddie. Let’s go after them now, before the scent goes cold. We’ll be careful and I’m damn sure that they won’t be expecting us.”

“You don’t understand,” said Eddie. “You didn’t grow up here.”

Jack looked down at Eddie Bear. The bear was clearly shivering.

“You
are
afraid,” said Jack. “You really are.”

“Yes I am, Jack. I
really
am.”

Jack cocked his head from one side to the other. “You knew,” said he. “You’ve known all along.”

“Know what?” said Eddie. “What did I know?”

“You knew what the phrase meant. Beyond The Second O. If you grew up here and you were told you’d be lost if you went over that hill, you
had
to know what the phrase meant.”

“Well, perhaps I did. But it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Look,” said Jack, “whatever is out there, I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you with my life.”

“I know you will, Jack – you’ve done it before.”

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I will go alone.” And Jack turned to do so.

“No,” cried Eddie. “Jack, please don’t go up there alone.”

“Then come with me, Eddie. Come with me,
Mister
Bear.”

Eddie dithered and dithering wasn’t his style. “Let’s go tomorrow,” he said. “In the daylight.”

Jack hefted his mighty Mini-gun. “I’m going
now
,” he said, “and if you won’t come, if you
can’t
come, then I understand. You’re brave, Eddie. I know you’re brave. But if this is too much for you, then so be it. Wait here and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Jack, please don’t go.”

“I must.”

And with that Jack turned away, looked up the hill, up at the letters TO TO LA, and then Jack set off up the lonely hillside, and Eddie Bear watched him go.

And Eddie Bear made faces and scuffed his paw pads in the moonlit dirt. He couldn’t let Jack go up there on his own, he couldn’t. There was no telling what kind of trouble he’d get himself into. Eddie would have to go, too. No matter how great his fear.

And Eddie took a step or two forward.

And then a step or two back.

“This is ridiculous,” said Eddie. “I
can
do it. I
must
do it. I
can
and I
must
and I
will
.”

But he couldn’t.

The figure of Jack was diminishing, as is often the case with perspective. Eddie watched as Jack climbed higher, bound for that Second Big O.

“Come on, Eddie,” the bear told himself. “Jack is your bestest friend. You would never forgive yourself if he came to harm and you could have protected him from it.”

“I know,” Eddie now told himself, “but I’ve been hoping against all hope that there was another solution. That the murderers
were
simply spacemen, or something. Something not of this world, but
not
something from Beyond The Second Big O. Because beyond there lies a terrible, dreadful something. That’s what I was taught and that is what I believe.”

“And you’re letting your bestest friend wander into that something alone,” Eddie further told himself. “What kind of bear are you?”

“A terrified one,” Eddie further, further, further told himself.

“Oh, what do I do? Tell me, what do I do?” And Eddie, although no devout bear, prayed to the God of All Bears. “I don’t know what to do,” Eddie prayed. “Please won’t you send me a sign?”

And perhaps it was the God of All Bears, or perhaps it was not, but a sign was made manifest to Eddie. Manifest in the Heavens, it was, as such signs often are.

And Eddie looked up and Eddie beheld. And he beheld it on high.

The moonlit sky was studded with stars, but one was brighter than all the rest. Eddie Bear peeped through his button eyes. “There’s a new star in Heaven tonight,” he said.

And the new star, the bright new star, grew brighter still.

“Is that you, Mister God?” asked Eddie.

And brighter and closer grew this star until it was all over big.

And Eddie looked up at this very big star.

And Eddie Bear said, “Oh no!”

For this star, it now seemed, was no star at all. This star now grew even bigger and hovered now overhead. For this star, it seemed, was no star at all. It was a spaceship instead.

A proper flying saucer of a spaceship, all aglow with twinkling lights and a polished underbelly.

And the saucer now hovered low above Eddie and Eddie could make out rivets and tin plate and a sort of logo embossed into the underside of the brightly glowing craft. And this logo resembled a kind of stylised, in-profile sort of a head. And this was the head of a chicken.

And a bright light swept down upon Eddie.

And Eddie Bear took to his paw pads.

And onward scampered Eddie with the spaceship keeping pace, and the light, a sort of death-ray one, he supposed, a-burning up the grass and gorse and briars and nettles and stuff.

“Wah!” cried Eddie as he scampered. “Wah! Oh, Jack. Help me!”

Jack, a goodly way up the hill, turned and looked over his shoulder. And Jack saw the spaceship and Jack saw Eddie.

And Jack was frankly afeared.

And when Jack had managed to summon a voice, this voice cried, “Eddie, hurry!”

“I
am
hurrying.” And Eddie was, his little legs pounding beneath him. And Jack now hefted his great big gun and flipped off the safety catch.

The spaceship, keeping pace with Eddie, burned up the hillside behind him. The gorse and briars and nettles and stuff took all to blazing away. A goodly fire was spreading now, fanning out to Eddie’s rear.

“Hurry!” cried Jack. And then he let rip. Let rip with the Mini-gun. The clockwork motion hurled projectiles through six revolving barrels. Barrels spat flame and bullets, bullets that tore tracer-like into the moonlit sky.

And the craft moved onward, bullets bouncing from its hull. And the light swept onward, raising fire in Eddie’s wake.

And the bear rushed onward, bound for his bestest friend.

“You’re a really bad spacecraft,” cried Jack, and he flung the Mini-gun aside and brought forth a grenade from his trenchcoat pocket. “Come on, Eddie, faster now,” and Jack pulled the pin and wondered how many seconds ’til
Boom!

“Ow!” went Eddie. “Ouch!” And his heels took fire.

“One,” said Jack. “Two. How many? Ten, I suppose, so three, no, that would be four now, or maybe six, or seven, or … damn.”

And Jack hurled the grenade.

And it was a good hurl, but it fell short.

And a big chunk of hillside exploded.

And some of that hillside rained down upon Eddie.

“Don’t do that, Jack!” cried the bear.

Jack pulled out another grenade and once more pulled the pin.

“One, two, three, four,” Jack counted. “Hurry, Eddie, hurry, eight, nine, oh!” And Jack did another hurling and ducked his head as he did so. For the spacecraft was very near now, as indeed was Eddie.

“Quickly, Eddie.” And Jack snatched up the bear and ran very fast indeed.

And next there came an explosion, an explosion on high. And the spaceship swung about in the sky, flames roaring from its upper dome area. And then it began its plunging down, in Jack and Eddie’s direction.

“Oh no!” shouted Jack, and he ran and he leapt, a-clutching Eddie tight. And as the spaceship smashed down to the hillside with a mighty explosion, which far exceeded that of the falling chandelier and probably had the edge over even a car chase when it came to exciting spectacle, Jack leapt for his life, leapt with Eddie, up and through and beyond.

Jack leapt through The Second Big O.

And through and out and into nothing.

And down and down and down.

And Jack tumbled down.

And Eddie, too.

And down and down and down.

And, “Oooh!” cried Eddie.

And, “Ouch!” cried Jack.

And, “Ooooh!” and, “Ouch!” and, “Ow!”

And then all finally became still and silent and Jack lay upon grass, and so did Eddie, and moonlight fell down on them both.

“Are we still alive?” Eddie asked. “And this time I
do
mean us.”

“So it would seem.” Jack patted at his limbs. None, it appeared, were broken.

Eddie did flexings at his seams, and none, it seemed, were torn.

“And
where
are we?” And Eddie looked all about himself.

“We went through The Second Big O.”

“Oh no!”

“But we’re still alive, don’t knock it.”

“And we are …” Eddie felt at the ground. “We’re on grass, on a hillside.”

“Because we’re on the other side of the hill,” said Jack. “Which means that you had nothing to fear. I’d like to say, ‘I told you so,’ but as I didn’t it wouldn’t help much.”

“On grass,” said Eddie. “On grass.”

“On grass,” Jack said. “Just on the other side of the hill.”

“Well,” said Eddie, and Eddie rose, “I don’t know what you were making all the fuss about.”

“Me?” said Jack. “I was making all that fuss? Sorry?”

“I forgive you,” said Eddie.

“What?” said Jack.

“It doesn’t matter, forget it.”

Jack now climbed to his feet. He dusted down his trenchcoat, sniffed at his fingers and said, “Yuk!”

“You’ll want to get that trenchcoat cleaned,” said Eddie. “I know a good dry-cleaners. Although I’ve never understood how dry-cleaning works – do you know how it does?”

“Don’t change the subject, Eddie.”

“What subject would that be?”

Jack smiled down upon Eddie. “It doesn’t matter, Mister Bear. We’re both safe and that’s all that matters.”

“You certainly taught those space chickens something,” said Eddie. “Don’t mess with my bestest friend Jack. That’s what you taught them. Well done you.”

“It
was
a big explosion,” said Jack. “Actually, I’m quite surprised that a lot of flaming spaceship didn’t rain down upon us. Pretty lucky, eh?”

“Pretty
damn
lucky,” said Eddie. And looked all around and about. “And so this is it?” he said. “
This
is what I spent my whole life dreading? The land Beyond The Second Big O. And all it is is another hillside – not much of a big deal, eh, Jack?”

Jack didn’t answer Eddie. Jack was gazing back up the hillside. Up in the direction from which he and Eddie had tumbled down and down.

“Not much, eh, Jack?” said Eddie once again. “Eh, Jack?”

But Jack didn’t answer.

“Jack, are you listening to me?” asked Eddie.

And Jack stirred from his staring. “Eddie,” said Jack, “tell me this.”

“Tell you what?”

“Well, we plunged through The Second Big O, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“The Second Big O in the remaining few letters of what once spelled out ‘TOYTOWNLAND’ and now just spell ‘TO TO LA’.”

“That we did,” said the bear.

“So, looking back,” said Jack, “at those big letters, we should see the reverse of ‘TO TO LA’. ‘AJ OT OT’, in fact.”

“Indeed,” said Eddie, “but I don’t know how you were able to pronounce that.”

“But that’s not what I’m seeing,” said Jack. “Those big letters on the hillside, they’re not spelling out ‘AJ OT OT’.”

“They’re not?” said Eddie.

“They’re not.”

“So what
are
they spelling?”

And Jack pointed upwards and Eddie looked up upwards and then Eddie said, “What does
that
mean?”

And Jack said slowly, “I don’t know what it means, but those letters spell out ‘HOLLYWOOD’.”

“Hollywood?” said Eddie Bear. “What does
Hollywood
mean?”

“Place name, I suppose,” said Jack, a-dusting at his trenchcoat. “This coat is going to need some serious cleaning.”

“Forget the coat!” And Eddie raised his paws. “We
are
in another world, Jack. This isn’t just the other side of the hill.”

“Seems so.” Jack stretched his shoulders and Jack also yawned, tiredness catching up with him. “But it looks pretty much like the world we just came from – there’s nothing scary here.”

Eddie Bear shuddered and shook his head. “There is something scary, I know it.”

“You
don’t
know it, Eddie. You’re just disorientated.” Jack sniffed at the air and Jack took off his trenchcoat. “It’s warmer here at least, which is nice.”

Eddie now also sniffed the air and with these sniffs he stiffened. “No, Jack,” he said. “Not nice, not nice at all.”

“You’ve picked up the scent again?”

“Not the scent, Jack. Not the scent.”

“Then what?”

Eddie gave the air another sniffing. “Meatheads, Jack,” he said, and there was fear in his growly voice.

“Men?” said Jack. “Nearby? Where?”

“Everywhere,” said Eddie Bear. “We’re in the world of the meatheads.”

Jack looked back at the Hollywood sign. “The world of the meatheads,” he said.

Now, for those who have an interest in such things as these, it is to be noted that …
[20]

For those who do
not
have an interest in such things, it probably doesn’t matter.

“So what do you think we should do now?” Jack asked.

“Go back,” said Eddie. “Climb through The Second Big O up there and hope it leads back to our own world.”

“Perhaps I put it poorly,” said Jack. “What I meant to say was, now that we
are here, to stay
, until the job is done, what should we do next?”

Eddie yawned mightily. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he said, “that there is a vast city down the hill, all lit up in the night. How about us finding somewhere safe and taking a bit of a sleep?”

Jack did further yawnings, too. “Good plan, Mister Bear,” said he.

As going forward was fearsome for Eddie, they tramped back to the Hollywood sign. And from there Jack looked out at the lights of the big city that lay below. And it was (and is) an impressive sight. And Jack was suitably impressed. And behind the sign they located the little hut where the bulb-man who had tended to the lights way back in the nineteen-thirties had spent his illuminating existence.

The door was padlocked, but Jack soon had the padlock picked. The two exhausted detectives crept into the little hut, pulled shut the door and settled down in the darkness upon ancient light-bulb boxes. And in less time than it takes to interpret a Forgotheum conundrum, using as your baseline the Magwich/Holliston Principle, they were both quite fast asleep.

A big smiley sun rose over the Hollywood Hills. It didn’t have a big smiley face like the one that rose over Toy City, but it got the job done and its rays slipped in through the dusty panes of the little old hut and touched upon sleeping faces.

Jack awoke with a yawn and a shudder, blinked and sniffed and clicked his jaw. Hopes that the doings of the previous night had been naught but dreamstuff ebbed all away as Jack surveyed his surroundings.

Man-sized shed with a man-sized door. Man-sized tools hanging on a rack. A pile of what looked to be newspapers tied up with string. “A world of men,” said Jack to himself. “Hardly a nightmare scenario. I grew up in a town inhabited by men and women; Toy City has to be the only city inhabited by toys. Probably everywhere else, no matter on which world, is inhabited by men.” Jack paused for a moment then, before adding, “Except those inhabited by an advanced race of chickens, that would be.” A further pause. “But looking on the bright side, Eddie didn’t smell chickens last night, only men.”

“Talking to yourself again?” asked Eddie, awakening.

“Only time I ever have an intelligent conversation,” said Jack.

“Most amusing.” Eddie now looked all about himself. “Shame,” said he. “As you know, we bears never dream, but I really hoped that I might have dreamed this last night.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to get alarmed about, Eddie. As I was just saying to myself, I come from a town exclusively inhabited by men.”

“Nice place, was it?” Eddie asked.

“Well,” said Jack.

“Well,” said Eddie, “I seem to recall that you hated it so much that you ran away from it.”

“Which doesn’t mean to say that this Hollywood place won’t be nice. Chin up, Eddie, let’s look on the bright side, eh?”

Eddie’s tummy rumbled. “Breakfast would be nice,” he said. “Perhaps there’s a farm nearby where we could steal some eggs, or something.”

“Steal some eggs? Have you decided to give up detective work and pursue a life of crime?”

“You possess local currency, then?”

“Well.”

Eddie was up now and peeping through the door crack. “Much as I hate to do it, then,” he said, “let’s wander carefully into this world of meatheads and see what there is to be seen.”

“Trust me,” said Jack. “Everything will be fine.”

And so down Mount Lee they went,
[21]
with Jack whistling brightly in order to disguise his nervousness and Eddie quoting and requoting Jack in his head. “Everything will be fine,” he requoted. “What a load of old toot.”

Eventually they reached a fence, climbed over it and found a road.

“See,” said Jack, “nothing to be worried about.”

“I’ve never had a particular terror of roads,” said Eddie. “You gormster.”

“There are houses here, nice houses,” said Jack. “Should I knock and ask for a glass of milk or something?”

“Let’s head on down,” said Eddie. “We saw all the lights last night – this must be a very big city. Big cities have alleyways, many of them behind restaurants. We’ll just rifle through some bins.”

“I’m not doing
that
!”

“Well, you make your own arrangements, then. I’m as hungry as.”

It’s a long walk down to LA proper. But you do pass some very nice houses on the way. Homes of the Hollywood stars, they are, although Jack and Eddie weren’t to know this yet.

“These are really swish houses here,” said Jack.

“Probably the homes of the local P.P.P.s.” Eddie peered in through magnificent gates, curlicues of bronze and steel, intricate and delicate, held fast by padlock and chain.

“
Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra! Ra!”
It was a most excruciating sound, loud and raw and fierce. Something huge slammed against the gate, causing Eddie to fall back in alarm. A monstrous hound yelled further
Ras
! and snarled with hideous teeth.

“Down, boy,” called Jack. “Nice doggy, down.”

“Run for your life,” howled Eddie.

“It’s all right, it can’t get through the gates.”

“I hate it here, Jack, I hate it.”

They walked along the centre of the road. To either side of them now, growly dogs appeared at padlocked gateways and bid them anything but a warm welcome.

“You don’t think,” said Jack, “that you might have got it all wrong, Eddie? We’re not in Dog World, are we?”

“Gormster.”

And then they had to get off the road and off the road with haste.

“
Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba!”
went this scary something.

And then something wonderful rushed by.

Jack looked on and he did so in awe. “An automobile,” he said.

And such an automobile was this. An electric-blue Cadillac Eldorado, circa 1955. Big fins, fabulous tail-lights, all the trimmings. Nice.

“Wow,” went Jack as the Cadillac sped on. “Did you ever see anything quite like that?”

Eddie shook his shaken head. “Did you see the
size
of it?” he said. “I’ve seen swimming pools smaller than that. And …” And Eddie rubbed at his nose and coughed a little, too. “That wasn’t clockwork, was it, Jack? It had smoke coming out of the back.”

Jack shrugged and Jack said, “Let’s keep moving.”

“I’m hungry.”

“So am I.”

And so they wandered on. But for the
Ra-ing
dogs and the
Ba-ing
car they saw no more signs of life.

“Where is everybody?” Eddie asked.

“Sun’s just up,” said Jack. “I suppose it’s early yet.”

“What time do you have on your wristwatch?”

Jack checked his watch, shook it, put it to his ear. “It’s stopped,” he said. “That’s odd, it’s never stopped before, although –”

“Although what?”

“Well, I never understood how it worked anyway – it doesn’t have any insides, just a winder connected to the hands.”

“I thought that was all a watch needed,” said Eddie.

“No,” said Jack, and they wandered on.

And at last reached Hollywood Boulevard.

Eddie looked up and Eddie was afeared. “Jack,” whispered Eddie, “Jack, oh Jack, those are very large buildings.”

“A world of men,” said Jack. “Look – there’s a hotel, what does it say? The Roosevelt.”
[22]

Jack looked up with considerable awe. “I love
that
,” he said.

“I hate it,” said Eddie. “But there is one thing I do know about hotels: they always have a lot of dustbins round the back.”

Now it is a fact well known to those who know it well, and those who know it well do not necessarily harbour a particular interest in the foibles of architects, that the rears of hotels are always rubbish. Which is to say that whilst the front façades display all the architectural splendours that those who commissioned their construction could afford, the rears of the buildings are a proper disgrace. They’re all waste pipes and rusty fire escapes and dustbins, lots of dustbins.

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?”