Smokey Joe leaned forward, brass cogs whirring, cigar smoke engulfing his head. He viewed the cigar butt and nodded. “One of mine,” he said. “A Turquoise Torpedo.”
“But it’s brown,” said Jack.
“But what’s in a name?” said Smokey Joe. “Or what’s not? It may be brown, but it tastes like turquoise.”
“And it is one of yours?”
“It is.”
“Then my question is this: do you recall selling any of these cigars recently?”
Smokey Joe nodded. “Of course I do. I recall the selling of every cigar, because in truth I don’t sell many.”
“And you sold one of these cigars recently?”
“I sold one hundred of these cigars yesterday evening.”
“One hundred,” said Jack. “That is an incredible number.”
“Really?” said Smokey Joe. “I always thought that the most incredible number must be two, because it is one more than just one, yet one less than any other number, no matter how great that number might be. And there must be an infinite number of numbers, mustn’t there be?”
“I’m sure there must,” said Jack. “But please tell me this: would it be possible for you to describe to me the individual who purchased those one hundred cigars from you yesterday?”
“Your lordship is surely mocking me,” said Smokey Joe, adding more smoke to his words.
“No, I’m not,” said Jack. “I’m well and truly not.”
“But your lordship surely knows who purchased those cigars.”
“No,” said Jack. “I well and truly don’t.”
“Of course you do,” said Smokey Joe.
“Of course I don’t,” said Jack.
“Do,” said Joe.
And, “Don’t,” said Jack.
And, “Do,” said Joe once more.
“Now listen,” said Jack, “I am not asking you a difficult question. Please will you tell me who purchased those cigars?”
“I will,” said Smokey Joe.
“Then do so,” said Jack.
“Then I will,” said Smokey Joe. And he did. “That bear with you,” he said.
4
“It wasn’t me.” And Eddie fell back in alarm. “It wasn’t me – I’m as innocent as.”
“It was you, you scoundrel.” And Smokey Joe huffed as he puffed. “I’d know the looks of you as I’d know the colour of moonlight, those mismatched eyes and your scruffy old paws.”
“It’s cinnamon plush,” Eddie protested. “I am an Anders Imperial.”
“Oh yes? Oh yes?” Smokey Joe did rockings and smoke came out of his ear holes. “You weren’t wearing that fedora when you came into this here establishment, but I’ll wager that under it there’s a bottle cap in your left ear.”
“That’s my special tag.” Eddie now cowered behind Jack’s legs. This was all a little much.
“Scoundrel and trickster,” puffed Smokey Joe, pointing an accusing cigar at this scoundrel and trickster.
“Now just stop this,” Jack said. “I feel certain that you have made some mistake.”
“Mistake?” said Smokey Joe and rolled his eyes, which seemed to smoke a little, too. “He took one hundred of my finest Turquoise Torpedoes and I demand proper payment.”
“I am confused,” said Jack. “You said that my associate here purchased these cigars from you.”
“With tomfoolery coin of the realm.”
“Still not fully understanding.” Jack gave his shoulders a shrug.
“Bogus coin, he paid me with. A high-denomination money note, in fact. I placed it into my cash register and moments after he left it went poof.”
“Poof?” said Jack, miming a kind of poof, as one might in such circumstances.
“Poof,” went Smokey Joe. “And never take up mime as a profession. The money note went poof in a poof of smoke and vanished away.”
“A poof of smoke?” said Jack, not troubling to mime such a thing.
“And of no smoke that I have ever seen and I’ve seen all but every kind.”
“I am most confused,” said Jack.
“And me also,” said Eddie. “And wrongly accused. Let’s be going now.”
“Oh no you don’t,” said Smokey Joe, and with the kind of ease that lent Jack the conviction that it was hardly the first time he had done such a thing, Smokey Joe drew out a pistol from beneath his counter and waggled it somewhat about.
“Now hold on,” said Jack. “There’s no need for that.”
“There’s every need,” said Smokey Joe. “You were thinking to depart.”
“Well, yes, we were.”
“And you cannot. We shall wait here together.”
“For what?” Jack enquired.
“The arrival of the constables, of course.”
“Ah,” said Jack. “And you expect their arrival imminently?”
“I do,” said Smokey Joe. “I pressed the secret button beneath my counter when you entered my store. It connects by a piece of knotted string to the alarm board at the police station.”
“Most unsporting,” said Eddie.
“Which is why I engaged you in a lot of time-wasting toot,” said Smokey Joe, “to give the police time to appear.”
“Then all that business about chickens?” Jack asked.
“That wasn’t toot. You should fear those chickens. I know whereof I speak.”
“You failed to mention that I should similarly fear the arrival of the constables.”
“I kept that to myself. Now just you stand still, or I will be forced to take the law into my own hands and shoot you myself.”
“For stealing one hundred cigars?” Jack threw up his hands. Smokey Joe cocked the pistol.
“Easy, please,” said Jack, his hands miming “easy” motions and miming them rather well. “I will pay you for the cigars. There’s no need to go involving the police.”
“But I never bought the cigars,” said Eddie. “It wasn’t me, Jack, honest.”
“I know it wasn’t, Eddie.”
“It was too,” said Smokey Joe. “And his soggy feet made puddles on my floor. I had to employ the services of a mop and bucket. And they don’t come cheap of an evening, I can tell you. They charged me double.”
“I’ll pay you whatever you want,” said Jack.
“With what?” whispered Eddie.
“I’ll write you an IOU,” Jack told Smokey Joe. “I’m a prince, you know.”
“Then why aren’t you wearing a crown?”
“Actually, I am,” said Jack. “It’s under my fedora.”
“It never is,” said Smokey Joe.
“It never is, is it?” said Eddie.
“In fact,” said Jack, “you can have the crown and all the jewels on it. Will that be payment enough?”
“It must be a very small crown to fit under that hat,” said Smokey Joe, cocking his head in suspicion.
“Would you mind doing that again?” asked Eddie.
“Why?” said Smokey Joe.
“Well, you did it rather well, and it’s not the sort of thing you see every day.”
Smokey Joe obligingly did it again.
“Even better the second time,” said Jack.
“Thanks,” said Smokey Joe.
“So, would you like to see the crown?”
“More than anything else I can presently imagine.”
“Right, then,” said Jack, and he swept off his hat with a flourish. It was a considerably flourish. A considerably hard and sweeping flourish. As flourishes went, this one was an award-winner. So hard and sweeping was this award-winning flourish that it knocked the pistol right out of Smokey Joe’s hand and sent it skidding across the store floor.
“Run!” shouted Jack to Eddie. And both of them ran.
Although they didn’t run far.
They ran to the door and through the doorway and then they ran no further. They would have dearly liked to, of course. They would dearly have loved to have run to Bill’s car and then driven away in it at speed. But they did not. They came to a standstill on the pavement and there they halted and there they raised their hands.