“No sweat!” The tall mechanic took a step back.
“Goodbye,” said Jack, and he drove away.
The tall mechanic sidled out onto the road, where he waved farewell with his oily rag.
“Twenty-three,” said Jack to Dorothy. “Did he just say what I thought he just said?”
Dorothy said, “Yes, he did.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jack halted the car.
The tall mechanic stepped out into the middle of the road. “Everything okay up there?” he called. “No trouble with the engine?”
Jack looked at Dorothy.
And Dorothy looked at Jack.
And then Jack put the car into reverse, revved the engine, let out the clutch and reversed at considerable speed over the tall mechanic.
And then, to be sure, as you have to be sure, drove over the body once more.
Then backed up a couple more times to be absolutely sure.
And then proceeded on his way.
No words passed between Dorothy and Jack for a while.
And when words did pass between them once again, these words did not include any reference to the tall mechanic.
“Slow down a bit,” said Dorothy. “We must be almost there.”
Jack slowed down a bit. “There?” he asked. “That dirt road, do you think?”
That dirt road had a big signpost beside it. The signpost read:
DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT DRIVING UP HERE.
“I think we should drive up there,” said Dorothy.
Jack steered the spotless police car onto the dusty dirt road.
“What are you planning to do,” asked Dorothy, “when we get there?”
“Rescue Eddie,” said Jack.
“But we don’t know for certain that he’s there.”
“I do,” said Jack. “He is.”
“But you can’t know for certain.”
“Oh yes I can,” said Jack. “I can feel him. In here.” And Jack tapped at his temple. “The closer we get, the more I can feel him. I can feel him, and he’s hurting.”
And Eddie Bear was hurting. He’d been kept waiting about in a concrete corridor outside a big steel rivet-studded door for quite some time now. The other Jack had passed this quite some time by kicking Eddie up and down the corridor. So Eddie was really hurting. And hurting more than just from the kickings.
Eddie felt decidedly odd. Slightly removed from himself, somehow, as if he didn’t quite fit into his body any more. It was a decidedly odd and most disconcerting sensation. And it was not at all helped by the kickings.
The other Jack squared up for another boot. Bolts clunked and clanked and the big steel door slid open.
“Thanks for that,” said Eddie.
The other Jack ticked him through the opening.
Eddie came to rest upon a carpeted floor. It was most unpleasantly carpeted. With poo. Chicken poo.
“Urgh,” went Eddie, and he struggled up from the floor.
Eddie was now, it had to be said, a somewhat unsightly bear. He was thoroughly besmirched with sewage and cell dust and now chicken poo. Eddie was not a bear for cuddling, not a bear to be hugged.
“So,” said a voice, and Eddie searched for its source, “So, Mister Bear, we meet at last.”
Eddie could make out a desk of considerable proportions and behind this a chair, with its back turned to him. Behind this chair and affixed to the wall were numerous television screens and upon these were displayed numerous scenes of American life. Most being played out via the medium of the television show.
The shows meant nothing to Eddie and so he did not recognise George Reeves as Superman, Lucille Ball in I Love Lucy, Phil Silvers as Sergeant Bilko or Roy Rogers on Trigger.
On one TV screen, Eddie viewed a newscast. It showed scenes of devastation, crashed police cars, a wrecked AC Cobra and a Ford Mustang called Sally. And a photograph was being displayed also. A mugshot of a wanted man. Eddie gawped at the mugshot: it was a mugshot of Jack.
The desk and the chair back and the TV screens, too, were all besmutted with poo. Chicken poo. Eddie Bear sniffed at the air of this room. It must have smelled pretty bad. But Eddie Bear couldn’t smell it. Eddie Bear had no sense of smell left whatsoever.
“Who are you?” asked Eddie. “Who is this?”
The chair behind the desk swung around and Eddie Bear viewed the sitter.
The sitter on the chair was no chicken.
The sitter was Eddie Bear.
“Whoa,” went Jack and he shuddered.
“Are you all right?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes,” said Jack. “I suppose so. I went all cold there. Have you ever heard that expression about feeling as if someone just walked over your grave?”
“I’ve heard it, but I’ve never understood it.”
Jack peered out through the windscreen. He had the wipers on now – there was a lot of dust. “Are we nearly there yet?” he asked.
Dorothy did peerings also. “There’s something up ahead,” she said. “It looks like some big military installation with a big wire fence around it. What are you going to do?”
“Bluff it out,” said Jack. “This is a police car. I’m a policeman. We’ll get in there somehow.”
“Seems reasonable,” said Dorothy. “Let’s just hope that there’s no real policemen around.”
“I don’t think that’s very likely out here,” said Jack.
“Out where?” asked Police Chief Samuel J. Maggott, shouting somewhat into the mouthpiece of his telephone. Sam was considerably bandaged, but back behind his desk. “Speak up, boy, I can hardly hear you, what?”
Words came to him through the earpiece.
“You’re saying what? You saw the midday newscast? The wanted maniac, Jack? That’s right. Dressed as a police officer, at your lounge? Left without paying for his chicken-fish lunch? Drove over your mechanic? How many times? That many, eh? And he’s gone on to where? I see.”
Samuel J. Maggott replaced the receiver.
And then picked it up again.
“Get me Special Ops,” he told the telephonist. “Get me Special Ops, get me a chopper and put out an all-points bulletin.”
“You look put out,” said the Eddie in the chair. “In fact you look all in. You look as wretched as a weevil with the wobbles.”
“What are you?” asked Eddie Bear. “You’re not me. What are you?”
“I’m the you of this world,” said the other Eddie.
“No you’re not,” said the Real McCoy. “Toys don’t live in this world.” Eddie Bear paused. “Or do they?”
The other Jack loomed over Eddie. “Would you like me to knock him about a bit, boss?” he asked.
“That won’t be necessary. Eddie and I are going to get along just fine, aren’t we, Eddie? We are going to be as cosy as two little peas in a little green pod.”
Eddie looked down at his grubby old self.
“Yes, you’re right,” said the other Eddie. “You really are in disgusting condition. You’re as foul as a fetid fur-ball. We’ll have to get you all cleaned up. Jack, take Eddie to the cleaning facility, see that he gets all cleaned up.”
“Can I hold his head under the water? Or use the high-pressure hose?” asked the other Jack.
“No, Jack, I want Eddie in tip-top condition. He’s very precious, is Eddie. After all, he’ll soon be the last of his kind.”
“What?” asked Eddie. “What do you mean?”
“Hurry,” said his other self. “The countdown has already begun.”
The other Jack picked Eddie up and hurled him out into the corridor.