“I’ll have a short, if I might,” said Wallah the calculating pocket.

Jack reached forward and picked up Wallah.

“Put me down,” said the pocket.

Jack shook the pocket about.

“And don’t do that, it makes me feel sick.”

“How do you think it works?” Eddie asked. “It’s probably empty – have a look inside.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Wallah. “We hardly know each other.”

“Just a little peep,” said Jack.

“Certainly not,” said Wallah. “Not until you’ve bought me a drink, at least. What kind of a pocket do you think I am?”

“A female one for certain,” said Jack.

“Don’t start,” said Eddie. “I know where that line of thinking is going.”

Jack returned Wallah to the counter top. “This is all very entertaining,” he said.

“Not that entertaining,” said Eddie.

“Well, maybe a bit,” said Jack, “but it’s not helping us, is it? That other you and me will probably be coming back tonight to perform more evil deeds. Suck the life out of more innocent citizens of Toy City. They have to be stopped, Eddie, and we have to stop them.”

“I know,” said Eddie. “But I don’t quite know how.”

“We go back to Toy Town,” said Jack, “get our hands on those weapons at Bill Winkie’s. Lie in wait, then blow the blighters away.”

“Blow the blighters away?”

“Bang, bang, bang,” went Jack, and he mimed blowings away. “Case closed and we collect the reward.”

“Case closed, perhaps, but there’s no reward.”

“Then we’ll settle for case closed.”

“No,” said Eddie, taking further beer. “It’s not enough. That other me and you, they are evil cat’s-paws for some big boss somewhere, who wants whatever is in those jars. The soul-stuff of the murder victims, or whatever it is. It’s the big boss we’re looking for.”

“Fair enough,” said Jack. “I’ll hold the cat’s-paws at gunpoint and you can bite the details out of them.”

“That does have a certain brutal charm.”

“I hate to interrupt you,” said Wallah, “but you really are going about this all the wrong way.”

“Excuse me, please,” said Eddie, “but Jack and I are professionals. We are private detectives. We know our own business.”

“Oh, get you,” said Wallah. “Too proud to take some kindly offered advice.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Eddie.

“You did, in so many words,” said Jack.

“Please yourself, then,” said Wallah. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t care.”

“We’d like to listen,” said Jack. “What would you like to tell us?”

“He doesn’t want to listen,” said Wallah.

Eddie shrugged.

“Yes, he does,” said Jack.

“He doesn’t, and he’s not even funny. You should get yourself a better comedy sidekick than him.”

“Cheek,” said Eddie, raising a paw.

“Don’t hit me,” cried Wallah.

“He’s not hitting anyone.” Jack moved Wallah beyond Eddie’s hitting range. “Talk to me,” he said. “You’d like to talk to me, wouldn’t you?”

“Actually, I would.” Wallah’s voice was definitely female. Jack gave Wallah a little stroke.

“What a lovely soft hand you have,” said the calculating pocket.

Eddie turned his face away. “I’m going to the toilet,” he said.

Tinto returned with Eddie’s change, but finding no Eddie returned this change to his till.

“I could help you,” said Wallah to Jack. “I could help you to solve this case.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Jack, and he gave unto Wallah another little stroke.

Wallah the pocket gave a little shiver.

“How exactly could you help us?” Jack asked.

“There is an expression,” crooned Wallah, and it was a crooning little voice, “in crime-solving circles, when seeking a culprit of a crime involving theft. That expression is ‘follow the money’.”

“I don’t follow you,” said Jack.

“I haven’t finished yet,” said Wallah. “These present crimes – the murdered monkeys and the clockwork band – your comedy sidekick is right in that you must follow the money, as it were, to the big boss. But doing so will require a degree of calculation that you and your sidekick, and no offence intended here, are not sufficiently skilled in making. And that’s where I come in.”

“I still don’t exactly follow you,” said Jack, but he gave Wallah another stroke. And Wallah sighed. Erotically.

Jack withdrew his hand.

“Please don’t stop,” whispered Wallah.

Jack stared down at the calculating pocket. There was something not altogether wholesome about this.

“Further crimes will be committed,” Wallah crooned further. “And in order to get ahead of the game and succeed, it will be necessary to calculate where these crimes will take place and what they will be. And that is where I come in. Let me help you. I really can help you. I really can.”

“How, exactly?” said Jack once more.

“Lean over a bit and let me whisper.”

Jack leaned over and Wallah whispered.

Eddie returned from the toilet.

“Why exactly,” said Eddie, climbing up onto his barstool, “do blokes feel it necessary to pull all the toilet rolls out and throw them all over the floor? And will someone please explain to me the purpose of flavoured condoms?”

“Stop, please!” said Jack. “That’s quite enough of that.”

“Do you use flavoured condoms?” asked Eddie. “And if so, what flavour? I’d have thought chocolate was out of the question.”

“STOP?” shouted Jack. “I don’t know what comes over you at times.”

“Just idle speculation,” said Eddie.

“Well, be that as it may, drink up your drinks – we’re leaving.”

“We?” said Eddie.

“We,” said Jack.

“Now that surprises me,” said Eddie, “because I recall you taking the telephone number of that dolly in Nadine’s Diner this morning and asking her what time she got off. I bought you some flavoured condoms, by the way.”

“That dolly will have to wait,” said Jack, although there was a note of regret in his voice. “Something has come up regarding the case. We have to go.”

“What?” said Eddie. “And why?”

“Another crime is about to be committed. Another murder. Several murders, in fact.”

“And how did you work this out?”

“It’s a calculated guess,” said Jack.

They drank up their beers and they left Tinto’s Bar.

Tinto waved them goodbye, took their empty glasses and polished them clean.

“It was a real joy to get money out of that Eddie Bear,” he said to the pocket that lay on the counter top. “And I stiffed him for his change and everything. That’s the last time he ever gets one over on me.”

The pocket on the counter top had nothing to say in reply to this.

But then again, trenchcoat pockets rarely do.

“No,” said Eddie. “Not the ballet.”

He sat in the passenger seat of the Anders Faircloud once more. Jack was once more at the wheel. But for once the Anders Faircloud was not performing high-speed death-defying automotive manoeuvres. It was sort of poodling along and clunking sounds were issuing from the bonnet regions.

“You’ve overwound this car,” said Eddie to Jack. “And you’ve trashed the engine with all your high-speed death-defying automotive manoeuvres.”

“I’ll fix it when I have time,” said Jack, ramming his foot floorwards but eliciting little response. “I know clockwork. And I’ll soup-up the engine, spraunch the springs, caflute the cogs, galvate the gears and other things of a workshop nature generally. You wait until you see how fast it will go then.”

“The poodling’s fine by me,” said Eddie, “but as I was saying, oh no, not the ballet.”

“The ballet it has to be.” Jack poodled through a red light, causing concern amongst righteous motorists. “That is where the next murders will occur. We can be ahead of the game this time, Eddie.”