The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse

by Robert Rankin

And they wouldn’t think twice,

  About jolly-well knocking seven bells of blimey out of you if you so much as looked at them in a funny way. Because for all their jollity, they were a right bunch of brutal, merciless, bullying …

  And so on.

  Which at least was how the rhymey frog would have put it. But the rhymey frog did not accompany these jolly laughing policemen into the apartment. Instead, they were joined by a short and portly jolly red-faced being, composed, it appeared, of perished rubber. He answered to the name of Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis. But only to his superiors.

  Mostly he answered only when called ‘sir’.

  For all his jolly red-facedness, Chief Inspector Bellis was having a rough day. It is the nature of Chief Inspectors, no matter where they are to be found, nor indeed upon which day of the week they are found, to be having a rough day.

  Chief Inspectors are always having a rough day.

  It’s a ‘Chief Inspector thing’.

  Chief Inspector Bellis was having a particularly rough day on this particular day. Earlier, he had been called into the presence of his superior, The Chief of All Police, the one being that Bellis called ‘sir’, and torn off a strip (a strip of arm on this occasion), upbraided (with the use of real braid) and berated (which involved a genuine bee, a wooden rat, but happily no ed).

  The Chief of All Police wanted results. He wanted to know why Bellis had not yet tracked down the murderer of Humpty Dumpty. Although the Toy City press were selling the populace the story that Humpty had committed suicide, the police knew that it was Murder Most Foul, and questions were being asked in very high places as to why Bellis had not yet tracked down the murderer.

  The Chief of All Police had handed Bellis a secret memo and Bellis had raised his perished eyebrows and dropped his perished jaw onto his perished chest. The memo contained most terrible news. And then the telephone had rung.

  The Chief of All Police had handed the receiver to Bellis.

  ‘There’s a rhymey frog on the line,’ he had said. ‘Deal with it.’

  And so here was Bellis, now having a really rough day, here to deal with it.

  Bellis stood in the ruptured doorway puffing out his perished cheeks and making fists with his podgy, perished hands.

  ‘Why?’ he shouted. ‘Why? Why? Why?’

  ‘Ho ho ho and why what, sir?’

  ‘Why, officer,’ asked Bellis, ‘did you break down the crubbin’ door? I ordered you to wait until the rhymey frog went and got his spare set of keys.’

  The laughing policeman made a troubled, though no less jolly-looking face. ‘I … er … ha ha ha, was using my initiative, sir.’

  Bellis scowled and shook his fists. ‘Well, now we’re in, I suppose. Go and arrest the malfeasant.’

  ‘The what, sir?’ the officer chuckled.

  ‘The criminal, the intruder, the unlawful trespasser.’

  ‘Which one of these do you want arrested first, sir?’

  ‘Do you have a name?’ asked Bellis, glaring upward daggers.

  ‘Officer Chortle, sir. I’m a Special Constable. I’ve got my name printed on my back, see?’

  The officer turned to display the name that made him special. Bellis kicked him hard in the backside. ‘Go and arrest. It’s what you do, isn’t it? It’s what you’re for?’

  ‘To uphold the law, using reasonable force when necessary, which, as you know, is always necessary, sir.’ Officer Chortle saluted with his truncheon, bringing down a shower of crystal eggs from the chandelier.

  ‘Then get to it. Bring me the offender. All of you, get to it!’

  Police officers to the right and left of Bellis hastened to oblige.

  ‘And don’t break anything else.’

  The police officers went about their business, leaving Bellis all alone in the vestibule, to listen to expensive things being broken by officers of the law.

  Bellis recognised these sounds. These sounds weren’t alien to his perished ears. He’d heard such sounds, and similar, many times before. The Chief Inspector sighed and shook his head and then delved into a perished pocket and brought out the secret memo. He read it once more and once more shook his head. This was bad, very bad. The day, already a rough day, looked like getting altogether rougher.

  At length, and at breadth, the officers returned, downcast.

  ‘Gone,’ said Officer Chortle, with laughter in his voice. ‘They’ve all gone, even the dressmaker.’

  ‘Trespasser!’ Bellis threw up his hands and made fists with them once more.

  ‘You’ve dropped your piece of paper,’ said Officer Chortle.

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Oh dear.’ The rhymey frog peered in at the devastation. ‘If you please, I’ve brought my keys.’

  ‘Somewhat late,’ said Bellis. ‘The bird has flown.’

  ‘Bird, too?’ said Officer Chortle, a giggle escaping his lips.

  ‘Shut up. Go downstairs and wait by the wagon. All of you. Now!’

  The officers took their leave, laughing merrily as they did so and all but marching over the rhymey frog.

  ‘Gone,’ said Bellis. ‘Escaped. Do you have any thoughts on this?’

  The rhymey frog opened his big wide mouth and prepared to express his thoughts in an epic forty-verser.

  ‘No,’ said Bellis, raising once more the hands he had temporarily lowered. ‘I do not wish to hear them. Speak to me only of the trespasser. And speak to me in prose, or I’ll run you in and lock you up and have Officer Chortle do things to you that you’ll never wish to recite. And he’ll laugh all the time as he does them. Which always makes it that little more frightening, in my opinion. What do you think?’

  The knees of the rhymey frog began to knock together. ‘Tricky,’ he said. ‘Tricky, dicky.’

  ‘Careful,’ cautioned Bellis.

  ‘It was a man.’ The rhymey frog took to rolling his eyes. ‘And men all look the same to me.’

  ‘A man was here?’ Bellis raised his eyebrows high.

  ‘Your face all cracks when you do that,’ said the frog. ‘Mr Anders could fix that for you. With a stick and a brush and a small pot of glue.’

  ‘I have no wish to bother Mr Anders,’ said Bellis. ‘Tell me about the man who was here. Anything. Anything at all.’

  ‘He had a bear with him,’ said the frog. ‘A rotten old bear with mismatched eyes. And a big fat belly about this size.’ The frog mimed the dimension. The Chief Inspector glared anew.

  ‘No more rhyming! And I don’t want to hear about some stupid teddy bear. A major crime has been committed here. One of the city’s most notable elder citizens has been murdered.’

  ‘The papers say it was suicide,’ said the frog.

  ‘You heard the scream!’ shouted the Chief Inspector. ‘You reported the crime.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the rhymey frog. ‘So I did. That was very public-spirited of me, wasn’t it?’

  Chief Inspector Bellis rocked upon his perished rubber heels. ‘The trespasser was probably the murderer,’ he said, ‘because murderers always return to the scene of the crime.’

  ‘Why?’ asked the rhymey frog.

  ‘Because it’s a tradition, or an old charter, or something. Never mind why, they just do.’

  The rhymey frog now began to tremble all over.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bellis. ‘Exactly, he could have done for you too. I will have to ask you to accompany me to the station, where Officer Chortle will beat a statement out of you.’

  ‘Oh no.’ The rhymey frog was now all-a-quake.

  ‘Then make it easy on yourself. Give me a detailed description of the man.’

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. All men look the same to me. I’m sorry.’

  ‘All right,’ said Bellis, ‘never mind. Go off about your business.’

  The rhymey frog looked all around and about. ‘I’ll get a dustpan and a brush, some paper and a quill. I’ll list all the broken things and then I can send you the bill.’

  The
re was a moment of silence. It was brief.

  ‘I think I’ll just go and have my lunch instead,’ said the frog. And he turned to hop away.

  And then he paused and then he turned back to Bellis. ‘There is one thing,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if it will be of any help.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Bellis.

  ‘The murderer told me his name,’ said the rhymey frog. ‘His name is Bill Winkie.’

  ‘There you go,’ said Eddie Bear. ‘They’ve all gone now. They’ve made a terrible mess, but they’ve gone.’

  Jack stared around at the mess and then he stared down at Eddie. Jack’s face was blue once more, but this time it had nothing to do with inferior headwear.

  ‘F … f … fridge,’ stammered Jack. ‘W … why did w … we have to hide in the f … f … fridge?’

  ‘Because it was the best place to hide,’ said Eddie. ‘The police neglected to look in it the first time they were here. It seemed a pretty safe bet to me that they wouldn’t look in it this time either.’

  ‘I’ll die.’ Jack shook from the frosted hairs on his head to the trembly toes on his feet. ‘I’m f … f … frozen. You’re not even s … s … shaking.’

  ‘I’m a bear,’ said Eddie, brightly. ‘We bears don’t feel the cold. Not even when we’re as sodden as. If you know what I mean, and I’m sure that you do.’

  Jack gathered his trenchcoat around himself. It was even colder than he was. ‘I’m going home,’ he managed to say. ‘I’ve had enough of city life.’

  ‘Don’t be a quitter.’ Eddie gave Jack’s shaking leg an encouraging pat.

  ‘I’m dying.’

  ‘You’ll thaw out. Hobble back to the pool area. It’s nice and warm out there.’

  Eddie led the way and Jack did the hobbling.

  At length, and at quite some length it was, Jack was finally all thawed out, and pretty much dried out too. Throughout this lengthy process of thawing and drying, Jack maintained a brooding silence.

  Eddie, being not a bear to cherish a silence, spent the period smiling encouragingly and doing cute little teddy-bearish things. Not that Eddie was capable of doing cute little teddy-bearish things with any degree of genuine commitment.

  ‘So then,’ said Eddie, when the time seemed right, ‘shall we be off about our business?’

  ‘You can,’ said Jack. ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Eddie. ‘Don’t say that. We’re partners, Jack. You agreed. We shook on it and everything.’

  ‘Maybe we did. But being with you is a dangerous business.’

  ‘Yes, but danger is exciting. And you wanted some excitement in your life. Didn’t you?’

  Jack shrugged. The shoulders of his trenchcoat rose to his ears and then stayed there.

  ‘Look at me,’ said Jack. ‘I’m a wreck. I’m starving and I’m cold and I’m broke, my fedora’s ruined and my trenchcoat’s all gone crisp.’

  ‘It’s a dry-clean-only,’ said Eddie.

  ‘A raincoat that’s dry-clean only?’

  ‘Bill Winkie would never have gone out in the rain wearing his trenchcoat.’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘But it does look good on you. You’re a born detective. Come on, perk up. I’ll buy you lunch.’

  ‘You don’t have any money.’

  ‘I’ve a penny or two.’ Eddie patted at the pockets of his trenchcoat. Eddie’s trenchcoat looked as good as new. He grinned painfully. ‘I can wangle us some lunch at a chum of mine’s. Stick with me, kidder. We’ll succeed and you’ll get all the fortune you came seeking.’

  Jack shook his head dismally. ‘You’ll be better off without me,’ he said. ‘I’m nothing but bad luck. It’s because I’m cursed. A farmer I met on the way to the city cursed me. He said, “I curse you Jack. May you never know wealth. May all that you wish for be denied you.” ’

  ‘What a horrid man,’ said Eddie. ‘Why did he curse you like that?’

  Jack shrugged again and this time his trenchcoat returned to his shoulders. ‘Bad grace, I suppose. Just because I shot off his ear and made him jump into a pit full of spikes.’

  ‘There’s no pleasing some people,’ said Eddie. ‘But we’re a team, you and me. And listen, Jack, I need you. I can’t solve this case without you. Please don’t run away. We did shake and you did give me your word.’

  Jack managed one more shrug. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I did give you my word. I will stay until you’ve solved the case. But then I’m moving on. There will be another city somewhere. Perhaps I’ll find my fortune there.’

  ‘Another city?’ Eddie made a thoughtful face. ‘I wonder if there is another city.’

  ‘Bound to be,’ said Jack.

  ‘Well, perhaps. But I find such thoughts as fearsome as. I’ll stick with what I know. And what I know is this city.’

  ‘Feed me in this city,’ said Jack. ‘Feed me now.’

  ‘Right,’ said Eddie. ‘Let’s go. Oh, and we’ll take that hollow chocolate bunny with us. That’s a clue if ever there was one. It might have fingerprints or something.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jack, and he made a certain face.

  ‘Ah?’ said Eddie. ‘And what is the meaning of that certain face you’re making?’

  ‘About the bunny.’

  ‘What about the bunny?’

  ‘I ate it,’ said Jack. ‘While we were in the fridge. I was so hungry. And there were all these alien sounds. These malagrous gramettings and really spondabulous carapany.’

  ‘You ate the evidence?’ said Eddie. ‘Well, that’s a new one.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I was starving.’

  A sudden high-pitched shriek caused Jack and Eddie to turn their heads. In the doorway to the pool area stood the rhymey frog, dustpan in one hand, brush in the other.

  The rhymey frog shrieked once again, cried ‘Eeek it’s the murderer!’, dropped his dustpan and his brush and hopped away at speed.

  Jack looked at Eddie.

  And Eddie looked at Jack.

  ‘What did he mean by that?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Ah,’ said Eddie. ‘You didn’t hear everything that went on while we were hiding in the fridge, did you?’

  ‘No,’ said Jack. ‘Only the alien sounds. I wolfed down the bunny and stuck my hands over my ears after that. Why did the frog just call me a murderer?’

  ‘Well …’ Eddie made a certain face of his own. ‘I think it better if I explain that to you over lunch.’

  Eddie followed the direction taken by the frog.

  ‘Hold on,’ cried Jack. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘It’s no big deal. Let’s do lunch.’

  ‘It is a big deal. Come back.’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way, then.’ Eddie reached the vestibule.

  ‘Tell me now,’ said Jack, scooping Eddie up and holding him out at arm’s length.

  ‘Don’t do that to me.’ Eddie struggled. ‘It’s undignified; let me down.’

  ‘Tell me what’s going on. Tell me now.’ Jack shook Eddie all about.

  ‘No.’ Eddie struggled some more. ‘Put me down.’

  ‘I won’t put you down until you’ve told me.’

  ‘Hold on, Jack, what’s that?’ Eddie pointed.

  ‘Don’t try to distract me. Answer my question.’

  ‘No, there’s something there on the floor. It wasn’t there when we came in.’

  ‘It’s a broken door,’ said Jack, shaking Eddie ever more violently.

  ‘No, the paper. Help. Stop. Let me down.’

  Jack let Eddie down.

  ‘There,’ said Eddie, wobbling on his paws. ‘Pick that up, Jack. What is that?’

  ‘It’s just a piece of paper.’ Jack picked it up and handed it to Eddie. ‘Now tell me why the frog called me a murderer.’

  ‘In a minute. Oh dear me!’ Eddie let the piece of paper fall from his paws.

  ‘What does it say?’ Jack asked. ‘What does it say on the paper?’

  ‘It says,’ said Eddie, and he pau
sed, ‘that Little Boy Blue has been murdered.’

  8

  Jack, who was feeling somewhat down, perked somewhat up when he was once more behind the wheel of Bill’s splendid automobile. But as he swung this wheel around, the pendulum of his mood swung with it. ‘About this business of the frog calling me a murderer.’ Jack brrrmed the clockwork engine.

  ‘Forget all that.’ Eddie, standing on the passenger seat, pointed through the windscreen. ‘I think he was just a bit upset about the door getting broken and the apartment getting ransacked and everything. Don’t let it upset you, Jack. Cast it from your mind. It’s as irrelevant as. Turn right, please.’

  ‘Hm,’ went Jack. ‘Then what about this second murder?’ Jack turned right rather sharply, causing a clockwork cyclist to spill from his clockwork cycle.

  ‘Careful,’ said Eddie. ‘Please be careful. We don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Any more attention?’

  ‘Just drive, Jack. First on the left here.’

  Jack took the first on the left on the two left wheels of the car.

  ‘But what about this second murder?’ Jack asked once more when the car was back on four wheels and spinning merrily along. ‘Tell me this, Eddie. Humpty Dumpty and Little Boy Blue. They were – how shall I put this?’

  ‘Meatheads?’ Eddie suggested.

  ‘Men,’ said Jack. ‘They were men, rather than toys.’

  ‘The old rich,’ said Eddie, covering his face with his paws as toy pedestrians scattered before the on-rushing motorcar. ‘You won’t find many of your race here in Toy City. But those you will find are generally rich.’

  ‘On the fortunes they made from royalties on their nursery rhymes.’

  ‘Like I told you, yes. Look out!’

  ‘Look out at what?’ There was a clattering of tinplate against tinplate and something colourful mangled under the wheels. ‘What was that?’ Jack asked Eddie.

  ‘Only a clockwork clown,’ said the bear. ‘He’s a bit mashed-up, but I think he’ll be all right. I’ve never cared much for clowns myself. How about you, Jack?’

  ‘I don’t like them,’ said Jack, and drove on.

  Shortly, however, the clockwork motor ran down and Jack was forced to get out and rewind the car.