The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse

by Robert Rankin

  In the way of such rooms, its walls were toned a depressing shade of puce. In shape it was long and low and loathsome. In furnishings, it was basic: chairs, a table and a filing cabinet, lit by a naked light bulb which dangled from the ceiling at the end of a piece of string. There was no aesthetic involved in this lighting. But the string was of medium length.

  So it was, as interview rooms go, very much of a muchness.

  Eddie quite liked it. It reminded him a bit of Bill Winkie’s office.

  Jack hated it.

  ‘I’ve told you everything,’ said Jack. ‘And it’s all the truth.’

  Chief Inspector Bellis nodded his perished rubber head. He was accompanied by two laughing policemen. One of these was Officer Chortle. Although he was laughing, he pined for his police car.

  ‘The truth,’ said Bellis, staring hard at Jack. ‘Now what would you know about the truth?’

  ‘I’ve told it to you,’ said Jack. ‘All of it that I know.’

  Chief Inspector Bellis shook his head, and sadly at that. ‘Would it were so,’ he said. ‘But you see, criminals are notable for never telling the truth. You rarely if ever get the truth from a criminal. A criminal will profess his innocence to the end. Criminals do not tell the truth.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ said Jack, ‘because I am not a criminal.’

  ‘Which brings me back to doing things by the book,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘Gathering evidence. Writing it all down. I write everything down. I have really neat handwriting. See this piece of paper here?’ Bellis displayed the piece of paper. ‘It has all manner of things written down upon it, in really neat handwriting. All manner of things about you. About how you entered Humpty Dumpty’s apartment without permission from the authorities. And appeared shortly after the death of Boy Blue, disguised as a wealthy aristocrat. And later returned and broke into the premises, and later still escaped from police custody, and today stole Officer Chortle’s brand new police car and drove it into a flaming building. How am I doing so far?’

  ‘I demand to see my solicitor,’ said Jack.

  ‘Me too,’ said Eddie. ‘And even though I had a big breakfast, I’m quite hungry again. I demand to see a chef.’

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Chief Inspector Bellis.

  ‘You could set us free,’ said Eddie. ‘After we’ve eaten.’

  ‘Office Chortle, smite this bear,’ said the Chief Inspector.

  Officer Chortle leaned across the desk and bopped Eddie Bear on the head with his truncheon.

  ‘Ouch!’ went Eddie, in ready response. ‘Don’t hit me.’

  ‘No, don’t hit him.’ Jack raised calming hands. ‘We have told you the truth. That woman-or-whatever-she-was was the murderer. We’re detectives; we were tracking her down. Did you find the body?’

  ‘We found something,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis. ‘But we’re not entirely certain what we’ve found.’

  ‘Robot,’ said Jack. ‘From the future.’

  ‘What was that?’ Chief Inspector Bellis raised a perished eyebrow. Officer Chortle raised his truncheon once more.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Jack. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Nothing at all.’ The Chief Inspector sighed. ‘Well, I have you two bang to rights, as we policemen say. So why not break new ground by simply confessing? It would save so much unnecessary violence being visited upon your persons. Not to mention all the paperwork.’

  ‘We’re innocent,’ said Eddie. ‘We were just pursuing the course of our investigations.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis, consulting his paperwork. ‘On behalf of this mystery benefactor who paid the handsome advance to your employer, Bill Winkie, who has mysteriously vanished without trace.’

  ‘He’ll be back,’ said Eddie. ‘He’ll tell you.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said the perished policeman. ‘But for now I have you and I have all my impeccable paperwork, all penned in precise terms, in a very neat hand, and all pointing towards your guilt. Go on, confess, you know you want to.’

  ‘I certainly don’t,’ said Eddie.

  ‘That’s as good as a confession to me,’ said Bellis. ‘I’ll make a note of that.’

  ‘And make sure you spell all the words right,’ said Eddie. ‘Especially the word “twerp” and the manner in which it should be applied to yourself.’

  Officer Chortle smote Eddie once more.

  ‘Eddie,’ said Jack, ‘don’t make things worse.’

  ‘How can they be worse?’ Eddie rubbed at his battered head. ‘This fool won’t listen to reason. He won’t believe the truth. But at least the killer is dead. That’s something. We’ll have our day in court. He can’t prove anything against us. There’s no evidence linking us directly to the crimes.’

  ‘And how do you know that?’ asked Bellis.

  ‘Because we didn’t commit them,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I have circumstantial evidence.’

  ‘That’s no evidence at all. It won’t hold up in court.’

  ‘I don’t know where you keep getting the “court” business from,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis. ‘There won’t be any court involved in this.’

  ‘What?’ said Eddie.

  ‘I was going to mention that,’ said Jack. ‘But I didn’t have time. This is some kind of “authority from higher up” jobbie; the Chief Inspector has been given the power to simply make us disappear.’

  Eddie made growly groaning sounds.

  ‘Killing the cream of Toy City’s society is a very big crime,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘It calls for extreme measures. Now, you can confess all and I’ll see to it that you go off to prison. Or you can continue to profess your innocence, and …’ The Chief Inspector drew a perished rubber finger across his perished rubber throat.

  ‘But we didn’t commit these crimes.’

  ‘I saw you drive that woman into the burning building with my own two eyes. That’s enough for a murder charge on its own.’

  ‘If it was a woman,’ said Eddie. ‘Which it wasn’t. As you know.’

  ‘There’s an autopsy going on at this moment.’ Chief Inspector Bellis arranged his paperwork neatly upon the desk. ‘We’ll soon know all about that. And you did steal this officer’s police car.’

  Officer Chortle glared at Eddie.

  Eddie took to a sulking cowering silence.

  ‘Look,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘I’m a fair fellow. Firm but fair, and I do believe in justice.’ He turned to Jack. ‘What say we just blame it all on the bear and let you go free?’

  ‘Well,’ said Jack.

  ‘What?’ said Eddie.

  ‘No,’ said Jack. ‘Eddie is innocent. I’m innocent. Why not just wait for your autopsy report? See what that has to say.’

  Chief Inspector Bellis sighed. ‘I think we’ve said all that can be said here.’ He rose from his chair and tucked his impeccable paperwork under his arm. ‘I’ll leave you in the company of these officers. They can beat the truth out of you. Then you’ll both be disappeared.’

  ‘No,’ said Eddie. ‘No more hitting. We give up, we confess.’

  ‘We do?’ said Jack.

  ‘We do,’ said Eddie. ‘Just leave us alone here and we’ll draft out our confessions.’

  ‘Make sure that you do, or …’ Chief Inspector Bellis drew his finger once more across his throat, nodded his farewells and, in the company of the two laughing policemen, left the interview room, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

  ‘Well,’ said Eddie to Jack. ‘That’s sorted.’

  ‘Sorted?’ Jack threw up his hands. ‘We’re done for. They’ll disappear us. And why did you tell him we’d write out confessions?’

  ‘To stop me getting hit again and buy us some time alone. Now, out with the wire, Jack, and pick the lock.’

  ‘They confiscated the wire,’ said Jack.

  ‘We’re done for,’ said Eddie.

  Time passes slowly in a police interview room when you’re left all alone in it. Or eve
n with a friend. Especially when you’re waiting for something terrible to happen to you. Time should pass quickly in such circumstances. But it doesn’t. It passes very slowly indeed.

  ‘It’s all so unfair,’ said Eddie. ‘We’re heroes; we shouldn’t be treated like this.’

  ‘Eddie,’ said Jack, ‘what do you think this is really all about?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Eddie fiddled at the door. ‘If I had an opposable thumb,’ he said, ‘I’d always keep a really long nail on it, just for picking locks.’

  ‘What I mean,’ said Jack, ‘is what is all this about? Who was the murderess? Why did she do what she did?’

  ‘Who can fathom the workings of the criminal mind?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Detectives,’ said Jack. ‘That’s what they do.’

  ‘Not in this case, Jack. She’s dead, we’ll never know.’

  ‘And soon we’ll be dead. Disappeared. And that will be that for us. It’s all been a bit pointless, really, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Jack. We did our best.’

  ‘We were useless, Eddie. We were rubbish at being detectives. Everything we did was wrong. Bill Winkie would be ashamed of us.’

  ‘Don’t say that. All right, we made a few mistakes …’

  ‘A few mistakes? We made nothing but mistakes.’

  ‘We did our best.’

  ‘And where has it got us? We’re lucky to still be alive. And we won’t be alive for much longer, I’m thinking. I’m going to write my confession and hope I can escape from prison.’

  ‘Don’t be so pessimistic, Jack. There has to be a way out of this mess.’

  ‘Eddie,’ said Jack, ‘there is. I could pick the lock. You’ve got a new growler, haven’t you?’

  ‘Now hold on.’ Eddie covered himself as best he could. ‘That would really hurt. It really hurt the last time.’

  ‘Yes, but we could escape. I’ll just rip your stomach open.’

  ‘No.’ Eddie dropped from his chair and backed away.

  ‘Only joking,’ said Jack.

  ‘Good,’ said Eddie, still backing away.

  ‘We’ll just wait here until the policemen come back and beat you up some more and then disappear the both of us.’

  ‘Out with my growler,’ said Eddie Bear.

  ‘No, there has to be another way.’

  ‘I wish I knew one,’ said Eddie.

  ‘You know what,’ said Jack, ‘you were right. When you said that we were going about things in all the wrong way. About the hunters being hunted, and how we should do things the way Bill Winkie would have done them.’

  Eddie nodded in a hopeless kind of way.

  ‘I’ve read all the books,’ said Jack. ‘He wouldn’t have ended up here.’

  ‘That doesn’t help,’ said Eddie.

  ‘No, sorry, it doesn’t. But if he had ended up here, there would have been a twist to it.’

  ‘There’s always a twist in detective books,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s what makes them special.’

  ‘So there should be a twist here.’

  ‘This isn’t a Bill Winkie thriller.’

  ‘Let’s assume it is,’ said Jack. ‘Or an Eddie Bear thriller. Let’s look at it all from a different perspective.’

  ‘Big words,’ said Eddie. ‘So what’s the twist?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I wish I knew,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s all been very helpful.’

  ‘Give it a chance, Eddie.’

  ‘What, we simply sit here and wait for this twist to just happen?’

  ‘That’s exactly what we do. That’s what would happen in the books. And when it happens here to us, it will change everything and we will go out and do the job properly. The way it should be done. The way it’s done in detective thrillers.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Eddie.

  ‘You will,’ said Jack. ‘Just trust me.’

  And so they waited.

  It was tense, but then, important waiting is always tense. It’s filled with tension, every waiting moment of it.

  The tense waiting was done at the exact moment when it ceased.

  And it ceased at the sound of a key being turned in a lock and the sight of the interview room door swinging open.

  Chief Inspector Bellis entered the interview room.

  ‘Have you completed your written confessions?’ he asked.

  Eddie flinched.

  ‘Not as such,’ said Jack.

  ‘So you’ve decided to go for the violent beating and disappearance option.’

  ‘No,’ cried Eddie. ‘Have mercy.’

  ‘Mercy?’ The Chief Inspector’s eyebrows were raised once again. ‘You are asking me for mercy?’

  ‘We are,’ Jack agreed.

  ‘Oh well, fair enough then, you can go.’

  ‘What?’ went Jack.

  And ‘What?’ went Eddie too.

  ‘You can both go free,’ said Bellis. ‘I’m dropping the charge.’

  Jack’s mouth hung open. Now this was a twist.

  Eddie said ‘What?’ once again.

  ‘You heard me, I’m dropping the charge.’

  ‘Charge?’ said Eddie. ‘You’re dropping the charge? Only the one? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Taking and driving away a police vehicle,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis. ‘That’s the only charge against you and I’m dropping that charge.’

  ‘Ah, excuse me, sir,’ said Jack, ‘but why?’

  ‘Somethings have come up.’

  ‘What kind of somethings are these?’

  ‘Two somethings,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘The body in the morgue. Or what’s left of it. Isn’t a body.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m not authorised to tell you that.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jack. ‘And the other something?’

  ‘There’s been another murder,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis. ‘And, as you’ve both been here in custody, I know that you are not responsible. But it’s the same killer as before; I’d stake my reputation on it.’

  ‘Another murder?’ Eddie said. ‘But the body or whatever it is in the morgue …’

  ‘Is obviously not the killer. I’m letting you go. Get out. Leave the building.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Eddie. ‘Come on, Jack.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ said Jack. ‘But who died? Who was murdered?’

  ‘Jack Spratt,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis. ‘Jack Spratt is dead.’

  17

  Apart from those that do, of course, celebrity marriages never last.

  For although celebrities are very good at being celebrities (they would not be celebrities if they were not), most of them are absolute no-marks when it comes to being a caring partner in a shared relationship. They just can’t do it. It isn’t in them to do it.

  Not that we ordinary folk blame them for being this way. We don’t. After all, it is we ordinary folk who have made these people celebrities.

  Which possibly makes us to blame.

  Or possibly not.

  No, not: it’s not our fault. We have given these people celebrity. They owe us.

  And as we have huddled in rain-soaked hordes to cheer them at their celebrity marriages, it is only fitting that they give us something in return: the entertainment of their celebrity divorces. Let’s be honest here, who amongst us can genuinely claim that we do not thoroughly enjoy a really messy celebrity divorce? We love ’em. We do.

  We love to read in the gutter press all about the mud-slinging, accusations and counter-accusations. And if there’s a bit of the old domestic violence in the millionaire mansion, we revel in that too. We even love the petty squabbling about who gets custody of the penguin. And as to the sordid and startling disclosures of what the private investigator actually saw when he peeped in through the hotel bedroom window, those get our juices flowing fair to the onset of dehydration.

  And while we’re being absolutely honest here, let us admit
that when it comes to reading about the celebrity divorce, women love it more than men.

  They do, you know. They really do.

  It’s a woman thing.

  If you ask a man, he’ll probably tell you that yes, he does enjoy a celebrity divorce, but given the choice, he’d far rather watch a building burning down.

  But that’s men for you.

  Jack Spratt was a man, of course: a rich celebrity of a man, and his divorce from his wife Nadine brought colour to the front pages of the Toy City gutter press for several weeks. It was a very entertaining divorce.

  The grounds were ‘irreconcilable culinary differences’ but, as it turned out, there was a whole lot more to it than that.

  They were a mismatched couple from the start. Jack, a man naturally destined for fame by nature of having a big face and a small body, married Nadine, a woman with a very small face and a very large body (physical characteristics which would normally have doomed anyone to oblivion). They married when Nadine was fifteen.

  Jack had always had a thing about large women.

  It was that little man thing which is only fully understood by little men. And these little men have no wish to confide it to big men, lest they get a taste for it too and cut the little men out of the equation.

  Nadine was a very large woman, and Jack loved her for it.

  That their eating habits were so diametrically opposed didn’t matter at all to either of them. In fact, it worked perfectly well during the early part of their relationship, when they lived in a trailer park on Toy City’s seedy South-West Side. He worked in the slaughterhouse district on the night shift, where the black meat market in offal flourished. Had they never achieved the fame that their nursery rhyme brought them,* they might still have been together today.

  Sadly, the more rich and famous they became, the more clearly did the cracks in their relationship begin to show. They did not part amicably. She demanded a share in his chain of lean-cuisine gourmet restaurants. And he in turn laid claim to half of her fast-food burger bar franchises, Nadine’s Fast Food Diners.

  Neither wished to share anything with the other; these separate empires had been years in the building. So each sought to dish the dirt on the other – and when celebrity dirt starts getting dished, there always seems sufficient to build a fair-sized Ziggurat, a step pyramid, two long barrows and an earthwork.