The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse by Robert Rankin
‘Don’t be long,’ said Jack, lowering himself with care onto an overstuffed settee.
‘I’ll be back as soon as.’ Eddie followed Madame from the salon.
Jack sat awkwardly, nursing himself. He sighed and he made a sorry face. He felt most uncomfortable here. The opulence, the colours and the fragrances were indeed pleasing, but he wasn’t pleased. This was, after all, a whorehouse. A high-class whorehouse, perhaps, but nevertheless, a whorehouse. Its wealth was founded upon degradation: money earned by women who sold their bodies to men. Jack glowered at the rosy carpet.
He had never considered himself to be a lad with high moral values. He was basically honest, but above and beyond that, he’d never given the subject of morality a lot of thought.
‘I think I’ll go and wait outside,’ said Jack to himself.
‘Oh no, don’t go.’
Jack looked up. The face of a beautiful girl smiled down upon him. Her mouth was wide and smiling, displaying a row of perfect teeth. Her head was a bouquet of golden curls, the colour of sun-ripened corncobs. Her eyes were dark and large, brown and glossy as burnt sugar, fringed by gorgeous lashes. And there was a troubled sadness in those eyes.
Jack stared into those eyes.
‘I’m Jill,’ said the beautiful girl.
‘Oh,’ said Jack, ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ And he rose to shake her hand.
Jill curtseyed low and Jack could see right down her cleavage. Jill had a beautiful body. It went in and out in all the right places, and just by the right amounts too. Jack estimated that she could be little more than his own age – although with teenage girls it’s often very hard to tell. ‘I’m, er, Lord, er.’ Jack took a deep breath. ‘My name is Jack,’ he said.
‘Jack and Jill,’ Jill giggled prettily. ‘What about that?’ she asked.
Jack managed a lopsided grin. ‘What about that,’ he said.
‘Madame sent me out to entertain you. None of the other girls have arrived yet. We don’t really open until later in the evening. But I am here, if you’ll have me; just tell me what you wish for.’
‘Oh,’ said Jack. ‘Well, nothing like that at the moment, thank you. I’m just waiting. For a friend.’
‘I can be your friend. I can be anything you want me to be.’
‘Please sit down,’ said Jack.
Jill sat down and Jack sat down beside her.
She reached out a hand to clasp his own, but Jack returned it politely.
‘Don’t you like me?’ Jill asked.
‘I don’t know you,’ said Jack. ‘But you look very nice. Very pretty.’
‘Thank you very much. You’re very handsome.’ Jill’s eyes took in the jewelled buttons on Jack’s waistcoat. ‘And I love your clothes.’
‘They’re not mine. I only borrowed them.’
‘I rent mine from Madame,’ said Jill.
‘Do you mind me asking you something?’ Jack lowered his eyes. ‘I mean, you’re very young, aren’t you? To be working in a place like this?’
‘I have to eat,’ said Jill, her fingers toying with one of Jack’s jewelled buttons. ‘But let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you. Would you like to come upstairs with me now?’
‘I’d love to,’ said Jack, easing himself away. ‘But it’s not right.’
Jill looked somewhat sternly at Jack and when she spoke, there was fire in her voice. ‘What are you saying?’ she asked. ‘That there’s something wrong with the way I make a living? I’m good at what I do and what I do is not illegal. Are you some God-botherer, come to convert me from my wicked ways or something?’
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘Slow down. No offence meant. It’s just—’
‘You’re a virgin, aren’t you?’ said Jill.
‘I’m not,’ said Jack rising to leave. ‘I have to go.’
‘Please don’t,’ said Jill. ‘I’m begging you, please don’t.’
‘Begging?’
‘If you walk out, I’ll be in trouble with Madame.’
‘I wouldn’t want that,’ said Jack, sitting down again.
‘Thank you,’ said Jill. And her fingers stroked at his buttons once more.
‘But tell me, and I don’t mean to offend you, isn’t there some job other than this that you’d rather be doing?’
Jill cast him a look that was filled with contempt. ‘I’d quite like to be a princess,’ she said. ‘Do you know any princes who are looking for a tart to marry?’
‘Please be calm.’ Jack raised calming hands. ‘The reason I’m asking is that I ran away from the factory where I worked. Because I hated it. I came to the city to seek my fortune.’
‘You came to the city.’ Jill laughed. ‘You thought you’d seek your fortune here? You are clearly a gormster. No offence meant.’
‘None taken,’ said Jack, as if none was taken.
‘But you came to the city.’ Jill shook her golden curls. ‘I’ve never heard of anyone coming to the city before. I’ve heard that beyond the bounds of the city are desolate realms peopled by cannibals.’
‘You’re not altogether wrong there.’ The image of a now-one-eared farmer filled Jack’s head. ‘And perhaps I’ll never find my fortune. Perhaps I am well and truly cursed.’
‘I know that I am.’ Jill’s voice was scarcely a whisper.
‘What did you say?’ Jack asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Jill. She placed a hand upon his. This time Jack didn’t remove it.
‘You said you were cursed,’ said Jack.
‘No, I didn’t. So, do you want to come upstairs with me?’
Jack smiled wanly. ‘I don’t have any money, I’m afraid.’
‘You can open an account.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Jack.
‘If you do come upstairs,’ said Jill, ‘I can promise that you won’t be disappointed. And if you are a virgin, then you’ll lose your virginity in a manner that you’ll remember all your life.’
‘Well,’ said Jack.
‘And if you don’t come upstairs,’ said Jill, ‘then Madame will beat me and possibly throw me out on the street. And you wouldn’t want that, now, would you?’
Jack shook his head.
‘Come on then,’ said Jill.
Outside, clockwork cars purred on the streets and the denizens of the great metropolis went on doing whatever they were doing. Five miles to the north, a foolish boy fell into a farmer’s pit. The sun sank beneath the horizon and night came upon Toy City.
And on a white bed, in a white room, with white curtains, Jack lost his virginity. Which was quite some going, considering his tender years.
And when his virginity was lost, elegantly lost, he lay, all spent, his head upon a silken cushion, staring at the ceiling. Jill, in Jack’s arms, tousled his hair.
‘How was that for you?’ she asked.
‘Wonderful,’ said Jack. ‘Quite wonderful.’
‘I’m pleased.’
Jack sighed and smiled. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘Certainly,’ said Jill, ‘as soon as you become a prince. In the meantime, I’ll make out your bill.’
When Jack left the white room, he moved upon feet that scarcely touched the floor. He fairly soared. He felt marvellous. He felt that he had now become a man.
Just wait ’til Eddie hears about this, he thought. And, I wonder how you go about actually becoming a prince, he thought also.
As this had now become his goal in life.
Down the stairs Jack wafted. Light as thistledown and dishevelled as a nettle bed. He had lipstick all over his face and the jewelled buttons on his waistcoat were missing.
‘Eddie.’ Jack reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Eddie, where are you?’
All was silent and Jack breathed in all there was. The subtle perfumes seemed almost more subtle. But now Jack felt a twinge of guilt. Had what he’d just done been wrong? Immoral? Corrupt? Well, yes it had, but.
But.
Jack pressed all such thoughts aside
It was right.
‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘It was. Eddie, where are you?’
All was as silent as before.
Rather too silent, really.
Jack crossed the salon and pressed his hand against the door that led to the kitchen. He was very hungry now. And very thirsty too. A snack was in order. A celebratory snack, all washed down with a glass of bubbly wine.
Which could go on Eddie’s account.
Jack pushed the door open.
‘Eddie,’ he called once more, ‘where are you? Come on.’
Beyond the doorway was a hallway and beyond this hallway, yet another door. Which is often the case with hallways, especially those that lead from one room to another. Jack pranced down this hallway and knocked upon the door that it led to.
And as there was no answer to his knockings, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. It was the door to the kitchen. Jack peeped in.
The kitchen was a magnificent affair, the kind of kitchen that Great Houses had. And this was indeed a great house. There was a flagstoned floor, a huge central table, ovens and ranges and rows and rows of hanging pots and pans and skillets.
Jack was impressed by this kitchen. ‘This kitchen,’ said Jack, ‘is what I call a kitchen. This is a magnificent kitchen. The kind of kitchen that Great Houses have. And this is indeed a great house. The only thing I don’t like about this kitchen, the only thing that really spoils this kitchen for me, is that.’
And Jack stared at the thing that spoiled the kitchen and Jack felt just a little sick. Because on the huge central table lay Madame Goose. She lay as a goose stripped for cooking. Her legs were trussed and her neck had been wrung.
Mother Goose was dead.
‘Jack,’ said the voice of Jill, ‘Jack, what are you doing in the kitchen?’ And now Jill’s hand was upon Jack’s shoulder.
Jack turned and said, ‘Go back. Don’t come in here.’
‘Why not?’
‘Something’s happened, something bad.’
‘Show me, what?’ Jill pushed past Jack. ‘Oh no,’ she said, and she screamed.
‘Just go back,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll deal with this.’
‘Deal with what? She’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘Pretty dead,’ said Jack, approaching the body on the table. His heels clacked upon the flagstone floor. Jack’s feet were truly back upon the ground.
‘This is terrible.’ Jill wrung her hands; big tears welled in her eyes. ‘Terrible, terrible.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack, viewing the body. ‘I’ll get something to cover her body.’
‘I’m not sorry about her,’ said Jill. ‘But if she’s dead, then I’m out of a job, which is terrible.’
‘Right,’ said Jack, peering some more at the body. ‘Whoever did this must be very strong. Hardly the work of a woman.’
‘Woman?’ said Jill.
‘Eddie thinks …’ Jack paused. ‘Eddie,’ he said. Then, ‘Eddie!’ he shouted. ‘Where are you, Eddie? Are you hiding somewhere?’
No reply gave comfort to Jack’s ears.
‘Eddie!’ shouted Jack.
‘Jack,’ said Jill, ‘I think you’d better look at this.’
‘What?’ Jack asked. And Jill pointed.
The kitchen door was open, but it was towards the doormat that Jill was pointing.
Jack followed the direction of this pointing, and then Jack said, ‘Oh no.’
On the doormat lay something which filled Jack with horror.
That something was a large pile of sawdust.
12
‘Eddie?’ Jack went all weak at the knees. ‘Eddie, is that you?’
A gentle breeze entered at the kitchen door and rippled Eddie’s innards all about.
‘Waaagh!’ went Jack. ‘Get a dustpan and brush! Gather him up in a bag!’
‘Have you gone mad?’ Jill asked.
‘It’s Eddie! My friend! This is dreadful!’
Jack was at the door now and he stared out into an alleyway beyond. ‘I’ll go after him,’ he told Jill. ‘I’ll try to find the rest of him.’
‘Jack, stop,’ said Jill. ‘It’s a toy. Who cares about a toy?’
‘I do,’ said Jack. ‘He’s my friend.’
‘You’re a bit old for that kind of thing, aren’t you?’
‘He’s my partner,’ said Jack.
‘Get real,’ said Jill. ‘It’s a toy. Toys don’t care for our kind and if you’re smart, you won’t care for theirs. You can always find yourself another toy bear, if that’s the sort of weirdness you’re in to.’
‘What?’
‘No wonder you were so useless in bed.’
‘What?’
‘Perhaps you’d have preferred it if I’d put a fur coat on.’
‘Stop!’ cried Jack. ‘Stop now! Sweep Eddie’s sawdust up and put it in a bag. Then call the police. I’m going after Eddie. I’ll be back.’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ said Jill.
Jack cast her a very stern glance. ‘Sweep him up and call the police,’ he said.
Jack moved cautiously along the alleyway. There was always the chance that the murderer might still be lurking there, lying in wait. Ready to pounce.
Sprinkles of sawdust lay here and there amongst discarded refuse. Jack’s sunken heart sank deeper. ‘Eddie,’ he called, throwing caution to the wind that was ruffling Eddie’s sprinklings. ‘Are you there? Anywhere? Eddie? Eddie!’
The alleyway led out to a street.
Further sprinklings of Eddie led to the pavement kerb.
Beyond this, on the road, were two black skid marks.
‘Kidnapped,’ said Jack. ‘Or,’ and he paused, ‘or murdered.’
Jack returned with drooping shoulders to the kitchen.
Jill was sitting on the table, casually plucking feathers from a wing of the deceased Madame.
‘Stop doing that,’ said Jack. ‘Did you call the police?’
‘They’re busy,’ said Jill. ‘Apparently Little Boy Blue has been murdered. How about that then? Another rich bag of rubbish done away with.’
‘You don’t really care about anybody, do you?’ Jack asked.
‘And why should I? Nobody cares about me.’
‘I care,’ said Jack.
‘Of course you don’t.’ Jill dusted feathers from her delicate fingers. ‘You only care about me because I’m the first girl you’ve ever had sex with.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Jack.
‘Then let’s see how much you care about me when you get the bill.’
‘I don’t have time for this.’ Jack peered all around and about the kitchen. ‘My friend has been kidnapped and I have to find him. There must be some clues here. What would Eddie do?’ Jack paced about in the manner that Eddie had at Humpty Dumpty’s apartment. And then Jack recalled that it was actually he, Jack, who had solved the riddle of how Humpty met his grisly end.
‘I can do this,’ said Jack. ‘I can do this.’
‘You’re a detective then, are you?’
‘Sort of,’ said Jack. ‘Sort of.’
‘Oh, sort of, is it? And so what are your deductions, Mr sort-of-detective?’
‘Give me a minute,’ said Jack, peeping and peering around.
‘Give me a break,’ said Jill.
Jack made an exasperated face. ‘You may not care about anybody or anything,’ he said, ‘but I do. Someone has injured and taken my friend. And murdered this goose here.’
‘And so you’re looking for clues?’
‘I am,’ said Jack.
‘Then why are you looking in all the wrong places?’
Jack, who was now under the table, straightened up, striking his head. ‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘And do you know the right places?’
‘
Jack got to his feet once more and stood, rubbing at his head. ‘What are you saying?’ he asked.
Jill eased herself down from the table. ‘Do you want me to explain it all to you?’
‘As if you could,’ said Jack.
‘I could,’ said Jill. ‘I could tell you exactly what happened here and give you a description of the person who did it.’
‘I’ll bet,’ said Jack, searching for clues in the breadbin.
‘But if you don’t want your little teddy bear back, then forget it.’
Jack replaced the lid of the breadbin and turned once more towards Jill. ‘Go on then,’ he said.
Jill shook her corncob-coloured head. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘You owe me money. Quite a lot of money, as it happens. I charge double for virgins.’
‘You’ll get your money,’ said Jack. ‘In fact, if you can lead me to Eddie, I’ll pay you double your double.’
‘He must be losing a lot of sawdust,’ said Jill, pointing towards the paper bag which sat beside her on the table, the paper bag which now contained the kitchen-sweepings of Eddie. ‘He could be nothing more than a glove puppet soon.’
‘Treble your double, then.’
‘It’s a deal.’
Jack sat himself down on the table. Then, finding himself far too near to the corpse, got up and stood by the stove. ‘Go on then,’ he said wearily, ‘impress me.’
‘Right,’ said Jill. ‘Well, when you went off down the alleyway, I had a few moments to give this kitchen a looking-over before I called the police and swept up the bits of your friend. These were my immediate impressions.’
Jack disguised a sigh as a yawn. Or possibly he didn’t.
‘Firstly,’ said Jill, ‘I examined the kitchen door after you went through it into the alley. No signs of forced entry, yet that door is always locked.’
‘It was unlocked and open,’ said Jack.
‘Exactly,’ said Jill. ‘And the key is always in the lock on the inside, but it isn’t now, it’s in the outside of the lock. The killer entered through that door by pushing a piece of paper under it from the outside, then poking the key from the lock with a stick, or something. The key drops onto the paper and the paper is pulled under the door. It’s very basic stuff. Everyone knows how to do that.’