The Toyminator by Robert Rankin Page B

Hippodrome, where all the hippos hang out. Or Barbie’s, where dollies’ bosoms often hang out.”
    “No, not yet.” Jack was squinting hard now into the blackened void beyond the darkened footlights. “Do you think you could bring me over one of those candles from the tables, maybe two?”
    “Well, I could, but I don’t really want to.”
    “Please,” said Jack.
    “Well, as you ask me so nicely. And as I love you so much.”
    Jack did uneasy scuffings with his feet. Amelie crunched through broken glass and brought him a candelabra. Jack held it up before him.
    “This
is
rather romantic,” said Amelie, as she nuzzled close to Jack. “And there’s no one here but us. We could –”
    “We could
what
?” Jack asked.
    “You know what.”
    “What, here?”
    “We could,” said Amelie. “And I might let you do that thing that you’ve always been wanting to do, but I haven’t let you do yet because you haven’t told me you love me.”
    “Ah,” said Jack. “
That
thing.”
    Amelie blew Jack kisses.
    “Tempting though that is,” said Jack, “and believe me, it’s
very
tempting, I don’t think it would be a very good idea right at this moment.”
    “Huh,” huffed Amelie. “Perhaps you can’t do it anyway.”
    Jack put a finger to his lips. “Just a moment,” he said, in the tone known as hushed. “I think something very bad has happened here. I want to look on the stage.”
    “Shall I wait here and take off all my clothes while you have a look?”
    “Just wait here.” Jack kissed Amelie’s upturned face. It was such a beautiful face. It was just like a re –
    Amelie grasped Jack by the arm. “Is there going to be danger?” she asked.
    “I hope not,” said Jack.
    “Shame,” said Amelie. “I really love danger.”
    “Just wait here. And if I shout ‘run’, just run – will you do that for me?”
    “I will, my love.”
    Jack gave a sigh that would have done credit to Eddie [12] and haltingly approached the blacked-out stage. Certain sounds now came to Jack, but not from the stage before him. These sounds were of distant bells. The bells that topped police cars. These sounds were growing louder.
    Jack climbed up onto the stage, holding the candelabra before him. Its wan light shone upon more broken glass and then upon the piano. And as Jack moved gingerly forward, more there was to be seen, and to this more that was to be seen Jack took no liking whatsoever.
    Candlelight fell upon the face of the clockwork pianist. It was a face incapable of expression, and yet as Jack peered, he could see it, see it in the eyes, eyes now lifeless, eyes now dead – that look of absolute fear.
    Jack held out the candelabra and moved forward once more.
    The saxophonist lay on his side. The drummer did likewise. The pianist was flat on his back.
    Jack knelt and touched the pianist’s tin-plate chest. And watched in horror as it sank beneath his touch, dissolved and crumbled into dust.
    Jack stood and Jack trembled. What had done this? He’d been aware of nothing but a blinding light. Seen no one. No
thing
.
    Now trembling somewhat and wary that whoever or whatever had done this might not yet have departed the scene of the crime, Jack took a step or two further.
    And then took no more and gasped.
    By the light of the candelabra he saw her. Her head lolled at an unnatural angle, the neck with its many chins broken, the show clearly over. The fat lady would sing no more.
    And …
    “Hold it right there and put up your hands.”
    Torchlights shone through the now not so ambiently candlelit Old King Cole’s. Many torchlights held by many policemen. Laughing policemen, all of them, with names such as Chortle and Chuckles.
    “Hands you, up villain,” came shouts, and Jack raised his hands.
    And then they were on him and Jack went down beneath the force of truncheons.
     
    “The force,” said the spaceman to Eddie, “it’s either with you, or it’s not.”
    “And it’s with you, is it?” Eddie