Dorothy slammed on the brakes once more and the troubled young detective’s Mustang Sally struck her rear end once more, then travelled onwards, travelled upwards, and …

In slow motion (praise the Lord).

Sailed forward.

And, as they had now reached a place known as the Santa Fe Dam Recreational Area, it sailed over the dam and down and down and down.

“Nasty,” said Dorothy. “But I’m sure he leapt from the car in time.”

They were now, and praise the Lord for this also, travelling along Route 66. They were, they really were. Not that they were running from St Louis down to Missouri, taking in Oklahoma City, which everybody knows is oh so pretty. They were in fact passing Horse Thief Canyon Park, La Verne, Cable Airport and now Rancho Cucamonga, where a young Don Van Vliet, who would later change his name to Captain Beefheart and become a legend in his lifetime, would as a teenager try to sell a vacuum cleaner to Aldous Huxley.[35]

It’s a really long straight road there, above San Bernardino. You can get up an unhealthy speed if you really put your foot down. Which was what the gay officer, whose day was yet to dawn, was doing. His police car overtook Sam’s, much to Sam’s disgust, because his police car had just overtaken his. The gay officer’s police car now drew level with Dorothy’s. The gay officer addressed Dorothy through his public-address system, which is located somewhere on police cars, although no one has ever been able to ascertain exactly where.

“Give yourselves up,” came his amplified voice through the special speaker in the radiator grille.[36] “There’s no need for all this kerfuffle. You don’t really want to behave in this fashion. It’s not your fault – you are a product of your upbringing, you are programmed to behave in this way. I have this self-help manual I could lend you –”

Dorothy swerved the car and drove the gay officer off the road. His car, once again in glorious slow motion, sailed from Route 66 and down onto the famous California Speedway, where numerous speeding motorbikes, with very nice leather-clad riders, the gay officer noted, before all things went black for him, came all a-mashing into his rear parts and everywhere else.

“Right,” said Sam. “I’m angry now.” And he leaned out of his window and fired his gun once more.

And there at last it was.

Because we have been expecting its arrival for some time now, if only subconsciously. But there it was at last, that great big truck, with its great big dangerous cargo on the back. It was being driven towards them at considerable speed by a trucker called Joe-Bob, who was, coincidentally –

And who was also chatting on the CB to a fellow trucker called Joe-Bob, who was, coincidentally –

“Well, that’s a big ten-four,” said driver Joe-Bob. “Heading for the City of Angels on Route Sixty-Six. Pulling turkey with a shorthaired rabbit. Doing a manky dance rattle on my blue suede shoes.”[37]

“Come on?” said the driver called Joe-Bob at the message-receiving end.

“I said … Oh, Goddamn!”

And, “Goddamn!” also went Police Chief Sam Maggott as Dorothy swerved around the on-rushing truck and Sam Maggott’s car struck it dead on.

Boom.

In slow motion.

Of course.

Some time later, Dorothy drew the raddled, bullet-pocked black-and-white to the side of the road, climbed from it and opened the boot.

Jack peered out. “Are we still alive?” he asked.

“We’re fine,” said Dorothy. “We’ve shaken them off.”

Jack climbed out in a wibbly-wobbly way. “How did you learn to drive like that?” he asked.

“My daddy won the Indianapolis Five Hundred,” said Dorothy. “Oh, look, there’s a police uniform in the trunk.”

“I know,” said Jack, dusting down his all-but-naked self. “I’ve been fighting with it for several miles. It smells really bad.”

“Well, you’d best put it on. Then you can drive for a bit. We don’t want to arouse suspicion.”

Jack’s jaw dropped. “Well, no,” said he. “We wouldn’t want to do that.”

And Dorothy smiled upon Jack and said, “Well, hurry up now, come on.”

Jack dressed himself in the uniform, and but for its acrid qualities it did have to be said that he cut a rather dashing and romantic figure. He settled down into what was left of the driving seat.

Dorothy sat beside him. “Mmm,” she said to Jack.

“Mmm?” Jack asked. “What means ‘Mmm’?”

“As in, ‘Mmm, you look cute.’”

“Cute?” said Jack. “A teddy bear looks cute.”

“Not your one,” said Dorothy.

And Jack once more thought of Eddie. Not that Eddie had slipped Jack’s mind, but what with all the excitement and everything …

Eddie Bear lacked for excitement. In his cage many floors beneath the Nevada desert in Area Fifty-Two, Eddie Bear was having a bit of a snooze. And then things suddenly became exciting for Eddie, or perhaps “alarming” was better the word.

Eddie awoke as hands were laid upon him. Rough were these hands, although not in texture. Rough as in violent and forceful.

“Ow!” went Eddie. “That’s as rude as. Get off me.”

But Eddie was hauled from his cage by the other Jack and flung to a concrete floor.

“There’s no need for that!”

And then the other Jack kicked him.

“Oh!” went Eddie, climbing to his paw pads. “You are so going to get yours when my Jack gets here.”

“No one is going to rescue you.” The other Jack took a big step forward. Eddie took several steps back. “Along the corridor, hurry now.”

Eddie turned and plodded up the corridor. It was one of those all-over-concrete kind of jobbies with bulkhead lights at regular intervals. The number twenty-three[38] was painted on the walls at similarly regular intervals. Eddie assumed, correctly, that this meant that he was on the twenty-third level beneath the ground.

“Where are you taking me?” Eddie asked.

“To meet your maker,” said the other Jack.

“My maker was Mister Anders Anders,” said Eddie, “the kindly, lovable white-haired old Toymaker.”

The other Jack laughed and his laugh all echoed around. “He’ll soon have his work cut out for him,” he said.

“And what does that mean?” Eddie asked.

“In twelve hours from now,” said the other Jack, “Toy City will be wiped from the map. If there is a map with it on. My employer will suck it dry of all life. Lay it to waste. Oh yes.”

“Why?” Eddie asked. “To what purpose?”

“Why?” asked the other Jack. “Because we can. And to what purpose? To further our own ends.”

“Now, I’m only guessing here,” said Eddie, turning and peering up at the other Jack, “but would these ‘own ends’ be of the world-domination persuasion?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” The other Jack nudged Eddie with his shoe. “Now get a move on. To the elevator.”

“Where am I?” asked Eddie. “Tell me where I am.”

“Where are we?” asked Jack. “Exactly.”

He was making good progress, considering he had never driven a car with an internal combustion engine before. He’d almost got the hang of the gears.

Dorothy flinched as Jack changed from second to fourth.

“Exactly?” she said. “We are travelling North on Interstate Fifteen. We just passed Las Vegas, which you would probably have liked, lots of lights and things like that. We are heading towards the Nevada desert.”

“And is that good?” Jack asked. “Only I’m not sure what we should be doing next. The plan was to follow the American Dream. Find the top man. Beat the truth out of him.”

“Perhaps you were over-hasty bringing that meat-cleaver into play. But look on the bright side – at least we got to meet Marilyn Monroe and Sydney Greenstreet. I wish I’d got their autographs. And the names of their agents and –”