“Stop now,” said Jack. “We’ll have to go back to LA. We need the movie script. I’m sure a lot will be explained when we read it.”

“LA is no longer an option,” said Dorothy. “And I don’t know where this leaves my career. I know that it’s expected of starlets to do disreputable things that will later come back to haunt them when they become famous, but I might just have stepped too far over the line this time.”

Jack sighed, changed from fourth to first, changed hastily back again and said, “You do talk some toot at times.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Dorothy. “The people who get to the top in this world do so because they are risk-takers. They thrive upon risk. Every woman or man at the top has a shady past. They’ve all done things that they wouldn’t want their contemporaries to find out about. They wouldn’t want these things to come out once they are famous, but they’re not ashamed that they did these things. They did them because they got a thrill out of them. They did them because they are risk-takers.”

“So what are you saying?” Jack asked, as he performed another interesting gear change. “That it’s all right to do bad things?”

“It’s never right to do bad things. Bad things hurt good people.”

“I don’t mean to be bad,” said Jack.

“You’re not bad,” said Dorothy.

“I am,” said Jack. “I’m selfish. I put myself first.”

“Everyone does that.”

“Eddie doesn’t,” said Jack. “Eddie would risk anything to protect me, I know he would.”

“And you would do the same for him.”

“Of course I would,” said Jack. “But time is running out for Eddie and if I don’t find him soon and take him back to Toy City he will die.”

“You’ll find him,” said Dorothy. “Somehow.”

“Somehow,” thought Eddie, “Jack will find me somehow.”

“Into the elevator,” said the other Jack. “Go on now.”

Eddie entered the elevator. The other Jack joined him, pressed a button, the doors closed, the elevator rose. Eddie Bear fumed. Silently.

And then the doors took to opening and Eddie Bear gazed out.

And wondered at the view that lay before him.

It looked to be a big round room with shiny metal walls. There were all kinds of strange machines in this room. Strange machines with twinkling lights upon them, being attended to by men in white coats who all looked strangely alike.

“Where are we now?” asked Eddie.

“Central operations room,” said the other Jack. “Go on now.”

“I do wish you’d stop saying that. It’s as repetitive as.”

“Go on now.” And the other Jack kicked Eddie.

“But where shall we go now?” Jack asked.

“How about somewhere to eat?” asked Dorothy. “Lunch would be nice.”

“I’m really not hungry.” But Jack’s stomach rumbled.

“We do need a plan of some kind,” said Dorothy.

“Plan?” said Jack. “What we need is a miracle.” Jack hunched over the wheel.

Presently they approached a route-side eatery. It was a Golden Chicken Diner. Jack drove hurriedly past it.

Somewhat later, with the police car making those alarming coughing sounds that cars will make when they are running out of fuel, they approached another eatery: Haley’s Comet Lounge.

“This will do us fine,” said Dorothy.

The car clunked up to a petrol pump.[39]

A tall man with short hair smiled out from the shade of a veranda. He wore a drab grey mechanic’s overall that accentuated his drab greyness and wiped his hands upon an oily rag, which implied an intimate knowledge of automobiles.

“Howdy, officer,” said he as Jack wound down what was left of his window. “Suu-ee, what the Hell happened here?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” said Jack.

Dorothy leaned over him. And Jack sniffed her hair. “Fill her up,” said Dorothy, “and check the oil, please, and the suspension.”

“Have to put her up on the ramp for that, ma’am.”

“Fine, please do it.”

Dorothy led Jack off to eat as the drab grey mechanic drove the stolen police car into the garage.[40]

“It’s best out of sight,” said Dorothy to Jack as they entered the eatery.

“Do you have money?” Jack asked as he patted his uniform pockets. “Because I don’t.”

“Leave all the talking to me.”

The eatery was everything that it should have been. Everything in its right place. Long bar along the right-hand wall. Tables to the left with window views of Interstate 15. A great many framed photographs upon the walls, mostly of men in sporting attire holding large fish.

There were some trophies on a shelf behind the bar, silver trophies topped by figures of men in sporting attire holding large fish.

Behind the bar counter stood a short man with tall hair. He wore sporting attire and held a large fish.

“Good afternoon, officer, ma’am,” said he. “Would you care to take a number?”

“A number?” said Jack. “What do you mean?”

“So that I can seat you. In the right order.”

“But there’s just the two of us.”

“In the right order to be served.”

“There’s still just the two of us.”

“Take a number,” said Dorothy.

“Can I have any number?” Jack asked.

“You can have this number,” said the short man with tall hair. And he placed his fish upon the countertop, peeled a number from what looked to be a date-a-day calendar jobbie on the wall next to a framed picture of a man in sporting attire holding –

“Can we sit anywhere?” Jack asked. And he viewed the tables. All were empty.

“What number do you have?” asked the short man.

“Twenty-three,”[41] said Jack.

“Then you’re in luck. Table over there, by the window.”

Dorothy and Jack sat down at this table.

“Was I supposed to understand any of that?” Jack asked.

“What’s to understand?” asked Dorothy, and she took up a menu. It was a fish-shaped menu. Jack took up one similar.

“So,” said the short man, suddenly beside them, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Guy and I will be your waiter. Can I recommend to you today’s specials?”

Jack looked up at the short man called Guy. “Why don’t you give it a go?”

“Right,” said the short man called Guy, and he drew a tall breath.

And sang a jolly song.

We have carp from Arizona

And perch from Buffalo,

A great big trout

With a shiny snout

From the shores of Idaho.

We’ve a pike called Spike

And I’m sure you’d like

A bowl of fries with him.

There’s a shark called Mark

That I’ll serve, for a lark,

With salad to keep you slim.

I’ve monkfish, swordfish, cramp fish, cuttlefish,

Goby, goldfish, gudgeon.

I’ve sperm whale, starfish, bottle-nose dolphin,

I ain’t no curmudgeon.

If you like salmon, perch or bass,

Mullet, hake, or flounder,

Dory, plaice, or skate, or sole,

Try Guy, he’s a great all-rounder.

And there was plenty more of that, twenty-three[42] verses more of that, all sung in the “country” style.

“Well,” said Jack, clapping his hands together when the song was finally done, “I quite enjoyed that.”

“Enjoyed what?” asked Guy.

“The song,” said Jack.

“What song was that?”

“The one about fish.”

“Oh, that song. I’m sorry, officer, it’s been a rough morning, what with all the toing and froing.”

“Yes,” said Jack. And added in as delicate a fashion as he could, “Do you have anything other than fish on your menu?”