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you know what I’m saying?”
    Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “So what you’re saying,” he said, “is that we should ignore the fact that a dead monkey crumbled into dust on the carpet of this office and wait until we get some meathead client to offer us money for finding their lost dog or something?”
    “Well, I’m not saying
that
, exactly.”
    “So what are you saying, then?”
    Jack gave some thought to an appropriate answer. “I’m saying,” said Jack, “that perhaps we should give this some thought. Perhaps over a drink.”
    “At Tinto’s?” said Eddie.
    “At Tinto’s,” said Jack.
    Eddie took a shower, because Bill’s office owned to a bathroom. And Jack squeezed Eddie dry, which Eddie didn’t enjoy too much, although it made Jack laugh. And Eddie unearthed his old trenchcoat and fedora, and so too did Jack, and so they both now looked like private detectives. And they took themselves down to the garage and, much to their joy, found Bill’s splendid automobile just waiting to take them away.
    And so they took themselves away in it, with Jack driving.
    As ever, too fast.
     
    It was early yet at Tinto’s, so trade was still slack. Some construction-worker figures with detachable yellow hardhats and gripping hands gripped beer glasses and engaged in theoretical discussions on the good-looks/intelligence dialectic. Eddie had no trouble getting served. “Howdy doody,” said Tinto. “Eddie Bear, come to pay off his tab, by Golliwog. Joy and gladness are mine, to be sure, all praise The Great Engineer.”
    “The beers are on Jack,” said Eddie.
    “And howdy doody, Jack,” said Tinto.
    “Nine beers, please,” said Jack, lowering himself onto a barstool and speaking from between his now raised knees.
    “Nine, eh?” said Eddie. “This should be good.”
    Tinto poured a number of beers. Eddie disputed this number and Tinto poured more. Then Jack and Eddie got into the thirteen beers.
    “Just like the good old days,” said Jack, raising his glass and emptying it down his throat.
    “What days were those?” asked Tinto. “I must have missed them.”
    “Eddie and I have
temporarily
renewed our partnership,” said Jack. “And there
were
great days and will be again.”
    “Bravo,” said Eddie, raising his glass carefully between his paws and emptying a fair percentage of the beer into his mouth.
    “Enjoy your great days while you can,” said Tinto, taking up Jack’s empty glass and giving it a polish. “The End Times are upon us and
they
won’t prove to be so great.”
    “End Times?” said Jack.
    “Don’t get him going on that,” said Eddie.
    “Doubter,” said Tinto to Eddie. “If you were of the faith you’d understand.”
    “I have my own faith,” said Eddie, struggling with another glass. “I am a member of The Exclusive Brotherhood of the Midnight Growlers.”
    “A most exclusive brotherhood,” said Tinto, “as you are the only member.”
    “We don’t proselytise,” said Eddie. “You’re either a Growler, or you aren’t.”
    “You should join The Church of Mechanology before it’s too late.” Tinto made the sign of the sacred spanner. “Already the prophecies are being fulfilled. Did you see today’s paper?”
    Eddie shook his head.
    “The faithful are being carried off to glory.” Tinto’s voice rose slightly. “They are being taken up by the big horseshoe magnet in the sky.”
    “And that’s in the paper?” Eddie asked. “S.T.C.” said Tinto.
    “Ecstasy?” said Eddie.
    “S.T.C.” said Tinto. “Spontaneous Toy Combustion.”
    Eddie looked at Jack.
    And Jack looked at Eddie.
    “Go on,” said Eddie.
    “The monkeys,” said Tinto. “The clockwork monkeys. All over the city. Last night. They Combusted.”
    “All of them?” Eddie looked aghast. He
was
aghast.
    “Puff of smoke,” said Tinto. “All of them gone. All of them. Not that there were that many of them, only about half a dozen. The papers says it was S.T.C., but that’s not the