The Toyminator by Robert Rankin

many.”
    “And you sold one of these cigars recently?”
    “I sold one hundred of these cigars yesterday evening.”
    “One hundred,” said Jack. “That is an incredible number.”
    “Really?” said Smokey Joe. “I always thought that the most incredible number must be two, because it is one more than just one, yet one less than any other number, no matter how great that number might be. And there must be an infinite number of numbers, mustn’t there be?”
    “I’m sure there must,” said Jack. “But please tell me this: would it be possible for you to describe to me the individual who purchased those one hundred cigars from you yesterday?”
    “Your lordship is surely mocking me,” said Smokey Joe, adding more smoke to his words.
    “No, I’m not,” said Jack. “I’m well and truly not.”
    “But your lordship surely knows who purchased those cigars.”
    “No,” said Jack. “I well and truly don’t.”
    “Of course you do,” said Smokey Joe.
    “Of course I don’t,” said Jack.
    “Do,” said Joe.
    And, “Don’t,” said Jack.
    And, “Do,” said Joe once more.
    “Now listen,” said Jack, “I am not asking you a difficult question. Please will you tell me who purchased those cigars?”
    “I will,” said Smokey Joe.
    “Then do so,” said Jack.
    “Then I will,” said Smokey Joe. And he did. “That bear with you,” he said.

4
    “It wasn’t
me
.” And Eddie fell back in alarm. “It wasn’t me – I’m as innocent as.”
    “It
was
you, you scoundrel.” And Smokey Joe huffed as he puffed. “I’d know the looks of you as I’d know the colour of moonlight, those mismatched eyes and your scruffy old paws.”
    “It’s cinnamon plush,” Eddie protested. “I am an Anders Imperial.”
    “Oh yes? Oh yes?” Smokey Joe did rockings and smoke came out of his ear holes. “You weren’t wearing that fedora when you came into this here establishment, but I’ll wager that under it there’s a bottle cap in your left ear.”
    “That’s my special tag.” Eddie now cowered behind Jack’s legs. This was all a little much.
    “Scoundrel and trickster,” puffed Smokey Joe, pointing an accusing cigar at this scoundrel and trickster.
    “Now just stop this,” Jack said. “I feel certain that you have made some mistake.”
    “Mistake?” said Smokey Joe and rolled his eyes, which seemed to smoke a little, too. “He took one hundred of my finest Turquoise Torpedoes and I demand proper payment.”
    “I am confused,” said Jack. “You said that my associate here purchased these cigars from you.”
    “With tomfoolery coin of the realm.”
    “Still not fully understanding.” Jack gave his shoulders a shrug.
    “Bogus coin, he paid me with. A high-denomination money note, in fact. I placed it into my cash register and moments after he left it went poof.”
    “Poof?” said Jack, miming a kind of poof, as one might in such circumstances.
    “Poof,” went Smokey Joe. “And never take up mime as a profession. The money note went poof in a poof of smoke and vanished away.”
    “A poof of smoke?” said Jack, not troubling to mime such a thing.
    “And of no smoke that I have ever seen and I’ve seen all but every kind.”
    “I am most confused,” said Jack.
    “And me also,” said Eddie. “And wrongly accused. Let’s be going now.”
    “Oh no you don’t,” said Smokey Joe, and with the kind of ease that lent Jack the conviction that it was hardly the first time he had done such a thing, Smokey Joe drew out a pistol from beneath his counter and waggled it somewhat about.
    “Now hold on,” said Jack. “There’s no need for that.”
    “There’s every need,” said Smokey Joe. “You were thinking to depart.”
    “Well, yes, we were.”
    “And you cannot. We shall wait here together.”
    “For what?” Jack enquired.
    “The arrival of the constables, of course.”
    “Ah,” said Jack. “And you expect their arrival imminently?”
    “I do,” said Smokey Joe. “I