GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #770: TOY CRIME STORY WRAP UP

 OK, after all that time, Toy Crime Story is over. I just posted the finale earlier tonight. When I first started posting these chapters I said I'd do a wrap up with a revelation I had recently about the work.

I wrote this one a few years back because I wanted to see if I could do a darker version of Toy Story. I wanted the kid to be murdered and the story would be about whodunit. I didn't realize one thing, however, until I reread the whole thing in preparation for posting it online.

I had no idea why I'd named the kid Joey and the dad Wally until a few months ago. I've mentioned it here before, but the first friend I ever had was a kid named Joey. His dad Wally was friends with my stepdad, which was how we met. I think it explains a lot about me that the first friend I ever had died when I was a child. Joey was chewing on a pencil and accidentally broke a piece off and choked on it. Wally tried to save his life but couldn't do it.

It's how I learned about death and that I would someday die. I asked what happens after death, and mom said, "You go in the ground, and the worms eat you."

Yeah, if you have kids, don't tell them that. It scarred me for life and probably helped make me the way I am today. Maybe that's not entirely bad, but I wasn't off to a good start.

So here I am, probably around my 40th birthday, writing a story about a kid named Joey who dies, and his dad Wally is powerless to save him. How did I not notice that at the time? I mean, I was drinking heavily back in those days. I could put away nearly an entire handle of cheap whiskey a night. But I don't think I was that booze-addled when I wrote this. I don't write while drunk.

Weird, right? Although as I look at Toy Crime Story now, I feel like I was exorcising something, but I have no idea what it was. I think about the Catacombs and Man-E-Faces and wonder if maybe the specter of death was trying to get out of my system, but that seems too obvious. To quote an asshole owl, "The world may never know."

No, not Close Encounters. UHF, pal.

TOY CRIME STORY EPILOGUE

 

FIRST EPILOGUE

That Christmas season, Wally and Mimi chose to get a divorce. They couldn’t stay in this place, and the memories of Joey were too strong. It grew to the point where they couldn’t stand to look at each other. They still loved each other, but the reminders were too strong. A divorce seemed to be the only solution.

It was very amiable, as much as it could be. They argued over nothing, and the lawyers breezed through it. They split the price of the house and after they packed everything up, they went their separate ways. They sent each other cards for the holidays and their birthdays, and every once in a while talked to each other on the phone, but they never saw each other again.

Wally couldn’t bear to hold on to the toys. He packed up the remaining ones. When he put Felix in the box, the cat seemed almost sad. The first movie he’d ever owned was a Felix the Cat cartoon on VHS. He felt tempted to hold on to this one, but he just couldn’t. He could see Joey reflected in Felix’s pitch black eyes.

He closed the box. It eventually wound up at Goodwill. In the back room, they deemed several of the toys were too dirty for kids, so they were tossed. Among them was Felix. His wives and kids found new homes, though.

They puzzled over the Donald Duck stuffed animal with a paper bag face. It was a topic of discussion over many lunches, but they tore the face off, and he wound up being a birthday present for a five year old.

Angel and Spike were in good condition, so they sold them as a pair to a thirty-one year old geek who never took them out of their boxes. Spike continued being a pain in Angel’s ass.

No one lived happily ever after.

SECOND EPILOGUE

Cat glided into the Catacombs, ecstatic over how everything ended. He couldn’t be more pleased with himself. His machinations worked out perfectly, just like always.

He went down the stairs, eager to fuck with the dead toys that Man-E-Faces watched over. He jaunted until he saw what remained of Man-E-Faces. He’d been torn limb from limb, his remains scattered on the cold stone. Cat stopped, tail twitching. Who could have beaten Death?

He eased down the steps until he saw that the dead toys were more plentiful. One of them, however, stood out from the rest.

Nightbeat.

He’d been put together hastily, but he was still Nightbeat. Cat should have seen this coming.

“Oh hello!” he said. “Nightbeat! How unexpected!”

“Cat,” Nightbeat said. “Enough with the pleasantries. You know why I’m here.”

“No, I assure you I don’t.” Backing away slightly.

“Come on. You can’t possibly think I would overlook what you did with Don Snowy and the goombas. You tore us apart.”

“Not I. You’ll have to prove it, detective. Beyond a reasonable doubt, naturally.”

“We’re beyond that,” Nightbeat said. “Waaaaay beyond that.”

“Oh my,” Cat said. He turned and ran.

And Nightbeat followed.

THE END

TOY CRIME STORY PART 17

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A month later, the toys had gotten used to Joey not being around. They went about their day as per usual, except when Wally or Mimi were around. They still came into this room every once in a while, Wally with a bottle, both in tears. Their mourning continued for a long time after Don Snowy and his henchmen had been unstuffed.

One morning, Cat seemed especially cheery. He greeted everyone with a pleasant demeanor. “Oh hello!” he cried out. Everyone knew something was up with him, but no one could suspect what he had in mind.

His last stop was Nightbeat. “Hello, my friend!”

“What do you want?” Nightbeat asked.

“Why, you old curmudgeon, Nightbeat. Can’t I ever be in a good mood?”

“No,” Nightbeat said. “I’ve been to the Catacombs. I know what you really are.”

“And what is that?”

“Evil.”

Cat tsked Nightbeat. “And cynical, too.”

“So, what do you want?”

“Pish posh,” Cat said. “Just saying hello.” And he walked toward the closet.

Nightbeat couldn’t let it go. He followed Cat, but he tried to be stealthy about it. The closet door was left open just a crack, so he peeked in. He couldn’t see Cat, it was so dark. Something moved, but he couldn’t tell what. He considered walking in to get a closer look, but something—perhaps his cop instinct—told him that would be a bad idea, that maybe he should get away as soon as possible. He didn’t want to, but he trusted himself enough to take his face away from the closet door.

Not a moment too soon. The closet suddenly burst open, and a flurry of white came crashing out. It moved too quickly for Nightbeat to tell what it was, but he thought it was round and big. Very big.

“Oh no!” Cat called out. “It’s been set loose!”

Everything about his voice sounded false to Nightbeat. Whatever it was, he knew to a moral certainty that Cat had let it free.

“What’s that?!” Bunny screamed.

It sped toward him and rolled him over, stopping briefly to tear through his fur. With horror, Nightbeat realized it was tearing the stuffing out of Bunny. Now that it was stopped, he could see that it was a giant ball of stuffing with a thin white cloth stitching it all together.

It was the remains of Don Snowy and his goombas.

“Help!” Bunny cried. “It’s hurting me! Make it stop!”

“I’ll help!” Fox said. He grabbed Bunny by the ears and tried to pull back. It almost worked. Nightbeat watched as Bunny was torn in half, stuffing unraveling out of his belly. The ball quickly sucked the rest of the stuffing out of Bunny, reducing him to nothing but torn cloth.

Fox tried to leap back, but it grabbed him next, ripping through his stuffing like a chainsaw through butter. He screamed, but it was too late. He was reduced to nothing, just like Bunny.

“Cat!” Nightbeat yelled. “Get over here, you son of a bitch!”

“What?” Cat said. “I did nothing!”

“You did this! That’s Don Snowy and his henchmen! You put them back together like some insane Humpty Dumpty! You have to kill it!”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Cat said. “That you would think it of me!”

Angel and Spike had gotten plastic swords from a knight’s playset that Joey had gotten for his last birthday. They tried poking the whirling dervish, but the tips were flung away on contact. It went for Angel, but the plastic sword was enough to keep it at bay.

“What the fuck is that?” Don Draper asked. “Peggy! Get in here! I need more scotch!”

“I ought to feed you to that fucking thing!” Nightbeat yelled at Cat. “Make it stop!”

Cat shrugged. “That is beyond my power.”

“I swear by Primus that I’ll unstuff you myself if I survive this.”

Cat smiled. “You’re welcome to try.”

“Whoa!” Spike shouted. “Keep back, you bugger!” The ball had tried to grab him by the boot, but he managed to slap it back with the broad side of his sword.

While it was distracted, Angel tried to stab it with all of his might. The sword made a dent, but it was quickly filled in. “It’s like fighting a piece of Jell-O!”

“Any help would be bloody appreciated!” Spike yelled.

Felix was passed out elsewhere. Don Draper had too much booze in him to do anything. Felix’s wives and sons looked terrified. It fell unto Nightbeat. “Angel! Spike! Give it everything you’ve got! Keep it distracted!”

Both nodded without taking their eyes off the ball. They no longer attacked from opposite sides. Instead they drew together, side by side, and hit the ball with everything they had. It fought them both furiously.

Nightbeat transformed and drove toward the ball as quickly as he could. Just as he approached, he transformed back into himself and plunged toward it, both fists forward so his body was shaped like an arrow. He plunged directly into the ball’s center, and he ripped at all the stuffing he could.

“YO!” the ball screamed. It had to be some kind of atavistic memory. There was no way it could possibly know what it was.

Angel and Spike’s swords dug in, and they shoveled out as much stuffing as they could. Nightbeat whirled inside, ripping and tearing, then transforming to skid his tires through said stuffing, flinging it out from the ball. It fought back, trying to tear Nightbeat apart, still strong enough to do it.

Finally the swords pierced the ball all the way through, and Angel and Spike yanked in opposite directions. The ball ripped open, and all of its stuffing was sent to the four corners of Joey’s room. It uttered a groan and died.

Angel poked at the cloth, still uncertain.

“He’s dead, you idjit,” Spike said.

Don Draper staggered over. “Where’s Nightbeat? I saw him go in.”

They poked at the remains of the ball until they found Nightbeat, or what was left of him. His limbs had been torn from his body, as was his head. They sensed none of his spark. He was dead.

“Gave his life to save you all,” Cat said. “He was a true hero.”

They all surrounded Nightbeat’s twisted body except for Cat. He kept a good distance from them because he knew what would come next.

“You did this,” Angel said. “I heard what Nightbeat said to you. I trust him.”

“Get him,” Spike said.

The toys turned on Cat, but just before they could advance, Felix jumped up. “Human!” he yelled.

Everyone scattered, and Cat fled to the Catacombs.

The door opened, and Wally stepped in. Mimi was just a half-minute behind him. They both scanned the room. “I could have sworn I heard something,” Wally said.

“Look.” Mimi pointed to the mess of what had been several of the toys.

Wally hunkered down and picked up a handful of stuffing. “What could have done this?”

“Rats?” Mimi asked.

“I’m pretty sure we don’t have any. I guess I could call the exterminator.”

“This is . . . it’s . . . disgusting.” Mimi grimaced. “Joey would not have wanted this.”

“Aw hell.” Wally picked up Nightbeat’s head. “I really liked this one when I was a kid. He was my favorite. I guess that’s why I still had him when I moved out of my parents’ house.”

“I’ll clean it up,” Mimi said. “Go call the exterminator, okay?”

Wally nodded, still holding Nightbeat’s head. He picked up the rest of him, thinking maybe he could put him back together. It was worth a shot. And who knew? Transformers were making a comeback. He might be worth something.

TOY CRIME STORY PART 16

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Don Snowy sat in the middle of Joey’s bedroom, legs bound and arms tied behind his back. All of the toys circled around him except for Bunny and Fox. “I can’t watch this,” Bunny said. “This is too ugly.”

“Me, neither,” Fox said. His mittened hands covered his face.

Nightbeat stood in front of Don Snowy. “Any last words?”

Don Snowy sighed. “Yo! I did this for Bueno Excellente! It was revenge! Don’t you see that?!”

“Is that all?” Nightbeat asked.

Don Snowy glared hatred at him. “Yo, fuck you!”

“Cat?” Nightbeat asked.

Cat, the only one of them big enough to hold a pair of scissors, stepped forward. He’d gotten them from downstairs when Wally and Mimi were out. They gleamed next to Don Snowy’s soft white outsides.

“I’d say this gives me no pleasure,” Cat said, “but I’d be lying.”

Gleefully, he stabbed the blades into Don Snowy’s fat stomach. He snipped wildly, opening torn hole after torn hole. Don Snowy screamed, but Cat wouldn’t stop until the belly disappeared, showing only his stuffing.

Angel and Spike stepped forward. “This is for Joey, you cunt,” Spike said. Both of them dug into Don Snowy’s gaping stomach and scooped out handfuls of stuffing. Don Snowy cried and begged and threatened and screamed until there was nothing left inside of him. His empty husk lay in the middle of the room.

“Justice has been served,” Nightbeat said. It didn’t feel like justice, though. In a just world, Joey would be alive.

The toys came together and cleaned up both Don Snowy and his team of goombas. They hid the stuffing and cloth shreds deep into the closet, where they were fairly certain no one would ever find them. The toys went on with their lives, and Cat retreated to the Catacombs. Later that night, when everyone slept, he came back with a bundle under one arm. He went to the closet.

TOY CRIME STORY PART 15

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nightbeat looked all around him. There were ten goombas, and they surrounded him completely. Cat, grinning, sauntered off and turned, hands under his chin. “This is going to be wonderful!”

“Yo!” they said in unison. Then they shouted out their own in a cacophony, jumping up and down, excited.

Nightbeat glanced at Cat. “You knew they were waiting for me.”

“Of course!”

“You led me into a trap.”

“It’s not my trap, but I like it nonetheless. I wonder what you’ll look like when you’re dead.”

Nightbeat looked around at all of his enemies. Don Snowy sat on his corpulent ass apart from the goombas, watching them do his bidding. The other toys were nowhere in sight. Nightbeat thought of a movie he’d once watched when Wally was a kid, High Noon. If he called out to Angel, would he help? Would anyone?

“Am I the only one invited to my death?” he asked.

“Yo!” “Yo!” “Yo!”

“Yo Nightbeat!” Don Snowy said. “Take it like a man, and we can put this to rest, yeah?”

“Where is everyone else, Snowy? You pay them off?”

“Maybe they knew better than to get in my way,” Don Snowy said.

The closet was the only place they could be. Nightbeat looked over to see that someone had put a wedge under the door. He could hear the others in there. He wondered what they would do when they got out and found him dead. Or would Don Snowy just end them, too?

Maybe he could stall them, get enough time to yank that wedge out. He turned to Don Snowy. “Speaking of taking it like a man, why have your goombas do this? Afraid to get your hands dirty?”

“Hey! I’m a made man! I call the shots! That’s some pretty stupid thinking for a detective.”

The whole time, Nightbeat had been moving from foot to foot. Slowly, he’d been able to get just that much closer to the closet. The ring of goombas just readjusted itself to his movement. If he could keep Don Snowy talking, maybe he wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

“You shouldn’t have killed Joey,” Nightbeat said. “That’s unheard of for a toy. You’re a disgrace. You should be unstuffed.”

“Yo! I’m not the one dyin’ here! Goombas! Finish him!”

“Yo!” “Yo!” “Yo!” “Yo!” “Yo!”

Shit. So much for that. Nightbeat slugged the closest goomba and jumped through the gap where it had stood. He sensed the others closing in on him, but he concentrated on getting to that wedge. Even when he got there, when he tried pulling it out, he paid them no mind. Not until they arrived and the first one bashed him on the back of his head. He staggered forward, hitting his head on the door this time. Sparks of light fluttered in his vision, but he shook his head, intent on getting this done.

Just as he yanked at the wedge again, two goombas latched onto his arms, pulling him away. He flung both arms back, and one shook loose, but it was quickly replaced by another. They flooded around him, pushing and shoving. He couldn’t get a grip on the wedge. There were too many. Over their heads he saw Cat watching, grinning. He had his tail between his legs, stroking it like it was his cock.

Nightbeat crouched down, allowing a few of the goombas onto his back. He then jumped up, arching backward, flinging at least three of them away. It gave him some wiggle room, which he used to kick two more aside. That gave him enough time to grab the wedge again. This time he felt it give a little. He thought he could hear someone on the other side pushing at the top of the wedge. He thought if he could give it one good yank . . .

The goombas went for his feet, sending him sprawling. They climbed onto his back, pinning him down. He felt like suffocating as his face pushed against the carpet. He turned his head slightly and saw that the wedge wasn’t too far behind him. He tried kicking at it, and he barely made contact. He tried slithering back, but the weight was too much. Weakness overcame him almost as badly as when Man-E-Faces tried to kill him. In a last ditch effort, he kicked back with all of his strength.

He hit the wedge hard enough to dislodge it. The closet door popped open, and Angel and Spike jumped free.

“NO!” Don Snowy shouted.

“I don’t usually pick on someone smaller’n me,” Spike said, “but . . .” He kicked at the goombas, and Angel did the same. Nightbeat felt lighter, and he pushed himself to his feet.

“It’s over, Don Snowy,” he said.

“Yo! It’s never over! Get those bastards!”

The goombas circled the trio, who now stood back to back with each other, ready to take on whatever the goombas had. Others shuffled from the closet, chief among them Don Draper. He had a dazed look on his face.

“Pete Campbell better not be behind this,” he said. “I’ll have him run out of Sterling Cooper on a rail. Honey? Where’s my scotch?” He uttered a quack and fell on one of the goombas. It yelped, trying to get out from under his bulk, but Don was too heavy.

“I’ll help you!” Fox cried out. He leaped from the closet, ready to fend off the goombas, but Cat swept up in front of him.

“Just who I wanted to see,” he said.

Fox trembled. “I’m not scared of you! I’ll—”

Cat rushed forward and grabbed Fox by the throat, snapping his neck immediately. He made nom-ing sounds as he nibbled at Fox’s corpse.

Felix’s sons and wives rushed out and took shelter behind the bedroom door. Don Snowy saw this and lumbered over, no longer interested in the fight. “Yo! Show me your titties, my kitties!”

Felix stumbled after them and grabbed Don Snowy by his fluffy back. “Hey, Snowy! Keep your goddam hands off of them!”

Don Snowy kicked back, and since Felix had more booze running through him than anything else, he fell, unconscious.

Jack Bunnyson stepped in front of Don Snowy. “That wasn’t nice, man. And leave the chicks alone. They don’t want you, get it?”

“Yo, fuck you!” Don Snowy pushed at Jack Bunnyson, but he didn’t move much. Instead, he slugged Don Snowy across his carrot nose, sending him to the rug. “Yo! My dose! You broke my dose!”

“There’s a lot more where that came from.” Jack Bunnyson bobbed and weaved, his fists held in the air. He moved to kick, but Don Snowy shoved a foot into his crotch. Jack Bunnyson gasped, out of breath, collapsing onto his front. Don Snowy slipped behind him, to the pocket in his back, and yanked it down. Jack Bunnyson howled, and his ears hung down, the sunglasses off. Bunny said, “Noooooo! It hurts! Why?” He continued moaning until he mercifully died.

As Spike and Angel fought the remaining goombas, Nightbeat got one of his own and held it down, seeking purchase in its plush body. He found a faded area and jammed his hand into it, ripping the goomba open. It screamed as he tore the fabric up further, yanking out all of its stuffing. The scream turned to a moan until it stopped making any sound.

“These things killed Joey,” Nightbeat said. “We have to unstuff them.”

Spike nodded. “Say no more.”

The goombas, now aware of their peril, doubled their efforts to take the trio down. Spike and Angel were too big for them, and Nightbeat was too strong. The heroes worked together and managed to come up with a system. Spike fought with all his might, taking point while Angel struggled with each goomba, holding them down for Nightbeat to perform the unstuffing. As soon as the goombas figured out what they were doing, it was too late.

Angel, Spike and Nightbeat stood together, huffing and out of breath. Nightbeat recovered first. “Now it’s time to get the mastermind.”

“Who’s that?” Angel asked.

“Don Snowy gave the order to take out Joey. And me, incidentally. We have to unstuff him before it’s too late.”

They turned to Don Snowy, surprised to discover that Felix’s wives had already subdued him. He struggled to get out from under them, but he struggled harder to cop a feel. One wife sat on his throat, and he tried to maneuver his carrot nose into her bottom.

“Yo!” Don Snowy shouted. “Gimme a trial! I have rights!”

“You don’t, actually,” Nightbeat said. “Rights are for humans, and you’ve done the unthinkable. A toy should never kill its child.”

“You gotta prove it! Yo!”

“It’s proof enough that you bloody locked us away,” Spike said.

“It was Cat that locked you up!” Don Snowy cried. “Not me! I didn’t do it!”

Cat now munched away at Bunny’s corpse. “I was in the Catacombs. Nightbeat can vouch for that, yes?”

Nightbeat nodded, absolutely hating himself for giving Cat an alibi, even though it was true. “There is no getting out of this, Snowy. Is there anyone here who doubts that he didn’t kill Joey?” He glanced around. Bunny and Fox were dead, being eaten by Cat. Don Draper and Felix were passed out, stinking of booze. With the goombas dead and unstuffed, no one spoke up for Don Snowy.

Nightbeat shrugged. “Looks like the end of the road for you, asshole.”

TOY CRIME STORY PART 14

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“What about Bueno Excellente?” Nightbeat asked.

Cat laughed long and hard. “You really don’t remember what happened to him, do you?”

Nightbeat thought back. Bueno had been with them for several years, but he couldn’t quite remember what happened to him. One day he was there, the next day he was gone.

“Joey happened to him,” Cat said. “He was angry with his mother, something about not letting him watch TV past his bedtime, so he took it out on Bueno. Unstuffed the poor bastard. There wasn’t a shred of him left that was recognizable.”

“What does that have to do with my investigation? You’re not making sense.”

“You’re so dense for a detective. Joey was killed out of revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.”

Nightbeat tried to put the pieces together, but they just wouldn’t stick. “How so?”

“Who was best friends with Bueno? Who did he hang out with the most? Who would want to kill Joey for unstuffing Bueno?”

Goddammit. Cat really did know who killed Joey. He knew all this time, and he didn’t do anything about it. Nightbeat wondered if he could get Cat unstuffed as an accomplice or for withholding evidence or something.

“Don Snowy,” Cat said. “They were best friends. They worked together sometimes. But Don Snowy only ordered the hit. Someone else followed through.”

Something flashed in Nightbeat’s mind, and he felt sickened by his lack of intuition. “The goombas.”

“Finally! It thinks! How does it feel to have solved the mystery?”

Nightbeat’s stomach turned. How could he have been so blind? He didn’t get anywhere with the interviews because the goombas were the guilty ones, and all they could say was “yo.” But Don Snowy? Sure, he did some shady things, but murder? And now that he knew, what could he do about it? The only one bigger than Don Snowy was Bunny, and he wouldn’t be able to hold Don Snowy down for his unstuffing, not even if he was in Jack Bunnyson mode. Angel and Spike might be able to together, but would they? Angel distinctly didn’t want to get involved, and Spike was a bit too whimsical.

Another thought occurred to him: he would have a huge fight on his hands. The goombas wouldn’t idly sit by while they tried to unstuff their master. The situation seemed more impossible than ever.

“Have you figured out why the goombas tried to kill you?” Cat asked.

Nightbeat hadn’t thought about it, but now that Cat mentioned it, he had an idea. “Because I refused to let my investigation die.”

“Very good, boy. And now you realize the fight you’re in for?”

Nightbeat nodded.

“Ooh, this is so exciting!” Cat shivered with delight.

It made Nightbeat feel even more nauseous. “How do I get the hell out of here?”

“Follow me,” Cat said.

Nightbeat followed Cat back up the stairs. He glanced down to see Man-E-Faces standing sentinel over the dead toys. His faces spun at a much slower pace, like he was maybe powering down. He stared at Nightbeat the whole time.

At the top of the stairs, they approached where they had both entered the Catacombs. The air burned for a moment, and the path back to Joey’s room opened up. “After you,” Cat said. He gestured with his mittened hand.

Nightbeat jumped through the portal and found himself back under Joey’s bed. Cat joined him after a moment, now looking like the stuffed animal he was in this world, and they both moved out into the rest of the room.

Directly into the midst of the goombas.

TOY CRIME STORY PART 13

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nightbeat sat for a while, thinking. Cat had mentioned that he knew who had tried to kill him by pushing him down the very stairs Joey had died on. He knew that this person had to be the same one who killed Joey. How the hell did Cat know what Nightbeat didn’t?  Cat had to have seen it.

And done nothing to prevent it, of course. Nightbeat would have to put that idea on hold.

He needed to know what Cat knew, but he couldn’t just outright ask him. If Cat felt whimsical, he might actually tell him the truth, but that was a big if. He couldn’t trust a word out of Cat’s mouth. He would have to do his own investigating.

And that meant the Catacombs.

The Catacombs were under Joey’s bed, but they were only accessible by Cat. No one else had ever been down there, but whenever Cat went, they could usually catch a glimpse of that world. Nightbeat wondered if he could sneak in when Cat was either coming or going. He thought it was worth a try.

After a cursory search, Nightbeat saw that Cat wasn’t around, which highly suggested that he was in the Catacombs. All he had to do was wait until the beast came back. He went under the bed and sat propped up against one of the legs—so it looked like he blended in instead of sticking out—and he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, it happened. A dot of light appeared and then expanded into a line. Cat leaped out and walked away, and the glowing line remained. Nightbeat hurled himself at it and slipped through just before it winked out of existence. He stumbled and rolled until he came to a stop.

He looked around and saw that he was in a dingy, poorly-lit dungeon. Torches flickered at solid concrete walls. He could see no one else around. Only then did he wonder how the hell he was going to get back to Joey’s bedroom. He cursed, realizing that he would need Cat’s help with that.

First things first: he stepped forward, hoping he was headed in the right direction. He saw there were prison cells down here, and he thought about the dream he’d had when he was dead. No one was in them, though. No one was in the torture devices, either. Was this the kind of place Cat liked to hang out? Nightbeat shuddered.

He heard something. The noise was too distant, so he couldn’t tell what it was, but there was someone deeper in the dungeon. He wandered further and found stairs that led down. The sound became louder, and he realized that it was a cacophony of tortured souls screaming.

Nightbeat seriously considered unstuffing Cat on principle.

He continued on to the lowest level, and here he couldn’t help but gasp. The entire corridor was filled with dead toys. Maybe they were Wally’s, or maybe they were everyone’s. He saw fellow Transformers down here, all lifeless. Bumblebee was missing his head. Trailblazer was cracked in half. There were other toys down here, too. The Real Ghostbusters, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, GI Joes, Sectaurs, Centurions, COPS, He-Man. You name the ‘Eighties toy, and it was here, dead.

“Don’t mind them,” a voice next to him said. “I don’t.”

Nightbeat jumped, whirling on whoever had just talked to him. It was a He-Man character by the name of Man-E-Faces. He was muscle-bound and had a container over his head, where he had three faces you could change by moving a knob at the top. The faces constantly spun around, and Nightbeat knew right away that something was not right with this guy.

“What is this place?” Nightbeat asked.

“Welcome to Kathmandu,” Man-E-Faces said. “This is the place where toys come to die. When they are broken beyond repair, they find their way here. Still alive, mind you. It’s the lunacy of this place that creates a will to stop existing.” Faces still spinning out of control.

“What about you?” Nightbeat asked. “Are you broken?”

“Yes. But I can’t stop living, no matter how hard I try. Cat keeps me alive.”

“For what purpose?”

The faces stopped spinning. Man-E-Faces grinned. “I’m the grim reaper, friend. Welcome to Hell.” He reached out to grab Nightbeat, who flipped and transformed in one fluid motion. There wasn’t a lot of space to move around, but he launched himself into the gathering of dead toys.

“You think you can hide from me?” Man-E-Faces asked. “This is my home. I know it backwards and sideways. I can sense your lifeforce like it was heat in infrared. There is no escape.”

Nightbeat glanced up, and sure enough, Man-E-Faces was looking directly at him. There really was no hiding. There were a couple of doors at the end of the hallway. If he could only get there . . .

He tripped and fell on Optimus Prime’s corpse. Aghast, he tried to prioritize. Thinking about his dead friend would do no good now. He had to get to those doors. Pushing grief away, he stumbled through the toy graveyard, hearing Man-E-Faces get closer. Closer.

“I wouldn’t go through that door, if I were you.”

Fuck you, Nightbeat thought. He transformed and reached for the doorknob and flung the door wide open. He paused, looking down into the abyss beyond. The screams were coming from here, and all he could see was fire for miles and miles. He closed the door and hoped the other would be better.

Man-E-Faces clamped his hand down on Nightbeat’s shoulder, twisting him around. “Don’t even think it, friend. Just let me kill you. It’ll be for the best. You don’t want to linger in this place. I can make it quick, if you want.”

Nightbeat tried to wrench himself out of Man-E-Faces’s grip, but the He-Man figure was too strong. He tried to transform again, but Man-E-Faces grabbed him around the waist, making it impossible.

“Calm down,” Man-E-Faces said. “You’re only making it worse.”

Nightbeat forced himself to relax, hoping that his dead weight would fall through Man-E-Faces’s arms, thus freeing him. It didn’t work. Man-E-Faces only held him harder. His faces whirled faster than ever, and Nightbeat felt his spark dimming. His resistance weakened. He had a sinking sensation like when you’re running in place in a dream. He tried to beg Man-E-Faces to stop, but he couldn’t make a sound.

“Oh hello!” a cheerful voice called from up the stairs. Nightbeat’s vision was graying, and he couldn’t see who it was, but whoever it was bounded down to them in record time. “You can let him go, Man-E-Faces. He’s not supposed to be here.”

“But he’s almost dead,” Man-E-Faces said.

“No, he needs to live. Release him at once.”

Man-E-Faces’s faces slowed their whirl, but they didn’t fully stop. He let Nightbeat go. He collapsed into the pile of dead toys, gasping. It took him a moment to recuperate, but when he finally felt like himself again, he stood, surprised to see Cat standing before him. Except it wasn’t Cat. This was a black feline, flesh and fur, with devil’s horns instead of ears. A ridiculously giant red-and-white hat perched on his head. His eyes glowed yellow.

“Cat?” Nightbeat asked.

“In the flesh,” Cat said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, what the devil are you doing down here? And how did you get here?”

“I thought you were the know-it-all,” Nightbeat said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I suppose you got in when last I left. I suspect you’re investigating me in regards to our dearly departed boy.”

“Right on both counts. Now it’s time for my questions. What the fuck is this place?”

“This is my home,” Cat said. “My real home. But to tell you any more would be too much for you to know. I’m sure Man-E-Faces said enough.”

Man-E-Faces kept whirling, except now he turned his body to catch up to his faces.

“Who tried to kill me?” Nightbeat asked.

“The same person who killed Joey,” Cat said.

“If you knew who killed Joey, why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“Not my job. Besides, I understand why the killer did it. You would, too, if you weren’t so blind and your memory so short.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember the last time one of us died?” Cat asked.

Nightbeat blinked. “What? No, enough games. Tell me.”

“Have you forgotten about Bueno Excellente?”

STOP!

Addendum to the CAST OF CHARACTERS:

Bueno Excellente: a giant stuffed Mr. Potatohead who thinks he is Bueno Excellente from the DC comic book, HITMAN, fights crime with the power of perversion.

TOY CRIME STORY PART 12

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Nightbeat opened his eyes. He was in the closet with Felix, who stank of gin. He looked a bit unbalanced even though he was sitting down. “Look who came back to life. Need a drunk . . . a drink?”

Nightbeat sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What happened to me?”

“Cat shotgunned you,” Felix said. “You’ve been dead for maybe three hours.”

“Feels like a lot longer. And yes, I’d love a drink.”

Felix handed the bottle of gin over, and Nightbeat drank deeply before handing it back. He gagged on the taste. Gin never suited him. He was more of a scotch kind of guy. Gin tasted like poison.

Worse—he still felt the echoes of Joey’s death and accusations. He didn’t trust himself enough to stand. “It’s my first time being dead,” he said. “What’s it like for you?”

“I don’t know,” Felix said. “Usually I’m drunk and don’t remember anything.”

“I felt like I went through hell.” He paused. “I saw Joey.”

“I see him, too. Sometimes.”

“No, I meant Joey. For real. He said that I might as well have killed him myself.” Nightbeat cricked his neck and grimaced.

“Nightbeat,” Felix said, “I’m hammered out of my goddam mind, and even I know that’s not true. I know you seem pretty adamant on it being murder, but maybe you’re wrong. You ever think about that?”

“I’m not wrong,” Nightbeat said. “This was murder. One hundred-percent.”

Felix sighed. “Have it your way. Just leave me out of it. I’m drinking to fucking forget about the whole thing.”

Nightbeat staggered to his feet and shuffled away from Felix and into the bedroom proper. It was dark, and even though he’d been dead for a few hours, he somehow still felt tired. He wanted to rest. The thought of kicking the shit out of Cat occurred to him, but he knew it would be futile. Instead he found a dark corner to lay in and fell asleep.

He didn’t sleep for long. The door to Joey’s room creaked open, and Wally stepped in with a box. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his breath smelled of bourbon. He set the box down on the bed and sat next to it. He picked Bunny off the floor and closely looked at him.

“Mimi doesn’t want me to get rid of you,” Wally said. “She wants to keep everything the way it was when Joey was still with us. I remember when I was a kid, and I used to sleep with you. We were like best buds before I started getting real friends.”

Nightbeat’s guts clenched a little at that. He liked to think they were Joey’s friends, but deep down he knew that toys couldn’t sit in for real companionship. For that, you needed fellow humans.

“All I see when I look at you is Joey,” Wally said. Tears overflowed from his eyes, but he didn’t sob. He hugged Bunny to his chest for a moment.

Oh fuck, Nightbeat thought.

Wally looked at Bunny one more time before placing him in the box. He tried to close it up, but he just couldn’t. Finally, he broke down and wept, pulling Bunny out of the box and setting him back on the floor. He left without taking the box with him.

Bunny sprang to life. “I don’t want to be boxed up! I want to be left alone!”

“Hey,” Don Draper said. “We all get boxed up eventually. It’s part of the deal. You live, you get boxed up, you die.” He sipped from his scotch. “No different from anyone else.” He finished off the scotch and wandered away to find more.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nightbeat said. “We can’t be boxed yet.”

“Why’s that?” Bunny asked.

“I haven’t solved Joey’s murder.”

TOY CRIME STORY PART 11

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The investigation cooled off after that. The toys went back to the way they usually did things. Wally and Mimi would occasionally visit Joey’s room, but they didn’t do anything suspicious. Mostly, they cried. They hated themselves. They never came here together.

Nightbeat tried to keep a full head of steam, but it all leaked out of him. He spent some of his time with Felix getting drunk. Sometimes with Angel, and even—every once in a while—with Spike. Cat taunted Nightbeat a great deal, and he tried to let it roll off his back, but it really hurt him. Joey had been a great kid, and now Nightbeat had failed him. More than once he found himself passed out in the closet from the previous night’s drinking.

One night, sick of the whole thing, Nightbeat drunkenly approached Cat, who sat on Joey’s bed with the brim of his hat perked up, making him look kind of dopey.

“I know you did it, you bastard,” Nightbeat said. He could barely stand by this point.

“Did what, now?” Cat asked. He smiled so far his head could have been split in two.

“You killed Joey. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. I can’t prove jack shit. But you did it.”

“Oh, poor Nightbeat!” Cat said. His voice now took on the feel of a croon. “I didn’t do anything. But I expect nothing less from someone who couldn’t even figure out who tried to kill you.”

“You did that, too,” Nightbeat mumbled.

“Not I. But I know who did.”

Nightbeat was too drunk to figure out what Cat had just told him. He pointed a finger at the beast. “An’ ‘nuther t’ing. You’re a piece’a shit. I’ll see you unstuffed ‘fore the end’a my yerz.”

“I think not,” Cat said. He cocked his hat, and the shotgun inside blew Nightbeat off the bed and into oblivion.

The world around him ran red and flicked like flames. He saw through molded plastic Wally’s young face as he opened Nightbeat’s package. He’d been a Christmas present from Wally’s mom. Wally loved Transformers, and Nightbeat was his favorite. There were others back then, too. Cowardly Starscream. Heroic Bumblebee. Cosmic Cosmos. There was Galvatron, but Wally’s parents never got him Megatron, who looked too much like a real gun. Oh, the adventures they shared! Nightbeat solving crimes and fighting Decepticons. Wally had a good feel for storytelling through playtime, and Nightbeat got to enjoy a lot of stories.

But Wally grew up. He got into girls and rock and roll. Not so much sports, but plenty of weed. Nightbeat disapproved. He remembered being handled by one of Wally’s weed-smoking friends. It seemed like a harmless enough drug, but it made the room smell bad. Wally’s parents knew all about it, of course, but they kept a tolerant view of their boy. At least he wasn’t getting into any trouble.

Nightbeat screamed through the adolescent years until he was boxed away for what he felt would be forever. In that time, all he had was his mind and nothing else. He wasn’t even with the other toys. He was wedged between cardboard and a stack of papers. He spent a lot of time thinking about what would eventually become of him, if anything.

Nightbeat shoved through the light and into the hands of baby Joey. Never unsupervised, of course, but Wally wanted his son to enjoy the same things he’d liked as a kid. As Joey grew older, he got to play with more toys, but not very many Transformers. He overheard Wally telling Mimi once that they’d been thrown out by his mom when he left home. He pondered how much they would have been worth. Nightbeat thought it was an odd way to think about toys. They were worth more than money, right? They had to be. Memory was a lot more important.

Joey grew older until he couldn’t anymore. Nightbeat raged against the visions of Joey being pushed down the stairs by an unseen assailant. Thumping down near the end. Breaking bones. Breaking his neck. Dying at the bottom of the steps before his mother could help him.

That unseen being turned to face Nightbeat, and its face was a swirling miasma of faces, all familiar, all with their individual voices.

“Show me!” he screamed. “Show me your face!”

“No,” it growled. Teeth buzz-sawed out of the glop of ever-changing features, reaching out to take Nightbeat to pieces. “You know me.”

“I know! I’m going to rip the stuffing out of you until you’re nothing but a fucking rag!”

It laughed and swallowed him whole. Nightbeat rushed through a pink tunnel, and images of Joey’s death played on the walls around him. Joey screaming. Crying. The dry snap of his neck breaking. The anguish of his parents. The horror Nightbeat felt when he realized that this was a murder.

Joey screamed into infinity, and Nightbeat followed down with him. The railings at each side turned into sharp fangs, and the stairs warped into a long tongue. It took Nightbeat a moment to realize they were both falling down Cat’s mouth. The roar of genteel laughter boomed around them, filling Nightbeat’s chest.

Once past the teeth, Joey faded from existence. Nightbeat fell alone down a tunnel made of white and red stripes, just like Cat’s hat. “Poor stupid Nightbeat,” Cat whispered. “You can’t even solve your own attempted murder.”

Nightbeat crashed down on a flat floor, his gears rattled. Disoriented, he stayed down until he could get his bearings. The red and white checkered tiles beneath him didn’t help much. It had a hypnotizing effect that took more than a moment to shake off.

Around him were prison cells. All of them contained the rotting remains of a dead child, but they all still lived on, singing and talking and reading to while their time away. The cells rotated until Joey’s came into view. He stood in the center, his head dangling loosely from his neck like fruit from a tree. Rotten fruit. His skin was ragged and sloughing off in places. One of his eye sockets was empty. It stared at Nightbeat.

“Joey. I’m sorry. I—”

“You might as well have killed me,” Joey said. There was no passion to his voice, no anger or sadness. Just . . . nothing.

“That’s not true,” Nightbeat said. “I just haven’t found the killer yet! I’m still working on it! Give me time!”

“NO!” Joey roared. Still no passion. He opened his mouth wide, and the word boomed out, kind of like a speaker connected to a radio. “You failed me. I’m dead and in hell and you failed me.”

“I can fix this,” Nightbeat said. “Give me a chance.”

Joey slowly sank into the floor. “It’s too late.” Melting like a candle, leaving no puddle. His remaining eye filmed over with white before he disappeared. The bars slipped away, and Nightbeat fell to where Joey had been standing. A single drop of blood remained. He touched it, but it was dry. It still wouldn’t flake away.

The rest of the world shrank, and Nightbeat noticed that all of existence was a tiny disk of white and red that he knelt on. Blackness surrounded him. Then, a faint glow of red from below. He had a feeling in his guts like he was being lowered, though he couldn’t tell just from looking around. The red grew brighter until he saw it came from miles of flames just below him. Flames made from unstuffed toys. The stink overwhelmed him, and if he hadn’t already been on his knees, he would have been driven to them by it.

The fire came closer, and the disk showed no intention of stopping. Nightbeat found that he didn’t care if he burned or not. He’d failed Joey. He deserved to burn. He had no stuffing to remove, but fire would destroy him until he was nothing but a twisted metal carcass.

He felt warmer and warmer and hotter and hotter, and he screamed as it became unbearable and—

TOY CRIME STORY PART 10

 CHAPTER TEN

Nightbeat turned his mind downstairs for further investigation, but it led to nothing. Wally and Mimi came home shortly after with a bunch of visitors. Some were children, and they were ushered into Joey’s room.

“Are you sure?” a young woman asked. “I know how it must feel—”

“It’s fine,” Mimi said. “It would actually feel good to hear someone having fun in that room again. It would be nice to give the toys some company.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Forget it. I mean, do you ever think about a child’s toys when they are no longer needed? In particular in . . . in Joey’s case?”

Nightbeat regretted hearing it. He hoped none of the others had, too, especially Bunny and Fox. He glanced over to them, but neither gave any indication.

The children entered the room one by one, looking like they were cows being led to slaughter. None of them expressed anything at all, not even camaraderie. There were four of them, and they sat on the floor, barely acknowledging each other. One of them picked up Cat and flicked his tail around. Nightbeat saw Cat perk up, and the asshole made like he was going to bite the kid’s neck.

Then one of them picked up Nightbeat. “What’s this supposed to be? A Transformer?”

“I guess,” another said. “It looks like the old kind. Not the cool kind like we got.”

The kid tried to transform Nightbeat, but after twisting and turning him in all directions, he gave up, tossing Nightbeat to the floor. “Doesn’t this Joey kid have anything cool?”

Another picked up Don Snowy. “Nope. Just this baby stuff.”

“Hey, I like Felix the Cat,” said another. “Look. There’s a bunch of him.”

The only kid who hadn’t said anything so far cleared his throat. “Don’t you guys feel kind of weird?”

“What do you mean?”

“Us. In this dead kid’s room. We didn’t even know him, and now we’re playing with his stuff. It’s weird, right?”

The others shrugged. One said, “I don’t know. These are stupid toys, though.”

Spike winked at Angel. No one but Nightbeat and Angel noticed.

“What do you think’s gonna happen to ‘em?” the loner asked.

“Prolly sell ‘em at a garbage sale.”

“You mean a garage sale.”

“I thought it was garbage sale.”

“Me, too.”

“Prolly just throw them out,” another kid said. “Who wants to play with stupid toys?” He kicked Bunny, and Nightbeat winced.

“It’s kind of sad,” the loner said. “I’d hate to die and have my toys get thrown out.”

Another kid picked up a couple of the goombas. “Ever notice how these things look like peepees?”

“Ew! You’re gross!”

“Shut up! You thought so, too!” He demonstrated by putting one of the goombas by his crotch.

One of the other kids went to slap it out of his hand, but the kid double-downed. “Trynna grab my peepee? Go on! Grab it!” Thrusting it out with a stupid grin on his face.

The kid who tried to slap the goomba picked up Don Snowy and hurled him into the goomba-peepee kid’s face. He fell backwards. “Ow! I’m telling!”

“You tell, and I’ll tell about you doing the peepee thing!”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would!”

“Guys!” a voice from downstairs called out. “What’s going on up there?”

A chorus: “Nothing!”

The toys were very happy when the kids left after about an hour. Don Snowy picked himself up, muttering to himself. “Stupid toy? We’re stupid toys? Yo! I’m no stupid fuckin’ toy! I oughtta beat that kid within an inch of his life!”

“Oh?” Nightbeat asked. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Yo, fuck you, pig!”

“Yo!” the goombas shouted. “Yo! Yo! Yo!”

Don Draper staggered to his webbed feet, looking for his scotch. The sound of the goombas attacked through his hangover haze. “Shut the fuck up!” he shouted. “Shut up, or I’ll . . .” He trailed off for a moment, then lurched toward the closet. He barely made it before they heard the sounds of his hurling.

    Nightbeat sighed. It would be a long night.

TOY CRIME STORY PART 9

 

CHAPTER NINE

The next day, early in the morning, Wally and Mimi dressed up in their finest and left for their son’s funeral. Nightbeat waited until he heard their car leave the driveway. He looked to Angel. “Still gun-shy about helping me?”

“I wouldn’t know how to,” Angel said. “Not anymore.”

“I have a lot of ground to cover, and it would be nice if you could help me out. I don’t know how long they’re going to be gone.”

“Do it, you old poof,” Spike said.

“Shut up, Spike.”

“What else you got going on? Still brooding over Buffy? Aw, boo-fuckin’-hoo, you wanker. Get over it. You’re not even the real Angel. You’re a bleedin’ puppet made from him.”

“You take that back right now,” Angel said.

“Shan’t!”

“Guys!” Nightbeat yelled. “Stop! We need to work together! We need to know if Joey’s parents murdered their only son!”

Cat slithered up out of nowhere. “Ooh! And if they did? What do we get to do to them? I want Wally’s mustache. It would make an excellent trophy, don’t you think so?”

Nightbeat hadn’t considered that. The punishment for this kind of thing was unstuffing, or if the toy was more like Nightbeat, it would be irreparably broken. They couldn’t exactly do that to humans, could they? They certainly shouldn’t, at least. He remembered a movie from when he’d belonged to a young Wally about dolls that killed people. The stuff of fantasy, to be sure, but they couldn’t do anything like that, could they?

“No,” he said. “We’ll figure something else out.”

“Such a brave heart,” Cat said. “Admirable, young Nightbeat. But there is one thing the rest of us have been wondering.”

“And that is?”

“What if you murdered Joey?” Cat uttered a smug laugh that grated on Nightbeat’s soul.

“Yo!” Don Snowy said. “Cat’s got a . . . got a point! What if Nightbeat did it? Who interviewed him?”

“I did,” Ratchet said. “And—”

“Nightbeat would never do that,” Bunny said. “He’s a nice toy.”

“All serial killers seem like nice guys,” Don Snowy said.

Nightbeat rubbed his forehead. “Why are we even discussing this? You all had eyes on me when Joey died. The very second that he was pushed down the stairs, you all saw me. Except Felix, I guess.”

“I was passed the fuck out,” Felix said.

“Yo! What if you set it up before? Like a trap?”

“Yo! Yo! Yo! Yo!” This from the goombas.

“That’s nonsense,” Ratchet said. “It’s Nightbeat we’re talking about, here. No one is more straight and narrow than he is. Felix, you know everyone’s vices, right?”

“The better to blackmail for booze with,” Felix said. He looked more than just a little drunk right now. One of his eyes was noticeably larger than the other.

“Does Nightbeat do anything unusual?”

“I don’t have any dirt on him,” Felix said.

“There you go. If anyone would know, it would be Felix.”

“Except young ‘Lix doesn’t know who the killer is, does he?” Cat asked.

“Well . . . no,” Felix said. Although his chest plumped up a bit at being called young.

Cat grinned like the Grinch. “There you go.”

Don Draper let out perhaps the phoniest laugh Nightbeat had ever heard. “Shut up!” he said to Cat.

Cat purred. “I hope you drown in bourbon.”

“I said shut up!” And the horrible drunken laugh happened again.

“This is getting us nowhere fast,” Nightbeat said. “If you all want to do some investigating of your own, you have my blessing. If I’m the killer, I should be brought to justice. But right now I need to search the rest of this house. You can help or not, but I’m going now.” He headed for the bedroom door.

“Fuck,” Angel muttered. “I’ll come with.”

“I’ll ‘ave a butcher’s at it,” Spike said.

No one else said a word. Nightbeat said, “Thanks, guys. I’m going to take the parents’ bedroom. You guys want to check the bathroom before we head downstairs?”

“Sure thing,” Spike said.

The three of them left and closed the door behind them. They looked down the corridor, already making their way. Nightbeat could have changed into his mod-form, but he didn’t want to race ahead of the puppets now that he finally had them on his side.

“You have an idea of who did it?” Angel asked.

“I was actually going to ask you two that question,” Nightbeat said. “Do either of you have any inkling? Any suspicion? I’m all ears.”

“Cat,” the puppets said at the same time.

“Jinx,” Spike said.

“Fuck you,” Angel said. He turned to Nightbeat. “That’s kind of an easy guess, though. Maybe too obvious.”

“Sometimes obvious is obvious,” Spike said. “I can’t think of anyone else who might do it.”

“That’s what it all comes back to,” Nightbeat said. “But my gut doesn’t agree. I would love to unstuff Cat, but I really don’t think he did it. It doesn’t feel right.”

They reached Wally and Mimi’s bedroom and went their separate ways. The door was open just a crack, and Nightbeat pushed through and glanced around. It was dark in here, but not so much he couldn’t see anything. Gray light edged in through the curtains. Though he knew no one was home, he walked carefully and slowly, making sure not to make sound.

There was a desk in the corner, so Nightbeat climbed up the chair and managed to pull himself up to the surface. There were some papers and bills and a check book. He looked at Wally and Mimi’s finances and decided that they were not in desperate need of money. No big deposits, either. No life insurance payouts, for example.

He also found Wally’s personal journal, which he opened up and scanned. He had difficulty in turning the pages, but he managed to flip to the last couple of weeks. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least not until he got to the day of Joey’s death. These pages were wet, probably from Wally’s tears. He read:

“The unthinkable has happened. My boy—my Joey—died today. It was a stupid accident. Nothing anyone could have done. I heard him thump down the stairs, and I thought I’d hear him start to cry. I’d then go to cheer him up and get him some ice cream and . . . and then I heard Mimi screaming and crying. I rushed over and saw Joey at the bottom of the stairs.

“God, it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. It crushed my heart to nothing. I would never see my little boy grow up to be a man. I would never watch him become a dad. I would never play with his kids.

“Why did this have to happen? I know God has a plan, but what fucking good does this do Him? The murderous bastard! I’ll fucking kill Him when I see Him.

“Or is this just luck-of-the-draw free will? Dammit, God can do anything! I want him to bring back Joey. I prayed for that before I started drinking and writing this. Did I get an answer? Hell no. God must be a hard man to hear prayers like mine and to then ignore them.

“This is so fucking senseless! This isn’t supposed to happen! Parents aren’t supposed to bury their children! I’m supposed to get old and die and he would have to set up my funeral arrangements with Mimi, because God knows I’ll go before her. My old man had a bad ticker, and I’m pretty sure I’ll have a heart attack when I’m sixty or so. By then, Joey would be in his twenties. He would mourn, but he would already have his own life. Maybe he would even have his own family by then.

“But none of this is going to happen. The world is fucked up, and there is no way to fix it. I’m starting to suspect that God isn’t even there. I know it’s a sin to think it, but I can’t help it. How long do you talk into a phone before you realize that no one is on the other line?

“I don’t know what I can do about this. I don’t want to think about it. I guess that’s why I’m drinking so much tonight. Maybe it will wipe my mind of this horror.”

The passage ended, and Nightbeat closed the journal. It was hard to believe that a man who would write this was capable of killing his own son.

He looked through a few more papers and checked out the drawers, but he didn’t find anything suspicious. He wanted to get a look at their night table, so he transformed into his vehicle mode, backed up a bit, and went full throttle for the edge of the desk. He zoomed off and fell a bit, but he landed perfectly on the bed. He transformed as he made contact and rolled with the momentum until he stopped.

The night table itself offered nothing but an empty water glass and a pair of reading glasses. Also, a phone charger. The drawer was a bit harder to deal with, as it was made from heavier wood. He finally managed and was shocked when he looked inside and saw a toy of a different sort. It was silver and long with a rounded end. There was a switch at the bottom.

“Who are you?” Nightbeat asked.

“Please,” it said. “Don’t look at me.”

Nightbeat backed away from the edge. “Is that fine?”

“Just ignore me.”

“I’ve never seen a toy like you before. Hasbro? Kenner? Disney?”

“Call me Intensity.” It sounded on the verge of tears.

“Are you okay?” Nightbeat asked.

“I’ll never be okay,” Intensity said. “You have no idea. The sights I’ve seen.”

Nightbeat’s heart raced. “Did you kill Joey?”

Intensity sniffed. “No. I would never. Joey didn’t even know I existed. Mimi made sure of that.”

This baffled Nightbeat. A toy that could not be shown to a child? It defeated the purpose, didn’t it? “Why? What are you talking about?”

“You really have no idea what I am?” Intensity asked.

“No.”

Intensity offered a wet, teary sigh, but its voice didn’t sound depressed anymore. “I’m a vibrator. Do you know what that is?”

“You vibrate?” Nightbeat asked. “That sounds . . .” He was about to say stupid, but he didn’t want to offend his new friend. “. . . different. Why?”

“For Mimi’s pleasure. And sometimes Wally’s.”

“You bring them pleasure? I’m still not understanding.”

“They put me inside them,” Intensity said. Sounding on the verge of tears again. “Over and over again.”

“What? How?”

“They shove me up Mimi’s pussy!” Intensity screamed. “And her butthole! And Wally’s butthole! Sometimes.”

Nightbeat felt all the soul in him get crushed like a can of Coke under a boot heel. He didn’t understand much of human anatomy, but he had some idea. The thought of them shoving Intensity in . . . those places . . . was ugly. An image of Wally doing the same to Nightbeat tried to sneak up his brainstem, but he violently shook it from his head, refusing it any purchase.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right,” Intensity said. “How could you? What I would give to be one of Joey’s toys, never having to be . . . inserted anywhere.”

“I’ll . . . I’ll leave you alone now.” Nightbeat moved to close the drawer.

“Thank you.”

When the drawer was closed, Nightbeat jumped down to the carpet and moved to the closet. He didn’t find much. A lot of boxes of past paperwork and tax returns. Lots of clothes. He couldn’t reach the top shelf, but he didn’t think he’d find anything. He gave the room one final pass before stepping out.

Angel and Spike were waiting for him. “Find anything?” he asked.

“Not a bloody thing,” Spike said.

“We looked everywhere,” Angel said. “I hope you had better luck.”

Nightbeat considered telling them about Intensity, but he decided that the less people who knew about it, the better. “Nothing. I guess we’ll try downstairs.”

Spike shrugged as they walked to the steps. Both he and Angel were able to navigate them well, but Nightbeat was smaller than them. He bent down so he could sit and then push himself down to the first step, but something sparked up in his mind. A sudden feeling that something wasn’t right.

Someone pushed on his back, and he tumbled down the stairs. He choked down a scream and gritted his teeth as he bounced off the steps. Pain wracked his body as he finally hit the floor at the bottom. He thought one of his legs might be broken, but it was only scuffed a little.

Angel rushed down the rest of the stairs. “You okay?”

“Who pushed me?” Nightbeat yelled. “Spike, you see anyone?”

Spike bounded up the stairs, but he didn’t see anyone there. He turned back to Nightbeat and shook his head. “No one’s up here. They must’ve gotten back to the room without anyone seeing them.”

“Fuck,” Nightbeat said.

TOY CRIME STORY PART 8

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was the third day of Nightbeat’s investigation, and he still had nothing. He’d just finished interviewing the final toys, those being a group of Super Mario Bros. goombas. They usually hung out with Don Snowy, but the only word they knew was “yo.” Nightbeat couldn’t get through the entire interview. It drove him too crazy, so he sent them away. How could someone who spoke only one half-word be guilty of murder, anyway?

He sighed and headed out of the closet. All the other toys were minding their own business, probably not even thinking about poor Joey. The more he thought about it, the more he thought that maybe Fox was right. They were all going to end up at a garage sale, or maybe Goodwill. He hoped not the trash, but who knew? Maybe Wally and Mimi would not want a reminder of their failure as parents around. Nightbeat felt lucky, as he was made of metal and plastic. The others would be torn to pieces.

Joey had owned very few Transformers, and only one other Autobot. Nightbeat had already interviewed Ratchet, but he didn’t really have other friends. What the hell? Why not vent a little?

He found Ratchet snoozing on his medical table, which was made from the back portion of his ambulance mode. Ratchet must have heard his approach, as he opened his eyes. “Nightbeat! How’s the investigation going?”

Nightbeat slumped to the floor. “Not very well.”

“What’s up?”

“I’ve interviewed everybody, and I have no idea who did it. Everyone seems to have an alibi that checks out. Either someone’s lying, or I’ve been wrong this whole time. My gut tells me I’m right, though. I have no idea what to do next.”

“Hm,” Ratchet said. “Run everything by me.”

“What, like you’re Sherlock Holmes?”

“Leave out no detail, no matter how inconsequential.”

Nightbeat sighed. He didn’t think this was what he needed, but maybe this refresher would spark something in the back of his head. He told Ratchet about everything, from the moment he heard Joey die to the interview with the goombas.

“Ha!” Ratchet said. “There was one thing you overlooked!”

Nightbeat didn’t have eyebrows, but he would have raised them if he had them. “I’ll take anything you got.”

“You assume that it was one of us who killed Joey,” Ratchet said. “Has it ever occurred to you that it might be one of the parents?”

The thought had occurred to him the day Joey died, but Nightbeat heard both of the parents moving just after the incident. They couldn’t have done it, could they? He mentioned this to Ratchet.

“A-ha! You heard them. You didn’t actually see them.”

“Huh. Fair point.” But if that were the case, how would he find out the truth? “I can’t exactly interview them, though, can I?”

“They’re self-medicating,” Ratchet said. “Maybe they’ll mumble in their sleep? Or maybe talk to themselves when they think they’re alone?”

“It’s a long shot,” Nightbeat said. “I don’t know if I can rely on that. What I can do is investigate the other rooms. Maybe there’s proof out there, and I just can’t get to it because they’re always around.”

“They have to leave at some point.”

Nightbeat nodded. “Thanks, Ratchet. I owe you one.”

“One?” Ratchet said. “Just one?”

TOY CRIME STORY PART 7

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

Wally and Mimi finally left, Mimi giving one last look at the bedroom before she closed the door. Their footsteps moved away, one set to the bedroom, the other downstairs. Only then did Nightbeat think it was fine to sit up. He glared at Angel and Spike. “If you start up again, I’ll beat the shit out of the both of you.”

Spike grunted a laugh. “Like t’see you try it, mate.”

Angel burned holes in Spike’s back with his eyes.

“Come on, Angel,” Nightbeat said. “Let’s finish your interview.” He headed back to the closet.

Angel took one more moment to stare Spike down. Spike made a kissy face and turned away. Finally, reluctantly, Angel followed Nightbeat and sat down.

“Forget about Spike,” Nightbeat said. “Where were you when Joey was murdered?”

Angel uttered a laugh. “I was with Spike.”

“Doing?”

“Arguing.”

Interesting. Nightbeat remembered that Spike had called it a discussion. “About?”

“Drinking human blood,” Angel said. “I’m against it. I’ll take an animal’s any day. Granted, it’s not as good, but I’m not hurting people.”

“Just animals?” Nightbeat asked.

“No. The animals are already dead. I buy their blood from a slaughterhouse. I mean, they’re not going to do anything with the blood anyway.”

“So you’re Spike’s alibi, then?”

Angel grimaced like he’d bitten into a chocolate chip only to discover too late it was a mouse turd. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Nightbeat said. “He said the same thing.”

“We agree about one thing, then,” Angel said.

“I’m about to say something, and I don’t want you to freak out on me talking shit about cutting open old scars.”

“I’m not working on this.”

Nightbeat sighed. “Fine. I don’t care. I just know that you used to be an investigator. I’d like your thoughts on Joey’s murder.”

“That sounds dangerously close to me working with you,” Angel said.

No flies on Mrs. Angel’s little boy. Or whatever the hell her name was. Time to change tactics. “I’m not asking for work,” Nightbeat said. “I’m asking for speculation. Surely you can talk to me about that.”

Angel let out a breath. “I wasn’t sure it was murder until you came back with some circumstantial evidence. Granted, I’m still not fully sold, but I’m inclined to lean toward your theory. I haven’t seen anything, myself. No one is talking about any details. No speculation.”

“If you had to guess who would have done it . . . ?”

“Every one of them out there—” Angel swept a hand to the closet door. “—would say that Cat is the obvious suspect. But that’s too easy an answer. I don’t know if he did it, but I can’t swear as to where he’d been when Joey died.”

“If it’s not Cat, who then?” Nightbeat asked.

Angel shrugged. “No one else would be capable of it. I could understand if Felix got drunk and accidentally did something, but I don’t really buy it, either. Jack Bunnyson can be a nasty piece of work, but he’s physically harmless, you know? Like there’s still a piece of Bunny in him.”

Nightbeat nodded. “Thank you for your help.”

Angel left, and Fox came in. Nightbeat did not suspect him for a minute, but he had to go through the motions. Besides, who knew what Fox might have seen? He might have caught a detail that escaped everyone else.

Fox sat. “Hello, Nightbeat. How is the investigation going?”

“Could be better,” Nightbeat said. “Where were you when Joey was murdered.”

“Trying to avoid Cat,” Fox said. “You know how he likes to torture me.”

Nightbeat nodded. Cat loved torturing everyone, but Fox in Sox was a special case. He was so innocent and adorable that Cat took a special interest in making him feel pain. “How?”

“I was trying to sneak into the toy box. Cat was on the prowl. I had to get out of sight.”

Prowl. Nightbeat found himself wishing that Joey’s parents had bought that Transformer. He was an officer of the law, cold and reasoning. Nightbeat sure could use someone like that right now.

“That’s when I heard Joey thumping down the stairs.” Fox sniffled, his eyes shining with tears. “It was so terrible. That’s when you saw me.” He wiped at his long snout. “We’re going to be thrown out, aren’t we?”

“I don’t think so,” Nightbeat said. “Joey’s parents are still young. They’ll probably try again. Worst case scenario, we go to charity. We’ll get picked up by more children. There’s no way we’re going in the trash.”

“I wish I was as optimistic as you,” Fox said. “I don’t want to go in the garbage. I’ll get bugs all over me. I’ll smell. Rats will probably unstuff me.”

Nightbeat put an arm around Fox’s shoulders. “Don’t think like that. You’re going to be fine. We all are.” Hoping he wasn’t telling a lie.

Fox nodded. “Thanks.”

“Thank you for your help.”

Fox stood and went to the closet door. He pushed it open ever so slightly, and there was Cat, waiting for him.

“Boo!”

“No!” Fox shrieked.

Cat pounced on him, biting into his belly. Though Cat didn’t have real teeth, the pain Fox felt was quite real. It sounded like meat being ripped off his bones.

“Stop! Leave me alone!” Fox screamed.

Cat grinned. “Shan’t.”

“Goddammit, Cat,” Nightbeat said. “Get off of him.”

“Oh no!” Cat sniggered. Then, with great swiftness, he bent Fox’s neck at an unnatural angle. They all heard a loud crack as Fox’s neck broke, and he died. Cat dragged him away, licking his lips.

Nightbeat sighed, burying his face in his hands. Fox would be all right in a bit. Whenever one of the toys died, they came back to life after a while. Usually about thirty minutes to an hour. It was like a cartoon. Tom might get chopped up or burnt to a crisp, but he always came back to chase after Jerry again.

Nightbeat wished that could have been the same way with Joey, but when humans died, they died for good. He wouldn’t have to go through this if Joey could only come back to life.

He steeled himself, readying for the next interview.