The Fourth Bear

“If you were a major, you’d know better than to peddle porridge. So… where did you get this? Safeway? Somerfields? Waitrose?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Have it your own way,” said Jack as he begun to tear open the bag of oats over the wheelbarrow.

Tarquin put up a paw to stop him. “Okay, okay. I buy it wholesale from this person I’ve never met over in Shiplake.”

“How can you have never met him in Shiplake?”

“I’m sorry,” said Tarquin with a confused look. Like many bears he could be dense at times. “You’re going to have to ask me that question again.”

“What’s their name?”

“I don’t know. I pick the stuff up from a warehouse and leave the money in a cookie tin.”

“I get it. How do they contact you?”

“By phone. About eight months ago. Said they needed to shift some merchandise and could I help them out. I’ve never met them.”

“Ursine?”

“No. Human.”

“Old, young, male, female? What?”

“I don’t know,” said Tarquin with a shrug. “You all sound pretty squeaky to me.”

“If you’re lying to me…”

“On my cub’s life,” said Tarquin earnestly, crossing his chest, stamping one foot and then clicking a claw on one of his canines.

“I can give you the address and the code to get in.”

“Okay,” said Jack as he handed him his notepad. Tarquin jotted down an address and handed it back. “Good. Now you—what’s your name?”

“Algernon. Algy.”

“Okay, bear-named-Algy, Tarquin here is going to sell you these oats for sixty pence a kilo. Give him the money.”

Tarquin threw his arms in the air, opened his eyes wide and growled dangerously. Blabbing to the cops was one thing, but taking a loss on an oat deal was quite another. He took a pace toward Jack and stared at him in the sort of way he’d stare at a leaping salmon, if he’d ever done such a thing, which he hadn’t. Jack stood his ground.

“You are so out of order!” yelled Tarquin.

“No,” said Jack, “you are out of order. This is what happens to bears who smuggle over quota. I’ve got nothing against moderate porridge use, but I don’t take to bears like you seeking to capitalize on ursine weaknesses. I’ll ignore the forty kilos this time, but if I catch you with so much as an ounce in the future, you’ll be making license plates as a career.”

“License plates?”

“It’s a euphemism for prison. Take the money.”

“No,” said Tarquin, as he moved closer. “What if I tell you to go take a running jump into a mountain lake somewhere?”

Jack stared at him and didn’t waver for a moment.

“Listen here, Boo-Boo,” he said slowly, “you’ve been busted good and proper. Take it like a bear or I’ll spread it around that you’ve been cutting the oats with Maltex.”

“They’d never believe you,” he growled.

“Wouldn’t they? Take a step closer and my associate hiding over there will tranq your fuzzy butt, and then we can talk it over at the station. Me with a cup of tea and an Oreo, and you with a splitting headache and a numb ass. Your choice.”

Tarquin thought for a moment, sighed and then relaxed. “Okay, Inspector,” he said with a forced smile, “we’ll play it your way.”

Greatly relieved at this, Algy gave Tarquin the reduced price and started to load the bags of oats into his wheelbarrow. He paused for thought and then asked, “Do you really cut it with Maltex?”

“Of course not.”

“But I still get the honey, right?”

“NO!”

“Here’s to the day when they repeal Porribition,” said Jack as they walked out of the garage and into the sunshine. “The associated criminal element of supply far outweighs the harm that it does to the bear population.”

“What’s the alternative?” said Mary. “Unregulated porridge use? We’d have trippy, spaced-out bears wandering around the town, hallucinating who-knows-what in the Oracle Center.”

“If I made the laws, I’d let them,” said Jack. “Porridge is a great deal less harmful than alcohol—and we seem to embrace and promote the sale of that almost everywhere.”

“I agree it doesn’t make much sense,” replied Mary, adding, “I thought calling Tarquin ‘Boo-Boo’ was a bit daring. You know how sensitive they can get on the whole Yogi issue.”

“Bears are big on dominance—I had to insult him. Besides, you had a tranquilizer aimed on Tarquin’s ass the whole time, right?”

“The dart gun?” said Mary with surprise as she started the engine. “Not me. I thought you had it. Where now?”

“Next time we’re tackling bears,” pleaded Jack, who had suddenly turned a little pale, “please make sure you’ve got the tranquilizer gun. And we’re off to Charvil. I need to buy a new car.”

5. The Austin Allegro Equipe