The Fourth Bear

Jack and Ashley had climbed out of the car and were looking about attentively at the time the thumb went in. There was a distant rumble of thunder, and somewhere a dog barked. Other than that, nothing seemed unusual.

“What does the Great Long Red-Legg’d Scissor-man look like?” asked Ashley.

“Tall, red-legged—carries a huge pair of scissors. Believe me, you’ll know him when you see him.”

Ashley looked down at his own hands. He had three fingers and two opposable thumbs on each hand, and any of them would grow back if lost. The idea of a thumb’s not growing back hadn’t occurred to him until that morning.

Gretel and Baker were alert but, like Jack and Ashley, also to no avail. No Scissor-man—nothing. The night was clear and crisp, and the moon had risen so it was easy to see. There was nothing to be seen in either the Hoffmans’ garden or in any of the next-door gardens. There shouldn’t have been anyway. The entire neighborhood had been evacuated for the operation. Only personnel involved in the sting were in residence.

“Gretel?” came Mary’s voice over the radio. “Anything your end?”

“Nothing,” she replied.

“Stay put,” came in Jack’s voice. “We wait. Mary, is Conrad still sucking his thumb?”

Mary looked out of the closet and confirmed that yes, he was still sucking his thumb, not eating his soup and leaning back on his chair while playing with matches, something that he was actually finding great fun. They waited five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. Nothing.

Mr. Hoffman put his head around the door. “Is anything happening?”

“No, sir. We must be patient.”

Mr. Hoffman said, “Okay,” and shut the door again.

Every minute Mary would ask for a status report, and after twenty reports in as many minutes she keyed the mike and said in an exasperated tone, “Jack, when was the last cautionary-related crime?”

Jack turned to Ashley. The alien had many talents, but only a few that might have been considered useful. One that definitely had its uses was his total recall.

“Five-day accelerated starvation due to soup refusal, July ninth, 1978. Single thumbectomy on December twenty-third, 1979. A fatal house fire on the night of January twenty-sixth, 1985, might have been match-play-related, but it was never proved.”

Jack relayed the information to Mary, who replied, “Twenty-five years since the last definite scissoring. What if he’s retired or inactive or something?”

“You mean Cautionary Valley has been living in terror for over two decades when they needn’t have?” said Gretel from her position in the back garden. “I’d be a bit pissed off if that was the case.”

“It’s a possibility,” replied Jack, “but only that. I say we give it another half hour, then abort and go away for a rethink. Briggs will have something to say about the overtime as it is.”

Everyone radioed in agreement, and all was quiet again.

“Gretel?” said Baker in the potting shed.

“What?” replied Gretel, who was thinking about tall babies.

“You’re a woman.”

“I know this.”

“Yes, well…” he said a bit awkwardly, “I just thought… do you think Pippa would go out on a date if I asked her?”

“You mean beautiful Pippa in the control room? No.”

“What do you mean, ‘No’?”

“I mean ‘No’ as in ‘No, I don’t think she’d go out with you.’"

“You might have paused for thought or something,” said Baker in an affronted tone, “or been ambiguous—to save my feelings, y’know.”

“Sorry. You ask a question and I answer it,” replied Gretel, who had a reputation for directness that sometimes didn’t sit well with higher authority. “I’ll tell you why. Remember that time you sneezed on her?”

“It wasn’t just her.”

“I know. It’s just that girls don’t really like that sort of thing.”

Baker nodded slowly. He’d suspected for a while that they might not. Still, he never thought it really fair to have a girlfriend, since he had only six months to live. The thing was, he’d had only six months to live for over thirteen years now.

“Hmm,” said Charlie, half to himself, “I think I need a doctor who’ll give me a year to live.”

“Do you like it here?” asked Jack to Ashley. They were leaning on the car but still keeping a close lookout on the front of the house.

“Here, in this street?”

“No, Ashley, this planet.”

“Most agreeable,” replied Ashley happily. “The filing is excellent, the sitcoms top-notch and the bureaucracy to die for. But far and away the best feature is your digital mobile phone networks. We can taste the binary data stream in the air. It gives your cities a favorably congenial atmosphere—to you, something like the bouquet of a fine wine.”

Mary was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable inside the closet, and she looked at her watch with increasing frequency, willing the hands to move faster so they could all go home. She shifted to get more comfortable, the door swung shut, and there was a soft click.

“Blast!” she muttered as she gently pushed at the door. It was no good. It was shut fast.