IV: Lost at Sea

The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks stood at the edge of the lawn at Brooklyn Heights Ranch, looking forlornly into a pit they’d dug in the ground. Inside the pit was a particularly disgusting CHUD, crawling around and clawing at the sides of the hole. They sighed. 
“We’ve checked five traps so far and all five have had CHUDs in ‘em,” said Johnny, poking a long stick into the hole. “Yesterday they all did. I knew the CHUDs would be eating the bait we put out for the monkeys, but I thought the monkeys would at least be competitive, you know? It’s like they’re not even trying.” Annoyed, he threw the stick into the hole with the CHUD and reached for a shovel. He began to shovel dirt from a nearby mound into the hole on top of the creature’s head. 
“Do you think the monkeys are so disgusted by the CHUDs that they don’t want to go in the traps because they’re afraid a CHUD might be in there?” Dixie asked, flopping down onto the ground and taking a flask out of her pocket. 
“I don’t know,” said Johnny, “Maybe there are some kinds of monkeys that are afraid of ‘em. But Shaggy and Lil’ Jesus aren’t. Remember when that one CHUD got into the monkey habitat last week? Lil’ Jesus tore its throat clean out.” 
“True.” Dixie watched as Johnny managed to get the rest of the dirt into the hole and patted down the top with the shovel. When he was done, he sat down next to her. She handed him her flask. 
“But I don’t get it, either,” he said after taking a sip. “Sweaty said the place would be overrun with monkeys, and we still only have two.” 
“I wonder if we’re gonna have to actually do something in order to get the rest,” Dixie said, groaning. 
“God I hate doing stuff,” Johnny said, laying back on the ground, his rumpled dress pants flecked with bits of dirt, his arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the early autumn sunshine. They stayed this way for a while, thinking. 
Eventually they heard the putt-putt sound of a mail truck and looked up to see Harlan, their mailman, pull up to the mangled, rusty mailbox at the edge of the lawn. The mailbox was a repeated target of everyone at the ranch’s frustrations, and Harlan has expressed more than once that it would be good to get a new one, since he was having trouble fitting the mail into it. 
“Howdy, friends,” he called. Dixie and Johnny sat up. 
“Hi Harlan,” Dixie called. She got up and made her way unsteadily toward him, where he sat in his dirty white mail truck with the steering wheel on the wrong side. “You bring us any monkeys?” 
“Nah,” he answered, “Nothing exciting today.” 
“Damn,” muttered Dixie. Harlan took a large bunch of envelopes, magazines, and circulars, and handed it out the window of the truck to Dixie. 
“Looks like mostly bills and junk mail,” he said. “But the great thing about the mail is there’s always a chance you’ll get something exciting tomorrow. Unless it’s Sunday.” Dixie took the mail and rolled her eyes. 
“Yeah well if it’s not monkeys, don’t bother bringing it,” she said. 
“Now you know I can’t not bring your mail,” said Harlan. “Y’all have a great day. I’ll be here tomorrow whether you want the junk mail or not!” 
“Yeah, see ya, you lunatic,” Dixie muttered, turning and walking back to where Johnny was still sprawled on the ground. She dropped the mail on top of him and sat down again. 
“What the fuck is up with that guy?” Johnny asked, sitting up and starting to look idly at the pieces of mail. “It’s like he had a lobotomy and loves his job.” 
“Who loves a job?” Dixie asked, aghast. She took a drink. 
“Hey look,” Johnny said, holding up a flyer from the mail pile, “Sweaty sent out a thing for the new Certain Doom. ‘New location, same great deep fried satisfaction.’ He’s got a grand opening coupon for ten percent off.” 
“How many restaurants do we own now?” 
“I think this is the fourth?” 
“Man, we really know a thing or two about business, don’t we?” Dixie mused. 
“Yeah, and we don’t even act like brainwashed weirdos about it,” Johnny said, smugly. “Do we, Harlan!?” he screamed at no one. They were quiet again as Johnny continued to look at the mail. He opened something confidential for the Troubadours and flipped through a guns and ammo type catalog addressed to Chichay before coming to a circular and stopping. He gasped. 
“Dix!” he practically shouted. Dixie turned her head and looked at him, but didn’t get up. “Holy rubber coated nipple clamps! Look at this shit!” He thrust a sheet of flimsy paper in front of her. Reluctantly, she took it and looked. 
“Come to Meredith’s Monkey Pirate Island,” she read. “The next stop in adventure tourism. Fun for the whole family.” The advertisement contained several images, including a shot of a tropical island seen from a distance, a quaint port where several sailboats and cruise ships were docked, and a marketplace full of stalls selling tourist junk, all staffed by monkeys. Other images showed restaurants, with monkeys working and dining there, as well as an amusement park that contained a ropes course and zipline, with families smiling alongside monkeys, all of them enjoying the thrill of the jungle. 
“What the fuck is this place?” she asked, amazed. 
“I have no idea,” Johnny said, looking over her shoulder. “Is this real? Is there just a place where monkeys are all in charge?” 
“And who the fuck in Meredith?” 

***

Inside the ranch house, Chichay Milano and Sweaty Mulligan were sitting at the kitchen table, finishing up a leisurely breakfast. The nice thing about running a successful restaurant empire was that they generally had mornings off. Chichay had just reached for another pancake and Sweaty was sipping his coffee from a giant mug that said Park City Utah on it when Dixie and Johnny burst into the house in a whirl of shouts, threats, alcohol, and chaos. 
“Look at this shit!” Johnny shouted, dropping the pile of mail into the middle of the table, directly on top of the pancakes and bacon, and waving the flyer for Monkey Pirate Island in Sweaty and Chichay’s faces. Chichay patiently moved the mail off of the food and began to sort through it as Sweaty took the now-rumpled flyer from Johnny. 
“Oh right, Meredith’s Monkey Pirate Island,” he said, “I think I’ve heard about this. It’s in the Caribbean somewhere.” 
“What is it?” Chichay asked. She had finished sorting the mail (she separated the actual mail from the junk into two piles on the table) and reached for the flyer. 
“Isn’t this the place where monkeys basically run the island as if they were humans, and people can go and stay there?” 
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it, too. It’s in the Lesser Antilles, but like, way down there. It just reopened to the public last year, I think.” While Chichay spoke, Dixie and Johnny helped themselves to the remaining breakfast. 
“Reopened?” Dixie asked through a mouthful of bacon. 
“If I recall correctly, it opened a few years ago, but there was an uprising of some of the local monkeys and a couple of tourists were killed. They shut the place down while they eradicated the troublemakers, which I think was a radical group of monkeys dedicated to casting off the oppression of their human colonizers and forcing all monkeys back to their native state.” 
“Wait a minute,” Johnny said, “How come we’ve never heard about this?” 
“You seriously think they’re going to let that kind of thing make it to the mainstream news? No freakin’ way. Only reason I know about it is because one of my contacts was part of the strike force that was brought in to restore order and put down the resistance.”
“Uh… huh,” said Johnny. 
“Anyway, you guys don’t actually want to go, do you? It seems a little touristy and family oriented for your tastes.” Chichay said. Everyone at the table turned and stared at her for a full minute. “Oh right. The monkey thing.” 
“I can’t believe there is a whole island full of smart, working monkeys and you dirty curtain rod fucks never told us about it,” Dixie said, glaring at Sweaty and Chichay. 
“Well, it’s not like you can just go there and take them.” 
“Why not?” 
“Well, besides the fact that someone obviously runs the place and clearly profits from it, those monkeys aren’t like the zoo monkeys you stole. They’re sentient beings who all have functions and purposes within their society. Just because it’s a different and sort of closed society doesn’t mean you can force them to come with you. You wouldn’t think of doing that to, say, some Amish people, would you?” 
“Well, there was that one time…” Dixie said, giving Johnny a look. They both burst out laughing. Chichay looked horrified. 
“Never mind,” she said. “What I mean is, you can’t just go there and Columbus this place. If you want to get monkeys for your project, you’re going to have to go and negotiate hiring them, just like you would hire staff for any project or job.” 
“It might not be a bad idea to see if you can do the project on Monkey Pirate Island,” Sweaty added. “All the monkeys are already there, so maybe you can just negotiate leasing a space, then hire local monkeys as needed.” 
“Nah,” said Dixie. “We already have a space picked out.” 
“You do? Where?” 
“Bolivia.” 
“What? Why?” Sweaty asked. 
“And when did you make these arrangements?” asked Chichay, suspiciously. 
“We don’t have to make arrangements,” said Johnny. “We have an in.” 
“And that would be…?” 
“You guys.” 
“Us?” 
“Well, you already overthrew the government there, right?” said Johnny. 
“That’s what you told us back when we were in Mormon jail,” added Dixie. 
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean-” 
“It means you’re basically the government, which means anything we need, we can just ask for and they have to give it to us, otherwise we sic the brass on ‘em,” Johnny said, getting up from the table. Dixie followed. 
“But that’s not how it-” 
“Anyway, we’re gonna go check out this island,” she said as they left the kitchen. “We should be back in a few weeks.” 
“Tell the Troubs to make sure there’s enough space in the monkey habitat for a few hundred more,” Johnny called as he and Dixie crashed out the back door. 

***

Dixie and Johnny rattled along the highway heading east, just beyond Shreveport. They drove a rusted red El Camino. The truck bed was full of marching band equipment and cases of beer and liquor. They both had on what they considered to be “yachting attire,” which for Johnny was a pair of rumpled khakis and a blue blazer, but no shirt underneath. For Dixie it consisted of wide legged navy blue sailor pants that stopped mid-calf and a ridiculously tight and low cut striped shirt. She also had a blue blazer with a gold crest of someone else’s yacht club on the breast. They both had white captain’s hats, which were tossed carelessly on the dashboard as they drove, and Dixie held a French horn, obviously stolen from an area high school marching band, in her lap. 

Back at the ranch…

Chichay Milano sat on the back porch, flipping through her assassin gear catalog that had arrived in the mail that morning. She had dogeared a couple of pages that contained things she might like to buy. She had a glass of iced tea on the table beside her, and her feet up on the porch railing. 
She had to admit that the time period between when Dixie and Johnny left on one of their escapades, and when she or Sweaty had to go and rescue them, had become one of her favorites. The ranch actually functioned like a ranch, the living room and kitchen stayed clean, she didn’t find exotic wildlife in her bathroom, and the crashes and explosions that punctuated life on the ranch were not a cause for concern when she knew that they weren’t coming from the two calamity artists, but rather from Sweaty. 
When Chichay had inspected the whole catalog and finished her tea, she stood up and stretched. She’d taken the day off from the restaurant, and was looking forward to a quiet evening in with Sweaty. She was planning on making nasi goreng, another favorite from her childhood, for dinner, which she and Sweaty would eat on the couch while watching a movie. 
It was about time to get started on dinner, so Chichay headed toward the back door. Just as she opened it, a small, black and white shape zipped by her ankles and into the house. 
“What the fuck?” she asked, unsure of what she’d seen, but bolting into the house anyway. Inside, she looked around frantically, but didn’t see anything. 
“He didn’t make the iced tea LSD, too, did he?” she wondered as she walked slowly into the living room. Nothing. She checked the kitchen, even looking under the table. Nothing. Finally, she headed into the dining room, assuming she really was hallucinating and thinking about all the ways she would punish Sweaty for this, when she saw it. 
In the center of the formal dining room table sat the monkey. It was one of the two that Dixie and Johnny had stolen from the local zoo and had been keeping in one of the barns on the property. How it got out, she didn’t know, but at this moment it was about to poop in the crystal vase in the center of the table. 

“Get out, you little asshole!” she shouted, waving her arms and trying to at least chase it off the table. It looked at her with something almost like interest, then let one rip into the vase. Looking pleased with himself, the monkey clapped his hands, then scampered off into the living room. Chichay followed him. 
She knew she was going to need help trapping this monkey and moving him back to the barn, but Sweaty was out in his workshop, and the Troubadour brothers were either in the upper pasture, or in their cabin at the back of the main ranch, and she didn’t want to take her eyes off the monkey while she went out to find them. Wishing she had a tranquilizer gun, or at the very least, a net, Chichay settled for following the monkey around to make sure it didn’t do any more damage to the house, and waiting for someone to arrive to help her. 
Once in the living room, the monkey set about tearing all of the books off of the bookshelf and throwing them around the room. She attempted to stop him, but by that point he seemed to have decided that the living room was his territory. Chichay opted instead to stand in the doorway, figuring that at least this way he’d be contained and only damage one room. 
This plan worked well for the first hour. Then, the second monkey showed up. 

***

Dixie and Johnny rattled through the posh marina in their rusted El Camino, which was spewing a thick black exhaust by that point and sounded like rocks in a washing machine. One of the tires was flat, but they didn’t notice and who knows how long they’d been driving that way. Several wealthy yacht owners turned and watched as they clanked by, but ultimately shrugged and went about their business. You never knew with boat people, they reasoned. Sometimes money turned you into an eccentric. Sometimes your eccentricity was what got you your money in the first place. And anyway, there was no accounting for taste. The nouveau riche all made a mental note to complain to the harbormaster about it just the same. 
As they drove, Dixie and Johnny, who were, indeed, wealthy eccentrics (among other things), made note of the boats that they passed. There were some very flashy and obviously expensive vessels here, but they had a different criteria in mind. 
“Black Angel, Middle Child, Outta Control…” Dixie read as they drove. “These are a little underwhelming, if I’m being honest.” 
“Agreed. I see a Lady Malaria over here, that’s not bad,” said Johnny, nodding to his side of the car. 
“Yeah, I guess.” They kept driving. 
“Lil’ Gypsey,” Johnny said. 
“Fuck that.” 
“For real.”
“Actually, if we have time, we should go take care of that one.” 
“Good call. That’ll teach ‘em to name their boat after a bad experience that we had.” They went back to looking at the boat names.   
“Quantum Evolution. That’s more Sweaty’s thing. Mermaid Hunter. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.” 
“Right.” 
“Oh, there’s one called Perfect Crime,” said Dixie, pointing. 
“Ok, that’s a contender. Let’s see what we’ve got over on this side.’ He turned and headed to the other side of the marina. “Rum With It. I think that’s the winner.” They were about to stop the car and Dixie gasped, pointing up ahead to a massive yacht docked at the far end of the marina. 
“Oh my god!” 
“That’s the one!” They drove until they were just alongside the yacht before stopping the car and cutting the engine. It rattled as it died and they got out, standing side by side and admiring what they immediately considered to be their new boat. 

DayDrunk Believer

As they stood there, a man came out of the upper cabin and onto the back deck. He walked to a pile of boxes and bags and began to pick some of them up, moving them into the cabin. Dixie and Johnny watched. When the man finished, he made his way down the steps to the lower deck. He was about to step off onto the dock when he noticed them. 
“Oh, hi there,” he said, smiling. 
“Hi,” said Dixie. 
“Hell of a boat,” said Johnny casually. The man stepped onto the dock and turned to look back up at his yacht. 
“She’s a beaut, that’s for sure,” he said, using one hand to shield his eyes from the bright afternoon sun as he gazed lovingly toward something he’d worked his whole career to afford. “I’m just getting her loaded up with supplies, then we head out tomorrow for a two month cruise around-” He didn’t finish that sentence because at that moment, Dixie had lifted her French horn and clubbed the man on the head. He dropped like a stone to the dock and lay there, unconscious in a heap. 
Nodding to one another, Dixie took a tarp out of the car and used it to cover the unconscious yacht owner. Then she and Johnny set about transferring everything from their El Camino to the yacht, including all the musical instruments for some reason. When they had gotten everything on board, Johnny headed to the helm to get  the motor started and Dixie took out her pearl handled machete and cut the ropes tying the boat to the dock. A few minutes later they were cruising out of the marina toward the open water, generously bumping other boats, docks, and sea walls as they went. The yacht owner stayed under the tarp for several hours more, until a neighboring yacht owner, annoyed that someone had left their trash on the dock, tried kicking the tarp into the water and noticed him underneath. 

Back at the ranch…

The two monkeys scampered around the living room, ripping, tearing, throwing, and shitting on everything they encountered. Chichay was powerless to stop them, but had managed to pull the coffee table over to help block the doorway. She kept glancing from the living room to the back door in the desperate hope that Sweaty would get there and help. 
An hour went by. Then another. At this point, Sweaty was also late for dinner, so she was even more annoyed than she had been initially. The monkeys started pulling the cords out of the back of the tv. Great, she thought, now they wouldn’t be able to watch a movie even if they did get the monkeys out of there and clean the place up. 
“Hey! Stop that, you little shits!” Chichay yelled as one of the monkeys began pulling the curtains down from the large living room window. The other monkey was about to follow suit, but when he heard Chichay shouting, he turned instead and grabbed a lamp from the table next to the couch. He raised it above his head and smashed it to the floor. At that moment, Sweaty Mulligan strolled in through the back door. 
“Hey babe,” he called to Chichay as he walked toward her, “Dixie and Johnny back already?” Chichay whirled around to face him. 
“Oh thank god you’re here. The fucking monkeys got into the house.” She stepped to the side of the doorway so that Sweaty could look into the living room. 
“Oh shit,” he said. 
“Yeah, I managed to keep them in here, but they’re trashing the place and I didn’t know how to get ‘em out by myself. I just didn’t want them to wreck the rest of the house.” 
“I don’t blame you,” Sweaty said, watching as the monkeys ripped open a throw pillow and threw the stuffing around the room. “I think we’re gonna need backup. Why don’t I take a turn watching them while you go get the Troubadours. Tell them we need some kind of big net or something to throw over them. Maybe some rope so we can get them back to the barn.” 
“We’re gonna have to check the barn before we put them back there. We don’t know how they got out,” Chichay replied, heading toward the door. She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, then broke into a run as she crossed the lawn toward the Troubadour Brothers’ cabin. 
Inside the house, Sweaty turned back to the living room. One of the monkeys had pulled down one of Chichay’s potted plants and was ripping off the leaves, crumpling them until they were mushy, and rubbing them into the fabric of the couch. Sweaty sighed. 
“Chichay should really just stop trying to keep plants in this room. Between Dixie and Johnny and these monkeys, nothing ever stays alive for long.” He paused, then noticed one of the monkeys heading toward the shelf that held all of their DVDs. “You motherfucker,” he said, as the monkey began pulling the DVDs off the shelf. They landed on the floor, with some of the cases opening up. This attracted the second monkey, who made his way over and began jumping happily on the pile. More cases cascaded to the floor. 
Soon, both monkeys began opening the discs on the ground and admiring their reflections in them. They licked the discs, then bit them, then began smashing them against the floor. The second monkey reached up on the shelf for more. 
“Hey!” yelled Sweaty, “Don’t you touch my Planet Earth set!” The monkey did just that, though, and not being able to take it anymore, Sweaty lunged at them. Both monkeys jumped to different sides of the room, and in the moment that Sweaty left the doorway unguarded, one made a break for it. 
Sweaty rushed back to the doorway just as the monkey reached the upturned coffee table blocking its path. The monkey was about to climb up the table, but Sweaty got to it first, yanking the table backwards and throwing the monkey across the room. It landed on the couch and let out a screech, then began angrily shredding the cushions with its teeth. The second one joined in while Sweaty rebuilt the blockade at the door. He then stood outside the hallway, looking in and watching the carnage. He waited. 

***

As the DayDrunk Believer left the marina, it bumped the last sea wall that made up the entrance of the marina. It hit the wall so hard that the engine shut off. Dixie and Johnny were lounging on the upper deck, and hadn’t noticed. As the outgoing tide and strong current pulled the yacht out of the harbor, they cracked a bottle of Alizé that they’d brought along, poured it into some crystal goblets they’d found in the galley kitchen. 
“This is the life,” Johnny said, putting his feet up on the railing. 
“Seriously,” said Dixie, taking a drink. “How long until we get there?” 
“Oh, I don’t know, actually. I just kinda pointed the boat at the entrance of the marina and then came up here to get a drink.” 
“I guess since we’re not in space, we have to actually drive this thing?” 
“Probably,” said Johnny, topping off his drink, “But we have time to figure that out. Where are the chips?” 
“In that room, with the couches. Whatever that’s called.” Johnny left and returned with the bag of chips and they sat on the deck, watching the water. They soon realized that they had drifted quite a ways out to sea. 
“So where is this monkey island, anyway?” Dixie asked. 
“I have no idea. Wanna go in that room with the steering wheel and look at the map? I saw one in there earlier.” 
“Ok.” They headed to the helm, which was above the deck they were currently sitting on. When they entered the room, there was a table at the center with a nautical chart spread out. Several other charts were rolled up on the side. By the control panel, a lot of screens and electronic systems blinked. 
“I don’t know how to work any of this,” Dixie said, sitting down in the captain’s chair and looking out the window. 
“Me neither, but I can fly a helicopter, and I do ok in a spaceship, so I think I can figure it out.” He looked at the chart. “Chichay said Lesser Antilles. I see that, so I guess we just point the boat that way.” He pointed arbitrarily out the window. 
“Want me to power ‘er up?” asked Dixie. 
“Yeah, go ahead,” said Johnny, walking toward the wheel. Dixie turned a key and pressed a button. Nothing happened. 
“Huh.” 
“Here, let me try,” Johnny said. “This is what I did last time.” Johnny tried essentially the same thing as Dixie. Nothing happened. 
“Maybe the engine’s broken,” Dixie said. 
“Must be,” said Johnny. 
“Are we gonna have to row?” 
“Well, maybe not the whole way. We could probably just get ‘er started. Coast until we can pop the clutch” They looked around. 
“I don’t see any oars.” 
“Maybe they keep ‘em downstairs,” Johnny said. 
“Oh yeah, they probably wouldn’t reach from here.” They headed down to a lower deck and began looking through drawers and closets. Dixie headed toward a large bedroom at the rear of the yacht and yanked open the closet door. A man in a captain’s uniform was crouched inside and let out a yelp when he saw her. Dixie immediately kicked him in the ribs. 
“Johnny! We have a freeloader!!!” A moment later, Johnny Go appeared in the doorway and looked into the closet at the man, who was curled up on the floor, clutching his ribs and moaning. 
“What that fuck? Who are you!?” he demanded. 
“Ricardo Torres,” the man replied, through clenched teeth, “I’m the captain of this vessel. Mr. Armstrong’s yacht.” 
“Well, Mr. Armstrong isn’t here,” said Dixie. “So we won’t be needing your services.” 
“Yeah, get out.” 
“But we must be in the middle of the Gulf by now,” said Torres. 
“And as soon as we get the engine started, or find the oars, we’re getting out of here and heading straight to,” Johnny paused and looked around, “our destination.” 
“If you’ll forgive me for saying, sir, I don’t think you’re familiar with the operation of this vessel. I heard the engine stall out when we bumped the sea wall. It needs a manual reset.” 
“You think we don’t know that?!” demanded Dixie.  
“Um. No, ma’am. I don’t. But I’m a professional captain. I can easily get the engine started again and sail you to your destination.” 
“We don’t need you, Gilligan!” Johnny shouted. He and Dixie then reached into the closet and pulled the terrified captain out. 
Moments later, they were standing at the back of the yacht. Torres was sitting in a small life raft, while Dixie and Johnny stood on the deck. 
“You don’t have to do this!” Torres cried. But it was too late. Dixie and Johnny gave the little raft a shove and Torres drifted away. Soon he was a small dot on the horizon, and DayDrunk Believer continued to drift aimlessly along in the opposite direction. 

Back at the ranch…

Chichay sat in the kitchen of the ranch house, unrolling a length of gauze. Wang Chung Troubadour sat on the chair in front of her, holding a bloody towel to his head. Chichay carefully removed the towel, cleaned the large wound in his forehead, and began to wind the gauze around. As she worked, a large crash came from the living room, followed by a screech, a scream, and a lot of swearing from Sweaty Mulligan. A moment later, Johnson Troubadour appeared in the kitchen. 
“He get ya?” Chichay asked, cutting the end of the gauze and nodding to Wang Chung, who stood up. 
“Those buggers are fast,” Johnson said. He clutched his shoulder, which had a pencil sticking out of it. Blood was spreading down his shirt. “It was like I blinked and he flew at me, holding this pencil like a shiv.” 
“Ok, sit down and I’ll pull it out,” Chichay said as she headed to the sink to wash her hands. “Fortunately, a pencil isn’t that long so I don’t think it did any real damage. Also, you’re still conscious.” 
“Thanks for your help, Ms. Milano,” Wang Chung said, heading back to the living room. As he did, there was another loud crash. 
“Tell Sweaty that as soon as I bandage up Johnson, I’m coming in with my tranq gun and we’re putting an end to this. I don’t care if the darts are for lions.” 

Somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico...

Dixie and Johnny woke up on the rear deck of the yacht, each gripping a bottle of booze. The sun was rising to reveal that they were still adrift in the Gulf. They stood up and looked around, quickly remembering the details of the situation they were in and smiling. They wandered into the lounge area and were pleased to see that it contained a rather well-stocked bar.  
“Hey!” Dixie cried, “They have a lot of Kahlua! Let’s make White Russians!” She grabbed the bottles and put them on top of the bar counter, then found two tumblers and started pouring. 
“Can you look around for some milk?” Dixie called to Johnny. When he didn’t answer, she looked around for him. “Johnny?” He appeared a moment later, holding a thermos. 
“I have a better idea,” he said, unscrewing the top of the thermos and handing it to Dixie. “Let’s use our own milk.” 
“Is this…?” 
“Yep. I milked Ella Titsgerald before we left.” 
“You’re a genius,” Dixie said, giving each tumbler a generous splash, then handing Johnny his glass. “Farm fresh, organic, and full of vitamin LSD.” They clinked glasses and downed their drinks in one gulp. 

An hour later…

The sun was high in the crystal clear sky. There was no wind to speak of, and so the DayDrunk Believer was bobbing idly, somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks were standing on the deck of the yacht, heads up toward the sky, arms straight out to their sides. They were twirling like a couple of deranged dervishes. 
“I think the vortex is starting to open!” Johnny cried. 
“I can see the rift, we’re almost through!” shouted Dixie over the interdimensional noise she heard only in her head. They kept spinning. 
“If Charles Buckminster thinks he’s getting away with this, he has another thing coming!” Johnny said. “Ok on three, we jump.” 
“One…” 
“Two…” 
“THREE!” At that, they both leaped up into the air, presumably toward the vortex that didn’t exist. What actually happened was that on jumping into the air while spinning, Dixie and Johnny rotated toward one another, colliding head first and crashing to the deck below. They were probably concussed, but that never stopped them before. Johnny rolled over and sat up. 
“That motherfucker,” he said. 
“We’ll get you, oil loaf,” Dixie shouted, as she, too, rolled over and sat up. They stayed that way for a while, looking around them in wonder. 
“Everything’s still shimmering,” Johnny said. “Maybe we crossed through after all?” 
“It’s possible,” Dixie replied, touching her face, “But my face feels like it’s in the right order. Is it?” She turned toward Johnny. 
“Yeah, it is. But it’s, like, real wiggly?” 
“Oh shit! So is yours!” As she said this, Johnny arched his eyebrows in surprise. Dixie shrieked and lunged toward him, grabbing at the air above his head. “Johnny! You have to be careful! Your eyebrows almost got away.” 
Johnny clapped his hands tightly over his forehead and looked around. Then, with a sigh, he collapsed back onto the deck. Dixie did the same, and they spent the next hour laying there, looking up into the sky. Finally, Dixie spoke. 
“This dimension is weird. It’s too bad the psychedelic cow milk isn’t working. It might have given us better abilities to manipulate space and time.” 
“I know. When we get back, I’m going to need to have a word with Sweaty about his acid cow because I feel nothing.” 
“Same.” 
“I mean, I’m looking up at the sky right now. Even on the lamest batch of acid, I should be watching one hell of a porno movie projected overhead. And all I see is the Olympic bobsled trials.” 
“Yeah, and I just see sky whales. Like normal.” 
“Like normal.” Again, they were quiet. 

***

“Cover me when I run. Cover me through the fire.” 
“Something knocked me out' the trees. Now I'm on my knees.” A voice, covering all tones and ranges at once, alluring and seductive, drifted across the deck of the yacht. 
“Cover me, darling please, hey,” continued the voice, or was it voices? 
“Monkey, monkey, monkey.” Dixie and Johnny sat upright in surprise, and began looking around frantically. The song continued. 
“Don't you know when you're going to shock the monkey.” They stood up and began walking cautiously around the deck, trying to find the source of this song. They looked under the lounge chairs and peered into the cabin as the song went on. 
“Fox the fox. Rat the rat. You can ape the ape. I know about that.” Dixie looked over the back of the yacht, into the water. Nothing. 
“There is one thing you must be sure of. I can't take any more.” Johnny looked over the railing on the port side. Nothing. 
“Darling, don't you monkey with the monkey, hey.” They looked at each other and bolted in unison to the starboard railing. They looked over, leaning down toward the water, and there they were. 
“Monkey, monkey, monkey!” Dixie and Johnny screamed at the same time as the singer, who was languidly swimming below them in the blue water. The singer, who, to Dixie and Johnny’s astonishment, was a stunningly beautiful mermaid. 
“Bullshit.” 

Back at the ranch…

Chichay Milano crouched underneath the coffee table that was still blocking the door to the living room. The monkeys continued to rampage, and had now overturned a bookcase and ripped the guts out of the new couch. Chichay was particularly incensed about the couch. 
“I just bought that couch,” she complained to Sweaty, who stood beside her, attempting to fashion an indoor version of a ghillie suit for Chichay out of the old living room curtains. “Why does every creature on this ranch seem to want to tear the insides out of the couches?” 
“It’s weird, I agree,” Sweaty said, “but unless they also fill it with plastic balls, then I’d chalk it up to a coincidence. Here you go.” He draped the drapes over Chichay and crawled under with her. They were quiet then, watching the monkeys. 
“How many shots do you have?” Sweaty whispered. 
“Four,” replied Chichay, keeping her eyes trained on the monkeys and her weapon ready. “Which is two more than I’ll need.” Sweaty turned and crawled out from under the drapes. The Troubadour brothers were waiting a short distance from the living room doorway. 
“Fifty bucks says she gets ‘em in two,” Sweaty said. Johnson Troubadour nodded and offered his hand to Sweaty. 
“Deal,” he said, “my money’s on three shots, with double the money if she hits the first and third, but misses the second.” They both nodded and turned to Wang Chung. 
“Oh come on, don’t make me the bad guy. I know she’s a good shot, but those monkeys are fast!” 
“Ok, so Wang Chung of little faith, thinks she takes all four shots.” 
“You know, I can hear you assholes,” Chichay’s muffled voice came from under the drapes. 
“Sorry honey.” 

***

The mermaid was swimming seductively alongside the yacht. Her hair seemed to change colors as she moved, at first matching the blues and greens of the water, then changing to a jet black, then appearing to catch fire, glowing red and gold. Her mermaid tail did the same, the scales a constant shimmer, like an oil rainbow in a puddle after a storm. Dixie and Johnny were mesmerized. 
“Bullshit,” Dixie said again. 
“Monkey monkey hey,” sang the mermaid. 
“Maybe the milk did work,” Johnny mused. 
“Must be,” said Dixie, “because we both know mermaids aren’t real.” At that, the mermaid paused and looked at the two of them questioningly. Then she let out a shrill whistle from someplace deep in her throat. She did a few more circles, waving her tail fin at them each time she passed closest to the yacht. A moment later, four more mermaids and two mermen arrived. They assembled themselves behind the main mermaid, as if they were her army. 
“Why don’t you come with us?” she asked, her voice seeming to shimmer in the same way the scales on her tail did. She rose up out of the water then, and arched her back. Her breasts were magnificent and, unlike cartoon mermaids, not covered in a hokey shell bra. Dixie and Johnny stared, eyes bulging. 
“Well,” began Johnny slowly, “Because mermaids aren’t real.” 
“And yet, here we are,” she smiled and fell backward into the water. She circled underneath and arrived at the surface again. 
“Yeah, but we’re probably trippin’ balls, lady,” Johnny said. 
“I see,” replied the mermaid. She turned away from them then, and with a signal, her army followed suit. A moment later, a wall of water washed up onto the deck of the yacht, sent by the coordinated slap of seven mermaid tails. Dixie and Johnny were drenched. 
“I suppose that was all in your minds,” the mermaid said. 
“I suppose…” said Dixie. She had locked eyes with a merman and mermaid to the right of the leader. Johnny leaned on the railing. 
“Come with us,” the mermaid leader said again. 
“Yeah…” said Johnny, “But what’s in it for us?” 
“Pardon?” 
“Well ok, so let’s say you’re selling us on the whole ‘mermaids are real’ thing. What’s in it for us if we come with you?” 
“Anything,” replied the mermaid, matter of factly. 
“Anything?” 
“Anything your hearts or minds or bodies desire,” she said, again rising up out of the water. The rest followed. Dixie and Johnny looked at each other and shrugged. 
“Eh, I hate to break it to you lady,” Dixie said, “but we’ve already had a whole lot of what our bodies desire and lemme tell you, it’s too fucked up even for us.” She turned to Johnny and they high fived. 
“Besides,” Dixie said, turning back to the mermaids, “How do you guys even fuck?” 
“Do you have holes and we just can’t see ‘em?” Johnny asked. 
“I’m no mermaid expert, but I’ve never seen any kind of external genitalia on your species.” 
“Is it hidden?” 
“Maybe there’s a button?” 
“Or do you just do mouth stuff?” 
“That’d be really lame.” 
“I know. That’s not really what my heart desires.” 
“Not all the time, anyway.” 
“SILENCE!” shouted the lead mermaid. Dixie and Johnny laughed. 
“Look, it’s ok,” Johnny said, “no one’s saying you aren’t sexy.” 
“Or that you don’t have plenty to offer,” said Dixie. 
“But we were just on this Anime planet recently, and let me tell you…” 
“Once you’ve had external genitalia of that magnitude and frequency, you just can’t go back to mouth stuff only.” 
“Oh yeah.” They high fived again. “Anway, mer-people, it’s been great chatting with you, but we have a lot of Kahúla to drink and we’re not getting any younger.” 
“Vortex isn’t getting any opener, either,” Dixie said as they turned away. “Opener. Is that the right word?” 
“Yeah, I think so,” said Johnny as they reached the sliding door to the rear cabin. “It’s the opposite of closer, right?” 

SHIIIIIIING!

A large, gold trident flew through the air, landing with a thwack in the door frame, just next to Johnny’s head. He turned to look at it. 
“What the-” A second trident landed, this one only inches from Dixie. 
“Oh that’s it, you fucking dirty fish snackers!” Dixie screamed, grabbing the trident and yanking it from the wall. Johnny grabbed the other trident and pulled. Dixie tossed hers over to him, then reached for a speargun that was mounted to the rear cabin wall. 
“Good thing Mr. Dickbag was into spearfishing,” she said as she crouched low, loading the long sharp spear into the gun. “Never was much of a fan, myself, but that’s before I knew mermaids existed.” A third trident arched gracefully over the railing and onto the deck, landing between them. Johnny pulled it out and added it to the two he was holding. 
“Ok, on three,” he said. 
“One, two, three!” they counted together, then began army-crawling toward the starboard railing. They reached it, remaining out of sight, as another trident landed on the deck. 
“Don’t these guys have anything other than tridents?” Another one landed, narrowly avoiding Johnny’s crotch. 
“I guess not, but you gotta admit they’re pretty good with ‘em,” Dixie replied. “Ok, you make your way down the deck a little bit, then launch a trident at ‘em from that side. It should draw their attention that way, and I’ll nail one with this spear.” 
“I’ll try to launch a second one right away to give you time to reload. How many of those spears do you have?” 
“Oh, there’s a whole box over there. But if I can reel one of these shits in after I spear ‘im, I can reuse it.” 
“Oh little monkeys,” the lead mermaid called, “you don’t really think you’re going to win this battle, do you?” Johnny began creeping along the deck, staying behind the solid railing. When he reached the middle of the boat, he looked back at Dixie, who nodded. 
“Fox the fox, little monkey,” the mermaid taunted. “Rat the ra-” Johnny leaped up, launching the mermaid’s own trident back at her. The trident caught one of the mermaids on the outer flank in the neck. She let out a yelp as iridescent blood began to pool into the water around her. The others gasped, then angrily turned toward Johnny, who had ducked down behind the railing again. 
As he did this, Dixie stood up from her hiding spot on the rail, aimed, and with a crack and a zip, sent the spear sailing into a large merman who was now holding a rear position. It caught him in the center of his back, and he grunted, struggled against the line for a moment, then became still. 
Dixie tugged the rope and reeled him in a bit then tied the line to the railing, leaving the merman dangling a bit out of the water. She reloaded as Johnny sent a second trident sailing back into the group, but narrowly avoided being hit by one in return. 
“Dix,” he whispered, “I think I need to change positions.” 
“I’ll head down to where you are,” she said, “and you climb up to that little bit on the top of the boat. They’ll never expect you, and you can probably get a few with a headshot.” 
As Johnny made his way to the uppermost deck, Dixie picked off two more mermaids with the spear gun. She dragged their bodies over to the merman and tied them together, as you might do after a particularly fruitful day fishing off the coast. Johnny managed to sink the remaining merman with a headshot, and caught one of the other mermaids in what would have been her crotch if mermaids had legs. All that remained was one mermaid, and the leader. 

“And then there were two, eh, Dix?” Johnny called from the upper deck. Dixie looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun, and nodded. By this time, the barrage of tridents landing on the deck was never ending. Where were the mermaids getting all of these weapons? Dixie wondered as she loaded her spear gun. She waited for a lull, then jumped up from behind the railing and fired. 
At the same instant, Johnny Go launched a trident of his own back toward the water. Dixie’s spear and Johnny’s trident hit the remaining warrior mermaid in the chest at the same time, nearly severing her head. Dixie reeled her in anyway, and added her to their collection. The lead mermaid was furious. Anger flashed in her eyes as she stared at the bodies of her comrades, dangling from the boat. But this time she held her fire. 
Feeling satisfied with his work, Johnny stepped back from the edge of the upper deck and broke out into his “Miss Lisa Lisa” dance. Dixie was, again, crouched behind the railing, reloading her spear gun. Neither of them noticed that the lead mermaid had started to climb the side of the yacht. Using an astonishing amount of upper body strength, she grabbed any ledge, edge, or hold that she could, making her way slowly toward the railing, her fish tail hanging uselessly below her. 
When the mermaid finally reached the railing, she heaved herself up over the top of it, and was pleased to see that Dixie Doublestacks was crouched directly below her. With the fury of one making a last stand, she reached over and grasped the collar of Dixie’s yachting blazer, pulling her up and back in an attempt to drag her back down into the water. Dixie screamed and flailed her arms around, still gripping the spear gun. The gun was too long, however, and she wasn’t able to get it turned around to fire into the mermaid. 
“You’re coming with me, bitch,” the mermaid hissed. Dixie managed to brace her feet against the railing and pull herself forward, using that leverage to keep the mermaid from getting her over the rail. 
“Johnny!” she screamed. But Johnny was in the moment and didn’t hear her. She was on her own. Dixie suddenly stopped struggling, but continued to brace herself. The mermaid stopped pulling ever so slightly, confused by the sudden calmness. With as little movement as possible, Dixie removed the spear from the gun and stretched the rope connecting the two between her hands. She waited until she felt the mermaid relax her grip just the smallest amount more, and then made her move. 
With speed and reflexes that were surprising given the amount of alcohol Dixie regularly ingested, and the fact that she’s spent her morning under the influence of an extremely powerful hallucinogen, she twisted in the mermaid’s grip, the sleeve of her blazer tearing loose, until she was facing the creature. The mermaid was stunned, and before she could react, Dixie had wound the rope tightly around her neck several times and pulled. 
The mermaid let out a soft choking sound and was still for a moment, before her instinct for preservation kicked in, She thrust herself backward, using her tail to push against the side of the yacht. She didn’t release her grip on the torn blazer, which still contained Dixie’s arms, and the two began to slide overboard, into the water. Dixie continued to pull the rope tighter and tighter, attempting to snap the creature’s neck, when suddenly they came to a stop. 
Behind Dixie, Johnny Go stood with one hand in the waistband of Dixie’s pants, preventing her from falling over the railing. In the other hand, he held one of the mermaid’s tridents. With a final tug, he managed to get Dixie back onto the deck, then calmly plunged the trident into the mermaid’s face, one tine puncturing each eye socket. The mermaid shrieked, then went limp, and together, Dixie and Johnny pulled her body onto the deck. 

***

Several hours later, Dixie and Johnny had cleaned themselves up from their battle and were lounging on the back deck, sipping cocktails and admiring their handywork. From the back of the boat, they had hung all of the dead mermaids together on one line. They dangled there, swaying in the strengthening breeze, as the DayDrunk Believer drifted aimlessly through the sea. 

***

When Dixie and Johnny awoke the next morning, still in their deck chairs, they were only slightly surprised to find no trace at all of the previous day’s carnage. The bodies that had been dangling off the back of the yacht were gone. 

Back at the ranch…

Chichay Milano put her rifle down and held out her hand, as an astonished Johnson and Wang Chung Troubadour and Sweaty Mulligan looked on. 
“Pay up,” she said. 
“Wait, what?” Sweaty asked. 
“You heard me. Pay up.” 
“But the bet was for-” 
“I know. None of you won. And since I actually did better than any of you thought I would, I get all money wagered.” 
“But that’s not…” There was a moment of awkward silence. 
“No, she’s right,” muttered Wang Chung finally, reaching for his wallet. “I mean, I don’t know what sorcery enabled Ms. Milano to tranq both monkeys with one shot, but I know when I’m in the presence of greatness. Here you go, your majesty.” Reluctantly, the rest followed suit. Sweaty was the last to pay up. 
“What are you upset about?” Chichay asked, taking a wad of bills from him. “My money’s your money anyway.” She leaned over and kissed him while stuffing all of the money into her pocket. He blushed, looking at his feet. 
“Presence of greatness, indeed,” he said. 
“Ok, bag those monkeys and get ‘em out to the barn,” Chichay ordered. “We should have a few hours before they wake up, so we need to find out where they escaped and board it up. If this happens again, I’m moving out.” 

***

A short while later, Chichay stood in the middle of the barn that served as the monkey habitat with a lumpy sack at her feet. The Troubadour brothers were putting the finishing touches on some new wire, which stretched across the windows, while Sweaty added some additional boards to the bottom of the barn’s walls. Chichay had filled the monkey’s food and water containers, and was getting ready to open up the bag. She didn’t know how long it would be before they woke up, but as long as they were securely inside the barn, she didn’t care. She reached down and untied the bag. 
“Ok you little assholes,” she said, opening the top. The monkeys were still unconscious and didn’t even stir. “Come into my house again and you’ll get more than tranquilizer darts.” She stood up and headed for the door. 
“Guys, I’m gonna head up to the house and wait for the pizza guy. Come up when you’re done, we all need some dinner. Sweaty, the cleaners are coming first thing in the morning to deal with the living room, so we have to turn in soon.” With that, she left the barn, the door thumping closed behind her. 
Johnson and Wang Chung turned and looked at Sweaty for a long moment before Johnson finally spoke, 
“Hell of a woman,” he said. Sweaty nodded. 
“I know it,” he said, solemnly. “See you guys up there.” Sweaty left the barn and walked across the dark lawn of the ranch, a small but satisfied smirk on his face. 

One week later...

The DayDrunk Believer was adrift in the Gulf. It looked slightly worse for the wear, as the days of sitting idly in the water had ensured it was covered in a thick layer of algae. The decks were all dirty, as were the windows. Dixie and Johnny themselves were sprawled on the lounge chairs, looking on the verge of death. 
“I’ve never been so hungry in my entire life,” complained Johnny weakly. “Who knew catching fish was so hard?” 
“Bountiful seas, my ass,” replied Dixie, barely able to lift her head. 
“You think we’re blacklisted from fishing? On accounta the mermaids?” 
“Maybe.” They were quiet for a while. 
“Should we go and look for the oars again? Try to get out of this?” 
“Eh. Even if we find ‘em, we’re in no condition to row. We haven’t eaten in days and we’re down to our last bottle of Damiana.” 
“I guess this is it, then,” Johnny sighed. “It’s been nice knowing ya, Dix.” 
“Same.” They both fell asleep then, the afternoon sun beating down on the sunbleached deck. 
The yacht continued to drift. 

Several hours later…

A sudden jerking movement, followed by a loud thunk, followed in turn by a scraping sound, rousted Dixie and Johnny from the throes of apathy. They slowly opened their eyes and stared straight up at the sky. It didn’t look any different than any sky they’d seen from the deck over the past week. But gradually it dawned on them that they weren’t moving. 
“Hey, did we stop?” asked Johnny. 
“I think so,” Dixie replied. “I think maybe we hit something.” 
“But what would we have hit. We’re in the middle of the Gulf.” 
“Icebergs?” 
“Nah, too warm out.” Neither of them said anything for a long while. Suddenly, they both sat upright, staring straight ahead. 
“Land!” they shouted. They jumped up and raced to the front of the yacht, skidding to a stop as they reached the railing. They leaned over, looking at what had stopped the boat. 
It was land. They had run aground on what appeared to be a pristine, tropical beach that was completely deserted. 
“Mother of orange cunts!” shouted Dixie. “We hit the jackpot and we’re fucking saved!” 

Monkeys Collected: 2