IX: The Search for 1,000 Typewriters
“You mean to tell me that after all that, we only ended up with one more monkey?” The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks were collapsed on the couch in the living room of their ranch house. They were battered and bruised from their adventure in the Amazon, and were taking advantage of everyone’s sympathy. Dixie held out her mug, which had been filled with bourbon and coffee, and shook it, indicating that she was so distressed that she needed a refill.
“And on top of that, the monkey we brought back was Mel?” Johnny wailed. “I mean, he’s an excellent stylist, but those hands have no business pounding away at a typewriter! That’s a waste of his natural talent!”
“Well, you guys have no one to blame but yourselves. You were incredibly close to being caught in the middle of a legitimate monkey riot,” Chichay Milano said, handing a bottle of bourbon to Sweaty Mulligan, who poured it into Dixie’s mug.
“We were not,” Johnny insisted, “We had it completely under control.”
“We were gods to those monkeys!” Dixie said.
“Johnny, you went on an abusive rant about cosmetology, accusing everyone of having bad hair. You inadvertently pitted the stylist monkeys against the military monkeys, and it worked the army into such a frenzy that they attacked each other. It was only a matter of time.”
“I don’t remember any of that,” Dixie said.
“You were practically catatonic. Jungle blindness. But you obviously went along with it; you still have sticks and shit in your hair.” Sweaty reached over and pulled something out of Dixie’s hair that looked like a tree branch.
“I stand by my assertion that all of you have boring, uninspired hairstyles,” Johnny said. He thrust his mug out for a refill. Sweaty obliged, then sat down next to Chichay on the other couch. Rex Ponticello stood in the doorway, quietly picking his teeth.
“So we’re still short, what, a hundred and fifty monkeys?” Johnny asked.
“A hundred and forty nine, if you count Mel,” Chichay said.
“Mel doesn’t count!” Dixie shouted.
“Well, actually two of ‘em out there had babies while you were gone,” Rex said, casually. “So you need one forty eight now.”
“Damn, they’re breeding?” Johnny asked.
“Oh yeah, mixin’ it up in there,” Rex said. “Speaking of which…” He turned and headed toward the stairs. The group watched him go, then collectively shrugged.
“He’s acting all squirrely again,” observed Dixie.
“Back to the matter at hand,” Chichay said, “A couple of things. First, about how long do you think you’ll need to get the rest of these monkeys?”
“How should we know, Chichay,” Johnny said, “You act like getting monkeys is so easy. Look what just happened!”
“Ok, ok,” she said, “Next, are Bo and Sharif going with you once you’re ready to head off and… do whatever it is you’re planning to do next?”
“Bo will come with me as my personal valet,” Johnny said. “But Sharif will only be piloting whatever craft we take to get there and then he’ll be free to do whatever. I’ve come to think of him as a brother and a friend.”
“Oh, good,” Sweaty said, “He’s been really valuable to have around the ranch, and the Troubadours kinda rely on his help now. We were hoping he’d agree to stay.”
“Have you guys noticed how much cooler he is than Clover?” Dixie asked.
“I was thinking the same thing!” Chichay exclaimed. “I didn’t want to be the first to say it, though, but Clover was a real drag.”
“He really was,” said Johnny. “What with how everything was offensive to him.”
“Sharif is just as good of a driver, too,” said Sweaty.
“And he doesn’t make you stop a million times a day to pray,” added Dixie.
“Ok so that’s settled,” said Chichay. “In the interest of trying to keep you on task so that we get our barns back someday soon, have you given any thought to where you’re going to get all these typewriters?” Dixie and Johnny looked at one another in stunned silence. It was clear that they had not considered this crucial step.
***
“So we have to get, like, a thousand typewriters, and we need more monkeys,” Johnny said later. He and Dixie were still in the living room. It was late and the rest of the group had gone to bed. They were very drunk.
“Why dinnint we get monkeys that came with typewriters?” asked Dixie. She had stopped bothering with the mug all together and was drinking straight from the bottle.
“Oh! Thass a good idea! The last hunnerd we should look for the ones that come in kits,” Johnny said, taking the bottle from Dixie.
“Where even sells type-riders anyway?” Dixe asked. She rolled off of the couch and onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’unno,” replied Johnny.
“Less call that guy.”
“Who?”
“You know. The one who gets us stuff? Chobbly Burton is it?”
“Oh yeah! Lemme call ‘im and ask.” Johnny staggered to the kitchen and returned with a box of oatmeal cream pies. He took one out, unwrapped it, and pressed it to his ear. Nothing happened.
“Dix,” Johnny said, “The phone’s not working.”
“Is the cookie thing the phone?” she asked. “I thought the phone was that turtle we found?” Dixie and Johnny had one rule: No store bought phones.
“No, Chichay made us get rid of that, didn’t she?”
“I’unno.”
“Oh wait, I know!” Johnny tossed the box of oatmeal pies onto the floor and headed out the front door. “Found it!” Dixie staggered to her feet and made her way outside. On the lawn, Johnny was crouched next to a brightly painted lawn jockey. He had his ear against its hand and was pressing buttons on the jockey’s shirt to dial.
“Thass right,” Dixie muttered, sitting on the grass. “Ya’gotta talk inna the bilbo.” She fell asleep. Johnny kept trying to dial and apparently must have succeeded.
“Chommy!?” he shouted into the jockey’s arm, “Chomby iss Johnny, me ‘n Dix need some stuff ok? We need you to bring a thousand typetmriters to the ranch here.” Dixie stirred on the lawn near Johnny, but didn’t wake up. Johnny was clinging to the lawn jockey’s head to stabilize himself.
“Chompy I fink yer sayin’ sumpin but this phone isn’t good. Listen, just bring the trite micers and we pay you.” Johnny gave the jockey a shove and it fell over. He then roused Dixie and dragged her back into the house.
***
Much later, Dixie and Johnny were back on the couch in the living room. It was so late that it was almost morning. They were both in a drunken type of twilight sleep, each clutching an empty bottle.
Upstairs, a door could be heard softly opening and closing, followed by the creak of the hallway floor and then the creak steps. The ranch house didn’t lend itself to clandestine affairs, but nevertheless, a monkey appeared at the bottom of the steps. She looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and headed toward the back door. She spotted Dixie and Johnny on the couch, assumed they were asleep, and let herself out into the early morning light. Dixie and Johnny sat up and looked at one another.
“What the fuck?” Dixie asked.
“What was that monkey doing in the house?” asked Johnny.
“And what monkey was that?”
“I don’t know. One-a the ones from Monkey Pirate Island, I think, but who can tell anymore. Why was she upstairs?” A split second later, the reason dawned on them both at the exact same instant.
“EW!” they shouted in unison.
“Fucking Rex, man!” Johnny said.
“That guy just doesn’t have any limits, does he?”
“It’s like he’s constantly trying to one up himself in the grossest way possible.” They sat for a moment, thinking.
“So what do we do?”
A minute later, Dixie and Johnny were in Rex Ponticello’s room, standing on top of his bed, screaming at him.
“REXYOUPERVETWEJUSTSAWTHATMONKEYLEAVINGTHEHOUSEYOU’REFUCKINGAMONKEYWHATISWRONGWITHYOU?!!?!?!”
Rex jolted awake, but immediately looked calm and confident.
“Oh, like you never considered it,” he said, sitting up in bed. The gold chain around his neck caught in his chest hair as he reached over to the side table for a bottle of blue Hpnotiq and took a sip. “You know, sometimes I think society’s problem with me is not what I do, but that I’m doing what society as a whole wishes it could do.”
“Uh yeah,” said Dixie, “That’s totally the problem.”
“Rex, I hope you aren’t planning on falling in love with this monkey,” Johnny said. “She signed a contract. When we head off to Bolivia for phase two, she’s gotta come with us.”
“Love!” spat Rex, flinging his empty bottle to the floor. “I’ll never love another creature again. Not after Margaret.” He lowered his head sadly.
“Are you still pining away for that old lady?” Dixie asked, incredulously. “Let it go!”
“You know, Dixie,” Rex said with a sigh, “I used to think your inability to love was a tragic, sociopathic loss for you. But now I understand. There’s no reason to put your heart on the line. Use ‘em and lose ‘em!”
“Uh,” said Johnny, “We’re probably the last two people who should be giving sex advice, but I do know a thing or two about monkeys, and I can tell you that you really shouldn’t keep fucking the monkeys. Trust me.”
“Yeah, monkey society? No way is this going to end well,” Dixie added, getting up from the bed and heading toward the door. Johnny followed.
“Yes, well if I want advice on my sex life from two wandering lunatics, I know just where to get it,” Rex called after them as they left his room.
Dixie and Johnny walked back downstairs and headed to the kitchen. It was basically morning, so it was time for an eye opener.
“So have you ever considered banging any of the monkeys?” Dixie asked.
“Nah,” replied Johnny, “Setting aside the fact that they tend to get way too attached, as far as animals go, I don’t really find ‘em that sexy. Plus, at this point it’d be a violation of my duty as their employer. You?”
“Honestly, after the time I pretended to be a gorilla to seduce that researcher, I’ve really lost my taste for the whole endeavor.”
***
Around noon that day, Dixie and Johnny were sitting on the porch playing a game of Connect Four with Bo, who had thus far won every round. The ranch was quiet as Chichay and Sweaty were off handling the lunch rush at the restaurant, Rex was asleep, and the Troubadours and Sharif were off in the fields with the cattle.
They looked up as a truck and trailer pulled up the long gravel driveway, rolling to a stop next to the ranch house. A slim man with glasses, wearing a polo shirt and khakis, climbed out. He looked more like an accountant or a teacher than a shady black market trader, but that’s why they liked him.
“Hey Tommy!” Dixie called. Tommy gave a wave, then headed to the trailer to open the back. The trailer appeared to be some kind of refrigeration unit. Bo hopped up on Johnny’s shoulder and he and Dixie walked over to check it out.
“What’s shakin’, Tommy?” Johnny asked.
“Well, I have your order here. You sounded pretty frantic on the phone last night, so I brought it over first thing.” Tommy began removing boxes from the trailer and stacking them on the lawn next to the driveway.
“I didn’t know you had to refrigerate typewriters,” Dixie said. Johnny crouched down and opened one of the boxes.
“Uh, Tommy. What’s this?” Johnny lifted up a grotesque hat that resembled what the pope would wear. It was made of some kind of meat.
“It’s a tripe mitre,” Tommy said as he continued stacking the boxes on the lawn. “You’re gonna wanna get these into cold storage if you don’t plan on using ‘em or eating ‘em right away. They’re pretty fresh, though.” He stopped stacking when he realized that Dixie, Johnny, and Bo were staring at him. “What?”
“Why did you bring us this?” Dixie asked. Bo hopped down and picked up one of the mitres, putting it on his head.
“This is what you asked for,” Tommy said. “Johnny, you called me last night insisting that you needed a thousand tripe mitres right away. The connection was kinda bad, but this is definitely what you asked for.”
“Tommy, we needed typewriters,” Johnny said, “A thousand typewriters.”
“Why would we need a bunch of mitres made out of tripe?” Dixie asked.
“Look, you guys have asked me for a lotta weird shit over the years. And you know me, I don’t ask questions.” Tommy pulled the rest of the boxes out of the trailer.
“Yeah, but we didn’t ask for this.”
“What are we s’posed to do with it?”
“You can wire the money,” Tommy said, getting into the truck and starting the engine. “Not up to me what kinda pig pope shit y'all’re tryin'a get up to. I'm a purveyor of curios and rare proteins, not a sex therapist.” He whipped the truck around and headed down the driveway, gravel spraying in his wake.
Later that day…
Sweaty Mulligan stood on the back porch of the ranch house, looking at the pile of tripe mitres rapidly decaying in the late afternoon sun. Chichay arrived home from the store, bringing several bags of groceries into the house, and unloaded them in the kitchen. When she finished, she fixed two glasses of iced tea and brought one to Sweaty on the porch. Seeing the pile on the lawn, she stopped and stood beside him.
“What is that?” she asked.
“That, my dear, is a pile of tripe mitres that our esteemed colleagues have left to rot on the lawn.”
“Tripe mitres?”
“Indeed. One thousand liturgical headdresses made of tripe.”
“Uh…” Chichay said.
“Apparently last night, after we went to bed, Johnny drunkenly called Tommy Sciola and asked for a thousand typewriters. Either it was a bad connection or Johnny was super drunk, but Tommy thought he said tripe mitres, and here we are.”
“And Dixie and Johnny?”
“Dumped ‘em on the lawn and went off in the truck to rob a typewriter museum in West Virginia.”
“Of course,” Chichay said.
“Say what you will about Dixie and Johnny, but their black market connections are really incredible,” said Sweaty. Chichay turned to him and they clinked glasses.
“So what do we do with it?” she asked.
“I’unno,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and guiding her to the chair on the porch so that they could watch the late autumn sunset. “Let’s leave it there for tonight and see if the CHUDs take care of it.”
***
Dixie and Johnny were parked in front of the Walnut Rim Typewriter Museum. It was late, and the lone light in the parking area was not enough to reveal the details of the truck to passing motorists. The museum sat back from the road, and appeared to have been a shed in its previous life.
“Let’s drive around to the back door,” Dixie said. She was dressed in her best all black robber gear and carried a pearl handled crowbar. Johnny was also dressed all in black, but his clothes looked more like an old tuxedo. Bo was perched on the headrest and handed Dixie and Johnny each a ski mask.
Johnny drove the truck around to the back of the building. They both pulled their masks down over their heads and stepped out of the truck, pried open the back door, and let themselves into the museum.
***
Early that morning, Dixie and Johnny sat in a diner. They were eating a mountain of cheese fries and drinking from flasks. From the window they could see the truck in the parking lot, a blue tarp covering the pile of stolen typewriters in the back, haphazardly secured with an assortment of bungee cords. Bo could be seen through the front windshield, holding a small pocket knife, ready to pounce if anyone tried to mess with the cargo.
“Three hundred isn’t too bad,” Dixie said, pouring ketchup onto the fries.
“Yeah, I guess,” said Johnny, shoveling a handful of fries into his mouth. “Did you think this was gonna be so hard?”
“No,” admitted Dixie. “But I thought Tommy would be less useless.”
“What the fuck was he thinking? Tripe mitres?” Johnny started laughing. Dixie joined in, and soon the two were in hysterics. The few early morning patrons of the diner glared at them.
“Anyway,” Johnny said, regaining some composure, “Where else can we get some typewriters? We have more room in the truck.”
“One of those stores,” Dixie said, pouring more ketchup onto the puddle of cheese remaining on the plate, “You know, that sell trash?”
“Oh, like a dollar store.”
“No, used trash.”
“Oh, a thrift store!” Johnny exclaimed.
“Yeah!”
“Let’s go, before anyone gets there before us!” With that, they stood up from the table, leaving a pile of rumpled bills and taking the plate full of cheese with them, and left the diner. The surly waitress ran after them, screaming, but was too late. By the time she made it to the door, they were already peeling out of the parking lot.
Back at the ranch...
Rex opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the morning light filtering in through the window shades. He stretched, and as he did so, his arm brushed the fur of the lady monkey slumbering beside him. Startled, he sat up and shook her, trying to wake her.
“Xandra, you have to get up,” he said. “You were supposed to leave while it was still dark out. Now my colleagues are gonna see you.” She rolled over and put her arm around him, nestling her head against his chest. Rex shoved her away.
“Look, you know we can’t tell the others what we’re doing,” he said, getting up and putting on a silk robe. When the monkey made no move to get up, he pulled the covers down and tossed another silk robe at her. She reluctantly sat up and put the robe over her shoulders. She looked at Rex coyly. He sighed and walked over to her, taking her hand.
“I’ll go downstairs and make sure the coast is clear, then I'll signal for you. You can leave by the front door and circle around the far side of the house.” By this time, though, the monkey had started working her hands inside Rex’s robe, and a moment later he lost his resolve.
***
Later, Rex sat on the porch with the Troubadour brothers and Sharif, having lunch and relaxing before the ranch hands headed back out for the rest of the day’s chores. Rex felt content, knowing that he had managed to keep his affair a secret from everyone except Dixie and Johnny.
“You guys up for a quick round of rummy before you head back out there?” he asked. Sharif nodded.
“I reckon we could play a hand or two,” Johnson said, sitting back in his chair. Rex stood up from the table.
“I’ll go grab the cards. Anyone need a refill?” Everyone nodded.
He returned to the table a few minutes later with his hands full of beer bottles and a deck of cards sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans. He handed out the beers, took a seat, and proceeded to deal the first hand. They were all quiet, concentrating on the game. No one noticed when Xandra appeared, standing quietly beside Rex. She watched a few moves, and sidled up to Rex, sticking her tongue in his ear.
Rex let out a shriek and jumped sideways, knocking a beer bottle over and toppling his chair.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet. “What are you doing here?”
“Rex, do you know this monkey?” Wang Chung asked. He tried to help Rex to his feet, but Xandra had already moved in and waved him off.
“No! Of course not!” he cried, getting to his feet. He turned to look at the others at the table. “I thought you guys secured the barns?”
“The barns are secure,” Johnson said, defensively. He paused and listened to Sharif. “Yeah, exactly. The only way any of the monkeys in the barn could get out would be if someone let them out.”
“Well I certainly didn’t do that,” Rex said. “Sharif, take her back to the barn, and then the three of you make sure the building is secure.” Rex stormed off into the ranch house without so much as a glance back. Xandra looked upset for a moment, but that look turned to rage as Sharif came around to the other side of the table and gently took her arm. With some urging, he led her back across the lawn toward the barn.
***
Dixie and Johnny wandered up a street that could only be described as quaint, in a town that was also probably described as quaint. They themselves looked anything but quaint, still dressed in their robbery clothes, but now smeared with ketchup and cheese and on their way to being very drunk. Fortunately, they’d left Bo in the truck again, so they weren’t drawing as many stares as they could have been, however Dixie was intent on tripping everyone that she passed as they ambled down the street.
“I think this’s the place,” Johnny slurred as they stopped in front of an antique store. It boasted a lot of dishes, figurines, and old lamps in the window.
“I don’t want any of these tchotchkes,” Dixie declared as they opened the door. “Only typewriters.”
“What if they have napkin rings?” Johnny asked.
“Ok, fine. But only if they fit our motif.”
Inside the store, several customers browsed while the owner sat behind the old cash register chatting with another customer. When Dixie and Johnny entered, he smiled and said hello. Johnny attempted to wave, immediately knocking over a coat rack full of old fashioned hats. The man left his seat behind the counter to pick up the mess. Johnny attempted to help, but only made it worse. Dixie just picked up one of the hats, put it on, and began browsing.
“Anything I can help you with today?” the owner asked Johnny.
“Yes, we’re interested in purchasing any typewriters that you have in stock.”
“Oh yes, well we have a beautiful Triumph Standard from the mid-1950s in near perfect condition.” The man started to lead Johnny to another room in the shop as he spoke. “We have several Underwoods. Those are all in good condition, but not perfect. You can’t beat their charm, though.”
“Yeah, sure,” muttered Johnny. Across the room, Dixie was trying on a vintage dressing gown and had put on several gaudy rings.
“If those aren’t to your liking, we do have another one in the back. It hasn’t been put out yet because of space, but it’s an exquisite Remington from the 1920s. Pristine.” They stopped in front of a display in the next room, which had an antique desk made up to showcase the shop’s related wares. In a glass case behind it sat several other typewriters that the man had mentioned. Johnny shrugged.
“Sounds great, man. Pack ‘em up. We’ll take the lot.”
“You’ll… Excuse me?”
“My associate and I are working on a project and we need these typewriters, so we’ll take whatever ones you have. Lemme know how much,” Johnny said as he wandered over to a section devoted to vintage barware. “Meantime, I’m gonna scope these flasks and junk.”
A short while later, Dixie and Johnny’s truck sat idling in front of the antique store while they loaded up the typewriters, plus several other bags of things they didn’t need (including a lot of tchotchkes), with the help of the shop’s owner.
They were now decked out in new vintage garb, with Johnny in an old gangster-style pinstripe suit and a turban on his head, and Dixie wearing the dressing gown over top of an old fashioned bathing suit. The owner of the shop looked thrilled as he helped them with the last of their things. You could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes.
“Now the other store I mentioned is out on highway eighty-one. They tend to take the stuff that the antique stores can’t sell, so you’re sure to get some of those sad, modern looking typewriters there.”
“And that other place?”
“Oh, Afterlife Antiques? That’s three blocks down from here on the left.”
“Got it,” said Dixie as she climbed into the truck with Johnny. “You’ve been really helpful, Dustin. Tell your mother we said hi.” With that, they tore off down the street.
***
Inside Afterlife Antiques, Dixie and Johnny were once again browsing through the tchotchkes after having bought every typewriter in the store. They were on the floor sifting through a basket of napkin rings when they overheard the lady next to them talking to her husband in a loud whisper.
“George!” she hissed. “George, do you see who that is over there?”
“Where?” George said, looking up from a stack of vintage maps.
“In the back, by the musical instruments.” George couldn’t see, so he took a few steps toward the back of the store, stopped and shrugged.
“I don’t know, who is it?” he asked, walking back to his wife.
“It’s Peter Tork!” she whispered excitedly.
“Who?”
“Oh come on now, George. You know who Peter Tork is. He was one of the Monkees! Remember?” George looked unimpressed, but Dixie and Johnny had perked up. There was a monkey in this store and they hadn’t noticed.
Dixie went to keep an eye on the man they believed to be a monkey while Johnny paid for another stack of things they didn’t need. Johnny brought the truck around and loaded it while Dixie kept watching Peter Tork. When he looked like he was getting ready to purchase an old mandolin, she raced outside to signal Johnny, who jumped out of the truck holding a net. The two of them crouched down on either side of the antique store’s door, waiting for Peter Tork to exit.
Finally, he stepped outside, and with one quick movement, Johnny tossed the net over Peter Tork’s head. Dixie jumped out from her hiding place and pulled the net down securely over top of the man that they believed to be a monkey, while simultaneously thumping him on the head with a rolling pin she’s bought inside the store. He crumpled to the ground and stopped struggling, so they loaded him into the truck and drove off.
Back at the ranch…
Rex strode purposefully across the lawn of the ranch house toward one of the barns that was serving as a monkey habitat for Dixie and Johnny’s project. The monkeys now took up one full barn, and half of another.
When Rex reached the barn, he carefully opened the main door and slipped inside. A few of the monkeys noticed, but most were preoccupied. A large group was gathered around an old TV that had been set up on one side of the main floor of the barn. They seemed to be watching a TV show about monkeys. A flurry of motion in the hayloft area of the barn caught Rex's attention, and he turned in time to see Xandra leaping down the steps. She crossed the room in a few bounds, leaping into his arms when she reached him. Instinctively, Rex caught her, but as she began kissing him passionately, he tried to extricate himself from her grip.
He finally got her loose and placed her on the floor in front of him. She looked up, batted her eyes, and reached for his hand. Rex took a step back and Xandra dropped her hands to her sides, rebuked.
“Xandra, we can’t keep doing this,” he said, softly. A few other monkeys were looking at them so he walked over to a corner where one of the posts supporting the roof would partially block them from view. Once there, Xandra made a grab for hand again. He pulled away. “This has got to stop. It’s over.”
At that, Xandra let out a shriek and threw herself at Rex, locking all of her limbs around his leg and burying her face into his thigh. He tried to move her gently, but she clung tighter until finally, frustrated, he pulled her sharply by the shoulders, flinging her to the ground. She looked up at him, pleading, but he stood his ground. She got up and attempted to lunge at him again.
“Fuck off, Xandra!” he screamed, knocking her to the ground again while dodging her frantic hands and heading toward the door. She made it to her feet and chased after him, but he managed to get through the door in time, closing and locking it behind him. Rex dusted off his hands as he walked back to the house.
***
That night, Xandra sat on the floor of the barn. It was dark and almost all of the other monkeys were asleep. Beside her sat an old lamp on a barrel, that some monkey had decided to drag in from one of the barn’s storage rooms and make into a table.
Sobbing, Xandra clicked the lamp on and off, on and off, on and off, until the sun rose through the barn’s skylight windows and the rest of the monkeys began to stir.
***
Dixie and Johnny had spent the night in the cab of the truck along with Bo and their new monkey, Tork, who was still wrapped in the net that Dixie and Johnny had used to trap him. The man had woken up from his head injury and asked some confused questions, which Dixie and Johnny answered by explaining that they were offering him the job of a lifetime. Eventually he fell asleep again. He was probably concussed. When Johnny Go awoke, he immediately started the truck and headed off to find some breakfast. By the time he reached the McDonald’s drive through, everyone else was awake.
“Ok everyone,” he said, “Gimme your orders now or be fucking hungry the rest of the day cause we’re not stopping ‘til we get the rest of these typewriters.”
“Pancakes,” Dixie said. “Like four orders. With sausage. And the biggest coffee they have.” As she said this, she reached under the seat and fished out a bottle of rum, twisted off the top, and took a long drink.
“Bo?” Johnny asked. He listened a moment. “Bacon or sausage on the McMuffin?” Bo began to clap his hands wildly and hop from the headrest of Johnny’s seat to his shoulder.
“One of each! That’s what I’m talking about, my man!” Johnny gave Bo a fist bump, then turned to Peter Tork.
“What about you, new monkey? You want anything?”
“My name isn’t monkey. It’s Tork, Peter Tork,” he replied. Dixie gasped.
“Holy shit! Johnny! I can understand him!!!”
“For real?” asked Johnny. “It’s about time. Can you understand Bo?”
“Uh, I don’t think so. Bo, say something.” Silence. “Did he say something?”
“Yeah, he said he doesn’t think you can understand him.”
“Well, he’s right. Damn. I wonder why how come I can understand this monkey and not Bo?”
“I’m not a monkey,” Peter Tork insisted again.
“Ok, ok. Sorry. We’ll call you Tork Peter Tork from now on. Jeeze.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Dixie said, “I’m just callin’ you Tork.”
Back at the ranch…
“Everything ok in monkey town?” Sweaty asked as Rex climbed the steps up to the back porch. Chichay and Sweaty were seated comfortably on the porch swing, sipping iced tea again.
“Yeah, fine, why?” Rex asked nervously.
“No reason,” Sweaty replied, “The Troubs said one of ‘em got out the other day, so I was hoping there wasn’t some kind of uprising happening in there.” Rex let out a little sigh of relief and sat down across from them.
“Yeah, I was just checking the doors for good measure. I poked my head in and they were all just crowded around that TV. It was weird, though, it looked like they were watching a show about monkeys.”
“Oh yeah, they totally were,” said Chichay. “They love that one, Chimp on the Barbie. It’s like a monkey cooking show. They film it on Monkey Pirate Island.”
“They - what? Why do you know that?”
“Rex, it’s my business to know what’s going on around here,” she said, fixing him with a sly smile. “Besides, Sweaty and I reluctantly admit that ever since we found out about it, we’ve been watching it, too.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” admitted Sweaty. “You wouldn’t think it would be good, you know, given what it is, but I’m telling you, once you get past the hamfisted, bordering on malevolent, execution, it’s utterly captivating.”
“It’s on tonight,” Chichay said, as Rex stood up and started heading toward the door. “You should watch it with us!”
“Uh, I have a thing,” Rex called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the house. “But thanks for the invite.” Once he was gone, Sweaty turned to Chichay.
“He’s fucking one of those monkeys, isn’t he?”
“Oh, without a doubt.”
***
Dixie and Johnny stood outside of a gigantic junk store somewhere in the hills of West Virginia. They had hit the typewriter jackpot, and were currently watching as employees of O.R. Dimm’s Junk Emporium loaded every single still-functioning typewriter into the back of the truck. The typewriters were now piled up higher than the cab, and held together by an increasingly complicated web of tarps, ropes and bungee cords.
When the typewriters were loaded, Dixie and Johnny climbed back into the truck. Bo was perched on the headrest above Johnny. Tork was wedged between then, still wrapped in the net.
“Do you think you could take the net off of me?” Tork asked as Johnny started the engine. “It’s a little uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, I guess we can do that. Bo, can you unwrap Tork?” The little helper monkey got to work untangling the net from Tork while Johnny peeled out of the junk emporium’s parking lot. Soon they were blasting down the highway and Tork was finally able to move his arms and legs.
Back at the ranch…
Chichay and Sweaty were curled up in the living room watching the newest episode of Chimp on the Barbie. As the show ended, they became aware of music playing. They turned the TV off and still heard it. Sweaty got up to investigate.
“Chich, you gotta see this,” he said, looking out the back windows of the living room. Chichay got up from the couch and walked to the window. Outside on the lawn, just past the porch, stood Xandra. She was holding an old boombox above her head. Predictably, it was playing In Your Eyes. Chichay chuckled.
“Rex really bit off more than he could chew this time.”
“I know. Does he not realize what happens when monkeys get attached?”
“Rex never thinks with his headbrian, though,” said Chichay, turning and heading to the steps. She stood at the bottom and called up to the second floor. “Rex! You have a visitor!”
Chichay and Sweaty sat down on the couch nearest the windows and pretended to busy themselves with Sweaty’s laptop, which was sitting on the coffee table. Rex appeared a moment later and Sweaty gestured toward the back door. As soon as Rex stepped outside, Chichay and Sweaty turned and watched out the window, ducking behind the couch cushions as much as they could so Rex couldn’t see them.
Out on the lawn, Rex felt a stab of panic in his chest. It quickly turned to rage as he looked at Xandra. She lowered the boombox, setting it on the ground, and smiled at him sadly.
“I told you this was over,” Rex said, trying to control the anger in his voice. “I don't want to see you anymore. Go back to the barn, Xandra.” She looked Rex in the eye and slowly pointed at her stomach.
“What, you’re hungry? There’s food in the barn.” She shook her head, then slowly mimed rocking a baby in her arms.
“Oh come on!” Rex shouted angrily. “How dumb do you think I am?!” With that, he marched over to Xandra, grabbing her roughly by the arm, and began to drag her across the lawn toward the barn. She struggled lightly for a minute, but then turned on her full animal strength, wrenching herself away from Rex and flinging him violently to the ground with one swing of her arm. He crumpled into a fetal position and shielded his head and neck with his arms as best he could.
Xandra stood over him a minute more, then leaned down, kissed him, and scampered off toward the barn.
Inside the house, Chichay and Sweaty laughed as they headed off to bed.
***
“Hey, let’s stop and get some hot chicken,” Dixie exclaimed as they passed a highway sign indicating that they were approaching Nashville.
“Yeah, ok,” said Johnny, “But we’re going to that one outside of town. I’m not going down that bullshit street again.”
“Oh god no,” Dixie agreed. “Too many rubes.”
“Let’s just get it to go.”
A short while later they pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant on the outskirts of town that sold the city’s famous chicken sandwich. Dixie stayed in the truck while Johnny went inside. When he returned, he carried an enormous bag full of food, along with several drink holders stacked up.
Johnny climbed back into the truck, cramming all of the food on top of Tork in the middle seat, threw the car in gear, and peeled out of the parking lot. One of the typewriters crashed onto the ground in the process. He didn’t notice.
“This food is quite hot,” Tork said, shifting to try to keep some of the heat off of his lap. “Aren’t we going to stop somewhere and eat?”
“You got a problem with eating while driving?” Dixie asked as she rummaged in the food bag and pulled out a sandwich. She unwrapped it and took a bite.
“Well, no,” replied Tork, “But I suppose a restroom would be nice, too.”
“Oh god, you’re so needy! Can't you fling it out the window like Bo?" He paused. No one said anything. Johnny sighed. "Ok, fine. We’ll stop at the next outhouse place. But only for a minute. We have a big project that we have to keep on track.”
They pulled into a rest area off of the highway. It contained a parking lot, which was empty, a dilapidated picnic table, and a restroom facility that really was a glorified outhouse. Johnny had not exaggerated. They turned off the truck and got out of the car. They had just set the bag of food down on the picnic table when Tork suddenly broke into a run and headed for the wooded area behind the parking lot.
“Mother cockshake!” Johnny shouted. “Dix, get him!” Dixie was closer, and took off after Tork. She was surprisingly fast, considering how drunk she was, but she closed the final distance when Tork tripped on a tree root. Dixie fell upon him, pinning him to the ground. A moment later Johnny appeared, carrying Dixie’s rolling pin. As Tork began to squirm, she took the pin from Johnny and gave him a swift crack on the head. When Bo appeared, dragging the net, they wrapped Tork up in it again, dragged him back to the truck, and shoved him inside.
They had a leisurely meal at the picnic table while Tork remained unconscious in the truck. They didn’t save a sandwich for him.
Back at the ranch…
Early the next morning, Chichay and Sweaty headed off to take care of whatever restaurant business they had scheduled for that day. Upstairs in the ranch house, Rex was fast asleep. Across the lawn, Sharif and the Troubadour brothers emerged from the small cabin that they shared, ready to start the ranch’s daily chores.
Xandra emerged from a hole in the ground, crawling underneath the wall of the monkey habitat barn. After she wriggled through, she reached back into the hole and pulled out an almost comically large bone. Wielding it as a club, she started off across the lawn toward the house, thumping the bone against her hand as she walked.
When Xandra got to the house, she stalked quietly around the outside, peering into the windows and listening intently. When it seemed that the coast was clear, she tucked the bone club under one arm and swiftly climbed a drainpipe to the second floor. Using the ledge, she carefully made her way around the outside of the second floor until she was peering into Rex’s bedroom window. She watched him sleep.
***
“Uhhhhh,” groaned Tork, struggling weakly against the net. He was still crammed in the front seat of the truck between Dixie and Johnny. Bo was now perched on Tork’s shoulder, feeding French fries to Johnny as he drove.
“It sounds like he’s waking up,” Johnny said. “Dix, might wanna club him again.” Dixie picked up the rolling pin and, in the confined space, managed to thump Tork on the head. He slumped over and was still.
Back at the ranch…
Rex stretched and yawned, rolling over in bed and staring at the ceiling like the man of leisure he was. This was his favorite time of day. He was well rested after the previous night’s escapade and it sounded like he had the house to himself. Sitting up in bed, he smoked several cigarettes before finally getting up and making his way to the bathroom.
Outside on the ledge, Xandra drooled as she watched Rex’s lithe, naked figure leave the room. She quickly scurried along the ledge to the bathroom window where she watched him draw the bath. He turned on the water, tossing bath products haphazardly into the tub, then headed downstairs to make himself some breakfast and coffee. Xandra waited, and while he was gone, she tested the window. It was unlocked, and she was able to slide it open wide enough to climb through. She didn’t, though, preferring the surprise attack, instead.
When Rex returned, he carried a tray with a massive plate of scrambled eggs, a bloody Mary, and a mug of coffee. He placed the tray over the tub and climbed in, sighing as he sat back and began to eat his breakfast. He had just finished his eggs and bloody Mary, and started on his coffee when Xandra made her move.
In one swift movement, she shoved the window open, jumped up on the ledge, and leaped through. She landed on the edge of the tub just behind Rex, and with a ferocious strength, brought the bone club down on his head before he could react to the sound. The blow stunned Rex, but didn’t knock him out. As Xandra wound up for another strike, he turned, looking her in the eyes.
“You stupid monkey cunt!” he screamed, leaping from the bathtub and knocking Xandra to the floor, landing on top of her, his hands on her throat. Her face was a swirl of fear and rage as Rex put pressure on her windpipe, trying to choke the life out of her.
Xandra’s arms groped wildly around her, searching for the bone club. Finally, stretching as much as she could as her vision began to fade, she reached it. Gripping the bone club in her hand, she swung wildly, clipping Rex on the side of the head and knocking him to the floor. In the next instant, she drew a deep breath and jumped on top of him, straddling him and pinning his arms down with her legs. With a triumphant smile, Xandra raised the bone club high in the air, directly above Rex’s head.
***
Dixie and Johnny’s truck lumbered up the driveway and coasted to a stop halfway onto the grass of the backyard. They both hopped out of the truck and were headed toward the house when they remembered that Tork was still tied up in the front seat. They went back for him and saw that he was awake.
“Tork, we’re home. If we untie you, do you promise not to run off?” Johnny asked.
“We will find you and gut you like a budget camel if you do,” Dixie added, flicking open her little pearl handled switchblade. Tork looked exhausted and terrified, but nodded in agreement, then cowered as Dixie approached him with the knife.
“Dude, relax, I’m just getting the net off of you,” she said, cutting some of the net away and stepping aside so Tork could free himself. As he made his way across the front seat of the truck, a loud crash was heard from the direction of the ranch house. Dixie and Johnny looked up in something almost like interest.
“Did you hear that?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, it better not be CHUDs up there,” Dixie said, walking toward the back door of the house.
“Where are Chichay and Sweaty?” Johnny asked, following her.
“Their cars aren’t here,” Dixie said, flinging open the back door. “But where is Rex? It’s too early for him to be off doing whatever it is that he does in the night.” Another thump came from the ceiling above them. They headed toward the steps and made their way to the second floor, where the sounds of a struggle became louder.
The bathroom door was open at the top of the steps, and as Dixie and Johnny walked down the hallway toward it, they could see two bodies struggling. As they got closer, they realized it was Rex and his monkey lady friend.
“Ew, fucking gross,” Johnny muttered, “I don’t want to see this.” He was about to reach in and close the door when Xandra raised the bone club above her head. Johnny gasped and Dixie immediately reached into the bathroom, grabbing a gigantic aerosol can of hairspray. As she did this, Johnny reached into his pocket for a lighter and handed it to Dixie without a word.
Dixie flicked the lighter on, then held the hairspray just behind it, aiming it at Xandra’s back. As the monkey was about to bring the bone club down onto Rex’s face, Dixie sprayed the hairspray, sending it into the lighter, and sending a jet of fire into Xandra.
Instantly, the monkey’s fur caught fire, burning through to her skin. She shrieked and whirled around to see who had attacked her. As she stood, Rex cast aside any dignity that he had and scrambled, naked, wet, and on all fours, across the bathroom floor. He reached the toilet and curled up behind it.
Teeth bared and with a howl of rage and pain, Xandra lunged at Dixie, who calmly sent another blast of fire directly into her face. Xandra reached her hands up to her burning face. Her hands also caught fire, and she wheeled backward, taking several steps across the floor toward the window.
Johnny stepped into the bathroom, grabbing a towel as he did. He reached Xandra, wrapped his hand in a towel, and gave her a quick shove, sending her out the window.
Dusting off their hands, Dixie and Johnny leaned out the window. Below them, Xandra was laying, smoldering, face up. She was impaled on the small fence below. Dixie turned to Rex.
“You’re safe now, loverboy.”
***
Later, Dixie and Johnny sat in the living room with Rex. He was dried off and wrapped in one of his silk kimonos and sipping a small, warm cup of sake. Dixie and Johnny were slugging it directly from the bottle. Bo was in the kitchen preparing a snack. Across the room, Tork sat silently in a chair.
“Of all the monkeys on all the ranches, I hadda bone the crazy one,” Rex said, with a touch of sadness in his voice.
“They’re all crazy,” Dixie said.
“Yeah.”
“No, seriously,” said Johnny. “This happens all the time with monkey-human love affairs. The monkeys form an intense connection that turns into an obsession and often ends in them displaying psychopathic behavior.”
“We tried to warn you,” said Dixie.
“I know, I know,” muttered Rex. “I just didn’t think she’d take it that seriously, you know? No one I’m with ever does.”
“Oh, here we go again,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes.
“Boo hoo, Rex,” Dixie added. Suddenly, from across the room, Tork chimed in.
“When you fuck a monkey, your body makes a promise,” he said, still dazed. Dixie and Johnny looked at one another for a moment, then high fived.
“Fuck yeah!” shouted Johnny. “I already love this monkey!”
***
Much later that night, after Rex had succumbed to his sadness and humiliation and gone to bed, Dixie and Johnny sat on top of the pile of typewriters, which was still in the back of the truck, which was still parked haphazardly on the lawn. They were drinking Schnapps and eating gummy bears and singing Midnight Oil songs when Chichay and Sweaty arrived home.
Chichay took a long look at the truck and sighed, then headed toward the house.
“Looks like the trip was a success,” Sweaty called, following her. They were in the house for only a few minutes when they came back outside and approached Dixie and Johnny on the truck.
“What’s Peter Tork doing in our living room?” Chichay demanded.
“Who?”
“Peter Tork,” Sweaty said. Silence.
“The man in our living room?” Chichay tried.
“There’s no man in our living room, what are you talking about?” Johnny turned to Dixie. “What are they talking about?”
“Guys, Peter Tork is in our living room,” Chichay said, exasperated.
“Tork? Do you mean the monkey we got this week?”
“The-”
“He’s weird looking, but he’s really smart. He’s gonna be a great addition to the typing team. He’s funny, too. You shoulda seen him zing Rex earlier.”
“Yeah, and I can even understand this one!” Dixie exclaimed, happily.
“Oh for godssake,” Sweaty muttered. “Did you guys seriously kidnap Peter Tork because you thought he was a monkey?”
“He is a monkey. A lady at the antique store told us so.”
“No, he’s a human,” Sweaty explained slowly. “She meant that he was one of the Monkees. You know, the band from the old TV show in the sixties?”
“But…”
“You mean…” They were quiet for a minute before Dixie continued. “I guess I can’t talk to monkeys, then, huh.” She looked crushingly disappointed.
“Look, just stay here. Sweaty and I will go and apologize to him. Hopefully he doesn’t press charges.”
***
“Mr. Tork, I’m really sorry that my colleagues kidnapped you. And that they can’t tell the difference between a human and a monkey,” Chichay said, bringing Tork a cup of tea and crouching down in front of him.
“Do you need a ride anywhere?” Sweaty asked. “We feel terrible about the whole thing, so we’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
“Oh, I don’t need to go anywhere,” Tork replied, taking a sip of tea.
“You-what?”
“I’m really enjoying my time here. I don’t need much space, and I don’t eat much, so I won’t be a burden on you. And of course, I’ll help out however I can. I’m not much of a cook, but I play banjo and keyboards.” Tork looked up at Chichay and Sweaty and gave them a smile.
***
“How many monkeys do we have again?” Dixie asked. They were still sprawled on the typewriter pile in the back of the truck. The sun had begun to light the sky.
“Not counting Mel?” Johnny asked.
“Not counting Mel.”
“Or Bo, or Sharif?”
“Right.”
“Well, when we left to go shopping, we had eight hundred fifty, plus Rex said two were born in the barn. So eight fifty two,” said Johnny.
“Except we just killed Rex's girlfriend.”
“But we got Tork.”
“Yeah but Chichay and Sweaty said Tork's not a monkey.”
“So…”
Monkeys Collected: 851
