VIII: Chimpocalypse Now!

It was a warm, sunny day with just the slightest crisp hint of autumn in the air. The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks lounged on the back porch of the ranch house, sipping cocktails. Their little helper monkey, Bo, crossed the back lawn holding a tray of sliders that he’d just grilled up. He placed the tray on the table between them and took the seat opposite. 
“Good sliders, Bo,” Dixie said with her mouth full. Johnny nodded in agreement. 
“You’ve outdone yourself this time, my man.” He reached for a slider and handed it to Bo. “Try one.” Bo took the slider from Johnny and took a small bite. He chewed and swallowed, then nodded vigorously, his face in a wide grin. Johnny was about to take another bite when the phone rang. 
“Ugh, why is the phone always inside?” Neither he nor Dixie moved. The phone kept ringing. 
“And why isn’t anyone answering?” The phone rang some more. 
“Are Chichay and Sweaty at work or something?” 
“What time is it?” After another couple of rings, Johnny stood up. He looked at Bo. “You’re a great helper, Bo, but your inability to speak to humans other than me is really going to limit how high you can climb the corporate ladder.” With that, he walked into the house to answer the phone. Dixie looked at Bo. 
“Don’t feel bad, Bo. I didn’t want to answer it, either.” Inside, Johnny picked up the phone. 
“Yonkers Laundromat, how can I direct your call?” Johnny could be heard saying. He was quiet for a moment, listening. “Oh hey Tommy, what’s shakin’?” 
“You do? How many?
“Fuck yeah, we want ‘em! How soon can you be here? 
“Yeah, we’ll give you cash.” Johnny hung up the phone and returned to the porch. 
“What’d Tommy want?” Dixie asked. Johnny sat down. 
“He came across two hundred forty monkeys in a cargo container he intercepted at the port. Wanted to know if we were interested.” 
“Fuck yeah!” Dixie exclaimed. “When’s he getting here?” 
“Said later today. We’re gonna need Sharif to open up the other side of that habitat in the second barn.” Johnny turned to Bo. “Go find Sharif and bring him back here, will ya?” Bo jumped over the porch railing, then disappeared across the yard. Johnny sat back and crammed another slider into his mouth. 
“We’re getting close, Dix.” 
“Fuck you so hard, Shakespeare.” 

***

The next morning, Dixie and Johnny were sleeping it off on the lawn of the ranch house. They had built a little fortress out of empty beer cans and were collapsed in a heap, partly inside the crumbling structure. The sound of an extremely loud sports car roaring up the driveway, plus the bright mid-morning sun, woke them from their slumber. They sat up in time to see a bright red car skid to a stop on the side of the ranch house. Two men stepped out. 
“Who the hell is that?” Dixie asked, hoarsely. She started feeling around to see if any of the beer cans still had beer in them. 
“We didn’t order any more monkeys, did we?” Johnny asked. 
“I don’t think so. After that one bit Tommy, he said he wasn’t gonna bring us any more, and we don’t really have another guy for it.” The two men walked up the path to the back door. One was wearing a long tunic made of brightly woven fabric. It was low cut, revealing a good deal of chest. He wore loose white linen pants and a pair of leather huaraches on his feet. He had long gray hair that was thinning slightly, but he wore it with the confidence of a rich man, or a murderer. He happened to be both. 
“Dix, dig the albino,” Johnny said. 
The man’s companion was clearly a lot younger, and was covered from head to toe in luxurious, breathable fabrics. He wore a hat with a wide brim and layers of silk draped off of it, completely obscuring his face. He even had on gloves. 
“Why would an albino come to Texas?” Dixie wondered. The man with the long hair knocked on the back door. 
“Koko!” the man called out. They waited a moment, listening. Dixie and Johnny stayed seated on the lawn. The albino crossed his arms over his chest and sighed impatiently. The long haired man raised his hand to knock again, but as he did so, the door opened and a surprised Chichay Milano looked out. 
“Clobber,” she said, stepping out onto the porch, “To what do I owe this… unexpected surprise?” She closed the door behind her and stood with her back to it. By this time, Dixie and Johnny had decided to start creeping across the lawn. 
“Cameron and I had an appointment with a specialist in Fort Worth and I thought, why not stop by to see my dear friend?” Clobber held open his arms and grinned. Chichay looked suspicious. 
“Uh huh. What do you need, Clobber?” He dropped his arms and sighed. 
“Ok fine. I need a connection for some biochem. Mine was… compromised.” 
“And you only have one biochem connection?” Chichay asked, incredulously. 
“Well, yeah. I told you that I’ve scaled back my practice so that I could focus on my transcendental pursuits. I only take a few significant, but lucrative, jobs a year. It’s working out well because I have more free time to spend with Cameron.” Here he reached over for the albino’s hand. The man gave it, then gave Chichay a triumphant sneer, which she could plainly interpret through his veils. Clobber continued, “But the downside is that I haven’t been able to maintain as many suppliers. I have a big opportunity coming up and I need some biochem.” 
“I see,” said Chichay. “And for some reason you think I’m just going to pony up a biochem connection? Instead of, say, finding out what this job is and undercutting you?” Clobber gasped. 
“You wouldn’t! I thought all that was behind us!” 
“Oh, that’s a minor betrayal in the grand scheme of things,” she said with a smirk. Her comment had the desired effect. Clobber lowered his head in shame. 
“I’ll never be able to make it up to you,” he said softly. Having won this round, Chichay decided to cooperate. 
“Look, I don’t want the job, whatever it is. I have a new restaurant to get up and running and a ranch to look after. What chem do you need?” She gestured Clobber and Cameron over to the chairs on the porch and sat down across from them. 
“Without getting too into the weeds here, what I’m looking to do is incapacitate a group of people in such a way that they keep automatically performing their functions without being aware of anything happening around them. Ideally, I’d like something that can be delivered through a ventilation system, and that lasts at least thirty minutes.” 
“So something that mimics, like, a transient amnesia response?” Chichay asked. 
“Yeah, that would do it. I know it’s out there.” 
“Well,” Chichay began slowly, “Funny you should bring this up. I actually think I have someone who can synthesize that for you right here.” 
“Here. As in here on your ranch? Sweaty?” 
“Yeah, he just got something similar worked up for… a client. It might need a little tweaking, but he can make it work. For the right price.” 
“Money’s no object,” Clobber said, eagerly. Cameron gave a bitchy, audible sigh. 
“He ran over to the restaurant to meet a delivery truck, but I expect him back any minute now if you want to wait.” Clobber nodded and Cameron sighed again. 
An awkward silence was about to follow, but by this time, Dixie and Johnny had army crawled across the lawn and arrived, huffing and out of breath, at the porch steps. Chichay looked over, relieved. 
“Dixie, Johnny, come and meet Clobber Spotchick. He’s an old friend of my father’s.” A disheveled and grass stained Dixie and Johnny climbed the porch steps and crossed to the chairs where Clobber and his companion sat. “Clobber, this is Dixie Doublestacks and Johnny Go, my business partners, and the proprietors of Shazbot Industries.” Clobber stood and shook their hands. 
“This is the gay vulture?” Dixie asked, looking at Chichay but still holding Clobber’s hand. Clobber laughed. 
“That was, indeed, my professional sobriquet. These days I am more often known as Baba Vekufa Kwepabonde.” 
“Nice to meet you. I’m known as the Scylla Dentata,” Dixie said. 
“And I’m sorry,” Chichay said, interrupting quickly, looking at the albino man, “Cameron, is it?” She crossed the porch with her hand outstretched. The man looked over at Clobber in a panic. Clobber nodded and the man reached out his gloved hand timidly. His handshake was like soggy spaghetti. 
“Yes, this is my companion Cameron. We met in a Nordic Seidr ritual last year and we haven’t spent more than a day apart since then.” Dixie and Johnny turned and shook Cameron’s hand, as well. 
“Hey,” said Johnny, “Nice to meet you. Keepin’ outta the sun?” Chichay winced, but inwardly thought the little shit deserved a bit of a razzing. 
“Clobber and I were just discussing some business,” Chichay told them.  
“Oh yeah?” asked Dixie, “Johnny and I are the best businessmen we know. We do all the business.” 
“Give it, too,” added Johnny. 
“But why are you having a business discussion without drinks?” Dixie asked. 
“Where’s Bo?” demanded Johnny. “BO!” Chichay just shook her head. A second later the tiny helper monkey appeared at the back door wearing his customary trucker cap. He waited for instructions. 
“Bo, we have guests,” Dixie said, “We’re going to need drinks, and maybe some snacks. Can you bring something out?” Bo clapped his hands and nodded, then hurried back into the house. 
“So you have a little monkey butler, eh?” asked Clobber. 
“He’s a helper monkey,” said Dixie. 
“Primate intelligence is fascinating, isn’t it?” Clobber asked, sitting back. “There’s almost nothing we can do that they can’t. Speaking, of course, but that’s one of the few. It’s a matter of teaching them, but they can learn!” 
“Actually, monkeys can speak to Johnny,” Dixie said. Clobber raised an eyebrow. 
“Is that right?’ 
“Yep, ever since I was a kid,” Johnny replied. 
“Do they make a sound when they speak to you?” 
“Nah, I just kinda know what they’re saying. You know?” There was a pause while Clobber considered this. Cameron sighed. 
“Anyway,” Johnny continued, “We have a little project we’re working on in that vein. That’s how we got Bo. We hired a coupla monkeys from one a those helper monkey places. Rest of ‘em are out in our monkey habitat.” 
“Fascinating,” said Clobber. Cameron sighed. “You know, when monkeys are in the wild, they have very complex social structures, similar to our own in many regards.” 
“Yeah, we went to that one where all the tourists go,” Dixie added. “Monkey Pirate Island.” 
“Ah, yes. I give them credit for trying to educate the public in the ways of the monkey society, but really, aside from running all the attractions on the island, they aren’t in charge. Their leadership will always be second to that of the humans. That’s what led to the uprisings. Do you really think the monkeys would have created a tourist trap of their own accord? Just for profit?” 
“I’unno,” said Johnny, “Why shouldn’t monkeys who have lived in the same society as people not value money in the same way people do?” 
“Yeah, I kinda just lumped it into, like, reservation casinos,” added Dixie. Clobber gave this a moment’s thought, then went off in a different direction. 
“A very interesting contrast to that is a society of monkeys that I observed deep in the Amazonian rainforest when I was on a pneuma vigil. It’s known as Cidade de Deus Macaco. It’s just about on par with humans in that they have a clearly defined ruling class, specific roles for all members of the society. Even a judicial system. They’ve built a whole city-state, right there under our noses.” 
“Is that right?” Dixie asked. “How many monkeys do you think live there?” 
“Well, in the main village, about three hundred. But in the surrounding suburbs they number into the thousands.” 
“You don’t say…” 

One week later…

The small bush plane banked steeply to the left as it circled low over the jungle canopy. The trees formed a solid green blanket across the ground beneath them. Dixie and Johnny gazed out the window, sipping from their flasks. 
A short while later, the little plane bounced down a dirt landing strip that had been hastily hacked out of the trees. It came to a stop, the propellers slowing. The pilot hopped out of his seat and popped the door open, lowering the steps to the ground. He gestured to Dixie and Johnny, who unstrapped themselves from their seats and stumbled along the little plane toward the door. 
When they stepped out onto the airstrip, the pilot was unloading all of the cargo from the hold, piling it up a short distance away. Across the airfield, a rusty pickup truck rattled toward them. Two men in cowboy hats sat in the front, eyeing them suspiciously. Dixie and Johnny stood, looking around. They had no plan beyond this point. 
Eventually, as one of the men from the truck helped the pilot with the freight, the other approached Dixie and Johnny, and in halting English, passable Portuguese, and a lot of hand gestures, they communicated where they needed to go. The man, in return, was able to tell them how to get there, and what they needed to bring with them. He smirked when they told him they had brought nothing along except a small duffle bag full of photocopies of contracts that they hoped to get the monkeys to sign, and booze. The booze was almost gone. 
A short while later, Dixie and Johnny were standing outside of a small mercado,  a pile of gear stacked up at their feet. They had provisions to last them a week, a tent, and a bag of insect repellant, mosquito nets, and long sleeve clothing to keep them from contracting a hideous jungle disease. More importantly, they had a box full of bottles of caium and two machetes. Another rusted pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of them. 
“Para o rio?” the man at the wheel asked. 
“Sim,” Dixie said. The two threw their gear into the back of the truck, then climbed in with it. Johnny knocked on the side of the vehicle and the driver pulled away. 
“First of all, this place was awash in Tex Mex,” Johnny was saying as they bounced along the rutted road, heading deeper into the jungle. “There were three separate places and they all ran Cheech and Chong radio ads.” 
“All of that is garbage,” Dixie replied. “Tex Mex sucks balls. And I'm kinda from Texas. Why is the food in Florida always so disappointing?” 
“I’m telling you, Dix, this place is the worst by such a distinct margin that it's not fair to consider them at all. They have those round tortilla chips!” 
“Like at sports stadiums?” Dixie asked. 
“Yeah!” 
“Disgraceful. 
“Speaking of which, what kind of foods did we end up buying?” 
“I have no idea. I just handed her a wad of money and pointed at the duffle bag.” 

***

The truck came to a stop outside of a dilapidated boat launch. A shack was perched on one end of a creaking wooden pier. The other end of the pier had several boats tied to it, their lines taut against the current. 
The driver reached his arm out of the window and knocked on the door, then motioned for Dixie and Johnny to get out. They did, and while Johnny unloaded the gear, Dixie handed another fistfull of money to the driver. When they had everything piled haphazardly on the ground, the truck drove off. They left everything there and went into the little shack that seemed to serve as an office for the boat dock. 
“Alugar barco, por favor,” Dixie said as they walked in. A man sat on a low stool in the middle of the room. He looked up, and asked them something. They weren’t sure what, but they assumed he was asking where they needed to go. 
“Queremos visitar o reino dos macacos,” Johnny told him. 
“Yeah,” added Dixie, “Para que lado?” The man called over his shoulder, and another man appeared through a darkened doorway. They had a quick conversation in a language that neither Dixie nor Johnny understood. The second man turned to them. 
“Barqueiros no will go to there. Go to different lançamento,” he said. 
“No, we don’t need the barqueiro,” Johnny said, “We’ll just take the boat.” The man looked at him, confused. 
“Quanto custa o barco?” Dixie asked. 
“You go alone?” he asked. 
“Sim.” The two men conferred again, then turned back to Dixie and Johnny. With a wide grin, the man named what he believed to be an astonishing amount of money. Now it was Dixie and Johnny’s turn to talk quietly among themselves. 
“How much does he want?” Johnny asked. 
“I’m not sure,” replied Dixie, “I get confused whenever anyone says big numbers in another language.” 
“Yeah, same. I’m only really good at one to ten. So what should we do?” 
“Let’s just give him a handful of money and start heading toward the boats. If he comes after us, we’ll run. If he doesn’t, then we got ripped off.” 
“What about the gear?” 
“Shit,” she paused, thinking. “We probably don’t need the gear, right?” 
“Probably just the caium. Grab that while I pay these guys. Meet me at the boat.”  
A moment later, Dixie and Johnny set off in a leaky boat. It had a wide, moldy deck, a puttering, straining engine, and a tattered canopy over the back. They had a few bottles of caium, the two machetes, the little duffle bag full of paperwork, and not much else. Behind them on the dock, the two barqueiros gleefully counted a handful of cash. 
Dixie and Johnny piloted the boat up the murky river, heading deeper and deeper into the jungle, sipping caium all the while, and counting down the minutes until they could secure the rest of their monkeys. 

***

Initially, the journey went well. The river passed through several small villages, and each time they arrived they were greeted by enterprising locals seeking to profit off of them. Having brought no supplies, Dixie and Johnny were happy to oblige, and eventually they were decked out in new local attire. Dixie wore a skirt made of woven grasses and so many layers of beaded necklaces that she no longer wore a shirt. Johnny wore only a hand-dyed loin cloth and a tattered t-shirt from Giovanni’s Shrimp Truck. 
They bought food each time they stopped, always assuming it would last them until the end of their journey. It usually only lasted until the next village. Neither could remember having eaten so well. They did manage to pick up a surplus of caium, and they were intrigued by how the liquor varied by village. 
“You know,” Johnny said, “This is turning into a nice little river cruise.” He was lounging in a hammock that was stretched between the posts of the canopy, using his foot to steer. Dixie was sprawled out on the bench that ran along one side of the boat, looking up. Every now and then a sliver of sky could be seen through the jungle canopy. 
“After we got back from Monkey Pirate Island, I was pretty sure I never wanted to be cooped up on a boat ever again. But this isn’t really like a cruise. It’s more like a road trip. Cruises are for assholes and old people.” 
They kept drifting along with the current. The sounds of the jungle were deafening. Bugs the size of birds landed on them. They were too drunk to care. Finally they arrived at a village where the locals seemed to be trying to tell them something. 
“What are they saying?” Johnny asked, as he took several bottles of caium from an old lady on the dock. 
“I think something about how there’s no more villages after this.” Dixie took a basket of fish wrapped in large banana leaves from another lady on the dock and handed over some money. Johnny stood on the side of the boat. 
“Does anyone speak English?” he shouted. The group all nodded eagerly. 
“Apparently they all do,” Dixie muttered. 
“We are looking for the kingdom of the monkeys,” Johnny said loudly. 
“Reino dos macacos,” added Dixie. Several people nodded again. 
“Who can tell us how to get there? Onde é o reino dos macacos?” Johnny asked. Several people looked scared and took a step away, but one man came forward. 
“I know the way,” the man said, “But it is cursed place. You no should go.” 
“Cursed, eh?” said Dixie. She traded a handful of bills for a bunch of small cakes. She handed one to Johnny and then turned to the man. “Tell us more.” 
“People go. Sometimes they no come back. Sometimes come back crazy.” 
“Crazy how?” Johnny asked. 
“They are being monkeys. Fighting and yelling. Not talking.” 
“Oh, is that all?” 
“Is very bad,” the man warned. “Stay here our village.” 
“Listen, Mac,” Johnny said, “We’d love to stay because we love this shit you put in the fish, and these little cakes are the best I’ve ever had. But we’re about a hundred and fifty monkeys short of our goal here, and we need to get a move on. We heard these fuckers are smart, so we want to hire as many as we can.” 
“But we’ll stop by on the way back,” Dixie said, noncommittally. 
“You no come back,” the man shook his head. 
“Ok, fine, we probably won’t,” Dixie said, “I was just trying to be nice. Now can you give us directions?” 

***

“If these monkeys were so advanced, why didn’t they make their kingdom along the river like the humans?” Johnny asked. He and Dixie trudged through the jungle, using their machetes to hack away at the thick growth. They had left the boat by the river and were following the vague directions provided by the villagers. 
“Yeah, they’re never going to be the apex predators at this rate,” Dixie muttered. It had grown dark, so she and Johnny stopped to find a place to hang their hammocks. 
“Weird how it’s never really light out here, but you can definitely tell when it’s nighttime,” Johnny commented as he hacked some vegetation off of a tree trunk and looped his hammock around. 
“Yeah, this’d be a great place for that albino lover to live. We’ll have to tell him about it when we get back,” Dixie said, climbing into her hammock with a bottle of caium. She wrapped the hammock around her and was soon fast asleep. Once in his hammock, Johnny hummed a few verses of a K-Pop song, and fell asleep, as well. 

***

The next day (or possibly many days later) Dixie and Johnny continued their march through the jungle. They admitted that they were lost, but were still confident that they were close, and would find the monkey kingdom before long. 
“I hope these monkeys have some better food than just what grows in this jungle,” Johnny said. “I’d kill for a restaurant.” 
“Yeah, maybe they have a pizza shop,” Dixie said. She reached for a weird looking jungle fruit and pulled it off of its branch. She was about to take a bite when a movement up ahead caught her eye. “Did you see that?” Johnny Go had pulled another piece of fruit down. It was covered in ants, and he frantically shook them off. 
“No, I was trying to get these ant fuckers off my fruitball. What happened?” 
“I don’t know, I just think I saw something. Might’ve been the jungle meshugas setting in, though.” 
“Yeah, I’m starting to feel that, too.” They walked on for a bit. Jungle meshugas or not, Dixie kept her eyes peeled. Eventually, she saw it again and stopped. Johnny crashed into her, but looked up once he did. 
“What is it?” he whispered. Dixie silently pointed to a large tree. About halfway up, a monkey clung to one of the branches, holding a spear and looking down. 
“It’s right there,” she said. “It’s looking at us.” 
“I don’t see it,” Johnny said, too loudly. The monkey let loose the spear, and it flew through the air, landing just to Johnny’s right. He gasped. “Mother shit bagels!” 
“It’s a hunting monkey!” Dixie cried, as the monkey jumped from that tree to the one next to it, and started making its way through the jungle canopy. “Follow him!” 
They ran frantically through the jungle, hacking wildly with their machetes as they went, trying their best to keep up with the monkey. It had the advantage, of course, being a monkey, but Dixie and Johnny were determined. 
“Monkey!” Johnny called through panting breaths, “We don’t want to hurt you!” 
“We just want to visit your village!” 
“Take us to your leader!” They kept running, but eventually the distance to the monkey grew until they weren’t able to see it anymore. They sat down to rest. 
“Damn it.” 
“Maybe it’ll come back.” 
“Yeah, should we just take naps while we wait?” 

***

The next day (maybe?) Dixie and Johnny again marched through the jungle. They weren’t sure how much the previous day’s chase had taken them off course, but they kept walking in what they assumed was the right direction. They were out of caium and sick of jungle fruits. 
“This is bullshit.” 
“Tell me about it,” Johnny said, “I’m fucking sober.” 
“Where’d that little shit from yesterday go?” 
“I don’t know. He’s gotta be around here somewhere, right? I mean, how big can this jungle be?” They walked a bit longer. 
“Fuck it,” said Dixie. “Let’s hang up our hammocks and take a nap.” They hacked a clearing into the trees and tied up their hammocks. They were each about to climb in when they noticed a monkey on the narrow path ahead of them. 
It was walking slowly, carrying the bodies of several capybara and a large white crane on a long pole resting on his shoulder. The monkey wore a decorative headpiece and a woven belt. Dixie and Johnny immediately started following the monkey. 
They tried their best to be quiet, figuring that if they followed this hunter monkey, he would lead them back to the village, but within a couple of paces, they started crashing through the brush and hacking frantically at it as all manner of insects landed on them and vines attached to their limbs. The hunter monkey turned, spotted them, and took off at a loping run. Dixie and Johnny gave chase. 
“Monkey!” Johnny shouted, “Wait!” 
“We just want to go to the village!” Dixie yelled. This time they seemed to have the advantage. Burdened with the spoils of his hunt, the monkey was unable to take to the trees. On the ground, he was still quick, but Dixie and Johnny were able to keep up. 
They rounded a bend in the all but invisible path that the monkey had been following. Johnny was almost at the monkey’s heels, with Dixie just behind him, when Johnny’s leg became entangled in a small bush and he pitched forward. As he did so, his machete tumbled out of his hand, flying forward and embedding itself into the monkey’s back. With a grunt, the hunter monkey hit the ground, lifeless, with the equally lifeless bodies his prey scattered around him in a bizarre jungle tableau. 
Dixie, who had been a few steps behind Johnny, skidded to a stop, panting. She looked from Johnny, to the monkey, to the other dead animals, then back, as Johnny made his way to his feet. 
“Nice one,” she said, giving him a hand, “But I think the monkey’s dead now.” 
“Yeah, that sucks. He could have shown us the way to the village.” 
“I think it’s ok, actually,” Dixie said, pointing, “This is a path. It’s hard to see, but there’s definitely a path here. Should we just follow it?” 
“Yeah,” said Johnny, pulling his machete out of the monkey’s back and rolling him over. “But don’t you think we should do something with this monkey first?” 
“You mean eat it?” 
“I’m fucking starving. And anyway, this is a wasted monkey now that we could have used on our project. Might as well get something out of it.” 

***

The next morning, Dixie and Johnny made their way along the jungle path. They were well rested and full of delicious barbecued monkey. Johnny wore the monkey’s belt and jewelry, and carried the monkey’s head proudly on one of the monkey’s own spears. Dixie dragged the dead capybaras and crane along behind her, intending to give them to the monkey villagers as a gift. 
Eventually they arrived at a small clearing. Across it they could see a group of small huts built around an open space at the center, with a large raised platform at one end. Atop the platform was a tall, throne-like chair. 
“Hey, we found it!” Johnny exclaimed. 
“Looks kinda like that penguin village, doesn’t it?” 
“Remember when we thought those penguins were monkeys?” Johnny asked. He started to laugh. Dixie followed, and soon the two had to sit down. They laughed for a solid fifteen minutes, then stood up and continued toward the village. 
When they arrived at the edge of the village, they could see the raised throne, and behind it, the river. 
“Son of an intergalactic whore,” Dixie exclaimed. 
“You mean we could have sailed here?!” 
“I will napalm the shit out of those villagers for not telling us.” They walked into the village and had just reached the open area in the middle when there was a rush of movement, and the sound of screeching and howling. Hundreds of monkeys poured out, seemingly from nowhere, and surrounded Dixie and Johnny, their teeth bared. Dixie and Johnny immediately held up their hands in a gesture of surrender. Johnny held up the spear with the hunter monkey’s head on it, and the crowd of monkeys fell silent. 
They glanced at each other nervously, as every monkey dropped to its knees in an act of reverence, bowing low to the ground, hands outstretched, foreheads pressed to the dirt. Johnny nudged one in the front with his toe. The monkey looked up. 
“Hey man,” Johnny said, “Can you take us to the leader or whatever?” He paused and listened a minute, then turned to Dixie. “Dix, you’re not gonna believe this.” 

Back at the ranch…

Sweaty Mulligan was on the roof of the ranch house, a large antenna in his hand and a long spool of cable running from it. He had on a tool belt, a pair of safety goggles, and wore a pair of homemade noise cancelling headphones. A small box at his feet was covered in dials, levers and little jumping needles reading sound waves and volume. 
Sweaty attached the new antenna to the existing one and started fusing wires together with a soldering iron. Periodically he would stop, placing his hand to his headphones, to listen. He checked the little box, fiddled with the knobs, and listened again. He adjusted the antenna, checked the box, listened. This went on for far longer than one would have imagined, but Sweaty was nothing if not a perfectionist. 
He just about had the frequency where he wanted it, and took one final listen on his headphones. He stopped, pressing his hands to the headphones. He looked down, concentrating. A look of confusion, then concern, then horror, spread over his face. 
“I watched a monkey that looked like a Mel Brooks character crawl along the edge of the eyebrow tweezers. That's my dream; because it is the human dream. Monkeys as actors, eyebrows steeply and dramatically shaped, hair coiffed… and surviving.” 
Sweaty Mulligan pulled the headphones from his ears. 
“CHICHAY!!!” 

***

“Clobber? It’s Chichay. Listen. After you were here last month, Dixie and Johnny went off in search of that Amazonian monkey kingdom you mentioned, and we haven’t seen or heard from them since. It’s not really unusual for them, and we wouldn’t have been concerned at all except yesterday, Sweaty was up on the roof installing an antenna so that he could listen to the live call of the Mah Jong finals. 
“What? No, he finds it soothing.” She paused, annoyed. “Can I finish? Thank you. He was installing this antenna and he picked up a radio broadcast that we’re pretty sure was Johnny, talking about how he’s the ruler of the monkey kingdom now.” She listened again, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder. 
“Well if all you have to do to become the king is kill and eat the current king, then I think it’s likely he really is the king of the monkeys. I mean, it’s possible he even did it accidentally. So I think Sweaty and I need to head down there and try to extract them before they do anymore damage. Can you give me directions?
"No, Sweaty and I will be able to take care of it, you don't- I mean, if you want to, fine. We’ll meet you there." 

***

Chichay Milano, Sweaty Mulligan, and Johnson and Wang Chung Troubadour stepped out of the same tiny bush plane that Dixie and Johnny had taken weeks earlier. This time a shiny black Humvee stood waiting. As they gathered their gear from the plane’s hold, the Humvee’s door opened and Clobber Spotchick stepped out. 
He had traded his shaman look for jungle fatigues and had an impressive weapon strapped to his thigh. He waved brightly as they crossed the runway. 
“Welcome to the jungle, gang,” he said as they reached the truck. Clobber strode to the back and opened the hatch so they could stow their gear. 
“Nice ride,” Sweaty said. 
“Thanks. One of the perks of having my reputation,” he said. Chichay rolled her eyes and climbed into the back seat. After loading the bags, the rest followed, with Sweaty getting in the front passenger seat. 
“Don’t get used to it, though,” Clobber continued, once they were all in the truck. He started the engine and drove slowly off the airfield. “We can only go a few hours up the river before we run out of road. Once we hit the last village, we transfer to an MGD.” 
“An MGD?” Johnson asked. 
“Military Grade Dugout,” Chichay clarified. 
“It’s the boat of choice for jungle warfare,” Sweaty added. They made their way out to the main road, which wasn’t much of an improvement on the airfield. 
“Cameron not with you?” Chichay asked Clobber, just to make conversation. 
“Oh no, he's not a very adventurous boy when it comes to the outdoors.” 
“I can see that.” 
“Indoors he has the voracious appetite for exploration of a young Peter Fleming.” 
“Ew.” An awkward silence followed. Clobber smirked. He enjoyed it. 

***

Clobber pulled the Humvee off the road in a small riverside village. It was the end of the road. The group gathered their things and made their way toward the river, where several boats were tied up to a rickety dock. Locals rushed at the group from all sides, hawking food and handmade goods. They bought a few things while Clobber scanned the crowd, looking for his contact. Eventually he spotted him sitting near the dock. 
“I’m going to talk to my guy,” he told Chichay. “Meet me at the dock.” 
“Sure,” Chichay replied, lifting her bag up onto her shoulder and beginning to inspect a few beaded necklaces that an older woman was holding out. 
A short while later they were all in the MGD. Clobber was at the helm, piloting the craft upriver. Chichay sat near him, hoping to go over the plan. 
“Did you rent this boat?” she asked. 
“Well, I paid them enough money that they think I bought it,” Clobber replied. “But obviously when we’re done, I’m just gonna give it back to the village.” 
“That’s decent of you.” 
“Chichay, one thing I’ve learned as I’ve delved deeper into transcendentalism is that we’re all connected. We all have to work together to make it in this world.” 
“It took becoming a shaman for you to figure that out?” 
“Look, I’ll admit that for a long time I was a singularly focused person, and both my focus and my person were shitty. But you have to give me credit for trying.” 
“Sure,” she replied, “But how do you square that with the fact that you still take the occasional robbery or assassination job?” 
“I mean…” he looked sheepishly at her, “I gotta eat, right? Anyway, I’m phasing that out. Seriously. By this time next year I’m going to be completely out of the game.” 
“Well, I’ll believe that when I see it.” 
“What about you, then?” he asked. “You’re always on the moral high ground, especially when it comes to me. But you’re still taking jobs, too.” 
“Clobber, the assassin game was something I only got into so that I could be closer to my father. When he died - when you killed him - I didn’t have any reason to continue, but it was all I had. It’s all I knew how to do, but it’s always been a job for me, not an identity. And once I met Sweaty, I didn’t really want to do it anymore. So, yeah, I’m phasing it out, too.” Clobber was drinking some kind of local drink. He raised it to Chichay, who raised her bottle of water in kind. 
“To moving on!” he said. 
“To moving on,” she replied. 
Later, Sweaty Mulligan sat next to Chichay at the rear of the MGD while Clobber continued to navigate the river. Chichay and Sweaty shared one of the little cakes that they bought at the last village. 
“So Dixie and Johnny,” Clobber said, “They do this kind of thing often?” 
“Well, yes and no,” said Sweaty. “Shenanigans like this? Yes. But honestly I've never seen them have this kind of sustained focus before.” 
“Yeah, I haven’t known them as long as you,” Chichay added, “But this is the longest they've ever committed to anything. Usually they’d have gotten bored and wandered off by now.” 
“Remember when they were supposed to be looking for Captain Corona?” 
“Corona? That loser is still around?” Clobber asked. 
“Well, he was,” said Chichay. “Remember when Miami was nuked?” 
“Yeah. Are you saying…?” 
“We mighta, sorta… given a nuke to Corona,” she said. 
“He’s like, the most unstable person in the universe. I mean, the gators?” Clobber said, incredulously. “Why would you give him a nuke?” 
“He had something of ours,” Sweaty said, simply. “It was a trade.” 
“The point is that Dixie and Johnny were looking for him, and they bailed the minute they found a bar. This project has been different. They really hate Shakespeare.” 
“Yea, honestly it’s weird that this is the first time they’ve been distracted to the point where they’re not working on it.’ 

***

They turned and headed up a tributary. It was narrow and murky, and at times, the Troubadour brothers had to help pole them out of the muck. Eventually the waterway opened up a bit more and they cruised easily again. The jungle became strangely quiet and everyone felt tense, as if something big could happen at any moment. 
Up ahead, they could see the edges of a village, with the remnants of temples that had been built by humans of long ago. A great stone arch marked the entrance to a small harbor. Monkeys sat all along the ledge and watched as Clobber piloted the MGD through the entrance. They stared, fiercely, as the boat passed through. 
“This is fucking creepy,” Sweaty said. Chichay had started strapping weapons onto her body. In the front of the boat, the Troubadour’s began packing up a backpack with some tools. Clobber was the only one who didn’t look scared. 
“I’ll give you that it’s a lot quieter than the last time I was here,” he said softly, “But otherwise, everything looks about the same. They do seem pretty hostile, though.” 
“Where do you think they are?” Chichay asked. 
“There’s a palace,” Clobber said, pointing straight ahead. “See those steps? It’s the building at the top of the steps. The king has the easiest in and out access to the kingdom. So he can be spared if they were to be attacked.” 
“How often does that happen?” 
“Well, they’re the only advanced monkey tribe here, so they’d only be attacked by humans. All the humans in the area think this place is cursed and stay away. Old habits die hard, though, so this tribe still has a top regiment of soldiers.” 
They neared the place where a set of stone steps rose up from the water. At the top of the steps was the palace, which was really no more than a stone hut. The water snaked around the building on three sides. Clobber got to work tying the boat while Chichay conferred with the others. 
“Ok, I think Sweaty and I should go in alone at first. I’m not sure what their mental state is at the moment.” 
“They sounded certifiable on the radio broadcast I heard,” Sweaty said. “More so than usual, anyway.” 
“We’ll head in and try to convince them to leave with us,” Chichay said. “If we’re not back in an hour, Johnson and Wang Chung, you should try to make your way around the building and see what happened. If we look like we’re in trouble, signal for Clobber and the three of you figure out a way to terminate Dixie and Johnny’s command. With extreme prejudice.” Everyone nodded in agreement. Chichay and Sweaty climbed out of the MGD and made their way up the steps. 
“Vá com Deus,” Clobber muttered as they left. 
They made their way to the top of the stone steps and came face to face with a ferocious line of monkeys, armed with spears, sticks, and slingshots. Their faces were painted with red, blue, and black paint as if they were headed to war. Chichay and Sweaty stopped, staring. 
“Now what?” Sweaty asked. 
“I don’t know,” Chichay replied, keeping her eyes locked on the monkey army. Before they could act, Johnny’s voice rang out from the stone doorway of the palace. 
“Chichay! Sweaty!” he called, “Did you guys come to be demigods with us?” Chichay and Sweaty looked toward the doorway and saw Dixie and Johnny, decked out in their royal gear, which was essentially what they had on earlier, but now with crowns made out of the bones and teeth of dead monkeys and with what appeared to be soda can pull tabs. Johnny had a small black bearded saki perched on his shoulder. 
“Uh, hi guys,” Chichay said, “Hell of a spread you’ve got here.” 
“Tell me about it,” Johnny said, “One minute we’re walking through the jungle, the next minute we’re pretty much gods.” 
“It’s the role I was born to play,” added Dixie. 
“This is Mel, by the way,” Johnny said, pointing to the monkey on his shoulder. Chichay and Sweaty watched as the monkey worked his fingers through Johnny’s hair, styling it. On closer inspection, it appeared that Mel had also styled Dixie’s hair. Johnny walked to the line of monkey soldiers and gestured for them to part and allow Chichay and Sweaty to pass. 
“So what are you guys up to? Did you hire these monkeys for your project?” 
“Oh that,” Dixie said, dismissively. They all made their way toward the door of the palace, “I mean, that’s fine, but we’re gods now. Shakespeare’s got nothing on that.” 
“Come into the palace and have some fruit cocktail,” Johnny said, walking toward the doorway. He had a crazed look in his eye. More than usual. They reached the door and Johnny whirled around. 
“Tell me, Sweaty, Chichay, have you ever considered any real freedoms? Freedoms from the hairstyle opinions of others... even the style opinions of yourselves?

***

Back at the MGD, time was passing slowly. The monkeys remained motionless, staring at Johnson, Wang Chung, and Clobber. Clobber seemed unconcerned. 
“These monkeys are really freaking me out, man,” Johnson whispered. 
“I know. They aren’t anything like Sharif or Bo, or even any of the monkeys we have in the habitat.” Behind them, Clobber began sharpening a machete. 
“I don’t want to have to kill these monkeys,” Johnson said. 
“Well maybe we won’t have to,” said Wang Chung. “Maybe Chichay and Sweaty’ll just be able to convince Dixie and Johnny to come back with us.” 
An hour later, though, they had not returned. To make matters worse, Clobber had nodded off at the helm of the MGD. Johnson and Wang Chung were about to try to wake him up when they heard a commotion coming from the stone hut palace. Without thinking, the Troubadours grabbed their gear and jumped into the river. 

Meanwhile…

Dixie and Johnny had finished giving Chichay and Sweaty the tour of their palace. It was really just two rooms with a stone walkway running around the outside, overlooking the water. The side that faced the village contained a throne on a raised platform where Johnny sat for several hours each day, drinking caium and being groomed by Mel. The throne platform seemed to have been turned into a salon, because it was full of monkeys picking at and styling each other’s hair. 
They walked back to the front of the palace and the steps down to the river. The monkey soldiers still stood at attention. 
“So, guys,” Sweaty said cautiously, “We need to get going…” 
“Are you sure you don’t want Mel to give you a cut?” Dixie asked. “You really could use a freshening up.” 
“Uh, no…” said Sweaty. He nervously touched his head. 
“What we really need is for you guys to come with us.” Chichay braced herself for what she assumed would be an outburst. Johnny sighed and strode to the top of steps, looking out over his kingdom with his back to them. 
“Sweaty, Sweaty, Sweaty…” he began. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re nothing but a helper monkey sent by the cosmetologists to collect a bill?” He whirled around and faced them. 
“Johnny, listen-” 
“Look at this monkey,” Johnny shouted, pointing at Mel perched on his shoulder. “Look at him! Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And look at the rest of you, with your boring hair full of jungle detritus. And these monkeys. They utilize their primordial instincts to style themselves. There’s nothing I detest more than the stench of bad hair!” 
As Johnny ranted, the army monkeys began to reposition themselves. They circled around Chichay and Sweaty, spears pointed at them, teeth bared. Chichay and Sweaty began backing away, hoping to flee down the stone steps toward the boat. 
“You have no right to judge me!” Johnny screamed. Several of his army monkeys turned and began facing off with one another. “You are enemies to be feared. You are truly enemies! I remember when I was with Special Forces... seems a thousand centuries ago. A pile of hair clippings! I thought, my god! The genius of that. And I remember... I... I... I cried, I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my perm out and shave my head and start over; I didn't know what I wanted to do! And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it... I never want to forget!” 
By now, the monkey army had been whipped into a frenzy and some had started to fight one another. From across the village, the cosmetologist monkeys arrived and the brawl increased. Sweaty and Chichay were still looking for an escape; the monkeys were between them and the steps to the river. 

Meanwhile…

The Troubadour brothers moved slowly through the murky river water. They attempted to stay completely submerged, and were using primitive reeds as breathing tubes. The reeds doubled as blowguns, and each had a bundle of darts in his pocket, with brightly colored feathers and sharp tips doused in a sedative. 
They reached the far side of the palace hut and climbed the steps, dripping and creeping their way toward the commotion. They peered around the edge of the palace and watched as the monkey army began fighting while Dixie looked on disinterestedly. Johnny ranted while Chichay and Sweaty, hands on machetes, looked for a way out. 
“Ok, wait until you have a clear shot,” Wang Chung said, loading a dart into his pipe and aiming at the chaos across the way. “And try not to hit Chichay or Sweaty. Even if we take Dixie and Johnny down, we’re gonna need to get through that monkey army if we wanna get out of here.” As Wang Chung spoke, Johnson loaded up a dart and aimed. He took a deep breath and blew. 
The dart sailed through the air silently, landing directly in Dixie’s neck. She absently swatted at it like it was a bug, then a moment later grew woozy and collapsed in a heap on the ground. Johnny was still screaming and so no one noticed. 
“I’ve seen horrors… Horrors like your haircut!” Johnny shrieked. He had grabbed Mel and was clutching him tightly under one arm. “HORROR HAS A HAIRCUT!” 
Thwack! A dart landed in Johnny’s arm. He stopped and looked down, quiet for a moment as he assessed how this injustice had occurred. As he did so, he noticed Dixie. Johnny was about to command his monkey army to attack this unseen enemy when Johnson jumped from behind the palace, unleashing a gigantic net and hurling it through the air. The net landed on top of Dixie and Johnny, knocking Johnny to the ground and trapping Mel under the net with him. 
“Go go go!” Wang Chung shouted as he and Johnson raced toward the fallen royalty. Chichay and Sweaty assessed the scene and immediately understood what had happened. They reached down and quickly gathered the net, wrapping Dixie, Johnny, and Mel up. Johnny struggled against the net, gnashing his teeth and spitting. 
“Johnson, quick, poke him with another one of those darts!” Sweaty shouted. Johnson took a dart from his pocket and jammed it unceremoniously into Johnny Go’s ass. He struggled for a moment longer before passing out. 
“Ok, we’re gonna have to get through this monkey fight,” Chichay said, pulling the machete out of her belt. “You guys grab the net and get behind us, Sweaty and I will fight our way through.” 
And so, Chichay and Sweaty brandished their machetes and began hacking at the monkey riot that was raging before them. Blood, guts, fur, and carefully styled hair flew through the air as they went. For the most part, the monkeys were attacking whatever was in front of them, and there were far more monkeys than there were our heroes, so they escaped relatively unscathed. Dixie and Johnny sustained a lot of bruising as they thumped down the steps, but eventually they made it back to the MGD. 

***

“Help me lift them onto the boat,” Sweaty called to the Troubadours. Chichay stood guard at the front of the boat in case any of the monkey army attempted to follow. Once the bundle in the net had been tossed onto the deck, Sweaty called out to Chichay and with a quick hop, she was on the deck, hacking at the ropes with her machete. 
“Tell Clobber to start the motor,” she called over her shoulder. 
“Clobber isn’t here,” Sweaty replied, racing to the back to start the motor. 
“What?!” Chichay called. A vicious army monkey arrived alongside the boat and jabbed furiously at Chichay with his spear. She hacked his arm off while using her foot to push the boat away from stone dock. Another monkey ran toward them and jumped onto the deck. Chichay swung her machete skillfully at the monkey, knocking the spear out of his hand. She shoved the machete into his chest, then lifted him over the side of the boat, scraping him off. He dropped, lifeless, into the water. 
“We don’t have time to look for him,” Chichay said, beheading another monkey that had landed on the boat. “He’s on his own!” Just as a large group of monkeys had started jumping into small canoes and rafts, the MGD’s motor roared to life. Sweaty swung the boat around and pointed it toward the stone entrance to the river. 

***

They crossed into the river and pushed the motor as much as they dared, until they were sure that they monkeys weren’t able to follow. On the deck, Dixie and Johnny were starting to stir. 
When she finally felt comfortable taking her eyes off the river behind her, Chichay walked over Dixie and Johnny and pulled the net off of them. They struggled to sit up, while Mel hopped out right away and began exploring the deck of the boat. The Troubadours walked over and sat next to Dixie and Johnny. Sweaty continued to pilot the boat back toward the village. 
“Well, you guys really caused a scene back there,” Chichay said. “That village was a powder keg that could have blown at any time. You’re lucky we got you out.” 
“Do you think Clobber’ll be ok?” Wang Chung asked. 
“I mean, he’s trained for this,” Chichay said, looking back toward the village. “And the way he fancies himself a shaman, I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” They sailed in silence while Dixie and Johnny tried to wake up from their drugged state. 
Suddenly, Mel hopped up to the group. With a look of pride on his perfectly styled face, he handed Chichay the neatly severed head of Clobber Spotchick. Johnson and Wang Chung gasped, and both leaned over the side of the boat, vomiting into the river. Dixie looked up quizzically at Chichay, holding the head, and rolled her eyes. 
“Why is everyone always giving you severed heads?” 

Monkeys Collected: 850