XIII: Hamlet

The sifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks woke up in the foreman's office of their factory outside of La Paz. They were extremely hungover, and a pile of half eaten Anticucho skewers sat on the desk, the grease congealing onto a pile of papers. Dixie fished around for a bottle of Huari and cracked it open, taking a long sip before passing it to Johnny, who did the same. A few minutes later they managed to stand, and made their way to the window that overlooked the factory floor. 
Below them was a large open room filled with row upon row of typewriters. At each typewriter sat a monkey, plucking away at the keys. Some monkeys seemed to be chatting with one another as they typed. Some were smoking, and a cloud of cigarette smoke hung over the room. 
They continued to watch, passing the beer bottle back and forth, until a knock on the door interrupted their reverie. Johnny turned to the door, looking surprised. Dixie didn’t move. 
“Come in,” Johnny croaked. The door opened slowly and a small monkey holding a piece of paper hesitantly poked his head in. “Claudius, what do you have for us?” The monkey stepped into the office, eyeing the mound of beef hearts on the desk as he did so, and handed the paper to Johnny, who took it and glanced at it. 
“Well,” he said, handing the paper to Dixie. She still hadn’t stopped staring out the window, so he gave her a shove. She turned and took the paper. 
“What’s this?” she asked. 
“Progress report,” said Johnny. “Claudius brought it up. By the way, Claudius, help yourself to a heart stick if you want.” 
“There’s like, one full word on this,” Dixie said, “And it’s Cincinnati. I’m pretty sure that’s not in Hamlet.” Claudius gestured anxiously. 
“Claudius is right, though, Dix. It’s an improvement. It’s an actual word, and this paper isn’t covered in feces.” 
“I guess,” Dixie said. She went back to the couch and flopped down, throwing her legs over the arm. 
“You’re doing a great job, Claudius. I say stay the course. Now here, take some of these and eat ‘em before you get back to the floor, otherwise we might have a rebellion on our hands.” Johnny pulled a skewer out of the pile and handed it to Claudius, who quickly left the office. Johnny opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out another bottle of beer. The whole drawer was full of beer. He opened the bottle, then sat back in the desk chair, propping his feet up on the desk, very close to the meat. The bottoms of his feet were filthy. 
“Dix, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” 
“If you’re thinking that running a monkey typing center is hard work and really fucking boring, then yeah.” 
“How long have we been here?” 
“Well, it took two days to get set up, and then Sharif and Bo left. Then Tork left like a day after them… so, I don’t know? Six months?” 

[Let the record show that it has been one week.]

“So we need a break,” said Johnny. 
“We do!” cried Dixie, sitting up. 
“Where should we go?” 
“I don’t want to travel all day,” said Dixie. 
“Ok, so what’s cool and close to where we are?” 
“Where are we again?” 
“South America, I think?” Johnny inspected the label on his beer bottle, turning it sideways to read the smaller print. It poured out onto the floor. “Ah, that’s right! We’re in Bolivia.” 
“What’s that close to?” 
“I’unno. Look on that shelf over there. Maybe there’s a map.” Dixie stood and walked to the bookshelf where, indeed, she found an old atlas. She brought it back to the couch. Johnny opened two more beers and sat down next to her. 

Four hours later…

The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks woke up on the couch in the foreman’s office of their monkey typing factory outside of La Paz. Johnny looked around, confused. Dixie immediately reached for another beer. 
“What were we doing?” Dixie asked. 
“I’unno,” Johnny said. He spotted the atlas. “Oh, were we looking for something?” 
“Maybe. Why’d we need a map, though? We know where everything is.” 
“Yeah, we usually do.” He picked up the atlas and flipped through it. “Man, running this fucking factory is hard work. We need a vacation.” 
“Yeah!” cried Dixie. “Where should we go?” Johnny looked down at the map. 
“I think we’re in South America. Isn’t that where Brazil is? Wanna go there?” 
“I haven’t been to Brazil in years,” Dixie said. “What’s that stuff we used to drink there? Comes in the jug with the rope handle?” 
“Oh, uh, what’s that shit called… Fire water...” Johnny cracked another beer while he thought. 
They were quiet for a few minutes until suddenly they both sat up and exclaimed in unison: “Pinga!” 

***

Dixie and Johnny clomped down the rickety wooden steps from the office, each wearing vacation clothing, which consisted of flowing cotton pants and a button up shirt, mostly unbuttoned, for Johnny, and a shockingly short dress for Dixie which showed a substantial amount of cleavage, but was also so brightly colored that it was hard to look at for a more than a few seconds. They had a straw tote bag filled with bottles of beer and no other luggage to speak of. 
“Claudius!” Johnny shouted as they reached the bottom of the steps. “Where is Claudius?!” The general shrieks and chatter that usually filled the typing floor quieted, and soon only the clack of typewriter keys could be heard. From across the floor, a flurry of activity announced the arrival of Claudius. 
He was the most organized and well respected of the monkeys at the factory, and so had assumed the role of supervisor, albeit informally, almost immediately on their arrival. Most of the monkeys agreed that he had a presence and commanded respect, if not a little bit of fear. However, whether they liked him or not, most of the monkey typists were happy to have Claudius be the intermediary between them and Dixie and Johnny. Especially Dixie. 
Claudius slid to a stop in front of Dixie and Johnny and bowed deeply, then clasped his hands together, signaling that he was all ears and ready to listen. 
“Claudius, Dix and I are gonna pop over to Rio for some R&R. We’ve been working really hard and just feel like we need a break. I’m sure you understand. While we’re gone, you’re in charge of the whole operation, ok?” Johnny listened to something that the little monkey apparently said, then responded. “Oh, probably for a week or two and then we’ll be back. I’m sure you can handle it.” The monkey nodded. 
Dixie reached into the straw beer bag and pulled out a somewhat rumpled paper crown, like the kind they give to kids at Burger King. She handed it to Johnny, who placed it on Claudius’s head. 
“There you go. Now hold down the fort until we get back, ok?” He patted Claudius on the head, and he and Dixie rushed out of the factory to catch their flight. 
As soon as he was sure they were gone, Claudius climbed up onto a nearby table and surveyed the room. He placed his hands on his hips and cleared his throat.  

***

Two monkeys stood in the rough, weedy field behind the factory. Each had a shovel, and they took turns digging a pit in the ground. Gunter, the smaller and smarter of the two, mostly stood above the pit, leaning on his shovel and looking down while his partner, a gorilla known as Monopoly Man due to his predilection for top hats, did most of the digging. 
“So they’re really gonna put Ophelia in the burial ground? Even though she did herself in?” Monopoly Man said over his shoulder. 
“Obviously. I mean, they told us to dig her grave, didn’t they?” 
“I know. I guess I’m just surprised. It goes against the beliefs of most of the monkeys here.” 
“Yeah, well, never underestimate how those at the top get to make their own rules, my boy,” Gunter said. As he spoke, Monopoly Man’s shovel hit something solid in the ground with a thump. He dug around a little and eventually lifted a skull out of the dirt. He held it up so Gunter could see. 
“Whose do you think this is?” he asked, tossing it out of the pit. It rolled a little way from Gunter, who walked over and picked it up. 
“Not sure. Coulda been Alfred. Decomp is about right.” He tossed the skull across the field and wandered back to the pit while Monopoly Man resumed digging. “We’re running out of room in this burial ground, though. Either our kind has gotta stop dying, or we’re gonna need to move to a bigger facility.” 
“Well, moving’s not happening,” said Monopoly Man. 
“Exactly. And we’re not doing so good on the staying alive thing, either. Thanks for nothing, Ophelia.” 
“Why do you think she did it?” Monopoly Man asked. 
“She was monkey-shit fucking insane, is why!” Gunter exclaimed. 
“But she wasn’t always,” replied Monopoly Man. “When we first got here, she was one hundred percent compos mentis. Was one of the best typists, too.” 
“Now that you mention it, she was, wasn’t she?” 
“It wasn’t until, like, a month or so ago that she started to lose the plot.” 
“Hmm. Right around the time her dad died.” 
“Oh, that’s right! Speaking of Polonius, I guess we gotta watch out so we don’t dig him up while we’re working on a grave for his kid, huh?” Monopoly Man turned and looked at Gunter and both monkeys laughed. “You know, that’s also about the same time Hamlet dumped her.” 
“I don’t know, man. No one ever substantiated that particular bit of gossip,” said Gunter, dismissively. “Just cause Gertrude the magnificent had her eye on Ophelia as a daughter in law doesn’t mean the kids were on board.” 
“Well, I saw ‘em doin’ the deed,” said Monopoly Man. “That enough substantiation for you?” 
“You did?” asked Gunter, loving the gossip. 
“Oh yeah. A few weeks back when I had just transitioned off of night shift. I couldn’t sleep, so I went out to the yard to get some air. As I’m strolling along the back of the building, I hear some grunting. I knew what it was, of course, but not who and, well, curiosity got the better of me.” 
“And it was Hamlet and Ophelia?” 
“Hardcore Amateur Chimps Goin’ At It.” 
“Damn.” 
“Indeed. Then a few days later, he’s over there picking lice off of that tart Darlene and Bobcat and McMillian are talking Ophelia off the roof.” 
“Well, there’s your answer about the burial,” Gunter said as he stood up. “Looks like you got it under control, Double M. I’m gonna go check today’s totals and sneak in a nap before my shift.” 

***

Monopoly Man was putting the finishing touches on the grave when two shadows fell across him. He looked up to see two regal chimps standing at the edge of the grave, looking down. 
“Good day, sir,” Monopoly Man said with a tip of his hat. Hamlet and Horatio looked from him to the ground surrounding the grave, which was now littered with the bones and skulls of quite a few more monkeys. 
“Good day,” said Hamlet. He gestured to the ground. “What are all these skulls doing here?” 
“These skulls, sir?” asked Monopoly Man, innocently. 
“Do you see any other skulls?” he asked, impatiently. 
“Only those that reside within our flesh,” replied Monopoly Man. He began to climb out of the pit. 
“Answer the question, oaf,” demanded Horatio. 
“Sirs,” said Monopoly Man, “The factory has sad occasion to conduct another funeral today. I was tasked with digging the grave, as I often am. Due to limited space, some of these skulls will need to be, uh, relocated.” 
“Relocated where?” 
“The open sewage river at the end of the road.” 
“That’s disgraceful!” shouted Hamlet. 
“Yeah, well, not much we can do about that,” said Monopoly Man as he started to gather up the skulls. “Monkeys keep dying, we’re running out of space in our humble burial ground.” 
“Something could be done,” insisted Hamlet. 
“Sure,” said Monopoly Man as he started to shuffle off, “We could just chuck the dead ones straight into Caca River. Save my back from having to dig all these graves.” 

***

“Who do you think it was that died,” Hamlet asked Horatio. The two were sitting under a scrawny tree that was just clinging to life near the factory wall. 
“No idea,” replied Horatio. “When I left to go get you, no one was dead. I was gone, what, five days? Want me to run inside and ask around?” 
“Nah, it looks like they’re gonna start the service soon. Isn’t that Jesus XL?” He pointed to a Bonobo wearing a robe and carrying a small book who was making his way across the courtyard toward the burial ground. The two watched as the priest monkey took his place at the head of the grave and waited. After a moment, a small but regal looking group emerged from the factory and somberly made their way toward the burial site. Behind them, several burly monkeys acted as pallbearers, carrying a body on a board, covered in a shroud. Bringing up the rear was a large group of rank and file factory monkeys. 
“Is that…?” Hamlet asked, trailing off. 
“Your mom, Claudius, and Laertes,” Horatio said. 
“Ophelia,” Hamlet whispered. He got to his feet and before Horatio could say anything to stop him, set off across the yard toward the grave. 

***

At the graveside, the group of mourners gathered around the pit. They stood silently as the monkey Jesus XL, in his role as factory priest, performed a brief ceremony. It was nowhere near the amount of pomp usually lavished on a dead monkey. When he finished, the group stood silently, uncertain if they should be expecting anything else. 
“Is that it?” asked Laertes, finally. 
“This is as many rituals as I’m permitted to perform under the circumstances,” the priest replied. 
“The circumstances?” Laertes asked, his voice rising. Gertrude reached out and placed a comforting hand on Laertes’ arm. He shook her hand off angrily and took an aggressive step toward the priest, but stopped short and looked unbearably sad. “There must be some other ritual you can do.” 
“I’ve done everything I can,” the priest said softly. 
“Fine,” said Laertes, “Put her in the ground.” He turned and took a step away from the grave, gesturing to the pallbearers as he did so. They lifted the board holding Ophelia’s body, but Laertes turned and spoke before they could move. “Know this, you quack priest! Despite what you say, my sister will be an angel in heaven while you’re still toiling here in hell on Earth.” 
“Take these flowers, my sweet, sweet girl,” said Gertrude. She picked up a handful of flowers and scattered them about. Some landed in the grave, some of the body of Ophelia. “Oh, how I wish these flowers were for your wedding to my Hamlet.” She stepped back and nodded to the priest, who nodded to the pallbearers, who started to lower Ophelia’s body into the grave. Suddenly, Laertes held out his hand. 
“Wait!” he cried. “Let me hold her in my arms once more!” With that, Laertes jumped into the grave. He landed roughly on his knees and fell onto his side. He rolled over in the dirt with his face pressed down. 
“Laertes!” cried Gertrude. 
“Just bury me in here with her. I can’t go on.” 
“Oh please,” said a voice from the graveside. Those standing turned to look at Hamlet approached. A gasp went up from the crowd of mourners and busybodies standing a short distance away. Hamlet looked down at Laertes in the grave. “Whose grief is it that bears such an act? Whose sorrow conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand like wonder-wounded hearers? Mine!” Hamlet jumped into the grave, landing beside Laertes with a thump. 
“Oh, fuck you, Hamlet!” Laertes cried, jumping to his feet. He and Hamlet faced off in the small space of the grave. 
They were still and silent for a short moment before lunging at one another, grappling and scrambling, each trying to get the upper hand. 
“Take your hands off my throat, man!” shouted Hamlet. “I’m fucking crazy and you know it!” Laertes kept his hands locked on Hamlet’s throat. At the graveside, Claudius rolled his eyes, then looked at the pallbearers. 
“Pull them apart,” he said, simply. The pallbearers set Ophelia’s body down gently, and two started to climb into the grave as Hamlet and Laertes continued to fight. 
“Hamlet!” Gertrude cried, wringing her hands. The pallbearers began trying to pull the two monkeys apart as Horatio arrived at the graveside. 
“Bro!” he yelled, “Fucking chill, man!” The pallbearers managed to separate them, but both monkeys struggled, trying to free themselves to continue their fight. 
“Let me at him!” shouted Hamlet, “I’ll fight this piece of shit until I don’t have the strength to go on!” 
“Hamlet, my son,” said Gertrude, “Why are you treating Laertes like this? He had nothing to do with sweet Ophelia’s death.” 
“I loved Ophelia!” Hamlet shouted up to his mother. “If you added up all the love of all the monkeys on Monkey Pirate Island, it wouldn’t equal the love I had for her!” 
“Ok, he’s fucking crazy,” muttered Claudius. 
“Give him a break,” said Gertrude sharply. “We’re all shocked that Ophelia has passed, and we all deal with grief in our own way.” 
“Except for some of us, it’s merely a performance,” spat Laertes. Hamlet lunged at him, nearly breaking free from the grasp of the pallbearer. 
“And what, you’re going to lock yourself in your dorm? Stop eating? I loved her!” Hamlet shouted. Then he turned and cast a sharp stare at Claudius and his mother. “And I’m the crazy one. Isn’t that right?” 
“That’s enough,” said Claudius. “Pull them out and escort Hamlet back to the dorms.” He turned and stormed off, with Gertrude looking helplessly between her son and her husband a few times, then sadly following her husband back to the factory. 
When Hamlet had been pulled from the grave, Horatio stepped up, helped him to his feet, and ushered him away. Laertes alone remained at the graveside to supervise the burial of Ophelia. 

***

Later, Hamlet and Horatio sat along the concrete sewage canal, their legs dangling over the crumbling side. The smell was horrible, but life was weird and they were getting drunk. They passed a bottle of liquor back and forth. 
“You did a good job of acting upset today,” said Horatio. 
“I am upset.” 
“Not as much as Laertes.” 
“Well, Ophelia is his sister,” said Hamlet. 
“Yeah. I always thought there was something up with them,” Horatio said. “Maybe a little niblin’ siblin’s, if you know I mean.” 
“Dude, come on,” said Hamlet. Horatio just shrugged. After this, they were quiet for a long while until Hamlet finally spoke again. 
“This is my fault, isn’t it?” He asked. Horatio stared across the drainage ditch and didn’t answer. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” 
“What’s there to say?” Horatio said, after taking a long drink from the bottle and passing it back to his friend. “You killed her dad and she went crazy. Why’d you do that, anyway? You know we have to keep a thousand monkeys here. We’re pretty close to not having enough as it is.” 
“He was in the shower. I couldn’t see through the curtain and I thought it was Claudius,” Hamlet said simply. He passed the bottle back to Horatio. 
“So the word around the factory is that she drowned herself right here.” Horatio gestured to the drainage ditch. 
“Fuck. In Caca River?” Hamlet asked, horrified. 
“Uh huh.” They were quiet for a long time, sipping and passing the bottle back and forth. Finally, Horatio spoke again. “You ever square this with Laertes?” 
“I tried. He won’t talk to me,” Hamlet said. Horatio nodded. 
“You know, he’s probs gonna challenge you to a duel later.” 
Hamlet shrugged. “I’d win.” 

***

Inside the factory, Claudius and Gertrude sat in the foreman’s office, high above the factory floor. The blinds were drawn and the lights were low, but the incessant clack of typewriters still filled the air. Gertrude sat on the couch, her head in her hands. Claudius sat at the desk, staring off into space. A sharp knock on the door shook them both from their reverie. 
“Yes,” barked Claudius. The door opened slowly and Laertes entered. He looked devastated as he stood in the doorway, his head hanging low. Claudius nodded sharply to Gertrude, who stood and approached Laertes. She took his hands in her own, bringing them briefly to her lips. Then she quickly left the office. 
“Have a seat,” Claudius told Laertes, pointing at the couch. When he was seated, Laertes locked eyes with Claudius and the two stared at one another for a long, tense moment. 
“You could have prevented this,” said Laertes, finally. “You could have prevented all of this.” 
“I know it seems that way,” Claudius said. “And I’m sure these won’t sound like good enough reasons to you, but I beg you to try to see if from my perspective. For one thing, his mother. She loves him and is devoted to him, despite his flaws. And I’m devoted to her in the same way. I can’t be without her. 
“Second, while I’m obviously the supervisor here, it’s Hamlet who really captured the hearts and minds of the workers. If something were to happen to him, and it was in any way suspected to be foul play, or, god forbid, that I had a hand in it, there would be an uprising. A full blown riot. I fear I wouldn’t survive.” 
“I see. And so because of these… considerations… I’ve now lost both my father and my sister. And what have you lost, Claudius?” 
“Laertes-” 
“It doesn’t matter,” Laertes said. “I’ll get my revenge.” 
“Now, now, Laertes. Give me some credit. That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Claudius. Laertes looked at him with something almost like interest. “I have an idea.” 
“Go on.” 
“The only way that we can take out Hamlet while still keeping the peace here at the factory, and without causing an irreparable rift between Gertrude and myself, is for an accident to befall him.” 
“I don’t know,” Laertes said, skeptically, “I think the masses will be suspicious no matter what. Especially once word gets out about what happened today at the burial ground. And Hamlet’s mother might not suspect you, but she’ll be devastated.” 
“That she will,” Claudius said. “But an accident is an accident. Is it not?” 
“Oh,” Laertes said with a sigh. “What do you propose?” 
“Ok, we both know that Hamlet is pretty competitive.” 
“He’s a fucking nightmare.” 
“Indeed. So tomorrow, in the spirit of forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation, you propose a friendly game of darts.” 
“Darts? What kind of darts?” 
“Those big lawn ones.” 
“Ok,” Laertes said slowly. 
“You play a few rounds and then, on one of your turns, your dart accidentally hits our boy wonder.” 
“That’s your plan?” 
“Well, the dart is poisoned. Did I forget to mention that?” 
“You did.” 
“Sorry,” Claudius said. He reached into his desk drawer and took out a small glass vial topped with a cork. He placed it on the desk before he continued. “Anyway, your darts will have poison tips. All you need to do his hit Hamlet once. Barely graze the skin and he’ll be done.” 
“What if I can’t hit him?” 
“Oh for shitsake,” Claudius snapped. “The game was banned on every continent. It shouldn’t be that hard to hit him!” 
“Look, I’m just making sure we consider all the possibilities.” 
“You somehow think I’ve gotten this far in life by not planning for every eventuality? Son, I don’t tie my shoes without a plan B!” 
“You don’t…” muttered Laertes. 
“Excuse me?” 
“Nothing.” 
“Can I finish?” 
“Yes. Sorry, sir.” 
“Thank you. As much as I don’t sell your talents short in the way that you do, I planned on also poisoning a drink so that, in the event you miss, I will simply invite Hamlet to partake of a beverage as a reward for his talent.” 
“How is that going to look like an accident?” 
“We’ll blame Dan the Sheet Pan Man.” 
“The chef?” 
“Sure, why not? I’ve been making him work a typing shift every day in addition to his cooking shift. It’s not so unbelievable that he’d have an axe to grind and want to get me out of the way. The drink would obviously have been intended for me.” He paused there and gave Laertes a chance to think it over. After a long while, the monkey looked up and nodded. 
“Fine,” he said. “When do you want to do this?” 
“Tomorrow afternoon. Meet me here and we’ll send that fool messenger to inform Hamlet that he’s to meet us in the courtyard.” Laertes nodded, but stayed seated. Claudius began shuffling papers on his desk, and looked up at Laertes after a few moments. “If there’s nothing else, I have a lot of work to do.” 
Silently, Laertes got up and left the office. 

***

The next day, Hamlet and Horatio sat side by side at typewriters at the far end of the factory floor. They liked the far corner because they could talk without being overheard, and they could easily see when Fitzwater, the supervisor, was on his way over to check up on them. They typically put minimal effort into their typing, but as it was early on in the project, it didn’t matter. 
“So you never told me,” Horatio said, “Why did you actually end up coming back here?” 
“Oh, because the whole thing about going to Colombia for supplies was bullshit.” 
“Wait, what? I thought that place was legit.” 
“It is. And when Claudius told me to go, I figured anything was better than staying here with him, and with Ophelia looking at me all teary eyed every time I saw her. But then Claudius sent those two fucks Crantz and Stern along with me. Supposedly in case I needed assistance.” 
“But?” 
“But, he also sent them with a letter. The letter instructed the head cartel monkey over at Isla de Los Micos that, as soon as we arrived, he was basically supposed to execute me.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Horatio exclaimed, turning away from his typewriter to look at Hamlet directly. 
“I wish I was. Height of treachery, right?” 
“Yeah what the fuck. So what happened?” 
“I bought ‘em both a bunch of beers at one of those roadside places, and once they passed out, I went through their stuff. When I saw the letter, I tore it up and wrote a new one. In the new one, I told the cartel monkey that they were planning to try to infiltrate their operation and take it over by force. I said that they should be killed, and that any assistance he could provide to get me back here would be much appreciated.” 
“Shrewd. What happened to Crantz and Stern?” 
“I’unno,” Hamlet shrugged. “Bottom of Uru Uru, I guess.” 
“Wow,” said Horatio. 
“Yeah, but like, fuck those guys. We used to actually be cool back on MPI, and they totally threw me under the bus that is my Uncle Claudius. They got what they deserved, far as I’m concerned.” Hamlet poked listlessly at his typewriter for a few minutes. 
“Your uncle really is a bastard, huh?” Horatio asked. 
“Between that and murdering my dad, usurping his job, and making a whore out of my mother, yeah. So anyway, the whole way back here I kept thinking of ways I would get revenge on him. I figured it’s time, you know?” 
“I can’t believe you waited this long.” 
“Well, shit kept coming up.” 
“You almost did that one time, though, right? What stopped you?” 
“Eh, that time he was praying and I felt bad.” As Hamlet said this, he looked across the typing floor to see two monkeys walking toward them. “Heads up, Fitzwater and Eagle Eye Edward at nine o’clock.” Both monkeys immediately got work looking as busy as possible until the management moved on to another part of the room. 
“Man, those guys are intense,” Horatio said after he and Hamlet were alone at their typewriters again. 
“It wouldn’t be like this if my father was here,” said Hamlet. 
“You don’t think?” 
“Of course not. Claudius is only in charge because he killed my father, who was the highest ranking monkey on MPI. If he was still alive, he’d totally be in charge of the typing room, and Claudius would be just another typing monkey hack.” Horatio was doubtful of this fact, but chose to say nothing, and for a while they typed in silence. They didn’t talk again until their union-mandated lunch break, when they shuffled through the cafeteria line, collected their lunch trays, and went outside to the courtyard to eat. 

***

Hamlet and Horatio had just started eating when they were interrupted by an irritating fool of a monkey called Osric. He rushed up and stood before him, a picture of toadying. 
“Sirs,” Osric said, bowing slightly. 
“What do you want, Osric?” Hamlet asked, his mouth full of lunch. Horatio looked up at the monkey, but said nothing. 
“Welcome back, my lord,” Osric said, bowing again. 
Horatio leaned over and whispered to Hamlet, “Why is he calling you that?” 
“Because he’s a nerd who was recruited from a Renaissance Fair,” Hamlet whispered back before turning to Osric and saying, “Yeah, thanks. Again, what do you want, Osric?” 
“Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from His Majesty,” said Osric. 
“His Majesty? You mean Claudius?” 
“Aye, my lord.” 
“Why does he talk like that?” Horatio asked, loudly this time. 
“I told you.. Renaissance Fair,” said Hamlet. “Ok, Osric, what’s the message?” 
“My lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a great wager on your head. Sir, this is the matter—”
“A wager?” 
“His majesty?” muttered Horatio, “You think Claudius is a king?” Orsic ignored his comment and spoke again to Hamlet. 
“Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes, believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most excellent differences, of very soft society and great showing. Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry, for you shall find in him the continent of what part a gentleman would see.” 
“I know who Laertes is,” said Hamlet, “What is your point?” 
“Sir?” said Osric, confused. 
“What the hell is he talking about?” asked Horatio. 
“I have no idea,” said Hamlet before turning back to Osric. “Osric, why are you telling me about this monkey?” 
“Laertes, sir?” 
“YES!” 
“I know you are not ignorant—” Osric began before Horatio interrupted by standing up as if to leave. 
“Forget it,” he said, “We’re trying to enjoy our lunch break here and we don’t really want it interrupted by your excessive words. Let’s go, Hamlet.” Hamlet climbed to his feet and Osric looked panicked. 
“My lord,” he said quickly, “The king, sir, hath wagered with him six Barbary horses, against the which he has impawned, as I take it, six French Lawn darts and targets with their assigns.” 
“Wait, are you saying that my uncle wants me to play Laertes at lawn darts? And he’s bet on me to win?” 
“The king, sir, hath laid that in a dozen passes between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you three hits. He hath laid on twelve for nine, and it would come to immediate trial if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer.” 
“What if I say no?” Hamlet asked. 
“I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial,” said Osric. 
“Ok look, Horatio and I have about three hours left in our shift. We were planning to hang out in the courtyard before dinner, anyway. If Claudius wants Laertes and I to play a round of lawn darts, set it up in the courtyard and we’ll be here.” 
“Shall I redeliver you e'en so?” 
“I have no fucking idea what that means, but tell Claudius and Laertes whatever you want. I’m sure you’ll add a ton of unnecessary flourish and they won’t know what the hell you’re talking about, anyway.” Hamlet turned and started to walk back into the factory with Horatio. 
“I commend my duty to your lordship,” Orsic called after them. 
“Whatever,” Hamlet said without turning around. 
“Crazy bird,” Horatio said as they went to return their lunch trays. 
“Crazy bird who’s only half-hatched,” said Hamlet. 
“What the fuck was he talking about when he said “Barbary horses”, anyway?” Horatio asked. 
“Oh man, I know. I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about so I just kinda responded and hoped I got it right.” They laughed, and made their way back to their typing stations to finish out their work day. 

***

When their shift had ended, Hamlet and Horatio went out to the courtyard and sat down in the shade, watching the bustle of monkeys moving here and there, ending their day or starting it, socializing or taking some time to themselves. A short while later, a small howler monkey named Kimia, who worked most of her time as Gertrude’s assistant, appeared before them. 
“Hamlet,” she said. He looked up at her and she continued. “Your mom will be out here in a minute, but she told me to tell you that she wants you to talk to Laertes before the game. Politely.” 
“Yes, I’m sure she’d love that,” Hamlet said. 
“She figured that you’d say that, and she said to tell you she’s serious.” 
“Ok,” he said. Kimia looked skeptical. “Look, I promise I’ll talk to him before the game, and that I won’t let it get heated. Happy?” Kimia nodded and headed off to assist Gertrude. Horatio watched her go, then turned to Hamlet. 
“Bro, you’re gonna lose this bet.” 
“No way, I’m good at lawn darts. Never had an accident yet.” 
“You don’t think there’s something suspicious about Claudius saying specifically that he’s betting on you, though?” 
“Why, cause he hates me? He’s also super into money. And winning. Dude has no loyalty. He’d definitely back me over Laertes if he thinks I’ll win.” 
“He hates you and he loves to win, and he’s proven time and again that he doesn’t play fair. I think this is a trap.” 
“Oh come on,” said Hamlet. “How could it be a trap? We’re playing out in the courtyard. There’ll be a ton of people watching, what do you think he’s gonna do? Look they’re setting the targets up now.” Across the courtyard, two monkeys were measuring out the distance and placing the large, circular targets on the ground. A third monkey was unzipping a duffle bag and taking out the cartoonishly large plastic darts with the sharp metal tips that had caused so many tragic injuries throughout the globe.  
“I don’t know, but I think you should bail. Want me to tell Claudius that you aren’t feeling well?” 
“‘Ratio, I’m not gonna skip out on a challenge here because you’re having female monkey intuition.” Hamlet got up and started across the courtyard toward the game site. 
“Fine,” said Horatio, “It’s your funeral. Probably.” 

***

The monkeys had set up a small table and two chairs alongside the lawn dart game for Claudius and Gertrude, and placed a selection of drinks and snacks out for them. On one side of the makeshift pitch, Laertes stood, doing stretches and warm up exercises. Hamlet and Horatio sat on the other side, waiting. 
From across the courtyard, the factory door opened and Claudius and Gertrude exited, accompanied by several of their monkey assistants. As they made their way toward the game site, Hamlet decided to go and have the polite words with Laertes that his mother had requested. He didn’t want to do so without witnesses. 
“Laertes,” he said, “I want to apologize. I had no reason to treat you like that yesterday, or to belittle your grief in the way that I did.” 
“Apology accepted,” said Laertes. Hamlet looked relieved, but Laertes continued, “But know that I cannot forgive you so easily. So while I will pause my desire for revenge, you still killed my father, and contributed directly to the death of my sister. One apology isn’t going to fix that.” 
“I guess that’s all I can hope for,” Hamlet said, holding out his hand. Laertes shook it, quickly. Hamlet turned to see Claudius and Gertrude seated alongside the game pitch. Gertrude was smiling with relief. “Well then, shall we get our friendly game of lawn darts started?” 
“Might as well,” said Laertes. He looked at the darts lined up along the pitch and pointed to the red darts. “I call red.” 
“Fine by me,” said Hamlet, “Blue looks better with my fur anyway.” They collected their darts and made their way to opposite sides of the pitch. As they did, Claudius rose from his chair. 
“We’ll be playing by Moldovan intermediary rules,” he said, “Alternating throws. Direct hits to the target are worth one hundred points. In the event of a direct hit, the winner will be determined by the highest number of points scored. If neither player hits the target, the winner will be determined by whose dart landed closest to the target. Are you both clear on the rules?” 
“Yes sir,” replied Laertes. 
“Yes, Uncle,” said Hamlet. 
“Excellent. Before we begin, I’d like Dariusz and Valerian to pour some drinks for Gertrude and myself. That way they won’t be in the way or cause a distraction once we’ve started to play.” He nodded to two small spider monkeys, who scampered up and began setting out drinks, an ice bucket, and uncorking another bottle so that Claudius and Gertrude could refill their drinks when they wished. 
When the monkeys had prepared a drink for each Claudius and Gertrude, Claudius dismissed them with a nod of his head. He then grabbed two more glasses and poured a second pair of drinks, setting them toward the edge of the table. Only then did he signal for the game to begin. 

***

Hamlet walked to his side of the pitch and selected a blue dart from those he’d lined up earlier. He turned and faced Laertes, who was standing at the opposite end of the pitch, a short distance from the circular target on the ground. Hamlet held the dart in his left hand and swept it back behind him, then brought it forward sharply. He released the dart, sending it up into the air. It arced gracefully before landing a few inches outside of the target. He nodded, satisfied with this first attempt. 
Laertes stepped up to the pitch holding a red dart. He, too, aimed, sweeping his arm back and sending the dart up into the air. The dart sailed forward and landed about a foot to the left of the target, and several feet away from Hamlet. On the sideline, Claudius grimaced. 
“Not bad for a first round,” Claudius called. “Though I expected more from both of you, to be honest.” 
‘We’re just warming up, Uncle,” Hamlet said, reaching for his next dart. As he did so, Claudius reached into his pocket, palming the small vial of poison that he’d taken from his desk drawer. Swiftly, he popped the cork and splashed two drops into one of the cups sitting at the edge of the table. Beside him, Gertrude kept her eyes glued to Hamlet as he stepped back and wound up, releasing his dart faster this time. It sailed across the pitch and landed inside the target this time, although just barely. Hamlet pumped his first and retreated a safe distance from the target. Gertrude lifted her glass in a toast and drained it in one sip. 
“Well done, Hamlet!” Claudius called. “Come and have  a drink to celebrate that beauty of a shot!” 
“Not now, Uncle,” Hamlet called. He was focused on Laertes and watched as he stepped up to take his second shot. He pulled back and was about to release when he heard a gasp from the sideline. From the corner of his eye, Laertes saw Gertrude reach for one of the cups sitting at the edge of the table and take another long sip. 
“Gertrude, no!” he said, almost shouting. She gave him a questioning look. 
“Why not?” 
“Uh,” Claudius stammered. It was too late. “I poured that for Hamlet.” 
“Well, pour him another after Laertes takes his turn. There’s plenty to drink. Go on, Laertes!” she called. Laertes, realizing it was too late, released the dart. 
It was a wild throw, but while it missed the target by a significant margin, it grazed Hamlet’s arm, drawing a small amount of blood. 
“Yo what the fuck, dude!” Hamlet shouted, grabbing his foot. 
“Sorry, man!” Laertes called. Angry, Hamlet picked up the red dart that Laertes had just thrown and hurled it back across the pitch. The poison tip hit Laertes in the foot. He looked down, stunned. 
“Oh no,” Laertes muttered. He was about to reach down and pull the lawn dart out of his food when, on the sideline, Gertrude stood up suddenly, grabbing her throat. 
“The cup!” she croaked. “Oh my dear Hamlet! The cup! Poison!” Then, as if in slow motion, she made a choking sound. Her eyes bulged. Then, with a cry of pain, she collapsed on the ground. 
“Mother!” Hamlet shouted. Claudius had already rushed to her side. He cradled her in his arms, rocking back and forth, begging her to wake up. Hamlet took a few steps toward her, but a sharp cry from across the pitch drew his attention. Laertes was also down. 
Hamlet sprinted across the pitch and reached Laertes as he gripped his chest in pain. He crouched down beside him. 
“Laertes,” Hamlet said, inspecting his foot where the dart had hit him. “This is only a superficial wound. What is it?” 
“I’m a rat caught in my own trap,” Laertes croaked. “I’ve been killed by my own treachery! The tips. The tips are poisoned.” With a final shriek of pain, Laertes died. Hamlet looked up, stunned as Horatio approached. 
“How’s my mom?” he asked, getting up. Horatio put out his arm to stop him. 
“She’s gone, Hamlet.” Hamlet turned and saw Claudius on the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around Gertrude. He let out a howl of anger and pain, which shook Claudius from his own grief. 
“Friends!” he called, looking frantically toward the gathering crowd of onlookers. “Friends, I am hurt but not dead. Protect me from this psychotic monkey!” Alas, no one moved, and even Horatio’s attempt to stop his friend was half hearted. Grabbing the last red dart, Hamlet ran across the pitch and tackled Claudius, knocking him apart from his mother and pinning him to the ground. 
“You fiend!” he screamed, straddling Claudius, who squirmed frantically trying to escape. “You’ve taken everything from me!” Claudius was about to protest when Hamlet raised the dart above his head and plunged the poisoned tip through Claudius’s throat. 
His expression was stunned, and he immediately became still. Hamlet stood up and staggered to the table, picking up the poisoned cup and returning to Claudius. 
“Finish your drink,” Hamlet said. He leaned down, pried the monkey’s mouth open, and poured in the rest of the drink. Claudius gasped, coughed, and died as the poisoned drink bubbled out of the hole in his neck. 

***

Hamlet stood up unsteadily and looked around, finding himself face to face with a large group of factory monkeys who had finally gotten the courage to take a closer look. 
“Treason!” cried a macaque called Ripper. A cry went up from a group of monkeys around him, and they started advancing on Hamlet. He swayed back and forth, the poison quickly draining the life from him. 
“What are you talking about!” he cried as loudly as he could. “Claudius poisoned me! And he poisoned Gertrude and Laertes in the process!” He slumped to his knees and Horatio arrived by his side. 
“Back off!” Horatio shouted to the advancing monkeys. He picked up a lawn dart and waved it, but it didn’t seem to do any good. The monkeys kept coming. 
Suddenly, another group of monkeys appeared behind Horatio and Hamlet, led by an emperor tamarin named Obo. They slid to a stop behind Horatio and Hamlet, who was now on the ground. For a long moment, all was quiet and still. Then, like a crack of thunder, both sides rushed at one another and a riot of the worst kind of monkey violence began. 
All throughout the courtyard, the monkey factory workers stabbed one another. They bludgeoned their fellow monkeys with typewriters that had been pulled out of the factory. They tore each other apart with their bare hands and sank their teeth into each other’s flesh. Shrieks and growls filled the air. Blood sprayed. Monkeys, in whole or in part, dropped to the ground. 
As this happened, Horatio reached down and grabbed Hamlet’s hand. Wielding the lawn dart as protection, he dragged Hamlet across the courtyard until they were just at the edge of the field behind the factory, and safely out of the way of the melee. Horatio collapsed on the ground next to his friend, panting. Hamlet slowly turned his head and opened his eyes, looking at Horatio. 
“The poison is almost done,” he said quietly. “Horatio, do me a favor.” 
“Yeah bro,” Horatio said, leaning over to better hear Hamlet. “Anything.” 
“Those monkeys are going to tear each other apart. Make sure you survive.” 
“I’ll do my best,” Horation replied. 
“No, I mean it. Someone has to tell Dixie and Johnny what happened here.” 
“Of course.” 
“Hide if you have to,” Hamlet said, his voice fading. “Look where all this pride and competition has gotten us. There’s no shame in protecting yourself.” A loud cough shook Hamlet’s body, and after that his breath came in ragged gasps until finally, he did not breath again. 
Beside him, Horatio hung his head and sobbed. 

***

That night, Horatio picked his way through the courtyard, carefully avoiding stepping on the dead monkeys. He stole through the factory to the dorm, gathered his few belongings, and slipped into the night. 

A few days later...

Dixie and Johnny rattled through the industrial area of La Paz in a rusty Volkswagen Beetle, which they had traded a bucket of fried chicken hearts for. They’d won the chicken hearts in a game of Nipple Blipple. Johnny Go was still wearing bandages over his own nipples, but it was worth it. 
As they drove, they munched on a gigantic box of salteñas, which was wedged in the back seat of the car. They also had a case of beer in the front, and were tossing the empties out the windows as they drove. 
“You know what I was thinking about the other day?” Johnny said, swerving around a man on a bicycle and pelting him with a box of milk duds as he did so. Dixie shoved an entire salteña into her mouth before answering Johnny. 
“Wahf at?” 
“I was thinking what the fuck ever happened to my swordfish.” Johnny downshifted the car as he careened into a narrow alley, which he assumed would be a shortcut back to the factory, then reached for beer. Meanwhile, Dixie finally swallowed her pastry. 
“Oh yeah,” she replied. “When did we have that last?” 
“I think maybe at the ranch.” 
“Nah, I’m pretty sure if we had it at the ranch, it’d still be there.” 
“Good point.” 
“Wait a minute, did we have it in Miami?” Dixie asked. 
“Oh yeah! That was it!” They drove in silence for a minute, satisfied with having solved this mystery. Finally, Johnny spoke again. “Let’s check the factory and then go back to Miami and get it.” 

***

A short while later, they rolled to a stop just inside the courtyard of the factory, and were shocked to see that it was full of the badly decomposing bodies of their monkey typing staff. They got out of the car, their Havaianas crunching the bones of the monkeys that they’d already run over with the car. They looked at one another, shrugged, and made their way into the factory. 
Things were no better inside, as the typing floor, cafeteria area, and dormitories were all filled with dead monkeys. The monkeys inside weren’t as badly decomposed, but the smell was much worse, and it was clear that they’d all perished in a violent attack of some sort. 
“What the fuck happened in here?” Dixie asked. 
“I don’t know,” said Johnny, looking around. “Where is Claudius?” 
“My guess is dead and rotting along with the rest of ‘em.” 
“Should we bother looking for him?” Johnny asked. 
“Probably no point,” said Dixie. “But I’m kinda curious to see if they actually wrote any of Hamlet before they all slaughtered each other. Wanna check the typewriters?” 
“Sure,” said Johnny, “A lot of ‘em seem to be smashed up.” He started to walk down a row of typing desks, most of which were in a state of disarray, and some of which were covered in monkey blood. Dixie headed the opposite direction and checked the desks along the wall. 
When she reached the far side of the room, she came to a row of typewriters that had managed to escape the destruction. One still had a sheet of paper wound through it, which was covered with a solid block of text. Dixie pulled it out and read through it, then gasped. 
“What the fuck!” she shouted. “Johnny, get over here! You aren’t going to believe this shit!” 
Johnny made his way across the room, tripping over a few of the dead monkeys as he did so. When he reached Dixie, she handed him the sheet of paper and crossed her arms, watching as he read the text. 
“Truly, when I was very young, way back in the Fifties, I believed all of life would be like one long and perfect summer day. After all, it did start out that way. There's not much I can say about our earliest childhood except that it was very good, and for that, I should be everlastingly grateful.” Johnny stopped reading and looked up at Dixie. “Those motherfuckers!” 

***

The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks rattled down the road in their rusty Beetle as flames devoured their factory in the distance. 

Monkeys remaining: 2 (Sharif doesn’t count)