When had anything ever been normal? I asked myself that as I tryed to shake off the effects of too little sleep and way too much alcohol. The answer was, not since I jumped a boat and left Africa, and headed for the "Land of the Free". Ha! That was a good joke. Oh yeah, a chimp was free in America all right! Free to bum around on the street, free to sell newspapers on a corner, free to shine shoes and haul trash, free to rot in some walk-up hole on the bad side of town while the humans drove by in Duesenbergs and would maybe throw you a dime if you made funny faces for them.

Yeah, I'd seen the "freedom" on the streets of New York, man, and I ain't forgot nothin'.

Still, I loved the place. I would never go back to the jungle, knowin' what I know now. I loved the cars, I loved the music, I loved the skyscrapers towering up against the skies. I loved the noise, the bustle, the dirt, and the smell of danger on the streets of Chicago. My town. The place where I first hung out my sign. The city where two things talked....a fistful of money and a loaded gat. It was ugly, but, man, it was beautiful.

Nothin' had been the same since Kong did his thing back in '33 and took his final swan dive off the Empire State Building after swatting an army air force plane right out of the sky. Apes could hold their heads high now, even if we were still 3rd class citizens in the eyes of the "good people", meaning the rich white folks and their white bread middle class runners-up. We were a notch below the negros on the pecking order in those days. Because of that I always had a sympathy for the black folks, but it was complicated by my previous experiences in Africa where black tribesmen used to hunt us chimps down and eat us! So, you know, I had mixed feelings on the matter, but I understood discrimination in America. There ain't no ape or monkey that doesn't know about that.

So that was America. The land of the fast buck, the great jazz band, the bum's rush, and the "Chicago overcoat"...our name for a coffin. Love it or leave it. I chose to stay.

Another thing America had that was worth stayin' for was Roscoe's. Now in those days a "roscoe" could be a guy's name...or it could more likely mean a gun, a rod, a gat, you get the picture. So this place had a nice sign in the shape of a .44 hangin' by the entrance, and they said Dillinger had eaten there, but I don't know if it's true. The fact was, though, I never seen anything bad go down at Roscoe's. It was just a good, cheap place to eat for the workin' man or ape, and the workin' monkey too. They didn't discriminate at Roscoe's. Due to that its clientele was mostly simians, blacks, and blue collar whites, and that suited me fine. We were our own little league of nations in Roscoe's and everybody got along okay.

The first thing I seen when I entered was Elroy, the howler monkey, Nagumachi the Macaque, and Nymbel the Capuchin monkey. They waved me over and started spillin' the latest chatter. The usual stuff. Contraband bananas could be had if you contacted a certain baboon over on Vangarten Ave...there were always ways, even with the war rationing in effect. It was illegal, but I didn't give a damn about that. Simians need their bananas, and the stuff is harmless anyway. It ain't nobody's business to police bananas as far as I can see.

"You got a case, Chongo?" asked Elroy after a bit. "You look tired, like you been workin' late on a case or somep'n."

"Matter of fact, I do."

"Who you after this time, Chongo?" piped Nymbel in his squeaky little frantic voice.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Well, then they just had to know. I held out for awhile, bein' mysterious. Then I swore 'em to secrecy. That got their attention.

"What works all night, ain't never seen by day, and sucks yer blood right outa yer veins?" I asked.

"A loan shark!" said Elroy.

"A fixer!"[a lawyer] said Nagumachi.

"A...immigration officer!" gasped Nymbel.

I gave 'em my longest, hardest stare. "Nope. Worse than that. A freakin' vampire."

They goggled at me like I'd lost my linguini bowl. "Yeah, I know what yer thinkin'...yer thinkin' I've had one too many banana louie's. Well, I ain't. A freakin' vampire named Vlad the Inhaler is in town, and he tried to blip me off last night on the balcony at the Black Lion. I put a hot slug right in the sucker's shoulder and another one in his face...point blank...and he never even blinked. I'm sore all over from keepin' the bastard's fangs outa my throat, and I've still got the bruises. He was stronger than ANY human, strong as a mountain gorilla. I got lucky, that's all. I need help with this one, guys. So...whaddya think about that?"

"What did he look like?" asked Nagumachi. I described Vlad in detail.

"This is givin' me the creeps," muttered Elroy, looking around nervously.

"Don't worry. They don't come out by day. I been readin' books about 'em."

"Wh-what are they?" chattered Nymbel. "Where do they come from?"

"I don't know, but I'll tell ya this. I am gonna find out. And then I am gonna send this Vlad straight to the clink...or to vampire Hell. Whatever works. And if you guys call yourselves true simians who ain't afraid of nothin'...you are gonna help me."

Well, no monkey or ape backs down from a challenge like that. Inside of 15 minutes we had worked out a plan to get the old "grapevine" going and find out more about this Vlad character...like where he hung his hat. Preferably before sunset. If not, I planned to buy at least a bushel of fresh garlic and keep it handy at all times. I'd rather stink than be pushin' up daisies before my time.

- Chongo Chimp