Chongo had had that funny feeling for a moment...like the feeling you get in the jungle when you know something else is watching you. He looked around, but didn't see anything unusual, just the ragman making his way down the street and a capuchin hawking oranges to passersby.

"Hmmm." Chongo shrugged and headed in through the front door of Duffy's. The usual crowd was there...working class white men and their girlfriends, black jazz musicians and their girlfriends, bonobos, howlers, macaques...Duffy's was a joint that catered enthusiastically to all customers, both humans and primates, which made it a favorite haunt for Chongo. It was a regular league of nations at Duffy's.

"Hey, Chongo!" It was Ronson, the beat cop from the 12th precinct, off-duty at the moment. He was looking a little flushed, obviously enjoying himself after having a few. Chongo drifted over to his table and sat down. Ronson had two friends with him Chongo had not seen before. Probably cops as well.

Ronson was in an affable mood. "Lemme introduce my cousin, Frank, and Detective Morgan from Washington. We just call him 'Morgue' for short. Get it?" Ronson laughed heartily. Chongo extended his sizeable paw and shook hands with the cousin and the detective. The latter was a tall guy with thin lips that looked like they had last cracked a smile in 1929.

"I've heard of you," he said to Chongo. He said it like he didn't particularly give a damn.

"I ain't heard of you," said Chongo, "but you've got a good nickname. 'Morgue'. I like it. You oughta love this town."

"Yeah," said Morgan cooly. "I love it already. I might even move here if Washington gets hit by an H-bomb and the West Coast vanishes into the sea." (You could've used his eyes for ice cubes if you ran short of the real things.)

Chongo grinned. He wasn't about to get mad over putdowns of his fair city. Not tonight when he had a $20 gold piece in his pocket.

"So what brings you to the Windy City, Morgue?"

"If I thought that was your business I guess I'd tell you," replied Morgan, apparently determined to be unfriendly. Maybe the bastard didn't like chimps. Maybe he was just a bastard, period?

"Hey! Morgue. I told you this was my pal," interjected Ronson. "Relax...let's have a few drinks and enjoy ourselves. Morgan's here on a special assignment, Chongo. Hush, hush, you know..."

Chongo shrugged. "Sure. I understand. No sweat." He ordered a scotch and soda, and leaned back to enjoy a smoke. Ronson proceeded to tell Chongo the latest news off the street, which was per usual, unremarkable, the common tales of random acts of violence, contraband shipments, petty theft, grand theft auto, and all the other merry antisocial acts that keep a cop employed and off the bread lines.

("What would Ronson ever do if everybody suddenly decided to be a good citizen and obey the law," wondered Chongo silently. "Hell...what would I do? I'd be out of a freakin' job." It was an odd thing to contemplate.)

Fortunately though, given the general level of human and primate maturity in the general Chicago area there was no chance of that. Utterly no chance whatsoever.

Eventually the chitchat got around to Chongo's lack of paying work. By this time even Detective Morgan had warmed up a bit, possibly with the aid of the whisky he'd been drinking. "Y'know," he said, "I've got a job that only a fool or a romantic would want to take on. Maybe you'd be interested."

"Oh yeah?" said Chongo. "So who you got me pegged for, Morgan?"    A fool or a romantic? Never mind, it don't matter. What's the job?"

Morgan smirked in a humorless fashion. "Some guy named Fresnelli has a problem with a bloodsucker, so he says..."

The hair rose on the back of Chongo's neck. He listened closer.

"You mean a loan shark?" said Ronson's cousin, noisily. He had definitely had a few too many.

"Not exactly," said Morgan. "Try again."

"A dishonest lawyer," said Ronson, his face now quite red with drink.

"Not that either," said Morgan. He gazed at Chongo with cold ice-blue eyes. "I wanna hear your guess, shamus."

Chongo put down his drink carefully on the table and made a little tent with his paws. "A bloodsucker, you say?"

"Yeah."

"One that only goes out at night?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Call it a hunch. Does this bloodsucker's blood run colder than yours or mine...well mine, anway...and does he get refills at the local blood bank when there ain't enough of the live stuff handy in the form of good lookin' dames?"

"What....?" interjected Ronson, looking startled and befuddled.

Morgan's eyes burned into Chongo's. "That's if you believe Mr Fresnelli. That's if you're enough of a sap to believe a story like that. I ain't. I told him to go take a long hike off a short dock and not waste my time."

Morgan lit up another cigarette with a contemptuous gesture and drained what was left of his last drink. "Like I said, if you want the job, it's yours. I got real work to do."

"Matter of fact, I do want it," responded Chongo. "You got a number for Fresnelli?"

Morgan smiled his unpleasant smile, and got out a card. "I figured you'd go for it. You must really be desperate for cash...or else you ARE a romantic."

"Naw," said Chongo. "I'm a fool, remember? Besides, I told that bloodsucking bastard never to set foot in this city..." (Morgan eyed Chongo curiously, but Chongo was not about to elaborate on the matter. Morgan could just wonder all he wanted about it.) He took the card and studied it carefully.

Vito Fresnelli, 17 Spartan Boulevard, and a Chicago phone number. Good enough.

"Gentlemen," said Chongo, getting to his feet without haste, "it's been a pleasure." He grinned. "I ain't had so much fun since the pipes busted last January in that cold snap. Morgue, I hope Chicago gives you exactly what you are worth, cos you are the kind of man who deserves to get...exactly what he is worth." That drew a sharp look from Morgan. He was not stupid. Chongo just grinned at them, doffed his fedora and walked out.

When he reached the street it occurred to him that he had still not opened the mysterious UPS package. What the hell...he would open it later, back at his office...