It had taken a month for Detective Cass Morgan, better known as "Morgue" on the street, to piece together the few available shreds of information about Vito Fresnelli's connection in Australia. This was something big. Something big enough to set a man up in luxury for the rest of his life...if he kept it to himself. Morgue knew it in his gut. He could taste it. He shared this perception with no one. As far as the other cops were concerned, the trail had gone stone cold. The mysterious disappearance of Fresnelli's corpse looked to be just one of those things that would never be solved, and what did it matter anyway? With the North Side Gorillas and the South Side Baboons drifting day by day into a new and bloody turf war, there were more pressing things to worry about in Chicago.

On February 15th Morgan asked for some time off, and he got it. A month off duty. Rest and relaxation. That's what they figured. Well, others could rest. Others who had no brains or ambition. Morgue was on his way to Australia. To the big payoff. And one thing was sure...he would find that lousy chimp shamus, Chongo, over there when he got there. Chongo wasn't in Chicago, so he was for certain in Australia. Morgue figured there was no time to waste. He wasn't going to let some damn, filthy, fleabitten ape with delusions of human status snatch a fortune out from under his nose. No sir. If the ape got in the way, the ape would die. And good riddance. Morgan would be doing a favour to society, he figured.

It was February 17th when Morgue landed in Sydney. By the 18th he had gleaned information that confirmed that the ape had headed inland in a jeep with an aboriginal guide named Jimmy. It had something to do with some woman called Magenta, a good looking dame. Chongo was looking for her for some reason. She had to be Fresnelli's agent in Australia. So far so good. Morgue found a couple of likely plug-uglies in need of work, named Bartles and Culp, with plenty of outback experience. They were men with little or no scruples, and not a whole lot of imagination either. They would do just fine. They loaded up the jeep with enough firepower and supplies to deal with a month in the Australian desert and anything they might encounter.

"Wot are we goin' after, mate?" asked Bartles, his coarse face sweating in the sun. Culp stood by, cradling a high-powered rifle. He was squinting down the sights speculatively, hoping to find something he could kill. Maybe a passing wallaby or dingo...

"You'll see," said Morgue. "Just find me a jeep with a black man and a chimpanzee. That shouldn't be too hard. They're out there somewhere."

"When we do, can I kill the chimp?" inquired Culp. "I've never shot a chimp yet."

"Be my guest," said Morgue, "but the chimp doesn't get it till I give the word. We follow the chimp. He leads us to where 'X' marks the spot. Then you kill the chimp. Not one moment sooner."

"It's your quid," said Culp, grinning mirthlessly. He squeezed off a shot and picked off an unfortunate kookaburra that had landed on a nearby tree. The bird gave a weird cry and fell in a messy heap.

"And save your damned ammunition for when it's needed!" snapped Detective Morgan. Culp was thinking about making a smart remark back, but changed his mind when he saw the look in Morgan's cold grey-blue eyes. This was not a man to mess with. And he was paying the bills.

They hit the trail at 5 AM the next day, heading inland. Fast. They would find the chimp. A piece of cake, that's what it was. Not a bad way to earn a month's pay, even if the management was less than ideal. It would be fun to shoot a chimp, thought Culp. He was sick of potting wallabies and 'roos.