"Yeah," said Chongo, playing it cool. "I heard dat too."

You did better if you lowered your IQ when you talked with Chachi.

"Yeah," said Chachi. "I hoid dat the S'ken'ty boys were getting outed from S'ken'ty by a bunch o' apes from The City. Dey're comin' inta da upstate 'cuz dey wanna have a clean road ta Canada so dey kin run down Stuff." He took a swig of the beer, a big swig. "Damn, but dat's good," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his paw.

"Stuff from Canada?" asked Chongo, sipping coffee. "What's da sense o' dat? Prohibition ended what, seven, eight years ago, din't it?"

"Nah, not booze. Meat. Tires. Stuff for the black market. Dis rationin's gonna just git worse, dey tink, an' The City apes wanna piece of the East Coast dough. So they...."

Chongo saw the movements from the corner of his eye, and on the floor before he had any concious idea of why he was doing that. Such reactions had saved his skin more than once, and if it wasn't anything, well, he could say he tripped or something.

This time it was something.

The .45 caliber slugs from the Tommy guns shattered the window and shattered bodies when they slammed into flesh like pile drivers into jelly. Two baboons jumped in through the broken window, automatics in paw, shooting anyone who showed signs of life in the head.

Then, in just few bloody seconds, they were gone.

Chongo pulled himself up.

Chachi wouldn't be telling him anything ever again. And he'd never know Mavis any better than he had, either.

A car rounded the corner on squealing tires, slowed, and a dark arm lofted a small, dark object into the ruined windows.

Chongo's last thoughts before the grenade went off where something like, "Shit, somebody really didn't like the food here!" And then the force of the blast slammed him into the wall.