He left the car where he always did, under the same tree. Then up the tree, doing his branch-to-branch chimp thing. Good thing it was raining, or someone might have questioned why a chimp was swinging from tree to tree while wearing a trench coat.

He got to the fence; The Island was beyond it.

Monkey Island. Three hundred monkeys of various kinds. Howlers, Rhesus, Capuchins, whatever you could think of. Three hundred stupid, stinking, never still monkeys.

God, he hated monkeys.

But they would know. Somehow, even locked away here on Monkey Island in the middle of the Lincoln Park Zoo, they knew.