Editor's note: LOL! Funniest damn post yet, Bee-dub. Whatsa matter, nancy-boy, ya can't cut capers wit' da big boys? You ain't nevah gonna impress no dolls by drinkin' tea wit' one finger stickin' out, ya sap. Dolls don't go for sissy boys, see? Listen, if it's too hot for you on the firing line, whyncha get a job in the back office runnin' the newsprint or somepn'? We gotta job to do here, see? We ain't hangin' out no silk hankies for Good Friday...
And then...
* * * *
Chongo got out of the vicinity of Antonio's fast and got a good view of several back alleys he had no desire to visit on his next holiday, if it ever came. It was starting to rain again. A fitful, spattering rain that came down like a Mother Superior showering what she might haved termed "constructive" criticism on a neophyte nun. Lousy weather! Just in case there were any more pistol-packing hoods of the human persuasion on his trail, Chongo shucked off his shoes, stuck them in a side pocket, and took the "monkey route", straight up the side of a filthy old six story apartment building that had a bunch of handy art deco type ledges and sculptures on it. It felt good to be climbing again.
From the roof, which was punctuated by a variety of decaying chimneys and air vents, Chongo surveyed what he could see of the city. Block after block of sodden buildings stared back at him mutely. The streets were fairly busy, as usual, and the impatient honking of cars drifted up along with the sound of engines.
Chongo thought long and hard about Laura...and about his car. Where did the dame fit in? Why had she led him to Antonio's, practically delivering him on a platter to Big Daddy Malone, and then saved his little monkey skin when the crisis came? It didn't add up. "One thing for sure, human dames don't dance with apes," he said to no one in particular. A stray cat that had been stalking pigeons on the roof before Chongo arrived eyed him with disdain, as though it was contemplating the illicit event Chongo had referred to, and was disgusted at the thought. Actually, it was just disgusted with the fact that he was there and the pigeons were not.
"Drift!" said Chongo, and he pitched a handful of cinders at the cat which spat and took off down a rusty iron fire escape at the south side. Good. He had never liked cats much.
"Another thing for sure," he thought, "I ain't goin' back to my office. Not now. If someone wants me bad enough to blow up my flivver, then they want me bad enough to blow up my office too, and I can't afford that. I gotta find a safe place to hole up for awhile..."
The sound of quarreling voices, a man's and a woman's, broke in on Chongo's train of thought and derailed it momentarily...
"Whattya think? I'm made of money?"
"You're a no-good, lousy, bum who can't even hold down a job..."
The voices were coming from a chimney or vent that was a couple of feet away.
"Bum, am I? Well, I ain't a sap, that's what! I ain't some pushover who's gonna let himself be played like a violin by some little chippy..."
"Fer Chrissake," griped Chongo, "a chimp can't even think by himself on a rooftop in this city...HEY!!!" he yelled down the vent in stentorian tones, putting his lips right against the opening. "Close yer goddamn head!"
There was a moment's shocked silence. Then...
"Who the ____ is that?" hollered the guy.
"The one yer mother told ya to stay away from, ankle boy," Chongo replied back down the vent. He was beginning to enjoy himself.
"My mother! You stinkin' piece of _____!"
"That's right, bo...yer mother...the dame who's shined more shoes than any pro skirt in Chicago. Now shut up or I come down there and plug yer cakehole!"
"You DIRTY _________________!" Whoever this guy was, he had a good command of common obscenities. "I'm comin' up there wherever you are, and I'm gonna kill you!"
"I'm on the sixth floor, chump. Don't knock yerself out climbin' too many stairs." Chongo hung up on the guy by dropping a large chunk of debris down the vent, walked over to the north side and did an easy jump to the next building, chuckling to himself. He could still hear the guy yelling, but only faintly.
Five buildings later and a couple of streets over Chongo made his way down to street level and put his shoes back on after making a cursory and largely unsuccessful attempt to dry his feet first. Shoes were a concession an ape made to keep up with social styles, and they were good for cutting up on the dance floor, but they effectively cut his ambidextrous tool handling abilities by 50 percent. It could be a problem.
So, a hideout had to be arranged pronto. But where? Nymbel's apartment. That was where. The crazy little Capuchin owed him a couple, and would be willing to provide a temporary refuge, no doubt. Chongo had gotten Nymbel's chestnuts outta the fire more than once. Nymbel would do it, no questions asked. Chongo headed for the North side of town, 29 Grebe Street...a nice, quiet place to lay low for awhile and plan battle strategy.