Whatttt??? Hmm. Interesting notion. Looks like we've got alternate universes cooking along here side by side, and not missing a beat. What the hell, we'll sort it out when they make the movie, I guess. Gotta get some chimp for the Chongo part, but not that idiot that plays Cheetah in the Weismuller flicks. He's too small and has no gravity whatsoever. Oh...well, Mr Chongo just tapped me on the shoulder. He's always wanted to be in pictures.

* * * *

Fat Freddy was turning out to be a good sparring partner for the boys at the gym. His brain might be 98% nonfunctional, but he knew how to box. Chongo was standing around with Jake and the others, watching him go nip and tuck with a big gorilla named Alfie when Drecker came in the side door, looking exactly like he always did...casual as a loaded .44 on a marble desktop.

"Hey," said Chongo. "Good to see ya. How's business?"

"Busy," replied Drecker. "Too busy." He shook a Camel loose, tapped it a couple of times and lit up. He was taking a good look at Fat Freddy, who had just uncorked a combination that put Alfie on the ropes. The gorilla recovered fast and they danced around to the other side of the ring.

"Somebody blew up your office," remarked Drecker. "We lost two officers in the explosion...Elroy and Mahovlich. Bad break, but they shoulda known better."

"Dammit to hell!" snarled Chongo. "That's why I didn't go back there. I am starting to get really mad now. Where am I gonna get another office? For that matter, where am I gonna get another telephone sculptured to look like Fay Wray?"

Drecker drew on his Camel thoughtfully. "Damned if I know. It's hard to find curiosity pieces that tasteless, even in Chicago." He winked at Chongo. "Where'd you get him?" he went on, nodding toward Fat Freddy.

"Nymbel found him talkin' to himself over at the Salvation Army Mission. His brain's been cooked by someone whose initials are "BDM". Do I gotta tell you who that is?"

"Nope." said Drecker. "I know who it is. I'm an authority on lousy music and mobsters."

"So...got any ideas?" asked Chongo. There was a burst of applause from the apes around the ring as Freddy nailed Alfie with a right that laid him out flat on the canvas. "Chongo", said Freddy, looking around blandly, and accepting a drink of water.

"Let's have a talk in Jake's office," suggested Drecker. "I need a coffee anyway, and it's too noisy out here. Is he secure?" He nodded toward Fat Freddy.

"Yeah," said Chongo. "He's a getaway car with no steering wheel. He ain't goin' nowhere."

Jake's office wasn't all that clean, but it was simple and functional. There was a framed picture of the King on the wall, atop the Empire State Building. He was gazing off into the distance at four little toylike airplanes with the sun glinting off their wings as they banked and turned. There was blood seaping out of his chest in little drops, defiance and tragedy in his eyes. He looked unbearably lonely. The title said "Last Dance in Manhattan".

"How did you get into this?" inquired Drecker, examining his fingernails like he thought they might hide some vital piece of information. That's how they do it in the movies, and you gotta keep up with the styles.

Chongo told him everything he knew, even the part about Laura, and Drecker just sat and listened, and grunted now and then.

"Uh-huh. Word is that there's a bunch of hot diamonds in town. Enough to buy up half the waterfront. Your mister Lenny Frizzell must've tried to move 'em for someone. Maybe he figured it was his one big break. Maybe he didn't have much time to think about it. This Laura dame, I don't know her. Nada. Except for this. Some howlers are out to kill her. I'm lookin' into it. Big Daddy Malone? We can't touch him...at the moment...but he'll make a mistake. They always do. And when he does I will personally make him eat his saxophone. We got enough trouble in this town without some damned orangutan with a Napoleon complex takin' over."

Outside in the gym Fat Freddy had had a rest and was ready for more. "You're good," said Jake. "Very good. You wanna try Joe Young?" "Chongo?" said Fat Freddy. "That's what I thought," said Jake. "Joe, put on the gloves." The huge ape stepped forward quietly and got ready. He towered over Freddy, but Freddy didn't look worried in the least.

Chongo was idly checking the chamber in his .357, spinning it round and round. "There's more to it than the diamonds, Drecker. I know there is. There's bananas at stake. I mean big bananas. Bigger than that car you drive."

"Yeah? You may be right. I never seen simian activity in Chicago like this before, and I know what apes will do for fresh bananas on the off season..."

Fat Freddy didn't know it, but he was sparring with the Mighty Joe Young, biggest ape in the 48 states, and one of the fastest. Freddy did pretty well. He held his own until the dying seconds of the first round, when Joe got through his defenses with a left jab and then landed a thundering right that lifted Fat Freddy right over the ropes like Jack Dempsey and deposited him in a hairy, tangled heap on the floor.

"Whoa!" said Jake. "That'll do, Joe. This boy has earned a rest. Take off his gloves, fellas, and pour some cold water on him."

It took a minute or two for Fat Freddy to come to...and in that minute or two something happened in his shellshocked brain. The derailed freight train that was Freddy's past memory and identity somehow rearranged itself on the tracks with every car in place from the engine to the baggage car to the little red caboose with the three Oakie brakemen playing cards in the rear and dodging work. His eyes opened slowly and looked around, and he remembered everything. He remembered Big Daddy Malone. He remembered Nymbel's apartment. He even remembered seeing Drecker and Chongo go into the office a couple of minutes ago, and he remembered that he no longer had his gun. He looked around, trying to make it seem vague, and gestured in the general direction of the washrooms...

"Chongo?" Freddy was no dummy.

"Oh, you gotta go?" said Jake. "Sure thing. Bert, take him to the washroom."

Bert was a dun-coloured chimp from uptown who could box pretty well. He took Fat Freddy's paw and led him down the hall.

There were two apes standing in the hall, on security. They were packing pistols in shoulder holsters. Freddy watched them from under half-closed lids, letting Bert lead him. He went in and used the washroom. No window. Brick walls. Okay. He came back out, walked over to the security boys and said "Chongo?"

They laughed. "He's three aces short of a deck." "Yeah, but he can box."

Fat Freddy held out his hands, palms up. "Chongo..." he said, apologetically.

"Hey, look at that. You see that tattoo..." The two guards bent to look at Freddy's palm, and faster than thought he banged their heads together with a vicious crack, plucked their pistols from their holsters and hammered them both to the floor.

Bert gasped, and took a .44 slug between the eyes before he could even screech. He went down like a lead anchor.

The report of the gun echoed hollowly through the gym, and everybody froze for an instant, then pandemonium as screeching apes yelling "Kree-gah!!!" scattered in all directions.

"Shit!" spat Drecker, and he kicked open the office door, pulling his .45 out in the same motion, but keeping well to the side. Chongo dove for the floor and had his own gun out as he slid across in front of the door for an instant. He saw Fat Freddy standing in the hallway, forty feet away and Freddy saw him. They both fired. Fat Freddy ducked and felt one bullet pass by his ear and another pluck at his shoulder as he poured fire at Chongo, but the chimp was too quick. He just made a bunch of holes in the desk and the doorframe. And he had one loaded gun left now. Drecker's .45 boomed and made a nice hole in the wall right in line with where Freddy's head had been a second ago. "________ YOU CHONGO!!!" screamed Fat Freddy, and he dove straight through the second story windows in a shower of glass punctuated by two more .45 slugs from Drecker's gat and a hail of gunfire from Jake and the boys at the gym, who were all screaming "BUNDOLO!" at the top of their lungs. They woulda loved that scene in Hollywood.

Freddy bounced off the top of a parked car as a woman screamed, scrambled to his feet and leaping onto the running board of a passing Buick, which screeched to a halt. He waved his gun at the driver, a guy in a maroon suit. "Get the _______ out!" he yelled, and the man ejected the vehicle so fast that he hit the pavement running like a scared deer and ran right into the side of a moving bakery van. Freddy leaped in and ground the gears, and took off like a jackrabbit having the French fits. Drecker and Chongo had time to put two or three slugs in the back of the Buick, and then it was gone. Heading north.

"I thought you said he was secure!" cursed Drecker.

"Hell, I thought he was." said Chongo regretfully. "He's been secure for a coupla days or more. I must be the biggest sap in town. We gotta warn Nymbel!"

"I'm on the way," said Drecker, pulling out his car keys. "You wanta ride?"

"Thanks," said Chongo, "but I'll go by the grapevine. Might be faster. See ya there."

He clambered straight out a handy window and up the wall to the roof, ran across it, leaped to the next building and on to the next, rooftop by rooftop. Nymbels apartment was 14 blocks away. Below him he caught a glimpse of Drecker's Caddy cutting through the traffic like a big, shiny, yellow shark. It was heavy traffic. He would get there before Drecker.

* * * *