Actually, da whole ting was a scam, see? Chongo needed ta blow town fer a while, see? Me an' a coupla his frienz, we fixed it for him. Da stiff dey found wasn't Chongo. We borrowed it from the Medical Research wing over at the Chicago zoo, see. Set it up with Chongo's ID tags in da pocket, gave it one of Chongo's fedoras to wear, and a coupe of cigars wid his DNA on 'em, an' bingo. Da flatfoots was none da wiser.

Meanwhile, Nosy an' me t'rew Chongo inta da trunk of a big black touring car and drove clear down to da Mexican border, and a coupla hunnert miles paast, and put ole Chongo on a plane outta Veracruz bound for Sanitago de Cuba where a coupla our buddies useter have a casino, see, and reckon they could take care of him, show him a good time until things cool off.

But ya never know,. Chongo may never come back to Chicago. When we wuz plannin' out dis caper, over a bottla Four Roses and a deck of Luckies, he looked out da winder and said somethin;' that stuck with me.

"Stubs," he sez, "Dis burg is for da monkies."

I never forgot dat. He had a funny look in his eye when he said it.

Stubs