Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)

Subject: BS: Chongo Chimp, Private Ape (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 19 Dec 03 - 10:45 PM

It was one of those crummy Chicago nights you can only appreciate through the haze of a Cuban cigar and the last dregs of a 40 ounce bottle of scotch. The rain was spitting from a leaden sky outside, just like it had been doing for what seemed like a month of Mondays. "I hate this goddamn city," growled Chongo. He could taste rank, overripe bananas calling wordlessly from somewhere deep in his monkey gut. They were contraband bananas smuggled out of El Salvador by Chachi...that lowlife Sicilian spidermonkey with the cast in his right eye where he'd taken a shot from a forty-five in the paws of some hardass gorilla on the East Side. Chachi owed him one, and the bananas were only the first installment.

The more Chongo thought about it, the less he liked it. He could smell trouble like the stink of a ripe durian, like the stale scent of a dirty old orangutan who's pumped way too much iron in some sweaty 13th Street boxing club. Trouble. He could taste it.

Chongo knocked back the last slug of whisky, and eyed his empty glass with disgust. In it he saw the iron jaw and chiseled features of a chimpanzee almost in his prime. Hell, it seemed like only yesterday he'd been in his prime, scaling walls and swinging off lamposts like Nadia Comenici. Now he could detect creeping little signs of age, in the graying around his muzzle, in the red that was shot carelessly around the pupils of his eyes. Those eyes...they'd seen sights most people are spared, sights that would make a grown man cry and make a leopard turn in his spots and get himself declawed for life. What the hell. He could take it. That was the job of a private chimp, wasn't it? Go where no one else wants to go, climb what no one else wants to climb, do what no one else in their right mind would want to do, all for a few more lousy bucks, a kiss from a classy dame, or another bottle of whisky. Chongo didn't drink gin. Gin was for jerks and losers.

When he saw the shadow cross the hallway, he reached for his gat which was nestled cold and ready in its shoulder holster. Safety never on. This could be the trouble he'd been expecting...or was it opportunity knocking on his door? From the sound of the knock it was a lightweight opportunity. "It ain't locked!" he barked, and waited.

The door opened, cautiously, and there she stood. A dame. Just like the last time. Why did all the dames in this dead end town come to Chongo Chimp when they had a problem they couldn't solve? She was blonde and good looking, if a little cold. She reminded him of that actress, what the hell was her name? Nicole Kidman. Yeah. If you were half in the bag and the light was dim enough, you might almost think she was Nicole Kidman. Something about her eyes and cheekbones.

"Mr. Chimp? My name is Betty Frizzell..." (Shit, might've known it wasn't Nicole Kidman!)

"C'mon right in...Miss Frizzell. Sit down. Drink?" Chongo could remember a thousand times he must've said those very lines, apart from the name "Frizzell", that is. Repetition can drive a man mad after awhile, and it doesn't do a chimp much good either.

"Actually, it's Mrs Frizzell," she said, and accepted gratefully as Chongo poured her a stiff shot of Jamaican rum.

"Okay, Mrs Frizzell, I think I get the picture. You wouldn't be here about Mr Frizzell, would you?" He could hear it coming. Mr Frizzell was staying out late and making up stories about working overtime, but actually was banging his secretary, Ramona, and Betty wanted him to climb up the side of a 34 story office building or maybe a 300 foot tall greased poplar tree and photograph the two of them, clutched in a torrid embrace...

"How did you know," she gasped. "Yes, it's about my husband, Lenny Frizzell..." and she burst into tears. "I think he's been murdered!"

* * * * *

(basic premise: Another riveting episode in the life of chimpanzee private eye, Chongo Chimp, in Chicago, circa 1940 except for the Nicole Kidman reference which is a wild card for the benefit of contemporary readers. The city is mostly inhabited by ordinary human beings, like usual, but also has a lively subculture of clothed, talking apes and monkeys of all varieties, many of whom are engaged in the seamy side of life. It's Mike Hammer, with a simian twist. This thread is an attempt at presenting a gift of enjoyment to Frank "Monkey Boy" Cho, who writes the comic Liberty Meadows, and regularly portrays himself as a clothed chimp in his own comic, which is the greatest comic in the world, IMO.) Mudcate maniacs, don't fail me now...

Subject: RE: BS: Chongo Chimp, Private Ape (story)
From: GUEST,the toiling scribe
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 11:42 AM

People! They were the most self-centered, self-satisfied creatures on the face of the Earth. They didn't give a damn about each other, they didn't give a damn about this decaying city they had built around themselves and their tawdry dreams, they gave less than a damn about story threads that other people start, and they gave less than a tinker's damn for a hardworking chimp like Chongo...until they needed him. Then it was, "Oh, please, you've got to help me, Mr. Chimp...

("Just call me Chongo...kid.")

But Chongo had to admit he felt more than a flicker of sympathy for this dame, even if she was only some part time steno named Betty Frizzell, and not Nicole Kidman after all. She had to have been desperate to come down here at this hour in the morning, and her fears about her husband were probably justified.

Betty had spilled her guts there in Chongo's office, and with every word it became more and more clear that something unusual had happened to Lenny Frizzell. Turns out Lenny was the model husband. Always attentive and loving. Never stayed out late. Never forget his wife's birthday or their anniversary. Faithful and devoted for these past seven years, Lenny had led a quiet life as a self-employed jewellry engraver over in a little shop on 15th Avenue. Chongo remembered seeing the shop one time, but he'd never gone in.

Well, yesterday evening something had changed in Lenny's life. Somethin big. When he came home, 3 hours later than usual, he was pale and distracted. He had a small package, wrapped in white paper, the kind you might wrap around a gift for your favourite girl, but he wouldn't tell Betty what was in there. She could see he was really upset, and tried to draw him out, but he wouldn't...or couldn't say much. The only thing he did said that gave her any clue was, "I should never have dealt with those baboons!" Then he clammed up and wouldn't say another word about it, except that he had to go out again and make a "delivery". Betty protested. It was 11 pm, and she had no idea where he was going, but Lenny insisted, with the frantic desperation of a man in the final stages of panic. She wept and pleaded, but it did no good. Lenny tore himself from her arms and disappeared out into the black Chicago night...and never returned.

"Did he leave anything behind, a name, an address..." growled Chongo, chewing on his stogie.

"Yes!" blurted Betty. "I found this on the pavement outside the front door."

It was a business card. A fancy card, on good paper. It read: "The Bundolo Club". On the back of the card was scrawled a single word: "persimmons"

Chongo knew about the Bundolo Club. It was a gathering place for some of the toughest, meanest, lowest, rottenest, smelliest gorillas, baboons, and chimps-gone-wrong to ever pollute mainstreet USA. The kind who would sell their own mommas to a travelling circus and try to pawn their dad's skull off to the Smithsonian as a long lost specimen of Piltdown Man or the "missing link". The Bundolo Club was a place you didn't go without a loaded gat and way too much nerve...or a really strong death wish.

And he knew what "bundolo" means. It's common street-ape patois, and it means "kill".

Subject: RE: BS: Chongo Chimp, Private Ape (story)
From: Jack the Sailor
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 12:19 PM

Small and lithe but decidedly chimplike in all the right places, there she was on the stage, a bumpin' and a grindin', hangin' on to the pole with her feet and thrusting her oversized genetalia into the face of every two bit ape in the place.
Chongo couldn't hide his disgust when she greeted him by rubbing her crotch on his. But his lust was even harder to conceal. Bonobos had that effect on him, after all, he was only primate.

"Good to see you again Congie." she purred while running her feetfingers through his leg hair. "No flies on you." she said.... disappontedly. "Are you getting some other dame to do your grooming?"

"Zelda, You're a swell dame. But I need some information. Has this man been in here lately?" He thrusts a pair of Lenny's shorts under her nose.

"Sniff sniff, Yeah, he was here, he didn't spend much time looking at the stage. I thought I saw a banana hin his pocket, but he musta been savin' it for his wife. But I did see him in a booth in the back, talking to that guy."

Chongo's eyes went to the left and his jaw went south as he saw his old nemisis, Miguel A. Gorilla!

All of a sundden, as if by devine coincidence, the band plays suspenseful music.
Dun da! Dun Dun Da!!!
Then the lights dim like a fade in a moving picture, a precursor to a new scene.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 03:55 PM

He awoke from the enforced sleep, his head throbbing from where the blackjack had raised a knot the size of a softball.

The air was thick with cigarette smoke, like the red haze that hung over Gary and was the reason he didn't go there anymore. If ya want rust, he thought, breath a car.

He couldn't feel his gat. He usually carried it in a crotch holster, and it wasn't there now. He hoped he could get it back; Colt wasn't making .38s for the Home Front these days.

"He's awake, Boss," said a guttural voice from above his head. "Should I put him back ta sleep?"

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 04:56 PM

More, more!

Scratching himself in several strategic places,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Joe Offer
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 06:06 PM

Thread title changed per request from Little Hawk. I just typed what he said. I had nothing to do with it, and disavow any responsibility for that groaner of a pun... Perhapps I should have changed the title to "Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (sorry)."
Although I have to admit I like Little Hawk's new title.
-Joe Offer-

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 10:37 PM

"Not right now, Freddie. I gonna talk wid him. Hey, you! Chongo Chimp, Chief Chump! This here's Chicago, not Cheboygan or Churchill, an' here youse is gonna do what you're told, see?"

Chongo breathed a bit easier. His head still felt like a hundred drills were intruding into his skull, but he could still feel that the switchblade he carried in his boot was still there. Good. He could even things up a bit, if he could get to it.

"Hey, you! Chongo Chimp, Champ Chump! You gonna do what you're told, or are we gonna hafta let you visit the aquarium?"

Chongo groaned. Buy some more time.

The water hit him like a bucket of ice water, which is what it was. A bucket of ice water. The ice was still in it. It dribbled down into his pants, soaking his shorts. Damn, he thought, they're gonna ride up and be uncomfortable all day.

"Drag him up so I can look 'im in the face. I know he's awake now."

Ungentle hands, hairy hands, baboon hands, jerked him up and onto a chair.

He was the ugliest ape Chongo had ever seen. A scar ran from his right forehead across his face to a midpoint just under his left eye and them doubled back to his right chin, then doubled back again and disappeared into his shirt.

Chongo figured it went right on down to his toes. He wondered idly if there was a matching set on his back.

But he knew who it was.

"Scarface?" Chongo questioned.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 11:26 PM

Thanks, Joe! "Primate Eye" is a great pun, I think, and it's a Little Hawk original (as far as I know). I oughta copyright it! :-)

Now who the heck is "Gary"? Oh...Gary, Indiana, right? Okay.

So:

Chongo knew that voice. It was Kerchak. Kerchak was the chief enforcer and hatchet ape of the East Side Gorillas, meanest mob in the lower East side. Those bums had been greasing grapevines and beating the Dum-Dum since longer than anyone could remember, and they were capable of anything...except giving a sucker an even break. They would happily break his legs for him, though.

Despite the throbbing in his little pre-Cambrian monkey skull, Chongo was now fully alert. He didn't show it, though, but acted like he was still half-stunned and in shock.

"Naw...let the little snoop come around," sneered an even deeper voice than Kerchak's. "We gotta pump this bird till he sings."

Chongo looked up through half-closed eyes that felt as dry and tired as yesterday's old castoff bacon rind. He was looking straight at the ugliest, fattest, scaliest, most disgusting bull orangutan he had ever seen, dressed in a pinstripe suit and a gold vest, with a pocket watch dangling from a diamond chain. He bore an astonishing resemblance to Burl Ives in "The Big Country". Who was this ape? And what was he doing with the East Side Gorillas, who never worked with anyone but gorillas?

"You don't know me, do ya...shrimp?" said the Orang, as a gorilla flunkie lit a fresh cigar for his fat lips to suck on. "Well, you're gonna know me."

Chongo wasn't about to dispute that. He gingerly got to his feet, and looked around. The room was lousy with gorillas. Seven of them. All big, black, hairy, and well-combed. The East Side boys all wore pompadours for some reason, and only used Wildroot Cream Oil.

"So...shrimp...this can be easy or it can be hard. Whaddya want," asked the Orang in an oily voice.

"He wants 'hard', dontcha, Chongo?" grinned Kerchak.

"Depends," said Chongo. "It would be easier if I knew what you guys wanted first."

Kerchak whacked Chongo hard across the muzzle, but the chimp barely flinched. "Don't get lippy with the boss!" snarled Kerchak. "I'm just gettin' started, banana-boy."

"I'll tell you just what I want, Mr Chongo-the-shrimp Limp-Chimp..." (Oh, this big, orange bastard was a real wit, all right...)

"I wanta know why you're workin' for Betty Frizzell, and when you're gonna stop. I wanta know whether you want a pint size pine box or just a set of concrete shoes. I wanta know where your mother lives, so we can send her your lips...after we send her your ears. I wanta know how many different ways a chimp can scream "uncle" while we pull off his toenails and make him eat them."

This guy wanted a lot. That was clear.

"There's just one reason I'm working for Betty Frizzel," replied Chongo evenly, clenching his lower abdominal muscles as he got ready. Just one quick squeeze now...

"She hired me, asshole."

As his words hung in the silent room for the briefest moment, Chongo's sphincter clenched and released a black, spherical object that had been cleverly concealed up his rectum...it was a stun grenade! He pitched it straight into the gaping, fat face of the big boss organgutan and simultaneously delivered a backwards kick into Kerchak's groin that drove the gorilla's family jewels about a foot in the general direction of his lower occipital lobe.

Kerchak's inchoate shriek of agony was accompanied by a blinding flash and concussion which knocked out every light bulb in the place and filled the air with acrid smoke that stung the eyes like a thousand fire ants. Chongo was low to the floor, moving fast in the sudden darkness, and he purloined Kerchak's .38 revolver from the thrashing ape's belt as the dirty mango-picker hit the floorboards like a ruptured gasbag tied to a lead balloon. The room was suddenly full of yelling, screeching, and a hail of gunfire that was directed who the hell knew where. Chongo saved his ammo. Let the silly bastards shoot at each other's gunflashes, and with a little luck they might all kill each other. "Or they might get lucky and kill me," thought Chongo. "Time to blow this joint."

It was the work of only a moment to find the door, which had not been locked. The hallway was empty, and smelled like burnt iron. Chongo made a quick dash down a short flight of stairs and out into a street he recognized. It was Anvil Street. Not a nice place. Just then a car pulled up with five gorillas crammed inside. They were goggling at the warehouse Chongo had just vacated, from which could be heard bellowing and random gunfire.

"It's the Westside Baboons!" yelled Chongo. "They're here to kill the boss! I seen 'em go in! Shoot to kill!"

"The five gorillas piled out of the car, magically producing a shitload of firepower from their jackets and the backseat, and stormed into the building...all except for the last one, the driver. He stopped and looked at Chongo suspiciously. The car was still idling behind him.

"And who the hell are you, the milkman?" he growled, moving forward menacingly.

"Read the card," deadpanned Chongo, drawing it from his pocket easily, with his right hand. His left was in his pocket, holding the .38 he'd taken off Kerchak.

The gorilla took the card, and squinted hard at the tiny lettering in the vagrant moonlight. It was engraved in old English letters that he could barely read. He squinted harder. It said: "if you can read this...you're way too f**king close!"

He swore and dropped the card and found himself looking straight down the barrel of Chongo's .38. It was trained exactly between his nasty little eyes.

"That's right, creep," said Chongo. "Drop the gat." The gorilla obeyed silently, breathing heavily. "Now back up and turn around, and start counting to nine hundred and ninety nine. Slowly, and out loud!"

"One...two...three..." Chongo picked up the gun. A .44 special. Not bad. All hell was busting loose inside that warehouse. Sounded like the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Smoke was drifting out the windows on the second floor.

"Four...five...six..." Chongo got in the car, and put her in gear. Nice car. It was an older Lincoln, black. Lots of room and snazzy running boards too. There was a tommy gun under the dash. Perfect.

"Seven...eight...nine..." A sudden slackening of gunfire in the warehouse, and a voice bellowing orders. It was that damned Orangutan. Too bad. He'd survived, apparently. Time to hit the road.

"Ten...eleven...twelve..." Chongo did a quick U-ie with the Lincoln and pointed her nose obliquely at the warehouse, with the tommy gun pointing out past the driver's side mirror.

"Thir..." The gorilla who was counting half-turned his head as he heard the car move, and at the same moment about six gun-toting apes appeared at the Anvil Street door, jostling against each other.

Perfect.

Chongo drove the pedal to the floor, swung the Lincoln's nose hard to the right, and poured a full clip from the tommy gun which atomized that driver's fedora and peppered the little knot of East Side boys that was clogging up the abandoned warehouse doorway from ass to teakettle. Hard to say who got hit and who didn't, but they all went down like a dog on a dead flounder as Chongo peeled out of Anvil Street in a cloud of powder smoke and burnt rubber.

"Nice car," he observed as he took a right on Maple Street and headed uptown. "Pity I can't keep her."

* * * *

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Amos
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 11:45 PM

Holy shit, boys!! This is a job for Elliott Ness!!

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 20 Dec 03 - 11:50 PM

Whoa...Rap and I cross-posted. What the hell. The more the merrier.

I like Rap's spare and terse style. That scene cooks. We can edit the order of things later, and hold out for big bucks. Looks like the baboons are gonna have their day too. "Scarface". I like it.

- LH

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 06:30 PM

Editor's note: We have been advised that in Chicago the "lower East Side" is underwater! (Glug, glug...) We have also been advised that Nadia Comenici didn't exist as a gymnast in the 1940's. Yeah? Well, I passed on those objections to Mr Chongo, and here's his reaction:

"What the hell do I care? What's the big rumpus? Don't these saps get it? This is pulp fiction. This is entertainment. What do I care if Chicago's got no lower East Side? Hell, if it's a problem, we just relocate the story to New York in the 2nd edition, right? Gimme a break..."

So, there you have it. This story makes up its own rules as it goes along, and if ya can't live with 'em don't read it. 'Nuff said.

But by all means...keep this cards and letters coming. This bloodhound ain't quittin' while the trail is still hot.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 07:51 PM

Chongo regretfully ditched the Lincoln on 24th Street after carefully wiping off all his pawprints, left the keys sitting in the ashtray, and took a cab uptown to Joey's. Chachi usually hung out at Joey's, and Chachi was a good source of information, even if he did have the character of a poisonous snake crossed with a Sicilian loan shark.

Joey's hadn't changed at all. It was still the same greasy little short order diner it had been for the last 30 years, but the coffee was strong and good, and the soup and spaghetti were the best deal in town.

"I'll have the usual, Mavis." Chongo slid into a handy booth that provided a good view of the street and front entrance. "Sure thing, Chongo." Mavis was a brassy but dependable waitress who'd worked at Joey's forever and knew her job like an alley cat knows the inside of a trash can. She was fast, sharp, and had a good sense of humour too. "She's almost simian," mused Chongo. "Wonder what she looks like out of uniform?"

He'd have been loathe to admit it, but Chongo had a thing for human females. Their general lack of body hair was disturbing, and it was further complicated by the fact that they also had more hair in certain places than most chimps do, but they made up for it with those unnaturally long and graceful legs, they generally smelled pretty good, they looked great in heels...and they were tall. Some were really tall. "Sorta like climbing a mountain," he thought. "Ya gotta do it just cos it's there..."

If Chongo had ever seen Liv Tyler, he probably would have melted right there on the spot and run down the nearest gutter like a spilled drink.

Putting aside these pleasant thoughts, Chongo got down to the business of filling his little monkey gut with a steaming order of flapjacks and bacon, and running the few facts of the Frizzell case through his mind.

Evidently, Lenny Frizzell had gotten involved in something big that was way out of his league...but why? And how? He didn't seem like the sort of guy who would be drawn into risky or shady activities...but maybe he had had no choice about it. That sort of thing could happen to little people in Chicago, specially since the Westside Baboons and the East Side Gorillas had really gotten into the rackets bigtime.

Now there was an orangutan involved too...an important one from the looks of it, cos he was commanding gorillas. Who the hell was he? Chongo searched his mind, running down the rogues gallery of faces that papered the walls of his hall of memories. There was something about that Orang that rang a faint bell, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it...

"EXTRA! EXTRA! Big gangland shootout on Anvil Street! Five slain! Gang wars erupt again in Chicago and Big Daddy is in town!!!" A newsmonkey was bawling out on the sidewalk.

"Big Daddy"! That was it. Big Daddy Malone. Chongo had heard of him, but only fleetingly. He was the kingpin of organized simian crime in Schenectady, a town that may not rank large in the annals of G-men, but it had its share of fast operators, hired guns, and shady apes. Big Daddy was a legend in Schenectady. Well, Schenectady must've just gotten a bit too small for him...and now he was in Chicago. Not good. This would probably mean a major shakeup or some full-scale gang wars in the Windy City.

Enough to keep a chimp busy and knee deep in Cuban cigars, if he played a careful hand, Chongo thought. Enough to get him concrete waders if he didn't.

Then he saw Chachi. Coming in the front door. Chachi saw him too, and he looked nervous, but when Chongo gestured he came over, sat down, and ordered a bottle of Schidt's Beer.

"So," said Chachi. "What's the rumpus? I hear that Big Daddy's in town."

*******

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 08:10 PM

"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.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 08:14 PM

He came too, briefly aware that someone was cutting off his clothes under a light that was too bright. But he knew, dammit, and he had to tell someone.

"Cho," he breathed. "Frank Cho."

And darkness swallowed him again.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 08:35 PM

Editor's note: Jay-sus, Rap! Look, man, don't kill off ALL my minor characters, eh? Where's Chongo gonna get contraband bananas now? Whew! Gotta catch my breath...

Okay...

The grenade pretty well ruined Joey's forever as a cheap but fine dining spot, and started a fire that flared up fast, fueled by a few odd gallons of deep fry grease behind the counter. The smell was awful, and it brought Chongo fully to his senses. What the hell was the ceiling doing on the floor and why was it swinging back and forth like that? Oh... It was the chandelier that was swinging, and Chongo was on it, lying on his back. "Interesting view," he thought. "Man, this thing is filthy on top!" Then the sprinklers kicked in.

It was time to make a fast exit. Chongo did his best Johhny Weismuller imitation (lo-o-o-ove those movies!), swung way back on the chandelier, yelled "Kree-gah!!!", and catapulted himself right past the flaming kitchen and through the remnants of the side window that faced on the alleyway. He landed in a pile of reeking garbage cans, did a fast roll, and came up covered in coffee grounds and old grapefruit rinds.

"Jee-SUS!!!" yelled Chongo. "This suit cost me 15 bucks!"

"You really smell bad, mister," said a little human kid as Chongo tried to shake off some of the coffee grounds and other detritus.   The kid was wearing short pants and one of those hats with the little triangles cut all around the top, and he had a crewcut.

"So do you, kid," said Chongo. "Now beat it or I'll call yer ma."

This day was definitely going from bad to worse, and it was still just beginning.

*****

Editors note: "Kree-gah" means "Look out!" or "Beware!" in street-ape patois, popularized by none other than Edgar Rice Burroughs, God rest his soul.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 08:37 PM

Well, don't leave us there!

Charley Noble, sipping his Chardonnay or is it the Reisling? Fortunately his gurl Friday confirms that it is the Chardonnay...

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 08:38 PM

Editor's note: When co-writer, Rapaire wrote "he came too", it was a misspelling, and was not intended to not denote anything sexual. He meant to write "he came to", okay? This is not a dirty book we're writin' here or anythin' like that. Okay...

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 08:40 PM

Editor's note to previous editor's note: Strike the 2nd use of the word "not" from the first sentence in the above Editor's note, and we are on the right track here. Geez...way too much bourbon can do that.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 08:43 PM

Hah! That's what YOU think!! Wait'll I give Chongo a catheter!!!

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 08:49 PM

You dirty dog. I can see where we are gonna have to rub you out at some point before this caper is in the can.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 09:01 PM

By the way, I'm emailing this stuff to Frank Cho, bit by bit as it unfolds, and probably driving him nuts.

Of course, he already is nuts. But he's good! Best cartoonist since Walt Kelly, IMO.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 09:01 PM

Chongo brushed himself off and headed down the alley away from what had once been Joe's. The sirens were starting to sing, and they weren't his song.

He took a quick look around at the corner. Nothing. He turned right, towards Michigan Avenue. He'd get there if he walked far enough, but it was too far away.

He ducked into Berghoff's. A quick lunch was in order. Colonel Thompson had spoiled his first one. And Berghoff's still made their own beer. He needed that, now.

He needed to think more than anything else.

First of all, get back to the office and pick up his other gat. The .357. A new caliber, just a few years old. Much more powerful than his trusty .38 had been; he picked it up because it could fire the same shells. He didn't like it, it kicked too much. But if there was a caper going on the size of which Chachi had hinted at he'd need that firepower and maybe more. Maybe he should pick up his sawed-off, too. And dig the Tommy gun out of mothballs.

Second, find out what Lenny's part in all this was.

Third, contact Drecker at the Police Department. Drecker was old and they kept him around because he was a master with the nightstick, didn't leave any marks and could make a prisoner sing like a canary. He'd been Chongo's teacher when Chongo had been been on the Ape Squad, before that punk had shattered his knee with his ball bat.

Fourth....

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 09:02 PM

...fourth, he was trying to remember, a name, he'd had a name.

Damn. It wouldn't come.

He took another sip of beer and finished off the sausage.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 10:55 PM

He paid, tossed down a quarter for a tip.

Better take a cab back to the office. Quicker he got heeled the better, he thought.

He whistled up a cab, gave the address, and was there in double quick time.

These fares and such were eating away his cash like acid on skin. He picked the mail out of the box, unlocked the door, walked in, flicked on the light.

Bills. Light bill, water bill, rent for this dump. He tossed them on his desk. Wait, what was that one. He pulled an official looking envelope out from the pile.

Aw, shit no.

Selective Service Board Number 4. "Mr. Chimp: Greetings from the President of the United States...."

No, hell no. He couldn't be drafted. Not with his knee. And besides, he had enough lead in him to be a bullet factory. "...to report for duty in the Armed Forces...October 4...."

Who the hell do you appeal something like this too, he wondered.

He only had a week, too.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 11:14 PM

Meanwhile, in Miami, Florida...

Seven of the eight burly apes seated around the mahogany conference table at Miami's Monkey Jungle were not very happy to be there. The eighth ape, a Gibon known as Stretch, the one responsible for calling the meeting, was not very happy either. In fact, he was downright livid and the object of his anger was the other seven apes.

"God! Whatta buncha morons!", he screamed. His particular manner of screaming was his most outstanding feature and the one which had gotten him to his current position of power within the South Florida monkey underground. Gibons aren't noted for their quiet retiring natures anyway, but Stretch had been forced into a shotgun marriage with a Red Howler monkey named Dolores and, well, after twenty years of marriage and thousands of arguments, a fair amount of Howler howl had made its way into Stretch's voice. "Do you idiots have any idea how much time and money has been put into this project? And for what? So we can see the whole thing go down the tubes on accounta some damned chump Chimp private dick in Chi-town? Who in the hell is this Chongo anyway? Shit! What was the last thing The Boss said before he left for Havana? Anybody remember? How about you Fat Freddy?"

A large, no, make that "very large" chimp looked up from the fingernail he had been carefully studying during the bulk of Stretch's remarks. "Gee, Stretch," he said in a voice that would normally have struck fear into any right-thinking Simian but which had been totally subdued by the Gibon's tirade, "We all know what The Boss said. He said that for this thing to work, it hadda be done with military precision. No leaks. Nobody outsida th' mob could know 'bout it or it'd blow up in our faces."

"That's real good, Fat Freddy," Stretch howled, "I see you have a few working brain cells. So whose job was it to keep those Baboons in Chicago in line? Huh? To make sure their sorry multi-colored asses didn't spill the beans? You, ya friggin' moron! You! So what happens? First, the damned Baboons make a side deal with a friggin' human for Chrissakes. A human! Then the human's friggin' bimbo of a wife goes to a nosey Goddamned Chimp private dick and next thing ya know we've got a major shit-storm on our hands! And it's your fault, you sorry sackashit! I really should just shoot your sorry ass and be done with ya, but, ya know what? That'd be too easy. Your ass is on a plane to Chicago in one hour. Ya unnerstan'? You go find that Chongo chump Chimp and fix his ass and I don't care how ya do it. And while yer at it, get ridda the human and his bimbo wife. And if you screw up you better just hop a ship for Africa 'cause The Boss will be hot and the ape he'll be hot at is me and I don't like bein' outta The Boss's good graces. Ya unnerstan'?"

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 21 Dec 03 - 11:18 PM

Obviously, it had to be a mistake. They weren't drafting chimps. Not yet. But it was no secret that they were beginning to gear up for possible fighting with someone...most likely Japan, but you could never tell. There were rumours. It was the waning days of September, 1940, only a year after the outbreak of war in Europe, but France had fallen only a few months back, and England was fighting desperately now for survival, battered by the German blitz. That concerned Chongo. He had relatives in London. They seemed to be holding out, though, according to the latest news, shooting down Goering's bombers in record numbers.

Japan? Chongo could see no good reason to pick a fight with them. No Japanese ape or human had ever done anything to him. Matter of fact, there didn't even seem to be any apes in Japan, aside from circuses and zoos. Hmmm. Maybe there was reason to fight over there after all. Species discrimination. Still, it seemed like a stupid thing to get into a transoceanic war over. Gangland wars were crazy, but national wars were beyond crazy, as far as Chongo was concerned.

Wearily, Chongo perused the rest of the form letter, and started drafting a terse reply, accompanied by a recent photo. Some idiot at Selective Service didn't know what the left hand was doing.

"The stuff I waste my time on..." he muttered. Meanwhile, Lenny Frizzell was probably as stiff and cold as an Alaskan hot dog on a January night, and the trail was getting cold. The $300 that Betty Frizzell had fronted him was dwindling. He had to get moving, and moving fast.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 08:00 AM

The .357 was where he'd left it, cleaned, tuned, and oiled. He loaded it; its weight in his shoulder holster felt good. He took out the sawed-off, broke it open, dropped in two shells of number 4 buckshot -- just a bad as double ought and lots more lead flyin' around when you needed it. He put it into the special pocket of his raincoat.

Yeah. A Burberry. Anyone who wanted to make something of it could kiss his chimp lips.

Now for the piece de resistance, the Tommy. The Chicago piano. The Gun That Made Chicago Run.

He opened the box. There it was.

From Cutts compensator to the buttless receiver, it was as he liked it: short, ready, and capable of heavy-duty firepower. Two straight mags and two drums: two hundred and fifty rounds of fully-jacketed lead, each damn near half an inch in diameter and traveling at 850 feet per second. Two hundred and fifty body slams, two hundred and fifty kicks with caulked logging boots.

Chimps were stronger and more flexible than people, but Chongo still prefered the front-and-rear pistol grips on his Tommy. Helped prevent barrel climb, which happened even with the Cutts.

Chongo tapped a stick mag home, worked the bolt. It locked to the rear, ready to drum out a melody of Death. He put on the safety.

He crossed the office, opened the door at the rear. Good. They hadn't repossessed his car. Yet.

He slid the Tommy and the extra mags in the special door panel he'd had Roscoe build in, before Roscoe had fried for that Kent job, down in Metropolis. Dumb bastard shoulda known better, knockin' off that old farm couple just after their four-eyed son had moved them to what passed for a big city in those parts.

He thumbed the door opener and backed out. Where to? Drive out to Cicero and see what some of them apes out there might know? Or head up to Evanston and talk to the boys up there?

Nah. Better than either. The Island. Out in Lincoln Park. Yeah. If there was any word anywhere, it'd be there.

He put the car in gear and drove off.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 11:50 AM

The DC-3 bearing Fat Freddie banked out over Lake Michigan and glided onto the tarmac of Chicago's Meigs Field. As it taxied to the terminal, Fat Freddie considered his plan of action. Frizell, Frizell's bimbo wife, that chump Chimp dick Chongo... Who to visit first? Nah! The answer was obvious. Start with the ones that created the problem. Start with the Baboons. Anyway, Freddie had a genuine aversion to doin' humans and didn't really like puttin' the squeeze on other Chimps, but Baboons were another story. Truth be told, Fat Freddie didn't like baboons at all...

The springs of the taxicab that transported Fat Freddie from Meigs to the Southside block where the Baboons held court sighed in relief as they were relieved of the load imposed by the Chimp's substantial girth. As he waddled toward what he knew to be the main entranceway into the Baboons' makeshift compound he felt the eyes of dozens of Drills and Mandrills peering at him. It made no difference. They could look all they wanted. They could even spit, scream or moon him with their bright red asses, but they didn't dare really harm him. Though currently out of favor with Stretch and The Boss his position in the hierarchy of the Simian Crime Syndicate was still high enough to afford him immunity from harm by such low-lifes. To hurt him, The Boss's envoy, would be to bring down the wrath of the entire Syndicate. Even Baboons weren't that dumb.

Freddie's knock on the compound door was greeted with a surly "Whattaya want?" from the Baboon lieutenant who thrust his head through the barely head-sized sliding opening in the door.

With a speed totally unexpected from a chimp so rotund, Freddie's hand shot out and grabbed the unfortunate baboon around the neck, pulling him through the open hatchway until his shoulders banged against the door. "I'm here to see Elmo. And don't give me any 'He's not around' crap. I know he's here and he's got some questions to answer. Now, I'm gonna let go of your scrawny neck and you're gonna open the door nice and polite like. Ya unnerstan'?"

"Yes, Mister Fat Freddie, sir," croaked the now subservient Baboon through his nearly crushed vocal cords, "I'll open the door as soon as you let me down."

Freddie released the insubordinate ape who meekly admitted him into the Baboon lair. "I'll take you right up to see Mister Elmo, sir," he mumbled without having to be asked first.

He led Fat Freddie past piles of refuse typical of the Baboon lifestyle - orange and banana peels, mango seeds, peachpits - and up a flight of stairs to where the door of Elmo's office was already opened.

A tall and well-groomed Mandrill with one gold canine stood from behind the office's large Teak desk. "Fat Freddie," he beamed as he sauntered around the desk with outstretched arms, "So good t' see ya! What brings you t' town?"

Fat Freddie responded by opening his arms to receive the Baboon's embrace, but instead of a friendly hug the huge but agile Chimp put the Baboon in a hammerlock and pushed him face down against the surface of the desk. "You know damned well what I'm here for, Elmo," he snarled in the Baboon Chief's ear, "Just couldn't leave things alone, couldja? The Boss made the plan. The plan was gonna make us all rich. But, no! You idiot Baboons had to go messin' with humans. And what did you get from the humans? Diamonds! What the hell do monkeys need with diamonds? Diamonds are for humans! Monkeys need bananas!!!!"

With that, the Chimp picked up the frightened Elmo (who had not at all been tickled by his meeting with Fat Freddie) and defenestrated him, depositing him, largely unharmed but extremely shaken, onto a pile of mango and avocado pits. It would probably have been more efficient if Fat Freddie had just shot the iridescent-assed creature, but the author's always wanted to use "defenestrate" in a story and never had the chance until now.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 12:23 PM

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.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Raptor
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 01:28 PM

?

Raptor

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Raptor
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 01:30 PM

Seriously Little Hawk you need to get out more!

Why not call up that cute girl we met at the lazy-boy Store?

Raptor

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 04:03 PM

Fat Freddie walked out of Elmo's office after tossing him out the window to find the Baboon lieutenant he had nearly strangled still cowering in the corner. "So," Freddie snarled, "ya see what I did t' yer boss an' ya kin betcher neon magenta ass I'd do it t' you in a heartbeat. Now, what I wanna know is where's th' human? You know th' one I'm talkin' about. Th' jeweler guy. The one that his wife thinks is dead."

"Oh, him!" whimpered the Baboon, "He's in the basement. Elmo said t' keep 'im there until he wuz able t' run down some private dick Chimp named Chongo. Then we wuz gonna do the guy an' frame this Chongo chump fer th' job."

"Well," said Fat Freddie while lifting the baboon off the floor by his already damaged neck, "don't just sit there blabberin'! Take me to him!" The now totally terrified Baboon led Freddie down two flights of stairs into a dark underground chamber. At one end of the room was a single wooden door to which the Baboon walked while pulling a key from his pocket. He opened the door, took a quick peek inside and motioned for Fat Freddie to enter.

The room was a twelve-foot by twelve-foot cell with no furnishings but an old Army cot and a slop jar. It was lit by a single naked 60 watt bulb in an overhead socket. On the cot sat a man of indeterminate age. He may have been middle-aged or may have still been quite young, but many days with neither a razor nor a bath made the matter a bit uncertain. He looked up at the huge Chimp and Fat Freddie spoke to him.

"You must be Lenny Frizell, yeah?" Freddie asked, to which the man merely nodded an afirmative. "Well, they calls me Fat Freddie. And before ya start askin', no, I don't have a cat. I don't even like cats. In fact, I useta really like t' do mean things t' cats, but that wuz before I got this job I have now where I get t' be mean t' Baboons instead. It's lots more fun than cats. Anyway, it's good t' see yer alive, though I'm not really surprised 'cause these sorry-ass Baboons'd never knock off a human widdout someone else aroun' t' pin th' blame on. I've been sent t' try 'n straighten this mess up, so, howzabout you tell me what happened here."

Frizell looked uncertainly at Freddie but then seemed to think, "Aw hell! What've I got to lose?", relaxed, and began to tell his story.

" It all started about a month ago. I have a little jewelry store where I mostly do engraving an' repairs an' such. If it's still aroun' in fifty years I'll probably be sellin' a helluva lotta watch batteries. Anyway, one day this Rhesus comes in, says he's broke up with his girlfriend an' wants t' see if I can change th' initials on an ID bracelet. While we're talkin' he casually pulls a white envelope outta his pocket, and says, 'Ya be innersted in these?' I open it up and there's about a thousand carats of uncut diamonds. 'Naw, man,' I tell 'im, 'I'm just a small-time guy. I don't know nuthin' about sellin' bulk diamonds.' So th' Rhesus looks at me an' says, 'But you know somebody that does, doncha?' Then I remember hearin' rumors about this buncha Baboons that'll fence anything, so I tell th' guy I'll look into it. He says he'll check back with me th' next day an' leaves."

"So' that afternoon I come over to this place here an' get introduced to some guy named Elmo. Elmo says, 'Sure! Bring 'em on. We'll work it out.' Then, next day the Rhesus comes back in, leaves the diamonds and I bring 'em back over here t' Elmo after work. He's lookin' at 'em an' we're just about t' strike a deal when th' phone rings. Elmo picks it up an' starts talkin' t' some guy about boats and bills of lading and stowaway monkeys and bananas and gettin' real worked up. Then, all of a sudden he looks at me, slaps himself on the head and says, 'Holy shit! I gotta quit drinkin' so much so early. I totally forgot your human ass was sittin' there. Oh shit! This won't do! You heard everything, didn't ya?' Then he rings a bell on his desk an' two Baboon goons come in an' Elmo says, 'He's heard too much. Take 'im to the basement until we can figger out what t' do with 'im.' I been down here ever since. Ya know what's funny about th' whole thing? I don't even have any idea what th' hell they were talkin' about."

Fat Freddie took a few moments to absorb Frizell's story, then nodded and smiled down at the human. "Well," he said, "I got some good news an' some bad news. Th' good news is you probly ain't gonna die. Th' bad news is you're gonna have t' stay here in this hole until we get this situation straightened up. But I'll see that you get a wash basin an' a razor an' a change of clothes 'cause, man, you stink worse than these damned Baboons."

After giving instructions on Frizell's care to the maltreated Baboon lieutenant (who would have been given a name if the author had known he was gonna hang around so damned long), Freddie found his own way out of the compound. Once back on the street he hailed a taxicab, opened its door and jumped in the back.

"Where to, Mack?" asked the driver, a young Proboscis monkey.

Freddie dug in his pocket for Mrs. Frizell's address. "6715 North Elm Lane. Izzat far?"

The driver turned and leaned over the seat while pulling a two-foot length of lead pipe from the seat beside his right leg. "Nope." he replied as the pipe connected with Fat Freddie's temple. The last thing Freddie remembered as he drifted into unconsciousnass was the driver saying, "But it don't matter 'cause you won't be goin' there anyways, chump."

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Rapparee
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 04:18 PM

They spilled the beans. Also the water, the slop bins, and the fruit trays. But the monks sang. They told him. And Chongo knew. He knew about the whole sordid, rotten mess.

He knew about why he got a draft notice, and who to pay off to get off the hook. He knew about the bana...banna...bananana...fruit smuggling plots and the ideas to run black market stuff down from Canada. He knew about Hitler invading Poland, about the Battle of Britain, about the incursion of North Korea into South Korea, about the Battle of Bosworth Field.

"Hey," he said, "you monkeys know too damned much."

They were still jabbering away when he left. Something about rap music, whatever that was. Or would be. The monks didn't seem to bother much with time. Today, tomorrow, yesterday, was all one to them. Of course, he mused, if you're in stir for life I guess time don't mean a lot.

He swung down from the tree, pulled his carstarter our of his pocket. Smart investment, he thought, never know when your cars gonna go blooey on ya these days.

He pushed the carstarter.

The car blew up, just like it was in a movie.

The Tommy gun and the extra ammo smacked him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

Jesus, he thought. This shit's gotta bloody well STOP. I could get hurt.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 06:03 PM

Raptor - Well, I might if I had her number. What a dish. I took the bucket on a run ta Barrie on the weekend and stopped by the store, but the doll wasn't there. Instead, I end up talking wit' dis boob named Greg who's tryin' ta sell me a Lazy-Boy for $1200 berries. So, I dusted outta there and hit Chapters for a bit. Met an old Orillia acquaintance named Sean who useta be a telemarketer a couple years ago, but he's outta that racket now. Good thing. I shoot telemarketers on sight. I don't know where the babe is at, but I will check for her again after Christmas.

- LH

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 09:03 PM

Fat Freddie regained consciousness in what appeared to be a pool hall. Well, it damned well better have been a pool hall because there were about two dozen pool tables, around 400 pool balls and an indeterminate number of pool cues within plain sight. There was also a sign on the window that said rolraP drailliB only the letters were either backwards or in a foreign alphabet. In his current state of consciousness, Fat Freddie wasn't exactly sure which was the case, but he was pretty sure it meant "Pool Hall" in some language. At any rate, the place was closed so there were no sounds of colliding billiard balls, a favor for which Freddie was highly grateful, considering that his head felt like it had been hit by a lead pipe which, observant readers may recall, it had.

Soon after concluding that he was definitely in a pool hall, Fat Freddie also came decided that he must also be tied up. The combination of inability to feel his arms or legs plus the presence of substantial lengths of rope around his wrists, elbows, ankles, knees and neck made the conclusion a real no brainer. Furthermore, what he was tied to was a shoeshine chair. Damn! Shoeshine chairs are bolted to the floor. Even an ape of Fat Freddie's size couldn't rock one of them hard enough for it to turn over. The best Fat Freddie could hope for was that someone might shine his shoes while he was waiting for whoever had sapped him to finish the job.

"Well, Fat Freddie'" a voice crooned from behind him, "good to see you again. Sorry it can't be under better circumstances." Freddie tried to turn toward the voice, but the combination of the rope around his neck and the pain in his head made it, well, not really impossible, but certainly kinda stupid considering that by the time this paragraph is finished whoever it was is going to have walked around to the front side of the chair anyway.

"Well I'll be damned!" Fat Freddie sorta half moaned half groaned (you know, the way people in movies do after they've been hit with a lead pipe and kidnapped) as he found himself looking at the largest Orangutan he could ever recall seeing, "Big Daddy Malone! The scourge of Schenectady. I shoulda known it'd be you behind this. But why?"
"Why?" Big Daddy sneered, "Why? Because you Miami apes are gettin' to big for your britches. That's why! First you keep all the best fruit and vegetables for yourselves. Then when guys like me wanna make a few extra bucks by cuttin' some deals with humans so we can maybe have some really nice ripe papayas every now and then it's 'Nooooo!' from you Miami bunch. What's it to ya if I wanna fence a few hot diamonds? Who's gonna get hurt? Some human? Who gives a rat's ass? All we want is money to buy some nice ripe bananas. I've got a message for you to deliver to The Boss. You can tell him he ain't my boss. Tell him we don't care how you do it in friggin' Florida. This is Chicago. And Chicago's a long way from Miami."
By now, Fat Freddie had regained most of his consciousness and a fair amount of his cussedness and sarcasm (though in the back of his mind he was still wondering when he'd get the shoeshine). "Well all right, asshole," he barked in Big Daddy's face, "I'll deliver your message. Now, is there any reason why I can't be untied?"
"Well," sneered Big Daddy, "in fact...   There is!"
The Orangutan quickly stepped behind the shoeshine chair, fumbled around with something Fat Freddy couldn't see, and then stepped back in front of the chair. Fat Freddy was expecting to see a Tommy gun or maybe a pair of loppers to take off a finger or two but, no, what he saw Big Daddy holding brought a far greater fear to his heart than any gat or shiv could have ever produced. In his hands, Big Daddy held a 0-18 Martin guitar and it was obvious that he didn't know how to use it! The fact that Big Daddy Malone bore the most coincidental of superficial resemblances to the porcine human folk singer Burl Ives had convinced him that he too had a gift for guitar-accompanied renditions of ballads, work songs and other such human nonsense. With a flourish and an attempt at a circle-of-fifths turnaround intro, the huge Orang launched into "The Big Rock Candy Mountain" which immediately elicited screams of pain from the bound Fat Freddie. The scene was reminiscent of having to listen to Vogon poetry, only the Vogons wouldn't visit Earth for another forty years or so. But, then again, who's keeping track of past, present and future around here anyway?
After the full four-minute long rendition of the song, Big Daddy had reduced Fat Freddie to a quivering shell of his former self. His eyes were rolled back into his head and his tongue protruded from his mouth, from which a viscous drool was issuing. "All right," called Big Daddy to two of his henchmen, "Untie him and throw him out onto the sidewalk. Did you hear me? I said untie him! Take out the Goddamned ear plugs ya friggin' nitwits!"

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 09:28 PM

Note to self: Do not assume that the double linebreaks from the word processing program will automatically work correctly when cut and pasted to Mudcat. Preview and proofread, idiot!

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 22 Dec 03 - 11:46 PM

"Oh, the bu-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-.....uzzin' of the bees, and the cigarette trees, the soda water fountain...where the lemonade springs and the bluebird sings...in that Big Rock Ca-a-a-ndy Mountain!"

GAAAAHHH! Vicious! Sadistic! Inhuman! Unsimian!!! Definitely not nice!

And just wait till he pulls out the tenor banjo... (shudder)

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 23 Dec 03 - 11:55 AM

Editor's report: Mr Chongo got so excited reading this explosive stuff last night that he went sort of berserk. It started with little excited hoots, that got louder and louder. Then he started pounding the keyboard and shrieking. This got the dachshunds all worked up too and they started raising hell. This got Mr Chongo even more excited, and he and the dogs started chasing each other all around, tearing up the furniture, and generally trashing the place.

It's a mess. And Christmas is almost upon us.

Therefore, there may be a temporary hiatus while everyone here recovers and gets organized for the Big Day. But stay tuned.

Congratulations to our hardworking stable of writers who have advanced the genre of Primate Pulp Fiction by a quantum leap! Ook! Ook! Ook!

Oh....my little monkey head is aching....

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 23 Dec 03 - 01:31 PM

When last we saw our friend Fat Freddie he had been dumped on the sidewalk in front of a Southside pool hall after having his brain fried by Big Daddy Malone's rendition of "The Big Rock Candy Mountain". After spending a couple of hours staring blankly into space while lying in a pile of garbage, he was found by a passing pair of Salvation Army Santa Clauses who somehow managed to get him to his feet and waddling toward the Army's Shelter where he was told he must eat thin potato soup or face dire consequences. I'll tell ya, It was simply heartbreaking to see the once mighty Miami Mob Musclechimp reduced to taking orders from reformed winos and hookers. After an hour or so of abuse during which Freddie was incapable of giving them as much as his name, he was deposited in a bunk in a dormitory room shared with about a dozen other smelly, snoring, farting reprobates of various species.

Now, the reader is probably asking himself (and I use the masculine term intentionally because women are generally far too intelligent to be reading this crap), "Is this the end? Is it all over for Fat Freddie? Will he ever remember who he is? And what about Tiny Tim? Will Bob Cratchett be able to afford his operation now that the Scrooge and Marley have blown all their profits buying shoes for orphans and have had to file for Chapter 13 bankruptcy protection?"

Nah! It ain't over 'til I say it's over and I say, "It ain't over." But, having a huge Chimp with a wiped out brain - a tabula rassa, if you will - opens up all kinds of possibilities, doesn't it? Gawd! What a cliche! The opportunities for contrivances on a level that would make James Fenimore Cooper cringe simply abound! But, enough of this! Back to the story!

When Fat Freddie awoke the next morning he was dragged into the mess hall where he was served a breakfast of the leftovers from last night's thin potato soup thinned down even further. As he sat at the mess hall table staring at the watery soup, a Capuchin at his right-hand side began to chatter and jabber about nothing in particular. (This was not at all unusual, a Capuchin's normal state of mind being about on a par with that of a human who has just snorted $500.00 worth of cocaine.)

"Hey, Buddy. Haven't seen you here before. You new in town? How they treatin' ya? You sure are a big guy. Ya need anything? I got connections. Man, you're huge. There's folks that'd pay good money t' have someone yer size aroun' justa scare people. I got friends. Yeah. Lissen, there's this private dick guy that throws some work my way every now an' then. Ya know. Us Capuchins are small an' can go places you chimps can't. Know what I mean? Takin' pitchers through third story windows and that kinda stuff. Decent guy. You'd like 'im. Chimp like you, only not so damned huge. Goes by th' name of Chongo."

At the mention of Chongo's name a very, very, teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy bell rang way back in the deepest recesses of Fat Freddie's brain. The fog that had been completely covering his eyes became, maybe, two percent less dense and impenetrable and he spoke the first word he had spoken since being released from Big Daddy's shoeshine chair. "Chongo."



(Boy! Is this a great place to stop for Christmas break or what? The suspense! The excitement! The utter BS of it all! Gotta go wrap presents. Goin' outta town fer a few. Probably be back by Saturday. Merry or Happy Christmas depending on how you like to say it wherever you are.)

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 23 Dec 03 - 02:57 PM

Chongo was still looking bitterly at the smoking remains of his car when she walked by, casually swinging a patent leather handbag, and remarked, "Tough break, soldier."

"You're tellin' me," he grumbled. "It was almost paid off." Then he got a proper look at the dame and did a doubletake. She was tall. Really tall. Built slender, like a dancer, but she had curves in all the right places and legs that went straight up to Alaska. She wore a deep red outfit that clung to her body like a lovesick boa constrictor. Dark hair, a bit shorter than the current styles...sorta like one of those flapper hairdos from the 20's, and her skirt was slit on the sides like one of them Chinese dames in the Fu Manchu novels. Dark red lipstick, almost black. Chongo
gulped, and forgot all about the car for a moment or two.
                                        
"Who are you?" he croaked, forgetting to sound like a tough guy for once.

"I'm Laura. I'm an entertainer. Got a light? Or is the gat still hot enough to light one off the barrel?"

Chongo took in a deep breath, tried to gather his wits, and struck a light for the lady. She pulled out a long, black cigarette holder, stuck a Belvedere in the end, and lit up. It got so quiet that Chongo could hear his own heartbeat, pounding like the Dum-Dum. He loved dames who carried long cigarette holders.

"So...you got a name?" she inquired, taking a slow drag. (This was crazy. "What is she doin', standin' here talkin' to a strange chimp beside his blown-up car?")

"Name's Chongo. Chongo Chimp. You mighta heard it somewhere," said Chongo, struggling for oxygen. He could feel sweat trickling down the small of his back.

"Yeah, matter of fact I have. You're a gumshoe, and not a bad one, I hear.   I like gumshoes, if they're smart. You look smart, but you need a new trenchcoat. Look, Chongo, we have a situation here. You've got a dead car that is attracting a lot of attention..." (Chongo looked around. There was quite a crowd of gawkers gathering. The cops would be here any minute with a million stupid questions he didn't really want to answer) "...and I've got a thirst for a Dacquiri or a Tom Collins. They make good ones at Antonio's and
it's just around the corner. You comin' or would you rather wait for Officer "O'Malley"?"

Chongo gulped. "A Tom Collins sounds good to me." He tucked the tommy gun under his trenchcoat and fell in step beside her, listening to her heels go clickety-click down the sidewalk.

Laura. An "entertainer". Christ, was she ever tall.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 23 Dec 03 - 05:50 PM

Lay off it, will ya! I've got too damn many presents still to wrap...

Charles Noble

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 23 Dec 03 - 11:17 PM

Antonio's was a nifty spot for taking a break in, and they mixed good drinks too. Chongo knew the place moderately well. They had a jazz band, and jazz singers sometimes. Billie Holiday had sung there...he knew that.

They grabbed a small table in the corner with a view of the whole room. Standard routine. You don't want to ever turn your back to a room if you can help it. Apparently Laura knew that too, and it didn't escape Chongo's notice that she did. There was more to this babe than met the eye...and that was saying a lot in her case.

"Why did you stop and talk to me?" he asked, lighting up a Cuban and gazing at her watchfully over his paws. He was beginning to regain his aplomb, at least on the outside...but man, what a looker this doll was!

"I don't know," she said offhandedly. "Just a momentary impulse, I guess."

(That was a lie, thought Chongo. Okay...)

"Yeah," grinned Chongo. "I mean, who wouldn't want to talk to an unknown chimp whose car just blew up an' who's tryin' to conceal a tommy gun under his trenchcoat as soon as he finds out if it's still in workin' order? I understand. You're just the sympathetic kind, right?"

Laura laughed merrily. "You've got a good sense of humour for a gumshoe," she said, "and a great sense of humour for a gumshoe that's a chimp. Do you dance?"

"WHAT?!?," gasped Chongo. "You gotta be kidding...we can't...in here..."

"I just asked if you dance, that's all," said Laura, blowing a smoke ring and smiling in a way that was hard to read.

Chongo's brain whirled. First of all, no human female was gonna dance with no ape in no public place, or probably anywhere. There were unwritten rules about stuff like that. Second of all, she was a lot taller than he was, and he couldn't figure out the logistics that it would involve...although that didn't mean it was theoretically impossible...

Third of all, what the hell did she ask him that for? What was she up to? ("She's tryin' to throw me off balance," he thought...and succeeding at it too. Gotta get a grip on myself here.") "Sure I dance," he volunteered defiantly. "I know all the dances. How about you?"

"Yeah. I know a few steps..."   ("I bet you do," thought Chongo.)

"Matter of fact," continued Laura, "I do it professionally. Jazz dancer, modern dancer, singer and actress when the work is available. I'm rehearsing for a musical at the Alexandra."

That explained the look...partly...and Chongo was obscurely relieved. It had crossed his mind that she might be a high class hooker or a stripper or something like that. She had way too much
nerve for an uptown girl. Still, there had to be more to it than that.

"I didn't catch your last name, Laura," he said.

"I didn't toss it," she answered, resting her chin calmly on her crossed hands, and spreading her fingers like a lazy cat stretching in the sun.

Chongo couldn't help laughing and spluttered in his drink. Geez. This one loved to play the game, didn't she? He wiped his face clumsily with the napkin.

Just then the MC stepped up to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, apes and apettes...we have a special treat for you tonight...all the way from Schenectady...the one...the only...the
legendary...Big Daddy Malone!!! On the saxophone!"

Chongo's gut clenched like a bear trap. His closeset little chimpanzee eyes locked on the stage like a hitman zeroing in on his next target...as the curtains parted to a burst of swing music from
the human jazz band...and out stepped none other than the Schenectady Orangutan himself, his huge paws wrapped around a gleaming saxophone that Chongo could see at a glance was the very best instrument you could get.

"What the...!" blurted Chongo.

"You know him?" asked Laura. "He's becoming quite the item around here. The Big Boss who plays with the bands. Just pray that he doesn't decide to sing for us..."

Chongo didn't know what she meant by that, but he kept one eye on her, the other on Big Daddy, who was blowing up a storm on the sax, and one hand on the thompson under his coat. This had to be a setup, and she had to be in on it. Well, they wouldn't find it easy to knock down Chongo Chimp, he thought grimly. Let 'em try.

"He's good isn't he?...the ugly bastard." said Laura.

Chongo didn't have the slightest idea. One thing he had never revealed to anyone was the fact that he was totally, absolutely tone deaf, and couldn't distinguish a good tune from a lousy one to save his life. It was all just a bunch of screechy and thumpy noises to Chongo. He had a good enough sense of rythm, could dance fine, and could vaguely tell the difference between low notes and high ones, but that was as far as it went. The rest, for Chongo, was an impenetrable mystery. What people saw or rather heard in it, he could not fathom. It was just noise.

"Yeah, he's not bad," he responded, faking it. "I seen better though."

"Can you excuse me for just a minute?" asked Laura. ("Here it comes," thought Chongo. The safety was off on the thompson.) She got up and walked across the dance floor toward the Master of Ceremonies. Just about then Chongo caught a glance from Big Daddy. The dirty banana-peeler knew he was there all right. He actually looked surprised for an instant...but kept playing. Odd.

Laura was coming back to the table. Not what Chongo had expected. If she had a gun it had to be in the handbag, and that was on her chair.

"I arranged for us to dance," she said. "It's okay. They know me here. You ready?"

Chongo looked at her in total disbelief, just as Big Daddy finished his solo, and the MC stepped up to the mike, resplenent in his tuxedo and tails.

"And now...Ladies and gentlemen, apes and apettes...a rare and special treat as Miss Laura M takes to the dance floor with Mr Chongo Chimp as a token of the good relations between the species at Antonio's and as a welcome to your friend and mine...Big Daddy Malone!"

There was a sprinkling of polite applause, mixed with curious looks. Chongo froze in his seat. He could not take the tommy gun out on that dance floor.

"I am not goin' out there!" he grated, glowering at Laura.

"Oh?" she said. "Well, I am disappointed." They locked eyes for a long moment. Then she shrugged. "I didn't take you for a weak sister," she said, calmly stubbing out her cigarette.

Chongo went completely rigid. A slow burn started inside him and rose straight up to his ears. Every muscle in his body was aquiver with suppressed anger. He though he would explode.

"Let's dance," he said savagely, and he swept the trenchcoat and most of his firepower under the table. Nothing left now but the .357 under his vest.

Laura didn't even blink. She extended her hand and Chongo took it like he was picking up a live puff adder. As if in a dream they walked out onto the dance floor.

Big Daddy was staring at the two of them with an indecipherable gaze that seemed to hint of combined surprise, suspicion, hatred, and contempt all rolled into one twisted ball of emotion. And the band began to play.

They danced one dance. It couldn't have lasted more than three minutes, but it seemed like three hours to Chongo, beset by a tornado of conflicting emotions. He expected to die at any instant. He was ready to die in fact, and considered himself to be the biggest fool that had ever walked the streets of Chicago. He was also stunned, positively transfixed by the fact that he actually was dancing with this lithe and mysterious woman. In her own strange way she was the culmination of a thousand unspoken dreams and imaginings that Chongo had held in the back of his mind for all these years. She was his muse. His unknown. His untouchable...that he was now touching, if
only in a formal manner. She had perfume that smelled like crushed flowers and patchouli. She was not simian in the least, she was totally human. And Chongo had never experienced anything like it. He felt like a god awaiting sacrifice on some altar where even the gods must die.

It finally ended, with a last flourish from Big Daddy's sax, and a burst of applause from the audience, particularly the few apes in the place, who were galvanized, although a bit nervous. And then they were walking back to their table... ("I'm still alive...")

On the way they caught a lot of jocular comment from various well-dressed and seemingly well-meaning humans who seemed to know Laura well. They were being overly solicitous and laughing way too loudly for Chongo's liking. Right in his face. "Pretty fancy stepper!" this one asshole with a gigolo's haircut kept saying.

Chongo felt humiliated...like he was some kind of performing circus bear for the entertainment and amusement of these bums. But it wasn't a hot anger anymore, it was a cold, slow anger that sat deep in his gut and behind his eyes.

Laura could feel it too, and she suddenly realized exactly what he was going through, like a sharp pain in her chest. But that wasn't all she could feel. Big Daddy was leaving the state. In a hurry.
Two Gorillas were heading backstage as well.

"Go to the lady's room now," she said quietly, pretending to check her makeup in a pocket mirror. "The human Lady's Room, and not the Men's. There's a small window. Go out that window immediately, whether you ever see me again or not and move! Don't think about it. Go now!"

Chongo glared back at her, thought "What the hell!", gathered up his stuff and headed for the restrooms at a steady walk. He saw nothing unusual. "What if there's a human dame in there?" The thought made him hesitate for an instant. "Aww...shit!" He pushed open the door. It was empty, looked much more ordinary than he'd expected, and there was the window, just like she said. Tricky for a human, but no problem for a chimp at all. He hesitated for just a moment, then cut the screen and...

"Man, you are one lucky ape-bastard..." Chongo froze. "...but your luck just ran out. Turn around. I want you to see it coming."

Chongo could have made a desperate leap for the window, but something told him not to this time. He turned around.

It was a man, standing in the open door. A typical young Eye-tie hood with a little mustache and a pinstripe suit. His .38 was trained right on Chongo, and he looked like he knew how to use it.

"Smart ape," said the guy. "Too smart. I figured you'd do the unpredictable. Say hello to the Big Sleep, sucker..."

The skinny gunsel froze himself as he felt a cold muzzle pressed to the back of his own neck.

Laura. She had come after all, and in the nick of time. Jesus. She signaled "move in and brain him" with her free hand.

"Drop it," said Chongo. The .38 hit the floor. Chongo stepped forward, picked it up and smacked the skinny guy one on the jaw that laid him out cold.

"You didn't wanta have him hear ya, right?" he said to Laura. She nodded, and slipped her own gun back in her handbag.

"Laura...I know I gotta go fast, but..." he spoke hoarsely..."don't NEVER do nothin' like that to me again! Don't ever do it again."

"I'm sorry, Chongo," she said, not looking away, and looking very sad. "Truly I am."

He would have turned to go then, but she handed him a card. "Listen. You ever want to talk, you can always reach me here. If you don't want to talk, I'll understand."         

He took the card wordlessly, pocketed it, and was out the window and gone.

* * * * *

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 24 Dec 03 - 04:37 PM

Editor's note: Chongo got all teary after that last scene, and is now consoling himself with hot mulled cider spiked with Cuban rum, and contemplating the vicissitudes of unattainable inter-species love...he's dizzy with the dame. Bein' as how it is now Christmas Eve, all us gumshoes, grifters, and hatchetmen are gonna put away our beanshooters for a day or two, kick back, and enjoy the fruits of our labours in relative peace.

Want my advice? Don't take the fall for nothin' you didn't do, stay off the nose-candy, and keep it on the square...and you'll do just fine in this town.

On behalf of Mr Chongo and the entire staff at Primate Eye Productions, we bid you all a Very Merry Christmas and the gladdest of glad tidings for a prosperous and luminous New Year!!!

- LH

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 27 Dec 03 - 02:50 PM

When we last saw, heard from, or otherwise interacted with our amnesiac friend Fat Freddie, the oversized Musclechimp from the Miami Mob, he had spoken the word "Chongo" in a rather cryptic fashion. Is this a harbinger of some kind of breakthrough? Is it a sign that Fat Freddie is regaining his mental faculties after being brainwashed by Big Daddy Malone's rendition of "The Big Rock Candy Mountain"? Is he going to remember who he is and ruin the author's trite, pat, contrived dependence on the old amnesia chestnut?

Nope!

Now, when Fat Freddie said "Chongo", you probably thought he was remembering something about his current Mob assignment - something to do with Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye - right? Wrong! Actually "Chongo" is not just the name of the hero of this story, but the name of a popular snack-food item marketed only in the South Florida area.    Fat Freddie was merely having a purely Pavlovian response to the mention of one of his favorite food items. Look, when you're a big guy like Fat Freddie food is number one and "Chongo" brand yogurt and carob dipped sun-dried banana slices are number one among all the other number ones. Trust me. The guy don't remember squat. His brain is fried, finished, kaput and otherwise no longer part if this story. Repeat after me, "Bye-bye Fat Freddie's brain!"

However, that overly garrulous little speed-freak Capuchin monkey whose mention of the word "Chongo" prompted Fat Freddie's reaction doesn't know that! He's from Chicago and he's never even heard of "Chongo" brand yogurt and carob dipped sun-dried banana slices. The word "Chongo" only means one thing to him. It means "money". In his seedy little monkey brain there has to be a connection between his occasional employer, Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye, and the very large but very dumb Chimp sitting beside him at the Salvation Army mess hall table and mumbling, "Chongo." The exact nature of the connection between the two is uncertain, but that's of no concern to the Capuchin. The possibility that there might be a finder's fee associated with his facilitating their reunion is, however, of rather sizeable concern.

"So," jibbered the Capuchin, "you know Chongo, huh?"

"Chongo!" replied Fat Freddie while staring blankly into his bowl of extra-watered-down potato soup.

"You an' Chongo friends? You like Chongo?"

"Like Chongo!"

"Ya wanna go see Chongo? He should be in his office by now. I know the way. I'll take ya there, big guy. Right to yer ol' buddy Chongo. But, er, it's a pretty long walk, ya know. Ya wouldn' happen t' have cab fare or maybe a couple of bus tokens or somethin' like that, wouldja?"

"Chongo."

"Yeah. That's what I thought. Well, I guess a little walk never hurt anyone."

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Charley Noble
Date: 27 Dec 03 - 03:58 PM

Thanks, gang!

Charley Noble, who may be your only reader

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Amos
Date: 27 Dec 03 - 04:08 PM

(He's not but he may be the only one who is a solipsist....)


A

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 27 Dec 03 - 05:24 PM

Editor's note: Solipsism? How da ya figger, Amos? Man, I just rented "The Big Sleep" with Bogart and Bacall...great movie! Of course, any movie with Bogart and Bacall in it is a great movie. I have also gotten a collection of Raymond Chandler's four greatest whodunits from the library, starring the peerless Philip Marlowe, and am reading them to help get in the mood. Darn good writing, I'd have to say. The problem is, they're all set in southern California, and I need private eye stories that are set in 1940's Chicago. Suggestions?

Mr Chongo (I mean the ape presently employed by my company to fend off telemarketers, not the one in our story, who is his alter ego...) is still in recovery from massive holiday indulgence in consumable edibles and drinkables. He is trying to live up to the image of a Primate Ape, and succeeding reasonably well, in that he has a terrible hangover.

The tale should be moving right along shortly here. I hope Chongo succeeds in pumping Fat Freddy for some useful information, but the chances look slim, unless he can find an antidote for Big Daddy's awful singing.

What is Laura's game? That is not clear yet, but she ain't there by accident, and it looks like she's developing a soft spot for the simian gumshoe...which could prove to be a lifesaver. It already has once. Mind ya, he wouldn't have gone into Antonio's if not for her, so maybe that makes it just even at this point.

Note that human hoods are involved now too. Not good. Must be the diamonds. They wouldn't be in it for the bananas.

- LH

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Amos
Date: 27 Dec 03 - 08:09 PM

( I was funning Charley on account he reckoned he might be the only person reading this story, solely based on self-assessment. Maybe there are hundreds of readers out there who believe they are the only readers. Now I realize this is not true solipsism, but I couldn't think of a better word to capture the thought. Sorry. A)

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 27 Dec 03 - 11:47 PM

As Fat Freddie and the mouthy Capuchin walk down West Washington toward the offices of Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye, a festering problem relating to the narrative style of Bee-dubya's contribution to this tale begins to come to a head.   Inasmuch as other contributors to this story have seen fit to write of Chongo's adventures in the overly simile-laden style typically associated with '40s detective fiction (complete with its unenlightened attitudes toward women), a stylistic conflict somewhat resembling the aftermath of a major train derailment is about to occur.

The crux of the matter is that Bee-dubya really, really, really, really hates that Sam Spade/Phillip Marlowe detective writing style. Yes, there are others who just love it and that's fine. There's no disputing taste. But Bee-dubya would rather take a razor blade to his wrists than have to write a line like "She wore a dress so tight that...." See! He can't do it! Can't even finish one stinkin' line!

Ya see, prior to now, Bee-dubya has been dealing strictly with peripheral characters and you can do them in any style you want. Ya don't really have to do the Sam Spade bit until you're talkin' about the main character, the private dick, the gumshoe of the story. The minor characters don't talk in ridiculous shop-worn metaphors and similes because they don't have to. Bartenders are not required to compare women's dames' dresses to Boa Constrictors, Burmese Pythons or any other slithery creatures, but gumshoes are. That's because minor characters have normal healthy sex lives. Only the main character is unfulfilled and perpetually horny to the point of having to create what he thinks are flattering - but, in reality, demeaning - figures of speech about any woman slightly more attractive than Barbara Bush. Truth of the matter is that all those guys are probably afraid of women and so are the writers who created them. If they were around today they'd probably join men's groups and spend their weekends throwing spears and dancing around campfires trying to figure out why they feel so unfulfilled.

So, there you have it. There's a big, dumb Chimp who doesn't know who or what he is on his way to a rendezvous with destiny in the form of Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye. Bee-dubya can't write any more about the subject because it would mean he would have to write in the "faux Phillip Marlowe" style appropriate to writing about Chongo himself, and HE'S NOT GONNA DO IT!!!!

So, Fat Freddie is going to step off a curb right into the path of an oncoming CTA bus. It will cure his amnesia, but it will also leave him paralysed and wheelchair-bound for life. Fortunately, the yappy little Capuchin monkey is going to be flattened like a pancake. Good riddance!

Meanwhile, Bee-dubya's gonna turn around and go back to Miami and come up with some more peripheral crap that he can do in a style closer to Dirk Gently, Holistic Detective, than Sam Spade.

Subject: RE: Chongo Chimp, Primate Eye (story)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 28 Dec 03 - 06:02 PM

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.

- LH









- LH