{"id":2477,"date":"2023-09-21T02:00:43","date_gmt":"2023-09-21T02:00:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/?page_id=2477"},"modified":"2025-08-24T06:53:09","modified_gmt":"2025-08-24T06:53:09","slug":"gary-and-edward-g-mawyer","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/gary-and-edward-g-mawyer\/","title":{"rendered":"Gary, Edward G., and Daniel Mawyer"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

A Study in Interruption<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Obsession. It\u2019s not just a perfume. It\u2019s been around a long time. Obsession might help explain prehistoric cave paintings of big game. \u201cA Study in Interruption\u201d is taken from <\/em>The Adventures of Rhesus A. Macaque, Private Investigator (illustrations by Daniel Mawyer). In the science fiction world of Macaque and his partner Guy Poisson, centuries have passed since the Sea Change, an unexpected rise in ocean levels. The Sea Change triggered the breakup of the Federal Empire, but eventually the great old patterns of American settlerism have begun to reassert themselves. As this story illustrates, that future society is obsessed with crime. The last story in this issue of <\/em>Vice-Versa, it is set in the criminal underworld of Lanta, port city and capital of Dixie, and suggests that obsession will still be a complex problem centuries from now.  <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

L\u2019homme des Ombres<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

If Guy Poisson really had a home anywhere\u2014not counting granny\u2019s bamboo stilt longhouse in the Arkansas swamps\u2014it was Lanta, the capital city of Dixie. A first-class Texas Seaway ferry ticket to Lanta cost Guy a two inch stack of paper currency, but the company funds of Poisson and Macaque, Private Investigators<\/em> were over a foot thick and the ticket was worth every pfennig. A generous tipper, Guy\u2019s voyage was pleasant, uneventful, well lubricated and tastily fed. Guy arrived clean and rested, and headed straight for his favorite part of town, Lanta\u2019s famous Broad Street, where there was a nice selection of gentlemen\u2019s flop houses. On the corner of Broad and Mammal Avenue he saw a \u201cFor Rent: Make an Offer\u201d sign on the top floor of a classic two-story wood-frame cracker box. Just for laughs he knocked on the door and offered the box-shaped cracker who answered it a lowly pittance of a rent, about half the going rate. The grizzled pink boob, a nervous look on his ugly mug, gratefully accepted at once. To Guy\u2019s amazement he suddenly had the lease on a walk-up office, which came furnished and had a back room large enough to sleep in. This was a supernaturally surprising bargain.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Maybe it wasn\u2019t as suspicious as it sounded. The previous tenant, a professional fortune-teller, had skipped out. There was a creepy sign suitable for repainting on the discreet side stairs leading up to the office. In addition to the usual furniture, the front room included concealed strings and pulleys, interesting mirrors, red velvet curtains, a black light setup, jar of phosphorescent powder, Tarot deck, crystal ball, stand for same, et cetera. The back room included spare clothes in a chest of drawers. Capes and fancy vests, slightly too large, but Guy was absolutely going to wear this stuff. No wonder the previous tenant had to skip out. Over-spender. Abandoned his clothes. Left ten dollars mixed with the socks in the underwear drawer. Inexplicable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The office came with a cat named Pompilius, a huge, indolent, desperately ingratiating creature hand-trained to the s\u00e9ance racket. Pompilius, maybe because of all that training, suffered from preternatural insight into his utter dependence on cat food. He could not open the cans himself or even infer or deduce where the cans really came from, an existential plight that might ruin a human. The effect on a cat was pitiable. Pompilius was terribly relieved when Guy rented the place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Guy decided not to remove the fortune-telling apparatus. There\u2019s all kinds of detectives, he decided. The s\u00e9ance setup could be used. Some cleaning was necessary, for instance the nearly realistic blood spatter on the wall and the tacky merlot-colored drag marks on the floor. Maybe that kind of stuff was OK for goth-psychic d\u00e9cor, but not a P.I.\u2019s office. Soon the office sign read:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Guy Poisson, Homme des Ombres
\n<\/strong> <\/strong>Private Psychic Investigator<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Around this point in the business plan, Guy bought his usual weekly copy of The Daily Hominid, <\/em>the American Exarchate\u2019s newspaper of record. He was shocked to see the face of his partner, Rhesus A. Macaque, or a photogravure thereof, looming above the fold next to DESTRUCTION OF SALT LAKE CITY SOLVED. This was, officially, a very big deal. The pillaging of Salt Lake and Pueblo was widely considered important. For weeks everybody in North America wanted to know: was it politics? Crime? Old Testament stuff? Maybe just a local war? Now the solution was on the front page, cut into slices and laid out like white bread by the Macaque Sleuth. Even the Tedboro horse rustling case, Guy\u2019s most recent personal failure, was mentioned as a sort of footnote or pickle on this detective sandwich, which somehow read like an epic. Nowhere did the article mention Guy Poisson. That seemed grossly unjust. Guy felt he\u2019d very nearly solved this case himself, now that the facts were exposed. Always a step closer than anyone knew. And here he was feeling guilty about spending Reese\u2019s half of the company money. Which seemed fair now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No sense dwelling on the past though. There was another detective story in the Dixie Times Dispatch<\/em>, a purely East Lanta mystery. The details somehow involved a buried clock. The DTD<\/em> went on to liberally criticize Lanta\u2019s celebrated Assistant Chief Detective, Inspector William \u2018Ape\u2019 Pagoda, for wasting time on a clock, considering the amount of real crime going on in Lanta, and also for throwing parts of his lunch at the press. Pagoda claimed to have unearthed a vast complex of deeply criminal motives. True, motives aren\u2019t crimes. But when the actual crimes broke out, the motives might be relevant eventually. No imagination. That\u2019s the problem with the news.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Affair of the Two Phils<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

About seventy blocks from Poisson\u2019s new office, in the dark of the moon, on an unlit side street seedier than Mexican ditchweed, an individual named Fil walked into the Greasy Gaboon, sat down at the counter, looked at the weekly special on the chalkboard, and sighed. He was the only customer. The Greasy Gaboon wasn\u2019t known for its swell cuisine. If Fil had been smarter\u2026 or funnier\u2026 or blessed with charisma\u2026 or had any positive qualities or even a random smear of general awareness, he\u2019d have realized the weekly special never changed. That\u2019s what made it special. But Fil was beyond those kinds of abstract things. What he was, was hungry. Hungry hungry. So he proceeded to spoon up the hash browns from a puddle of secret sauce, choking it down before it choked him back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After Fil was full he asked for a re-Fil and pointed at himself and laughed for a sadly inappropriate amount of time. But Flona the night shift waitress had heard it all before, much of it from Fil. She just tipped the coffee pot over far enough to ooze another cup of industrial Joe into Fil\u2019s open mug. As she did so, she dreamed of the beach road north of Sacramento. Because she was from another world\u2014the Opposite Coast\u2014the Land of 1,000 Reasons not to run away to Hot Lanta and work at the Greasy Gaboon. But despite all these reasons to not be there, Flona also had reasons why she was there. She even knew some of the reasons. A truly reasonable person like Flona never runs out of reasons how come this and that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meanwhile Fil finally stopped laughing at his own little joke and turned around on his stool to stare blankly around the diner. Work of a moment. The Greasy Gaboon was tiny\u2014only had three small tables and five small chairs. Fil wondered what happened to chair #6. I mean, five chairs, he thought, ain\u2019t even a quartet!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On this particular night, as Fil Feelmore dreamed of more ways to count chairs and crack wise, fate decided to be done with him. Because unfortunately for Fil, he closely resembled his cousin Phil Philmore in looks, posture, and much more importantly where a slobbering bloodhound named Wubba was concerned, smell. Which is why at precisely 01:73 AM Eastern Swamp Time, a professional assassin opened the door of the Greasy Gaboon, politely leashed Wubba (a partly-trained tracking dog of sub-average skills) to the doorknob, and filled Fil full of lead. Which Fil thought was inexplicably sudden and uncalled-for, as the lights went out\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The Brink of the Precipice<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Ape\u2019 Pagoda sat in his obsession therapist\u2019s waiting room for the third time this week. The Chief was really mad this time. But what was a simian supposed to do about a rival suitor for the girl of his dreams? Farla Buttafuco haunted his thoughts like a crocodile hanging out for buffalo at the water hole. He thought about Farla a lot. When he thought about Phil Philmore he didn\u2019t enjoy that so much. Ape scratched his elbow and started leafing through a homemaker\u2019s magazine that caught his eye. Banana pie. Banana pie sounded great and also photographed really well. The nice secretary, Mrs. Flumpkins, called his name. Her voice had a rough, low register that Ape found non-threatening. He showed his teeth by way of thanks and loped into Dr. Snodgrass\u2019s office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThird time this week, Ape.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ape nodded and squatted in his usual corner of the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow really, Ape, you can sit in the chair if you want to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ape shook his head and scratched his haunches, as if to demonstrate that he couldn\u2019t scratch his haunches sitting in a chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOK, Ape, have it your way. The Chief says you lost control of yourself at work and threw things at the newspaper guys again. Can you tell me what you were feeling when you did that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ape blew air through his nose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow Ape, you don\u2019t have to talk if you prefer not to, but we both know you speak English just fine. Was this about Ms. Buffalo again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cButtafuco. Her name is Farla Buttafuco,\u201d Ape said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right, Farla. Have you ever actually talked to Farla? Asked her out? A movie perhaps?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA movie? Damn it, man, the jungle ain\u2019t no place to take a pretty girl.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, Ape, but you live in the City of Lanta. The docks are kind of like a jungle, but\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo comment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019ll just remind you again\u2014you are a human being, and worthy of love.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ha. Just what he would say. Dr. Snodgrass was in on it, of course. Ape turned around and showed the doctor his red butt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This was a bit literal even for a psychotherapist. He preferred his infantile behavior to be more metaphoric. \u201cApe. This is what babies do. Pull your pants up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, doc, sure, and I guess I\u2019m not covered in fur either.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, you\u2019re a hairy guy. But it\u2019s not fur.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow\u2019d this happen, anyway? Am I hallucinating? One minute I\u2019m minding my own business in the jungle, peacefully watching the flamingos dip their beaks, and next thing I wake up in a police station in Lanta and I\u2019ve got a job? As Assistant Chief Detective? Can that really happen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cListen to yourself, Ape. Here you are, a respectable public employee wearing a badge and a firearm, third generation public service, half a dozen commendations, two purple hearts, a full-dress peaked hat with a brass eagle on it, union member in terrific standing, got a fabulous pension, countless vacation days, stupendous health coverage\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ape knew he needed help with his obsessions, but he felt little respect for Dr.Snodgrass, who wasn\u2019t helping much. Ape had a case to solve, complicated by the fact that Farla, the love of this period of his life, was one of the most likely suspects in a string of closely linked killings that had only just begun. A nasty little tangle guaranteed to include any number of murders eventually. Of course, under all the disingenuous folderol, money was the real motive. Which meant Ape might have to count numbers, or try to count, if he was going to puzzle this out. And here he was with his wits shattered. He needed a cure real bad, not Dr. Snodgrass rattling away like a pair of castanets. Ape slyly reached into the leather shoulder holster concealed under his sports jacket. \u201cTake that!\u201d he yelled, hurling a handful of putrid jackfruit across the room. First time he felt good all day.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

A Missing Spirit Animal<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

 <\/em>The appropriate clients for Guy\u2019s services as a Private Psychic Investigator showed up at once\u2014not horse rustlers or arsonists for a well-deserved change, but working stiffs in clumsy tweed cotton suits and bulky shoes, anxious to communicate with their husband, wife, mistress, minister, pool boy, or other significant relationship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll that ectoplasm stuff is fake, basically just these strings you see me working,\u201d Guy told them. \u201cYou can\u2019t talk from the Beyond. If you could, you wouldn\u2019t need me. And no \u2018make me guess\u2019 nonsense. Let\u2019s write what we want in a good long letter. Put in every detail you know and exactly what you\u2019d like to hear back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After collecting the data and scheduling the return appointment, Guy wrote the answers from the Great Beyond in silver ink on purple paper. Mostly the answer was to stop worrying about dead people. He was comfortable with that advice. At the return appointment Pompilius, judiciously touched up with phosphorus, would carry the Letter From Beyond into the black-lit room in his mouth. Pompilius was hard to identify as a cat even in good light without phosphorous. It didn\u2019t hurt that the letters from beyond were dryly scrawled in pathetic fake French. In fact nothing hurt, but it was small potatoes. At least Guy didn\u2019t have to dust the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then Shirley Serious came in with a real case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHere\u2019s the deal. I have a Spirit Animal,\u201d Shirley said. \u201cNot sure if everybody<\/em> has a Spirit Animal but one of my ancestors was an Indian about 600 years ago, so I still have one. And apparently I must have done something terrible, because my Spirit Animal has abandoned me. I feel totally unprotected. You can\u2019t go through life as a person who used<\/em> to have a Spirit Animal. Can you help with that sort of thing, Mr. Poisson?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, but I prefair you call it Giii.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not funny,\u201d Shirley said. \u201cYou can die<\/em> from being abandoned by your Spirit Animal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI sense your distress. There is a natural homogenesia pervading the Orgone. I must ask one thing. The unknown spirit animal\u2014has it got a name it answers to?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnswers to? Why would it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd can anyone else see it? This unknown spirit animal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have no way of knowing that,\u201d Shirley replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThose answers tell me, madame, that you are serious.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s my name!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd, may I ask, who was so kind as to refer you to me? There may be the discount\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI saw the sign. I just live a few blocks away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou understand, l\u2019animal spirituel<\/em>, it can be obstinate at times, but with ze proper bait\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe I\u2019m not explaining this very well. He hasn\u2019t disappeared or anything, he\u2019s guarding the wrong house now. He started guarding the house across the street.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat kind of spirit animal is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo idea. Never seen another one like it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe huge animal?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. Well, yes. Actually, it can be different sizes. Generally you\u2019d call it fairly large for a smaller animal. But as a large animal it would be on the smaller side. Before you go any further, it\u2019s not a dog. I think it\u2019s from another dimension. It appears on Mondays and Tuesdays. Late on Monday and early on Tuesday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe astronomical timing does suggest the transdimensional traveler. But you understand, I cannot summon this spirit animal up and make it speak. The ectoplasm\u2014just strings. The haunting astral music\u2014just Debussy\u2019s Nuages<\/em> played backwards. The parlor tricks, merde sacre<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not an idiot either,\u201d Shirley said. \u201cI work at Police Precinct Number One. I don\u2019t believe in fortune-telling and psychic stuff. I see more lies and deceit in a day than most people see in a year.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe not easily fooled. Life for a cop in the wharf district, she is rough, no?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019m not a cop. I own the snack bar concession.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen you are a wealthy woman!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHa. Cops think the world owes them a living. It\u2019s a constant struggle. I get \u2019em back though. Donuts can be stale when they need to be. Don\u2019t get me wrong\u2014some of the detainees are just as bad. The guys in the cells eat an awful lot of swole on credit. Condiment packets ain\u2019t really<\/em> free, you know. I\u2019m definitely interested in that discount you mentioned.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The beautiful frightened client with money. The police, they cannot help. Here, finally, was a case for method, for reasoning. The unfaithful\u2014how often they are content just to cross the street! So disillusioning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Guy knew the time and the place. The first step: determining if the truant spiritual beast was a solid object. By day he scouted the location. Shirley lived in a detached house with a front yard. She certainly couldn\u2019t plead poverty. The front yard even had a bush he could very nearly conceal himself under.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Monday night, Guy saw lots of things. The house across the street had many tenants. Their stretch of sidewalk was obstructed by bags of trash and garbage. A nice neighborhood; they had trash pickup, one of the most expensive private services. Most of the trash was in paper bags or cardboard boxes, but some folks on Shirley\u2019s street had real trash cans. Shirley\u2019s trash can was brand new. Factory-cast with a nice tight lid. Some would have said it was much too nice to put trash in. But the well-off think differently from the rest of us. Anyway, talk about luxury, a guy down the street had a trash can with wheels. He pushed it out to the sidewalk in his sock feet around eleven-thirty, like a show-off performing an errand he\u2019d just barely remembered in time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Guy was fine until it started raining. Not all detectives are set up for rain. His partner Reese, for instance, had a trench coat and a hat with a brim. Guy\u2019s full evening dress, on the other hand, absorbed water rapidly, though not as rapidly as the velvet cape he\u2019d thrown over himself. Southern weather, are you kidding me. He went home. No choice really. He promptly overslept. Late Tuesday morning he dashed back to the stakeout. All the trash was gone. The clip-clop of the trash wagon could still be heard two streets away. No sign of any spirit animal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s what happens when you leave early and return late. Nothing to say whether Shirley\u2019s spirit animal was solid, or only visible to Shirley. He\u2019d have liked to ask Shirley about her new trash can, or if she previously used bags like most people, but your clients are not your friends. As a professional, you should stay the hell away from them. He had enough unsolved information already. And they wonder why detectives are so gloomy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Almost a week later, it was dawn on Monday again, just as humid, but maybe not raining. Around 07:85, lurking behind the bush in Shirley\u2019s front yard, Guy heard rustling, almost as if an animal was stirring. The garbage on the sidewalk threw long brown shadows under the watery sun. A disturbingly misshapen hairy beast emerged between the ripe and splitting sacks of trash across the street. Streaks of left-over phosphorus glowed in its fur.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPompilius,\u201d Guy hissed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Phil Philmore\u2019s Fates<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The Greasy Gaboon assassin\u2019s failed play (if you call slaughtering Fil a failure\u2014or a play, for that matter) told Phil Philmore all he needed to know. \u201cYou gotta hide me,\u201d he begged Farla Buttafuco, Ape Pagoda\u2019s heart throb. The lovely buxom Farla was alarmed to hear it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about Flona?\u201d Farla asked. \u201cIs Flona OK?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFlona Flona nothing, they\u2019re after me, you get it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a terrible risk,\u201d Farla said. \u201cSomebody will have to bring you food. Probably me. Ape will see a gravy stain or something and figure it out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen to hell with food,\u201d Phil replied. \u201cI\u2019ll live on drink.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With that objection out of the way, Farla said OK. She had the perfect place, as Phil well knew, which was why he asked her in the first place. Thirty-five minutes later, Phil Philmore was locked in a wine cellar. Locked in from the outside, for plausibility. Half an hour later Phil was shit-faced drunk. This went on for days. To begin with, cadet oenophile Phil thought he could tough it out. Bottle after bottle of twenty-year-old vin d\u2019terroir extraordinaire<\/em> sloshed down his gullet. When he found the cask of Amontillado all the way in the back of the cellar, you couldn\u2019t say it sobered him up, but it was an uncomfortable reminder of what drinking in the dark can lead to. Best to stay away from that corner. It was awful quiet in the wine cellar. And a touch damp. Cough cough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For Phil, the line between reality and dreams began to fade. Indeed, his dreams were well lit, unlike the wine cellar. He dreamed of dry mornings, the kinda morning dry you get when you shove a soda cracker into a Southern Baptist t-shirt vendor\u2019s open mouth at the yearly Easter Convention. It was that<\/em> dry. But he\u2019d earned it. Because Phil had finally lost his mind. A week or ten days in a sealed wine cellar will do that to you. One more bottle and he never would have recovered. But of the Two Phils, he was still the luckier one. Yes, luck, because he didn\u2019t believe in religion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meanwhile, on the surface world, Phil\u2019s disappearance was the long-awaited break Ape Pagoda needed in the Case of the Two Phils. All that remained now was to assemble the entire cast of suspects, scare the piss out of them, handcuff the guilty ones and drag them off to the cells to live on Shirley\u2019s swole. Work of a moment. The reporters were all ready to photograph everyone at the big reveal. Ape was momentarily at the top of his intellectual form.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2026so you went to a lot of trouble to make it look like Phil was dead but really he was hiding in the locked wine cellar THE WHOLE TIME, wasn\u2019t he, Farla!\u201d said the Ape Detective.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo sue me,\u201d Farla replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you still haven\u2019t explained the letter with the rose petals? And what about the dead bartender?\u201d asked Sharon O\u2019Whosit, the Irish belladonna whose lanky misbehavior set off the Case of the Two Phils to begin with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAha!\u201d said Ape. \u201cHaven\u2019t I?\u201d And he just stood there, staring Farla\u2019s guests and the household staff down, as if daring anyone else to speak up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Which they all did. \u201cNo, no, I don\u2019t think so, must have missed it, didn\u2019t catch the big reveal, etc.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh. Well, no problem. You see, only Count Henry Cisco had the motive and the resources to bury the family clock and then dig it up again. A good alibi, to be sure, if it hadn\u2019t been Daylight Swamp Time! Daylight Swamp Time\u2019s metric!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, Jeez, of course,\u201d they all said. \u201cSo it was that obvious. Gosh, why didn\u2019t I think of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And there it was. The clock. The rose petals. The letter. Count Cisco, and the mud on his hand-tooled leather boots. Three dead cats. A deceased bartender with $8,700 in counterfeit New Confederate Money in his bar jacket. Even Fil\u2019s pointless manslaughter at the Greasy Gaboon. It all added up to a life sentence for Count Henry Cisco and his wife, the Countess of Henry Cisco. Everything fitted together perfect, like a Tetris screen. Farla was stunned, relieved, and also seriously turned on\u2026 already couldn\u2019t keep her hands off herself\u2026 yep, it was gonna be a good night for Ape, a great night in fact, or Ape would be the first person to want to know why not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShould we let Phil out of the wine cellar?\u201d said Sharon thinly. \u201cTell him what happened? Faith, he\u2019ll be after having no idea.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. Ook! I mean, yeah,\u201d Ape said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Phil, a pale green louche<\/em> of himself, crawled hesitantly out of the wine cellar. \u201cAh? Ah?\u201d he said. It was a lot for him to take in. Cousin Fil\u2014dead. The Greasy Gaboon\u2014burned to the stumps. Wubba, the fatal bloodhound\u2014blinded by the headlights on Peachtree Avenue, stepped in front of a steam tractor, crushed. The anonymous assassin who iced Fil\u2014unpaid, bitter, badly missing his dog, a threat no more. Count and Countess Henry Cisco\u2014destined for long prison sentences. And Flona the Night-Shift Waitress was free now, free to walk off down the street and fulfill her destiny if that was what she wanted to do. My God, Phil\u2019s good luck was terrifying. On the down side, Frenchie LaRue had not been pleased at the Annual Police Stockholders\u2019 Meeting about the fruit hurling at the press conference.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Frogpaws Harry Intervenes<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

 <\/em>Unfortunately for several people, the Case of the Two Phils was not quite over. As darkness crept in, or in Phil\u2019s case rose hauntingly from the wine cellar, Ape prepared to claim as his victory lap the female for whom he drooled and schemed, his long awaited crack at Farla. Farla was game too, but suddenly the fatal appendage cashed out. After a lot of fumbling around and howling, Ape knuckled back to Precinct Number One at a handsome trot, sans pants, foaming at the chops with disappointment. Straight through the door, past Sergeant Jerry at the front desk, through the Whatever Room where the cops hung around when they were at work (empty now, not a soul in the place at this time of night) and into his own office. Ape\u2019s office at the back of the precinct was not really completely dark, but it wasn\u2019t well lit. Ape Pagoda was exrtremely well lit, but that wasn\u2019t important right now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The important part, Ape and Farla both would have said, was Ape completely missing out on the best sex of his life, hours of fabulous sex he didn\u2019t have. Now Ape was behind his desk on his hands and knees, looking for a revolver. \u201cTwo can play at that game,\u201d Ape muttered to himself in a merry Vincent van Gogh mood. But just as he found the revolver and flipped the safety catch off, Ape\u2019s ruined orgie a deux<\/em> was overshadowed by a second assassin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Frogpaws Harry was only now getting around to the awfully clever scheme he\u2019d worked out: simple lurking. Precinct security was notoriously weak. Just seconds after Ape shot past, Frogpaws\u2019 lurking skills paid off. He dashed in behind Ape and easily snatched the astonished Sergeant Jerry off the front desk. Revolver in hand, Ape peeked up to see Frogpaws holding a big serrated knife to Sergeant Jerry\u2019s throat. Jerry looked scared. Jerry hated frogs, hated and feared them. It was mutual. But frog-hate, and the deep well of prehistoric consciousness that spawns it, wasn\u2019t important right now. Neither was the humidity. Moist, but not important. A hot, semi-lit evening. Ape struggled to pay full attention to the crisis at hand. When you\u2019re this drunk, it pays to be cautious. Wait\u2026 had anyone paid him? Was he cautious? And where were his pants?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Frogpaws was talking. \u201cSmart move snapping off the lights, Ape, but I know you\u2019re in here. I know you are, \u2018cause I got your pants. Come out, or Officer Jerry here gets it. And then us\u2019n all are gonna take a ride to the wharf\u2014real quiet-like. Cochise?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ape didn\u2019t remember taking off his pants, but he didn\u2019t remember a lot of things. Like his mother\u2019s birthday or which end was up or what \u201cquagmire\u201d meant. But he did remember one thing\u2026 nope. Forgot that too. Man, was it moist in his office! So moist his trigger finger slipped and the revolver went off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Frogpaws screamed as the floor opened under his feet and he fell, or plunged, fifty feet or so into the second basement. Under other circumstances he might have survived but a police station has to store its bear trap arsenal somewhere. The sound of dozens of bear traps snapping shut with meaty thuds was too much for poor Sergeant Jerry, who threw up on the rug. As if things weren\u2019t moist enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCase closed,\u201d Ape said, a remark as literal as it was needless.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The Naked City<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

It was a new day. Detective Ape Pagoda couldn\u2019t believe it. His pants were lost again. Baskets of Frogpaws Harry were still being passed up the narrow steps from the second basement, at the coroner\u2019s request. All the precinct personnel came around to look at the mess. Fortunately Shirley Serious had spare pants at the snack bar. \u201cWhy so down in the dumps, Ape?\u201d asked Shirley. \u201cNobody\u2019s gonna miss Frogpaws. You could shoot him all you want. Probably get another medal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not that. The doctor says I\u2019ve got Ed. Who\u2019s Ed? Mr. Ed? I hate horses.\u201d Ape threw a handful of nuts against the wall and knuckled anxiously back and forth and up and down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe it was a capital D. ED. Maybe he meant your dick don\u2019t work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOK, who\u2019s Dick? One of Ed\u2019s friends? I hope Ed\u2019s happy. What I need right now is a replacement for that so-called psychiatrist Snodgrass. The man\u2019s a Freudian. He\u2019s got no idea how to lift a curse. I need a psychic.\u201d Ape dropped to the floor and curled into a ball, the better to show off his rump. He liked Shirley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGo see Guy Poisson, Homme des Ombres<\/em>. He reunited me with my astral familiar!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDamn, that does sound pretty accomplished. Where is he?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan\u2019t miss it, corner of Broad and Mammal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ape was tired after suffering the worst disappointment of his life and then killing Frogpaws, but this was an emergency. Soon Guy woke to a frightful banging on his door. Ape popped the lock and broke in before Guy could finish dressing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShirley tells me you solve witchcraft cases,\u201d Ape said. \u201cShe told me you reunited her with her missing spirit animal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt was not missing, nor had it ceased to be Shirley\u2019s guardian on the Plane Astral. Please, come in. As I told the delightful Shirley, when she bought the elite garbage can with the lid most fancy, her spirit animal was forced to appear across the street. Between you and me, it was all about leftovers. But now Pompilius lives at her home and there will be no more trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShirley also tells me I\u2019m the Assistant Chief Detective of the Lanta Police Department. But plainly I\u2019m a monkey of some kind living in the jungle. It doesn\u2019t add up.\u201d Ape flicked a fly off the windowpane with his new trousers, which were already crumpled. \u201cI will come back and shit all over this room if you tell anybody I was here,\u201d he said disconsolately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI beg you not to,\u201d Guy said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen you better come up with something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere is always tension in the partnership between the official detective of high local standing and the world-famous private investigator, between the mere professional and the genius amateur. My m\u00e9thode psychique <\/em>is secret. I am not to be seen. I tell no one anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPerfect. Oook!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCalm yourself. We can approach your problem by deduction.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut that will drive me crazy!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a risk we must take.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOK.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe it is induction. I am never sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ape curled his lips back to show that it was all the same to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet us explore the extent of this curse a witch has placed on you. You think this is the jungle, no?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cObviously,\u201d said Ape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut the jungle has vines and trees. Lanta has cement and asphalt. When you look out this window, what do you see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI see a brick wall.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo the asphalt jungle is the metaphor. The naked city. It has a million stories, n\u2019est pas<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow does that help?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe are leading you back to reality. You think you are the simian, no? Then how is it you have solved the great case, the Mystery of the Two Phils, which has exercised the public imagination all over town for weeks?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs this going to cost a lot?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA case of this complexity\u2014I can offer the discount\u2014still\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExcuse me a minute,\u201d Ape said, bounding out the door and down the stairs by way of the bannisters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That, thought Guy, is the end of that. Some people are shy about money. Mention cash and they run away. He never expected to see Ape again.  Guy consoled himself with a salami sandwich\u2014sadly, without the mustard, business wasn\u2019t that good\u2014but by the time he finished wolfing his tainted lunch, Ape Pagoda came back after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust remembered I had a fine to collect,\u201d Ape said, throwing a fat wad of Dixie rag paper on the s\u00e9ance table. \u201cWill this cover your walking-around money?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMerde de dieu<\/em>,\u201d Guy expostulated grievously. \u201cWhat happened to your eye?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWalked into a door.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re going to have quite a shiner tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSmall price to pay if you can turn me back into a human.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOui<\/em>. But there is the possibility you have been a human the whole time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen how do you explain this?\u201d Ape said, ripping off his shirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIncroyable<\/em>,\u201d Guy said. \u201cCould I ask you to turn around? The back too. Fantastique<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTold you so.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut this is not fur. This is human hair, though it has the quality, how you say in English, pubic. Except it is all over. This popsicle stick, it has importance for you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wondered where that went.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMay I remove it? I find it disturbing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure. Ouch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAlso, no tail. A monkey, it has the tail.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI get this all the time. I tried psychotherapy. It\u2019s not helpful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe have accepted that the jungle is a figurative jungle only.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe asphalt jungle. Yeah, I like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen while I examine the structure of this curse, you can be the figurative simian only.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe asphalt simian? But that doesn\u2019t make any sense, doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease, monsieur. I must have your cooperation to work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

R<\/em>inascimento del Pomodoro<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Guy did not spend a great deal of time examining the structure of Ape\u2019s curse, since he didn\u2019t believe in witchcraft. Instead he undertook a program of social rehabilitation for Ape, starting with a poetry reading in a coffeehouse near the university. Things began to go bad during a spirited rendition of \u201cHowl\u201d and the pants came off, but fortunately the next poem was Wordsworth\u2019s \u201cPrelude\u201d and Ape was quite calm again by Book 6 (\u201cCambridge and the Alps\u201d). The Alps beat Cambridge by quite a lot, 15,781 to 20. Still the poetry reading wasn\u2019t a total success. Guy failed to interest a shy but winsome blonde who was reading Whitman into a date of any kind, and Ape only avoided arrest by his unlimited conditional immunity as Assistant Chief Detective. Even so, the reading broke up with a lot of ill will on some sides.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next excursion, to the Dixie Museum of Art, went promisingly until Ape saw the Jackson Pollacks. A shocking setback. Guy fled, leaving Ape to wreck the place. But Guy was undeterred. The next night he dragged Ape to Symphony Hall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBonk\u2019s Variations on Shoe Man,\u201d Ape read aloud, his clawlike index nail tracing the words on the program. \u201cI know who Bonk is but what\u2019s this Shoe Man?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMerely one of the most celebrated of the Hobo Musicians of ancient times. Back in the 19th and 20th centuries the famous Hobo Musicians wandered from place to place renting pianos and charging admission. It was part of pre-television world culture.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh,\u201d Ape said. \u201cPretty smart racket.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The music was OK for Bonk, but the metal struts in the sides of the narrow seat cut into Guy\u2019s thighs until tears involuntarily streamed down his face. The seat back was designed to slowly crush the nerves under his shoulder blades until his arms went numb. The lumpy cushion cut off all circulation to his legs while compressing his bladder until he thought he might explode. Guy grimaced ferociously, determined not to pass out in agony, but despite the distractions he eventually noticed Ape\u2019s legs were bare once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow\u2019d you get \u2018em off?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey fell off by themselves.\u201d Ape still had his plaid sports jacket and luau tie on though, but the front of his shirt was in rags.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you ever own underwear?\u201d Guy asked. But at least Ape wasn\u2019t snapping his empty trouser legs at the other ticket-holders, as he so often did. The trousers were neatly folded on the armrest. Real progress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis music is totally disorganized,\u201d Ape said. \u201cHalf the orchestra\u2019s just sitting there most of the time. And why does that miserable fiddle player wait for everybody else to stop? He never catches up anyway. He doesn\u2019t even look like he\u2019s enjoying himself. They should just let him go home where he belongs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen to play and when to not play is written in musical notation on the music sheets in front of them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou mean they don\u2019t all have the same instructions? That\u2019s chaos! Well, thank God it\u2019s over. What\u2019s coming up next?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPotemkin\u2019s Fourth Piano Quartet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The orchestra made room as the piano-handlers wheeled in four massive grand pianos. With great solemnity, the bassoonist adjusted her tuxedo and prepared for the bassoon interludes. If I could only wince my knees out one more inch I might avoid an embolism, thought Guy. But his optimism was in vain. Ape, however, seemed entranced into a strangely civilized mood by the awful din. He even helped Guy to his numbed feet when the concert ended. \u201cI gotta get outta here,\u201d Ape said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow I want you to notice,\u201d Guy replied as he hobbled up the aisle on Ape\u2019s arm, \u201ceverybody in this place knows you\u2019re not supposed to walk around in public with no pants. But nobody\u2019s making a big deal about it. Everybody\u2019s had that dream. No pants in public. So they just pretend it\u2019s not happening.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, they just assume I\u2019m dreaming. Hey, wait a minute. So when they see somebody breaking an important social convention, they ignore it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExactly. It preserves the decorum of the occasion. It\u2019s the civilized thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. I kind of get what you mean. Civilized. By police procedure I ought to choke myself to death for public nudity while you beat me with a club, but maybe it\u2019s something to consider though.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Guy already knew he\u2019d started Ape\u2019s social rehabilitation on too high a plane. The next excursion was a hot dog stand, where a belching Ape ate five hot dogs standing up and then wiped the excess mustard, ketchup and chili sauce into the hair on his chest. But he kept his pants on. Guy praised him fulsomely and Ape beamed with gratification.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was time to take the great Ape Detective to a movie. Not a stupid movie, a decent famous movie with some mental challenges to it but not enough mental challenges to obscure the story. A historical romance seemed the perfect choice. Fortunately the art house near the college was showing R<\/em>inascimento del Pomodoro<\/em>, directed by the great Bertolli. Ape was entirely tractable and settled down in the movie theater with his popcorn and soda, which he ate and drank in a straightfoward manner free of shenanigans or tomfoolery. Guy, a bit on edge, divided his attention between Ape and the movie, and came away with a peripheral impression of a rocky village high in the Tuscan hills, and a cascade of agricultural terraces thronged with huge vining plants. There were sensuous closeups of budding green tomatoes. Ape still had his tasteless checkered sports coat on, his tie on, his shirt was on, his pants were on his legs, even his shoes were still on his feet. Ape seemed fascinated by Bertolli\u2019s lush Italian imagery. \u201cThe critics say this is probably the best imaginary Hollywood Tuscan English dialect in Bertolli\u2019s entire opus,\u201d Guy whispered. \u201cShut up,\u201d Ape replied. \u201cThat\u2019s Michelangelo!\u201d On the screen, in an extended flashback, Michelangelo was explaining art to the hero of the film, a strikingly handsome young man named Luigi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cArt, thatta all she is,\u201d Michelangelo said. \u201cYou can hava da art withouta da world, but you no canna hava da world withouta da art. Pound, he get confused by Mussolini, they gotta lock him up, nobody calla dat art no more. But Harpo, he easy tella the difference between right and wrong only it don\u2019t matter. So he eata da phone. You unnerstand, eata da phone?\u201d \u201cThe phone, she no tasta good.\u201d \u201cBasta<\/em>! You gotta future, kid. You get to Florence, you look this guy up,\u201d Michelangelo said, handing Luigi a business card with the name \u2018Lorenzo de Medici\u2019 engraved in gold ink. \u201cOh, dese guys,\u201d Luigi said. \u201cBuona fortuna, amico mio<\/em>,\u201d said Michelangelo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Obviously Michelangelo got it, but nobody else did. The vines grew steadily, draping themselves down the terraces, and the residents of the village laughed. \u201cLuigi, thatta Spanish fruit! Them Borgias no gotta da culture. You gonna be sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut I gotta feeling,\u201d Luigi said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou a sad case, Luigi,\u201d they answered, and wandered off. But the slight form of old Dr. Piste, the village alchemist, concealed behind his bird-headed plague mask, seemed always to be lurking in the background, paying the most attention of all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Luigi couldn\u2019t get a date with a girl to save his life, despite his flaming good looks, because of the tomatoes. It bothered him a lot, especially late at night. And his Papa wanted him to make violins instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut Papa, I despisa da violins! A damn violin, I getta my hands on one, I put it inna da fire.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cO Luigi, cretino<\/em>! Now I gotta tella da priest.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a tremendous amount of stress in that family. Luigi\u2019s mother would lean out of the second story window groaning, \u201cOh, whatta we gonna do, my son, he sfigato<\/em>,\u201d as she hung out the laundry on the village wall. The tension couldn\u2019t last, though. The golden sunlight poured down like treacle over the honey-colored rock, and all the tomatoes turned white, then pink, and finally into orbs of the deepest scarlet coral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLuigi, what I tella you?\u201d said his Papa. \u201cAlla dese plants, they determinant! They alla bloom at once, they all gonna fruit atta same time. You gotta grow da indeterminant varieties. And then it still wrong. Whatta you gonna do now? I think I losa my mind about this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was the climax of the movie, Luigi\u2019s dark night of the soul. Tragically, all of these unheard-of mysterious Spanish fruits were going dead ripe simultaneously, hundreds and hundreds of pounds of them. The long, slow strains of an ominous cello moaned in the background as Luigi, his desperate face lit only by a single candle in the umber darkness of his monkish cubicle, struggled all night with the most fateful decision of his life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning he went into the tomato terraces carrying a boat oar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLuigi, you no canna maka da sauce from tomatoes!\u201d his Papa screamed. \u201cThey putta you in the asylum for sure!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By this point the entire village was terrified of Luigi, obvious madman that he was, and now armed with a boat oar. Guy could barely tear his eyes off the screen. Ape Pagoda, enraptured by the drama, was still fully dressed, his hands gripping the armrests of his seat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTella me you no adda da garlic\u2014O Luigi, you maka it worse!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Old Padre Pio, the village priest, had already called the Inquisition\u2014no choice really.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI feel like I ought to apologize for even being here,\u201d said a patron of the filmic arts in the row behind Guy and Ape. Damn, thought Guy, are there different realities? Are the critics even watching the same film?  The files of black-robed inquisitors in their pointy hoods were suddenly pushed aside by the bird-headed plague mask of Dr. Piste. \u201cUn minuto<\/em>,\u201d Dr. Piste said. \u201cYou got alla dis completely backward. This da besta thing ever happen around here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Luigi was stirring a huge cauldron of mashed tomatoes, greatly boiled down. By no means did the mess smell poisonous. It smelled rather good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow I put it onna dese Chinese noodles,\u201d Luigi said, \u201cand I eata it, lika so.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A shock wave of horror palpably ran through the crowd, villagers, inquisitors, relatives, all of them. Only Dr. Piste seemed unmoved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDamn good,\u201d Luigi said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe live in the rinacimento<\/em>,\u201d explained Dr. Piste, \u201cthough not everybody acta like they know it alla da time. You gotta open you minds to the learning of the past and the discoveries of the future, and reclaima da classical values of Roman and Greek civilization.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell OK, I gonna try it,\u201d said Luigi\u2019s Papa. \u201cIf it killa me, I deserve it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMe too. It smella OK,\u201d said the Grand Inquisitor, who was not such a bad fellow in private life. \u201cMaybe da Church, she can open her mind too, just a little bit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDr. Piste, how come you know so much about this new fruit, when you so old?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dr. Piste pulled off her plague mask, revealing the supple young face of Julietta Piste, the real Dr. Piste\u2019s daughter. \u201cMy father\u2019s been dead for years,\u201d she said. \u201cBut he taught me everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A sudden fiery look flashed between Luigi and Julietta. \u201cMaybe not everything,\u201d Luigi said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tears were streaming down Ape\u2019s face. \u201cThis is the best movie in the world,\u201d Ape said. \u201cDr. Poisson. I\u2019m human again. You did it!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The Trial of Ape Pagoda<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

 <\/em>The murder of the famous Lanta Nuisance troubled a very tiny number of people, divided into categories of glad, kind of a shame, and \u201cI can see both sides.\u201d For the overwhelming majority of the population, it meant nothing. The degree of official concern was below the measurement threshold. Should have been the end of it, but murder is murder even in Hamlet<\/em>, not to mention Lanta. Anyway, months and months after what some called an arguably benevolent side-alley mob execution, newly promoted Chief Detective Inspector Ape Pagoda whimsically decided to solve the Case of the Murdered Nuisance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ape was an indiscriminate sort of detective, unconsciously analyzing the physical effects of crime, motivated solely by an advanced sense of primate curiosity. He only needed a few unguarded hours to get himself into serious trouble. His colleagues, alarmed, badly wanted to dissuade him from this seamy investigation but none of them knew what \u2018dissuade\u2019 meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe some killings shouldn\u2019t be poked at. The case rapidly evolved labyrinthine complexities worthy of a better crime. Some said the governor was involved. Hints became allegations. One thing led to another. Before long, Ape Pagoda found himself trapped on top of an abandoned lighthouse in broad daylight, a hundred and sixty feet off the ground, sweating with embarrassment. On the staircase landing below, Needles Amphibole suggested rushing up and knifing Ape on the spot. \u201cHe dropped his heater. He\u2019s unarmed,\u201d Needles pointed out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf that\u2019s the play, let\u2019s just throw this grenade up. Hell, throw two grenades up,\u201d replied Bam Washington.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI hate following orders. I\u2019m gonna start my own gang soon,\u201d said Shrimp McNit, the kind of guy everybody else edges away from unconsciously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Between them, these three thugs were packing about ten pounds of weapons of various kinds, none home-made. They weren\u2019t innocent of anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow the hell did this happen?\u201d Ape murmured to himself, no longer able to justify the last several decisions he had made. The tide-swept dunes around the old lighthouse were broken only by a single sandy jeep track, with a single jeep, a fancy one, approaching in the distance. It looked like the end for Ape Pagoda.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh shit, it\u2019s Red and Tony,\u201d Rick the Voice yelled up the inverted megaphone of the old brick lighthouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everybody froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLemme jump this stiletto into Ape,\u201d Needles begged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll never get rid of him if we don\u2019t do it now,\u201d added Shrimp. \u201cApe ain\u2019t stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThrow the first grenade into the far end of the room, see. Ape goes after it of course. Have the pin on the second grenade already pulled, toss it in behind him, it goes off at once, knocks him flat on his face full of splinters, and then the other one blows his fool head off. I guarantee it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll never get me with that old gag,\u201d Ape shouted down the steps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI just don\u2019t wanna end up in some situation where he gets away,\u201d Shrimp muttered. \u201cHe knows who we are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was certainly true. Ape was listening to them upstairs, grinding his teeth in the last stages of exasperation. He\u2019d have cheerfully wrung all their necks, but that was a mug\u2019s play. Outside, under the cloudless sky, the long Atlantic rollers crashed dramatically on Dead Man\u2019s Beach\u2014and maybe the name was no coincidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing happened. The jeep arrived. Two more people came up the steps, one a woman, the other male. The footsteps never slowed. Both these people, Valerian \u2018Crimson\u2019 Batt, capo di capos<\/em> of the Georgia Coast, and the man too proud to be her lieutenant, freelance Tony Bologna, a.k.a. the Rumanian Chopper, were physically fit and could easily walk straight up an abandoned lighthouse. Tony\u2019s antique Thompson submachine gun was in perfect working order, the drum loaded with fifty .45-caliber slugs, which the chopper would empty in about two seconds. And a second drum under his armpit just in case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo Tony gets to do it,\u201d Needles Amphibole said peevishly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStand aside little man,\u201d Tony replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe gets a trial first,\u201d replied Valerian Batt. \u201cWe do things the legal way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A thoroughly decayed dragon fruit flew down the stairs and splattered on the wall. \u201cTake that!\u201d shouted Ape, though his usual bravado sounded a bit strained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A long pause followed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey Red\u2026\u201d Tony said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA trial?\u201d asked Needles. \u201cI hate trials.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen you can be the prosecutor, Needles. Keep it short and direct.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOK. The defendant is guilty of being Ape Pagoda. We should all kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFair enough,\u201d Batt said. \u201cPretty good argument. Simple. Solid. Not gonna be easy to crack. And for the defense?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Silence ensued.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh come on. There has to be a defense. How about you, Rick?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh hell no,\u201d Rick the Voice yelled up the stairwell. \u201cI\u2019m on the jury.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBam?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m the witness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShrimp?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDoes his defense have to be true?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen count me out. I don\u2019t wanna imply like I\u2019m a snob or better than anybody else or anything, but I\u2019m too proud to lie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReal vague, Shrimp.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen I\u2019ll be the defense,\u201d said Tony. \u201cFirst, Ape\u2019s job is solving crimes, a completely different racket from the cops.  He\u2019s the last person on earth who would use threats and violence to enforce the legislature\u2019s authoritarian social norms. It wouldn\u2019t even occur to him. So he\u2019s innocent in that respect, regardless of any grudges we probably have. Second, he ain\u2019t really got nothin\u2019 on us anyway. All our clients are respectable businessmen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen I gotta interrupt,\u201d said Needles for the Prosecution. \u201cLife in Lanta was easy going. All of a sudden it\u2019s not. And get this\u2014because somebody iced the Nuisance?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn Ape\u2019s defense, what happened to the Nuisance\u2014I don\u2019t say it\u2019s right or not\u2014but all Ape\u2019s really guilty of is too much curiosity.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Nuisance had his trial. I\u2019ll decide if that\u2019s relevant or not,\u201d said Batt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow the defense calls Bam as the witness,\u201d Tony said. \u201cBam, would you say Ape was much of a businessman?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHim?\u201d Bam said. \u201cApe\u2019s paychecks end up in the trash. He can\u2019t write his own name. He has to heist money on the sidewalk like Needles used to do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was just a kid then,\u201d Needles replied defensively.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not relevant either,\u201d Valerian said. \u201cOK, I think these cases have been presented. Everybody gets two marbles, one black, one white. Voice, you collect \u2018em and bring \u2018em up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you get a vote too?\u201d asked Tony.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course. They\u2019re my marbles.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The process took several minutes. All the marbles were white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNeedles, did you turn in a white marble?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Yeah, Tony was pretty convincing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTony?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was looking forward to killing Ape a lot, but since I\u2019m his defense lawyer it wouldn\u2019t be right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRick?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m just on the jury. I don\u2019t gotta have an excuse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBam?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was the defense witness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLeaves you, Shrimp.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas I gonna vote different from everybody else?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow about you, Red?\u201d Tony asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy motives are my own,\u201d Valerian Batt answered. \u201cOK, I\u2019ll pass sentence now. Ape is hereby sentenced to walk his baggy, bow-legged ass home on foot, because he ain\u2019t got car fare.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYep,\u2019 Tony added. \u201cHe can\u2019t afford a stick of gum.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut Needles got one thing right,\u201d said Valerian Batt, capo di capos<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t get a swelled head. This dystopian crap hole would blow up if it wasn\u2019t for us. I know you\u2019re listening, Ape, and you know the deal. We ignore the cops and you guys do whatever you want outta my sight. But our integrity is important. You gotta keep your part of the bargain. It\u2019s the social foundations of a stable situation. That clear, Ape?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you mean full of horse shit, yeah, stable,\u201d Ape yelled back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a system. So you mugs, stop looking like somebody stole your lollipop. Precinct One needs to be reminded to behave. Tony\u2019s in charge of that, Shrimp drives and Bam handles the dynamite.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhadda I get out of that?\u201d whined Needles. \u201cI\u2019m a knife man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd we love you for it. Here\u2019s two names in suburban West Lanta who forgot their part of the bargain too. Put \u2018em on a tombstone for me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWow! Thanks boss!\u201d Needles exclaimed.<\/p>\n\n\n

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The unsuspecting names in West Lanta never saw it coming. Meanwhile the police tried to call the structural damage to Precinct One from Bam\u2019s dynamite attack a public emergency of some kind, but the public wasn\u2019t buying it. The balance of life was restored in Lanta, and the wily Ape Pagoda survived again, though all the windows had been blown out of his office by the time he got back to it. The unsolved riddle of who killed the Nuisance was always a sore point with him afterwards. He seldom spoke of it, but he got to keep his ass as a souvenir and from time to time he\u2019d take it out and look at it, wondering could it have been played different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Gary Mawyer<\/strong> is a retired editor and author who lives outside Charlottesville, Virginia. His books and blogs are available at his website, and other writing can be found in VV<\/a><\/em> and Auteur Limits<\/a><\/em>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Edward G. Mawyer<\/strong>, UVa Class of ’97, lives in Waynesboro and is a familiar face in every courthouse in Central Virginia.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Daniel Mawyer<\/strong> lives in Honolulu and teaches at Damien Memorial School. He gave up his career as an independent musician to be an artist.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Study in Interruption Obsession. It\u2019s not just a perfume. It\u2019s been around a long time. Obsession might help explain prehistoric cave paintings of big game. \u201cA Study in Interruption\u201d is taken from The Adventures of Rhesus A. Macaque, Private Investigator (illustrations by Daniel Mawyer). In the science fiction world of Macaque and his partner … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Gary, Edward G., and Daniel Mawyer”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2477","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2477","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2477"}],"version-history":[{"count":25,"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2477\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3666,"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2477\/revisions\/3666"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2477"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}