not afraid of anything and that instead they were searching for
something, hunting something.
Maybe me.
Fifteen, sixteen.
In a circus ring, costumed in sequined vests and red fezzes, a troop of
monkeys might inspire smiles, laughter, delight. These specimens didn’t
dance, caper, tumble, twirl, jig, or play miniature accordions.
Not one seemed interested in a career in entertainment.
Eighteen.
They were rhesus monkeys, the species most often used in medical
research, and all were at the upper end of the size range for their
kind, more than two feet tall, twenty-five or even thirty pounds of bone
and muscle. I knew from hard experience that these particular rhesuses
were quick, agile, strong, uncannily smart, and dangerous.
Twenty.
Throughout much of the world, monkeys live everywhere in the wild, from
jungles to open grasslands to mountains. They are not found on the North
American continent except for these that skulk through the night in
Moonlight Bay, unknown to all but a handful of the populace.
I now understood why, earlier, the birds had fallen silent in the tree
above me. They had sensed the approach of this unnatural parade.
Twenty-one. Twenty-two.
The troop was becoming a battalion.
Did I mention teeth? Monkeys are omnivorous, never having been persuaded
by the arguments of vegetarians. Primarily they eat fruit, nuts, seeds,
leaves, flowers, and birds’ eggs, but when they feel the need for meat,
they munch on such savory fare as insects, spiders, and small mammals
like mice, rats, and moles. Absolutely never accept a dinner invitation
from a monkey unless you know precisely what’s on the menu. Anyway,
because they are omnivorous, they have strong incisors and pointy
eyeteeth, the better to rip and tear.
Ordinary monkeys don’t attack human beings. Likewise, ordinary monkeys
are active in daylight and rest during the night except for the softly
furred douroucouli, an owl-eyed South American species that is
nocturnal.
Those who roam the darkness in Fort Wyvern and Moonlight Bay aren’t
ordinary. They’re hateful, vicious, psychotic little geeks. If given the
choice of a plump tasty mouse sauteed in butter sauce or the chance to
tear your face off for the sheer fun of it, they wouldn’t even lick
their lips with regret at passing up the snack.
I had tallied twenty-two individuals when the passing tide of monkey fur
in the street abruptly turned, whereupon I lost count. The troop doubled
back on itself and halted, its members huddling and milling together in
such a conspiratorial manner that you could easily believe . one of them
had been the mysterious figure on the grassy knoll in Dallas the day
Kennedy was shot.
Although they showed no more interest in this bungalow than in any
other, they were directly in front of it and close enough to give me a
major case of the heebiejeebies. Smoothing the bristling hair on the
nape of my neck with one hand, I considered creeping out the back of the
house before they came knocking on the front door with their damn
monkey-magazine subscription cards.
If I slipped away, however, I wouldn’t know in which direction they had
gone after breaking out of their huddle. I’d be as likely to blunder
into them as to avoid them with mortal consequences.
I had counted twenty-two, and I had missed some, There might have been
as many as thirty. My 9-millimeter Glock held ten rounds, two of which
I’d already expended, and a spare magazine was nestled in a pouch on my
holster. Even if I were suddenly possessed by the sharpshooting spirit
of Annie Oakley and miraculously made every shot count, I would still be
overwhelmed by twelve of the beasts.
Hand-to-hand combat with three hundred pounds of screaming monkey menace
is not my idea of a fair fight. My idea of a fair fight is one unarmed,
toothless, nearsighted old monkey versus me with a Blackhawk attack
helicopter.
In the street, the primates were still loitering. They were clustered so
tightly that they almost appeared, in the moonlight, to be one large
organism with multiple heads and tails.
I couldn’t figure out what they were doing. Probably because I’m not a
monkey.
I leaned closer to the window, squinting at the moon-washed scene,