Biographer and hanger-on in the #Shazverse. The O.J. I don't endorse the antics of my employers.
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“Whatever paints your wagon, guys,” she called over her shoulder and kept walking. Sweaty turned and followed her. The Troubadours reached down and lifted the monkey.
“These guys are a lot heavier than they look,” Johnson said as they staggered across the lawn.
Sharif nodded and ambled off toward one of the barns.
“Johnson, Wang Chung, take this dead monkey out to the little pet cemetery and bury it.” Chichay turned and headed back toward the house.
“Should we make a grave marker?” Wang Chung asked after her.
“Whatever!” cried Chichay in exasperation. “Let’s just try to get them to stop killing each other long enough to get them off on a boat or a plane or whatever’s going to take them away from here. Sharif, can you go to both the habitats and try to figure out what’s going on?”
“You’re right, though, Sweaty. There’s no reason for us to babysit this project anymore. Let’s try to get the weapons away from them, then we’ll make Dixie and Johnny get them out of here. They can start the project. They have over a thousand monkeys now.”
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“That would be all well and good if they were only sneaking around stealing our pomade,” said Chichay, “But I don’t think we can run the risk of stray bullets flying all over the ranch.”
“Oh yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Wait,” said Sweaty, “You’re right. It’s really not. Why don’t we just leave this be? Once enough monkeys are killed, Dixie and Johnny will be forced to deal with it or else it’ll ruin their precious project.”
“Same place they’re getting the gun,” said Chichay, “Which is now what we’re gonna have to figure out, even though it’s absolutely not our responsibility.”
“Is it me, or does this monkey look a little like some kind of 50s greaser?” Sweaty asked.
“Yeah, his hair seems to be slicked back,” Johnson said.
“Where are they getting hair product?” asked Wang Chung.
Chichay, Sweaty, Johnson, Wang Chung, and Sharif stood over the body of a monkey in the middle of the lawn. A gunshot wound was visible in its forehead, and it wore an expression of shock, with its eyes staring open in surprise.
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“But they’re your monkeys,” he said.
“So?”
“Well, if your monkeys are shooting at one another, isn’t it your responsibility to stop them?” Tork asked.
“Hey!” shouted Johnny, “Let’s go watch tv!”
“Should we go with them and help?” Tork asked. He stayed at the table with Dixie, Johnny, and Rex, but looked torn over whether he should go with the others.
“Meh,” said Dixie, cracking another beer and cutting herself a huge piece of cornbread. “They’ve got it under control.”
“Which means it was the monkeys,” Wang Chung said. He followed the others out the back door. Sharif shoveled another huge spoonful of chili into his mouth, then got up and left the dining room.
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“Gunshot. Small calibre,” Chichay said, getting up as well. The Troubadour brothers also rose.
“Yeah, but Dixie and Johnny are in here,” Johnson said, pointing.
“We’ll probably just-” Johnny was cut off by the sound of a gunshot. The entire team turned and looked toward the backyard.
“What the hell was that?” Sweaty asked. He stood up and started toward the back door.
“And the baby is covered in glitter?”
“Yeah,” Dixie said, “When a hippo eats a baby, glitter comes out. It's magical.”
“Uh huh,” Chichay said. “And what do you plan on doing with this?”
Dixie and Johnny’s newest companion, Tork, mostly hung around the house vacuuming and doing laundry when he wasn’t with them on misadventures. He was drinking and enjoying a life of little responsibility and almost no consequences. Plus, the food on the ranch was excellent.