By Andres David Lopez
Part 2 of 2
“Holy crap, the fucker bit me,” Carlos said.
“This ain’t over yet monkey, I got something for you.” He looked over to Woody, who was stunned by the violence.
“Yo Woody why don’t you stay where you are and keep being a little bitch?”
Adam stepped out of the cage to retrieve the fishing net while Carlos nursed the bright red marks on his hand.
The Goeldi’s monkey was now out of the tree trunk and running along his walkway which consisted of two overlapping tree branches at Carlos’ eye level. He leapt from one side to the other, repeatedly. The monkey arched his body and vocalized his aggression with more sonic outbursts. None of the boys noticed the two-toed sloth curled up in a ball hanging from the top of the cage in a corner.
The black monkey was fighting two predators, each forty times his weight. His early success had gone to his head.
Carlos and Adam walked towards him from two sides as the Brazilian teals scattered at their feet. They cornered him while the yellow-footed tortoise looked on in shame. With an expert scoop Adam swept the monkey off his feet and into the net. Carlos held the net closed with one hand while holding the monkey’s tail with the other.
Woody picked up the parrot cage and held it open. The monkey wailed as he was put inside and he woke up the Scarlet Macaws. They added to the cacophony. “Take this to the golf cart,” Carlos instructed him.
Woody was unnerved holding the cage as he walked hurriedly to the screeching of the eleven-piece Scarlet Macaw band. He found the golf cart and decided not to return to his friends. He didn’t want a pet monkey anymore.
He backed away from the parrot cage, keeping his eye on the little black face that was no longer making noise. “This is fucked up,” he said.
He walked away from the cart but did not leave the zoo. Leaving the storage shed area he tried to light a blunt but the wind didn’t let him. At a nearby group of buildings, he tried several doors until he found an unlocked exhibit. The flame from his lighter revealed a wall decorated by fishing nets, red crabs, and Mardi Gras-themed posters. His nervousness was replaced by curiosity as the muscles in his body relaxed in response to the Cannabis. He was inside the white alligator exhibit.
Loose, Woody swaggered deeper inside the gator’s lair.
Inside the glass enclosure Woody found a swamp house stoop, complete with a rocking chair, work boots, and oars nailed to the wall. The owner was nowhere near the props, instead positioned in a far corner near the glass. Woody laughed at the sight of the alligator, lighted by heating lamps, with its coy expression, arms and fingers spread wide, and tail curved to the right. “What’s up, homey,” Woody said.
This gator had been in captivity since before Woody was born, found by construction workers in Louisiana when he was a hatchling. In the wild he would not have survived, as his lack of camouflage would have made him an unsuccessful hunter. He was also defenseless against the sun’s harmful rays without dark pigmentation. He lived alone and in the dark surrounded by his mock bayou.
The gator’s eyes followed Woody from their vantage point on the ground. His curved snout curled up into a queer smile. Woody was happy. The blunt was burned down to the roach before he decided to get up from his seat.
“Where YOU been at?” Adam said upon Woody’s return to the golf cart. Adam’s shoes and pants were wet to his knees. “Trying to decide if I want me some white cowboy boots,” Woody responded. “Whatever man, we caught two more of them monkeys. We’re getting the fuck out of here,” Adam said.
Inside the duffel bag was a pair of endangered Golden Lion Tamarins, a mass of brilliant orange fur. The two were in the middle of a late night grooming session when the boys began their assault.
The Golden Tamarins were Simonne and Dougie. They had been together for close to 15 years and had produced five sets of twins. Simonne was on Dougie’s back, picking at the hair on his head when the Goeldi’s monkey screamed in high-pitch and clawed at Carlos from the tree trunk. They froze on their branch with their tails intertwined when they heard their relative’s desperate call. They were still attached when the boys entered their cage, with Simonne clutching at Dougie’s fur with ten tiny fingers. They did not make a noise as they were caught for the two-for-one special in the duffel bag.
“I can’t believe what a bitch you are Wood,” Carlos said. “I’m friggin still bleeding over here and you disappear. You’re taking the bikes back to your house. We’re taking the golf cart. Find something to put these other two in and meet us at the house on Alhambra.”
It wasn’t far to the abandoned house where they were taking the animals. It was one of several foreclosed properties on Alhambra Place. On the way, Adam sent out several mass text messages. This was the best stunt he had pulled since middle school when he hid lunch trays in his friends’ book bags and zip-tied hallway doors shut before the end-of-the-school-day rush.
Carlos leaned back in the seat of the cart and steered it with one hand on the wheel. The air was warm and humid on his face.
The jasmine bloomed at Woody’s house. He stopped at the door to enjoy the smell and to listen for noises coming from inside. His grandparents were asleep. In the dark Woody bumped into the hardwood display cabinet and his grandmother’s porcelain angel collection. He took two large Tupperware bowls with lids from the kitchen and walked out of the house.
Adam and Carlos were waiting for him on the back porch of the abandoned house when Woody arrived. They poked holes the size of marbles through the tops of the Tupperware lids. Simmone and Dougie were taken out of the duffel bag and separated. The Goeldi’s monkey raged from his cage.
The monkeys were left on a work bench inside the screened-in patio and the boys scattered home.
Woody returned later that night with dog food and water. He poured the water and the pellets through the holes in the bowls. Simonne had her hands pressed to the plastic. Dougie was sitting down and breathing hard. Woody placed a cup of water inside the parrot cage and threw pellets on the floor. The Goeldi’s monkey remained squealing and howling.
Carlos woke up angry around noon. It was hot in his house and he blamed his father for setting the thermostat too high. “Fucking asshole,” he said. Slowly he rose up from his mattress. There were piles of clothes randomly littered on the floor of the living room and on top of the sofa. This was evidence that his mother was awake.
For breakfast he poured himself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. He set it down in front of the TV in the living room and retrieved his glass pipe and Ziploc bag of marijuana. Channel surfing he lingered on a CNN news report about the recent decapitation of a U.S. citizen in Tijuana, Mexico. The body was dumped in a vacant lot in front of the city’s beachside bull-fighting stadium. The drug cartels were using mutilation to send messages to their rivals. The drug trade generated billions of dollars for them. Carlos scoffed and changed the channel.
Suddenly, his mother burst into the living room, walking manically toward the kitchen. She opened the cabinet under the sink and retrieved the trash bin so she could vomit inside. Carlos could see her from the sofa, dressed in a filthy shirt and pajama pants. She looked up at him through blood shot eyes with deep bags under them. She went back in the trash.
“Oh my god!” she said. “Oh my god! Look at what I found!” She pulled out a nearly empty bottle of vodka. “There is still a little bit in there.” she said as she tipped the bottle back to her face with a fast jerk. She often switched to mouthwash when her vodka ran out. Carlos jumped inside his bag of weed.
His cell phone chirped. It was a message from Adam:
“Channel 25 talking about us dawg.”
The full report aired a few minutes later. Zoo officials had called a press conference. A spokesperson reminded the public that wild animals made for bad pets. The camera shot footage of zoo keepers crying while the spokesperson revealed that two of the monkeys were on special medication.
There was a five thousand dollar reward for information leading to the return of the animals. The news report did not say whether or not the police had any suspects.
Carlos, wide-eyed, felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He took a cloud in his chest. “We are much more, but still we choose to ignore the obvious. Man this history don’t acknowledge us, we were scholars long before colleges.”
The next day, police officers, acting on an anonymous tip, made their way to the abandoned house on Alhambra place. They found the stolen golf cart in the backyard. Bloated and sweaty, they removed their sunglasses to enter the porch. They smelled animals.
The Goeldi’s monkey sounded the alarm but neither Dougie nor Simonne responded. A small table fan was set in front of the cage and containers, weakly circulating the muggy air. There was vague orange visible through the steam on the walls of the Tupperware containers but no movement.
Shortly after, Carlos, Woody, and Adam were arrested and booked into the county jail. They were charged as adults with grand theft, cruelty to animals, and burglary for the unarmed occupation of an empty dwelling. The five thousand dollar reward was not claimed.
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