Matt Ruff - Bad Monkeys

ITS A ROOM AN UNINSPIRED PLAY wright might conjure while staring at a blank page: White walls. White ceiling. White floor. Not featureless, but close enough to raise suspicion that its few contents are all crucial to the upcoming drama.

A woman sits in one of two chairs drawn up to a rectangular white table. Her hands are cuffed in front of her; she is dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit whose bright hue seems dull in the whiteness. A photograph of a smiling politician hangs on the wall above the table. Occasionally the woman glances up at the photo, or at the door that is the rooms only exit, but mostly she stares at her hands, and waits.

The door opens. A man in a white coat steps in, bringing more props: a file folder and a handheld tape recorder.

Hello, he says. Jane Charlotte?

Present, she says.

Im Dr. Vale. He shuts the door and comes over to the table. Im here to interview you, if thats all right. When she shrugs, he asks: Do you know where you are?

Unless they moved the room Then: Las Vegas, Clark County Detention Center. The nut wing.

And do you know why youre here?

Im in jail because I killed someone I wasnt supposed to, she says, matter-of-factly. As for why Im in this room, with you, I guess that has something to do with what I told the detectives who arrested me.

Yes. He gestures at the empty chair. May I sit down?

Another shrug. He sits. Holding the tape recorder to his lips, he recites: June 5th, 2002, approximately nine forty-five a.m. This is Dr. Richard Vale, speaking with subject Jane Charlotte, ofWhats your current home address?

Im kind of between homes right now.

of no fixed address. He sets the tape recorder, still running, on the table, and opens the folder. SoYou told the arresting detectives that you work for a secret crime-fighting organization called Bad Monkeys.

No, she says.

No?

We dont fight crime, we fight evil. Theres a difference. And Bad Monkeys is the name of my division. The organization as a whole doesnt have a name, at least not that I ever heard. Its just the organization.

And what does Bad Monkeys mean?

Its a nickname, she says. All the divisions have them. The official names are too long and complicated to use on anything but letterhead, so people come up with shorthand versions. Like the administrative branch, officially theyre The Department for Optimal Utilization of Resources and Personnel, but everyone just calls them Cost-Benefits. And the intel-gathering group, thats The Department of Ubiquitous Intermittent Surveillance, but in conversation theyre just Panopticon. And then theres my division, The Department for the Final Disposition of Irredeemable Persons

Irredeemable persons. The doctor smiles. Bad monkeys.

Right.

Shouldnt it be Bad Apes, though? When she doesnt respond, he starts to explain: Human beings are more closely related to great apes than

Youre channeling Phil, she says.

Who?

My little brother. Philip. Hes a nitpicker, too. She shrugs. Yeah, I suppose technically, it should be apes instead of monkeys. And technicallyshe lifts her arms and gives her bracelets a shakethese should be called wristcuffs. But theyre not.

So in your job with Bad Monkeys, the doctor asks, what is it you do? Punish evil people?

No. Usually we just kill them.

Killings not a punishment?

It is if you do it to pay someone back. But the organizations not about that. Were just trying to make the world a better place.

By killing evil men.

Not all of them. Just the ones Cost-Benefits decides will do a lot more harm than good if they go on breathing.

Does it bother you to kill people?

Not usually. Its not like being a police officer. I mean cops, they have to deal with all kinds of people, and sometimes, upholding the law, theyve got to come down on folks who really arent all that bad. I can see where that would give you a crisis of conscience. But the guys we go after in Bad Monkeys arent the sort you have mixed feelings about.

And the man you were arrested for killing, Mr.

Dixon, she says. He wasnt a bad monkey.

No?

He was a prick. I didnt like him. But he wasnt evil.

Then why did you kill him?

She shakes her head. I cant just tell you that. Even if I thought youd believe me, it wouldnt make sense unless I told you everything else first. But thats too long a story.

I dont have anywhere else I have to be this morning.

No, I mean its a long story. This morning I could maybe give you the prologue; to get through the whole thing would take days.

You do understand youre going to be in here for a while.

Of course, she says. Im a murderer. But thats no reason why you should have to waste your time.

Do you want to tell the story?

I suppose theres a part of me that does. I mean, I didnt have to mention Bad Monkeys to the cops.

Well if youre willing to talk, Im willing to listen.

Youre just going to think Im crazy. You probably already do.

Ill try to keep an open mind.

That wont help.

Why dont we just start, and see how it goes? the doctor suggests. Tell me how you first got involved with the organization. How long have you worked for them?

About eight months. I was recruited last year after the World Trade towers went down. But thats not really the beginning. The first time I crossed paths with them was back when I was a teenager.

What happened?

I stumbled into a Bad Monkeys op. Thats how a lot of people get recruited: theyre in the wrong place at the wrong time, they get caught up in an operation, and even though they dont really understand whats happening, they show enough potential that the organization takes notice. Then latermaybe days, maybe decadestheres a job opening, and New Blood pays them a visit.

So tell me about this operation you stumbled into.

Well, it all started when I figured out that the janitor at my high school was the Angel of Death

IT WAS THE FALL OF 1979. I WAS fourteen years old, and Id been sent away from home to live with my aunt and uncle.

Where was home?

San Francisco. The Haight-Ashbury. Charlie Mansons old stomping grounds.

Why were you sent away?

Mostly to keep my mom from killing me. Wed been fighting pretty much nonstop all that year, but towards the end of the summer things got especially bad. You know, physical.

What did you fight about?

The usual. Boys. Drugs. Me staying out all night with my friends. Plus there was my brother. My dad had taken off a few years before, and to support us my mom was working twelve-hour days, which she hated, and so I was supposed to watch Phil, which I hated.

How old was Phil?

Ten. Smart ten, I mean he knew enough not to drink Clorox or set fire to the apartment. Plus he was a really internal kid, the kind where if he had a book to read, hed sit quiet for hours. Which is one reason I resented having to watch him: there was nothing to watch. It was like babysitting a pet rock. So what Id do instead, a lot of the time, Id take Phil out and park him somewhere, go off and do my own thing, and come back later and pick him up. And if my mom got home before us, or if it turned out shed tried to call in from work to check on us, Id just make up some story about how I took Phil to the523e zooand Phil, hed back me up, because Id threatened to sell him to the gypsies if he didnt.