Shelf Monkey

by Corey Redekop

  Munroe was in rare form, waddling to and fro, a bionic host bestowing upon his audience the sweat, saliva, and sycophantia of ten normal men. Everybody was a target for his patented blend of hugging and sharing. He forgave the former city counsellor for his sexual harrassment conviction, tears flowing on both sides of the embrace. Norman Lawton, local boy and Munroe’s newest “authorial discovery,” gave a spectacular, gut-wrenchingly awful reading from his novel Picking Up the Peaces . Fitness expert Reverend Donald McAdams led the audience in a vigorous set of jumping jacks to promote his new manual The Holy Body and Spirit: Putting the Fundamentals BACK into Fundamentalism . Watching Munroe, Lawton, and the mayor perform rigorous squat thrusts as the reverend shouted inspirational Psalms at them is entertaining for all the wrong reasons. In sum, it was an excruciating test of one’s tolerance for saccharine, an assault on good taste, and an event everyone involved could be proud of.

  Now, what was not picked up by the cameras; that was the important stuff. Protesters from the Manitoba Writers’ Guild, picketing outside with signs proclaiming WE RECOMMEND MUNROE LEARN HOW TO READ! AND DOWN WITH THE PURV! Meh. Barely worth a mention in the next day’s papers. Lawton’s book signing afterward rated a five-second clip on the late news, completely innocuous. And yet, in the background, just behind and to the left of Lawton as he chatted up the mayor, isn’t that Munroe standing there, and doesn’t he look a tad distracted? Flushed, even? Did he lick his lips? He was crumpling a slip of paper into his suit pocket, what could that have been, do you think? And that momentary flash of red on the periphery of the screen; could that have been the briefest glimpse of a dress, its wearer just beyond the camera’s range? And wasn’t Munroe tracking it with his eyes?

  It was perfect in its simplicity. How do you kidnap someone? Make him come to you. Lure him with an offer so tempting he’d be bound to come. Promise him an ever-so-discreet round of Olympic-calibre rutting, topped by numerous eye-popping orgasms. Shroud the offer inside a wrapping so luscious and delectable that refusal would be tantamount to insanity.

  And so, fairly unsurprisingly given all that, Munroe Purvis lay unconscious on the floor. At our mercy.

  “WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?”

  That was me. I was screaming at my fellow kidnappers.

  “OH, CHRIST!”

  I had begun to scream the moment Warren took Munroe down from behind, the clunk! of Munroe’s head impacting the floor still ringing in my ears.

  “OH, SHIT!”

  I kept screaming as Aubrey quickly bound Munroe’s hands and feet with duct tape.

  “SON OF A BITCH!”

  I maintained my screams as Warren and Danae dragged Munroe into the living room and Aubrey closed the blinds.

  “AAHHH!”

  And then Danae slapped me, and kept slapping me, and made it abundantly clear that the slapping would continue for as long as the screaming did. I finally succumbed to her persuasive pain dispersal. My face burned. “What have you done? What have you done, what have you done,WHAT HAVE —”

  SLAP!

  “Ow, stop that! Jesus!” I rubbed my cheeks.

  “We need calm here, Thomas,” Danae said. She held up her hand, its reddened palm toward me, prepared for another go-round. I flinched. “Are you calm?”

  “Calm,” I said. “Calm, I’m calm, stop hitting me.”

  “Warren, if he freaks out again, could you shut him up?”

  “No worries, babe.” Warren took a place next to Danae.

  “I am calm,” I said, watching Warren’s meathooks warily. “I am an oasis of calm, I’m placid, I’m the freaking Dalai Lama, all right? Calm. I am calm. Calm I am.”

  “How’s our boy doing over there, Danae?” asked Aubrey, busy propping Munroe into a sitting position on the couch. Margarita, irked at having to share her space on its cushions, began nudging Munroe with her nose.

  “He’s fine,” Danae answered. The soothing massage of her hands on my cheeks kept me quiet. “Thomas is going to be just fine.”

  “Good.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans, leaving a dark swatch of something thick and wet on the fabric. Munroe’s blood, I realized with queasy horror, which was still flowing from his mouth, two teeth having shattered upon impact with the floor. Hysteria began to rise inside again, but the sight of Warren flexing his fists, anticipating another freak-out, quelled the attack. I settled for simple outrage.

  I pointed at Munroe. “What is this?”

  “This,” said Warren proudly, plopping himself down aside Munroe’s body and putting an arm companionably about his shoulders, “this, dude, is a blow for freedom.”

  “No no no, this, this is nuts,” I said. Danae began lovingly stroking my arm, cooing tenderly. I shook her off, furious. “Stop treating me like a freakin’ child! You knew about this? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Thomas, honey, you’ve been a little too aloof lately. The three of us agreed that you couldn’t be trusted.”

  “But you can trust me now, is that it?”

  “They wanted to leave you out completely, but I convinced them you would come around.”

  “Don’t blame Danae,” Aubrey said. “If you had known ahead of time, well, I didn’t think you’d take to this too willingly.”

  The enormity of what had just happened slugged me in the plexus, knocking the breath out of me. Black dots popped and zoomed before my eyes. “Oh . . . Christ, oh . . . the police —” The dots were swiftly congealing into one very large, very black, very inviting, all-encompassing hole in the middle of the room.

  “Whoops,” Danae said. “Guys, he’s fading, make room!” She grabbed my arm before my legs could collapse beneath me. Aubrey grasped my other arm, halting my slide to the ground, and together they arranged me on the couch next to Munroe, shoving him over to the side so that his face was buried in Margarita’s fur. She didn’t seem to mind.

  “Here, drink this,” said Warren, holding a beer bottle to my lips. I inhaled the liquid into my lungs, reflexively spewing it back in their faces. “Sorry, dude.”

  I coughed, holding myself in a protective self-hug for a few minutes until reality decided to refocus itself. “The police,” I finally said. “They’ll be looking for him. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “No one’s looking, sweetie,” Danae said, wiping the beer drool from my chin. “They won’t even know he’s gone until tomorrow, and even then, they won’t know where he’s gone. We’re clear.” Munroe snorted weakly beside me as Margarita shifted herself. “Warren, get his face out of her fur before he chokes on us.”

  Warren rerighted Munroe, still unconscious, his face now a painting of blood and wisps of dog hair. I began to assess what had happened. “What’s he doing here, how —?”

  Aubrey sat himself down across from us. “Thank Danae for that. She’s the genius.”

  “Now, Aubrey, you laid the groundwork,” she said.

  “But you provided the masterstroke.”

  “Stop congratulating yourselves!” I snarled, grabbing the beer from Warren’s hand. I pulled a long swig, concentrating on the bitter taste to help clear my head. They watched impassively as I kept drinking, draining it with a gasp. “Just tell me how he’s here,” I sputtered.

  Danae twirled herself around, the red dress rising fetchingly about her thighs. “You think you’re the only one who can’t resist this?” she teased. “Munroe, at heart, is a skirthound, like I thought. It wasn’t hard to catch his attention. An arch of the eye,” and here she wiggled her eyebrows comically, “a shimmy of the hips,” she bada-boomed her hips back and forth, “and he was putty.”

  “But how is he here?” I asked, impatient with Danae’s cutesy act.

  “She slipped him a mash note,” Warren said. “We cooked up a real juicy one, made it sexy, promised Munroe to take him to the moon if he showed up here after his show. If it didn’t work, no harm done.”

  “Oh, Munroe, I’m such a huge fan of yours!” said Danae, putting on a sweetie-pie voice.
“Gosh, I know it’s forward, but, I’ll never have this chance again!”

  “We made sure to promise anonymity, to sweeten the proposition,” Aubrey said. “A night of mind-blowing sex in a guilt-free environment. All he had to do was get away from his people. Who could resist?”

  “But,” I sputtered, “what if he told someone?” I strained my ears, trying to hear the wail of approaching sirens. Nothing. “He would have told someone . He had to.”

  “Well, there’s always an X-factor,” said Danae, dismissing the problem with a perfunctory flick of her wrist.

  I pulled my hair in anguish. “That’s one fucking huge X! He could have left a note, or told his handlers, or . . .” I struggled to get to my feet. “Jesus, the cops are probably already on their way!” Aubrey shoved me back down.

  “Everyone,” Munroe moaned, coming around. “I told everyone, please, everyone knows I’m here.” He opened his eyes and took us all in. “He’s right, the police will be coming.”

  “Ubf!” Margarita struggled herself onto Munroe’s lap.

  Munroe licked his lips nervously, gagging slightly on the blood. “Please, I don’t know who you are, but they expect me back any minute.”

  Warren crouched down, staring into Munroe’s eyes for a good minute, until Munroe looked down. “Nope,” he decided. “No, he didn’t tell anyone.” He grabbed hold of Munroe’s chin and pulled his face up. “Did you, Purvis? Who did you tell, big boy?”

  “Everyone knows, they expect me back soon, I swear it, please!”

  “He’s lying,” Danae said. “He couldn’t risk the scandal if they found out. Munroe Purvis out trolling for tail? Think of the headlines.”

  “They forgave Oral Roberts,” I reminded her.

  “Please, I . . . I don’t know you, I never saw you, not clearly,” Munroe pleaded. “I’ll never tell. I don’t know where I am, not really, I could never find you, even if I wanted to, please, please!”

  Aubrey seemed to consider it for a moment. “Warren, gag the pig,” he said finally.

  Munroe began to squeal, “No, no, please, I, HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HE—” before Warren mercifully cut him short, applying a liberal swatch of duct tape to Munroe’s mouth. He moaned and kicked for a good minute before giving up. Margarita, undisturbed by his movements, set about falling asleep atop his legs.

  “So, brother, shall we begin?” Aubrey asked me. “Warren, call the others, tell them to meet us by the pyre in an hour or so.”

  Warren made for the kitchen, then stopped and looked back. “Should I tell them why?”

  “No. Judging from Thomas’ reaction here, surprise might be a better choice. I trust their judgement, but this is something that they’ll have to see to understand. It’s too dangerous to give them a choice. They might not come otherwise.” Warren left the room to begin phoning the Monkeys.

  “What are you planning?” I asked. “Are you holding him for ransom?” I stood up cautiously. With the threat of Warren’s size and violence momentarily gone, I got down to calculating the odds on a safe escape. I couldn’t run far, they’d catch me. “What’s the score, Aubrey? What do we do now?”

  “You disappoint me, Thomas,” Aubrey said. “You know what needs to be done.” He began to pace. Munroe tracked him with large eyes. “This man is scum. Retribution is the only option.”

  “Meaning?” I took a step closer to him, standing next to Danae. She played her fingers lightly along my shoulder.

  “This is our fatwa , Thomas,” she said. She kissed me, a passionate slamming of lips that I did my best to avoid being aroused by. Fuck. “Think, honey. What is the inevitable outcome of such a command? What should a man such as this receive for his crimes?” She left my side and grabbed Munroe by the hair. He yelled in pain beneath the tape. “Do you feel pity, Thomas? For this?” Munroe’s head rocked back and forth as she yanked. I imagined I could hear his scalp ripping from the strain. “Aw, does Munwoe not wike dat?” she asked him, pretend baby-voiced, as he whimpered with each pull. “Doesn’t he deserve everything he gets?” she whispered in delight.

  And as shocked as I was by Danae, completely astonished by her capacity for cruelty, down in my belly, a part of me was turned on by the inner savagery of her nature. I wanted to join her, kiss her all over, and beat the bejesus out of Munroe. Sitting there, mewling, at our mercy. Every tormenter I had ever suffered at the hands of, they were slumped in front of me, sobbing. Every bully. My rage at who he was, what he represented, began to rise. He was the antithesis of what I believed humanity at its best should be, a lumpy mix of gross opportunism and wilfully blind fundamentalism, holding everyone back for believing they ever had a choice in how they lived their lives. I watched Danae, slithering herself over Munroe’s body in a parody of copulation. She was shining, a goddess of malice and spite in a blood-red uniform. At that moment, I would have joined her, willingly. I would have dropped down on my knees and begged forgiveness for my weakness.

  “Look at him, Thomas,” Aubrey hissed in my ear. I hadn’t realized he was so close. “Isn’t he pitiful?”

  I nodded yes.

  “You can’t wait to tear into him, can you?”

  I shook my head no.

  “You can taste it, same as us.”

  Yes.

  “You’re one of us.”

  Yes.

  “You know what needs to be done, to complete the fatwa . The only solution, brother. Death.”

  The word sliced itself through the haze.

  “Death to the infidel.”

  I spun, raising a fist, and launched the first honest-to-God punch I had ever thrown in anger. Caught unawares, Aubrey instinctively took a step back as I turned, subsequently moving the target I had hoped for, causing my fist to collide solidly with his chin. He staggered back, falling over as he slipped on a tattered paperback. “ow!” we both yelled, his yell in surprise as he fell, mine from the shooting pain that shot through my hand. I cradled it over my left forearm. “I think I broke it,” I whined.

  “Thomas, what are you doing?” Danae berated. She helped Aubrey up to his feet. “Aubrey, are you okay, hon?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Good punch, brother.”

  “My hand is broken over here!”

  “Warren, could you get some ice from my freezer?” Aubrey yelled. “Thomas has hurt himself!”

  “No prob!” Warren hollered back. “I’ve almost got everyone.”

  “Broken hand, hello?” I complained. I didn’t think it was broken, actually; the fingers moved without too much difficulty. But the knuckles were already beginning to swell with bruising.

  Warren walked back in. “Everything okay, boss?”

  “Fine, Warren,” said Aubrey. “Thomas just had a momentary crisis of faith. He’s okay now. Right, Thomas?”

  I shrugged. Warren tossed me a plastic bag loaded with ice cubes. “Hold that on the knuckles, it’ll cut the swelling.” I did as he told me, sighing as the cold numbed my hand.

  “I think we’d better get started, now that Thomas has that out of his system,” Danae said. “Warren, you get everyone?”

  “Almost, five more to go. Everyone’s coming so far.”

  “Good,” said Aubrey. “You finish calling. Danae and I will go move Munroe’s car around back, keep it hidden.” Danae fished the key from Munroe’s pockets, slapping him when he began to moan again. “When we’re done, we’ll head out back, get the fire nice and hot. Thomas, you get to work.”

  “Work?” I asked.

  “Work, counsellor, work.” Aubrey clapped a hand on my shoulder. “We’re not animals, Thomas, no matter what you think. You’re in this now, all the way. Munroe will get due process, like all our ’tags. If he’s innocent, we’ll let him go. Promise.”

  “Innocent? Of what?” Bile formed in my throat.

  “That’s for you to figure out, if you haven’t already.” Aubrey gathered up Margarita under his arm, giving me a wink as he followed Danae from the room. “You’re his lawyer, after all.” My mout
h remained gaping for a good long time after he exited.

  Cue the bombastic John William score for emphasis. Bum, bum, bum! Narrator’s voice: “Tune in for tomorrow’s exciting conclusion, Death Reads a Book!”

  Yours,

  Thomas

  FILE # 09978

  DOCUMENT INSERT: Journal entry of Thomas Friesen.

  From patient files of Dr. Lyle Newhire

  It all comes down to this, doesn’t it? All the talk, the group therapy, the crying, the denial, the meds (ah, the blessed meds!). Still need to cover the day that cracked this nut. Otherwise, how will you ever achieve closure? Why did Thomas try to cross the road? What was on the other side? Was it candy? You know, if all attempted suicides knew that homework would be the ultimate outcome of their cries for help, they’d try a little harder to finish the job.

  Three months, doc. That’s how long I articled. Not even a year, couldn’t even manage one simple year. Some folks last for decades, their mental illness out for all to see. Me, I go minutes. Couldn’t last long enough to qualify as a failure. Three months of bail hearings, harried public prosecutors, judges who couldn’t care a whit for your clients, and clients who cared for themselves even less. Rapists. Assaults. Eleven-year-old car thieves. Fetal alcohol syndromes by the dozens. Two or three people who couldn’t remember their own names. It’s not that they didn’t deserve representation; competent and committed representation by trained individuals. People said this to me all through law school. “It’s important work. Everyone has the right to legal counsel. It’s in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. It’s what makes our society so gol-dang wonderful. But, really, why would a nice young man such as you ever choose to defend such people? I mean, do the crime, do the time.”