Monkey and the GOAT: FUC Academy, #37

PROLOGUE

Breaking glass and thumping noises in the middle of the night was never a promising awakening. Matias Gonzalez grabbed the pistol from under his pillow with practised ease as he rolled out of bed. Whoever had been foolish enough to try and rob his penthouse suite would not be leaving on their own feet tonight.

Fifteen years of running the Desafiante Cartel and I still have to deal with little punks trying to make their reputations, he muttered as he crept closer to his home office. First that cursed girl’s demands and now this. I need to make an example.

A light shone under the closed door. Shadows moved back and forth across the illuminated gap. A muffled shriek and another thump prompted him to remove the safety on his gun. Crouching low against the wall, he flung the door open, shouting for the intruders to freeze.

Startled brown eyes stared into his. Long brown fingers nervously clenched and splayed. The tense lips parted, revealing inch-long fangs.

The monkey shrieked and ran, dropping its armload of apples and quince. The fruit rolled over the designer carpet as the would-be thief scrambled to the open balcony. Three other monkeys followed the first primate, vanishing over the balcony rail and into the night.

Matias grimaced at the broken pottery, scattered papers, and muddy tracks throughout the room. The maid must have left the outer French doors unlatched. The animals were becoming increasingly brazen pests. They were opportunistic thieves and annoyingly destructive, willing to sneak through any opening if there was a hope of food inside. He stomped across the mess to slam the balcony doors shut.

A soft hoot of fear caught his attention.

Whirling, he spotted a tiny, wrinkled face peeking out from behind his computer, eyes wide and afraid.

Another monkey. This one smaller and darker than the others. He frowned. Could it be an infant? Who cares? I’m a businessman, not a biologist.

It was holding on to an apple, keeping it tight against its chest. It hooted again, shifting its weight back and forth as if waiting to see if he would attack.

You should learn to run with the others, little one. He aimed the pistol at the creature.

It whimpered, pulling back into the shadows behind the computer monitor.

The animal’s evident fear pleased him, and he decided to be magnanimous. It wasn’t as if it would be telling anyone. Run, little pest!

At the first sign of a charge, the creature leapt a surprising distance, which covered most of the room’s length. Matias ran after it, and it sprang at the balcony doors, its long, fluffy tail serving as a rudder to guide its trajectory.

It landed on the chrome door handle, its feet scrabbling on the shiny surface. The balcony door swung open under its weight, but the apple fell to the ground.

The creature dropped, reaching for its prize.

Scram! Matias shouted, lifting his arms to make himself seem larger.

It worked. The monkey fled, launching itself over the stone rail.

Matias laughed, picking up the bruised fruit. Time to find another career, little one. It’s a poor thief who leaves behind their spoils.

He tossed the apple into the garbage can and secured the French doors, making sure to close the bolts at the top and bottom. Except the lower bolt wouldn’t slide into place.

Frowning, he knelt to take a closer look. A wad of some green substance partially filled the hole. Not enough to notice at a glance but enough to effectively stop the door from locking. He picked it out with a pen. It was a mash of crushed leaves. How the hell did those get here?

Movement in the massive jacaranda tree outside caught his attention. He seized a pair of high-powered binoculars and focused on the blue-flowered branches. It was too dark to make out enough details, forcing him to switch to the green-washed night-vision mode.

Once he did, the source of the movement was clear. A little monkey, probably the same one from his office. It was curled up next to the trunk, scratching at its back.

He shuddered, thinking of fleas and other parasites. Who knew what the pest had left behind in his apartment? He was about to put away the binoculars when the monkey suddenly detached a part of its back.

What the—? He tightened the focus. The creature was holding what seemed to be a small, furry backpack. One that would have blended invisibly with its natural fur.

Impossible. Plenty of people in Colombia had monkeys as pets. They could be taught simple tricks but surely not to perform a break-in. A sinking sensation in his gut held him still.

The monkey reached into a hollow in the tree and pulled out a string bag. It set the new bag beside its backpack in a decidedly non-primate manner.

Matias couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

The image blurred, growing paler. Scowling, he refocused the binoculars, only to discover something even more incredible.

A young woman now sat on the branch where the monkey had been, tugging a T-shirt over her bare breasts.

She must be the creature’s owner. He couldn’t explain why she was nude, but it seemed logical to assume she must have climbed the tree while he was focused on the monkey. Except the monkey was no longer anywhere in view.

The woman pulled on a pair of shorts and tied back her dark curly hair into a sloppy bun. Matias didn’t recognize her. She could have been any one of a thousand young women who came in and out of his luxury complex, taking care of the menial chores. She tucked the empty string bag into her pocket and opened the tiny fur backpack, pulling out two small rectangular objects.

No. It can’t be. It’s not possible. He dropped the binoculars and dashed to his office safe. No one knew it was behind the family portrait that hung over his desk. He swung the picture aside and frantically punched in the combination.

The gears clicked and whirred as the massive steel teeth withdrew into the heavy door. He yanked it open as soon as the mechanism beeped the all clear.

No.

The shallow cavity inside was empty.

The thumb drives. They’re gone! Immediately, he began shouting for his security as he dashed to the main floor’s garden entrance. Armed guards followed him as he stumbled onto the flagstone path.

The private garden was empty. No girl. No monkey. His guards began searching behind the benches and shrubbery.

Matias chewed on his lip in a miserable combination of fear and frustration. Without those drives, he was effectively a dead man walking. But who knew about them? Knew where he kept them?

A soft click to his left caught his attention. The servants’ door in the wall around the complex had locked. Hidden in shadow, it allowed the staff to come and go discreetly.

He ran back through his opulent lobby, throwing open the front doors.

Even at this time of night, the streets weren’t deserted. Men and women in uniforms waited wearily at the bus stops. Scooters sailed along the streets with single riders or pairs.

She had to be here. The servants’ door locked as soon as it was fully closed. He scanned the street in a panic.

A city bus stuttered past him, its outdated brakes screeching as it came to a restless halt. The waiting cleaners trudged onboard in an uneven line.

He caught a glimpse of an unkempt bun and pale T-shirt. Not one of the dark grey staff uniforms. His mystery woman settled into a bus seat. She spotted him through the haze of diesel fumes. And smiled cruelly.

Matias shouted for his men to seize the bus. Uncaring about his demands, the vehicle rumbled to life and trundled along the road. The guards came out of the house, staring at him in confusion. A few of them ran after the bus as it turned the corner. Others grabbed motorcycles out of the garage and roared off in pursuit.

Not wanting to stand helplessly watching in the middle of the street, Matias pulled his flapping robe closed and retreated inside his home. He would find out who had hired this woman and her monkey-thief, and he would make sure they regretted ever drawing breath.

Senõr? One of the maids approached cautiously with a ringing cell phone.

He snatched it from her to answer. Do you have her?

We have the bus, boss. But there’s no girl here.

It’s not possible. She must be there.

No, sir. There are six men and four women. All of them wearing the uniform. None under fifty years—hey!

What was that? Matias demanded.

A monkey, sir. It must have gotten inside the bus somehow. It just dashed out the doors.

The phone dropped out of Matias’s numb hand. The monkey vanishes, and the girl appears. The girl vanishes, and the monkey appears. It’s impossible. I must be going mad.

Sir? the tinny voice called from the discarded phone.

Matias picked it up again. Find the monkey.

Umm, sir? You want us to find the monkey?

Find it! he screamed. Tear the city apart! Find that monkey!

He threw the phone at the cowering maid and stalked away. They had to find the creature. Before it was too late.

1

William Svenson stood in the administrative office and fumed over which of his fellow trainees he was going to kill first. Join the Furry United Coalition, they said. You can serve your community, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

They lied, he growled to himself. The brightly colored children’s book sitting inside the padded envelope proved he’d been right in his skepticism. He’d opened the pale manilla interoffice folder expecting information about his coursework and graduation. Not another stupid practical joke with his animal as the punchline.

What was that, BGG?

Of course it was her, the biggest pain in his side from the first day of orientation. A gleeful smile threatened to split her skull in two.

Damn croc shifters. He hated the nickname his coworkers had decided to bestow on him, and they knew it. BGG. Billy Goat Gruff. Tacky and childish. In unrepentant pettiness, he’d failed to learn their names. Nothing.

Are you sure? She stood in the doorway, blocking his only avenue of escape.

He glared at her, but she only stared unblinkingly back at him, her grin curling even wider.

Mr. Svenson. The soft female voice calling his name cut through the tension.

William broke eye contact with the croc shifter to meet the gaze of the blonde woman standing behind her. This was one name he’d needed to learn. Sylla Columba, the Emotions Management Instructor. In other words, the last person he wanted to see him about to launch into