He moved some of the years-old magazines away from the window of his small Manhattan brownstone walk-up, and surveilled the neighborhood. It was a late August day, school wasn’t back in session yet, so the streets were filled with children playing jump-rope, stickball, what have you. Larry ignored them for the most part. The Monkey Mind Reader was the stuff of legend, and logically speaking, it was highly unlikely that a child would have lived long enough to be so universally feared. After all, everyone was afraid of the Monkey Mind Reader. They just didn’t talk about it.

        There were other people out there on the street, too. Business men in their suits and ties, looking at their newspapers and spilling their coffee on their white starched shirts. The local fruit vendor, who held out beautiful apples and bananas, and smiled his toothless, ancient smile. Harried mothers with their toddlers in tow. Joggers, bikers, in-line skaters, all spinning faster than the world going round. Taxis and buses and cars all flew by his window, like lightning in a thunderstorm. But no one stopped at his house. No one looked in his window. No Monkey Mind Reader was opening his mind this morning.

        He went over to his tiny table, picked up his cereal bowl, and slurped down the rest of his soaked-through Corn Flakes without even tasting them. Then he put on his tie, just like his father had taught him, picked up his overstuffed briefcase, and slowly headed out the door.

        Larry took each stair one at a time, then stopped short when he reached the sidewalk. He looked both ways, as if readying to cross the street, and nodded to himself with satisfaction. He was safe. For now.

        He began the three-block trek to the subway. It seemed like a much longer journey, especially lately, ever since he had learned of the existence of the accursed Monkey Mind Reader. He was always tired now, always tired. Larry dreaded sleep; his mind was far too vulnerable to the whims of the Monkey Mind Reader when visiting the Land of Dreams.

        He refused to take drugs to help him stay awake; that nice old lady Nancy Reagan had said very clearly, "Just Say No", so Larry did. Instead, he drank lots of coffee, so much in fact that he no longer had a resting pulse. Larry was down to needing just three hours of sleep a night to keep him going; but while he was certainly awake, he was never far from the borders of exhaustion. Caffeine had become like a friend who has overstayed its welcome.

        As he reached the first corner, he met Luther, the local homeless person. Luther was a dirty, huge dark man with a raggedy head of matted hair, a friendly disposition, and a suspiciously expensive pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses which ‘fell off a truck’. He wore those sunglasses day and night, without fail. Luther used to be the vice president of a major international business conglomerate, before the president committed suicide, the market crashed and the company went broke. Well, that’s what Luther said. Luther smiled at Larry, held out his hand, and said, "Hey, Larry. Quarter, man?"

        Larry managed a small grin. "I... uh, don’t have any... uh, change. But how about... a New York Times?"

        Luther smiled wider. "Even better. Valuable clues for job hunting inside. Maybe IBM needs a new CEO, huh? Hah!"

        Luther took the Times, and went right to the crossword puzzle. Luther could do the puzzle faster than anyone on Earth; at least, that’s what Larry believed. 10 minutes usually, 5 sometimes. Larry assumed it was the Ivy-League education. In fact, Larry had once believed that Luther himself was the Monkey Mind Reader in disguise. But when Larry had confronted Luther about it, Luther denied all knowledge. Actually, Luther had said, through a spasm of chuckles, "Hey, man. They say I'm crazy. Maybe you better quit drinking those orange juice and turpentine cocktails."

        Larry judged from Luther’s reaction that he did not possess the necessary malevolence to be the Monkey Mind Reader, and let the issue slide. But he still kept a watchful eye on Luther. Never trust a Yalie, that’s what Dad had always said. And Dad knew better than anyone. Dad had gone to Yale.

        Larry walked with his head down, his step unnaturally heavy, as if he weighed twice as much as he actually did, while swinging his briefcase wildly at his side. Larry was pretty small, and when he was nervous, or afraid, or when he felt the need, he got even smaller. People tried to hand him advertisements on the sidewalk, and he ignored them. After all, if he took anything from the Monkey Mind Reader, he would be in his power, and... well, all would be lost.

        After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the subway. It was the East Side Line, and the East Side Line was crowded. Actually, crowded did not do it justice. A sea of people struggled to make their way to the token booth, through the turnstile, to the platform, onto the train. Larry didn’t wait as long as the others. You see, Larry had a talent.

        Larry could squeeze himself so small, so two-dimensional, that he seemed to ooze between the cracks and spaces in big crowds. Within seconds, Larry was at the front of the token line. The clerk didn’t look at him. He must have also known about the Monkey Mind Reader. Best to keep eyes down at all times. "Hrwrw mrnrh?", the clerk grumbled.

        Larry replied, "Two, please", and passed the clerk three bucks. Larry was also extremely talented when it came to translating garbled English. He smiled inside; it was good to be versatile.

        The clerk passed him two tokens, and Larry slinked his way through the turnstile and down to the platform. There would be no Metro Card for him, just good old-fashioned tokens; after all, that newfangled Metro Card involved computers, and your location could be traced, especially by a certain simian psychic.

        By the time the next train came into the station, he was at the front, right whe!re the doors opened. Larry had staked out the perfect spot to stand, so that he could get on the train before anyone else. And no one seemed to catch on that he had cut in front of dozens of other sleep-dazed commuters.

        When Larry entered the car, he noticed, miraculously, that there was an open seat, right in front of him (a prized possession for any New Yorker). He practically flew into the plastic receptacle, and watched the doors close. Then he saw everyone who had gotten on the car with him exit through the two doors at either end in a mass exodus. That’s when Larry noticed the temperature. The air conditioning in the car was broken. However, the heat was working just fine. It must have been over 95 degrees in the car.

        Larry sighed gently, put his briefcase on his lap, took off his jacket, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. One or two other brave souls thought as he did; the prospect of a seat far outweighed the discomfort of a non-functional air conditioner. He looked at the others sitting with him; heads down, mouth shut. They knew, too. He grinned. At least, there was no chance of the Monkey Mind Reader being in here.

        He sat back and put his head against the window, which was slightly less boiling than the rest of the car. He watched intently as beads of his sweat wound their way down the gang-tagged, scratchitti-covered glass. The last time he had been this hot was... when he found out. About the Monkey Mind Reader. That had been an especially hot day. Larry wiped his head with his tie, and closed his eyes. And he remembered.

        Larry had always been somewhat of a loner. It was just his nature. He hadn’t had a date in close to a decade, but that was all right. He liked being alone. No one could complain to him when he was alone. He could go to the places he liked, and no one could make him leave until he was ready. No dinners for two, no flowers, miniscule phone bills. It was a very satisfying existence.

        Larry went to places where being alone was a plus. He could spend a whole day in the Guggenheim, staring for hours at modern sculptures, trying to interpret the artists’ cryptic messages. He liked sitting in the Botanical Gardens, especially on hot days. The cool, wet air was very refreshing, the flowers exploded with color, the smell was like his mother’s perfume.

        Larry particularly enjoyed the library; he could sit all day in a private cubicle, and read until his eyes fell out. His latest kick was ancient Greek classic theatre. Soon, Larry believed, he world be able to hold his own against even the world’s experts.

        Being alone was also advantageous when Larry watched television. Although TV had not yet become interactive, Larry liked to pretend that it was. When someone on a program would talk, Larry would talk back. Sometimes he would use the mute button, and have conversations with different members of the cast of "Friends". That was a real treat (and Jennifer Aniston was pretty foxy). But if anyone else had been with him when he tried it, they might think he was crazy.

        One day several weeks back, while sitting on his comfy chair with his eyes glued to the screen, Larry saw a story on the evening news that piqued his curiosity. Apparently, a child had fallen into a gorilla cage at a zoo and cracked his skull on the concrete. A passer-by with a hand-held video camera shot some terrific footage, except for all that blood. There was blood everywhere, and the camera operator made sure he recorded every drop and puddle. It was very sensational and disgusting.

        The other gorillas, upset about the intruder in their midst, began a regular riot.. But one gorilla, a young female, had gone over to the screaming child. She put her giant hand on the child’s small face, and wiped away his tears. Then, she picked the child up, cradled it in her arms, and carried it to the keeper’s door. When the other gorillas came to attack, the female held her ground, warning them off for long enough that the child was successfully rescued.

        Tears began to flow down Larry’s cheeks. How could it be that humans were so unkind to each other, and yet a primitive, distant cousin to humanity like a gorilla could have the compassion to comfort a crying child, and save its life? How could it be?

        Anyway, Larry decided to go to the Bronx Zoo, and give a little money to the animal rescue effort. It had been a sweltering June Wednesday, late morning. No one had called with any cases, so Larry had a de facto day off. He took the subway up to the zoo, made a donation of $5, and began to wander around.

        Most of it was rather routine. Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my (although the snakes were interesting) . But when he arrived at the monkey cage, he stopped short. The monkeys were supposed to be an utter delight, a real flight of fancy. And most of the monkeys were making all kinds of mischief, as they are prone to do. Normally, Larry would have laughed and screamed right along with the children that stood by him; but there was one monkey sitting by itself, on a rock, high above the others. Its legs and arms were akimbo, its body perfectly still. And this monkey was looking right at him.

        No, it was more than that. The monkey’s eyes and Larry’s were transfixed, locked together in a piercing gaze. No matter how hard Larry tried to look away, he couldn’t do it. And the monkey didn’t, either.

        ‘ What are you up to?’, Larry asked the monkey. At least, that’s what he was thinking in his head. Imagine Larry’s surprise when the monkey answered him.

        ‘You know about us, don’t you?’, the monkey whispered.

        Larry’s first impulse was to laugh. Imagine, a monkey with telepathy, that speaks English, yet. But then the monkey spoke again.

        ‘I knew it. I could see that you were onto us when you walked into the cage. I can see right... through... you.’ The look of intensity on the monkey’s face grew stronger and more focused. The eyes seemed to glow, an icy, electric blue. The voice penetrated Larry’s skull, and echoed in Larry’s brain.

        "What are you talking about?", Larry asked. He didn’t realize that he had spoken aloud. The little girl next to him looked up to see if Larry was talking to her, but the weird guy seemed to be talking to the monkeys.

        The monkey replied, ‘Our plan. You’re a danger to our plan. All of you humans are the same. Except the Monkey Mind Reader. With his help, we’ll be rid of all of you.’

        "Monkey Mind Reader? Who’s the Monkey Mind Reader?" Larry didn’t like what he was hearing. That it was coming from a monkey, he liked even less. When the monkey smiled at him, its malevolence perfectly clear, Larry nearly wet his pants.

        ‘That is not for you to know’, the monkey smirked. ‘Suffice to say, soon we will see who is the keeper… and who is in the cage. When the Monkey Mind Reader comes for you, there will be hell to pay.’

        "What did I do?!? What did I do?!?!?" Larry wailed.

        Parents started taking their kids out of Larry’s way. One little boy said to his mother, "Hey, mom! That guy’s talking to the monkeys! Hah, Hah, Hah!" Larry didn’t hear.

        ‘There can be no further communication between us. The Monkey Mind Reader will come for you. Be warned.’ Then, the monkey suddenly sprang up from the rock, and began to scream wildly. It was swinging from vines, flying around like a topsy-turvy. The children still in the area squealed with joy. Larry screamed in abject terror, and ran for his life.

        After he had barricaded his windows and called in sick to his accounts for a week, Larry suddenly realized that he was being held hostage. By fear, by distrust, by... insanity? He did not know. He only knew that the monkey had talked to him, and had told the truth. Somewhere out there was the Monkey Mind Reader, and now he was looking for Larry. But Larry had to fight back.

        Obviously, the monkeys had not yet mobilized for attack. After all, they were still locked in their holding pens. That meant their plans were not complete. Maybe there was still time to take action. Larry had to stifle his terror, sniff out the Monkey Mind Reader, and stop him. But how would he find him, or recognize him?

        Then the answer came to Larry like a revelation. The monkey’s eyes, of course. The look in that sick monkey’s eyes. If the monkey could look at him like that, and enter his mind, so would the Monkey Mind Reader. He would look at Larry with the same wicked eyes, and try to get inside of him. Then Larry would know. But, Larry lamented, he would have to let the Monkey Mind Reader come to him. And that meant leaving the house.

        The first time was the hardest. Every step was agony, every person’s stare a stab to the heart. That Larry hadn’t shaved and looked like a deranged derelict didn't help him blend in, either. But, after a few days, it had become a little easier. Larry had begun to realize he had certain natural abilities and advantages, and tried to make the most of them. He was still deathly afraid, but he was learning to cope with it.

        Larry was also becoming aware of just how much influence monkeys already had in human society. They were everywhere. Why, mothers all around the world read the story of "Curious George" to their children before they went to sleep. The movies were full of examples of monkeys making fools out of people, getting the best of them, or scaring them to death (all the way back to "King Kong"). Some people were seemingly brainwashed into fighting on the side of the monkeys, bombing animal research facilities where monkeys were used for medical testing. Hell, even his favorite TV show "Friends" had a monkey on it. Now he couldn’t even watch it anymore. The conspiracy was boundless, and timeless, and the Monkey Mind Reader was behind it all.

        Larry woke with a jolt. The subway had halted, and luckily for him, it was his stop. He got off the train, and moved as quickly as he could to the building he had to get to this morning. He had to pick up a file, and then head to court across the river in Brooklyn.

        Larry made it to the top floor without incident. He went over to the receptionist, a cute young woman with striking red hair. She said, "Can I help you?", and smiled prettily.

        Larry looked down at his feet. There was no reason that the Monkey Mind Reader could not be a female, and he wasn’t taking any chances.

        "I’m... uh, Larry. Larry Rosen. Here to... uh, here to see Mr. Tamborline."

        "Just a sec, I’ll see if he’s available." The red-head picked up the phone, and spoke quietly. So quietly that Larry couldn’t hear her. Why was she whispering? And... what was with that smile? That secret smile? Was she onto him, too? Was she the M... Mon....

        "Mr. Tamborline will see you now. Right through those doors." She smiled again, her teeth as sparkling white as her eyes.

        "Yeah, uh... thanks. Thanks a lot." He nearly dropped his briefcase, chuckled nervously, and backed through the door. When she didn’t follow him, he realized that she probably wasn’t the Monkey Mind Reader. She was probably just a nice young lady. Boy, he thought to himself. She must think I'm a weirdo or something.

        He made his way to Mr. Tamborline’s office. Tamborline was an elderly man, pushing 80, but he moved like a man 20 years younger. He was spry, and sharp as a tack. He was also, to put it bluntly, one mean son-of-a-bitch.

        "Sit down, Rosen," Tamborline barked. Larry did as he was told, and again, stared straight down.

        "I’ve got a case for you in Brooklyn today."

        "I, uh... I know, sir. You, ah, told me yesterday."

        Tamborline looked up from his papers. "What, do you think I'm senile or something?" He sounded like a hungry pit bull. Larry was already getting nervous.

        "No, I uhh... no."

        "Good. The case is before Judge Amato, and it’s a big one. A lot of money is on the line, and I don't want to lose one red cent of it." Tamborline turned his attention to another file, and began rustling through it. "You see this file here, Rosen?"

        Larry didn’t look up. "Yes, sir."

        "How can you see the file when you’re sitting there staring at my carpet?"

        "I, uh, I see the file, sir."

        "LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU, YOU BASTARD!!!"

        Larry was quaking with fear. He didn’t want to look. Tamborline could be the Monkey Mind Reader. "Pl... please, Mr. Tamborline, I said I could.…"

        "Are you talking back to me, you slime ball? You piece of unadulterated garbage, LOOK AT ME."

        Reluctantly, Larry did as he was told. Tamborline sure did look angry. He even looked evil. But the eyes were not there. They were not the eyes of the Monkey Mind Reader.

        "This is the last file I gave you," Tamborline roared. "You remember? Well, you screwed it up royally. We got our clocks cleaned, or whatever the case might be, thanks to you. This is your last chance, understand? If you mess this up, you’ll never do any work in this city again. I will personally see to that! You get me, you chimp?"

        Larry jumped out of his chair at that word. His briefcase opened, and papers poured out like a pulpy Niagra Falls. He opened his mouth to cry. But then he remembered. The eyes were wrong. The eyes were wrong. He felt like a fool.

        "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll get it right, I promise."

        Tamborline slammed his hand down on the desk. "Good! Now get these papers off my floor, and get your ass to court!"

        Larry scooped the papers up and threw them haphazardly into his case. He’d have to reorganize them later. Then he bolted out of that office, as fast as he could, in case he was wrong about Tamborline.

        When Larry reached the street, his heart was still beating nearly out of his chest. He needed to relax, and fast. He decided to skip the subway, and just walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. Maybe that would clear his head.

        The bridge was still heavy with traffic at this time of the morning, but there weren’t many pedestrians. The sky was dark blue, and a cool breeze came off the East River, blowing through his thinning hair. By the time he reached Brooklyn, he felt like a new man. Almost.

        Soon he was at the Courthouse. He was 30 minutes early, as usual. Despite his many problems, and Mr. Tamborline's low opinion of him, Larry was, in fact, a very good attorney. He could absorb the entire contents of a file in only a few minutes (and besides, most of the cases he handled dealt with exactly the same issues, which made his life easier). Unfortunately for Tamborline, Johnny Cochrane couldn’t have won that last one.

        He walked through the door designated for "Attorneys Only", and headed for the security desk. Luckily, New York issued attorneys an ID card. Otherwise, Larry would have to stand on line at the metal detector and X-ray machine. And he didn’t want anyone looking inside of him. His mind or his body. And especially not with the Monkey Mind Reader on the loose.

        He reached the desk, and noticed the guard on duty wasn’t Pete, the usual guy. 'I'his man was big, and fat, and eating a donut, and completely disinterested. "Uh... how’re you doing?", Larry asked.

        "Card, please," replied the guard. Well, so much for casual conversation.

        Larry opened his briefcase to get his card, and saw the disheveled pile of paper. He sorted through it, looking for his card. But it wasn’t there. He looked again, and it wasn’t there. He began unzipping pockets, looking inside his books. He even checked his wallet, which is where he probably should have kept his ID card. No luck. He must have dropped it in Tamborline’s office. Larry looked at the guard, distraught. "I, uh, don’t have it with me. But Pete knows me, just ask...."

        "Look, pal, I got no time for this. Get on line with those other people."

        Larry shivered. "Please, uh, sir, I just need to...."

        "Are you deaf, pal?" The guard pointed to the attorneys waiting very impatiently behind Larry. "They don’t got time for games, neither. Now move it."

        Larry got on line and waited. The queue extended all the way back outside the building. Now he was going to be late for court. He didn’t know Judge Amato, but he had heard stories. Tamborline’s going to kill me, Larry sighed.

        Finally, after an eternity had passed, Larry’s turn came. The guard at the detector, a woman the size of Mount Everest, called out, "Next, please."

        Larry tried to take a step forward, but his feet wouldn’t move. He was paralyzed with terror.

        "Next, please!", the woman called. Maybe she eats donuts with that other guy, Larry mused irrationally.

        The woman moved from her seat (an achievement in itself), and poked Larry lightly on the shoulder. "Earth to loser, are you planning on waking up today?"

        Larry was about to run out of the courthouse, when another voice came out of nowhere. "Hey, Louise, layoffa him. That’s Mr. Rosen, he’s a lawyer."

        Larry turned and saw Pete returning to his desk. Pete was zipping his fly; he must have been coming back from the bathroom.

        The replacement guard said to Pete, "Well, he doesn't have ID. He could be a criminal or a psycho for all I know, and the State says...."

        Pete scowled. "Ahh, tell the State to stick it. They don’t pay me enough, anyway. Yo, Rosen, go on through."

        Larry looked as if he had found a million dollars in his pocket. "Thanks, Pete. Thanks."

        "No problem, Rosen. Just remember your ID next time."

        Larry ran up the stairs towards Amato’s court room.

        Pete turned to the other guard, as Larry moved on. "Besides, lawyers, criminals, psychos... what’s the difference, right?" The guards enjoyed a hearty laugh, thanks to Pete’s good humor.

        Larry slid into Amato’s court, skidding on his heels, making a sound like fingernails grating against a chalkboard. Everyone in the court room turned to look, including the Judge. Amato was a well-tanned, well-connected officer of the Court, with about as much compassion as a starving piranha.

        Larry couldn’t look at the judge; he was too embarrassed. "Uhh ... sorry I’m late, Your Honor, but the guards wouldn’t let me...."

        "No, no, let me finish for you, Mister…," he looked at his docket, "Rosen. I insist." Amato’s smile could have broken a mirror. "The guards wouldn’t let you up here because they momentarily mistook you for Charles Manson."

        Everyone cracked up, from the bailiff to the injured plaintiff in his neck brace. Larry turned red as a beet.

        "Well," Amato continued, "You must be very eager to proceed. After all, you’ve interrupted these other attorneys who got here on time, ready to go. And we’re only on third call."

        Again, a bunch of laughter, but this time from lawyers only. It was an inside joke. Judges went through the daily court docket twice before starting session. There was no ‘third call’. Larry stammered, "I, uh, I... have to, uh, look. at the file... for a minute."

        Amato pointed to the briefcase in Larry’s hand, with the papers sticking out of it. "It looks like it’s going to take you until next month to even organize that file." Larry began to back away towards a table, but Amato wasn’t finished. "Oh, and Mr. Rosen, did your mommy forget to dress you this morning?"

        Larry was genuinely confused. "Huh?", was all he could muster.

        "Your socks, son. Is it a new trend to wear socks of different colors, or is it a fashion statement you invented yourself?"

        Larry was mortified. The apartment had been dark, with all those magazines piled up in front of the window; and he had, indeed, put on different colored socks.

        "Sorry, Your Honor, but, uh... I was, ummm, in a hurry and...."

        "Stop right there, Rosen. Let me guess what you were about to say. I enjoy guessing games so much." Larry felt like a rat in a trap. Amato continued, apparently relishing Larry’s misery. "You were going to tell me that you were up all night reading that file, in preparation for your appearance here today. In fact, you were up so late, that when you finally did pass out from exhaustion, you overslept. So when you finally dragged your sorry ass out of bed this morning, you just threw on what you wore yesterday, and grabbed the nearest socks you could find, which were scattered on the floor along with your papers and other assorted garbage. And you had the misfortune to grab an unmatching pair. Am I right, or am I a little off base?"

        Larry was humiliated beyond reply. The people in the court room were rolling in hysterics, and Amato was basking in the moment. Hot tears started rolling down Larry’s cheeks.

        Amato wasn’t done. "Mr. Rosen, you are a disgrace to your profession. You were told to be in my presence at 9:30 AM, and you have the utter gall to show up...", he looked at his watch, "47 minutes late. Your appearance is slovenly, your file in complete disarray. You missed the calendar call entirely, resulting in a default judgment against your client. You have failed to represent your client’s interests adequately, and I am not going to let you file a motion to vacate the default. In fact, I am going to report you to the State Disciplinary Committee. Now, do you have anything else to tell me? Can you guess what I'm waiting to hear from you, Mr. Rosen? Why don't you look at me when I talk to you? Or maybe you enjoy reading minds like I do. Maybe you can read my mind as well as I can read yours. I’d love to hear that."

        Larry froze at Amato’s words. Read minds. Read minds. Could it be him? Then he slowly looked up into Amato’s face. Past the sarcasm. Past the disdain. And for a second, just a fraction of a second, he thought he saw the look in the Judge’s eyes. But he couldn't be absolutely sure without more.

        Larry began to seethe with undisguised fury. He threw his briefcase to the floor, sending its contents to the Four Winds, and pointed a shaking finger at Amato. "I don’t pretend to be a Monkey Mind Reader like you!! I don’t pretend to read minds, you MONKEY!!"

        Everyone in the room froze, except Amato, who only smiled wider. Then, the smile suddenly disappeared, replaced with a.look of dour seriousness. "Oh, yes, Mr. Rosen. I am a Monkey Mind Reader. Of course I am."

        That was the clincher. Larry flew at the Judge, jumped over his desk, grabbed him around his neck, and began to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze. Amato tried to scream, but Larry was going to squeeze every last bit of life from him, every drop of juice from the orange. Amato’s eyes began to bulge out of their sockets.

        Larry screamed at him. "YOU MONKEY!!! YOU MONKEY!!! YOU MONKEY!!!" It took the bailiffs a good three minutes to get Larry’s hands unclenched from Amato’s neck.

        "YOU MONKEY!!! YOU MONKEY!!! YOU MONKEY!!!" Larry kept screaming while the straight-jacket was tightened around him. As they carried him out. of the court and hurried him downstairs to a waiting ambulance, Larry managed to use one of those talents of his to somehow ooze out of the straight jacket, and attacked a paramedic. All the while, he screamed, "YOU WORK FOR HIM!!! THE MONKEY MIND READER!!!" It took a club to the head by a quick thinking cop before Larry could be subdued.

        Larry woke up in a dark place. He couldn’t move his arms, or his legs, or even his neck; but he could feel the metal against his wrist. He was chained down.

        He tried to yell out, but his throat hurt too much. So he just sat there, crying and waiting. Finally, a man in a white coat came in. Larry couldn’t see him too well; it was very dim, his head hurt, the tears stung his eyes. And he was just too tired to try to focus.

        "Well, well," said the man in the white coat. "I see that one of us has had a bad day, hmmm?"

        "Wh... where... am... I?", Larry gasped. The man in the white coat brought him a glass of cold water, and poured some into Larry’s parched mouth. Then he put a big, dark hand on Larry’s forehead. It was cool to the touch.

        "Don't worry, Mr...", he looked down at the chart, "Rosen. Ah, yes. You’re quite safe. You’re in the psychiatric ward here at Bellevue Hospital."

        Larry struggled to speak. "It’s dark in here. I... can’t see you too well."

        "It’s necessary, I’m afraid. You have a rather severe head injury. Bright light will damage your eyes."

        Larry didn’t need a doctor to tell him that. His temple was throbbing like mad, and his jaw felt like it had been smacked with a baseball bat. "Doctor, you’ve got to... help me. The monkeys... are after me, after... all of us."

        "Really." The doctor sat down on the padded floor. "Tell me about it, Mr. Rosen. Tell me all about it. Who is ... after you?"

        "The monkey told me," Larry wheezed. "The monkey at the zoo. He told me... about the Monkey Mind Reader."

        "Monkey Mind Reader," the doctor repeated slowly, unemotionally, writing the whole time. "What about him? Who is he?"

        "He plots... against us. Against humanity. He is... in league... with the monkeys. They... do his bidding, because he does... their bidding."

        "Their bidding, hmm? And what is their plan, Mr. Rosen?", the doctor asked.

        "To destroy us... Civilization... Put us… in the cages... and let the monkeys... go free. And the Monkey Mind Reader... will rule over them."

        "I see. Let me ask you some more questions, Mr. Rosen. Was Judge Amato the... Monkey Mind Reader? Is that why you attacked him?"

        "Yeah. He was the Monkey Mind Reader. At least... I think he was." Larry wished he could see better, he was afraid of the dark.

        The doctor stopped writing, and said, "Mr. Rosen, we have to be absolutely clear about this. There can’t be any confusion. What made you think that Amato was the Monkey Mind Reader?"

        "I thought I saw... his eyes." Larry’s head was pounding where the club had struck him. He wanted some aspirin.

        "What was it about his eyes?" The doctor sounded genuinely fascinated.

        "When he... looked at me, he... was inside... my head. Inside my mind. Like the monkey. The monkey at the zoo." Larry felt like he was floating in the ocean. His salty tears ran into his mouth.

        The doctor stood up, still in the shadows. He straightened his white jacket, and began to walk slowly in an arc around his bed. "Judge Amato’s in the hospital; you did a pretty good job on him, did you know that?"

        Larry smiled a little. "N... no. But I’m glad. I hope he dies. Is he... going to die?"

        "Oh, no. Not at all, no danger of that. Judge Amato is a very strong man, he’s got an iron constitution. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him up and about quite soon."

        Larry was disappointed, but not overly so. "Well, at least I told everyone who he really is. Now I’m safe, we’re all safe... from him." Larry let out a hearty chuckle.

        The doctor sighed heavily. "Mr. Rosen, there is something I must tell you." He paused for a moment, as if trying to think of the right words to say. "I’m afraid nobody believed you. To witnesses, your screaming was just... the ravings of a lunatic." Larry stopped chuckling, the smile frozen on his face like a rictus. The doctor continued, speaking very softly. "But you should have heard what he was saying to the newspapers and television reporters from his hospital bed."

        The last remnants of Larry’s smile crept away into memory. "Wh...what did he say... was it about me?"

        "Only in part, Mr. Rosen." The doctor went back to writing on Larry’s chart. "He did say that you were a simpleton. A dolt. A moron. A loon. At least, those were the words they didn’t censor."

        "What else... did he say?" Larry was beginning to feel nauseous.

        "Well, it was very interesting. He said that when you attacked him, he saw his life flash in front of his eyes. And he wasn’t happy with what he saw." The doctor stopped writing, and looked up at Larry. "Amato said he was dissatisfied that he was only a judge. He said that he wants to run for higher office. He’s resigning from the Court at the end of the year to begin his political campaign."

        "Pol... pol... political campaign?" Larry felt the world dropping out from under him.

        "Yes, Mr. Rosen, political campaign. I guess you haven’t heard, you’ve been in and out of consciousness. Amato’s going to run for President; and the pundits think he has a good shot. After all, he’s a hero now, thanks to you. He mentioned that he’s going to emphasize a strong anti-crime platform. To keep... I believe he said, ‘Monkeys like Rosen’... in cages where they belong." Larry thought he could see the doctor’s teeth shine in the dark.

        "No, no, no." Larry began to slap his head on his pillow, rocking back and forth. "Amato was the Monkey Mind Reader. I saw his eyes. I saw them. And he said he could read my mind, I... I heard him say it."

        "Be that as it may. Well, Mr. Rosen, this is probably the last time I’ll be consulting with you. I believe the hospital has plans to move you to a higher-security facility; and this meeting has gone a long way toward convincing me that such a move is a prudent one. Good luck, Mr. Rosen."

        "Ohh ... oh, no. No no no no. You’ve got to let me out. I’ve gotta stop Amato."

        The doctor smiled, not unkindly. "I’m afraid it’s too late for that."

        Larry began to sob. "It... it was him. Oh, my God, it was him. And now he’ll be President." The doctor began to leave. "No, Doctor, wait!" Larry began to struggle against the chains. "You can’t let him get away with it! Oh my... my God. If Amato becomes... I should have killed him!! He’s still out there! The Monkey Mind Reader has to die!!! Don't you understand?!? He has to DIE!!!"

        "Calm down, Mr. Rosen, there’s no need for this outrageous display."

        "HAVE TO STOP HIM!! HELP ME STOP HIM, DOCTOR!! AAGHGHAGHGAGHH!!!"

        Larry began to throw a violent fit. The doctor quickly procured a syringe, filled it with thorazine, and injected it into Larry's pumping veins.

        "Relax, Mr. Rosen. Everything will be fine. You needn’t worry about the Monkey Mind Reader anymore." He waited patiently until Larry had passed out. Then he took the chart off the bed, scribbled a few more notes, put it under his arm, and walked out.

        The doctor headed down the corridor to the Behavioral Science Wing. He eventually met up with several other physicians, who were waiting for him at the end of the hall. They were standing with some security personnel and a police officer. The officer asked, "Is there anything that can be done for him? Anything at all?"

        The doctor shook his head slowly. "I’m afraid not. He’s too far gone. This is quite an extreme case, his delusion is so strong.…" The doctor stopped talking, and shook his head with disappointment. "He must be hospitalized. He is completely unfit to stand trial, and may never be."

        The policeman sighed deeply. "Thank you doctor, you’ve been a great help." The two men exchanged a hand shake, and the officer left to notify his superiors.

        The doctor turned to the security men. "Proceed with the transport. I’ll send my report along to Pine Hill as soon as its completed."

        The doctor left the rest of the group behind, and went back on his way. He wound through the corridors and bowels of Bellevue, until he reached the animal research facility in the hospital’s sub-basement. There were a number of animals in there, a menagerie in fact; dogs, cats, rabbits, rats... and monkeys.

        The monkeys were in a separate room, away from the rest of the animals. The doctor put the chart on his desk, then walked over to the monkey cages. The monkeys were remarkably quiet. All sitting in place. Arms and legs akimbo.

        The doctor unlocked one of the cages, and a large, ancient spider monkey exited. It jumped up on the desk and picked up Larry's chart. Then the monkey looked at the doctor.

        "He knows about us. And the plan," the monkey said.

        "Yes, he does," the doctor replied. He sat behind his desk and rested his head on his hands, leaning back against his chair. "He most certainly does."

        The monkey continued. "Did you convince him that the Monkey Mind Reader is a figment of his imagination?"

        The doctor swiveled his head from side to side, loosening some kinks in his neck, swinging an 18th Century-style ponytail. "Mr. Rosen is beyond convincing."

        The spider monkey jumped to the floor, and began unlocking some other cages. Monkeys of all shapes and sizes lined up, and began marching in unison. "Then he is a danger to the whole operation. If he ever gets out, he may be able to convince others."

        The doctor stood up, and picked up the chart again. "I highly doubt that."

        The spider monkey was not convinced. "But it is a possibility. There are... a lot of crazy people out there."

        The doctor nodded. "You’re right. And I’ve got to find them. They must be dealt with, one way ... or another." He put down his chart, and took off his white coat, tie and dress shirt. Underneath was a tattered vee-neck tee-shirt, covered in grime. He loosened the clip holding his hair in place; it fell freely about his shoulders. Then he picked up his chart again, and wrote next to the line labeled DIAGNOSIS: Advanced Criminal Insanity. Danger to himself and others. PROGNOSIS: Incurable.

        The monkey swung its arms back and forth, clearly agitated. "What are you going to do about him?"

        "Don’t worry, my friend," the doctor said, and stroked the monkey’s head gently. "It’s doubtful he would ever have found his way back to the right trail, anyway, but I’ve got everything we need right here on this chart. It’s all taken care of."

        The doctor took out his pen, then wrote one last line. "RECOMMENDED TREATMENT: LOBOTOMY. Signed. Luther Gibbons, M.D., Ph.D."