Dr. Simeon Primate & The Case Of The Black Market Banana

By Stuart Goodall

The first in a series about the adventures of Dr. Simeon Primate

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stuart Goodall
• Release date: Oct 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301226825

Stuart Goodall

Stuart writes about lots of different things in lots of different places using lots of different tools. His short stories have appeared on blogs all over the internet (some of which have even been commented upon) and his letters have appeared in mailboxes all over the world.Dr. Simeon Primate & The Case Of The Black Market Banana is his debut novel, and the first in a forthcoming series of adventures starring the eponymous gentleman ape detective.

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Dr. Simeon Primate

&

The Case of the Black Market Banana

by

Stuart Goodall

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Stuart Goodall

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Acknowledgements

For encouraging me to take every step through the jungle, and for telling me when I had put a foot wrong I would like to thank the following people: John Goldsmith, Jenny Taylor, Natalie Brown, Matthew Savage, James McGill, Max Saward, Dan Obi, Jessica Ferrow, Simon Jones, Joanna Marczyk, Andy Campbell, Chris Benjamin, Kate from Baristas, Becky Hook & The Japing ape – for being the gorilla who gave me this idea in the first place.

This could not have been done without you

Chapter 1

In the clear night sky a small black bird rode the breeze. The cool, headstrong current rushed around her body, lifting, cradling and filling her wings. Grateful for the strength of it, she began to climb easily, aiming for the moon. As the wind flowed through her feathers, she thought about how fish must feel, swimming in a jungle river, being carried along. The flow, all around, effortless.

Levelling out into a glide, she spread her wings to their fullest and looked down. Beneath her, the canopy of the rainforest was a dull grey shimmer. The dark treetops stretched away far into the distance, unbroken until they reached the horizon, where a faint cluster of lights could be seen huddled together. Their orange flickering was warm and inviting: almost what she was looking for. But not quite. They were too many in number. And too far away. There would be one light, and one light only. Near here, he had said.

She dropped a wing and turned, scanning the forest below. Between the trees, a dim orange glow caught her eye. With an excited squawk she began her descent in a wide, spiralling circle, searching the canopy for a perch. When she saw one to her liking she swooped down and gripped onto it. The branch flexed beneath her feet. Gradually, it became still.

She folded away her wings and looked out across the horizon. Bats flitted across the tree tops. Their wings snapped together in short, sharp bursts as they dipped and turned in pursuit of their prey. A hidden choir of insects chanted. Shapes moved in the trees. Beasts called out in the distance. The jungle breathed.

Beneath her there was a small clearing. It was carpeted with plants and dead branches which were draped with the long black shadows of the surrounding tree trunks. On the far side of the clearing she saw a little wooden hut. In its side there was a solitary window. And behind the window a single flame glowed.

She had found what she was looking for.

Suddenly a tidal wind swelled through the trees, sending them lurching and crashing into each other with a noisy roar. The leaves bellowed in her ears. She spread her wings for balance. Shadows of the tree trunks swept across the rotten logs on the jungle floor and across the walls of the hut. In the window the light flailed helplessly.

She watched it, nodding her head.

A light alone. Just as he said.

She squawked as loud as she could.

Then she folded her wings away, and waited.

Chapter 2

A breeze rushed in through the window of the hut. The lone torch lighting the room spluttered and choked, causing the once-still black shadows to flicker and claw desperately at the walls.

The attendant Constable snorted irritably.He got up from the floor and loped across the room to the desk upon which the torch was spitting. Taking care not to burn the long ginger hair which hung from his arms, he cupped the flame in his hands. Once the shelter had taken effect and the fire had resumed its even, steady shape, the Constable dropped to his knuckles, swaggered to the window and closed the shutters. Sighing, he reclined against the wall on his haunches and rested his gangly forearms on his knees. For the sake of something to do he ate his last fig. It seemed to take forever.

He turned his head slowly from left to right, pursing his lips as he chewed, looking for something to concentrate on: anything but what was lying on the floor. His eyes rolled to the ceiling. But the cosy glow of the soft light on the wooden planks only unsettled him further: it felt inappropriate, given the circumstances.

With his fists he pushed himself upright again. For the umpteenth time he examined the bookshelf propped up against the back wall, brushing a finger along it. Then he tapped a carved wooden statue and looked at pictures in frames on the walls. He picked at the floorboards and the grass rug with his toes. Frustration crept in and he found himself tearing at the weave. A blade came away. Then another. And another, each one sticking in his orange hair.

How long would he have to wait?

He opened the door of the hut and looked outside to see if anyone was coming; another Constable, maybe. But there was no-one. Nothing but the thick vegetable smell of the undergrowth and the blackness of the jungle night to greet him. He closed the door with a grunt and slumped back down on the floor. With his feet he scratched at a bare patch of skin on his chest.

Then the body caught his eye, curled up on the floor, motionless.

The stillness of it chilled him. Like a rock you see from a distance that looks like someone lying down, until you get up close.

He turned away and shivered, picking at the hair on his stomach. There was a tightness in his bowels – again. He dragged his knuckles to the door and opened it. The breeze barged in. Plants swayed in their pots. The torch flickered again. He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

The hum of insects filled his ears. He took a deep breath to clear his head. Feeling better, he set off for the opposite side of the clearing, crunching through the undergrowth until he reached a familiar spot beneath the overhanging trees. He squatted down and began to defecate. Whilst he was doing his business he looked back at the hut and watched the slivers of light which slipped through the shuttered window. Momentarily, his eye was drawn away by a spider crawling across a nearby log. He could just about make out its silhouette in the moonlight. The spider moved very slowly, testing every step for danger. Then it stopped to cling onto the log as the wind rustled through the grass. A bird squawked somewhere in the trees and shadows jostled against the hut. Then the jungle was still again. The pulse of the cicadas returned.

With a slight grunt the Constable plucked a large leaf from the ground and used it to wipe himself clean. Then he stood up.

There was a loud thud behind him.

He froze.

Heavy, menacing breaths filled his ears. Cold sweat ran into his eyes. Terror constricted his spine and his throat. Warm fluid trickled down the inside of his leg. The soiled leaf fell from his shaking hand. With a dry gulp he mustered all his nerve to face whatever fate it was that the jungle had in store for him, and turned around.

Dark bushes swayed in the breeze.

Shadowy trees rocked.

His eyes searched frantically.

Suddenly a shape sprang from the bushes and pinned the Constable on his back. A crushing black weight pressed on the side of his face. He could feel the texture of his own faeces on his cheek, and the pungency of it in his nose.But, try as he might, he could not turn his head away from the ground. His lungs burned from the effort of breathing. Between the blades of grass he saw the soiled leaf lying next to him.

A large leathery black hand reached down and picked up the leaf, which it held between a hairy thumb and forefinger.

The Constable's eyes widened.

The hand disappeared from view. There was a thick sniff. Then a disembodied voice spoke, deep and austere.

You really ought to cut back on the figs it said.

The Constable was powerless to reply.

You see, whenever you drop your faeces, the voice continued, you drop your guard. And figs make you drop your guard a lot.

The Constable overcame his terror to speak. How did you know I eat figs? he stammered.

The texture and colour of your faeces on this leaf indicate an imbalance in the diet, said the voice, and the seeds contained therein reveal the cause of this imbalance. They are seeds from the fruit of the fig tree. The fruit is sweet and tasty, but it does lend itself to excess defecation.

The leaf fell to the ground before the Constable's eyes. The details of it fascinated him, suddenly.

Who are you? he said.

The pressure on the side of his head relaxed a little. He felt a hand reach under his body and examine his chest.

You are not wearing a badge, Constable. said the voice.

The Constable felt his face flush. It...It’s in the hut. I took it off. How do you know I’m a-

You remove your badge often.

Yes, but I-

You accidentally prick yourself every time you pin it in a hurry.

The Constable was astonished. How do you know that?

The callouses on your chest. They are closely grouped, and there are lots of them, which implies that you regularly hurt yourself in a similar fashion. Given that there is also some hair missing, and given the pattern of that missing hair, it seems most likely to me that the cause of such an injury is the application of a badge. So, as I am meant to be meeting a Constable, I would say that a Constable's badge is the most likely kind of badge to be missing. Would you not?

The Constable managed a nod.

Now, the voice continued, to determine whether or not you are to be trusted, I must ask myself this; why is it missing? Why does this Constable remove his badge on duty? This kind of behaviour would suggest that you have no respect for it - that you might be suspect in some way. But your vigilant watch over this hut suggests otherwise.

How long have you been watching me?

Only for five minutes. But I can see by the number of soiled leaves lying around that you must have been relieving yourself out here for some time. Furthermore, you barely took your eyes off the hut. Your vigilance has not waned. That is dutiful behaviour, Constable. And a dutiful Constable respects his badge by nature. So I conclude that you must remove it for one reason only: physical discomfort.

The Constable was silent with amazement.

Is it more uncomfortable than this? the voice said.

The Constable coughed. No.

I thought not. A Constable's badge is his shield. If it is worn at all times it will protect him – especially in a dangerous place like this. Had I seen you wearing it, I would not have felt so indecisive about your trustworthiness. I would have seen no reason to overpower you, and place you in such an uncomfortable position.

The Constable managed another nod.

What is your name, Constable?

Slim.

And what is the name of the Constable meant to relieve you?

Nails.

What does he look like?

I,uh, don't know. I've never met him before. It’s my first day. Not my first day. I mean it's my first day working in this part of the jungle.

Then how do you know he was meant to relieve you?

They told me at the station when I went for help.

Slim felt the weight lift from his body.

Hesitantly he sat up and peered into the undergrowth. In the patchy shade cast by the trees and the moon he saw the massive black shape of what had to be a Mountain Gorilla, clearly in his prime. He was knuckled down on thick, hairy forearms with his bodyweight pushed forward over a huge pair of shoulders, which heaved menacingly as he breathed. His head appeared to be crowned with a top hat so large that it stretched his shadow all the way out into the clearing.

Slim felt an instinctive urge to run, but he dared not move. Instead he remained completely still as he watched the gorilla swagger forward into a pool of moonlight. The brim of his hat cast a shadow which covered his face, but not the white collar and black bow tie fastened around his thick neck. A smart black waistcoat struggled to contain his leathery barrel chest. With a curious snort, the gorilla lifted his chin and the moonlight crept over his face. It was chiselled and regal with cavernous black nostrils that flared as he breathed. The corners of his mouth turned down towards a strong, imperious jaw. Quizzically, he furrowed the left side of his thick rubbery brow, compressing it around the brass monocle which was wedged in the socket underneath. Rich, mahogany-brown eyes regarded Slim without a trace of fear.

My name is Doctor Simeon Primate, he said.

Slim gaped at him.

I hope that you will accept my apologies for overpowering you, Dr. Primate continued. I do not make a habit of such behaviour, but this situation is highly unusual. Until I could be absolutely sure of your identity I thought it best to take no chances. Not all the orang-utans around these parts are Constables, you know. He sat back on his haunches and crossed his legs. Then he placed his long arms in his lap.

There was a loud squawk. A bird fluttered into the clearing and landed on Dr. Primate’s shoulder. It had jet-black wings, bright orange feet and a bright orange beak. There were bright white markings under the bird’s eyes that looked like tears – the distinctive colouring of a mynah bird.It spread its wings to its fullest. The stretch of its shadow added to the Doctor’s.

Slim’s mouth fell open with awe.

The bird began to pick nits out of the silvery hair on Dr. Primate’s back.

Scargill! Dr. Primate said.

Scargill squawked again, and then stopped pecking.

Dr. Primate sniffed and frowned. Then he tore a handful of leaves from the ground. With a thin, apologetic smile, he gave them to Slim. You might want to clean yourself up a little.

Slim took the leaves sheepishly, suddenly aware of his odour. He also grabbed a handful of damp soil and went to work on the faeces crusted onto his face and legs. Then he picked himself up off the ground.

Now, Dr. Primate said, tugging on the brim of his hat, we had best take a look at the body. He rose from his haunches and dropped to his fists, planting one in front of the other, his elbows jutting out so that the long dark hair on his forearms billowed like the canopy of some great black tree as he swaggered across the moonlit clearing.

Why are you here? Slim shouted, trailing along behind, his arms dragging through the grass.

Your colleague Nails is an acquaintance of mine. He told me about the message that arrived at the Constable's station. He thought it might interest me. I have helped him with unusual matters before. But nothing like this. He suggested that I come in his place. He thought I might be able to help.

Slim nodded. I asked for a message to be sent to the family. Someone will come soon.

Have you touched the body, or moved it at all?

No.

How did you come to find it?

I was on my way back to my new home after my first shift, Slim said, and I saw a light burning in the window of the hut. It reminded me that I had no firewood. I thought I might be able to buy some from whoever lived here. When I knocked on the door, no-one answered. I tried the handle and it opened. That's when I saw the body. So I rushed back to the station. Then I came back here.

When was this?

An hour ago.

Together they reached the hut. Dr. Primate circled around it, snuffling and grunting as he scooped his hands through leaves and twigs, tossing them away absently. When he had completed his circuit he approached the front door and opened it. Then he turned sideways and ducked his hat under the door frame.

Wait out here please, Slim, he said, closing the door behind him.

Chapter 3

Upon first impression Dr. Primate thought the room ought