Bad Monkeys

It took me a minute to get my head around the concept. “You bug children’s underwear ads?”


“An obvious strategy for identifying pedophiles. Though perhaps not as cost-effective as initially hoped.” He glanced at the guy in the pebble glasses, who was sitting down now, stirring his tea.

“So I was right. Dr. Tyler is a bad monkey.”

“He has potential.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that so far as we know, he’s never laid a hand on a real child, or even tried to. He just thinks about it.”

“So what?”

“So, wicked thoughts alone aren’t enough to classify someone as irredeemable.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You’re not going to do anything?”

“We’re evaluating him. If it’s warranted, we’ll arrange a Good Samaritan operation to get him some counseling.”

“That’s it? You might make him see a shrink?”

“I was referring to moral counseling, actually,” True said. “If his own conscience isn’t enough to keep his impulses in check, I doubt psychiatry will be much use…What is it you’d like us to do, Jane? Execute someone for keeping magazine clippings?”

“Well if you’re not going to send me in, you could at least let people know about him.”

“And beyond ruining the reputation of a man who’s done nothing wrong, what would that accomplish?”

“Jesus, True, do you really need me to spell it out?”

“I do appreciate your feelings in this matter…”

“You appreciate—”

“You’re a proactive personality,” True said. “When you see a potential threat, you want to eradicate it. That’s a useful instinct in a hunter, and it’s one of the reasons you’re in Bad Monkeys. My desires are a bit different, however. Like you, I want to fight evil, but I want to fight it effectively. In particular, I want to make sure that when the organization acts, it’s out of a reasonable expectation of a positive result, and not just for the sake of doing something. That’s why I’m in Cost-Benefits. And that’s why you take your orders from me.”

I didn’t trust myself to respond to that, so instead I jerked a thumb at Pebble Glasses. “And what does he want?”

“This is Mr. Dixon. He’s attached to Malfeasance.”

Malfeasance is the Panopticon subdivision that investigates operatives; it’s the organization equivalent of Internal Affairs. “Did I do something wrong?”

Dixon looked up from his tea. “In my experience,” he said, “the proper question isn’t ‘Did I?’, but ‘How much do they know?’ Then again, there’s a first time for everything. I’ve always wanted to meet a truly innocent person; maybe you’ll be her.” He plucked a card from a hidden pocket in his coat sleeve. “This is the current location of my office. Come by this evening at eight o’clock. We’ll chat.”

“Uh, my shift here starts at nine-thirty. Will that be enough time?”

“Eight o’clock,” Dixon repeated. He stood up. “Don’t be late.”

I waited until he’d left, then turned to True: “What the hell is this about?”

“I don’t know. Dixon called me last night, right after you did, and said he wanted to meet you. I assume it has something to do with your background check.”

“I thought I passed Probate. Why would Malfeasance still be running a background check?”

“They’re always running it.”

“And you have no idea what they might have turned up?”

“Dixon didn’t say.”

“Well, is there some way I could find out before I go see him?”

“Try asking yourself,” True suggested.

“Asking myself what?”

“Whether you’ve ever done anything evil.”

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