Gorillas Aren't Monkeys
by Allie
There was a loud clatter as Hutch brushed past.
Starsky stared down at the broken model ship, knocked neatly off the side-table, and then glared at his partner.
"You're a gorilla, Hutch!"
Hutch, who had been beginning to apologize, and had been looking flustered and meek, now raised himself to his full, raggedy-blond height. His eyes flashed. "A what?"
Starsky also drew himself up to full height, his chest puffed out, his hands on his hips. "A GORILLA!" he shouted. He flung his arms out. "What else knocks down everything in its path?"
"I haven't knocked you down, have I?" He glared at Starsky, and crossed his arms over his chest. "As a matter of fact, if anybody's a gorilla, it's you, Starsky!"
Starsky's eyes flashed. "Me a gorilla?"
"Yes. Hairy chest. Throws his weight around—"
"I do not!"
"—likes bananas!"
"I hate bananas! You're the one! You! You're the monkey!"
"Ape! Gorillas aren't monkeys!"
They glared at each other. Starsky shoved the busted ship into Hutch's hands. "I guess it's yours now, Bigfoot."
"Bigfoot…!"
"Oh, what, you gonna tell me he's not a monkey, too?"
"Of course he's not a monkey. He's not real, and you'd know that if you'd stop reading all those Barnum books."
"Those what books?"
"You know, P.T. Barnum. 'There's a sucker born every minute?'"
"Oh, I'm the sucker? Come a little closer and say that, Mr. Health Food Craze! You even think gorillas aren't monkeys!"
#
Monday found a carefully repaired ship on Starsky's desk, its white sails as trim as an apology.
After setting it down, Hutch regarded it a moment with a look of satisfaction, then sat down at his desk. He opened a drawer to get a new pencil…
A stuffed toy in the shape of a gorilla stared up at him—next to a banana with a bright yellow peel.
Hutch stared at the toy and the piece of fruit. Then, slowly, he shut the drawer. He got up and started from the room, his face set.
"Hutchinson! Where are you going?" barked Dobey, turning to frown at him as they passed in the hall.
"I gotta rent a costume, Captain. I'll be right back."
On the way out the door, he could be heard muttering, "Wants a gorilla, does he? He's going to get a gorilla…"
#
Starsky's surprised scream was worth the thirty buck deposit for the full-body ape costume.
Hutch pulled off the head and laughed. "That'll teach you to call me a—"
"Ass!" Starsky punched him in the hairy arm.
"Ow." Hutch rubbed his arm and laughed. "Just think about that, the next time you decide to put a banana in my drawer."
"Oh, what, it wasn't even rotten! I could've used a rotten one. You did wreck my ship."
"I'll have you know it's back out of dry-dock."
"Dry-dock…. You fixed it?" Starsky grinned. "How?"
"I was a sea scout, you know! I'm not completely ignorant about ships, even model ones. It's back on the safe harbor of your desk," he added in response to Starsky's eager expression.
Starsky ran to go look, picked it up and examined it, smiling. "Aw, you even fixed the sails right!"
"I told you," said Hutch, whose costume was attracting attention. He held the head under one arm and smiled at a lady who was trying not to laugh. He set the head down on his desk. "Here, help me get this thing unzipped. It itches like a hair shirt."
"A what?"
"Monks used to wear…"
"Monkey suits?" Starsky gave him a far-too-innocent, laughing look.
Hutch glared at him and crossed his hairy arms. "If you're not gonna be serious…"
"I'm not, Hutch. Not with you in that thing!" Then he frowned in thoughtful concentration, standing back and regarding the suit. "Hm, y'know, I think that would be just the thing. Yeah, take it off. I wanna see the look on Simonetti's face when a monkey jumps out at him in the parking lot." He grinned in anticipation.
Hutch grimaced. "Ape!" he shouted.
"Oh, speak for yourself, Banana Brains." Starsky turned his attention back to his ship once more, fiddling with one sail happily.
A moment later, a very fast, sneaker-wearing detective streaked down the hall, carrying a model ship, and being chased by a very angry-looking man in a gorilla costume—quite spoiling the surprise for Simonetti.
For the next three weeks at the precinct, the jokes just wrote themselves.