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"But CoCo's a vegetarian," I protested, though I knew it was
futile.
"Was a vegetarian. Just like he was a brown-eyed baboon. And just like he was merely an asshole, but now is
a raving one to boot. And let me tell you, it's not a pretty sight." Then she reached over, took my hand,
and led me outside.
"From what I can gather," she began as she led me around the camp. "CoCo arrived back here sometime
around six this morning. The lion keeper said he heard his cats roaring and went to check it out. He found CoCo
feasting on one of the smaller lynxes and scared him away with his whip."
I gulped as Charlotte pointed out the remains of said lynx. CoCo had, apparently, done quite a job on him. Then,
she led me to the main ring.
"CoCo must have come here next. And judging from the devastation, he must have been royally pissed."
This was a massive understatement. The ring was nearly torn down. CoCo had ripped apart every freestanding piece
of equipment, leaving it all in a tattered rubble. He even managed to gnaw halfway through one of the supporting
beams, causing the tent to dangerously lean to one side. Now, granted, baboons have large and powerful incisors,
but this was ridiculous. It would have taken a herd of baboons to get that far into a beam that big.
"And why didn't Mr. Cobbs call the police?" I asked, though I already had an inkling.
"Our illustrious leader didn't want the bad publicity. A rampaging baboon wouldn't do much for ticket sales."
"Apparently," I said. "But what's CoCo been doing the last couple of hours?"
"Well, since Mr. Cobbs told us all to lock ourselves in our trailers, that I couldn't rightly say. I only
came out when, from my window, I saw you wander over to his tent, and I figured you might be able to help. I can
tell you, from all the racket out here, that the news can't be good. By the way, how did you not hear any of this
sooner?"
Actually, I am a rather sound sleeper, but that was helped by the bottle of champagne I consumed in celebration
of my monkey's possible demise. Guess that's what happens when you count your chickens before they hatch. Still,
Charlotte was right about one thing, if anyone could help, it had to be me.
"Go back to your trailer, Charlotte. I'll see what I can do," I said and she obeyed.
Then I went searching for the culprit. The lynx and the ostrich were not CoCo's only snacks. Gone were three dogs,
one emu, most of a zebra, a miniature pony, and lord only knows what else. In CoCo's wake lay a pile of bones as
far as the eye could see, leading up to Mr. Cobb's trailer. That's when I remembered our phone conversation from
a few minutes prior. Or lack of a conversation, that is.
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