Kevin McDonald is my partner. I call him The Whiner. I’m not particularly fond of him but he knows his stuff and that’s all that matters in our business. We are Corporate Firemen and when a company is in trouble - big trouble - they call us. What we do isn’t exactly legal and we aren’t listed in the yellow pages but we’re known by every CEO south of the 49th parallel. The Whiner is one of the best firefighters around.

I call Kevin “The Whiner” because he finds something wrong with everything and has this great need to explain it to anyone within earshot. That’s not to say he’s a complainer though. The Complainer is Dwayne and he’s sitting at the back of the private jet we’re flying in. Kevin and I are sitting at the front plotting strategy.

“What did you find out?” I asked him. We’d been called into service by Jonathan Schwinn whose family owned the famous Schwinn Bicycle Company before they went bankrupt in the spring of 2001. The historic enterprise was auctioned off and became the property of the Pacific Cycle Company. Jonathan Schwinn wanted his bicycle company back and we were flying to his remote tropical island to see how we could help.

The Whiner snapped his laptop shut and answered my question. “Not much,” he said in frustration, “that’s the problem with the damned internet. You put in your search parameters and all you get is crap. Nothing is ever relevant.” The Whiner’s area of expertise was muscle not brains but to his credit, he kept trying.

I cut him off before he could build up steam. “Here,” I handed him a bottle of beer, “drink this and relax. We’re just about there anyway. Anything we need to know Mr. Schwinn will tell us.”

Kevin twisted the cap of the bottle and put it in his pocket. He collected bottle caps for some unknown reason. I collect key chains and I don’t know why so who am I to Judge? Kevin’s favorite cap is a collector’s item from an ancient bottle of Coke. He had it mounted in glass and wore it on a chain around his neck. “Thanks,” he said licking foam off his mustache. I suspected what was coming next and The Whiner didn’t disappoint me: “It’s kind of warm though. You’d think on a plane like this they’d at least have cold beer. Serving warm beer shows a lack of class.”

I leaned back in the seat and tuned him out. He was still whining about warm beer when we landed on Schwinn Island twenty minutes later.

If the heat and humidity didn’t kill you, the armed guards on the ground were ready to. Protocol required The Whiner to disembark first and he came to a dead stop before he had taken one step down the stairs. In one fluid motion he drew his gun and motioned the rest of us in the plane to take cover. We knew the drill and took our positions like well-trained dogs.

A voice on the ground hailed The Whiner. “Slow down Einstein. We’re security. Stow your weapon and we’ll do the same.”

There was a long pause as everyone sized up their opponent.

“Do it,” I said to Kevin. “Let’s not start a war before we get paid.”

The Whiner mumbled something incoherent but did as he was told. He went down the stairs and the rest of us followed. Jonathan Schwinn greeted us on the ground and I introduced the team. When the pleasantries had been taken care of, I took stock of our surroundings, especially the transportation. Or the apparent lack of it. There wasn’t a vehicle in sight. I questioned Mr. Schwinn about the matter and he pointed to a bicycle rack off to the left. Twenty bikes, all Phantoms - the Schwinn Bicycle Company’s flagship model, were lined up for us. I just knew The Whiner was about to launch into a tirade and I silenced him with a stern look. Following Mr. Schwinn’s lead we selected our bikes and peddled along a picturesque tropical path to the main house.

Once settled inside we got down to business in the comfort of central air conditioning. The ‘Core Team’, a group of us that worked exclusively in covert intelligence, met with Jonathan Schwinn while the others set out to enjoy the luxury of Schwinn Island. We’d left Boston in a snow storm and the team was anxious to soak up the sun while we had the chance.

Our initial meeting lasted a staggering five hours. We listened, took notes, peppered Jonathan with questions and began formulating a plan of action to get his company back. It was late afternoon when I went out in search of The Whiner to share what I’d learned and get his opinion. The path I followed seemed to be leading toward a waterfall that I could hear but not yet see. Vegetation, lush and green, offered an enormous variety of colorful flowers. The fragrance was soothing compared to the pollution of Boston.

The first sign of trouble came when I rounded a curve and the waterfall came into view. The sight was stunning - water cascading from about forty feet into a natural pool and flowing gently under a foot bridge in a winding river that stretched out of sight to the East. The waterfall was interesting enough but what caught my attention was a single black sock lying in the path. I picked it up with a sense of suspicion and noticed the monogram: KM. Kevin McDonald. The Whiner. What was it doing here? With a little more caution if continued along the path until I spied his necklace hanging on the leaves of a fern. It looked as if it had been thrown rather than placed there. Something was wrong. I grabbed the bottle cap necklace and ran further up the path. It led me to an alcove hidden behind the waterfall.

And there I saw The Whiner - as naked as the day he was born. The only thing protecting his modesty was his mustache and goatee. And neither of those covered anything that needed to be covered. “What the heck?” I questioned not really sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Tom! It’s about time you finally got here!”

I couldn’t help but stare at his body. I’d never seen The Whiner naked before and never particularly wanted to either. But here he was standing before me in his birthday suit. What I would have given for a camera at that moment. “What on God’s green earth are you doing?” I asked.

The Whiner shrugged as if this was the most natural thing in the world. “I went for a swim.”

“Naked?”

“Sure. Why not? It’s hot and there’s no one around. So who cares?” Humility was lost on The Whiner.

I surveyed the alcove and didn’t see what I was looking for. “But where are your clothes?” I handed over his one black sock and necklace. “Better yet Kevin, where’s your gun?”

“The monkey took them.”

“The monkey? What monkey?”

“When I was swimming I saw a monkey running off with all my stuff. I tried to catch him but by the time I got out he was long gone.”

I was alarmed but couldn’t help laughing at the situation. “Are you telling me there’s an armed monkey running around the island?”

The Whiner had the decency to look sheepish. “Well yeah, I guess. Would you go back and get me some clothes? I can’t go walking into Mr. Schwinn’s house like this.”

“Sure. No problem.” I turned to go but couldn’t resist one last question. I faced him again with a huge smirk. “But just out of curiosity, how long have you been standing here naked?”

“Too long,” he whined. “Please, just get me some clothes will ya?”

I chuckled and jogged back down the path. About halfway something came flying at my head. I ducked and took cover in the underbrush while trying to zero in on where it came from. The it turned out to be a shoe. The Whiner’s shoe I surmised. I looked up into the palm trees and spotted the armed monkey. He was surrounded by Kevin’s clothes and examining the gun in his hairy hands with interest. The first shot rang out before I had time to find a safer hiding spot. The second shot barely missed my shoulder and I dove for the nearest boulder. Damn that monkey had good aim!

What happened next was so comical that it belonged on America’s Funniest Videos. The Whiner heard the shots and came running down from the waterfall. Mr. Schwinn’s security guards heard the shots and came running up from the house. They met on the path within a few feet of the rock I was hiding behind. For a moment it was like a Mexican stand-off. The security men gawked in surprise at the naked man and The Whiner threw his arms up in surrender before he got shot. The monkey was screeching in glee at the commotion below him.

“The monkey has a gun!” I yelled out. They turned to look at me then up at the monkey I was pointing at. In a rush of self preservation the men dashed for cover in all directions. The monkey fired off another shot but it went wild and took a chunk out of a nearby palm. The closest guard raised his own weapon and took a shot at the monkey. He missed but it was enough to scare the monkey. With an angry hiss it dropped the gun and leapt in a panic from tree to tree until it was out of sight.

The Whiner had taken cover next to me behind the rock. He wasn’t anxious to come out into the open when the dust had settled. “Climb up the tree and get my clothes,” he begged in a whisper, “I can’t go out there like this!”

I grinned at him and joined the security men on the path. Someone had to explain how the monkey had come upon a gun. With things under control the guards dispersed as fast as they had arrived. Their mocking voices echoed back to us and their laughter made my face turn red. I shinnied up the palm tree and threw The Whiner’s clothes down to him. He dressed as fast as he could and we hurried back to the refuge of the main house.

But it was too late. News of the incident had traveled faster. Our team met us at the door along with a contingent of jesting guards. Jonathan Schwinn came out holding a video tape. My first thought was that we’d lost the contract and were about to be sent packing with our tails between our legs. But Mr. Schwinn simply smiled and presented the tape to the red-faced Kevin. “We’ve got cameras all over the island,” he explained with a wicked sense of humor, “here’s a copy for you. We’re keeping the original for posterity.”

I wanted to make sure things were kosher and protect our reputation. “Mr. Schwinn, I’d like to apologize. I can assure you this has never happened before and -“

He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “No need to apologize Tom. It’s not the first time that monkey has caused problems. We call him Satan and he’s been terrorizing us for years. He’s a smart son-of-a-gun though. We’ve never had any luck trapping him. Now, let’s just forget the whole thing and get back to work.” He was still chuckling as he led us back into the house for more meetings.

We left the island the following night with a plan to gain control of the Pacific Bicycle Company, a hostile takeover if you will, and return the bicycle empire to its rightful owner. A parting gift for The Whiner was waiting in the bike rack. His Schwinn bicycle was decorated with toy monkeys and underwear. It was a fun ride out to the landing strip where the private jet was waiting to return us to America. No one confessed but The Whiner suspected the joker was me and I spent the entire eight-hour flight being pestered with questions and listening to his suspicions. I wanted to strangle him with his bottle cap necklace. It was so tempting. But when I tuned him out and thought it over I came to the only logical conclusion: The Whiner, fond of him or not, was my best friend. I couldn’t live without him. I made an oath then and there, as his best friend, to protect him from any and all future crazed monkeys.

It’s not my duty, however, to let him live it down. No way and no how. That’s just not my style. And maybe that’s why they call me - behind my back of course - The Monkey Man.





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