Read Mr. Monk in Outer Space Online
Authors: Lee Goldberg
Mr. Monk in Outer Space (32 page)
Monk stared at him as if seeing his brother for the very first time. “You are?”
“Of course I am,” Ambrose said. “Who wouldn’t be? I’m sure there are thousands of people who look up to you. I’m just one of them.”
“No, you’re not,” Monk said. “You’re my brother.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t admire you, does it?”
I leapt out of my chair and hugged Ambrose and then I hugged Monk. It was like hugging two mannequins, but I couldn’t help myself. It was such a great turning point for them and I wanted them to feel it.
They both looked a little shocked by my show of affection.
“Why did you do that?” Monk said.
“I’m your surrogate hugger,” I said. “I gave you both the hugs that you two should have given each other.”
Ambrose looked at Monk. “Is she okay?”
“She has been acting irrationally all day,” Monk said. “I really think she needs some rest.”
Ambrose looked at me. “Are you pregnant?” “No,” I said. “Absolutely not. What would make you think that?”
“I’ve read that women get irrational and emotional when they’re pregnant,” Ambrose said.
“Well, I’m not. But Mr. Monk is right. Some relaxation is exactly what I need,” I said. “I’ll see you both tomorrow. Shall I come a little later than usual?”
“Sure. Let’s sleep in and rest up,” Monk said. “I’ll see you at nine-oh-five.”
That
was his idea of sleeping in?
was his idea of sleeping in?
“That extra five minutes is going to make all the difference, Mr. Monk. Thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” Monk said. “You’ve earned it.”
Monk and Ambrose walked me to the door.
“I didn’t bring anything with me to read,” Monk said to Ambrose. “Which one of your books would you recommend?”
“You’d like to read one of my books?” Ambrose asked.
“What better way is there to spend an evening at home than to read a good book?” Monk replied.
As I walked out the door, I looked back to see Ambrose handing Monk a book.
“This is my manual for the Akita Multi-Standard VCR and DVD Burner Combination Player-Recorder. It won the Pritiker Award for Technical Writing for Electronic Audiovisual Components,” Ambrose said. “I’ve been told it’s a very compelling read, particularly the German version.”
“It sounds great,” Monk said, as he put the book under his arm and gave his brother a sincere smile. “Why would anyone want to toast a DVD? Are they edible?”
I was on my way home when I got a call from Firefighter Joe, my “friend-with-benefits.” He had finished his shift at the firehouse and wanted to know whether I might be free for dinner.
I tried not to sound too enthusiastic when I said yes, but I think I gave myself away when I said I would meet him at his house in five minutes.
He made reservations at his favorite Italian restaurant in North Beach, but we never got there. I walked through his front door and into his arms, and that’s where I stayed.
I won’t go into detail about what happened the rest of the night, but let’s just say that it was sweet and tenderand that by morning I was beginning to seriously rethink my strict policy against ever getting seriously involved with another man in a dangerous profession.
This friends-with-benefits thing had its pluses, that’s for sure, but I think we both felt unsatisfied on a fundamental emotional level. I knew that he did and I pretended like I didn’t. He never brought it up, but I could feel it. I also knew that I could lose him if a woman came along who was as cute and lovable as me but was more willing to let him into her life.
It wasn’t just my life, or I would probably have taken the risk. I had to think about Julie’s heart, too, and what she would feel every time Joe Cochran went back to work at the firehouse. She’d lost her father and I didn’t want her to go through anything like that again.
I didn’t want to either.
Yes, I know you can’t protect yourself or those you care about from heartbreak, not if you want to enjoy all the wonderful things that come from close relationships with other people.
But I felt I could lower the chances of Julie’s experiencing that kind of pain again by consciously avoiding close relationships with anyone who regularly and intentionally put his life in jeopardy.
So that’s what originally led me into that friends-with-benefits thing with Joe, which, by the way, I kept secret from Julie.
But that night, after my experience with Scooter, and seeing the solitary lives that Monk and Ambrose led, and observing the lengths to which the
Beyond Earth
fans went to belong to something, I was reevaluating my thinking. I certainly appreciated what I had with Joe Cochran that night a whole lot more than I had before.
Beyond Earth
fans went to belong to something, I was reevaluating my thinking. I certainly appreciated what I had with Joe Cochran that night a whole lot more than I had before.
I thought about what I’d said to Ambrose.
It was worth it . . . love always is.
Maybe that’s what I was needy for.
Even so, I wasn’t brave enough to change my arrangement with Joe just yet. I was, however, about to show him just how much I appreciated him when I got a call very early in the morning.
I rolled over in bed and knocked my cell phone off his nightstand when I tried to reach for it. I practically tumbled out of bed scrounging around for the phone on the floor.
“Hello?” I said.
It was Captain Stottlemeyer. “Sorry for the wake-up call, but I need to see Monk. And you’d better prepare yourself for a very bad day.”
“It’s not the first day that’s started off for him with a corpse,” I said. “Or for me either.”
“I thought I was pretty lively,” Joe whispered. I poked him in the chest and almost broke my elbow. He’s that buff.
“This homicide is different,” Stottlemeyer said. “It proves that everything Monk said yesterday about the murders of Brandon Lorber, Conrad Stipe, and the cabbie was wrong.”
“Monk is never wrong about murder,” I said.
“He is now,” Stottlemeyer said.
25
Mr. Monk and the Strange Thing
A visit to the San Francisco Airporter Motor Inn is a bleak and depressing way to start your day even if there isn’t a dead body involved.
I can’t imagine what it must be like to stay there, even for a one-night stand. I’ve never had one, but from what I’ve heard from my friends it’s miserable enough waking up next to someone you’d rather forget without it also happening in a place where you wish you’d never been.
Then again, it’s not a whole lot better when you’re there to see a bullet-riddled corpse.
Monk and I were once again at the rear of the convention center, which was once again a crime scene, where once again we found a car, a distraught driver being interviewed by Lieutenant Disher, and two morgue guys with a body bag to be filled and zipped.
The victim they were waiting to bag was producer Kingston Mills, who was sprawled facedown in the parking lot behind the black Lincoln Town Car that presumably had delivered him to the hotel. His aloha shirt didn’t look quite so festive soaked with blood.
There were wounds in his back and his right leg and a trail of blood leading from the open rear door of the limo to the producer’s body.
“This isn’t right,” Monk said.
“Murder never is,” I said. I was glad I hadn’t had breakfast before I left Joe’s place.
There was a crowd of
Beyond Earth
fans being kept a safe distance away by a couple of uniformed officers, who’d stretched some yellow crime scene tape between several lampposts. It was odd to see people dressed up as four-breasted women, aliens with external internal organs, and elephant-trunked aliens watching us as if we were what was unusual.
Beyond Earth
fans being kept a safe distance away by a couple of uniformed officers, who’d stretched some yellow crime scene tape between several lampposts. It was odd to see people dressed up as four-breasted women, aliens with external internal organs, and elephant-trunked aliens watching us as if we were what was unusual.
Stottlemeyer was leaning into the limo talking to Judson Beck, who was sitting inside wearing a new Confederation uniform, which I noticed had the same insignia but a much more militaristic look than the original.
“You’re going to have to leave the vehicle now, Mr. Beck,” Stottlemeyer said.
Beck shook his head. “No way.”
“I’m sure the killer is long gone,” Stottlemeyer said.
“He could be hiding in the brush, just waiting for me to come out so he can finish the job.”
“There is no brush and you are surrounded by armed police officers,” Stottlemeyer said, opening his jacket to show Beck the gun in his shoulder holster. “I assure you that you are perfectly safe.”
Beck folded his arms across his chest and shook his head again. “No.”
“This limo is a crime scene and we need to collect evidence from it,” Stottlemeyer said.
“The killer was out there, not in here,” Beck said. “This is where I am staying. You can drive me straight to the airport and then do whatever you want with this car.”
Stottlemeyer sighed and walked over to us.
“I guess this experience was a little too authentic for him,” he said. “Hard to believe that guy is an action hero.”
“He only plays one on TV,” I said.
“He must be a hell of an actor,” Stottlemeyer said. “Would you like to guess what happened here this morning?”
“The limo arrived, Kingston Mills got out, and Mr. Snork popped up from behind the Dumpster and shot him,” I said.
“You’re a natural. You should enroll in the police academy immediately. Beck closed the door, locked it, and called 911 on his cell phone,” Stottlemeyer said, then turned to Monk. “This pretty much blows away your hit man theory.”
“I don’t see why,” Monk said.
“Because some guy dressed like Mr. Snork just murdered another producer of the new
Beyond Earth
.”
Beyond Earth
.”
“The reimagined
Beyond Earth
,” I said.
Beyond Earth
,” I said.
“Whatever,” Stottlemeyer said. “We’ve got this one on tape, too.”
“I’m sure you do,” Monk said. “That was the point.”
“You’ve lost me,” Stottlemeyer said. “As usual.”
“There are two explanations for this killing,” Monk said. “Number one, the hit man learned that we’ve discoveredthe Lorber connection and wanted to lead us astray again. Or, number two, this is a copycat killing by someone who is taking advantage of the publicity surrounding Stipe’s murder.”
“Or number three, you were wrong and there’s no connection between Stipe’s killing and the desecration of Lorber’s body,” Stottlemeyer said. “It’s just a coincidence that Stipe rode in the same taxi as the cabbie who was killed the other night.”
“I suppose you think it’s also a coincidence that the same cabbie picked up a fare near the Burgerville headquarters the same night that Lorber was shot.”
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