Mr. Monk on Patrol (18 page)

I turned to Sharona. “Talk to him.”

“I already did, while you were napping,” she said. “I told him what you said to Adrian outside the hotel this morning.”

“I told him to stop whining.”

“You told him that he should be used to the risks that come with the job because you certainly were. You told me that you’ve adjusted to the horrible violence that you see and that it doesn’t unnerve you to look a killer in the eye. And you conceded to us both that you actually like detective work. That, and everything Stottlemeyer told Randy before about your skills, convinced him that he was doing the right thing.”

I stared at her. “I can’t believe you’re in on this with him.”

“It makes more sense than two civilians driving around in a squad car,” she said. “And you can’t do any worse than Lindero and Woodlake.”

“That’s not the point,” I said. “You can’t just put civilians in a uniform, hand them badges, give them guns, and call them cops.”

“Sure I can,” Disher said. “I’m the mayor and the chief of police. I can make my cat a cop if I want to.”

Monk stood up abruptly. “You have a cat?”

“It was a figure of speech,” Sharona said. “We don’t have a pet.”

“You shouldn’t mention a cat if you don’t own a cat,” Monk said. “Someone could get hurt.”

“How could that possibly get anybody hurt?” Sharona said.

“It’s like yelling ‘Fire’ in a crowded theater. It could spark a panic.”

“Forget about the nonexistent cat, Mr. Monk,” I said. “Focus on what really matters. Randy wants us to be cops.”

“That’s Chief Disher to you, Officer Teeger,” Disher said.

“He’s right,” Monk said. “Disrespecting the chief is not the best way to start your career as a police officer.”

“I don’t want to be a police officer,” I said. “I already have a job. I’m Mr. Monk’s assistant.”

“And he’s going to work temporarily for me as a cop, with full pay and benefits,” Disher said, turning to him. “Aren’t you?”

“I’d be glad to, Chief,” Monk said. “I think I can do a lot of good in this town.”

“Oh God,” Sharona said. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“It’s the smartest thing Chief Disher has done since he took on this job,” Monk said.

Disher turned back to me. “So if you’re going to assist him, and drive him around, you’re going to have to be a cop, too.”

I shook my head. I felt like the only sane person in a lunatic asylum. Of course, doesn’t every crazy person think she is the one person who isn’t?

“It’s more than wearing a badge and driving a car,” I said as adamantly as I could. “You’re giving me a loaded gun.”

“You have the right to own a gun,” Disher said. “It’s in the Constitution.”

“But what if I have to use it?” I said. “You have no idea if I can shoot.”

“You’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” Disher said. “I know that you are capable of using deadly force
and that your husband, a professional soldier, trained you to shoot. And I’ve seen you handle a gun.”

All of that was true, but it didn’t make his idea of hiring me as a cop any less insane.

Since common sense, logic, and rational argument weren’t convincing him, I decided to take an entirely different approach.

“Okay, what do you think is going to happen when the media hear about you handing out badges and guns to two civilians from out of town?”

“I already told them,” Disher said.

“You did?” I said.

“And it received a very enthusiastic response.”

“It did?” I was astonished.

“Frankly, I think telling everybody that I was bringing in two experienced pros from San Francisco as interim police officers is what saved me from being tarred and feathered. Although your positions are only temporary, you’ll be getting full pay and benefits for as long as you’re on the job.”

“How long are we talking about?” I asked.

“A week or two,” Disher said. “Maybe three. Four, tops.”

“Did it occur to you that I have a life back in San Francisco that I might not be able to put on hold for a month?”

Disher, Sharona, and Monk all looked at me now as if I’d just made the stupidest comment in the history of stupid comments.

“Who are you kidding?” Sharona said. “You’re single and unattached, your daughter is away at college, and your full-time job is the guy sitting next to you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Did it occur to you to do me the courtesy of asking me first if I was willing to be an interim cop before you announced it to the press?”

“No, it didn’t,” Disher said. “And do you know why?”

“Because you were improvising and didn’t think things through?” I said.

“Because I know you’re going to love it,” Disher said.

After dinner, Disher gave Monk and me each two big binders that contained all of the local laws and ordinances, as well as the police procedures unique to the Summit force.

Monk and I remained at the kitchen table long into the night, going over our binders together. I was surprised by how much of the material I already knew from my years working with, and closely observing, the San Francisco police. The stuff that deviated from what I knew was minor and not that hard to memorize.

Monk was still in his uniform and wearing his badge like an excited child trying out his superhero costume before Halloween. But he also looked very comfortable in it, as if it were his usual attire. I wondered how I’d look in my uniform, which was wrapped in plastic and draped over a chair in the den. Would I look gawky and uncomfortable or would I look confident and relaxed?

While I read the material in the binders, I kept stealing glances at the badge on the table.

My
badge.

And resisting the urge to hold it, or, an even geekier move, pin it on my shirt.

Even though my appointment to the Summit police force was temporary, it was a tangible affirmation of my skills and it seemed like a natural next step in a personal evolution that had begun two years back, when I realized that not only did I enjoy detective work, but I might actually be good at it.

Despite all of my protestations to the contrary, I was thrilled at the chance to experience being a uniformed cop. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt such giddy anxiety about something. I couldn’t wait until morning and yet, at the same time, I was terrified.

But it was a healthy, invigorating terror. It was the fear of facing a challenge and not knowing how or if I would overcome it, but that if I did, I would become a new person.

I wasn’t kidding myself, though. There were real risks involved in this—for me and, to be honest, for the people of Summit as well.

They give cops guns because the job requires them to put themselves in mortal danger to enforce the law, protect the public, and prevent crime.

So if I messed up, I could get myself or some innocent bystander killed.

And even if I did everything right, I could find myself in a situation where I might be required to kill someone in self-defense or to save the lives of others.

Disher had to know all of that when he gave me the badge. That meant he had more confidence in me than I had ever realized, perhaps even more than I had in myself.

I was thinking about all these things when I became aware that Monk was looking at me. I met his gaze. He smiled.

“Don’t worry, Natalie. You’re going to be an excellent police officer.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you had the best training officer imaginable,” he said.

“Captain Stottlemeyer?”

“No.”

“Randy?”

“No.”

“Lieutenant Devlin?”

“No.”

“Steve McGarrett?”

“No,” he said, glowering now. “I was referring to me.”

I knew who he was referring to all along, of course. But I couldn’t resist teasing him for being so smug.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Monk. That never occurred to me. I don’t think of you as a cop.”

“I may have given up my badge, but I’ve never stopped behaving like a police officer. You probably aren’t even aware how much you’ve absorbed simply from observing me and being in my presence for so long, not to mention all the time you’ve spent with the other people you referred to, though I can’t vouch for that Steve guy, whoever he is.”

“You’re not worried about me watching your back out there on the street?”

“Of course not,” Monk said. “You’ve already been doing it for years.”

“But this is different,” I said. “I’m going to be armed.”

“So am I,” Monk said.

That hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been so caught up thinking about how all this affected me that I’d forgotten that Monk had been given a badge and a gun, too.

At first the thought of an armed Adrian Monk was pretty scary. But then I remembered that he was a trained police officer after all and that I’d seen him use a gun before. And he’d never hesitated to use deadly force when the situation demanded it. In fact, only a few months earlier, he’d saved his brother, Ambrose, from certain death by shooting a killer.

I knew Monk wouldn’t think twice about using a gun to protect me or someone else.

The question was, would I be able to?

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at myself in my police uniform. I wasn’t wearing the holster yet, but just the badge and the blues were impressive. I practiced my look of casual confidence.

“Good morning, sir. Let me see your license and registration.”

I took a step back and tried my hardest, coldest cop stare.

“Assume the position, scumbag,” I said. “Make a move and I’ll blow your tiny little goldfish brain into the next zip code.”

I didn’t sound half as tough or confident as Evie did when she pressed her gun into Lindero’s back. I’d have to work on being more menacing, though it helps if you are actually holding a loaded gun. I knew that from experience.

There was a knock on the door. I opened it to see Sharona standing there, a smile on her face.

“You need the bathroom?” I asked.

“Nope,” she said. “Adrian is anxious to get to work. He says we’re running ten seconds behind schedule already.”

“Yikes,” I said.

“May I give you a little advice?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I’d skip the goldfish bit,” she said. “Too wordy. Just tell him you’ll blow his brains out.”

I felt myself blushing. “You must think I’m ridiculous.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have let Randy give you the badge,” she said. “You’re going to do just fine.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

“It’s Adrian I’m worried about,” she said.

“I’ve got his back,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “That’s the other reason you had to take this job. I’m afraid that having a badge might go to Adrian’s head.”

“Gee, you think?” I said. “I’ll make sure he enforces Summit’s laws and not his own.”

“Good luck with that,” she said.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“This is not what I expected when I got on that plane three days ago.”

“But you expected murder and arson?”

I nodded. “Not specifically, but yeah, I figured I’d run into some violence and a few corpses. You can’t go anywhere with Mr. Monk without people getting killed all around you. I’ve accepted it as a fact of life.”

“More like a fact of death,” she said.

“Point taken,” I said.

“This is ordinarily a very peaceful town,” Sharona said. “You two shouldn’t have too much excitement. My guess is that Adrian has already solved the biggest crimes we’re likely to see around here for a long time to come.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. I took another deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.

Monk was waiting at the front door in his uniform, shifting his weight impatiently. “We’re almost two minutes behind schedule.”

“I’ll get you there on time,” Sharona said, grabbing her car keys so she could drive us to work. “Though I might have to break the speed limit to do it.”

“Not with two police officers in the car, you won’t,” Monk said.

“You’d ticket me?” Sharona said.

“With pleasure,” Monk said.

And I knew he meant it.

My leather duty belt was loaded with stuff—handcuffs, pepper spray, a portable radio, latex gloves, a flashlight, a Taser, an expandable baton, a leather notebook, spare ammo magazines, a side-handle baton, and a .40-caliber Glock. It seemed like the only things I didn’t have on my belt that I might need were a whip, a flamethrower, a harpoon gun, a crowbar, and maybe a few power tools.

Stottlemeyer once told me that more cops ended up on disability because of the strain put on their backs by their belts than from all other injuries sustained in the line of duty combined.

I thought he was joking but now I knew that he was serious. I’d had the belt on for only thirty seconds and already my back ached.

But as I stood in front of the mirror in the locker room, my hands above my hips, I had to suppress a grin.

I looked formidable.

Then again, anybody wearing that uniform, badge, and duty belt would look tough.

Even Adrian Monk.

I found him on the other side of the locker room, standing in front of another mirror, striking the same pose that I had. Only the tough-guy effect was undercut by the pocket-size can of Lysol that he’d wedged into his belt in place of the flashlight and the disinfectant-wipe packets bulging out of his breast pocket.