Mr. Monk is Cleaned Out (13 page)

“Shut up, Adrian,” Warren said and turned to everyone else. “Please forgive this rude interruption. Your food is fine. It’s okay for you to eat with your hands. And dinner is on me tonight. And so is dessert.”

Warren grabbed Monk by the arm and practically dragged him out the front door onto the street. I followed after them, untying my apron and leaving it behind. I knew I wouldn’t need it again.

I stepped outside just in time to hear Warren say to Monk what I knew was coming.

“You’re fired!”

“Why?” Monk asked, genuinely confused.

“Because you just terrorized my customers and cost me a night of business,” Warren said. “I’ll be lucky if the people in there ever come back.”

“You don’t want them back,” Monk said. “They’re savages.”

Warren just shook his head and turned to me. “He’s not welcome in my restaurant ever again. But you’re welcome to stay on, Natalie. I know this isn’t your fault.”

I smiled. “I appreciate it, Warren. I really do. But we’re a package set.”

“Then you better get used to being out of work,” he said and went back inside.

Monk glared at me. “Traitor.”

I stepped toward him. “If that was true, I would have kept my job when he fired you. Instead, I gave it up.”

“But not before kissing up to him first.”

“What I did was thank him for his kindness, for not letting his anger with you damage our friendship.”

“Exactly,” Monk said. “Instead of supporting me for doing the right thing, you were more concerned about how he felt about you, the man who fired me so he wouldn’t have to confront the public health crisis that’s exploding right in his dining room. That’s cowardly, Natalie, and shows a shocking lack of character.”

I looked down at my feet, trying to hold back the anger that was making me shake. But I couldn’t. I was too weak, too frustrated, and too scared about where my life was headed.

“The problem is
you
,” I said, poking him in the chest with my finger, forcing him to take a step back. But I kept right on coming, poking him again. “I am sick and tired of supporting the fantasy that you’re right and the rest of the world is wrong. And you know what? I don’t have to anymore because I don’t work for you. In fact, thanks to you, I don’t work at all.”

Every time I said
you
, or any derivation of the word, I poked him again with my finger to drive home my point, to make sure he not only heard me but felt what I was saying.

“It’s time that you realized that you’re living in an alternate universe that has no relation to the one we’re all in. We don’t have to learn to live the way you do—you have to adapt to the way
we
live. And here’s a news flash:
we eat pizza with our hands
. We always have. We always will. Get used to it.”

Monk couldn’t have looked more shocked if I’d torn off all of my clothes and ran naked into the street singing songs from
The Sound of Music.

He stared at me for a long moment as I caught my breath, my shaking wore off, and I became painfully self- conscious of what I’d said and what I’d done.

“Are you just going to stand there?” I asked. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

He held out his hand. “Could I have a wipe, please?”

I reached into my purse and slapped one into his palm. He reached out, wiped my mouth roughly with it, and shoved it back in my purse before turning his back on me and walking away.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mr. Monk Moves In

I
can’t say I felt regret after the incident, because I meant every word that I’d said and I was right, but I did feel some guilt. Monk had a psychological disorder and, for the most part, couldn’t help the way he behaved. Yelling at him and poking him wasn’t going to change that. All I’d managed to do was hurt him and make myself feel better for a few fleeting seconds.

I chased after him as he marched down the street. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“You’re walking in the wrong direction,” I said. He pivoted and started walking in the opposite direction. “It’s also miles away from here.”

“What do you care?”

“Don’t be that way, Mr. Monk.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to tell me how to behave but it’s wrong for me to do it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You see the world one way and I see it another. Your way is right; my way is wrong. You’ve made that abundantly clear. What I don’t understand is why you are still here.”

“Because I care about you.”

“I’m not paying you to care about me anymore, so you don’t have to. You made that clear, too.”

I grabbed him by the arm. “I did not say that, Mr. Monk. What I meant is that I could be more honest with you now than I was when you were my employer.”

“Lucky me.” He yanked his arm free and marched on.

I hurried after him again. “Friends are honest with each other, especially when they are hurting. Well, I’m hurting.”

“You? What do you have to be hurt about? You haven’t lost your job.”

“Yes, I have.”

“You aren’t broke.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You aren’t dying of thirst.”

“You don’t have a child to support.”

“I have you
and
your child to support,” Monk said. “And now I can’t.”

That struck me hard. I’d never thought of it that way before.

“You really think of us like that? As a family you have to support?”

“I know that it’s mostly my paycheck that you’re living on. I’m scared, Natalie, for all of us.”

“So am I, Mr. Monk.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’m not talking about the never-ending, suffocating, oppressive fear I’ve had since the instant of my conception, but a truly new level of terror.”

“Me, too.”

“Really?” Monk asked.

“I’m a single parent with a teenager to raise and send to college, but I have no income, no savings, and no job prospects. If I don’t find a way out of this, I could end up losing my house, one of the few things I have left that Mitch and I shared before he was killed.”

“There’s no hope,” he said.

“That’s a positive attitude.”

“If you accept that there’s no hope, and there isn’t, then when everything inevitably gets much worse, and it will, there won’t be crushing disappointment to go along with it, and that’s a relief. Feel better now?”

“Not really.”

“Good,” he said. “Now you’re prepared for what’s to come.”

“What a horrible way to go through life.”

“That
is
life,” he said. “One horror after another, followed by despair.”

We walked side by side to my car. He rubbed his chest where I’d poked him a few times.

“I think you broke my sternum.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Monk.” We reached the car and I unlocked the doors.

“We’ll know for sure when my lungs collapse.”

“If the dehydration doesn’t kill you first.”

I turned my back on him before he could see my smile and walked around the car to the driver’s side.

We were good again.

I stopped my car at the curb outside of his apartment. He opened the door and looked over at me before he got out.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

It was a good question. I wasn’t working for him and we didn’t have another job lined up yet. There was really no reason for me to be at his door first thing in the morning. In fact, there was no reason for me to see him at all.

Except that he needed me.

But I needed some space, some time to clear my head and figure out what I was going to do.

“Let’s see how it goes,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s see what happens.”

He cocked his head. “I still don’t understand.”

“We may or may not see each other tomorrow. It depends on how events play out.”

“What events?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we will have to wait to see how it goes and what happens.”

“How do you know that there will be any events or happenings? And what events or happenings could there be that will determine whether I will see you or not?”

“That’s what we’ll find out.”

“You’re delirious,” he said.

“I’ll give you a call, Mr. Monk.”

“When?”

“At some point,” I said.

“I can’t deal with all of this uncertainty.”

“Neither can I. That’s why I need some time to myself, to sort it all out and come up with some kind of plan.”

“I have a plan,” he said.

“What is it?”

“You come to my apartment tomorrow and we do business as usual.”

“But we are out of business.”

He shook his head. “I’m in business. All I am is business. I have lots of business I need to do. I have lists of business. I mean business.”

“Then you will have plenty to keep you busy,” I said. “Good night, Mr. Monk.”

I reached over, closed his door, and drove off. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw him standing at the curb, looking forlornly after me.

I had to resist the powerful, self-destructive urge to make a U-turn, pull up beside him, and promise to be at his door first thing in the morning.

I am proud to say that I marshaled all of my willpower and managed to resist the urge. I went straight home, sat down at the kitchen table with Julie, took a half gallon of ice cream out of the freezer, and we picked at it with spoons while I told her about my night.

We might have finished off the entire carton if there wasn’t a knock at the front door.

I went to the door, peered into the peephole, and saw Monk standing on the porch, a taxi driving off behind him.

I groaned and leaned my head against the door.

“It’s Mr. Monk, isn’t it?” Julie said.

“How did you know?”

“You did the Monk groan,” she said.

“I have a Monk groan?”

“Everybody who knows him does,” she said.

I sighed and opened the door. “What are you doing here, Mr. Monk?”

“I need to stay with you,” Monk said and walked past me into the house without waiting for an invitation.

“You really can’t deal with uncertainty, can you?”

Monk went into the kitchen and stood beside Julie. “So I see you’re eating ice cream directly out of the container with a spoon.”

“It’s how we like to eat it,” she said.

“Both of you at once?”

“That way we only have to rinse two spoons instead of washing two bowls.”

He stared at her.

“You can’t stay, Mr. Monk,” I said.

“Why bother with spoons? You could just use your fingers and not have to wash anything at all. You could lick your fingers clean. Then again, why even do that?”

“You’re not listening to me, Mr. Monk.”

“Why bother with clothes? Or a house? Why not go all the way and live in a tree and eat bananas? No wonder you see nothing wrong with pizza.”

“What’s wrong with pizza?” Julie asked.

“You poor girl,” Monk said. “It’s like you’ve been raised in the wild.”

“Mr. Monk,” I said, “I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t have one anymore,” Monk said. “But maybe that’s my new mission in life, to move in here and save you both from yourselves before it’s too late.”

“Oh, God, no,” Julie said.

I hushed her with a look and turned to Monk. “You can’t live with us just because you’re out of work and you don’t know for certain exactly when you’re going to see me again.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he said.

“Then what is the reason?”

“I don’t have a home.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s lonely and he misses you,” Julie said. “He just can’t say it.”

“It’s only been thirty minutes,” I said.

“The landlord changed all of the locks on my apartment and taped an eviction order to my door.” Monk reached into his jacket and handed me an envelope. “See for yourself.”

I opened the envelope and scanned the letter. It was from his landlord’s lawyer and written in all kinds of legalese. Basically, it said that Monk’s rent hadn’t been paid in ninety days, violating his rental agreement, and that he wouldn’t be allowed back into his home until his overdue rent was paid.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Bob Sebes paid your rent. Or at least he was supposed to.”

Monk nodded. “Sebes obviously ignored the warning notices from my landlord.”

“Why didn’t your landlord come to you directly?” Julie asked.

“I’ve kind of barred him from talking to me or setting foot in my apartment.”

“Kind of?” Julie said.

“He’s missing a tooth. I can’t stand to look at him. As soon as he replaces it, we can talk.”

“Couldn’t he have called you?” Julie asked.

Monk shook his head. “He’s barred from that, too.”

“Why?” Julie asked.

“Because the tooth is still missing. I would see it in my mind and hear the air moving through the monstrous gap in his face.”

“Okay, why couldn’t he write you a personal note?” Julie asked.

“I couldn’t read a note from somebody who is missing a tooth,” Monk said. “There’s bound to be words missing important letters.”

“So he hates you now,” I said. “And this was his opportunity to finally get rid of you.”

“It would be easier just to get a tooth,” Monk said. “Now I have to move in with you. But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to civilize you both. It may not be too late.”

Julie shot me a desperate look. But she didn’t have to. I didn’t want Monk moving in, either.

“I know you’re in trouble, and you can’t afford a hotel, but you can’t stay here.”

“Why not? I have before.”

That was exactly why not. He’d stayed with us briefly a few years back, when his apartment was being fumigated, and it was a living hell. I was under enough pressure as it was without having Monk under my roof, too.

“Because Julie and I drink milk out of the carton and eat food with our hands,” I said.

“Only more reason why you need me here,” Monk said.

“I’m having my period,” Julie said.

“Me, too,” I said.

“So is my hamster,” Julie added for good measure. Her hamster had died years ago, but Monk didn’t know that.

He winced and took a step back from both of us, as if menstruation was contagious.

“What am I going to do?” he said. “Where am I going to go?”

“What about staying with your brother, Ambrose?” I said.

“No way,” he said. “The last thing I need right now is to live under the same roof with a crazy person.”

I knew how Monk felt. We were in an awful mess and running out of options. And then I thought about why we were in this lousy situation and then I knew where Monk could stay.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Monk,” I said, picking up my purse and car keys. “I have a solution.”

It was too late to buy Monk a change of clothes from his favorite men’s shop, but not too late to pick up a toothbrush, some toiletries, Lysol, Windex, bleach, disinfectant wipes, Wonder Bread, and other survival essentials from my local grocery store.

We bought some bottled water, because even Monk knew he had to drink something (and tap water was absolutely out of the question). But he intended to take extensive measures to purify the water first and to drink as little as possible to cut down on his chances of getting sick.

We arrived outside of the bland, charmless, four-story condo complex just before midnight. It was a late 1990s stucco box in a gentrified corner of the Mission District, more or less midway between the Civic Center and police headquarters.

I parked in a red zone and we got out, each of us carrying a grocery bag, and went to the lobby door. I leaned on the buzzer and announced myself without mentioning that I had a guest. I figured otherwise we might never get inside the building. All I said was that it was an urgent matter.

We were buzzed through and we took the two flights of stairs to the second floor.

When we got to the apartment, Captain Stottlemeyer was standing in his open doorway, wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a terry-cloth robe tied loosely at the waist. He’d obviously been in bed when I rang.

“You didn’t tell me Monk was with you,” Stottlemeyer said.

“Oops,” I said. “Is that a problem?”

Stottlemeyer glanced at Monk, then back at me. “Of course not, I was just making an observation. What’s the emergency?”

“I’m a homeless transient bum,” Monk said.

“Come on in,” Stottlemeyer said, stepping aside and ushering us into his apartment.

I’d never shown up at his place unannounced before. In fact, it was only the third time I’d been to his place since he’d bought it a few years ago, shortly after his divorce. He’d selected the condo primarily because his then girlfriend was a Realtor and she’d liked it. All he really cared about was that it was close to work, was within his price range, and had an extra room for his boys to stay in on weekends and holidays.

The condo was barely decorated and all the furnishings were very masculine. The front door opened onto the small living room, which was dominated by a faux-leather couch, a faux-leather recliner, and a massive TV with a Wii, a PlayStation, and a DVD player.

The kitchen was separated from the living room by a counter, where we placed our grocery bags.

“You brought refreshments?” he said.

“Provisions,” Monk said and began to unpack the bags.

“For what?” Stottlemeyer asked.

“The duration,” Monk said.

“Of what?”

“His stay,” I said.

“How long are you expecting this conversation to take?”

“Only a few minutes,” I said. “But then I’m going home and he’s moving in with you.”