MR. MONK IN JEOPARDY
BY
BOB WRIGHT AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've always been obsessed with game shows, and recently Monk has also joined the obsession list. Given his intellectual capacity, it would only be logical to join the two together, and Jeopardy would be the perfect fit, IMO. This story will be streamlined more when I attend a Price Is Right Taping on 6/2. Apart from Alex Trebek, all persons shown to be part of the day-to-day operations of Jeopardy are fictitious and any relations to any real persons connected with the show, past or present, is purely coincidental. Jeopardy is a trademarked copyright of Merv Griffin Enterprises, Califon Productions, and King World. Adrian Monk and all related characters and indicia are trademark copyrights of USA Network, Mandeville Films, and Touchstone Television. And now, on with the story.
ONE
"Here we are, Sony Pictures Studios," Sharona Fleming said as she pulled the van into the studio parking lot. She turned to her front-seat passenger. "Are you ready to do your best, Adrian?"
"Uh, no not really," Adrian Monk was very nervous. Very, VERY nervous. Being on national television was something he wasn't accustomed, or comfortable, with, really. "I'd probably better just tell them I changed my mind; I don't want to be on the show."
"Adrian, you can't back out now," Sharona told him.
"Why not?"
"Because if you do, I'll kill you for making me drive all the way down here and waste all this gas," she told him sternly.
"Don't be worried, Mr. Monk," Benjy Fleming told Adrian, leaning over the front seat, "You're the smartest man on the West Coast. "You'll flatten the other contestants like they're pancakes."
"Thank you, Benjy," Adrian told him, "But it's not that. You know me and crowds, and, well, since there'll be a crowd in there..."
"Forget about the crowd, Monk," Captain Leland Stottlemeyer spoke up from the rear seat, "There's probably more germs than people in there, and since you told me germs trump crowds, there's really no need for you to worry about the audience."
"Captain, I don't think that will really make Adrian feel any better," Dr. Charles Kroger told him. He leaned forward and put his hand close enough to Adrian to be comforting without actually touching him. "Adrian, just think that you're in control, and let the world dissolve around you, and you'll be just fine," he reassured his patient.
"And keep in mind that if you do anything to embarrass this department, you'll be docked a paycheck," Stottlemeyer cut in.
"Leland!" Karen Stottlemeyer elbowed her husband in the ribs and gave him a typically harsh glare. "Just kidding, honey," Stottlemeyer said quickly.
"Good, because then I'd have to kill you for leaving my son and I in the lurch, since Adrian never pays us..." Sharona started to scold him.
There was a loud snort from the rear. "Are we there yet?" Lieutenant Randall Disher asked, rising from a nap.
"Yep, Randy, we're just here," Gail Fleming told him, patting him on the shoulder, "And we're going to be sitting next to each other. Great, huh?"
"Uh hmm!?" Sharona shot her sister a harsh look.
"Well Sharona, I don't have any control over the ticket arrangements," Gail told her with a triumphant look.
"Here it is, contestant's entrance," Sharona pulled the van over to a door near the side of a soundstage. She turned to Adrian. "OK Adrian, take care of yourself, I know you'll do well," she told him caringly, "I'll just make a call to your brother and see how he and the others are doing, and then we'll be in."
"I'm still a little disappointed Ambrose didn't want to come in person to watch me," Adrian commented. His brother was suffering from a case of agoraphobia almost as bad as his own OCD, but he'd been coming out of his house more often lately, raising Adrian's hopes that he'd be able to show up in person.
"Well don't you think asking him to come all the way down here would be a bit of a stretch?" Sharona asked him with raised eyebrows. "I'm glad he was willing to invite everyone we know to watch the show with him, though. That's his way of showing he cares, you know."
"I know he cares, it's just...." Adrian started, but Sharona started pulling away, calling after him, "Good luck, I know Trudy's proud of you." Adrian swelled up a little at the mention of his late wife. He wondered if there was television in heaven, and if so, if Trudy knew to watch him. If only she'd been able to see him in person...
"Excuse me, you're Adrian Monk?" came a voice behind him. Adrian spun to find himself facing a clean-cut guy in an immaculate red blazer. "Hi, I'm Steve Conroy, I'm the contestant coordinator," he told the detective, shaking his hand. Adrian dug a medicated wipe out of his pocket and cleaned off his hand off (he noted with disdain that there were only four left; Sharona had failed to restock him). Steve seemed to be the first person in long time to not stare for a second at this action that proved so strange to most other "normal" people. "So Adrian, are you ready to put yourself in Jeopardy!?" Steve now joked with him.
"Uh, that would depend on a couple of things; I don't have the full list with me right now, but I can handle the first few off the top of my head," Adrian began, "Uh, could we perhaps tape tonight's show without the audience? I mean, there's no rule that says we can't just splice the applause in during post-production..."
"Adrian, we've been taping before a live audience for almost thirty years now, going back to when Art Fleming was host, and we can't just change now," Steve told him, almost laughing.
"Okay, just thought I'd ask," Adrian said in resignation, "All right then, proposition number two, I just need to know, have the signaling buttons been sterilized lately?"
"Walk with me Adrian," Steve took him by the shoulder, "We've still got," he pulled out his watch from his pocket, causing his wallet to fall out and flip open. In the course of a split second, Adrian noticed something interesting inside it, but quickly shrugged it off as unimportant. "We've still got a good forty-five minutes till air," Steve continued, picking up his wallet and putting his hand on Adrian's shoulder, "and we need to get you good and ready for your fifteen minutes of fame later on tonight."
"Um, it's not a fifteen minute show, it's a half hour," Adrian pointed out, "I've been watching since the Art Fleming era, and it's always..."
"It's an expression, Adrian," Steve rolled his eyes, "Come on, you've got a date with the crew in the dressing room to get you all set up."
"Um, has the dressing room been cleaned lately?"
"I'm assuming you've got a foolproof plan here, Beiderbeck?" convicted serial killer Leonard Stokes said as he paced around the jail cell.
"It's good enough to be called practically foolproof, Leonard," Dale "the Whale" Beiderbeck said, shifting his massive 900-pound frame around in his oversized bed. His attention was focused on the big screen TV he'd been able to have placed in his cell, on which Wheel of Fortune was now playing. But it was only a temporary distraction for him, as his real mission lay ahead of him.
"Mr. Phillbey, I need to know, was the bomb set correctly?" he asked defrocked science teacher Derek Phillbey, who was seated nearby.
"As far as I know, Mr. Beiderbeck," Phillbey told him nervously, "but I want you to know that if anything goes wrong, I'll turn state's evidence against you and tell them it was all your idea."
"If you wish," Beiderbeck said dismissively, "but then I supposed I'd have to tell your ex-wife some of the more lurid details of your affair with Beth Landow...."
"OK, I get the point!" Phillbey muttered, putting his head in his hands, "It's just that, well, we're not just going to kill Adrian Monk by going ahead with this. All those innocent women and children..."
"Derek, you killed an 'innocent' groundskeeper; what is so different about what we're doing here?" Beiderbeck said in mock indignation.
"I don't know!" Phillbey threw up his hands in disgust.
There was a knock on the cell door. "Dexter, Pat, please, come on in," Beiderbeck said, waving in the new arrivals. Former porn kingpin Dexter Gold and wife killer Pat Van Rankin shuffled in. "Dale," the former said, "the word is that he's going to bite the dust tonight? You know anything about it?"
"Dexter, I know everything," Beiderbeck chuckled sadistically. He reached under his desk and pulled out a clock reading 6:47:58. "Gentlemen," he announced to everyone present, "Tonight's episode of Jeopardy begins at 7:30. At exactly 7:58 and zero seconds, when the Final Jeopardy music ends, Adrian Monk will be joining his dear departed wife Trudy in the Great Beyond. But until then, let's sit back and enjoy a little Wheel, what do you say?"
BY
BOB WRIGHT AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've always been obsessed with game shows, and recently Monk has also joined the obsession list. Given his intellectual capacity, it would only be logical to join the two together, and Jeopardy would be the perfect fit, IMO. This story will be streamlined more when I attend a Price Is Right Taping on 6/2. Apart from Alex Trebek, all persons shown to be part of the day-to-day operations of Jeopardy are fictitious and any relations to any real persons connected with the show, past or present, is purely coincidental. Jeopardy is a trademarked copyright of Merv Griffin Enterprises, Califon Productions, and King World. Adrian Monk and all related characters and indicia are trademark copyrights of USA Network, Mandeville Films, and Touchstone Television. And now, on with the story.
ONE
"Here we are, Sony Pictures Studios," Sharona Fleming said as she pulled the van into the studio parking lot. She turned to her front-seat passenger. "Are you ready to do your best, Adrian?"
"Uh, no not really," Adrian Monk was very nervous. Very, VERY nervous. Being on national television was something he wasn't accustomed, or comfortable, with, really. "I'd probably better just tell them I changed my mind; I don't want to be on the show."
"Adrian, you can't back out now," Sharona told him.
"Why not?"
"Because if you do, I'll kill you for making me drive all the way down here and waste all this gas," she told him sternly.
"Don't be worried, Mr. Monk," Benjy Fleming told Adrian, leaning over the front seat, "You're the smartest man on the West Coast. "You'll flatten the other contestants like they're pancakes."
"Thank you, Benjy," Adrian told him, "But it's not that. You know me and crowds, and, well, since there'll be a crowd in there..."
"Forget about the crowd, Monk," Captain Leland Stottlemeyer spoke up from the rear seat, "There's probably more germs than people in there, and since you told me germs trump crowds, there's really no need for you to worry about the audience."
"Captain, I don't think that will really make Adrian feel any better," Dr. Charles Kroger told him. He leaned forward and put his hand close enough to Adrian to be comforting without actually touching him. "Adrian, just think that you're in control, and let the world dissolve around you, and you'll be just fine," he reassured his patient.
"And keep in mind that if you do anything to embarrass this department, you'll be docked a paycheck," Stottlemeyer cut in.
"Leland!" Karen Stottlemeyer elbowed her husband in the ribs and gave him a typically harsh glare. "Just kidding, honey," Stottlemeyer said quickly.
"Good, because then I'd have to kill you for leaving my son and I in the lurch, since Adrian never pays us..." Sharona started to scold him.
There was a loud snort from the rear. "Are we there yet?" Lieutenant Randall Disher asked, rising from a nap.
"Yep, Randy, we're just here," Gail Fleming told him, patting him on the shoulder, "And we're going to be sitting next to each other. Great, huh?"
"Uh hmm!?" Sharona shot her sister a harsh look.
"Well Sharona, I don't have any control over the ticket arrangements," Gail told her with a triumphant look.
"Here it is, contestant's entrance," Sharona pulled the van over to a door near the side of a soundstage. She turned to Adrian. "OK Adrian, take care of yourself, I know you'll do well," she told him caringly, "I'll just make a call to your brother and see how he and the others are doing, and then we'll be in."
"I'm still a little disappointed Ambrose didn't want to come in person to watch me," Adrian commented. His brother was suffering from a case of agoraphobia almost as bad as his own OCD, but he'd been coming out of his house more often lately, raising Adrian's hopes that he'd be able to show up in person.
"Well don't you think asking him to come all the way down here would be a bit of a stretch?" Sharona asked him with raised eyebrows. "I'm glad he was willing to invite everyone we know to watch the show with him, though. That's his way of showing he cares, you know."
"I know he cares, it's just...." Adrian started, but Sharona started pulling away, calling after him, "Good luck, I know Trudy's proud of you." Adrian swelled up a little at the mention of his late wife. He wondered if there was television in heaven, and if so, if Trudy knew to watch him. If only she'd been able to see him in person...
"Excuse me, you're Adrian Monk?" came a voice behind him. Adrian spun to find himself facing a clean-cut guy in an immaculate red blazer. "Hi, I'm Steve Conroy, I'm the contestant coordinator," he told the detective, shaking his hand. Adrian dug a medicated wipe out of his pocket and cleaned off his hand off (he noted with disdain that there were only four left; Sharona had failed to restock him). Steve seemed to be the first person in long time to not stare for a second at this action that proved so strange to most other "normal" people. "So Adrian, are you ready to put yourself in Jeopardy!?" Steve now joked with him.
"Uh, that would depend on a couple of things; I don't have the full list with me right now, but I can handle the first few off the top of my head," Adrian began, "Uh, could we perhaps tape tonight's show without the audience? I mean, there's no rule that says we can't just splice the applause in during post-production..."
"Adrian, we've been taping before a live audience for almost thirty years now, going back to when Art Fleming was host, and we can't just change now," Steve told him, almost laughing.
"Okay, just thought I'd ask," Adrian said in resignation, "All right then, proposition number two, I just need to know, have the signaling buttons been sterilized lately?"
"Walk with me Adrian," Steve took him by the shoulder, "We've still got," he pulled out his watch from his pocket, causing his wallet to fall out and flip open. In the course of a split second, Adrian noticed something interesting inside it, but quickly shrugged it off as unimportant. "We've still got a good forty-five minutes till air," Steve continued, picking up his wallet and putting his hand on Adrian's shoulder, "and we need to get you good and ready for your fifteen minutes of fame later on tonight."
"Um, it's not a fifteen minute show, it's a half hour," Adrian pointed out, "I've been watching since the Art Fleming era, and it's always..."
"It's an expression, Adrian," Steve rolled his eyes, "Come on, you've got a date with the crew in the dressing room to get you all set up."
"Um, has the dressing room been cleaned lately?"
"I'm assuming you've got a foolproof plan here, Beiderbeck?" convicted serial killer Leonard Stokes said as he paced around the jail cell.
"It's good enough to be called practically foolproof, Leonard," Dale "the Whale" Beiderbeck said, shifting his massive 900-pound frame around in his oversized bed. His attention was focused on the big screen TV he'd been able to have placed in his cell, on which Wheel of Fortune was now playing. But it was only a temporary distraction for him, as his real mission lay ahead of him.
"Mr. Phillbey, I need to know, was the bomb set correctly?" he asked defrocked science teacher Derek Phillbey, who was seated nearby.
"As far as I know, Mr. Beiderbeck," Phillbey told him nervously, "but I want you to know that if anything goes wrong, I'll turn state's evidence against you and tell them it was all your idea."
"If you wish," Beiderbeck said dismissively, "but then I supposed I'd have to tell your ex-wife some of the more lurid details of your affair with Beth Landow...."
"OK, I get the point!" Phillbey muttered, putting his head in his hands, "It's just that, well, we're not just going to kill Adrian Monk by going ahead with this. All those innocent women and children..."
"Derek, you killed an 'innocent' groundskeeper; what is so different about what we're doing here?" Beiderbeck said in mock indignation.
"I don't know!" Phillbey threw up his hands in disgust.
There was a knock on the cell door. "Dexter, Pat, please, come on in," Beiderbeck said, waving in the new arrivals. Former porn kingpin Dexter Gold and wife killer Pat Van Rankin shuffled in. "Dale," the former said, "the word is that he's going to bite the dust tonight? You know anything about it?"
"Dexter, I know everything," Beiderbeck chuckled sadistically. He reached under his desk and pulled out a clock reading 6:47:58. "Gentlemen," he announced to everyone present, "Tonight's episode of Jeopardy begins at 7:30. At exactly 7:58 and zero seconds, when the Final Jeopardy music ends, Adrian Monk will be joining his dear departed wife Trudy in the Great Beyond. But until then, let's sit back and enjoy a little Wheel, what do you say?"