FIFTEEN
"What, what are you talking about, Detective?" Trevor asked uneasily.
"I'm talking about a lot of things, Trevor," Adrian said, "I'm talking about the more common motives for a case like this: adultery, sex, lies, and murder…well, attempted murder. Most of all, I'm talking about Amanda Graystone."
"Amanda who?"
"I think you know very well who," Adrian said with uncharacteristic resolve in his voice, "Here's what happened: you met Amanda at the club she worked at back in New Jersey—I'm guessing that's not where you told Sharona you were going—and you fell madly in love with her. And she fell for you as well. Of course, you didn't bother to tell her you were married. I haven't found out yet how she found out, but somehow she did, and when that happened, she broke it off and fled here to Chicago. But you weren't ready to let go that easily. When you received word that your grandmother was about to die, you realized that was the perfect cover to get Amanda back. So you flew the whole family here to Chicago under the pretext of visiting her, which you did to an extent to make it look legitimate."
"Well I'm afraid you're wrong, Detective Monk, this is all news to me," Trevor said in a voice that sounded a little higher than usual.
"Is it really?" Fraser spoke up. The Mountie reached into the bag of evidence and pulled out several pieces of paper. "We were able to obtain phone company records," he announced, "It says you made several calls to Amanda's residence, and that none of the calls last more than eight seconds. She wanted to let go, but you didn't."
"So eventually you confronted her and promised you'd leave Sharona for her," Adrian continued, "But you didn't want to go through another divorce, because you wanted to keep custody of Benjy, and no court would allow that given your past record. And you couldn't kill Sharona, because if she turned up murdered, you'd automatically be the prime suspect. So you concocted a plan wherein she'd disappear for a little while. You shopped around to all the crime bosses in the Chicago area…"
"We have more phone records indicating no fewer than six criminal syndicates received calls over a three day span from your address," Fraser held up more papers, "Eventually you decided Frank Zuko was the best choice for the job, and you made a deal with him wherein he'd take Sharona into custody for you, in return for a sizeable sum of money."
"Uh, Constable, I usually do the thing, I think I pointed it out earlier," Adrian told him.
"Oh yes, my mistake," Fraser nodded, "How about you signal me when you need the evidence to prove your summation?"
"That's fine, that's fine," Adrian said. Turning back to Trevor, he went on, "You and Zuko worked out an agreement that would take the heat off you: you'd arrange for a ransom to be paid for Sharona, which you told him you'd give him as your payment for taking Sharona off your hands. Of course, you really had no intention of giving him all that money, but I'll get to that later. The rest was easy. At lunch the day of the kidnapping you proposed to Sharona that you all go to the movies later that evening. After she agreed to the idea, all you had to do was call Zuko up and tell him you were set. And all he had to do was station a few goons just around from the theater. It was only three blocks from your house, so you could walk straight there. And they'd be waiting."
"This is absurd!" Trevor protested to anyone within earshot, "The man's gone crazy! That explosion yesterday took away his common sense! I've never even heard of anyone named Frank Zuko!"
"Get your hands off me, you idiot!" came an irate voice from the back of the pack. An FBI agent was leading an angry Frank Zuko and his bodyguards toward the group. The mob leader shot a definitely ugly glance in Trevor's direction at the sight of him. "He was in his car in the parking garage, barking orders over a radio," the FBI agent explained.
"Well, well, glad you could join us, Frankie," Vecchio beamed, "You know, we were just talking about you."
"You can forget whatever was said, Ray, because you haven't got anything on me for anything!" Zuko snarled.
"Oh contraire, Frankie, we've got a load of stuff implicating you in this kidnapping," Vecchio retorted, "Fraser, would you please show our lovely contestant the first item up for bids tonight?"
"I'd be glad to, Ray," Fraser reached into the evidence bag and pulled out several large photographs. "These were taken onboard Delta Flight 893, which you told us you'd taken to Florida before the abduction occurred, Mr. Zuko," the Mountie told him.
"I DID get on it!" Zuko shouted, "Look Constable, you saw the evidence, I was in Orlando when…!"
"That was a very convincing plan you came up with, Frank," Adrian interrupted, "It was so complex, yet so simple. Trevor actually helped you out with that when you met him in person for the first time. He noticed that you bore a striking resemblance to an old friend of his, Bob Anderson."
"Who's Bob Anderson?" Sharona asked her former boss, "I don't know anyone by that name."
"I doubt he would have told you, Sharona," Adrian said, "Bob Anderson was the owner of the convenient store that Trevor's been buying lottery tickets from for the last nine years. Incidentally, apart from your income at the clinic, you're now flat broke thanks to the New Jersey Lottery."
"What, now you're accusing me of still gambling recklessly?" Trevor exclaimed, "Look Detective, you saw those tickets with your own eyes; they were ten years old!"
"What the naked eye can see is only half the story, Trevor," Adrian said, "We've looked through the rest of the stack; about three quarters of your tickets were printed this year. You just put the old ones on top to throw off a causal observer."
"We obtained one of them," Fraser pulled one pack of tickets and tossed it to Sharona, "You can clearly see the copyright year in the lower left corner."
Sharona looked over the tickets silently. "As I was saying, Trevor and Bob go way back," Adrian continued, "He called his old friend in New Jersey and told him some big fake story about how he needed his help desperately in Chicago. Bob flew out on the first flight he could, and was promptly met at the gate by Zuko's thugs, who told him to do what they said, or else."
"That's when Zuko's plan went into action," Fraser chimed in. He passed the pictures to Stottlemeyer. "Let everyone see these, please," he instructed him.
"Lieutenant Disher informed me they just found the bodies of a pair of air traffic controllers on the premises," Adrian said, "It was very simple. Zuko's men offed them, and two of them took their places. They placed the baggage train underneath the plane and sawed through the bathroom floor. You can see the cut marks on the floor. They held Bob Anderson, who'd been made to dress exactly like Zuko, inside one of the baggage cars. Inside the plane, Frank boarded and sat down, then went the bathroom. He then slipped out the hole in the floor and into the baggage train, and Bob Anderson climbed up into his place. The mobsters then cemented the hole shut. Once Bob was safely inside, Zuko was transported to the nearest flight to New Jersey and got onboard posing as Bob. He even had the identification to further prove it."
"You can't prove any of this!" Zuko protested.
"You made one fatal mistake, Mr. Zuko," Fraser told him, "You said you'd spent most of your vacation in Florida inside your hotel room nursing a stomach ache, which would signify that you would not have a significant tan, and yet you do have a significant one, most likely by a tanning parlor in New Jersey. Your alibi therefore falls flat upon closer inspection."
Zuko glared harshly at him. "Your goons later joined you in New Jersey," Adrian told him, "And together you set about framing Dr. DiNardo. You injected his patients with poisons and burned files. We called the FBI in New Jersey, and they've found that the only alien fingerprints in the clinic are yours and your men's. Back here, Trevor did his part in the deception as well; he forged the note we found in Benjy's pillow and practiced writing Sharona's name until her got her handwriting just about right."
"That's why we found the notebook with her name all over it," Disher realized.
"What about the commissioner's involvement?" Stottlemeyer asked, "At what point did Zuko blackmail him into it?"
"The kidnapping was going to be a low key affair," Adrian explained, "They'd take Sharona in, hold her for a few days, then kill her. They'd then release Benjy back to Trevor, who'd tell him his mother died in an accident during the release, and then he'd fly off to South America with his son and his new wife Amanda. They weren't even going to ask for a significant ransom at first, only about a thousand dollars. They didn't want to attract too much police attention. But things didn't go quite as Trevor and Zuko had planned. You didn't expect Constable Fraser to show up just after the mob took Sharona and Benjy, did you Trevor? You were hoping to wait a while before calling the police and telling them your wife had been kidnapped."
"I swear, I have no—ACHOO!--idea what you're talking about!" Trevor was starting to look very, very nervous.
"When you learned I was being called in to help solve the case, you panicked," Adrian dared to take a few steps closer to the sick man, but in the end decided against it and backed off again, "Sharona's no doubt told you of some of the cases we've solved together, and you realized I would stop at nothing to find out what had happened to her and see her back safely. Although you had a reasonable enough false lead with Dr. DiNardo, you wanted more insurance I wouldn't get too close. You got that chance when you overheard Constable Fraser and Natalie mention Julie at the crime scene. Later that day when we'd gone off investigating, you called up Zuko and informed him of the idea that had formed in your head. Zuko had just gotten back from New Jersey and switched back over with Bob Anderson, whom his men proceeded to kill after the switch was made and everything that would indicate Frank Zuko was in Florida given to him in case he was interrogated. Zuko's record with Commissioner Brooks proved invaluable, and you had a part to play in it as well, didn't you Trevor? After calling Lieutenant Welsh and asking him how the investigation was proceeding…"
"It was at four thirty that afternoon," Welsh spoke up, "Just after you all had left for the lake and the dropped car."
"Which reminds me, how did they get Amanda's car?" Stottlemeyer asked.
"Amanda loaned it to Trevor, Captain," Fraser said, "He told her he needed it because his was broken. Trevor then gave the keys to Zuko. More on that in a moment. Continue, Detective Monk."
"Anyway, Trevor disguised himself as an old man and followed us to the lakefront," Adrian explained, "He was working in conjunction with one of Zuko's men. At the right moment, he approached Natalie about the time, and the mobster disguised as the jogger ran into her, spilling her purse's contents all over the ground. While picking up her belongings, Trevor pocketed her social security card when no one was watching. Afterwards, he gave it to the mobster, who in turn gave it to Zuko, who in turn faxed it to the Commissioner, who hired the thugs in the Bay Area to kidnap Julie. He then filmed the tape and mailed it here to us, being sure to use our own voice-modifying equipment to throw us off that it was actually him. Which reminded me, Trevor, when the tape arrived, your exactly words were, 'I have no idea why they sent this to YOU.' How could you have known it was for us? If I were you, I would have assumed it was for me."
"This was hanging in the Flemings' closet," Fraser pulled an old gray coat out of the evidence bag. "That's definitely what the old guy wore," Disher pointed at it, "I saw it the day we went there; I don't know why I didn't recognize it."
"Which brings us back to Amanda," Adrian looked Trevor accusingly in the eye, "You certainly didn't tell her you were going to send your wife up the river. She assumed you were just going to divorce her. But Constable Fraser's told me that the story of her abduction was all over the news that night due to his being close to the scene. She knew exactly what had happened, and she called you in a rage. She threatened to tell the police about your affair with her, and you couldn't risk being exposed when you needed to portray yourself as a good guy. Even though you tried to use Commissioner Brooks's involvement to dissuade her from going to the cops, she was still going to tell. So you had no choice but to kill off the woman you'd thrown Sharona off for. And that's just what you did: you broke into the nearest gun store you could find, got yourself a gun, tracked Amanda to her club, and shot her like a dying pet."
"You shouldn't have just left the rifle in your wardrobe, Trevor," Fraser next pulled out a hunting rifle, "It matches perfectly the shell casings left behind on the roof, and a gun that was reported stolen from a store in the Lincoln Park area several hours before Amanda was killed."
"You then went to her apartment, using a key you'd swiped off her chain, and removed anything that connected you to her. By the time you got back home, you were consumed with the pain of having killed Amanda," Adrian told Trevor, "And in your anger and suffering, you blamed Sharona for it. Your thinking was that she'd been in the way of your ideal relationship with Amanda. Thereafter, Sharona couldn't just die; she had to suffer and die spectacularly. When Zuko next called, you gave him the green light to do things to her I can't describe here and now in front of the kids."
"This is just plain ridiculous!" Trevor shouted, "Would anyone in their right mind really accuse me of that! First thing I'm doing once I'm out of here is getting a lawyer; I've got a load of complaints right now!"
"Actually this makes some sense," Sharona spoke up, "I was fine for the first day or so, then those goons started beating me and brought the elephant in. Go on, Adrian, I want to hear the whole story."
"You and Zuko decided to bump up the ransom to half a billion," Adrian went on, "Any attempt to make it look like it was someone more substantial than the two of you behind this whole affair. It was also about this time you decided you didn't want to give that much money to Zuko, not with yourself in such heavy debt. So you got Commissioner Brooks's phone number off Zuko, and together with the commissioner you conspired to swindle Zuko out of the money and get rid of him. The commissioner was all too eager to comply; anything to get the blackmailing Zuko out of his hair. To that end he robbed our evidence warehouse and sent all the explosives east. You gave some of it to Zuko to use on us. Then you and the commissioner wired the airport and loaded the service tunnel under the tarmac with explosives. You'd planned for Zuko and his men to wait in hiding, and then come out and attack the FBI once Sharona was released. Once they did, you'd blow them—and Zuko's mobsters who in theory be waiting in hiding to take them on--up, take the money, get Benjy, and climb on a plane to South America."
"Well the money got blown up with the explosion," Welsh pointed out.
"Not really," Fraser said, "We can thank Agents Ford and Deeter for that. They showed Trevor their printing press where they printed up the phony bills. When they weren't around, he printed up several hundred fake bills and got a suitcase identical to the one. He planted it in the bathroom the night before the drop. All he had to do is switch them and place the tracker in the fake briefcase. No one would know the difference."
"You know what Detective, I think you're jealous!" Trevor snapped, "You're angry Sharona left you for me, and you're trying to get back at me! Constable, you were there when Dr. DiNardo hit me and took the money!" Show him he's wrong!"
"I'm afraid that was you and Zuko again, Trevor," Fraser shook his head, "Ford and Deeter showed you the camera angles they'd be using beforehand, and you took good stock of it."
"You waited until they were ready to give up," Adrian said, "Then you took the money down the escalators. You knew it was a blind spot. Then you struck yourself with one of the beams outside the door and lay on the floor, pretending you'd been attacked. In the parking lot, one of Zuko's men had attached a remote control to the car he'd stuffed a drunken DiNardo in. All he had to do was maneuver it away when the feds were watching and crash it somewhere. The garbage truck I was driving just happened to be the first convenient option for him."
"Spectacular theory, Detective, but that doesn't prove anything that you've said," Trevor barked, "You can't prove I had any affair outside of marriage or bought explosives!"
"You're right, I can't," Adrian said, "But Constable Fraser can. Can't you?"
"Of course," Fraser nodded. He bent down to Diefenbaker. "Dief, you know what a remote detonator smells like," he told the wolf, "That explosion back on the tarmac was caused by one. See if you can find the detonator for us."
Diefenbaker made a small nod and marched off, sniffing the pockets of everyone around the area. "In the meantime," Fraser continued, "I think you should all hear this last piece of evidence we found. We've discovered Amanda Graystone's diary. It was removed from her house after she was murdered."
"So that's what was missing in that photo," Stottlemeyer realized.
"Yes, Captain," Fraser nodded, "Her last entry in it is very intriguing from many fronts. Detective Monk, I'll let you do the honors of reading it for our pleasure."
"Thank you, Constable," Adrian took hold of the book with his wipe, which was falling apart by now from extended use. "It's dated four days ago," he told everyone after flipping to the last page with writing on it, "Dear diary, I saw on the news tonight that Trevor's wife and son were abducted. It was just too much of a coincidence for me. I called him up and told him he'd gone too far. He didn't say outright that he did it, but everything he said convinced me he'd arranged for his wife to end up like this. On top of it, he had the gall to ask me out to dinner after saying that it was probably for the better that she was out of his life. If I'd known he'd be that cold-hearted in trying to win me, I'd've steered clear of him when I had the chance. He warned me he'd do something he'd regret if I told anyone with a badge. Oh God, I feel like I'm in a vise! I've got to tell somebody, before his wife gets hurt!"
There was a growling from Diefenbaker at the exact moment Adrian finished reading the entry. The wolf had clamped down on something in Trevor's pocket. Trevor tried to jerk away, but Diefenbaker had already gotten a good grip and yanked it out. A remote detonator clanked to the runway. "I don't think I really need to say much more, Trevor," Adrian gave him a harsh look.
"Well Detective Monk, as much as I hate to say it, good work," Ford said, an unhappy smile on his face over having been proven wrong on several fronts by the detective. He and Deeter pulled out handcuffs and advanced toward Trevor. "All right Fleming, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say…"
In a flash, Trevor drew a gun from his pocket and shot both federal agents in the chest. Ford and Deeter went down hard. Before anyone else could react, the suspect had grabbed his son and placed the barrel up against his temple. "All of you, drop your weapons or I'll shoot him, I swear!" he threatened them all.
"Do it," Stottlemeyer urged the feds. There was a loud clatter of guns being tossed on the ground. "Lieutenant Disher, my money if you please!" Trevor told him. Disher tossed the briefcase toward him. "You might think you're so smart, Monk, but the truth is you're nothing but a freak!" Trevor snarled at him, "You hear me, you're a damn retard, a genetic mistake!"
"And he's more of a father to Benjy than you are, Trevor!" Stottlemeyer shouted.
"That's enough from you, Captain!" Trevor yelled at him, "Now I'm leaving with MY son and MY money, and no one's going to stop me!"
"Except me!" an absolutely livid Sharona stepped into her once again ex-husband's path, "You take your filthy hands off him, you degenerate son of a…!"
"Uh, Sharona, there's kids around," Adrian pointed out.
Sharona nodded then turned her full wrath on Trevor. "You said you'd learned your lesson, and then you have the gall to stab me in the back like this?" she shrieked in his face.
"Let's get something straight right now, Sharona: YOU backstabbed ME!" Trevor shouted back with equal anger, "I took you in, I loved you like no one else, and how do you repay me? You walk out on me and leave me flat broke!"
"Oh my God, there you go again, blaming the whole world except yourself!" Sharona yelled, "You brought your own problems on yourself, cheating on me with every former girlfriend you had! And then you dared to use Benjy and me to extort money off your uncle! You never learn ANY lesson!"
"Actually I did learn one lesson; never give you any money, Sharona. I was destitute from your damn alimony demands!"
"Which you never paid, Trevor! The courts made it clear you had to give…!"
"May I intercede for a moment?" Fraser asked.
"NO!" both Sharona and Trevor yelled at him simultaneously. "Why should I have even bothered paying, Sharona?" Trevor bellowed at her, "Every time I'd give you what you'd ask for, you'd shove both your hands in my face and demand even more! And then you had the indecency to sick the mob on me to get it!"
"I didn't sick the mob on you Trevor! Fat Tony did that to try and impress me; or at least when I thought he was trying to impress me!"
"Yep, you can definitely tell they've been married a while," Vecchio commented to Fraser.
"And you really expect me to believe that? If there's one thing you do good, Sharona, it's lying your head off to tear me and everyone else you hate down!" Trevor yelled, "You had a field day of painting yourself as the poor innocent little girl ruined by the adulterous monster you made me out to be during those custody hearings! Well I knew the truth then, and I still know it now; you're now and forever a slut!"
"How dare you…!" Sharona stepped toward him.
"GET…BACK!" Trevor pointed the gun in her face. Faced with a firearm, Sharona backed off. "You're nothing but a petty thief, Sharona!" Trevor said darkly, shifting the barrel toward her chest, "You stole my money, you stole my son, you stole my life! You've had this coming for a long time!"
And with that he pulled the trigger. "MOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!" Benjy shrieked as she crumpled to the ground. He tried to run to her, but his father grabbed him up. "Come on Benjy, we've leaving!" he growled, turning to leave.
"Oh no you don't!" shouted Zuko. The mob boss landed a combination on the FBI agent guarding him and stormed over to his treacherous client. "That's my money!" he bellowed to Trevor, grabbing hold of the briefcase, "You owe me all of it; that was our deal!"
"Well the deal's off, Frank!" Trevor shouted back, pulling the briefcase back, "You lose!"
"I don't think so!" Zuko whistled loudly. A dozen new mobsters popped out of nowhere and charged forward, guns raised. "As Detective Monk and Constable Fraser can vouch for, I filled up this airport with my friends, just in case the cops showed up…or if you tried to run with the cash as I suspected," Zuko told Trevor confidently, "Now are you willing to accept my deal?"
There was a tense silence. What none of them noticed was Vecchio picking his gun back up. "Okay, all of you freeze!" he yelled at the villains, "Let the kid go and drop the money!"
The mobsters opened fire on him. The federal agents picked their weapons back up and returned fire. Trevor and Zuko yanked the briefcase back and forth until it broke open, spilling the ransom money all over the ground. Both men hastily scooped up as much cash as they could and ran for their lives, Trevor dragging Benjy with him. Adrian ran over to Sharona where she lay, gasping heavily. Fraser was examining her. "How bad is it, Constable?" he asked, his voice high with fright.
"Serious but thankfully not life threatening," Fraser told him, "Had he aimed a few inches higher, it would have been the end. Lieutenant?"
"Yes?" Disher called, running over.
"Care to Mrs. Fleming, make sure the wound is not infected," Fraser instructed him, "I'm going after Zuko."
He ran off past the baggage carts. "Adrian," Sharona sputtered to him, "Save him. I'm begging you, save Benjy."
"I will," Adrian said, filling with deep resolve, "For you I will. Don't let anything happen to her, Randy."
"I won't," Disher nodded firmly. Adrian rose up and dashed across the runway toward the sound of a plane engine starting.
The firefight was going heavily in favor of the law. Although the mobsters had strong firepower, the federal agents and police outnumbered them, and many were now surrendering. Vecchio, seeing the situation was in hand, ran after Fraser and Zuko, and quickly caught up with the Mountie. "Give it up, Frankie!" he yelled after his enemy, "We've got your men! There's nowhere for you to go!"
Gunfire ripped back toward them, causing them to dive behind barrels. "You want me Ray?" Zuko yelled in the darkness, "You'll never take me alive!"
There was a trumpeting from the end of the runway. A large form was sauntering toward them, its trunk raised high. "Out of my way, Dumbo!" Zuko yelled. Fraser heard his gun click. "I wouldn't do that, Mr. Zuko!" he shouted.
"Buzz off, Constable!" Zuko yelled back. He fired straight at the elephant. Trumpeting in rage, it charged toward him and picked him up in its trunk. "Put me down you overgrown suitcase!" Zuko ordered it. The elephant complied with his wishes; it pounded Zuko repeatedly into the ground, and then tossed him a quarter of a mile through the air. "I told you not to do it," Fraser called to the mobster as he landed hard, "Elephants can be quite aggressive if harmed."
He and Vecchio rushed over to where Zuko had landed. The mob kingpin was heavily stunned, but otherwise seemed okay. "Guess what, Frankie?" Vecchio told his adversary as he handcuffed him, "After all these years, I finally got you. Now you and your buddy Scott Peterson have got a date with six big hairy cellmates who'd love to make the two of you their girlfriends. Any last words before we lock you up?"
"I hate elephants!" Zuko groaned, "I should have never bought it!"
Vecchio grinned. "You know Frankie, somewhere up there, I just know Irene's smiling right about now, because she's finally been given peace," he told Zuko, hauling him to his feet, "Let's get you into a nice soft squad car."
In the meantime, Adrian was running as fast as he could across the runway, jumping as far as he could over an oil slick at one point. He noticed a plane labeled AIR URUGUAY heading down the warm-up lane for takeoff. He made a beeline for it, just managing to grab on to the door as the plane started accelerating down the runway. He tried to pull it open, but the G-forces were making it hard for him. It was then that the plane lifted off into the night sky, leaving the detective hanging on for dear life with his eyes tightly shut. He considered the logic of what he was attempting to do: climb into a claustrophobic, germ-riddled plane several thousand feet in the air, trying to stop a man with a severe cold—a man who still had a gun, while he himself was weaponless. But it was too late to back out now. Already they were close to a thousand feet over Chicago. Adrian yanked on the handle and finally pulled the door open. Praying he wouldn't fall, he swung himself into the plane, closing the door tight behind him. "Give yourself up, Trevor!" he shouted toward the cockpit, "It's all over!"
A hand snaked through the door and fired several shots at him. Adrian jumped behind the nearest row of seats on the port side. "And I suppose you're going to try and stop me, Monk?" Trevor sounded like he might break into laughter, "You can forget it, Monk; against you, I've already won!"
"No Trevor, you've already lost!" Adrian yelled back, "You've lost everything; family, friends, trust, and all because you couldn't stay honest!"
"And who do you think you are, trying to tell me what to do?" Trevor dared him, "You think that just cause Sharona worked for you, you have authority over me?"
"Who do I think I am?" Adrian fiddled with the tray table locks on the back of the seats in front of him until they were all perfectly vertical, "I'll tell you who I am, Trevor. Like the captain said, I'm Benjy's dad, and I'm here to protect him, as any real father would! Now come along quietly, and I'll go as easy on you as I can!"
A cold hand grabbed his shoulder. "You want a piece of me, Monk?" Trevor whispered in his ear, "That can be arranged."
"Shouldn't you be flying the plane?" Adrian gulped.
"It's on autopilot, so I'm all right…but you're not." Trevor spun Adrian around and decked him right in the face. "Come on, hotshot, you said you wanted me, give me your best—ACHOO!--shot!" he shouted, hauling the detective roughly to his feet. Adrian raised his hand, but was unable to go any further in hitting him. "No?" Trevor inquired, "OK, it's my turn then!"
He started giving Adrian a relentless series of combination punches. "How does it feel now, mister smart guy?" Trevor snarled, shoving him over the top of another row of seats, "You're not so strong now, are you, you cowardly little chicken!"
"I'm not the chicken, Trevor, you are!" Adrian still at least had his self-dignity, "You had to hide behind gangsters to kill off the woman you'd sworn to love for the rest of your life! If that isn't cowardice, I don't know what is! Sharona did nothing to hurt you or anything to deserve this!"
"Read the whole story Monk; she had it coming for years!" Trevor roared, hauling him up again and slugging him even more, "The truth is she stole Benjy from me, and I'm just taking him back! That's not vengeance, that's justice!"
"It IS vengeance, Trevor; there's no lying in justice!" Adrian said, trying as hard as he could to shield himself from the blows, "How could you Vaderize like this!"
"If you want to put it that way, I'm not going to tell you, Monk!" Trevor punched him through the door into the cockpit. Adrian landed hard against the control panel. Before he could get up, Trevor was standing right over him, deliberately breathing into his face. He groaned and turned his head, praying he now wasn't contaminated. Until he heard the gun click. "What it all comes down to, Monk," Trevor said, pointing the barrel right between his eyes, "Is that there's one bullet left in this gun, and guess who's going to get it."
"NO!" from the passenger seat, Benjy grabbed his father's hand, causing the last bullet to hit the control panel instead. Roaring in rage, Trevor lifted his son up and violently tossed him into the aisle. "I'll teach you not to butt in to what's not your business, son!" he bellowed, removing his belt.
A wave of indignation over Trevor's act swept Adrian. The next few seconds happened in slow motion from his viewpoint. The detective found himself rising up and balling his hand into a tight fist. He grabbed Trevor's shoulder, shouted, "No you won't!" at the top of his lungs, and threw the punch as hard as he could. It connected directly to Trevor's temple. Trevor reeled backwards, smacked his head hard off an overhead bin, and slumped unconscious to the floor. Adrian breathed heavily, not believing what he'd just done. All he knew was that he'd touched a person with a cold, and as far as he could tell was all right.
"Mr. Monk, that was incredible!" Benjy had picked himself up and rushed over to his older friend, "Are you all right?"
"I guess so, Benjy," Adrian nodded, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No. Not physically at…where're you going now?"
"Wash off," Adrian ran for the plane's bathroom. He unleashed a torrent of water onto his hands, then emptied almost all of the available soap onto them. He rubbed his hands back and forth wildly for three full minutes, and then splashed some more water onto his face; hopefully it would dispel any of the germs Trevor had breathed on him.
It was then that he heard the plane's engines starting to sputter. He quickly realized what had happened. "Oh no!" he groaned, running for the cockpit. The entire control panel was on fire. "I think something's happened to the engines," Benjy summed up what he already knew, "That shot must have…"
"I know," Adrian glanced out the window. Lake Michigan, in all its polluted glory, lay directly below them—not the place he'd want to ditch a plane. "Uh, we're going to need parachutes," he told the boy.
"I don't think they have them, Mr. Monk; they do have flotation devices, though," Benjy pointed out.
"But not enough time to test them all," Adrian said desperately, "It looks like…!"
"Constable Fraser's coming!" Benjy pointed out the window. A police helicopter was pulling up along the starboard side, and there was no mistaking that red uniform. Adrian ran to the door and threw it open. "Is everything in order, Adrian?" the Mountie called over to him.
"Uh, everything's fine, except for the fact the pilot's out cold and we're going to crash and all that," Adrian called back.
"Bring Benjy over here, Monk," Stottlemeyer had joined Fraser for the rescue, "We'll get you out of there."
"Right; Benjy, we're jumping!" Adrian shouted to the boy. He already had his reservations about jumping between aircraft, but it was, in his opinion, better than a toxic watery grave. He picked Benjy up as he approached and, after judging the distance between the crafts, tossed him through the air. Fraser caught the boy and handed him to an attending cop. "Come on Adrian, your turn," he called over.
"One minute," Adrian's gaze had fallen to where Trevor lay slumped. As much as he hated the man for everything he'd done, he couldn't just leave him there to die. He ran over to Trevor and dragged his body—by the knees, which he figured was the least germful place he could touch—toward the door, and started handing him over to Stottlemeyer…
When his plane gave a harsh lurch to the left and started spiraling toward the lake. Adrian found himself tumbling out the door and hanging on to Trevor's legs for dear life a thousand miles above the lake. He was shrieking at the top of his lungs now. "Pull me up, pull me up!" he screamed to the officers on board the helicopter.
"Hang on Monk, we'll bring you up!" he heard Stottlemeyer call out, "Constable, see if you can get his wrists!"
"Hold still, Adrian!" Fraser yelled, reaching down to pull the detective's wrists up. "Not too hard, you'll break something!" Adrian protested. His eyes were tightly shut again. But he needn't have bothered, for in a few seconds he could feel Fraser and Stottlemeyer's hands pulling him on board the helicopter. "My God, what did he do to you, Monk?" his captain asked, seeing his heavily punched face.
"It's a long story, Captain," Adrian said, "Are we on the ground yet?"
"Monk, let me just say that what you did just now is the most heroic thing I've ever seen you do, and that's taking into account everything I've see you do," Stottlemeyer commended him, "If I could…"
There was a loud rumbling below as the jet hit the lake and sunk under it. "Oh my," Fraser said, surveying the wreck, "Had you and the boy been on board, Adrian, I'd say you'd be pretty much deceased at the moment. Care to take a look?"
"No thanks, Constable, I can see it well from here."
"You haven't opened your eyes yet, Monk."
"I know, Captain; have we landed yet?"
"So really, how does it feel working for Adrian Monk?" Sharona asked a recovered Natalie the next afternoon at the Midway Airport coffee ship.
"It's a strange feeling," Natalie admitted, "He's unlike anyone I've ever met before—and I don't know yet if I mean that in a good or bad way."
"Neither did I for a while," Sharona told her, "It's a little had to figure him out at times. But always keep in mind that even though he may annoy the hell out of you a lot, he's got a heart of gold underneath. He's someone you can always count on if you need help."
"I know," Natalie nodded, "Still, can I call you if I need advice on how to work with him? I'm not entirely sure I can handle him on my own yet."
"Here's my cell," Sharona wrote the number down on a scrap piece of paper and handed it to her, "Call me in a week or tow; I'll give you a more permanent number then."
"Attention all passengers, American Flight 674 non-stop to San Francisco is now boarding at Gate 34," announced the PA system. Both women rose up—Natalie on crutches, Sharona with a cane—and hobbled over toward the metal detectors, where everyone else was waiting. "I have some good news, Sharona," Fraser told her, "Your kidnappers are currently denouncing each other in jail like there's no tomorrow, so convicting them in a court of law should be no problem whatsoever, and I assume you're going to take the stand and describe your ordeal for the court?"
"You know it," Sharona nodded emphatically, "Anything to make sure those goons stay behind bars for the rest of their lives."
"Which reminds me," Fraser leaned down toward Benjy, who'd been buried in his latest issue of Spiderman since they'd arrived at the airport, "I'd just like to say I'm genuinely sorry things turned out the way they did for you."
"It's OK," Benjy said stoically, "He's still my dad. I'll always love him for that."
Fraser smiled. "I think that's a very noble way of looking at the situation, Benjamin," he said, "Forgiveness is a trait that is borne to the truly powerful."
"That's why he's the only man in my life I can trust," Sharona said, giving her son's hair an affectionate rubbing, "Where's Adrian? I want to say goodbye before…"
"Out! Out!" came the screaming from the bookstore down the corridor. The manager pushed Adrian out of his store. "They weren't in the right order!" Adrian protested to him.
"I'm sorry, really I am," Vecchio apologized to the manager, "Nobody has any control over the guy." He glared at Adrian once the manager had left. "Thank God you're going!" the Chicago cop told him, "I can't take it anymore!"
"But you did enjoy him, didn't you Detective?" Stottlemeyer had joined them outside.
"Well," Vecchio shrugged, "I guess I sort of did. I mean, he added a little flavor to this case." He took Adrian by the shoulders. "Good luck back in San Francisco, Detective Monk," he said, "And if you come back this way again, please, stay out of my city."
"I'll do what I can," Adrian nodded.
"Well, it looks like our flight's ready to roll," Stottlemeyer looked up at the information on the board, "We'd better get going."
"Let me just say something first, Captain," Adrian told him. Stottlemeyer nodded and walked threw the metal detector. Adrian walked over to Sharona. "Well, I guess this is…again…you're sure you don't want to come back?" he asked her.
"I appreciate the offer, Adrian, but I'd like to take my in another direction," Sharona told him, "Right now I just want to get back to New Jersey and get my life back on track. But don't worry too much; I WILL visit you one of these days."
"I'd like that, I'd like that a lot," Adrian smiled, "I want you to know, I'm grateful for everything you did for me over those years you looked after me, and that, as much as I hate change and letting go, I wish you the best in whatever you end up doing."
"Thank you, Adrian," she smiled back, "Thank you for everything you've done. You'll be fine with Natalie, I know it, so don't worry about me."
"I'll try not to," he said, and then in an unexpected move hugged her. "Ow, ow, ow!" Sharona groaned.
"I know, it's breaking me up inside as…" he said.
"Not that, the gunshot wound; you're aggravating it!" she shouted, clutching her chest.
"Oh, sorry," Adrian let go. "So long, Mr. Monk, and thanks," Benjy leaned up against him, "You're my hero."
"Thank you Benjy," Adrian found himself smiling at the level he had when Trudy had accepted his marriage proposal. He turned his gaze lastly toward Fraser. "And thank you, Constable Fraser," he said, daring to shake the Mountie's hand, "I couldn't have solved it without you."
"Nor could I have without you," Fraser told him, "As I said, keep your self esteem high, Adrian, because you're a good man."
"I know," Adrian nodded, "And if you ever have another case here you can't solve…"
"Oh God, no, not again!" Vecchio groaned at the thought of another Adrian experience.
"That's quite all right Ray, I think the two of us could probably solve it," Fraser told him, "It has been an honor serving with you, Adrian Monk," he told the Detective, "If you ever need a vacation, I'd be happy to take you up to my new cabin in Nunavut. It's nice and quiet, with few germs to catch your distaste."
"At the beginning of this case, I might have said no, but maybe I will some day," Adrian said, "See you later, Benton."
"Godspeed, Adrian," Fraser tipped his Stetson at the detective as he followed his associates through the metal detector—and was immediately buzzed. The Mountie turned to Vecchio and the Flemings. "So, what will we do now that he's leaving?" he asked them.
"Go home, jump in bed, and pretend his being here was all a bad dream," Vecchio said.
"Well I don't think that's very fair, Ray; Detective Monk's presence in this case, as I mentioned before was decisive in its successful outcome," Fraser reminded him.
"Fraser, may I point out to you that his involvement cost me yet another mint condition '71 Riv?" Vecchio told him, "If I ever have to go out to San Francisco, I'll have a stroke."
"Uh, I think we'd like to eat," Sharona interrupted them, "I've only had one meal since you rescued me, remember?"
"Indeed I do," Fraser said, "What do you think, Ray; should we go have that Unos meal we were going to have before this case?"
"Actually that sounds good, Benny," Vecchio's mood improved. "Whatdya say kid, you want a fresh, deep dish Chicago style Unos pizza?" he asked Benjy, "It'll be on me."
"Great, let's go," Benjy rushed toward the door. From the concourse, Adrian watched as the Mountie, the cop, and the woman he cared for followed him away. He took a deep breath—but one of renewal. Now that he'd said goodbye formally, he felt much better than he had in a long time.
"You coming, Monk?" Disher whispered in his ear.
"Oh yeah, sure," Adrian turned and walked after the others. "Well, all in all I say this was a good trip for us," he commented out loud.
"Not for me," Julie reminded him, "Aren't you forgetting what I went through?"
"Oh, yes, I meant apart from you, Julie," Adrian said quickly.
"And now comes the fun part," Natalie said in a less than positive tone, "Four hours going back home, and with the time zones it'll take longer. If it's anything like coming here…"
"I promise I won't try and put the overhead bags in size order again," Adrian raised his hand as if taking an oath.
"That goes with the other passengers too, Monk," Stottlemeyer told him, "And try to keep in mind that if a person reclines in front of you, you can't ask him to raise his seat just to be even with the others in his row."
"I've got it, I've got it," the detective nodded.
"It's a shame I we didn't get a chance to see Shermer," Disher lamented, "And I really wanted to take a picture of the Home Alone house too. I had one picture left in the camera, and…"
"Can I have it?" Adrian took it from Disher and walked over to the stewardess at the gate. "Excuse me, could you smile?" he asked her, and took a picture of her before she could react. "What was that all about?" she demanded.
"You'll thank me later," Adrian told her. He walked back over to Disher and gave him his camera back. "Now you've got the whole roll," he told him.
"Thanks, Monk," Disher shrugged, sitting down.
"Good job, superstar," came Trudy's voice from behind him. She was standing behind the nearest row of seats with Fraser Senior. "Thank you, Trudy," he smiled at her. His gaze shifted to the dead Mountie. "Why are you still here?" he asked him.
"I just wanted to offer my congratulations on solving the case the way you did, Detective Monk," Fraser Senior lauded him, "I'll be going off to celebrate with Benton, and I just wanted to wish you good luck in all future endeavors."
"You too, Mr. Fraser," Adrian told him. Fraser Senior tipped his hat and walked off into the crowd. "You haven't…?" Adrian had to ask Trudy.
"No," Trudy told him encouragingly, "You're the only one for me in this and every lifetime. It looks like you're boarding now."
"So are you coming?" her husband asked her.
"Of course," she said, "I think it would make you feel more comfortable than your last flight in. We might as well get going."
"Indeed," Adrian said, taking her by her ghostly hand and walking down the walkway toward the plane, "The best part of any vacation is going home, after all."
THE END