by Lee Goldberg
“It’s too dangerous,” he said, hanging up the phone.
“Do you know how many times I’ve nearly been killed helping you catch murderers?” I said. “I’d probably be safer in a taxi.”
“You’re forgetting all the diseases you will be exposed to in a filthy taxi,” Monk said. “When you are with me, you are safe from infection.”
“And from making money,” I said.
The phone rang, startling Monk. He answered it. He listened. He winced. Then he nodded.
“I’m just being a good citizen,” he said, but apparently the caller had already hung up. Monk set the phone back in its cradle.
“That was Captain Stottlemeyer, wasn’t it?” I asked.
Monk nodded. “He told me to stop leaving anonymous tips on the hotline and that he was perfectly capable of solving cases on his own.”
“That’s what this is all about,” I said.
“How did he know it was me who left the tips?”
“He’s a detective,” I said.
“But I was anonymous.”
“They have a sophisticated version of caller ID and instantly trace the calls. They knew who you were the instant they answered the phone.”
“I’ll have to use different phones,” Monk said. “Could I borrow yours?”
“No, you can’t,” I said.
“Why not?”
Hadn’t he heard a single thing I’d said? Did he really think I would give him my phone to make the calls I didn’t want him to make? How could someone so brilliant be so incredibly dense?
But I didn’t ask him those questions. I had a better reply, one that might actually sink into his head: “Because I need it for arranging job interviews.”
He let out a little whine of frustration. Score one for Natalie.
There was a knock at the door. He looked at me. I looked at him.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” he asked.
“Are you going to be calling any more tips in to the police hotline?”
“Not at the moment,” he said.
I got up, went to the door, and opened it. I was greeted by a well-dressed man with a big smile, big pecs, and a big income. He wore a gray Hermès V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt, which were loose-fitting enough to convey a casual attitude but not so loose that you couldn’t tell he was buff underneath. His True Religion jeans hugged him so tight I almost found true religion myself. If you threw in his Armani loafers, his Ray-Ban sunglasses, and his Omega Seamaster wristwatch, he was wearing my annual salary.
He took off his glasses and revealed his emerald green eyes. I held the door and tried not to swoon.
“I’m Nicholas Slade,” he said. “Is Mr. Monk available?”
No, but I am, I thought. “What is this regarding?”
“I’m selling magazine subscriptions and, if I get enough, I can win a trip to Mexico,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, in that case, come right in,” I said, and stepped aside.
Slade strode in and gave me an unabashed appraisal as he passed me. I was glad that I’d dressed up for the conference instead of wearing my usual attire.
Monk joined us in the living room.
“This is Nicholas Slade,” I said. “He’s selling magazines. Or was it Girl Scout cookies?”
“Actually, I’m giving away free copies of The Watchtower,” he said. “So you can keep up on the latest news regarding your immortal soul.”
Monk blanched. I smiled.
“He’s joking, Mr. Monk.”
“Actually, I’m flirting, Ms. Teeger. I can’t help myself around beautiful women.” Slade turned to Monk. “But it’s you that I came to woo, in a professional sense, of course.”
“What can I do for you?” Monk asked.
“What you do better than anybody else,” Slade said, and handed Monk his card. “I’m the CEO and founder of Intertect, a private security and investigation company based here in San Francisco. I’d like to hire you as an operative, a consultant, or Grand Poobah of Detection, whatever you want. You tell me. I just want you on my team.”
“I’m not available,” Monk said.
“Has someone beaten me to you already? I knew I should have come over last night, but I thought it would be too aggressive,” he said. “I’ll top any offer that you’ve received.”
“How did you know that Mr. Monk is no longer consulting for the San Francisco police?” I asked, and motioned to Slade to take a seat on the couch.
“I wouldn’t be much of a detective if I didn’t,” he said, sitting down. Monk sat on the arm of an easy chair across from him. I stood at Monk’s side like the dutiful assistant that I am.
“I have lots of sources within the department,” Slade continued. “I used to be a vice detective until I got smart ten years ago and went private. I was invited to be a guest on a panel at the homicide detectives’ conference, so I happened o be there to see Monk’s interview. After witnessing that debacle, I had a feeling Leland might make a change in the consulting agreement.”
“Did you really?” I gave Monk a significant look to underscore Slade’s remark.
“Do you have something in your eye?” Monk asked.
“No, I don’t. Did you hear what Mr. Slade just said?”
“Did he spit in your eye when he said it?”
“No, he didn’t,” I said.
“Because some people do that,” he said. “They spit when they talk. They need to be stopped. Someone could die.”
“My eyes are fine,” I said.
“Then why were you widening your eyes like that?”
“I wasn’t,” I said. “Let’s just drop it, okay?”
“There was widening,” he said, and looked at Slade. “You couldn’t see it because her back was to you. Only I could see it.”
“Almost like a private expression shared between two people,” Slade said.
“Almost,” Monk said. “But it was more like she had something in her eye. Did you spit in her eye? Are you a spitter when you speak?”
“I don’t think so,” Slade said.
“That’s a relief,” Monk said. “Because I don’t have protective goggles.”
“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to make a play for your services for a long time, Mr. Monk.”
“What stopped you from doing it until now?” I asked. “Mr. Monk wasn’t under an exclusive contract.”
“I didn’t want to step on Leland’s toes. I have too much respect for him to do that,” he said. “But he’s made a huge mistake in letting you go. Leland has no one to blame but himself if you come to work for me.”
Monk rolled his shoulders. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable in a corporate environment.”
“You aren’t comfortable in any environment,” I said.
“You never have to come into the office if you don’t want to,” Slade said. “We could get you files by messenger or e-mail. We could talk over the phone, in person, via fax or video-conference. Whatever you want. You can pick and choose your cases and clients. You will have free access to all of our resources, which are considerable. I’m talking research, scientific analysis, surveillance, and manpower. We’ll give you whatever assistance you need.”
“I have an assistant,” Monk said.
Slade smiled at me. “Of course you do. My offer to you extends to Ms. Teeger as well, as does our benefits package.”
“Benefits?” I think my voice cracked a little when I said that.
“Medical and dental coverage for you and your daughter,” he said. “I know you also act as Mr. Monk’s driver, so naturally we would cover your gasoline, car insurance, and expenses or, if you prefer, we can provide you with a company car from our fleet.”
I could have cried. The only benefit Monk offered me was an endless supply of disinfectants.
Slade turned to Monk. “Our medical plan would also cover your psychiatric care, of course.”
“What’s the catch?” Monk asked.
“You’d be working exclusively for Intertect,” Slade said. “But if it is intellectual stimulation that you are worried about, let me put you at ease. We investigate all kinds of cases for our individual and corporate clients, including murder.”
I cleared my throat and tried to put on my best poker face. “All these benefits are a given, Mr. Slade. What you haven’t mentioned yet is the salary that you’re offering. If Mr. Monk is going to lend you his international reputation and his perfect case-closure rate, he expects a compensation package that guarantees that he will share in the phenomenal success that he will bring to your firm.”
Slade took a card from his pocket and picked up a pen from the coffee table. He wrote something on the back of the card and passed it to Monk.
“This would be your monthly salary,” he said. “It’s only the floor to get us started. We’ll gladly negotiate an escalator clause that will be tied to certain agreed-upon performance levels.”
I glanced over Monk’s shoulder at the number. I had to look twice to make sure I wasn’t imagining the figure. It was a huge bump up from what he was getting paid by the police.
Monk shook his head. “I can’t live with this figure.”
He wouldn’t live at all if he let this job slip away. I’d kill him myself the moment Slade walked out the door.
“What would it take to make you happy?” Slade asked.
“Make it an even number,” Monk said.
Slade took the card back and rounded the figure up to a big, fat, whole number with lots of zeros at the end.
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Monk,” Slade said. “Do we have a deal?”
I looked at Monk. He sighed miserably.
“Yes,” Monk said.
Slade smiled. So did I. He had a nice smile. Now Julie and I could afford to have one like his. I made a mental note to get the name of his dentist.
“I am so pleased.” Slade held out his hand.
Monk shook it, then motioned to me for a wipe.
“Allow me.” Slade reached into his pocket and pulled out a travel packet of Wet Ones and offered a wipe to Monk. Oh, Slade was a smooth one. “When do you think you can start?”
Monk wiped his hand and glanced at his watch.
Slade took a Baggie out of his pocket and held it out to Monk, who dropped his wipe into it.
Slade sealed the Baggie. I took it from him and dropped it into a nearby Diaper Genie, twisted the ring, and sealed the Baggie in another bag. I hoped the anthropologists who examined it centuries from now would appreciate the effort.
“What a great idea,” Slade said, admiring the Diaper Genie. “I have to get one of those for my office.”
I had to hand it to him: He actually said it with a straight face. But I was worried that it was overkill and that even Monk would find it insincere.
But then Monk did something incredible.
He smiled.
“I can start today,” Monk said.
CHAPTER TEN
Mr. Monk Goes to Work
Intertect was located on the twentieth floor of a high-rise in the financial district. I stopped by to fill out all the paperwork required to get us on the payroll and the health plan as soon as possible.
As I walked down the hall, I saw that each office had a window with a commanding view of the window of the building next door, but I guess that was better than no view at all. By my count, Intertect had at least thirty operatives-and those were just the ones with offices.
I was led to a vacant office that was set aside for Monk if he ever needed it, though I doubted that he would make the long climb up the stairs to see it unless there was a dead body there, too.
The office came with a sleek computer, sleek furniture, and an even sleeker assistant in her early twenties named Danielle Hossack.
She informed me that she’d graduated from McGill University in Montréal with a degree in psychology, spoke three languages, and had a black belt in tae kwon do. She was also blessed with the body of a lingerie model. She didn’t tell me that. It was obvious from what she was wearing, which qualified more as underwear than clothes.
In fact, all the women I saw at Intertect were young, gorgeous, and scantily clad.
Slade was in for a big disappointment if he expected me to dress that way.
He hadn’t mentioned what my salary would be and I’d forgotten to ask. When I saw the figure on one of the forms, I blinked hard, hoping it wasn’t a mirage. It wasn’t.
I could almost hear Ricardo Montalban whispering in my ear. Welcome to Fantasy Island.
“Is there something wrong?” Danielle asked. I’d been so mesmerized by my salary figure that I hadn’t realized that she was still standing beside the desk.
“No, no, everything is wonderful,” I said, and I meant it. “Have you worked here long?”
“Two years,” she said.
I wondered if she made as much as, or more than, I did, but I didn’t ask.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it,” she said. “I have learned so much. Nick is an amazing man.”
“He must be,” I said. “Lots of detectives leave the force to become private detectives but few are as successful as he is. What’s his secret?”
“Substantial capitalization and abundant charm,” she said. “He made some wise investments in the stock market ten years ago and used his profits to start the company. I’ve learned that successful detection is a combination of determination, intuition, and getting people to give you what you want. Nick is a real people person. He can win over anybody he meets.”
“That’s for sure,” I said.
She gave me a knowing look. “If you’re thinking about hooking up with him, I should warn you that he’s very sweet and a great lover, but he’s a free spirit. Monogamy is not part of his personality. He wants to enjoy the buffet of life’s opportunities.”
That sounded like a direct quote. “Does that philosophy factor into his hiring practices?”
“Is that your way of asking if he sleeps with every woman he hires?”
I shrugged. “They all seem to be young and attractive.”
“And smart,” Danielle said. “There isn’t a woman here, whether it’s a secretary or an operative, who doesn’t have a degree or two under her garter belt.”
“They wear garter belts?”
She politely ignored my comment. “Sleeping with him won’t get you hired or get you promoted or get you any special treatment, beyond what he does for you in bed, of course, which is pretty exceptional.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So you give him two thumbs-up in the sack-a-roo.”
“If you get into bed with him, you won’t be sorry.”
“I’m not big on buffets. I always feel bloated afterwards,” I said. “But I appreciate the information. To be honest, I’m surprised by your candor.”
“Because I’m not shy about discussing sex?”
“Because you’re so open with intimate, and potentially unflattering, details about your boss with someone you just met,” I said. “Aren’t you being indiscreet?”
She smiled. “I’m an employee of Intertect but I am working for you and Mr. Monk now. You deserve my full honesty if we’re going to establish any kind of trust. And besides, Nick doesn’t mind my talking about his love life or I wouldn’t do it. He’s a very open guy.”
“In more ways than one,” I said.
“You don’t need to worry about me breaking any confidences as far as you and Mr. Monk are concerned,” she said. “My first loyalty now is to you both. Nick made that very clear and that’s fine with me. I consider it an honor to be working with you. I am a big admirer of your accomplishments.”
“You mean Mr. Monk’s,” I said, handing her the sheaf of completed forms.
“Mr. Monk couldn’t have done it without you,” she said. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
Just what I needed: advice on self-esteem from a twentysomething with a college degree and a body that could melt
the statue of David. What did she know about insecurity?
Danielle went on to tell me that she was at our beck and call any hour of the day or night, seven days a week, for anything we might need.
In other words, I was getting my own Natalie.
I didn’t want her to run away screaming on day one, so I decided to give her a quick briefing on Monk’s phobias and his obsessive-compulsive disorder.
It turned out that she’d already studied up on his “special needs” and was not the least bit put off by them. She said that one of the reasons that Slade handpicked her to work with us was because of her psychological background.
Danielle went out to her desk, dropped my completed forms in her out-box, and wheeled in what looked like a rolling file drawer.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Open cases for Mr. Monk to review,” she said. “Any insights he can give the detectives working on them would be welcomed. Or, if he likes, he can take over any of the cases himself.”
It looked like a huge amount of work, but considering what they were paying him, I couldn’t blame them for burying him in cases his first week.
Danielle wheeled the cart to the elevator and down to my car in the parking garage for me. Actually, she took it to a brand-new Lexus SUV parked next to my car.
The wheels of the cart collapsed like an ambulance gurney and it slid right into the back of the Lexus. She dangled a set of keys in front of me.
“This is your company car,” she said, dropping the keys into my hand. Then she offered me a credit card. “You can use this card for gasoline and any other expenses.”
“What about my car?” I asked, tipping my head towards my Buick Lucerne, a sheet-metal catfish that you have to be a card-carrying member of the AARP to drive. It was gift to me from my clueless father, who also threw in a Ferrante and Teicher CD so I could, and I quote, “crank up the hi-fi and give the stereophonics a real workout.”
“You can drive your car back and I can follow in the Lexus,” she said, “Or vice versa. Whatever you like.”
“I think we are going to be very happy at Intertect,” I said, and handed her the keys to my Buick.
I hoped she enjoyed listening to Ferrante and Teicher’s rockin’ piano version of the theme from You Light Up My Life while she drove. It was one of Monk’s favorites.
