by Lee Goldberg
But it had all worked out. The van was now trapped between the cop cars behind it and us in front. It wasn’t going anywhere, Yuki was safe, and the money had been recovered.
The plan had worked.
More or less.
As for the second Blackthorn vehicle, the one I assumed had blocked the other end of the alley on Larkin, it was probably long gone, the operatives rushing back to Tewksbury to evacuate the house they were occupying before the authorities arrived.
It didn’t matter. It was all over now.
I took a few steps toward the van to make my arrest, but then I saw its back wheels spin, kicking up smoke.
Oh hell.
The van roared toward me like a race car just leaving the starting line.
“Shoot!” Monk yelled from the sidewalk.
I thought about it as the van bore down on me. I wasn’t the world’s greatest shot, or even the world’s 150,000th greatest shot, and Yuki was in that van.
Did I really want to take the chance that a stray bullet might find her?
I didn’t.
So at the last second, I dove out of the way.
The actors on TV shows always make dives look so smooth and graceful. What they leave out is that when you are diving onto rough asphalt, and you aren’t a professional stuntman who knows how to land and roll, and there’s no pad to cushion your fall, it’s a hard, painful, and bloody impact.
I am not a professional stuntman.
And I certainly didn’t have a pad.
I hit the ground hard, lost my grip on my gun, and rolled up against a parked car just as the van T-boned my Buick and plowed it right through the window of Allstars Donuts and Burgers.
I never liked the Buick much, but I felt bad for the restaurant. Luckily, the few patrons in the place managed to scramble out of the way and were unharmed by the car that landed in their lunch.
That’s when two black Suburbans skidded to a stop on either side of the van and half a dozen guys in blue Windbreakers with FBI written in big yellow letters on the back jumped out, guns drawn, led by Special Agents Thorpe and Cardea.
Kidnapping is a federal offense, which was why my second call after the one to Yuki had been to the feds to report that their stolen money was on the move.
The feds also arrived later than I’d expected.
So much for my precision timing.
I made a vow to myself that the next time that I came up with a scheme to nail a team of crack private security agents for kidnapping, and clear me and Monk of a crime, and recover money stolen from an FBI evidence room, I would make my calls to law enforcement for backup a lot earlier.
I reached under the parked car for my gun and realized that my hands were scraped and bleeding. The knees of my jeans were torn, but that only made them look more stylish.
Monk and Irwin rushed over and helped me to my feet.
“You were incredible,” Irwin said.
“That was one of the dumbest things you’ve ever done,” Monk said. “But I’ll have to check my list at home to find out where exactly this one ranks.”
“You’ve kept a list?” I said.
“I keep a list of everything.” Monk handed me a wipe. Stupidly, I used it on my hands. It stung worse than scraping them did.
“We should go out for coffee sometime,” Irwin said.
“Oh, come on, Irwin,” I said, shaking my hands, hoping that would make the sting go away. “Do you really think that this is the best time to hit on me?”
“We’ve bonded in the heat of battle,” he said.
I checked the intersection. The FBI agents had the van surrounded. Four Blackthorn guys came out with their hands on their heads and, wisely, so did Yuki.
More cop cars pulled up behind the FBI vehicles and officers ran into the restaurant to make sure nobody was hurt. Beyond them, I could see a paramedic unit, a fire truck, and an ambulance heading our way.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve still got a job to do.” I held up my badge and headed into the intersection. “I’m Officer Natalie Teeger, Summit Police Department, and you’re all under arrest for kidnapping, resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer, reckless driving, and general bad behavior.” I looked over at Thorpe and gestured to Yuki. “She’s the victim. You can let her go.”
“Where’s the money?” Thorpe asked.
“It’s in the van,” I said. “The brown box.”
Cardea climbed into the van and tore open the box, exposing the neatly wrapped stacks of cash.
“This is all a big misunderstanding,” said the guy who’d Tasered Yuki. “We’re security professionals, she’s a thief, and that’s stolen money that we’ve recovered.”
“Yes, it is,” I said. “From the FBI evidence room.”
“What?” he said, stunned.
That’s when Yuki, in one lightning move, reached under the man’s jacket, grabbed his Taser, and zapped him with it, bringing him to his knees before Thorpe snatched the device from her.
“Stings, doesn’t it?” she said and gave the Blackthorn guy a kick for good measure, then moved over to us.
Stottlemeyer and Devlin walked into the intersection. Devlin looked around at the destruction and nodded approvingly.
“I have to admit that I’m impressed, Teeger. This is the kind of crazy, jackass dangerous thing I might have done to make a major arrest.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I wouldn’t take that as a compliment,” Monk said. “I’d look at it as a wake-up call.”
“You might have brought us into this a little earlier,” Stottlemeyer said to me.
I nodded. “At least ten minutes earlier.”
“I was thinking before you made the decision to pull this crazy stunt in the first place,” Stottlemeyer said.
Cardea brought a stack of the money over to Thorpe to examine. “It’s definitely our cash.”
Thorpe looked at it, then glared at me. “Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on here? When you called, you promised us our money and the man who had it, not a demolition derby.”
“Special Agent Thorpe,” I said, “meet U.S. Postal Carrier Irwin Deeb.”
Irwin offered his hand. “Always a pleasure to meet another officer of the federal government.”
Thorpe ignored the outstretched hand and looked at me. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“He recovered your money,” Monk said.
“I don’t understand,” Thorpe said.
“Whoever stole it from the evidence room sent it to a mailbox service,” Monk said. “Irwin happened to be the postal carrier delivering the box, which he accidentally dropped. The box broke open, he saw the cash, and he gave in to temptation.”
“For which I am deeply sorry and ashamed,” Irwin said.
“In return for his valor today,” I said, “I’m recommending that he get immunity from prosecution for whatever slight transgressions he might have committed along the way.”
“You are?” Thorpe said with a derisive little snort. “How beneficent of you.”
“What about his coconspirator, the one who stole the money from the evidence room?” Cardea said. “You think we should give him a free ride, too?”
“I had nothing to do with the theft,” Irwin said.
“So you claim,” Cardea said. “How do we know you aren’t working for Salvatore Lucarelli?”
“Agent Cardea has a point, Natalie,” Stottlemeyer said. “Does that immunity you’re proposing extend to Jeroen Berge’s murder as well?”
“Who is Jeroen Berge?” Thorpe asked, scratching his hand.
“It’s going to take us some time to explain everything,” Monk said. “And you’re going to need a couple of hours to sort through all of this mess.”
“Which she caused,” Thorpe said, pointing a finger accusingly at me.
“She certainly did,” Monk said. “I suggest that we all continue this conversation at the Federal Building when you’re done here.”
“Oh really?” Thorpe said. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?”
The same question occurred to me, too.
“We’re taking Yuki home,” Monk said and looked at me. “Aren’t we?”
“Yes, Mr. Monk, we are,” I said, proud of him for putting his brother’s interests, and his heart, before everything else. When it came down to it, Monk usually did the right thing. But then it occurred to me there was one big obstacle remaining. “As soon as we get a ride.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Thorpe said.
Stottlemeyer tossed a set of keys to me. “Use my car. Amy will go along with you and take Yuki’s statement on the way. But the mailman stays with us.”
“Thank you, Leland,” I said.
“I’m not doing this for you,” he said. “I’m doing it for Ambrose. I haven’t decided yet whether to congratulate you or arrest you for what you did here.”
Stottlemeyer turned his back on me and walked away, taking Irwin with him. Devlin gave me a smile.
“That’s high praise in my book,” she said.
Monk looked at me. “It’s a bad book.”
“I was on the force for years before my commanding officer told me that he couldn’t decide whether to take my badge or give me commendation,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, you just became a real cop.”
Oddly enough, I was flattered. I had no idea her approval meant anything to me. But it did.
“Give me the keys and I’ll get the car,” she said.
I gave them to her and she headed off.
Yuki came over to me, looked as if she was about to say something, and then just gave me a hug instead.
Monk frowned with disapproval.
“Juanita Banana and Blackthorn will go down in a big way for this,” Yuki said. “I’ll never have to worry about them again.”
“That was the plan,” I said. “Well, half of it anyway.”
“I owe you one,” she said, letting go of me.
“Make Ambrose happy,” I said, “and we’re even.”
Monk shook his head.
“What?” I said. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“You shouldn’t have let her hug you,” Monk said.
“Why not?” Yuki said. “Is there a law against simple human contact?”
“Because now you’re covered with dog hair, too,” he said, and plucked a hair off of her with his tweezers.
“Stop that,” Yuki said, backing away.
“You’ll thank me later,” Monk said. He held the hair up in front of him, cocked his head, and studied it. The hair was white.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
But he didn’t answer. He put the hair in a baggie, labeled it with a pen, and stuck it in his pocket. I was about to repeat the question, but that’s when Devlin drove up in Stottlemeyer’s car.
“You drive,” Devlin said to me, getting out of the car and leaving the engine running. She pointed to Yuki. “You sit in the back with me and tell me all about what happened.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mr. Monk and the Perfect Meal
The ride into Marin County was long, since we got stuck in rush-hour traffic, but it gave Devlin all the time she needed to get Yuki’s story.
I explained how we found Yuki and I gave Devlin the Web address so she could see the surveillance video of Blackthorn’s first abduction attempt.
“Juanita Banana should have been satisfied when you were sent to prison,” Devlin said. “Chasing you all these years, and the legal fees they are about to incur, are going to cost them a lot more than what you stole.”
“They are a billion-dollar company with interests all over the world,” Yuki said. “The cost means nothing to them. They wanted to send a message to anyone else who might dare to expose their greed and their avarice.”
“They’re sending one,” I said. “But it’s not the one they intended.”
When I pulled up to the curb in front of Ambrose’s house, I noticed there were no service vehicles around and the home across the street appeared to be empty. Blackthorn hadn’t wasted any time closing down their operation and evacuating their team.
“This is where you grew up?” Devlin said, looking at the Monk family home.
“Yes, it is,” Monk said. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“It looks so normal,” Devlin said.
“What were you expecting?” I asked.
“An institution,” she said.
The front door of the house opened and I saw Ambrose framed in the doorway.
The four of us emerged from the car all at once and then something extraordinary happened. As soon as Ambrose spotted Yuki, he burst out of the house.
He leaped off the porch, ran down the front walk, and flew into her open arms, nearly tackling her.
They embraced for a long moment, Ambrose holding her tight, as if she were a life preserver and he might drown if he let go.
I glanced at Monk, and saw him staring at his brother in disbelief, his head cocked at an angle.
Ambrose kissed Yuki all over her face, making her giggle like a child. Then he took a step back, his hands still clutching her shoulders, and looked at her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “And you’re back.”
“You came outside,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I want to be wherever you are, though I’d prefer if that was indoors,” he said. “Did you mean what you wrote in your letter?”
“What part?”
“The part where you said that you’d never leave me?”
“Of course I did,” she said.
Ambrose let go of her, took a deep breath, and dropped to one knee. “Then I would deeply appreciate it if you would consider the remote possibility of maybe marrying me at some point in the future, if you have no other options.”
He reached into the pocket of his cardigan sweater and held out a blue plastic ring with a brown treasure chest on it as the setting. She took the ring and got down on her knees in front of him.
I felt like we should go, that we were intruding on their moment, but I couldn’t move. Monk was as transfixed as I was. Devlin was watching the whole scene with an expression of bewilderment.
Yuki looked at the ring. “What is this?”
“A Cap’n Crunch ring,” he said. “I’ve been saving it for you since 1965. The lid opens.”
“It’s wonderful,” she said and slipped it on her finger.
“So will you think about my proposal?”
She shook her head. “No, Ambrose, I won’t.”
He nodded and started to get up. “It’s okay, I understand. No offense taken.”
Yuki grabbed his arm. “I don’t need to think about it. The answer is yes.”
He looked down at her in shock. “Would you mind repeating that, just for the record?”
She stood up, put her arms around him, and laid her head against his chest.
“Yes, I will marry you, Ambrose Monk. Now. Tomorrow. A year from now. Whenever and wherever you want. I am yours.”
Ambrose smiled and now he looked at Monk. “Did you hear that, Adrian? She said yes. You’re my witness.”
For a moment Monk seemed at a loss for words, even for breath, and I was afraid of what he might say once he found both.
“I’m so glad that I was able to be here for it,” Monk said.
“Me, too,” Ambrose said.
“But there’s a problem.” Monk pointed at Ambrose’s legs. “You have a stain on your knee from kneeling on the wet grass.”
Yuki stepped back so Ambrose could look at his knees.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had stained pants,” Ambrose said. “As I recall from Mother, grass stains are notoriously difficult to clean.”
Monk nodded grimly. “I’m afraid they might never come out.”
Ambrose dropped to his other knee and when he rose again, he had matching stains on both legs. It didn’t surprise m
e that he did that. He was a Monk, after all, and symmetry is everything to them.
“I hope that’s true, Adrian. I’m going to treasure these filthy pants.” Ambrose seemed to notice Devlin for the first time. He extended his hand to her. “Pardon me, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ambrose Monk.”
“Lieutenant Amy Devlin,” she said. “Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be serving marshmallows, Strawberry Pop-Tarts, and Fiji water in the house in a moment. But first, if you will all excuse me, I’d like to take a stroll around the block with my fiancée.”
Ambrose offered his hand to Yuki. She took it. And together they walked slowly, hand in hand, down the tree-lined street, Ambrose carefully avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk.
We watched them until they disappeared around the corner. Devlin shook her head.
“A Cap’n Crunch ring?” she said.
Monk took a pair of tweezers from his pocket and plucked a dog hair from Devlin’s coat. “They are quite rare.”
“They’re plastic and come from a cereal box,” she said.
“Anyone can buy a diamond.” Monk examined the hair, then put it in a fresh baggie and sealed it. “He’s been saving that ring for the right woman for nearly fifty years.”
“So do you think she’s the right woman, Mr. Monk?” I asked.
“The tattooed, ex-con biker chick who stole a million dollars and pushed a man in front of a bus?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Her.”
Monk shook his head. “No, that’s not her anymore. Now she’s the woman who got my brother out of the house. That makes her the right one.”
* * *
Monk, Devlin, Yuki, and I sat around the dining room table with a glass of Fiji water, an empty plate, and a knife and fork in front of each of us as Ambrose brought in a platter of Strawberry Pop-Tarts and a bowl of marshmallows.
“I’ve never been served Pop-Tarts and marshmallows together before,” Devlin said.
“That’s because only the most rare and special events merit such a combination of delights,” Ambrose said, as he used tongs to place a Pop-Tart on her plate. “Be careful, it’s hot.”
“Two thousand years ago, marshmallows were a delicacy reserved only for the gods and the pharaohs,” Yuki said, repeating a factoid that I know she learned from Ambrose. “It was a crime for anyone else to eat them. But now that anybody can have a marshmallow, we take them for granted. Serving them at moments like this reminds us to appreciate the little things that bring joy to our lives.”
