Lee Goldberg - Mr. Monk and the Dirty Cop

She slammed into Slade before he could react, knocking the gun from his hand as he fell, his errant shot blasting one of the tires on Wurzel’s car.

Slade popped up on his feet almost immediately and so did Danielle. The two of them danced across the floor in a violent ballet of karate kicks, spins, and chops.

Wurzel, Monk, and I searched for the gun. I found it at the same moment Wurzel did. I elbowed her out of the way and snatched up the gun just as Slade trapped Danielle in a choke hold and turned to face us.

Danielle gurgled, her face bright red, her eyes bulging out. She couldn’t breathe.

“Drop the gun or I will break her neck,” Slade said.

I took aim. “You do and I’ll blow your head off. I’ll do it anyway if you don’t let her go in the next ten seconds.”

Wurzel stood to my far left, clutching herself and shaking. I didn’t know whether it was from fear or fury or both.

“You don’t have any firearms training,” Slade said. “You’re probably a lousy shot.”

Danielle looked as if she were close to passing out. A few more seconds and it wouldn’t matter whether I shot him or not.

“My husband was a navy fighter pilot,” I said, trying to keep my voice and my hand steady. I told myself that I was Dirty Harry in a bra. “Do you really want to gamble that he didn’t teach me how to shoot?”

“I did a thorough check on you,” he said.

“Then you know I met Mr. Monk after I killed an intruder in my home with my bare hands,” I said. “Whether I’m a lousy shot or not, this has got to be easier than that was.”

“Actually, you used a pair of scissors,” Monk said.

“That were in my bare hands,” I said.

“It’s not the same thing,” Monk said.

“The point is that I’m capable of killing, and giving me a gun makes it easy.” I turned back to Slade. “Shall we see if I’m right?”

“You might hit Danielle instead,” Slade said.

She gurgled some more, becoming deadweight in Slade’s arms.

“If I’m lucky, the bullet will go through her and into you,” I said. “If not, I’ll shoot again.”

“Maybe you should reconsider,” Monk said to me.

“Maybe he should,” I said.

Slade studied me like a poker player trying to detect a bluff. The pot at stake was Danielle’s life and his freedom. If he judged wrong, he could die.

He released Danielle and raised his hands, palms out.

She dropped to her knees, clutching her throat and gasping for breath. I hoped she didn’t hate me too much.

Monk sagged with relief.

I wasn’t ready to relax yet. I kept the gun trained on Slade. I could hear sirens outside, drawing closer. This would all be over soon.

“Step away from her, Nick,” I said.

He did.

“Are you okay?” I asked Danielle. She staggered to her feet and nodded to me, going to Monk’s side. A more sensitive man than Monk would have tried to comfort her in some way.

“Now what?” Slade asked casually.

“We wait for the police to arrive and arrest you,” Monk said.

The sirens were louder now, maybe only a couple of blocks away.

“On what charge?” Slade said. I found his calmness unnerving. Didn’t he know that he was finished?

“Three counts of murder and one of attempted murder,” Monk said. “For starters.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Slade said. “I came here to protect Linda while she surveyed her property. This is a dangerous place to be at night.”

“You just tried to kill her,” Monk said.

“Says who?” Slade replied.

“All of us,” Monk said.

“Not her,” Slade said, tipping his head towards Wurzel. “She’s not going to press charges or back up your crazy accusations. To do that, she’d have to confess to hiring me to murder her husband and she’s not going to do that. Are you, Linda, dear?”

The truth of his words sank into her skin like needles. Mine, too.

Wurzel shook her head slowly. “You’re a bastard, Nick.”

“Maybe so, but you’re stuck with me,” Slade said.

“Until he kills you,” I said.

Wurzel knew I was right. Her face was as white as a freshly applied geisha facial. But she had no choice. She had to play along with him tonight and worry later about the danger he posed to her. She had enough money to hire a dozen bodyguards to protect her or a hit man to take Slade down.

He had to know that, too.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Slade said. “But whether I have or not, neither one of us wants to go to prison and if we both keep our mouths shut, we never will.”

I only had to look at Monk to know that Slade was right. Monk was crestfallen, his shoulders slumped, his head lowered. This was going to be the first time that he’d been beaten by a murderer cleverer than he was.

I couldn’t bear to see Monk suffer for another second.

“You’re both going to prison tonight,” I said.

Slade shook his head as if he were deeply disappointed in me. “You haven’t been listening, Natalie.”

“Yes, I have.” I reached into my pocket with my free hand and pulled out my cell phone. “And so has my voice mail.”

That was the speed-dial number I hit when we came into the warehouse.

Slade’s cocky smile evaporated.

Monk looked at me with astonishment. “Really?”

“Really,” I said.

“And so has the nine-one-one operator,” Danielle said in a raspy voice, picking up her cell phone from the pile of bricks where she’d left it. “I kept the line open while I kicked your ass.”

Wurzel leaned against her Maybach for support and began to cry. Soon she’d be living in a cell half the size of her car and a lot less sumptuous.

Monk straightened up and nodded to himself, obviously pleased and proud of his two assistants. The case was solved. The bad guys were going to pay for their crimes. Balance had been restored.

For him, it was as close to perfect as things could ever get.

Behind us, three black-and-white police cars roared into the warehouse.

I glanced at Slade, who glared at me with such murderous intent that I was tempted to shoot him just to be safe.

“You’re fired,” he said.

I hated to lose the Lexus, the expense account, and the health plan, but at least we were still alive.

While the police handcuffed Slade and Wurzel, and Monk was briefing Disher, I called Julie and told her to get her fanny back home and warned her that I probably wouldn’t be back until morning.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” she asked.

“Lieutenant Disher,” I said.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said with true horror in her voice.

“It’s not what you think. He’s going to be taking my statement,” I said. “We caught a murderer tonight.”

“Cool,” she said.

I wished her sweet dreams and hung up. I didn’t tell her that I’d nearly been killed and I never would. There are some things she doesn’t need to know.

I slipped my phone in my purse and saw that the back door of the Maybach was open. Danielle sat in the backseat of Wurzel’s car, watching me and sipping a bottle of water.

“Comfy?” I asked.

“I figure this is as close as I will ever get to a car like this, so I should take advantage of the opportunity,” she said. “And the minifridge. She’s got Godiva chocolate, grapes, and six different kinds of cheese in there.”

“You saved our lives tonight,” I said. “Thank you.”

She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “You returned the favor.”

“About that,” I said, hesitating. “You know that was all just talk, right? I mean, I wouldn’t have done anything to hurt you.”