THE GREATEST AMERICAN MONKO
BY
BOB WRIGHT
AUTHOR'S NOTE: If the GAH storyline sounds somewhat familiar to some readers, I decided, since my original story Philadelphia Freedom was going nowhere, to merge it together with Monk and see what happens there.
Adrian Monk and all releated characters and indicia are registered trademarks of USA Network, Mandeville Films, and Touchstone Television. The Greatest American Hero and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of Stephen J. Cannell Productions. And now, sit back and enjoy the story.
"November 11, 1981, November 12, 1981, November 13, 1981..." Adrian Monk slowly read off the dates on the newspapers in his brother's den. He had to make sure they were all in chronological order before he boxed them all to be loaded into the truck they'd rented for the trip to the airport.
"How far are you?" Ambrose leaned over his shoulder.
"Only about a quarter of the way," Adrian informed him with a shake of his head, "There's no way we're going to get every single one packed before the plane leaves, Ambrose."
"He has to have all of them," Ambrose protested, "He needs to catch up with everything."
"Oh, I just think he already knows what's going on, Ambrose," Adrian shook his head. Ever since their father had called them about two months ago following the premiere of the show based on Adrian's life and invited both brothers to join him on vacation in Philadelphia over the Fourth of July weekend, Ambrose had been practically foaming at the mouth with anticipation at meeting him again. Thus, they had spent a good two weeks cataloguing and boxing everything the instruction manual writer had deemed worthy to take with him on what was to be his very first vacation--which was just about everything in the house.
His assistant was in fact trudging into view now with four large boxes in hand, looking quite worn out--which, given that it was five in the morning, wasn't all that surprising. "I think that's the last of it from the attic," she informed Ambrose, "Luckily. I really need a break between this and taking your brother's stuff."
"Well Natalie, you know how important having those things are to me as well," Adrian told her.
"Your refrigerator, Mr. Monk?" she had to ask.
"You never know when these hotel fridges can just cut out," the detective said, taking a dust rag in hand and wiping at a dusty spot next to the mantle that had long been obscured by all of Ambrose's newspapers, "Better safe than sorry I figure. Actually, I'd better clean this better before we go."
"We have to go in ten minutes, Monk," Captain Leland Stottlemeyer entered the den with his own set of boxes, "That plane leaves in an hour and a half; we'll all get bumped if we're late. Trust me from someone who's been up in the air more than you have."
"Hey," Lieutenant Randall Disher stumbled into sight, carrying a large filing cabinet in his arms--and straining hard to avoid dropping it, "Where do you want me to put this?"
Stottlemeyer rolled his eyes. "When Monk's brother said to get all the mail, Randy, he didn't mean the WHOLE CABINET." he pointed out, "Well, better go see if there's any space in the truck for that."
He walked to the door with his own boxes. Disher set the cabinet down. "So, did I tell you guys how exciting it is to be going back home?" he asked them.
"Exactly five times in the last twenty-four hours," Ambrose told him.
"We're going to have to stop by my old house," the lieutenant excitedly rambled, "I've been waiting so long to show it to the captain, to all of you. You know, when I was young, it was always thrill to go into Center City. It'll be good to share it with someone."
"But we all know the real reason you're so happy to go," Natalie told him, "Since you first heard Sharona was going to be there, you've been chomping at the bit."
"Randy, the clock's ticking," Stottlemeyer impatiently called from the front step. "Right," Disher struggled to lift up the filing cabinet and staggered toward the door. This was followed by a loud thumping and Stottlemeyer yelling, "OOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!! RANDY!!!!"
Adrian couldn't help suppressing a small laugh. He was glad that the captain and lieutenant had miraculously been free to join them on this vacation. The captain had also asked his sons (whom he was happily seeing more of now since the courts had given him extended custody rights recently) and girlfriend to join them, but they'd regretably been busy and unable to come. The detective had been able to convince another associate of his to come along, however, and there came a thumping as he now entered the den as well and set down his own boxes. "That's everything from the kitchen shelves," Dr. Charles Kroger informed Ambrose, "I'd guess it's time for us to lock up and get going."
"I guess so," Ambrose took a very deep breath, "Vacation. I thought that word would never apply to me."
"So you never went on vacation as a kid?" Natalie asked him.
"An exciting trip for us was to go up to the attic during a thunderstorm and watch the raindrops fall," Adrian shook his head, "It was fun, though, after about nine, ten years once you got used to it."
There came the blowing of a car horn out front. "Time to go catch the plane," the detective said with a shiver at the thought of boarding another plane, "Let's go Ambrose."
Ambrose nodded, but stopped once he reached the doorframe. "I...It's not...I can't go out there," he announced, retreating back slowly, "I...It's not right to just leave here."
"Now Ambrose," Dr. Kroger informed him, "Think of the opportunities this possesses for you. You can finally tell everyone you could leave this place on your own free will."
"But Philadelphia's not...here," the instruction manual writer said nervously, "And what if Dad comes back while I'm out?"
"Now Ambrose, use your head," Adrian groaned, "If he's waiting for us in Philadelphia, do you honestly think he's going to come back here while we're there?"
"Mr. Monk, please," Natalie gave him a harsh look. She took Ambrose's hand gently and told him, "Come on, you're going to like this. It's easy, just take a step out. Now another step."
Dr. Kroger took Ambrose's other hand. The two of them helped him out the door ever so slowly. Adrian shook his head as he turned the key in the lock. And Natalie complained HE was incapable of taking care of himself...
He kicked at the placemat to get rid of excess dirt smudges he'd noticed in it earlier before nodding and walking toward Natalie's car. There was a low moan from the back seat as he got in. "Are we at the airport yet?" a sleepy Julie asked him.
"No, no, we're still here," Adrian stared out the windshield as the truck drivers slid down the back door of the rental truck, which was packed from front to back with his and Ambrose's items, "You did put my non-essentials in the trunk, didn't you?"
"Mr. Monk, you saw me do it with your own eyes," she told him crossly, probably due to the early hour, "The sooner we get there, the better; all this packing's too much."
"You think you're upset," Ambrose slid into the back seat next to her, "How do you think I feel? It took me thirty-five years to get everything there in order, and now it's going to be a nightmare getting everything in place in Philadelphia once we land and hit the hotel. Which will be in exactly seven hours and thirteen minutes, assuming smooth air travel."
"Ambrose, Ambrose, please, nothing on rough air travel," Adrian looked green at the mere thought of this, "Don't get me upset before we even start. Natalie, vomit bag," he instructed her as she climbed in and started the engine, "I don't feel so good."
"We haven't even left already," she raised both eyebrows at him.
"It's never too early to start worrying about something," the detective shrugged, "Ac, Actually, I think we should stop back at my place; I think I left the water running before..."
Natalie gave a quick thumbs up to Stottlemeyer (still clutching his foot from the filing cabinet) and Dr. Kroger before quickly shifting into drive and pulling out into traffic. "Don't start, please," she told him, "I want this week to go smoothly."
"I can tell you right now, it probably won't," Adrian flicked at the air conditioner vents, "Just so you're not surprised when whatever ends up happening happens. The air flow here, it's not even, I think this vent needs fixing. Maybe we..."
A clearly audible groan from Natalie convinced him he would be foolhardy to continue the conversation. He glanced out the window as the sun started coming up in the east. "So, I guess there's a lot of interesting things we may do once we get to Philadelphia," he blurted out, "I hope it'll be...fun. At least it will be nice to see Sharona again. I hope those residual checks I asked the show producers to give her have been getting through so she doesn't strangle me once the plane lands."
"Fortunately for you they got the first one last week," Julie reassured him, "Benjy told me when he replied to me telling him about the hospital incident. I hope he's got the thirty percent for me we agreed on; there's a load of malls in the area that..."
"Hey, we're not going to shop all the time on this trip," Natalie gave her a strong look through the rearview mirror, "Given that someone could only manage a D+ in history last semester, it might help your chances of being cleared for joining any more clubs next year to pay attention when we visit the landmarks."
"I told you I would have been happy to help her out," Ambrose remarked. Then he spontaneously remarked, "I, I really think we should go back, I"m not comfortable out here..."
"Ambrose, do you want to see Dad again or not?" Adrian posed, "Because if you don't, this is your last chance to back out."
Ambrose was quiet for a moment. "Of course I want to see him," he said softly, "More than anything. But like I said before, I'm not like you Adrian. I'm not the courageous person you are--flying when you were twenty-seven and all. This is all new to me."
Adrian knew his brother had a point and decided not to press it any further. His gaze fell back to the sunrise. Hopefully whatever waited for him in Philadelphia wouldn't be too bad.
At the U.S. Mint in the City of Brotherly Love, a formally-dressed man was at that moment barging in through the main entrance. His sleep had been awakened by reports from the night watchmen that the alarms were going off--before the phone had abruptly died. His first impression was not a positive one; the doors to the main minting line had been kicked open, and the bodies of several guards lay strewn along the floor. Whoever was inside was very dangerous. But at least he'd notified the police, and they'd be there within ten minutes.
He could hear voices coming from inside. Flattening himself against the wall, he glanced inside to see several men in military uniforms hefting crates of unminted coins around. "Faster, men, faster!" the apparent leader of the squad was barking, "The United States government can't afford to fall any further into the depths of shame it has already!"
Any further conversation he might have heard, however, was relegated to the background when something cold and metallic grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him very high up in the air. "You're here early," the person behind him said with a distinct Russian accent, "No matter. Your usefulness has already been used up."
He had the opportunity to spin around and catch a glance at his assailant before the metallic hand clamped down on his trachea. His one thought before everything went permanently black was who could possibly stop this menace...