Mr. Monk and the Stamp Collector
I was going to write that I do not own the characters but actually in this first scene I do. I don't own Monk and the gang, but I enjoy their company very much. It is a tribute to the writers and actors of Monk that we know the characters so well that we can write more scenes for them.
If you are reading, please review. I need the help, hugs, and advice!
Prologue
It was pitch black in the attic. It smelled musty and earthy. Disgusting really, like there was a dead mouse or something worse lying around somewhere. Hidden behind boxes and underneath part of an old sun umbrella which extended from where it was lying across a crate, he tried not to breathe at all. Prepared for a stay of many hours if necessary, he had bottled water in an otherwise empty toolbox and crackers in the pockets of his windbreaker. He had a black padded bag which he brought to protect his treasure with once he found it. He tried to relax his muscles in order to avoid cramping up but he also needed to stay alert.
Hours passed uncomfortably for the young man and he tried to focus on his task.
He was about to come into a huge windfall if only…if only it could work out as he planned. Gaining entrance to the old mansion had been easy. He just walked in the back entrance wearing the plumber's shirt and a ball cap that he had bought at Good Will for four dollars. He mumbled something unintelligible as he carried his toolbox through the kitchen and pointed to a door. No one had stopped him or even really looked at him.
Reading in the paper about the priceless Stanley Gibbons catalogue circa 1865, had been the beginning a seed of an idea which had developed into his plan. Aware that he knew of someone with copies and collections of rare and very old catalogues and collections of stamps, he realized he had an opportunity.
Finally, the house settled. The lights were long out. All sounds of TVs or music were gone. There were no footsteps, no doors closing, no sounds at all coming from downstairs. It was time.
Swiftly but silently the thin twenty year old slipped to the attic staircase. Keeping his feet on the outer sides of each stair step eliminated creaking noises – a trick he had learned playing hide and seek in his Gran's house as a boy. He unlatched the door and pulled it inward, stopping to listen, stopping to slow his breathing, he paused.
Hearing nothing he continued down the third floor back stairs past the bedrooms on the second floor to the first floor. Arriving in a back entry foyer he paused again. Confidently he started across the huge kitchen to the swinging door he had used many hours earlier. He passed through a hallway, really silent now on the plush carpet.
He stopped at the entrance to a library and cocked his blond head to one side. From reading he knew exactly where to look. He lit a small flashlight and turning to his left he slipped along the wall of books not even noticing the hundreds of valuable volumes. When he reached the antique carved lectern he recognized it from the newspaper photos. There on the podium sat an enormous old book, which he lifted carefully and slipped into a handled cloth bag.
And then the lights went on. He turned frightened, and the lights went out again. Permanently.
It's a Jungle out there…
Author's note:
During the last hundred and more years Stanley Gibbons catalogues have become veritable encyclopedias of stamps, the authoritative guides to market values and indispensable works of reference. Stanley Gibbons Ltd. catalogues are virtually the history of philately. The early issues of the famous philatelic catalogue are priceless. shop./index.asp?pagepubs&catgroupingcatalogues