Monroe wasn't psychic. Or clairvoyant. Or whatever palm readers are called. Therefore, he could not have predicted that Nick would be on his door step with a bottle of wine.
"Congratulations. Another case closed." Nick stepped across the threshold and was in Monroe's living room in no time.
"And, it was the butler?" Monroe asked looking at the wine label. Finally, the detective was learning the meaning of good wine.
"It's never the butler." Nick was already removing a beer from the refrigerator.
"Who then?" Monroe found his wine glasses.
"The maid." They sat at his table and reviewed the end to another fantastically Grimm case. No pun intended.
Monroe was enjoying the sweet and what can only be described as sultry taste of the wine when his phone went off.
"MONROE!" A familiar redhead was on the line.
"Angelina?" Monroe was in a bit of shock. She had vanished for who knows how long. And now she called out of the blue?
Nick was bolt upright. "Angelina?" He echoed.
The sense of urgency in her voice tripled as she asked, "Is the Grimm there? Put this on speaker."
Monroe set the phone on the table and did as he was told.
"Hey, Angelina," Nick began.
"I'm not telling you where I am."
"Fine." Nick looked a bit disappointed at that.
"Monroe, whatever you do, don't let go of that Grimm." It took both of them a second to process it.
"What?"
"You remember Gregory?" Monroe recalled a distant memory of Angelina's blonde second cousin. Nick's eyebrows went up.
"Your blutbad cousin. Yeah, I remember." Monroe looked at Nick hoping it would be enough. Nick gave him the "tell me more later" look.
"Well, he has a pet Grimm." Nick looked shocked and Monroe was none to coherent.
"A pet what?" He asked.
"Grimm. He introduced me. I don't remember her name, but she is a Grimm. And, she did some freaky mind thing and told me about Hal's death and how it was a bauershwin and what hotel I was staying at and the steak I had for lunch. The little creep practically told me my life story."
"Oh?" Sherlock meets Grimm. Definitely freaky.
"Anyway, don't do anything stupid. She's only two months in and has ten kills already." Jedi meets Sherlock meets Grimm.
"Damn." This was Nick's turn to turn monosyllabic. He hadn't even killed one yet. Let alone ten.
"Some call her El Diablo." Monroe and Nick turned to each other. "More often, The Devil." Monroe wished he hadn't learned Spanish in high school. "You better watch out Grimm. She's ready to take over your place as the west coast Grimm."
"Thanks, Angelina." Monroe managed after a swig of wine. She hung up.
"Nick?" Monroe was slightly worried by the look in his eyes.
"How old do you think she is?" Nick looked like he was seeing a ghost.
"I don't know. But leave it for now. We're celebrating." Monroe got Nick another beer; heaven knew the boy needed it. They both needed something stronger than wine. Perhaps, a few shots of brandy or whiskey.
They didn't speak another word of The Devil.
I don't know why. Wall is up.