Adrian hastily stepped out of sight beside the door. Given the rather upset earful Thorpe had given him before leaving San Francisco the last time they'd met--making it quite clear in no uncertain terms how mad he was to have his world class computers bested by the mind of a man who was, to put it mildly, a bit unusual--he had a feeling meeting him face to face at the moment wasn't the best of ideas. "Um, he's, he's all yours," he told Scali, waving him forward. The commissioner raised an eyebrow, but stepped outside anyway. "So you're the gentlemen from the FBI whose coming was foretold to me, I suppose?" he inquired as politely as he could muster.

"Thorpe, FBI," the agent greeted him without the slightest bit of emotion. He stared at the commissioner. "Say, are you the brother of that guy Markle or whatever his name was...?"

"No, no, I don't know him, never even heard of him before the papers picked up on his sick antics," Scali said emphatically. Adrian could understand why his associate was getting tired of being compared to his psychotic lookalike across the country.

"Well, anyway, we'll have this string of murders wrapped up in no time, Commissioner; my best men are in there right now plugging away on everything we've been told about the case," Thorpe told him with just a tinge of superiority.

"Well you see, that's the thing, how exactly did you guys get all the information on this case?" Scali asked him, "Because I sure don't remember calling anyone at your cozy little bureau about this."

"We have our methods, Commissioner, that's all you need to know," Thorpe said lazily, "Now, I hope we can come to the understanding of..."

"And another thing," Scali cut him off again as Adrian noticed a smudge on the nearest window and gestured for Paulie to toss him another wipe, "You didn't have to bother coming down here anyway; we've made a load of progress in this case in just the last twenty-four hours, and we'll probably have it solved ourselves in no time."

"Sure, that's very obvious, Commissioner. The fact that you let the body count get up to six victims speaks volumes about your prowess at handling this case," Thorpe cracked.

"Was that a shot!?" Scali's voice rose drastically as Adrian started wiping away at the smudge, "Now let's get something straight here...!"

"Yes, let's; I am in charge here now, Commissioner, and you're going to do whatever I...what is that sound?" Thorpe cut off as Adrian strained deeper to get the last of the smudge out, "That sounds an awful lot like...oh no, don't tell me, it can't be..."

The door to the Historical Society swung open before Adrian could make any attempt to hide. "Um, hello, Agent Thorpe," he said, forcing a wave. A deep scowl crossed the federal agent's face at the sight of the detective. "Adrian Monk," he glowered, "Why am I so not surprised!?"

"As I was saying," Scali stuck his head in the door, "I have a secret weapon working on this case for the Eastbridge P.D., and you're looking at him. And, for your information, I don't work for you if he doesn't work for me, kapeesh?"

Thorpe growled and tapped his foot as he tried to think of the best way out of the corner he was being painted in. "All right," he growled, "But we're going to set the ground rules right here; he stays out of my way, he does not overrule anything I say, and if he does anything, ANYTHING to hinder this operation, I'm having both him and you arrested and charged with whatever I can think of, is that understood!?"

"Now look...!"

"I said is that understood, Commissioner!!?? Well, is it understood!!??" Thorpe barked at Scali when he failed to immediately answer. "OK, fine, I'll play along," Scali grumbled, "But for the record..."

"Thank you, but I don't care what you have to say, because as I pointed out, I'm in charge now, and your opinion means nothing," Thorpe cut him off, "Now if you'll follow me, I'll show you what I've deduced about our killer...not you," he jerked a finger at Adrian as the detective started to follow them out the door, "You don't set foot in my truck, period, I've decided."

"So I see you're still upset about last time," Adrian couldn't help cracking a small smirk; seeing the defeated look on Thorpe's face when he'd caught the Six Way Killer had almost made up for everything he'd suffered earlier in the case (and afterwards, as it had taken almost a month to finish writing all the apology notes for the participants of the slumber party he'd mistakenly had raided). Irked, Thorpe jerked a finger at Scali to go to the van, then locked the door behind him. "Let's get one thing straight, Monk; I hate you, and everything about you," he walked towards the detective, a murderous look on his face, "They laughed at me for months back at the bureau; that was the most advanced set of forensic computers in the country, and you embarrassed me by making them all look worthless."

"Well, Agent Thorpe, you're forgetting you were after the wrong guy all along..."

"No, you're going to shut up till I'm finished talking!" Thorpe barked him. "I mean it, shut it!" he ordered as the detective opened his mouth the protest, "You will not humiliate me again. I don't care what Scali says, as of now, you have no further role in this investigation except as an observer, so you just follow us around, and keep your mouth shut at all times. You violate this in ANY way, and you go to jail, understood!!?? Well!!!???"

"I'm wondering," Adrian had to point out, "If you are wrong again with your advanced computer analysis, and I'm not permitted to put you back on the right track, how are you going to keep yourself from getting embarassed again?"

"I won't be wrong," Thorpe all but boasted, "I've got more advanced machinery this time; even your so-called supercomputer of a brain can't top what I've got now. So watch and learn how everyone who's got half a brain does it today," he walked to the door and unlocked it, "And remember, just one step out of line, and your career is over."

"I don't think there are any charges you can get to stick about what you're insinuating," Adrian's smirk remained on his face.

"I don't care if they stick," his nemesis warned him icily, "If it gets you out of my way, that's all I care about."

He stormed back over to his truck, where Scali was waiting with a frown on his face. Two large, hulking agents stepped in front of the doorway, blocking Adrian's path when he tried to follow. With a shrug, the detective unfolded his claw and started picking up litter around the truck, all the while listening to the conversation going on inside. "...this one, we fed into it the ages of the victims and the severity of the kills they received," Thorpe was explaining to Scali, "Cross-referencing that with the distance between each house where the murders took place, and taking into account the weather conditions on each of the nights in question, we've been able to create a psychological profile of your killer, Commissioner. Any questions?"

"Yeah, you don't happen to get HBO on one of these screens, do you?" Scali sounded completely bored.

"This is dead serious, Commissioner!" Thorpe upbraided him, "I'm giving you all the information you need to know to catch the killer you've failed to catch on your own. Which, given all the information available..." Adrian heard several keys being punched in, and one of the computers beeping, "...should be this guy. Look familiar?"

"Oh yeah, in fact I'd say this would be a big break, if I wasn't convinced this was Walter Matthau on your screen here," Scali still sounded bored, "And as I'm sure you know, interrogating him right now wouldn't be that successful for either of us. Well, this has been a lot of fun--in fact I'd encourage you guys to take your fun house here on the road and make a load of money off it--but I've got more important things to do right now, like catch our killer and get several hundred other perps off the street, so, have a nice day."

"Don't you walk away from me, Commissioner!" Thorpe warned him as he started to step off the bus, "I made it clear I'm calling the shots here, and you don't leave until I tell you...!!"

"You know what else," Scali had a mischievous grin plastered on his face as he turned around one last time, "You'd be perfect on Springer. I mean, the raw churning anger you're letting out now'll really wow Jerry and the audience over. Think it over, why don't you? Ta ta."

He pushed the door closed, drowning out whatever loud angry epitaph Thorpe was now shouting at him from inside. "The trick, Monk, is to know how to handle these guys," he told the detective cheerily, walking back to his car, "We just steer clear of them, they won't bother us. Now to..."

"In there, McKane," Adrian pointed in the nearest Historical Society window. Inside McKane's office, the curator was in the middle of a heated phone conversation, waving his arms and yelling loudly at whoever was on the other end of the line. "Well, looks like we rattled him good," the commissioner nodded knowingly, "I've have surveillance on him to follow up; we'll have who else he's working with in no time. But right now, let's go take care of some other business."


"Half an hour out from Davenport," announced the conductor on the bus, "That's a half hour from Davenport."

Near the back of the bus, Disher leaned over a sleeping Stottlemeyer. "Sounds like just the place you'd like to stop, huh?" he asked Natalie, busy reading a copy of USA Today she'd picked up in Denver.

"Oh I get it," she cracked a knowing smile without looking up from the paper, "Well, I never have actually been to Davenport, although the sister of one of my aunts was from Iowa. They said the..."

Stottlemeyer's cell phone rang loudly, rousing the captain from his sleep. "Yeah, Stottlemeyer here," he said into it after nearly dropping it on the floor.

"Captain, it's me," came the voice of Sergeant Joe Christie over the line (Stottlemeyer had left him in charge of the case they'd been working on while he and the others hunted down Adrian), "Thought you'd like to know, we got a solid picture from a security camera near the docks of the killer. The footage was taken about a minute after the murders took place. He's clearly got a gun in his hand..."

"Who? Who are we talking about here?" Stottlemeyer interrupted.

"We got a positive ID; it's Ike Fromann, Captain," Christie told him.

"Fromann?" Stottlemeyer's brow furled, "Oh yeah, I've heard of him. Two-bit thief, hair trigger temper, beat a murder rap a few years back. Yeah, now that I think if it, he seems the type to have pulled something like this. Put out an APB on him."

"Already done," Christie said, "No sign of him yet, though, although we found another body in a woodcarving shop several miles north of the original crime scene; the owner was run through with one of his knives, although it doesn't look like anything was taken, and we're not sure if it's connected to the dock murders yet. Anything else?"

"Yep, any idea what was in those crates those guys were bringing to shore?" the captain inquired.

"Well, some diving teams found a load of Russian nesting dolls dumped into the harbor," Christie informed him, "No clue on what was in them, though, so Fromann got away with whatever was so valuable about them. That's all we know at this time."

"Well good work," Stottlemeyer commended him, "Keep me informed, Joe."

He disconnected. "Well, we didn't need Monk after all for that," he told his associates, "We've got an arrest warrant out for one Ike Fromann, scumbag extraordinaire."

"Fromann? The Sausage King of Chicago?" Disher frowned. Stottlemeyer rolled his eyes and ignored him. "They'll have him picked up in no time if he hasn't left the country yet," he told Natalie, "So that's one less headache for us to worry about."

"I always appreciate that," she nodded.

"Now to concentrate wholly on Monk," Disher proclaimed grandly, as if he considered their odyssey some kind of grand quest, "And if my calculations are correct, we'll be right on top of him in no time flat."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than there was a loud bang on the starboard side of the bus and it started rattling as the driver hastily pulled over to the shoulder. "Well, you were saying!?" Stottlemeyer shot him a frustrated look, one that hinted he'd known something was going to happen if Disher had said it would be smooth sailing.

"Um, well, OK, it might take a little longer than that," Disher shrugged. The intercom clicked on. "Uh, ladies and gentlemen, it appears we blew a tire here," the driver admitted, "Unfortunately all the other buses are all out on assignment, so you'll have to do some walking to the nearest terminal, which should be about ten miles to your right straight through those cornfields there."

"Ten miles in eighty degree weather through the cornfields!?" Stottlemeyer glanced wild-eyed at the high stalks before them, "With no direction whatsoever to the terminal!?"

"Well Captain, it could be..." Natalie began.

"Please Natalie, don't say it; whenever somebody says it could be worse, it always gets worse," the captain continued grousing, removing his tuxedo and throwing it over his shoulder as he fell in line to disembark the bus, "And while we're on this merry little excursion," he held up his hand at Disher, "please, for the love of God, nothing about us running into Shoeless Joe Jackson or any other dead ballplayers out here, because right now, I'm just not in the mood."

"Well, you just said it for me, sir," Disher pointed out. Stottlemeyer opened his mouth to counter, but quickly closed it after he realized Disher for once had a point. "OK then, I guess we just follow everyone else then," he pointed at the other passengers weaving their way through the corn, "And hope to God they know where they're going."


"Stand by," Scali raised his hand on the floor of the soundstage at WEBG-TV Eastbridge, "And, action."

He pointed at an undercover officer in front of a green screen. "Hey Eastbridge sports fans, ever wish you could get away from it all?" he said jovially into the camera as preppy music played behind him, "Well now you can, as WGGY Sports Channel's offering...!"

"Uh, cut, cut," Adrian walked into the shot with his arms raised. Everyone on the set groaned loudly. "What was wrong THIS time!!??" the undercover cop demanded, "If it's another complaint about my cuff links...!"

"Uh, no, those, those are just fine, but you moved up the tape marks on the floor again," Adrian drew his pen from his tuxedo pocket to loud groans and tamped the tape deliniating where flats to WEBG's consumer service show would ordinarily be placed, "There, all better."

"Uh, Monk," Scali waved him over. "Monk, the more time I spend shooting this, the more time the perps may have to skip town and not get the message I'm about to give them!" he told the detective, "And they're not going to care if his socks aren't pulled up all the way under his pant legs where no one can see them anyway, or the tape marking on the floor and..."

"Uh, good point," Adrian conceded, "You, you just finish it; I'll try and not watch, if that helps."

He stared straight up at the ceiling. "Places again," Scali called out wearily, "We'll get it right this time, guys. OK, WGGY promo, take sixty-six, roll it...and, action."

"Hey Eastbridge sports fans, ever wish you could get away from it all!?" the undercover officer proclaimed again as Adrian focused his attention on the lights above, fortunately hung in even rows, "Well now you can, because WGGY Sports Channel's offering a chance for a round trip vacation to Hawaii! That's right, Eastbridge's brand new sports channel will be holding a drawing later this week; one lucky winner gets an all-expenses paid trip to Waikiki. Finalists will be receiving their forms in the mail soon; come to the WGGY station on the day of the drawing to claim your prize. Good luck, and take pride in being able to say, 'WGGY got me!'"

"And, cut," Scali waved him off, "Great work, you guys," he congratulated the officer and the crew, "WGGY--We're Gonna Get You--" he and another plainclothes officer pointed knowingly at each other, "Is now open for business, and ready to give some lucky winners just what they deserve."

He waved over the station manager from the corner, where he'd been watching it all. "And you can put any background behind him you can generate digitally?" he inquired.

"Anything your heart desires," the station manager told him.

"Good, then we'd like a..." Scali began, but stopped as Paulie came huffing up. "Hey Tony," he breathed heavily, "We did a check on all the victims; there is a connection."

"There is? Excellent," Scali rubbed his hands in anticipation, "Tell me it, Paulie."

"Well, the one thing they all have in common is, they all subscribed to Publisher's Clearing House," the chief of detectives explained, "And you know what's more amazing? So does Melvin McKane."

"That's interesting," Adrian admitted, finally able to look back down, "So then, were their latest entry forms mailed around the time they were all killed?"

"Uh," Paulie checked his notes, "In fact, yeah."

"So McKane knew they were all getting something," the detective mused, pacing around in a circle, "Something was in those packages that no one could find before they could. Do we have any of the entry form wrappings as evidence?" he inquired to the Eastbridge cops.

"Uh, we can run a check on that," Scali said, nodding to Paulie, "In the meantime, I'll have a squad car tail McKane wherever he goes from here and see if I can get a search warrant for his house and office."

"Ac, Actually, I'd like to go along with surveillance for a while," Adrian proposed. Noting the confused looks on the men's faces, he explained, "I, it's just, it's been so long since I've been in a squad car on patrol, I do miss it, as you can imagine..."

"OK, no prob, I think we can get that arranged, Monk," Scali nodded, "Once we get the tape all finalized here, I can drop you off with whoever's drawn first shift. Just don't get yourself killed, please; we still need you to close this."

"I'll, I'll try," Adrian told him. Deep down, he felt great to be back on the beat again, even if only for a short while.