Monk knocked on the door. He had reached the address the kid had specified,
and was about to come face to face with the man who killed his wife. Yes,
he'd heard about some other bad things that could get Terry Johnson
arrested, but once he heard the address something had snapped, and he knew
he had to take care of things himself.
The man who answered the door looked very much like an older version of the person who had led Monk here. "Terry Johnson?" he asked. "Yes," the man replied, and at that moment Monk completely lost control of himself and pointed the gun at Johnson's head.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said as he raised his hands and backed into the apartment. Monk noticed the six fingers, and knew he had his man. "Trudy Monk," he said. "Do you remember her? How about Warrick Tennyson, the guy who made bombs? You remember him?" Growing increasingly nervous, Johnson replied, "Yeah, I remember Tennyson. He lives in New York now, right?" "He did, but he died a while ago. I was there not long before it happened. He told me a little about you. You know the last thing he said about you was? That you were a freak."
Johnson seemed to forget the gun, and bellowed "Don't say that word!" before charging at Monk. He fired the gun at the floor between them, bringing Johnson back to reality. Though momentarily shaken by the noise, Monk soon recovered. "Touchy subject, huh? I noticed your little peculiarity when I came in." "Okay, so I've got a little genetic abnormality, so what? Is that a crime?" "No, but drug dealing is, and your son just got through telling the police all he knows about you."
Johnson flinched severely, then said, "If I say he's not my son, what then?" "Well, he has the same abnormality that you do, and he has your name with a Junior suffix attached. Not the best move for maintaining deniability." Johnson could see he was caught, and sighed. "So you're a cop, right? Okay, bring me in." Monk shook his head. "Actually, I'm not here about that. You remember the first person I asked you about, Trudy Monk? I'd like to know something about her."
Johnson said, "Okay, I don't know why, but if it'll make you happy. She was walking through this neighborhood one time when she saw me making a deal. I had a bad premonition about doing it outside, but the day was too good. Should have listened, huh? Anyway, I chased her down and told her she was dead if she breathed a word. I'm pretty comfortable in this business, I can't let anything jeopardize that. I probably intimidated her enough that she wouldn't have said anything, but then I figured, why take the chance? So I followed her home, then hired Tennyson to make a bomb to kill her. Cost me two grand, but I'd say it was worth it, wouldn't you?"
Monk had seemed to be frozen in place the entire time Johnson was speaking. Finally, he replied, "That's what it was about? Just a little paranoia?" "Yup. Funny, huh? So let's go already!" Monk steadied his grip on the gun. "My name is Adrian Monk. Trudy was my wife. I've spent quite a while thinking about what I'd do if I found you, and I think I've made up my mind." He pointed the gun at Johnson's knee. "The pain you're about to go through is just a small fraction of what I've felt every day since you took her from me. That's all I can give to you, but it will be enough for me. By the time you die, maybe you'll feel differently about the choices you've made."
Before Monk could fire, a spotlight shone through the window. Stottlemeyer's voice came through a bullhorn. "Monk, I know you're up there. Bring Johnson over to the window." Monk waved Johnson toward the window, and followed. The voice continued. "Listen very carefully. A team of cops is on their way up. You don't have much time before they get there, and if they find you about to murder an unarmed man I'll have no choice but to prosecute you.
"Now listen, I know what you're going through. I almost lost Karen because of someone like him, remember? You told me not to let my feelings get involved, and now I'm telling you the same thing. I hope you're a better listener than me." Monk didn't move, he couldn't. There was a pause, and suddenly he heard Sharona's voice. "Adrian, I have something to tell you. You think you're doing the right thing, and that you're doing it for Trudy. But ask yourself something. Is this what Trudy would do, what she'd want you to do? Would she feel proud of you for doing it? Please, just think about it."
Monk didn't have to think, he knew what the answer was. He threw the gun on the floor, and Johnson made a run for it. Just as he reached the door, the police burst in and put him in handcuffs.
Johnson was led out the door, where Stottlemeyer met him. "Your son sends his regards," he said. Monk soon followed, and Sharona ran to him. Suddenly, before either knew what was happening, he embraced her. Sharona was surprised but didn't try to break it off, simply standing there as Monk wept into her shoulder.
The man who answered the door looked very much like an older version of the person who had led Monk here. "Terry Johnson?" he asked. "Yes," the man replied, and at that moment Monk completely lost control of himself and pointed the gun at Johnson's head.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said as he raised his hands and backed into the apartment. Monk noticed the six fingers, and knew he had his man. "Trudy Monk," he said. "Do you remember her? How about Warrick Tennyson, the guy who made bombs? You remember him?" Growing increasingly nervous, Johnson replied, "Yeah, I remember Tennyson. He lives in New York now, right?" "He did, but he died a while ago. I was there not long before it happened. He told me a little about you. You know the last thing he said about you was? That you were a freak."
Johnson seemed to forget the gun, and bellowed "Don't say that word!" before charging at Monk. He fired the gun at the floor between them, bringing Johnson back to reality. Though momentarily shaken by the noise, Monk soon recovered. "Touchy subject, huh? I noticed your little peculiarity when I came in." "Okay, so I've got a little genetic abnormality, so what? Is that a crime?" "No, but drug dealing is, and your son just got through telling the police all he knows about you."
Johnson flinched severely, then said, "If I say he's not my son, what then?" "Well, he has the same abnormality that you do, and he has your name with a Junior suffix attached. Not the best move for maintaining deniability." Johnson could see he was caught, and sighed. "So you're a cop, right? Okay, bring me in." Monk shook his head. "Actually, I'm not here about that. You remember the first person I asked you about, Trudy Monk? I'd like to know something about her."
Johnson said, "Okay, I don't know why, but if it'll make you happy. She was walking through this neighborhood one time when she saw me making a deal. I had a bad premonition about doing it outside, but the day was too good. Should have listened, huh? Anyway, I chased her down and told her she was dead if she breathed a word. I'm pretty comfortable in this business, I can't let anything jeopardize that. I probably intimidated her enough that she wouldn't have said anything, but then I figured, why take the chance? So I followed her home, then hired Tennyson to make a bomb to kill her. Cost me two grand, but I'd say it was worth it, wouldn't you?"
Monk had seemed to be frozen in place the entire time Johnson was speaking. Finally, he replied, "That's what it was about? Just a little paranoia?" "Yup. Funny, huh? So let's go already!" Monk steadied his grip on the gun. "My name is Adrian Monk. Trudy was my wife. I've spent quite a while thinking about what I'd do if I found you, and I think I've made up my mind." He pointed the gun at Johnson's knee. "The pain you're about to go through is just a small fraction of what I've felt every day since you took her from me. That's all I can give to you, but it will be enough for me. By the time you die, maybe you'll feel differently about the choices you've made."
Before Monk could fire, a spotlight shone through the window. Stottlemeyer's voice came through a bullhorn. "Monk, I know you're up there. Bring Johnson over to the window." Monk waved Johnson toward the window, and followed. The voice continued. "Listen very carefully. A team of cops is on their way up. You don't have much time before they get there, and if they find you about to murder an unarmed man I'll have no choice but to prosecute you.
"Now listen, I know what you're going through. I almost lost Karen because of someone like him, remember? You told me not to let my feelings get involved, and now I'm telling you the same thing. I hope you're a better listener than me." Monk didn't move, he couldn't. There was a pause, and suddenly he heard Sharona's voice. "Adrian, I have something to tell you. You think you're doing the right thing, and that you're doing it for Trudy. But ask yourself something. Is this what Trudy would do, what she'd want you to do? Would she feel proud of you for doing it? Please, just think about it."
Monk didn't have to think, he knew what the answer was. He threw the gun on the floor, and Johnson made a run for it. Just as he reached the door, the police burst in and put him in handcuffs.
Johnson was led out the door, where Stottlemeyer met him. "Your son sends his regards," he said. Monk soon followed, and Sharona ran to him. Suddenly, before either knew what was happening, he embraced her. Sharona was surprised but didn't try to break it off, simply standing there as Monk wept into her shoulder.