TWO
The metal detector buzzed when Karen Stottlemeyer walked through it. "Empty your pockets, please," the guard on duty told her. Karen sighed and handed over a small video recorder. "Sorry, taping materials aren't allowed in the studio," he informed her.
"Honey, there's no need to tape this," Stottlemeyer told her as they made their way to their seats, "This is going to be all over the evening news one way or another."
"Hey, let's think positive about this, Captain," Dr. Kroger told him, "We should be proud that Adrian has this chance in the first place."
"What surprises me is that he even got this in the first place," Sharona commented as they all sat down, "I didn't even know he'd applied until that acceptance form came in the mail two weeks ago."
"I didn't even know he watched TV," Gail cut in. She turned to Disher next to her. "So Randy, you ever watch Jeopardy?"
"Every day," Disher said in a way that hinted he was exaggerating, "You might say I know every category in and out. Alex Trebek's always been an idol of mine, back to when he was using his trusty Plinko stick every morning."
Everyone turned to give him a strange look. "That's Bob Barker with the Plinko stick, not Alex Trebek," Benjy pointed out.
"Uh, I know that," Disher said quickly, "I was just, uh, seeing if you guys were paying attention."
"Um hmm," Stottlemeyer nodded, unconvinced.
"Excuse me please," came a voice behind them. Sharona recognized it immediately. "Monica Waters!" she exclaimed, turning to face the woman who bore a more than passing resemblance to Trudy, "I'm surprised to see you here!"
"Well, it was in the paper, so I couldn't resist getting a ticket and coming down to see the show," Monica told her, "How's he feeling about it?"
"Nervous," Sharona said, "Very, very nervous."
"You know, you should have gone over to his brother's," Disher told her, "He's throwing a major party for this, about as good for someone in his shape."
"I prefer seeing Adrian in person, Lieutenant," Monica regarded him coolly, apparently not yet over the fact that the SFPD had almost charged her with two murders she hadn't committed.
"Well at any rate, in about twenty minutes, the television world will never be the same again," Stottlemeyer said, checking his watch, "Because when Adrian Monk gets through with something, it always changes. Permanently."
Ambrose Monk's doorbell rang again. "I'm coming," he announced, hustling over to open it. "Mr. Mayor, Mrs. Mayor, it's, uh, it's a pleasure to see you here," he said in awe, "Please, come in."
"That's what we're here for, Mr. Monk," Warren St. Clair said, ushering in his wife Miranda and Deputy Mayor Sheldon Burger before him, "It's the least we can do for Adrian than to watch him in his moment of glory."
"Or disaster," Miranda retorted. She hadn't warmed up to Adrian as much as her husband.
"Hors d'voures are on the table in the kitchen," Ambrose said, pointing the way as he took the mayor's coat, "Drinks are in the fridge. We start in..."
"Scott Gregorio!" Burger exclaimed, rushing over to baseball's best player, who was seated in Ambrose's recliner enjoying his own hors d'voure, "Fancy seeing you here! Can I have your autograph!?"
"Sheldon," the mayor reprimanded him, "We're not here to sign autographs."
"It's OK Mr. Mayor, I don't mind," Gregorio said, pulling out a sheet of paper to sign for Burger.
"Uh, Ambrose," Cheryl Fleming came in from the kitchen. Sharona and Gail's mother had agreed to be Ambrose's main assistant for the evening, "We're almost out of brownies. Maybe you could run by the store after we're done with the current batch."
"Uh, I'd rather not," Ambrose's face contorted at the thought of being outside the house for that amount of time, "Maybe Julie could do it once she gets out of the bathroom."
There was a crashing sound from the den. "Not my files!" Ambrose cried, rushing in the find Jared and Max Stottlemeyer hastily trying to pick up pieces from the filing drawer they'd knocked over and spilled over the floor. "How could you do this!" he protested at them, "Now it's going to take me several good hours to clean this up!"
"Well he started it!" Max pointed at his brother.
"Did not you liar!" Jared shouted at him.
"Okay, okay, okay," Cheryl separated them, "I think it's time for the two of you to find something else to do right now. Maybe you could talk with Detective Kirk. He hasn't met you yet, if I heard your father right."
"But he's boring!" Jared protested, "Can't we stay with Scott Gregorio?"
"Don't you think you've spent enough time with the poor baseball player?" Cheryl asked them.
There was the honking of a motor home outside. "That can only be one person," Ambrose said. He flung open the door for music legend Willie Nelson. "Howdy," Nelson greeted him, "This is the right place for Monk's Jeopardy celebration, right?"
"Yep, this is the place, I'm his brother, come on in," Ambrose told him, "We invited all the people he's helped over the years for this one."
"Well, I hope he knows how many people he has helped," Nelson said, looking around at the fairly large turnout, "He's good person and he deserves it."
"I know," Ambrose smiled at his brother's fortune. "So," he told Nelson as they went inside, "Adrian tells me Trudy loved your music...."
"This dressing room needs serious cleaning," Adrian told Steve. It had clothing strewn everywhere, pictures weren't hung right, and he could spot serious dirt patches on the mirrors.
"Well look at the bright side, Adrian, you'll only be in here a moment or two," Steve glanced down the hall and called, "Okay, bring in the makeup and mikes."
"M-M-Makeup?" Adrian frowned at the thought of that.
A dark-haired woman entered with a compact kit. "Hi, I'm Michelle Lake, I'll be doing your face for the camera," she told the detective.
"Uh, no thanks, Michelle, I think my face is fine just the way it is," Adrian said, backing slowly away.
"Adrian, you don't want to look like a ghost on national TV," she chided him, "Come on, be a good boy and..."
"Maybe, just maybe, I'd like being a ghost on TV, in fact I am a ghost most of the time," he protested, "So I don't think the people at home will mind."
"Adrian, it's for...." She began.
"My face!" Adrian shouted, "A man's face is a sacred object! I don't mess with other people's faces, why does mine have to be befouled!?"
Michelle threw up her hands in resignation. "I give up," she said out loud to nobody in particular. She turned and left.
"Very nice done, Adrian," Steve told him. Adrian couldn't quite guess his emotion from his voice. "Thank you," he said, unable to think of something better to say.
"So then, I guess we'd better get you miked then; Tim!" Steve called to another associate. "So Adrian, after the first commercial break, Alex is going to ask you something about yourself that's interesting or unusual, so we'd better decide now what you want to say," he told the contestant.
"Oh, I'm miserable, twenty-four/seven," Adrian said.
"Um, I was hoping for something a little more positive than that," Steve told him.
"OK then, uh, there was this time I climbed up a Ferris wheel," Adrian said, thinking of the most positive thing off the top of his head.
"Good, that'll work," Steve said.
The microphone man came in with a lavaliere in hand. "If you'll just hold still, Mr. Monk, we'll have you ready to go in a second here," he said, taking holding of the left side of Adrian's tuxedo.
"Careful now!" Adrian warned him, "The fabric's not completely sturdy, and I don't think Mrs. Ling will fix it for me anymore! You're going to tear it, not so hard! You've got it the wrong way!"
It was Tim the mike man's turn to get frustrated. "All right, you think you know what you're doing, you put it on!" he snapped, handing Adrian the lav and leaving.
"Thank you," Adrian called after him. He pulled out one of his remaining wipes and cleaned the microphone off thoroughly before putting in on his tux...only to take it off and put it back on repeatedly as he tried to get it perfectly straight.
"While you're at that, Adrian, here's your contestants for today," Steve ushered in the other players, "This is the other challenger, Diane Coroli from Lubbock, Texas, and our champion, Oliver Harms from Hartford, Connecticut."
"Pleasure," Adrian addressed Diane, an uptight businesswoman in dominatrix black, and Oliver, an ultra-nerd in a checkered suit, "Why won't this thing stay straight!?"
"So you're the famous Adrian Monk," Diane regarded him sarcastically, "You've been all over the papers. They say you're brilliant but screwed up."
"Well, um, some papers aren't exactly honest," Adrian said, finally getting the microphone the way he wanted it.
"Let's let the game decide then," Oliver extended his hand. Adrian sighed and shook it, then reused the wipe he'd used on the mike. Diane extended her arm as well, forcing him to groan and use yet another one after he shook her hand.
"Well then, if you're all ready, folks, let's play some Jeopardy, because we're on in five," Steve gestured for them to follow him down the hall toward the soundstage. Adrian gulped. The nervous feeling he had earlier was rapidly multiplying.
"Am I too late?" Dr. Luis Navarre stuck his head in the door of Beiderbeck's cell.
"Not at all, Doctor, come on in," Beiderbeck waved him inside, "I'd also like to say thank you for inspiring us to go ahead and do Mr. Monk in. Your relentless determination and willingness to sacrifice other lives for the cause of bringing him down are commendable."
"Thank you," Dr. Navarre said, plopping down in an armchair Beiderbeck had managed to have brought in, "And I'd like to thank you for giving us this chance to see him die on TV, Mr. Beiderbeck."
"Don't mention it, Doctor, I...ah, even more guests, please, come in," Beiderbeck waved to former San Francisco Police Commissioner Harry Ashcomb, mail bomber Brian Babbage, and former GPU maker Walker Browning, who sauntered in. "I'd also like to send another special thanks to you, Mr. Babbage, for giving us the idea for this hit," the fat man told him.
"Well, thanks for taking note of my methods," Babbage said, leaning against the cell wall, as there were now no more seats available, "If I know my methods for doing in my siblings would be copied, I'd have gone to the Patent Office and register it."
"Hey, I don't care, as long as we got to see a severed part of his body on TV after the explosion," Ashcomb said, "After all the misery he's caused all of us, he deserves it."
"Well don't you worry, Commissioner, because with the lax TV standards of today that I love so much, we'll be able to see blood and guts galore after everybody in that studio's blown into a million pieces, which will be in," Beiderbeck rechecked his clock, "thirty-one minutes and ten seconds."
"We're in position now," Steve told the director as he herded Adrian and the other contestants into place just outside the set. He led Adrian to the front of the line. "The moment you hear Johnny say, 'Now entering the studio are today's contestants,' walk out to the nearest stand," he directed the detective.
"Right," Adrian said softly. His attention was taken by the size of the audience, which deeply unnerved him.
"All right then, we're on in ten, nine, eight,..." Steve backed away, still counting. Adrian swallowed deeply. "Don't lose it now, Monk, don't lose it now," he said to himself, and was still trying to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing when the familiar Jeopardy music started and Johnny Gilbert's voice boomed out, "THIS...IS...JEOPARDY!"
The metal detector buzzed when Karen Stottlemeyer walked through it. "Empty your pockets, please," the guard on duty told her. Karen sighed and handed over a small video recorder. "Sorry, taping materials aren't allowed in the studio," he informed her.
"Honey, there's no need to tape this," Stottlemeyer told her as they made their way to their seats, "This is going to be all over the evening news one way or another."
"Hey, let's think positive about this, Captain," Dr. Kroger told him, "We should be proud that Adrian has this chance in the first place."
"What surprises me is that he even got this in the first place," Sharona commented as they all sat down, "I didn't even know he'd applied until that acceptance form came in the mail two weeks ago."
"I didn't even know he watched TV," Gail cut in. She turned to Disher next to her. "So Randy, you ever watch Jeopardy?"
"Every day," Disher said in a way that hinted he was exaggerating, "You might say I know every category in and out. Alex Trebek's always been an idol of mine, back to when he was using his trusty Plinko stick every morning."
Everyone turned to give him a strange look. "That's Bob Barker with the Plinko stick, not Alex Trebek," Benjy pointed out.
"Uh, I know that," Disher said quickly, "I was just, uh, seeing if you guys were paying attention."
"Um hmm," Stottlemeyer nodded, unconvinced.
"Excuse me please," came a voice behind them. Sharona recognized it immediately. "Monica Waters!" she exclaimed, turning to face the woman who bore a more than passing resemblance to Trudy, "I'm surprised to see you here!"
"Well, it was in the paper, so I couldn't resist getting a ticket and coming down to see the show," Monica told her, "How's he feeling about it?"
"Nervous," Sharona said, "Very, very nervous."
"You know, you should have gone over to his brother's," Disher told her, "He's throwing a major party for this, about as good for someone in his shape."
"I prefer seeing Adrian in person, Lieutenant," Monica regarded him coolly, apparently not yet over the fact that the SFPD had almost charged her with two murders she hadn't committed.
"Well at any rate, in about twenty minutes, the television world will never be the same again," Stottlemeyer said, checking his watch, "Because when Adrian Monk gets through with something, it always changes. Permanently."
Ambrose Monk's doorbell rang again. "I'm coming," he announced, hustling over to open it. "Mr. Mayor, Mrs. Mayor, it's, uh, it's a pleasure to see you here," he said in awe, "Please, come in."
"That's what we're here for, Mr. Monk," Warren St. Clair said, ushering in his wife Miranda and Deputy Mayor Sheldon Burger before him, "It's the least we can do for Adrian than to watch him in his moment of glory."
"Or disaster," Miranda retorted. She hadn't warmed up to Adrian as much as her husband.
"Hors d'voures are on the table in the kitchen," Ambrose said, pointing the way as he took the mayor's coat, "Drinks are in the fridge. We start in..."
"Scott Gregorio!" Burger exclaimed, rushing over to baseball's best player, who was seated in Ambrose's recliner enjoying his own hors d'voure, "Fancy seeing you here! Can I have your autograph!?"
"Sheldon," the mayor reprimanded him, "We're not here to sign autographs."
"It's OK Mr. Mayor, I don't mind," Gregorio said, pulling out a sheet of paper to sign for Burger.
"Uh, Ambrose," Cheryl Fleming came in from the kitchen. Sharona and Gail's mother had agreed to be Ambrose's main assistant for the evening, "We're almost out of brownies. Maybe you could run by the store after we're done with the current batch."
"Uh, I'd rather not," Ambrose's face contorted at the thought of being outside the house for that amount of time, "Maybe Julie could do it once she gets out of the bathroom."
There was a crashing sound from the den. "Not my files!" Ambrose cried, rushing in the find Jared and Max Stottlemeyer hastily trying to pick up pieces from the filing drawer they'd knocked over and spilled over the floor. "How could you do this!" he protested at them, "Now it's going to take me several good hours to clean this up!"
"Well he started it!" Max pointed at his brother.
"Did not you liar!" Jared shouted at him.
"Okay, okay, okay," Cheryl separated them, "I think it's time for the two of you to find something else to do right now. Maybe you could talk with Detective Kirk. He hasn't met you yet, if I heard your father right."
"But he's boring!" Jared protested, "Can't we stay with Scott Gregorio?"
"Don't you think you've spent enough time with the poor baseball player?" Cheryl asked them.
There was the honking of a motor home outside. "That can only be one person," Ambrose said. He flung open the door for music legend Willie Nelson. "Howdy," Nelson greeted him, "This is the right place for Monk's Jeopardy celebration, right?"
"Yep, this is the place, I'm his brother, come on in," Ambrose told him, "We invited all the people he's helped over the years for this one."
"Well, I hope he knows how many people he has helped," Nelson said, looking around at the fairly large turnout, "He's good person and he deserves it."
"I know," Ambrose smiled at his brother's fortune. "So," he told Nelson as they went inside, "Adrian tells me Trudy loved your music...."
"This dressing room needs serious cleaning," Adrian told Steve. It had clothing strewn everywhere, pictures weren't hung right, and he could spot serious dirt patches on the mirrors.
"Well look at the bright side, Adrian, you'll only be in here a moment or two," Steve glanced down the hall and called, "Okay, bring in the makeup and mikes."
"M-M-Makeup?" Adrian frowned at the thought of that.
A dark-haired woman entered with a compact kit. "Hi, I'm Michelle Lake, I'll be doing your face for the camera," she told the detective.
"Uh, no thanks, Michelle, I think my face is fine just the way it is," Adrian said, backing slowly away.
"Adrian, you don't want to look like a ghost on national TV," she chided him, "Come on, be a good boy and..."
"Maybe, just maybe, I'd like being a ghost on TV, in fact I am a ghost most of the time," he protested, "So I don't think the people at home will mind."
"Adrian, it's for...." She began.
"My face!" Adrian shouted, "A man's face is a sacred object! I don't mess with other people's faces, why does mine have to be befouled!?"
Michelle threw up her hands in resignation. "I give up," she said out loud to nobody in particular. She turned and left.
"Very nice done, Adrian," Steve told him. Adrian couldn't quite guess his emotion from his voice. "Thank you," he said, unable to think of something better to say.
"So then, I guess we'd better get you miked then; Tim!" Steve called to another associate. "So Adrian, after the first commercial break, Alex is going to ask you something about yourself that's interesting or unusual, so we'd better decide now what you want to say," he told the contestant.
"Oh, I'm miserable, twenty-four/seven," Adrian said.
"Um, I was hoping for something a little more positive than that," Steve told him.
"OK then, uh, there was this time I climbed up a Ferris wheel," Adrian said, thinking of the most positive thing off the top of his head.
"Good, that'll work," Steve said.
The microphone man came in with a lavaliere in hand. "If you'll just hold still, Mr. Monk, we'll have you ready to go in a second here," he said, taking holding of the left side of Adrian's tuxedo.
"Careful now!" Adrian warned him, "The fabric's not completely sturdy, and I don't think Mrs. Ling will fix it for me anymore! You're going to tear it, not so hard! You've got it the wrong way!"
It was Tim the mike man's turn to get frustrated. "All right, you think you know what you're doing, you put it on!" he snapped, handing Adrian the lav and leaving.
"Thank you," Adrian called after him. He pulled out one of his remaining wipes and cleaned the microphone off thoroughly before putting in on his tux...only to take it off and put it back on repeatedly as he tried to get it perfectly straight.
"While you're at that, Adrian, here's your contestants for today," Steve ushered in the other players, "This is the other challenger, Diane Coroli from Lubbock, Texas, and our champion, Oliver Harms from Hartford, Connecticut."
"Pleasure," Adrian addressed Diane, an uptight businesswoman in dominatrix black, and Oliver, an ultra-nerd in a checkered suit, "Why won't this thing stay straight!?"
"So you're the famous Adrian Monk," Diane regarded him sarcastically, "You've been all over the papers. They say you're brilliant but screwed up."
"Well, um, some papers aren't exactly honest," Adrian said, finally getting the microphone the way he wanted it.
"Let's let the game decide then," Oliver extended his hand. Adrian sighed and shook it, then reused the wipe he'd used on the mike. Diane extended her arm as well, forcing him to groan and use yet another one after he shook her hand.
"Well then, if you're all ready, folks, let's play some Jeopardy, because we're on in five," Steve gestured for them to follow him down the hall toward the soundstage. Adrian gulped. The nervous feeling he had earlier was rapidly multiplying.
"Am I too late?" Dr. Luis Navarre stuck his head in the door of Beiderbeck's cell.
"Not at all, Doctor, come on in," Beiderbeck waved him inside, "I'd also like to say thank you for inspiring us to go ahead and do Mr. Monk in. Your relentless determination and willingness to sacrifice other lives for the cause of bringing him down are commendable."
"Thank you," Dr. Navarre said, plopping down in an armchair Beiderbeck had managed to have brought in, "And I'd like to thank you for giving us this chance to see him die on TV, Mr. Beiderbeck."
"Don't mention it, Doctor, I...ah, even more guests, please, come in," Beiderbeck waved to former San Francisco Police Commissioner Harry Ashcomb, mail bomber Brian Babbage, and former GPU maker Walker Browning, who sauntered in. "I'd also like to send another special thanks to you, Mr. Babbage, for giving us the idea for this hit," the fat man told him.
"Well, thanks for taking note of my methods," Babbage said, leaning against the cell wall, as there were now no more seats available, "If I know my methods for doing in my siblings would be copied, I'd have gone to the Patent Office and register it."
"Hey, I don't care, as long as we got to see a severed part of his body on TV after the explosion," Ashcomb said, "After all the misery he's caused all of us, he deserves it."
"Well don't you worry, Commissioner, because with the lax TV standards of today that I love so much, we'll be able to see blood and guts galore after everybody in that studio's blown into a million pieces, which will be in," Beiderbeck rechecked his clock, "thirty-one minutes and ten seconds."
"We're in position now," Steve told the director as he herded Adrian and the other contestants into place just outside the set. He led Adrian to the front of the line. "The moment you hear Johnny say, 'Now entering the studio are today's contestants,' walk out to the nearest stand," he directed the detective.
"Right," Adrian said softly. His attention was taken by the size of the audience, which deeply unnerved him.
"All right then, we're on in ten, nine, eight,..." Steve backed away, still counting. Adrian swallowed deeply. "Don't lose it now, Monk, don't lose it now," he said to himself, and was still trying to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing when the familiar Jeopardy music started and Johnny Gilbert's voice boomed out, "THIS...IS...JEOPARDY!"