TWO

"We're turning too far, we're definitely turning too far, I think we're going to go into a spiral!" Adrian Monk started moaning as Southwest Airlines Flight 933 moved abruptly to starboard, "Hold my wrist tighter!"

"Mr. Monk, I can't possibly hold your wrist any tighter than I am now!" a fed-up Natalie Teeger groaned, "And we're not crashing, we're just banking around so they'll be in position to land. Now I'm sure you want our approach to the runway to be perfectly right up the middle, am I right?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"Then just live with the banking, OK?" Natalie slumped back in her seat, "I swear, I'm glad this flight is almost over. You've been on edge ever since we started taxing for takeoff in San Francisco. I'd go crazy if this went on another half hour!"

Adrian didn't respond. He stared straight ahead at the rest of coach—they were still too high up in the air for him to dare to look out the window. He'd gotten the call about Sharona at about six thirty the previous night, and despite his great dislike of air travel had immediately dropped everything—in this instance including a high profile strangling case the mayor had wanted him to look into—to come look into her disappearance. He prayed she and Benjy were safe wherever they were now.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen," the pilot announced over the loudspeaker, "We'll be making our final approach to Chicago O'Hare in about five minutes. At this time please turn off all cell phones and make sure your try tables are in their upright and locked positions. We'd also like to remind the passenger in seat 19E that if he presses the assistance button one more time during the flight, he'll be pitched out the door without a parachute. Thank you and enjoy your stay in Chicago."

"Boy, I'd hate to be the person sitting in that seat," Adrian naively commented.

"He's talking about YOU, Monk," Captain Leland Stottlemeyer said on the former detective's other side.

"Really?" Adrian frowned, "I thought we were in section 17?"

"It's 18, it says it right up there," Natalie pointed at the very clearly marked seat notices above them.

"I had legitimate grievances," Adrian said in self-defense, "The leg room on this plane is inadequate, the water tastes funny, the pillows aren't soft enough, the…"

"Hey Captain," Lieutenant Randall Disher leaned over the aisle to talk to his superior, "If we can wrap this up quickly, why don't we head up to Shermer for a day or two?"

"Where?" Stottlemeyer was completely confused.

"You know, it's that little suburb outside of Chicago where all of John Hughes's films take place," Disher asked matter of factually, "You've never seen Sixteen Candles?"

"You're into Sixteen Candles?" Natalie seemed surprised Disher would express interest in such a primary female film.

"Well, maybe that's not the best example," Disher said quickly.

"Randy, you do know they're only movies," Stottlemeyer pointed out.

"I wished I could be Ferris Bueller, if only for a day," Adrian said to nobody in particular, "He had it all going for him. And everybody liked him too."

There was a low bump as the plane touched down at O'Hare and slowed down. "Please remain seated until we come to a complete stop at the gate," the stewardess announced, "This does not apply to the passenger in seat 19E, who will be getting off first."

"Huh?" Adrian looked puzzled. Numerous plane staffers gathered around his seat without warning. "You're, you're supposed to stay seated until we come to a complete stop," he told them, not liking the looks on their faces.

"Take off your seatbelt, sir, you're getting off first," the head stewardess ordered him. When Adrian didn't even move a muscle, she bent down, took it off herself, and hauled the detective to his feet. "You insult the way we cook our food!" she thundered as she dragged him toward the door, "You tell me I buttoned my blouse wrong! You questioned whether or not we should test the emergency chutes while the plane's in the air! Well sir, you're not getting on my flight again!"

"You're stretching the fibers!" Adrian protested, uncomfortable with how she was holding his shirt collar.

Another stewardess opened the plane door as it came to a stop by the gate. Her superior tossed Adrian physically into the causeway, receiving loud applause from the rest of the plane for doing this. Adrian picked himself up and dusted himself off. He slowly trudged toward the end of the gate. O'Hare was crowded for so early in the morning. Even so, he was able to make out in the crowd a sign with his name on it. "I'm Adrian Monk," he announced out loud, walking toward it.

"Adrian Monk, Detective Ray Vecchio, I've been assigned to the Fleming case," Vecchio shook Adrian's hand before he could do anything about it. Adrian forced a happy face and glanced back up the gate; why was it taking everyone else so long to get off?

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, I'm working with Detective Vecchio," the Mountie shook Adrian's hand as well, "I remember you, Mr. Monk; you were on that Jeopardy episode that almost got bombed."

"Yeah, that was me," Adrian looked even more uncomfortable now, "One of the few happy experiences of my life."

"Funny though," Fraser commented, "I thought they'd amended the rule so that a champion can play as long as they win, and yet you still left after five days as per the old guidelines."

"That was the director's idea," Adrian told him, "He said if he had to do one more show with me, he'd jump off the studio roof. He's a nice guy; I wouldn't want him to do that. Is there any place here that sells medicated wipes? I really need one now."

"Medicated wipes?" Vecchio frowned, "What the hell do you need those for?"

"Ray, Mr. Monk here suffers from a standard case of obsessive compulsive disorder," Fraser informed the cop, "It was made abundantly clear by Alex Trebek during his five day stint on Jeopardy."

"Oh great, so we're going to be working with a fruitcake?" Vecchio blurted out. Noticing the discomfort this statement brought Adrian's face, Fraser took his associate aside and said, "Actually, what you said is a generalization, Ray. Most obsessive compulsive persons, despite their handicap, have complete control over their mental functions, and I do believe that Lieutenant Welsh said that Mr. Monk is one of the best detectives out there."

"So in other words, he's brilliant but still a fruitcake," Vecchio summarized.

"Could you please try to be a little more politically correct, Ray; this man is going to help us one the case, after all," Fraser stressed. Vecchio shrugged and said, "Sure, I guess I'll buy it, but he'd better not embarrass me in front of Welsh."

"There you are, Monk," came Stottlemeyer's voice from behind them, "Are these the people we'll be working with?"

"Yeah, Detective Ray Vecchio, and this is my I guess now official sidekick Constable Benton Fraser," Vecchio introduced them, "You are…?"

"Captain Leland Stottlemeyer, San Francisco Police, this is Lieutenant Disher and Miss Teeger," Stottlemeyer introduced his associates, "You brought Monk up to speed on what you've got?"

"We were just about to do that," Fraser told them as they started walking down the concourse toward the baggage carousels, "Detective Vecchio's car's out front. We're to take you all to the scene of the crime. Having been told that Detective Monk is one of the finest law enforcement officials around when it comes to seeing things at a crime scene that few others can see, I'd like to here his interpretation of what transpired last night. In the mean time, I'd like to offer all of you lodging at my new residence. I've discussed it with the landlord, and he's more than willing to rent out his empty rooms to you. Are there any questions?"

"So you're really a Mountie?" Disher asked with just a tinge of boyish glee.

"Yes, I am," Fraser told him, "I have over fifteen years of experience with the R.C.M.P."

"Pardon my asking, then, but what are you doing so far south, then?" Stottlemeyer had to ask.

"Well, it's a very long and complicated story, one that would take about two hours and thirty-seven minutes to tell," Fraser said, "The long and short of it is that I was sent here to Chicago on the trial of my father's killers and for reasons that do not need explaining at this juncture was stationed as a liaison at the Canadian Consulate until recently, when I returned to Canada. Currently, I'm on a vacation here and was thus available to assist in this investigation."

They'd reached the carousel for their flight, which was just starting to spit out the baggage. It was Vecchio who first noticed something out of the ordinary. "Holy mother of God, Detective Monk, how many suitcases did you bring?" he exclaimed, noticing the high amount of suitcases with Adrian's name on them."

"About thirty-five, maybe thirty-six, I'm not completely sure," Adrian told him.

"What the hell've you got…?" Vecchio tossed Adrian's luggage on the ground and opened them up one by one. "Shrink wrapped clothes, Sierra Springs, more Sierra Springs, food, more clothes, medicines, wipes, wipes, more wipes, even more wipes, dust mask, soap, soap, more soap, distilled water, portable vacuum, disinfectant,…A RADIATION SUIT?" he gave Adrian a very bizarre glance.

"I like to cover all the bases," Adrian said, closing up several of the suitcases that had been opened, "And they're saying the bird flu might become a pandemic; this is my best protection in cases it spreads here while I'm here."

"I told him he didn't need that much," Natalie told the Chicago cop, "He wouldn't listen."

"Well, I think we can probably fit all this in with a little rearranging," Fraser said optimistically.

"Oh sure, if I had nine trunks in my car," Vecchio muttered sarcastically.

"All right then, why don't we just go check out the scene of the crime?" Fraser asked quickly.

"What's he doing?" a disbelieving Vecchio asked Stottlemeyer about a half hour later at the crime scene. Adrian was walking around, occasionally making bizarre gestures with his hands.

"He's doing his thing," the captain told the detective, "I can't explain it any more than you can, but it works most of the time."

"Well his 'thing' sure looks a lot like a professional mime show if you ask me," Vecchio snorted.

"Sharona talked about his style all the time," said Trevor, who'd been brought in to verify anything Adrian might have found at the scene, "Although it sometimes got to her, she found it amazing. As do I."

Adrian stepped into the street and made a grabbing motion several times toward the sidewalk. "Was this where they grabbed them, Trevor?" he spoke for what had to be the first time since they arrived.

"Yes, I believe so," Trevor told him, "I was standing over there by that grate. It was over before I could stop them."

"And you say they grabbed Benjy first?" Adrian inquired, now making a dragging motion of sorts.

"Yes. Is that significant, Mr. Monk?"

"It could very well be," Adrian hopped back up onto the curb, "Which direction did they come from?"

"Around that corner," Trevor pointed.

"They weren't going terribly fast," Fraser pointed out, "I heard only a moderate squealing of tires before Mrs. Fleming screamed."

"Interesting," Adrian sauntered around the corner. He stopped at about the fourth parking meter down. "They were waiting here," he announced, "For a good forty minutes."

"How can you tell that, Monk?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"There's about three Pall Mall cigarettes on the curb there; they're clearly only a day or two old," Adrian pointed to the evidence in question. Fraser bent down and sniffed them, much to Adrian's disgust. "He's right," the Mountie confirmed, "They're Pall Malls."

"Whoever did the kidnapping last night knew you'd be coming this way, Trevor, "Adrian told the husband, "They were here waiting for you to come by. Who did you tell you were taking them to a movie?"

"Nobody, Mr. Monk, that's the thing," Trevor told him, "I only thought came up with it at lunch and discussed it with Sharona there. She agreed it was a good idea."

"Well somebody HAD to know, Trevor," Fraser said, "Otherwise we wouldn't be standing here wondering who took your wife and son."

"I swear I told no one else," Trevor raised his hand as if under oath.

"Whoever did plan this knew it and knew it well," Adrian continued, "This abduction was well thought out and executed."

"I calculate it was only about eleven seconds, judging from my own observations last night, between the beginning of the abduction and the kidnappers' getaway," Fraser said, "Did Mrs. Fleming have any enemies?"

"Probably only the people she and Mr. Monk helped to arrest," Disher said, "And we checked; they're all safely behind bars and without access to anyone here in Chicago."

"So it's probably someone we've never come across yet," Stottlemeyer surmised, "That makes it a little harder. Anything else here, Monk?"

"No Captain, not much else," Adrian said, "But at least we have a start."

"Well then, we'll go down to the station and see if we've got any leads on that gray Ford," Vecchio said, "That's the biggest other lead we've got now."

"Good, then I can go call my daughter and tell her we've landed," Natalie said.

"Sounds good," Fraser said, "Her name's Julie, right?"

"How'd you know that?" Natalie was amazed.

"I noticed her name on the social security card you gave the rental car agent for identification purposes," the Mountie explained, "And her photo in your wallet. Quite an attractive young woman. I've never had a daughter of my own, but if I did, I'd like her to look like yours."

"Why thank you," Natalie smiled.

"It's nothing, he'd say it to anyone, "Vecchio told her, "One of the pitfalls of being the world's nicest person. In the meantime, why don't we drop of the inventory of Detective Monk's extended yard sale?"

"I'd be happy to do so, Ray," Fraser volunteered, "Besides, it's about time I picked up Diefenbaker anyway."

"Diefenbaker?" Adrian asked.

"Yes, he's my wolf," Fraser told him.

"Wolf?" Adrian expression went very far south, "You own a wolf?"

"Yes, and I have the license to make it legal," Fraser said, "Why don't you come with me while we drop your stuff off?"

"Stop, stop, please stop!" Adrian pleaded later with Diefenbaker, who was licking his face incessantly as they drove into Fraser's current neighborhood.

"He won't be cognicent of your words, Detective Monk," Fraser told him, "He went deaf pulling me out of Prince William Sound several years ago."

"Well, that's a real tragedy," Adrian said, grimacing heavily, "I should probably tell you, Constable, I'm not really all that good with animals."

"I could surmise as much during our car ride," Fraser said, "But most people with your condition wouldn't be, so I understand completely and will make whatever accommodations are needed during your stay here."

"Thank you, thank you very much," Adrian said, "And in that case, I should point out, I'll need to sleep on the bed; no couch or floor, I just can't do that."

"That is not a problem at all," Fraser said, "I frequently sleep on the floor at any rate. I should point out, though, that Dief normally takes the bed when I don't."

"That's not too big a deal," Adrian said, "I brought my own sheets, and backup sheets too. If you don't mind me saying, you're taking my requests rather well. I mean, most people would be up in arms when I made these kinds of requests."

"Well, I believe strongly in tolerance toward people with disabilities," Fraser said. He pulled over to the curb. "And here we are."

"Oh my God!" Adrian grimaced at the run-down state of Fraser's current apartment, "This is a nightmare!"

"Well, it's not the most homely of places, but since my needs are simple, it suffices," Fraser said. Noticing that this didn't make Adrian feel any better, he said, "I'm guessing that you'll want to stay and clean up my apartment so it fits your standards a little more?"

"Absolutely," Adrian hopped out of the car and dragged three suitcases which he'd labeled CRITICAL: OPEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER ARRIVING toward the building. "Dief, stay in the car, I'll be out in a minute," Fraser told his wolf as he got out himself. Noticing the bizarre expression on Diefenbaker's face, the Mountie said, "Yes, I know he's a bit strange as per what you're used to, but he's a good man, so we'll just have to put up with whatever he does, understood?"

Diefenbaker made a bit of a nodding gesture, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Fraser withdrew two more suitcases from the trunk and followed Adrian into the building. "I'm on the second floor, Apartment 8L," he told the former detective."

"Thanks," Adrian called down. He waited at the apartment in question until Fraser came to open the door. "The phone is on the counter over there if you need to call me about anything," the Mountie pointed to it, "Just got it installed the other day. Is there anything else I could get you while I'm here?"

Adrian looked up from the outlet, where he had been plugging his vacuum in. "Actually, yes, but it's not related to germs or dirt or this apartment," he said, "You haven't…in the time you've been here, I mean,…come across anything concerning a six-fingered man?"

"Why no, Detective Monk, I can't say I have," Fraser admitted.

"Oh," Adrian shrugged, "Just thought you might have. He's now the prime suspect in my wife's murder, that's all."

"Yes, Captain Stottlemeyer told me how important that case is to you," Fraser said, walking over to him, "If I'd been married to a woman of a nature such as your unfortunately late wife was, I'd be as determined to find the perpetrator as you are. And he also told me how much Mrs. Fleming has meant to you as well."

"Yes, she has," Adrian grew very somber, "During the period after Trudy died, I was really adrift. Sharona came in almost like a dove on a summer breeze. She was the thing, more than anything, that helped get me back out of my slump. When she told me she was moving back to New Jersey, it broke the carefully tuned structure of the world I'd been trying to put back together. At first I wanted to tell her not to, that I still needed her, but then I realized that I wanted her to be happy, and if remarrying Trevor was going to give her that happiness, I wouldn't stand in her way." He sighed deeply and looked around for a place to sit down, but finding none readily available, squatted as best he could. "It was so hard to adjust to life without her," he went on, "Part of me tried to pretend she wasn't gone. Early on after I hired Natalie, I'd call her Sharona by accident a lot. It was that hard to let go. Even though I'm used to her now, it still just doesn't feel the same. I hope you can understand all that."

"As a matter of fact, Adrian, I know exactly what you're going through," Fraser squatted down to Adrian's level, "You see, when I first came south to Chicago, I became fast associates with Detective Vecchio. We did a number of interesting, often exciting things together. He was almost like a brother I never had. Then two years ago I came back from Canada to find he'd been transferred to Las Vegas on some high profile case, and I'd have to partner with someone else—Stanley Kowalski was his name. At first I had the same difficulty adjusting to a new face, even though I didn't admit it openly, but in time I grew to accept Detective Kowalski, and we're now just as close as I am with Detective Vecchio. I think if you'll give it some time, you'll probably come to like Miss Teeger as much as you did Mrs. Fleming."

"Well, Constable, the problem is, you're you and I'm me," Adrian said, "I really can't handle change, any change."

"You know, Detective Monk," Fraser started to put his hand on Adrian's shoulder, but realized this probably wasn't the best of ideas, "When I was seven, my father told me something important. Well, actually he told me two things, but I can't remember the other right now. But anyway, the one I do remember is that, in the ultimate of ironies, change is the only constant in human existence. It will always come about, often when we least expect it, and admittedly many times not for the best. But we can either run from it and deny that it's happening—in doing which we deny ourselves—or we can accept it and try to build positively off it. As for your past relationship with Mrs. Fleming, my advice, offered in the most sincerest way, is to, instead of focusing on the fact that she's no longer a permanent part of your life, remember the important times you did have with her and treasure them close, because memories, especially positive ones, will get you through even the most difficult of times. Much as I did when I had to go through the exact same experience as you have."

"I'll, I'll guess I'll give that a try," Adrian said, almost smiling, "I don't know if it'll work, but I guess I'll try."

"Good for you," Fraser nodded, "Well, I guess I'd better get back to the precinct and see how Detective Vecchio and your associates are making out on the case," he said, rising to his feet, "I'll put the rest of your items on the sidewalk out front and have the landlord bring them up for you. Remember, just call if you need me, Detective Monk."

"You can call me Adrian," the detective said, "You've earned it. Just bring me up to speed when you're done today."

"Thank you kindly, I will," Fraser tipped his Stetson, "Good luck in your redesigning."

"You're welcome," Adrian nodded. Once Fraser had walked out, he turned on the vacuum and started doing the apartment's corner. He could see he had a long hard haul ahead of himself.