ELEVEN
"All units, report in," Ford said into his walkie-talkie on the roof of the building across from Marshall Fields.
"Unit One, reporting in," said the first one down the block. The other five units affirmed their positions in turn. "Keep a strong lookout; we don't know for sure who these guys are yet," their boss told them.
"Agent Ford, not that I'm complaining or anything along those lines, but I thought you'd agreed with Trevor that there would be no cops around during the exchange?" Stottlemeyer had to ask him.
"Well, I always like to play things safe, Captain," Ford told him, "It's certainly not going to hurt Fleming if we're here."
"Well, all I'm saying is that you should just be a little careful and not shoot at anything that…" Stottlemeyer tried to say.
"Captain, as I said before, we are trained professionals at what we do," Deeter told him shortly, "Now you and your friend," he nodded toward Disher, who was staking out the corner of the roof, "Are here as observers only, and as such you have no authority to tell us what we can or can't do. Is that perfectly clear?"
"Oh yes, drill sergeant, perfectly clear," Stottlemeyer said sardonically. Deeter gave him a cold look and walked back over to the edge of the building. Stottlemeyer checked to make sure no one was looking, then opened his coat and said to the radio inside, "Anything yet, Constable?"
Inside the Riviera around the corner, Fraser picked up the radio. "No activity of a suspicious nature yet, Captain," he told him, "I have a feeling that things may not go as is typical for a crime as of this."
"I've had the same feeling myself," Stottlemeyer admitted, "There's just something about this whole case that's off. Let me know if you see anyone or anything suspicious first."
"I will," Fraser signed off. He pulled out his telescope and scanned the street. "So, what do you think, Fraser?" Vecchio asked, glancing toward the Marshall Fields entrance.
"To be honest, Ray, I don't think they'll release the Flemings' son even if they receive the thousand dollars," Fraser admitted, not taking his eyes off the telescope.
"Why not?" Vecchio was puzzled, "We've done everything they've asked us to."
"We have, yes, but my instincts are now telling me that they want to hold on to him," Fraser said, "All the evidence we have indicates the kidnappers wanted his mother more than him, yet they grabbed him first when they took him. There's an intrinsic value they put on him, and therefore it's unlikely they'll release him."
"But why, unless he saw a hit?" Vecchio had to know.
"I don't think that's it, Ray," Fraser said, "There's something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on. If Detective Monk was here and in control of his functions, he'd probably be able to figure it out."
"But he's not, thank God for my nerves' sake," Vecchio said. He checked his watch. "I'm going to get a hoagie, Benny; yell if you see anything."
"Right Ray," Fraser nodded. No sooner had Vecchio left then his father's voice rippled up from the back seat, "I was hoping we'd be alone, son, and it looks like I got my wish."
Fraser turned. Robert Fraser was reclining in the back seat, scratching Diefenbaker behind the ears. And with him was a young woman whom Fraser had never seen in person. But he knew immediately who she was. "I take it your name in life was Gertrude Ann Ellison Monk?" he asked her.
"Yes," Trudy said, smiling, "Your father traveled at least half of the beyond to find me an hour ago, Benton. He said only I could help bring Adrian to his senses."
"Well, now that I think of it, seeing you probably would help, although the problem is, I do not know your husband's whereabouts at this juncture," Fraser admitted to her, "Perhaps we'll be fortunate, and he'll come upon us, though."
"Does he really think he's a garbage man?" Trudy asked him.
"Yes, ironic as it is," Fraser told her.
Trudy couldn't help laughing. "So, tell me son, how's the case coming?" Fraser Senior asked him, "Apart from your comrade in the law losing his memory, that is."
"Well, as I was just relating to Detective Vecchio before you and Mrs. Monk arrived, I suspect the kidnappers are going to not release the Fleming boy as the FBI and ourselves wish," Fraser told him, "I have a gut instinct that they intend to hold him indefinitely, even after—assuming they will, that is—they release his mother. Now ransoming people is not in the normal nature of the mob, even in Canada, so I can't help but wonder if Detective Monk's ascension to this case necessitated a change in strategy among our kidnappers."
"Very interesting," Fraser Senior took all he'd been told in, "Well, it appears then there might be more to this than we all thought. Now I believe you and the detective were talking on your way to here that you'd like to prove that the man you think was responsible for this didn't get on the airplane that all the evidence says he did?"
"Oh, you were listening in on…?" Fraser frowned briefly, "Well yes, Dad, I'm suspecting that Frank Zuko somehow switched places with this Bob Anderson from New Jersey, but the airport has noted to us that Mr. Anderson got on a plane to go back to New Jersey not more than five minutes after Mr. Zuko boarded his plane to Orlando. We're still trying to work out the logistics of how he may have been able to pull off…"
"Constable, be alert; we're sending Trevor in with the money now," came Stottlemeyer's voice over the radio.
"Roger that Captain," Fraser told him. He leaned out the window. "Ray, we're making the transaction now," he called to his friend, who was coming up the sidewalk, hoagie in hand.
"Is that there best idea of a layout for a ransom transaction?" Fraser Senior commented, pointing up at the FBI agents visible on the rooftops, "That's too obvious. The deviants could see them a mile away."
"Yes, I know that," his son agreed.
"Know what?" Vecchio inquired as he got back into the car.
"That the FBI hasn't chosen the best layout for their forces for this transaction," the Mountie said.
"I know, I've been saying that since the station," Vecchio said, frowning, "You haven't been having one of those imaginary conversations again, have you Fraser?"
"Actually yes, Ray," Fraser admitted.
"Figures," Vecchio shrugged, "Ten bucks says my dad shows up again."
"No he likely won't, Detective," Fraser Senior said, even though Vecchio couldn't hear him, "He's sitting on a beach in Curacao, sunburning his vapor off. Very strange man, never really all that responsible."
On the roof, Stottlemeyer and the others watched as Trevor walked into the department store, the suitcase of money in his hands. Ford switched on a bank of monitors connected to cameras hidden throughout the department store. "All agents in the building, be on high alert," he ordered them.
"So, who do you think it's going to be?" Disher asked, surveying the customers milling all over the store.
"Could be anyone," his boss said, "For all we know, this Frank Zuko guy could have picked some poor shlub up off the street and forced him to pick up the money."
"I called back home while you were all setting up," Disher went on, "Sergeant Morrison said he found almost three tons of confiscated explosives stolen from the arms warehouse. It matches the ones used in the explosion earlier today."
"Does he have any idea who took them?" Stottlemeyer asked.
"They're investigating," Disher said, "There's no fingerprints, and you know that anyone on the force could have had access to the warehouse."
"Yeah, I know," Stottlemeyer nodded.
"Shhhhh!" Deeter hissed at them. Trevor had reached the drop point and had laid down the briefcase. "All right, let it there," Ford instructed him through an earphone, "We'll nail the first guy who touches it. Don't look suspicious."
Trevor walked back outside. Everyone watched the screens with anticipation, waiting to see who would be the first person to take the money.
An hour passed. And then a second and a third. The crowds started slowly thinning out as it got closer to closing time. The briefcase remained exactly where it had been left, with nobody even noticing it, much to the surprise of the observers. Ten o'clock rolled around, and the store officially shut down for the night. After another half hour of waiting, in which there was no sign of activity from anyone who might have been hiding inside the store, Ford shook his head. "They must have not gotten the message," he mused, "Get Fleming to retrieve the money. We'll pay it with his wife's cash tomorrow night."
Down in the Riviera, Fraser glanced at his watch. "If they're going to make a move, it'll probably be now," he commented, "Right when everyone's guard's down."
"Makes sense," his father said, "I saw this once, when we were assigned to apprehend a group of socialist insurgents that had been besieging a mining operation just outside of…"
Fraser made a silence gesture to him as the radio blared on again. "Keep your eyes open, we're getting the money back," Stottlemeyer informed them.
"Hmm," Fraser looked out through his telescope again, "There's something that's just not right here…"
"Who are you talking to?" Ford asked Stottlemeyer, noticing him talking into his coat.
"Uh, myself," Stottlemeyer said quickly.
"Did you invite the Mountie?" the federal agent demanded, "If you did, let me…"
"Take a look at this," Deeter pointed to the monitors. Trevor had picked up the briefcase, but he was now glancing down the escalator, almost as if someone was calling him. He abruptly walked down it and disappeared from sight. "What's he doing?" Ford asked.
Deeter hit the buttons to change monitor settings. Trevor was no longer visible on any of them. "How come we didn't cover that angle?" he muttered out loud.
"Wait, let's see if he comes back," Stottlemeyer held up his hand. After a two-minute wait, however, Trevor didn't reappear. "Attention all units, conduit missing," Ford yelled into the radio, "Seek and recover."
Down in the Riviera, Diefenbaker started barking as federal agents poured toward the department store. "Ray, head for the parking garage," Fraser said, jumping out, "I think they're at it."
"Wait for me, son," Fraser Senior hopped out of the car after him, "I don't want to miss this."
"Very well, but I don't really see what you can do, Dad," his son said, pushing past several feds on their way to the escalators. "That way!" one of them pointed down the one leading to the parking garage, at the bottom of which Trevor lay on the floor. "It was Doctor DiNardo!" he cried to the law enforcement officials, rubbing a large red mark on his forehead, "He hit me and took the money! Hurry, he's getting away!"
"Do you need any medical aid?" Fraser asked him as the feds charged into the parking garage, rifles cocked.
"No, I'm fine," Trevor said, rising to his feet, "He only hit a glancing blow."
"There he goes!" shouted a federal marshal, pointing at a blue Crown Victoria peeling across the garage recklessly. "Yes. That's him," Fraser acknowledged, recognizing DiNardo behind the wheel. He started to run after it, almost slipping on a pile of lead pipes stacked near the door. "May I suggest turning left here and heading up those stairs to the next level to cut him off?" Fraser Senior suggested, jogging alongside him.
"That is the strategy I had in mind, Dad," Fraser said patiently, climbing up the stairs to the next level…
Where he was almost hit by an errant garbage truck barreling through the parking garage. The driver of which he recognized immediately. "Adrian!" he called to the amnesic detective. But the engine of the truck was roaring too loudly for him to be heard.
"I'd better go get his wife," Fraser Senior announced, "You just make sure the suspect doesn't get away." And with that he vanished again.
"Standing tall on the wings of my dreams," Adrian was blissfully singing along with his radio, feeling higher than he had in years, "Rise and fall on the wings of my dreams. Rain and thunder, wind and haze, I'm bound for better days. It's my life,…"
"Adrian," came a sudden voice to his right. Arian spun abruptly to find Trudy there. "How'd you get in here, miss?" he asked her.
"Adrian, please remember who you are," Trudy told him.
"How many times do I have to tell people, my name is Les Lackawaxen," the detective said, "And I'm running my route right now. I'll go to your place later."
"Please remember," Trudy pleaded him, "You were the bright light that made my life worth living, as I was for yours. Don't you remember 'bread and butter?'"
"Bread and butter?" Adrian looked thoughtfully at her. "No, that doesn't really ring any…"
Trudy kissed him passionately on the lips. Adrian stared at her, everything clearing up. "Trudy?" he asked, "How'd you…?"
Trudy pointed out the windshield. Too late Adrian saw DiNardo's car coming toward him. He cried out and slammed on the brakes, but not in time to prevent the car from slamming into the front of the truck and exploding. Coughing, the detective slumped to the floor of the cab to escape the flames and smoke. He felt Trudy's hand taking him by the arm and pulling him out of the garbage truck. She laid him down on the garage floor. "Thanks," he said, looking up lovingly into her eyes.
"I'm here for you," she said, stroking his face, "Just think of me and I'll be there."
"There was the sound of boots on the pavement as Fraser ran up. "Adrian, are you all right?" he asked, leaning over the detective.
"What happened?" Adrian looked around, "Where am I?"
"We're underneath Marshall Fields, and I think the suspect is dead," Fraser looked over the smoldering wreck of the car.
"What?" Adrian looked shocked, "How'd…why…I didn't….oh God, don't tell me Benjy was in there?"
"Thankfully he wasn't," Fraser reassured him, "It was just Doctor DiNardo, and judging by the intensity of the explosion, that car was rigged to blow."
"So DiNardo was in on it?" Adrian looked shocked that he may have been off, "I didn't mean to run into him like…am I going to get nailed for this?"
"Most likely," Fraser admitted, "But maybe if we explain nicely how you had amnesia that you were a garbage man, they would…."
"Garbage man?" Adrian looked down at his garb. He shrieked at the garbage on his suit and ran around in panic. Fraser nodded. "Good work," he told Trudy, "It's good to have him back."
"Detective Monk, what you did was reckless and irresponsible!" Ford shouted at him the next morning in Welsh's office, "Thanks to your blatant lack of judgment, we've lost the kidnapper. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Would, would it help if I said I was sorry to the city?" Adrian tried to force an innocent smile.
"Detective Monk was suffering from amnesia that he was a garbage man," Fraser tried to intercede on the detective's behalf, "He was unaware that he was going to be in that garage at that time. It was a complete accident that he hit…"
"Hello, are we talking to you, Constable?" Deeter told him curtly, "I don't think we are. And in case you want to argue on his behalf, let me point out that because this was botched, the kidnappers are now demanding a billion dollars even. It's going to take us all day to get another five hundred million and print up the phony bills to trick them with. And if we lose the kid, Detective, I hope you realize it's your fault, because you botched everything for this job."
"It's not just Dr. DiNardo, someone else is behind all this!" Adrian tried one more time to get the federal agents to see his point of view, "One man could not have set that explosion that almost killed me and could still kill Natalie. And what about Frank Zuko's man trying to kill us?"
"Your hit man hasn't confessed to anything, and therefore it's all but certain you've got the wrong lead," Ford told him off.
"He's never completely wrong," Stottlemeyer protested, "If you gentlemen would just listen to some of the things he says, we might have been…
The phone rang before he could say anything further. Welsh picked it up, "Lieutenant Welsh speaking," he said. "Ah, I see. He's right here. Your commissioner, Detective," he said to Adrian, "I think we'd all like to hear this."
He pressed the button to the line. "Good morning Adrian Monk," came Commissioner Brooks's sour voice over the line, "Word just got back to me about your terrific show in Chicago. I knew letting you out there was a mistake, and now you're going to pay for it."
"Commissioner, Monk was suffering from amnesia," Stottlemeyer told him, "You need to be fair with…"
"You're not saving him this time, Captain," the commissioner told him off, "As for you, Monk, it's nine thirty right now. I want you on the flight back to San Francisco at two, or else."
"Commissioner, please,…" Disher tried to say.
"End of discussion," Commissioner Brooks hung up. "As the man said," Ford told the detective, "We'll have someone escort you to the airport and put you on that flight home. Upon arriving back in Frisco, you'll be placed under house arrest until this case is resolved, at which point you'll be transferred to Washington to stand trial for interfering with a federal investigation, which carries a maximum of fifty years in prison, and we intend…"
"Now look here you little weasel!" Stottlemeyer rose menacingly to his feet, "This is completely unfair! If you arrest Detective Monk, I'll…!"
"Sit your fat rear down unless you want to be arrested too, Captain!" Ford threatened him.
"Detective Monk is innocent of what you're accusing him of!" Stottlemeyer continued to rant, "You know what I think, I think…!"
"I think we all need to cool down a little bit," Welsh interceded, "Why don't we all step outside and let the federal marshals finish what they were saying to the nice disgraced detective, gentlemen?"
"Permission to speak freely, Leftenant," Fraser spoke up.
"Oh yes, by all means," Welsh shrugged, by now used to such requests from the Mountie.
"I think we're letting what was an unfortunate accident cloud our judgment and unity in the matter," Fraser told them all, "Instead of bickering amongst ourselves, why don't we work together and come up with a plan on how to…"
"Unfortunate accident? Constable, in case you didn't notice, the kidnapper died because Detective Monk couldn't watch where he was going," Deeter told him, "That's guilty as hell as far as we're concerned. Now may we have our moment alone with him, please?"
"I suppose you can, but let me advise you and Agent Ford not to do anything you'll regret," Fraser said as he and everyone else field out of the office. Ford locked the door after them and started drawing the office blinds. "You know what your problems is?" he told Adrian, who had an unpleasant expression on his face, apparently knowing what was coming next.
"I get amnesia when I shouldn't?" Adrian guessed, forcing a smile.
"Well, that's one problem, to be sure," Ford took off his badge and gun and put them on the desk. Deeter did the same. "Your problem, Detective Monk, is that you never know when the hell to STAY OFF OUR TURF!"
Without any warning, Deeter hauled Adrian to his feet and pinned his arms behind his back. Ford started punching the detective like there was no tomorrow. "That was our man!" the enraged agent bellowed as he landed punch after brutal punch, "We had him dead to rights and you took him away from us! Well you're not getting away from this without paying, you retarded jerk!"
"I think I get your message," Adrian groaned, unable to do much to defend himself. Ford delivered a concluding combination punch to his chest. "Pack your things!" he demanded as Deeter loosened his hold, letting Adrian crumple to the floor, "And if I find you don't get on that flight, I'll shoot you myself, am I perfectly clear?"
"Absolutely," Adrian picked himself up and dusted himself off.
"And remember, this never happened," Deeter warned him, "Understand?"
Adrian nodded; anything to prevent further violence. "Could I stop by the hospital and visit Natalie, you know, just to say goodbye in case she doesn't…?"
Ford growled and looked at his watch. "You have a half hour, starting now!" he muttered, unlocking the door. Adrian hurriedly left the room.
"Permission to accompany Detective Monk to the airport?" Fraser inquired the detectives from his post outside the door.
"Oh sure, please do," Ford told him, "In fact, do us a big favor and get on the plane with him, so we won't have to put up with you anymore either, Constable."
"I can't do that, Agent Ford, with all due respect," Fraser told him in a tone that hinted that he knew exactly what had just happened.
"Well, what are you standing around here for, go get rid of him!" Ford waved him off. Fraser nodded and walked over to the corner of the squad room, where Adrian was leaning against the wall, a blank look on his face. "Why don't you tell Leftenant Welsh, he'll believe you," he urged the detective.
"Why bother?" Adrian shrugged, "They're right. I blew their chance at it. I'd better just leave before someone else gets killed."
"Might does not make right, Adrian," Fraser said emphatically, "Especially in their case."
"Constable, I appreciate your efforts, but I'm on a time limit," Adrian said, shuffling toward the door, "I may never see Natalie again if she goes."
"I understand," Fraser nodded, "We'll stop by my place to get your belongings."
Adrian nodded and walked outside, his shoulders heavily sagging.