AUTHOR'S NOTE: For a full explanation as to why we've come to this, it maybe be helpful to read my previous story "Due Monk," or if you're in a time crunch, just the last chapter.
From the first time he'd first learned about Trevor, Adrian had greatly disliked him. Marriage, the detective adamantly believed, was a sacred union between two people meant to be upheld by both members of the union for all eternity. Thus, although he'd never approved of any crime in any fashion, he had felt a small sense of satisfaction to discover that Trevor had not only been cheating on Sharona again, but that he'd made an arrangement with the mob to have her killed off to cover it up. One of the few things in his life Adrian took genuine pride in was chasing Trevor down after he had exposed him and bringing him in, even though Trevor had a severe cold at the time. His testimony at the trial had landed the man a prison term long enough to make many felons shiver.
Yet here Trevor was now, and as he removed the Green Goblin mask, the detective could see the same burning hatred in his eyes that he'd observed as the bailiff had lead him out of the courtroom after sentencing. "Hello Monk," his enemy said darkly, "Didn't expect to see me again, did you?"
Well, well, the rats keep coming back no matter how hard you try to exterminate them," Disher said contemptuously.
"Shut your cakehole, rookie!" Trevor fired a shot dangerously close to Disher's leg. There were footsteps as another figure emerged from the darkness. "Hello Natalie," said…
"Mitch?" Natalie gasped at the sight of the man, "No! It can't…how…?"
"No, it's not Mitch," Adrian said. His heart sank when he saw the newcomer looked guilt-ridden. The worst-case scenario had happened. "This is a clever imposter who happens to be named…"
"Peter Hague, a.k.a. 'Black Pete,'" Stottlemeyer recognized him up front, "You're wanted for murdering a young black woman in New York; one of the most gruesome killings even in that city."
"Pete's initiation rite," Ertley said with a sick sense of pride in his voice, "He passed with flying colors."
"But why?" Natalie looked heartbroken that her husband wasn't really back, "Why make me believe it was Mitch?"
"Because Trevor was intent on breaking your heart," Adrian said in a low voice, "This was going to be his revenge against you. Right now on my answering machine, there's a message for you asking you to join 'Mitch' at Fisherman's Wharf. Several Caucasian Provinces members are waiting there to kill you at the moment."
"Very clever Monk," Trevor snarled, "Too bad it's the last bit of smart business you'll ever do! Oh no you don't!" he snapped at Disher, who'd been going for his gun, "You and your life partner," he gestured at Stottlemeyer, "Better lose those right now!"
"And what if we don't, Trevor?" Stottlemeyer challenged him.
"Oh you don't want to do that, captain, or I'll press button number six," Trevor pulled out a cell phone, "And send Benjy and the girl out in a literal blaze of glory!"
"Oh my God!" Natalie had turned about as pale as a person possibly could, "What did you do to my family, you monster? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BABY?"
She lunged at Trevor, who rather violently pistol-whipped her across the face. Natalie collapsed to the floor, blood gushing from the strike point. "Any other takers?" Trevor dared the rest of the group, who stood stone still. "Good, now lose the guns!" he ordered the cops. They reluctantly tossed them aside. "Now take the cuffs off him," Trevor gestured to Ertley.
"He's a terrorist, Trevor!" Stottlemeyer protested, "He's going to blow up the city!"
"That's not my concern!" Trevor snapped, "I'm warning you captain, I'll kill them now!"
He put his finger over the 6 button. Glowering darkly, Stottlemeyer unlocked Ertley's cuffs. "It's was nice doing business with you, captain," Ertley told him with an air of superiority.
"And once your blast goes off, the papers will all blame him because he failed to bring in the guilty parties when he had the chance," Trevor sneered at the humbled Stottlemeyer, "His reputation will be ruined permanently, and he'll be remembered by history as the man who let San Francisco get destroyed. All right, go take off and do whatever you wanted to do."
Ertley walked calmly into the radiation suit room. Trevor cocked his rifle again. "All right, all of you start walking!" he ordered the group, "Keep your hands where I can see them!"
He forced them up the hall, leaving Natalie lying on the floor twitching. "Black Pete" stayed behind, watching his back. "If you've hurt even one hair on my sons' backs…!" Stottlemeyer muttered dangerously under his breath.
"Your sons are fine, captain," Trevor told him, "My grudge with you doesn't extent that deep."
"So you're willing to go this far?" Sharona spoke up for the first time since Trevor had made his presence known. She fixed him with a look that mixed rage and terror. "You'd conspire with these people to try and kill us off…you'd endanger the life of your son—your only son—even though he told you at the trial he forgave you for everything you did in Chicago?"
"Oh that's news. I thought he was YOUR son now?" Trevor growled. Without warning, and to the disgust of all, he gave her a brutal kick to the chest. "For your information," he barked as she doubled over in agony, "I don't like these people's sick, twisted views any more than you do. They're the scum of the earth. But at least they're willing to give me comfort and the opportunity to speak my views, unlike some people I know! And if I heard correctly, you promised Benjy he could come visit me. Six months, and not even a word! I waited and waited. The thought of seeing him again kept me going even after I was ganged raped TWICE by the other animals in that hellhole! Look at this," he pulled down his sleeve and showed her an ugly scar, "One of them slashed me with a machete! That's what I've gone through!"
"We were going to stop by after Christ—" Sharona tried to protest, but Trevor backhanded her across the face. "I'm sick of your lies!" he shouted at his once again ex-wife, utter hate seething from his every word, "You lied on that stand to send me away for the rest of my life because you didn't want me to see my son again! And you call ME vengeful? Well now the tables have turned, hag, and if I can't have Benjy," he shoved the cell phone in her face, "then no one will."
"There's no need to bring Julie into this as well," Ambrose interceded.
"Oh, the more retarded brother," Trevor greeted him with outright contempt as well, "Well, the girl's mother has to pay for getting involved with your brother here, and this is the best way I can think of. All the birds killed with one stone, so to speak."
"How lovely," Adrian commented, "A coward to the end, hiding behind white supremacists, just like you hid behind the mob in Chicago. Old habits die hard, right Trevor?"
"By the way, I've got a Christmas present for you, Monk," Trevor pushed him against the wall and decked the detective hard in the face, much as Adrian had done to him on the airplane. "What goes around comes around!" the fugitive snapped pushing him to the ground, "You ruined my life, Monk, and now I'm going to ruin yours, and the lives of everyone you care for!"
"Oh really?" Disher grumbled, putting a brave face to the situation, "Monk, when did you figure out it was him?"
"I thought about who would know where we all lived," Adrian hauled himself to his feet, "And only one person would know that. I'm guessing when Trevor faxed Natalie's social security card to Commissioner Brooks in his attempt to get us off the kidnapping in Chicago, he got back every conceivable bit of information on her family. He printed out a copy and memorized it in case he needed it if Julie's abduction didn't get to us. This included a detailed sketch of Mitch, whom he realized looked a lot like his old friend Black Pete Hague, who we knew lived here in San Francisco now."
"Then how'd he get here?" Stottlemeyer had to ask, "With all the press coverage his trial got, people would have noticed if he was on the loose."
"My cousin," Trevor told him, "was very kind to agree to take my place when he paid me a visit. He altered his appearance to look like me, and then tunneled in underneath my cell. As far as the guards at Joliet know, I'm still there."
"At first you were just bent on eliminating Natalie and I," Adrian continued his second summation of the evening, "After getting Black Pete's consent to pretend to be Mitch, you called my apartment pretending to be Ambrose, then rigged the bomb in his house, hoping I would come over and be caught in it. You waited around the corner for me to arrive, which came too late for your plan, but you saw Sharona with us and immediately decided to ratchet your revenge plan up to full steam. You obtained the support of the rest of Caucasian Provinces, and gave them our addresses to bomb. Then you tried one more time to bump us off by yourself at the precinct. You didn't want to risk a third strike after that failed, but you kept watching us, waiting for an advantage to exploit. When you saw the children being evacuated, you saw that opportunity, and you gave Ertley's men the go-ahead to snatch Benjy and Julie."
They'd reached one of the dumping chambers for the plant's toxic waste. Trevor threw open the door. "Get in!" he yelled at the men, "We're going to heat things up really good tonight!"
"Are you out of your mind?" Ambrose protested.
"He could well be," Adrian told him, "Men with nothing to lose are usually out of their minds."
"But unlike them, revenge will be mine, Monk," Trevor told him. He shoved Sharona up against the railing. "Even BREATHE, and 'your' son dies now!" he warned her, holding the cell phone in her face for added effect. Quivering visibly, Sharona froze up. The men reluctantly entered the chamber. Adrian, however, stood firm for once. "If you intend for this to be the end, Trevor, you might as well bring out the one secret you somehow did keep from Sharona all these years," he said firmly.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Monk," Trevor said dismissively.
"You didn't for the longest time, did you?" anger rose in Adrian's voice, "The day Trudy died, there was another bomb that went off in the city. A security camera on the bank up the street caught a picture of a man running away from the scene. A man…" he unfolded a newspaper clipping from his pocket and held it up for everyone to see, "…who on closer inspection looks an awful lot like you."
Dead silence filled the room. "You know, it's not enough, is it Monk?" Trevor mumbled nervously, "It's bad enough you destroyed my life, now you're saying I ruined yours! Give me one good reason I would have helped kill your wife!"
"Perhaps you were helping out an old friend?" Adrian countered, "This afternoon, I came across a class picture of the 1982 shop class at Newark Central High School. You were a freshman that year. In the picture, you're standing with your class partner for the year, a senior who'd been chosen by his classmates as the most likely to succeed. I called your teacher on the way over, and he told me the two of you were quite close in his class. That boy's name, in case you've forgotten, was Warrick Tennyson."
"GET IN THE DAMN CHAMBER, MONK!" heavy guilt was sweeping Trevor's face. The fugitive in a quick flashed tossed the detective into the chamber, then leaned down and coughed in his face. Adrian shriveled up in horror. "I'M the coward, Monk?" Trevor mocked him, "Well, to each his own, and now you're going to join your wife."
Footsteps echoed up the hall. "Are you almost done?" Ertley sounded impatient, "The chopped to Rio leaves in an hour."
"Yeah, just give me a minute to lock them up," Trevor told him. Ertley stuck his head in the chamber door. "Well boys, we part company here," he said dangerously, "By the way, one bomb's on the Coit Tower, and another's disguised as a fruit cart in Chinatown. But in the unlikely event you manage to get out of this, I'm not going to tell you where we put the biggest bomb."
"Why are you even telling them this?" Trevor argued with him, "This is Adrian Monk! He could figure out any damn clue!"
"Not here and now," Ertley slammed the door shut. "Come on, let us out of here!" Stottlemeyer raged, pounding on the door. Something heavy was pushed up against it to block their way out. Fast-moving footsteps charged toward them in the hall. "I'll kill you, you filthy son of a…!" Natalie was screeching hysterically.
The sound of a harsh blow being struck cut off her tirade. "By the way, your daughter's a piece of trash, just like you!" Trevor could be heard saying cruelly over the sound of her groaning in pain, "And as for YOU, I've got my own special gift for…!"
The rest of his threat, as well as all outside noises, were cut off by the sound of the equipment starting up. "Oh you've got to be kidding me!" Stottlemeyer roared, staring at the duct on the wall through which the radioactive waste would soon be pouring.
"I'm afraid not, captain!" Adrian took gasping, shallow breaths. His claustrophobia was starting to kick in. He reeled around the chamber, his head spinning. "They intend to radiate us to death."
"How long do we have, Monk?" Disher asked nervously.
Adrian was too busy hyperventilating to answer. "Hmm," Ambrose glanced at the duct, "This seems to be a Mark III model, there's about fifty gallons of waste on the other end, it's going to take about five minutes for the equipment to come to full power, waste flows about three yards a second, shaft appears to be five thousand four hundred sixty-three feet long, I'd say about, oh, nine minute and twenty-nine seconds before we're all eleven feet tall and glowing like LEDs."
"And no way to call outside," Stottlemeyer realized his radio had been destroyed.
"I know," Adrian stumbled over to him, gasping almost comically for air, "And that's a time lock on the door; it won't open for another twelve hours. Can I have your notebook there, captain? I need to write my will."