I...(sigh)...do not...(deeeep sigh)...own Monk...(burst into tears)... but the others, despite the Dinosaurs (sniffff), are mine...
I guess some reviews will cheer me up! (hint!)
MR MONK MEETS THE REDEEMER
CH5
Noon.
Monk was buttoning his shirt when the phone rang.
"Hi, Mr. Monk," Bianca's now familiar voice came across warm and friendly. "Gilbert is here and we would like to invite you to join us for lunch. We'll eat here in the hotel. Will 10 minutes give you enough time to get ready?"
"Yes, that's fine. Thank you, Bianca. I'll meet you there." Slowly he hung up the phone.
Monk's quick response to the invitation did not seem like a risky action to him. But he was sure that there was something wrong with this couple. They were being extremely kind and considerate to a complete stranger. Surely they wouldn't offer this type of hospitality to every tourist who found himself stranded at the Rio airport. Something was not right. Spending some time at lunch observing them closely might prove very productive.
Monk stopped near the window, watching the movement of the work crew who were building the huge stage by the beach, while he buttoned his cuffs.
Indeed, the view was amazing. From there he would be able to follow the rock'n'roll performance the following night, but honestly he wanted to leave the country before that.
The crew had built a bridge connecting the hotel to the stage, over which the performers would probably reach the stage. The Rolling Stones could arrive on stage without mixing with the wild and waiting crowd. "Brilliant," Monk thought, "Get there without physical contact!"
Monk also noted that there was a part of the stage built on rails. Probably this would be as close as the public would be able to get to the band. Once more, Monk found the idea brilliant. To be able to produce a show for thousands of people, a sweaty and shirtless audience dancing on the beach, without physical contact, but still being seen by them was brilliant.
Monk checked briefly to see if the windows were sealed and sound-proofed. Then he looked around the room and felt strangely alone.
Natalie came to his mind.
Certainly if she was there, she would disagree on his negative instincts about the couple. She would say that he was troubled by the sudden change of plans and that he should calm down and relax, trying to accept the honest generosity of strangers. And somehow she would convince him to stay in Rio de Janeiro for one more day so that they could enjoy the concert.
With a slight smile in the corner of his mouth, Monk closed the door and started downstairs to the hotel restaurant. He knew he couldn't relax, not here, not yet.
As Monk was heading toward the stairs, he heard some people approaching from around the corner of the corridor, talking loudly.
He saw a group of old men, surrounded by beautiful women, in an animated conversation, speaking with British accents. All of them, both men and women were thin, and dressed extravagantly. Only one of them, a gentleman with short white hair was dressed appropriately for his age. As Monk concluded his quick surveillance of the group, he observed the conservatively dressed man talking quietly with a tall black man, over behind the noisy group.
A man with carefully disordered hair, wearing black tight trousers and a white shirt that displayed his chest bones, looked at Monk with curiosity, and asked one of the women, "Please ask him if there is a problem with the lift."
Before the woman could translate it, Monk replied, "No, everything is in order. I'd rather go by the stairs."
"Hey, hold on a minute. You are the American who is in my penthouse suite, aren't you?"
Monk froze. He turned quietly back to the group, which silently awaited a response.
"Yes, yes ... I do not ... your suite ... well, here's the thing. Bianca said that I could stay there, but I really thought that,"
"No, do not worry, mate! I just wanted to meet the lucky guy! It's my pleasure, Mr..?"
"Monk, Adrian Monk. I…was…" Monk nodded his head, and pointed to the stairs door.
Immediately Mick Jagger embraced Monk by the shoulders, and lightly shaking him, dragged him into the elevator.
He went on, "Mr. Monk, we'll have a party in our tower tonight, soon after the rehearsal out there on the stage they are working on. Want to join us? Or have you already made plans for the night? "
"No, no, I don't…like…" Monk was trying to say he was afraid of elevators, but as he and the other nine occupants squeezed themselves in together, Monk thought it would be better to foreget the excuses and seek fresh air in the corner of the car. And try to politely get free of Mick's hug.
"Don't worry, if you already have a company for the night. You can bring her too. I promise we will behave." The whole group laughed.
Monk instinctively replied with a smile, and moving backwards, freed himself from the singer's embrace and also got a better look at the group.
One of them, who appeared to be youngest of the crowd, with bristly black hair at the top of his head and long flowing hair at the back of it, was staring at Monk. Suddenly, he pointed his index finger directly at him.
"Forgive me, old fellow but are you that famous U.S. detective who solves absurd mysteries, and will receive a tribute in London tomorrow? I read about you in the Guardian today at breakfast. What are you doing here, man?" Everyone was silently watching Monk, again.
"Yes ... no. Actually, I am. But..."
"Hey, man. I go for you! No need for further introductions! I would happily misplace a bloody foggy London with a wonderful city like this one, no doubt about it!" said Keith Richards, pinching Ron Woods in the elbow. The group laughed again.
The elevator reached the ground floor, and everybody disembarked, chatting.
Keith was now holding Monk by the shoulder. "Don't worry, Sherlock man! Enjoy your stay, Mick is a good man. And do come to the party at night. I, myself will prepare my special Hi-Fi Drink for you: I make it in a big glass with the most pure Vodka, I gently pour a little orange juice on it, and finish the masterpiece by dropping some ice cubes in the glass!" said Keith, slapping a kiss on Monk's face, and following along with the group to the hotel's door.
Monk remained immobile, without breathing until Bianca came to his rescue. She had followed the action from the counter.
"Mr. Monk, are you okay?" Bianca asked, looking with concern to Monk.
Monk repeated constantly while vigorously cleaning his face with a wipe he took from his jacket pocket, "He paints his eyes. With make-up. Hippies. They are all on drugs."
Bianca guided Monk to the restaurant. They joined Gilbert, who was on the phone when they approached him. Gilbert immediately hung up the phone, and stood up waiting the other two sat down. Monk calmed down as Bianca ordered for him.
The lunch progressed without any further incident. Monk remained silent most of the time, observing Gilbert and Bianca's behavior. She looked quite relaxed, but Gilbert seemed to be hiding something under his glasses. He never looked Monk in the eyes.
At the end of lunch, Monk gently refused Bianca's invitation to walk around and see the hotel facilities. He said he was a little tired, and he would like to rest, while waiting for his assistant. Bianca agreed, then kindly kissed Gilbert and headed to her office, while Monk´s eyes followed Gilbert to the exit door.
Monk waited a bit to be sure Bianca was no longer watching, and then followed Gilbert carefully. Monk saw the young man's car exiting the parking lot, so Monk ran towards the left side wall were he could see more clearly as Gilbert's car passed by.
Monk was not surprised when Gilbert parked his car after only traveling a few hundred feet down the driveway.
He pulled up behind a large black car with tinted windows giving the occupants complete privacy. Exiting his car, Gilbert walked to the open passenger door of the black car. He stood for a few moments beside the door, agreeing with something that the occupant of the car was saying and nodding his head. He entered the car then, through the back door. At the same time a man wearing dark glasses and a black suit got out, and took the wheel of Gilbert's car.
Both cars drove away.
Author´s note: if you want to spend some time in Copacabana Palace, visit wwwDOTcopacabanapalaceDOTcomDOTbr/web/orio/penthousesuites.jsp.
I hope you enjoy the facilities more than our beloved hero... and if you have space for a interpreter in your budget, please, let me know!!
Thanx, Kathy, for the great help!