Disclaimer: I do not own Monk.
Complaint: I do not get many reviews.
Request: I do need your reviews.
Conclusion: I do think you're tired of reading those long chapters, not having time left to review them...
Sooooo...I deliver you a short chapter today and I will update it fast 'cause I also want to say here
'I do not own Natalie'.
MR MONK MEETS THE REDEEMER
Ch. 8
Soon they were back at the hotel. Bianca sat on the plush sofa in her office, talking to some of her employees and drinking a glass of cold water with sugar, a natural Brazilian calming remedy.
Monk was standing there also, next to the door, drinking his water and feeling his shoulders burn under a bath robe that an attendant had brought him.
Bianca, turned to Monk and said, after a long sigh, "Mr. Monk, we already called the police, but this could take some time. Unfortunately here in Brazil these things take longer. You can go up to your room and rest a bit, have a shower, whatever..." She gestured with her left hand above her head, and then rested her head on her hand on the sofa arm.
"I will ask someone to bring to you a new shirt. Once the police arrive, we call you, okay?" She finished, feeling her head aching.
Monk agreed, and before he left the room, Bianca said again, "I am so sorry, Mr. Monk. I am sorry you had to go through this, but I am glad you were there to help me out when I was so scared. Thank you, Mr. Monk." She had lifted her head and was smiling at him.
Monk smiled back at the young woman and said, "You did great, Bianca."
He left the office and went to his room, by the staircase. His suspicions were weakening. Bianca seemed to genuinely be a good person. Or had he just caught too much sun and was not thinking clearly?
He needed to relax, but was too tired to clean his room. One more shower would be perfect, he thought. Incredibly, the steps to his room seemed higher than before as he climbed the six floors.
He stopped at the last step, and measured it with his hand. Then stepped down and measured the previous step too. They both were the same size. But he was certain that the sixth floor steps were bigger then the previous ones.
The hotel must have made the stairs larger intentionally, hoping for the V.I.P. guests to become exhausted climbing up. They would consequently be eager to order more drinks when they arrived, call for massages and extra services, and also explore more of the hotel's luxury facilities. This would of course, increase the amount that could be charged to the wealthy guests. Monk smiled to himself, satisfied that he was smarter than the hotel establishment.
"I hope Natalie doesn't try to climb all these stairs," he thought as entered his room. He didn't pay her enough to try all spa treatments and he wasn't going to start.
The effort of climbing the stairs made him feel a bit dizzy. He flopped onto a chair next to the fridge, and got himself another bottle of Summit Creek. He stayed there for some time resting.
Monk needed to talk to someone, but could not make any call from the hotel. The best thing to do was to wait for Natalie to arrive. She would certainly bring her cell phone, and then he could talk to the Captain.
Monk's upper back was burning, as was the skin on his shoulders. He stood up and went to the bathroom, to shower.