Head Notes: I'm finally back. Thanks for sticking with me. The action is starting to pick up and I hope you like it.
Chapter 6
Finch stood up and began to pace in the 8'11 cell to ease the stiffness in his back. They had transferred him to a holding cell shortly after his conversation with Mr. Monk. They could legally hold him here for 72 hours. But even after that, they could still legally justify holding him on charges of breaking and entering.
He looked up at the blinking red light on the camera just above his cell. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about his creation. There were days he had the pride of a father for the things it could do. Other days he couldn't bury the feeling of how much he had lost because of it. Normally, he could compartmentalize and tell himself that the Machine was not at fault. It could only do so much. It could not physically stop anything. All it could do was relay information and then it was up to the government and himself to act. That was the way he wanted it in order to protect people's privacy, but there were days he wondered when his luck would run out and he would pay the ultimate price for building something so intelligent..
He looked up as he heard the jangling of keys. An officer walked up to his cell and put the key in the lock.
"Today's your lucky day," he said in response to Harold's confused look.
XxXxXxX
Stottlemeyer had not had a good night's sleep. From worry over his friends and Julie as well, he had spent most of the night going over the robbery case in his mind and trying to figure out the connection to Monk. He only slept when he could no longer hold his eyes open. Walking into the station, he could still barely hold his eyes open. If this was any indication, today was going to be a long day.
He put his briefcase on his desk and looked out his office door. He was just about to close it when he saw a familiar crop of hair standing with a uniformed officer at the checkout desk.
Leland charged over to the officer in charge of him.
"hey!" he roared. The officer and Harold turned to him. Harold flashed his gaze at the officer before looking back at him.
"Who told you he could go?" He demanded.
"Leland," a voice behind him said. A voice that sounded like...could it be.
He slowly turned around to see Monk and Natalie. He couldn't believe it. He stared at them.
"Leland, we need his help," Monk said.
"Monk, how did you get away," He asked once he had found his voice.
"We didn't," Monk answered, tilting his head in an obvious direction.
A man in a suit stood ten feet in the direction Monk indicated. The man noticed his gaze and nodded a greeting.
"Is that?" He began to ask.
"Yes, he's the Man in the Suit. He robbed the store two days ago." Monk said tiredly.
"If this is the guy, then - Monk, you saw what he did."
"I know," Monk said. "But Julie was kidnapped last night and this guy says that Harold might be able to help."
"Of course he said that," Stottlemeyer said. "They are buddies. They would say anything to get each other out of jail."
"Captain, Julie's life is at stake," Natalie said. "If this guy says he can find her, I am more than willing to give him a chance to do it."
Stottlemeyer looked at Natalie and back at Monk. Then he looked at Harold. The man stood calmly, giving nothing away with his eyes. He looked back at Monk.
"Are you sure you can trust him?" He asked, nodding toward the Man in the Suit. "The man shot fifteen kneecaps. That doesn't say Happy-feely Nice guy to me."
"I don't know," Monk answered. "But for Julie's sake, I have to give him a chance."
Stottlemeyer looked around one more time.
"Fine," he conceded. "But Monk, They're not your only options. If you need anything, please call me."
"We will," Monk said.
XxXxXxX
"So If I am to understand correctly, Miss Teeger has been abducted," Harold said, firing up his laptop.
"Yes," John said. "And the kidnapper called on Julie's cell phone. I had to take the battery out of Natalie's phone. Do you think you can track where it was when he called."
"It's not quite that simple, Mr. Reese," Harold said. "But I'll see what I can do."
"I will too," John whispered. "Think you could watch over Monk and Natalie while I'm out?"
"Always, Mr. Reese."
John stood and walked into the other room where Monk and Natalie were waiting.
"Well?" Natalie demanded.
"I see you're not wasting any time asking," John commented.
"It's my daughter," Natalie said.
"We'll find her," John said. "Harold will find a way to track Julie's GPS signal in her phone. And while he's doing that, I'll be going out."
"Where are you going," Monk asked.
"The underground. I'm going to find out where I could hire a hitman like the one that has Julie."
"I should come," Monk said.
"No, you need to stay here," John said.
"Why?"
"Because Adrian, you look like a cop," John said. "Stay here and don't get yourself killed. Harold will be here in case of any mishaps."
XxXxXxX
Allen Richards winced as he adjusted his restless legs again, the sun pouring through the window as it slowly warmed the room. He hated lying in this infernal bed, but every time he tried to get up, the pain just became unbearable. Still, it was a calculated risk he'd taken to ensure that the cops wouldn't suspect the gun trade. In hindsight, he wondered if there had been another way he could have achieved the same result. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
The nurses had changed the bandages two hours ago. It was really the only interaction he received. Except for the cop who had come to see him yesterday. He didn't know how, but the man had somehow figured out that the robbery had been a set-up. He hadn't figured out that it was a gun trade, but with the questions he asked, he was close. If that was the case, then the calculated risk had been for nothing.
The door to his room opened and he turned to see who it was. He didn't recognize the man's face but when he spoke, he recognized the man's voice instantly.
"Thanks for the hardware, Allen," he said. "I was running low on assault rifles."
"What are you doing here?" He demanded.
"I need some intel," the Man in the Suit said casually. "Judging by how well you organized that gun trade, you know your way around San Francisco pretty well."
"I'm not going to tell you anything," Allen said.
The Man in the Suit didn't move. Just sat there staring at him, a chilling smile appearing on his face.
He slowly lifted his hand and placed it just above his knee. Allen's face paled as he realized what the Man in the Suit was about to do.
"All I have to do is apply a little force," the man warned. "It won't do much more than the damage you did to yourself, but you will wish you were dead."
Allen nodded his consent , staring at the hand casually resting above his ruined kneecap.
"Good," The Man in the Suit said. "If I wanted to hire a hitman, where would I go?"
"What kind of hitman," Richards asked.
"A competent one. Preferably ex-military. Possibly former spec ops."
"Are you talking about yourself or- AHH!" he cried out, as the hand firmly squeezed his mangled knee.
"Okay, okay," he gasped and the hand relaxed its grip. Richards hissed as he tried to regain his breath.
"I've know of a few people who fit that description," he hissed. "But they're not an orgnized gang. It's not like they hang out at the same bar."
"So, say a sale goes wrong. You get played. How would you contact them?" The man asked.
"Anyone who comes to my gun trade must sign a ledger," He replied.
"Where do you keep the ledger?" the Man in the Suit asked.
"In my house," he replied. "On the second level,there is a bookcase. The ledger is on the second shelf behind the encyclopedias."
"I assume you've held more than one gun trade," the man whispered.
Richards nodded.
"I need to know if you've ever seen a man with dark hair and a leather jacket at any of them?"
"Dark hair? and a leather jacket? Could you be any less creative?" Richards asked.
"I need to see that ledger," he whispered. "Where is your house?"
"Three miles away from the store," he answered. "On twentieth south."
"Good," The Man in the Suit said, removing his hand. "Now one more thing, Allen. I will probably need more information later on and I don't want to have to come back every time I have a question. So," he pulled out a burner phone and placed it within reach on the table next to him. "This is yours. If it rings, I want you to answer it. If not, I have contact with a very competent detective who would love to know exactly what happened two nights ago."
XxXxXxX
Harold tried one more time to locate Julie's phone. Unfortunately, their hitman friend seemed as much aware of surveillance capabilities as they were. Either the man had used a heavy cloaking app on the device, or he was keeping the battery out of her phone. He was betting on the latter.
The door behind him opened a crack and he turned slightly to acknowledge the individual.
"How is Ms. Teeger faring?" he asked.
"I don't know," Mr. Monk answered. "You'd have to ask her. She's the one who's good at...that. You know. Feelings. What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to find the GPS signal programmed into Julie's cell phone." Finch explained.
"Can you do that?" Mr. Monk asked.
"Normally," he replied. "Unfortunately, our friend seems aware of modern technological capabilities. He is very good at hiding himself."
"I've been thinking about him," Monk said.
"I understand your concerns, Mr. Monk," Harold said. "But rest assured, neither I nor Mr. Reese will rest until this threat is taken care of."
"That's not what I meant," Mr. Monk said. "I remembered seeing him, when I looked around the car. There was something bothering me on his neck."
"You saw his neck?" Harold repeated impressed. He turned his shoulders to look at Mr. Monk. "While he was shooting at you?"
"It's a gift," monk said. "and a curse." He added.
"And what did you find on his neck that was so intriguing?" Harold asked.
"I didn't know what it was at first," Monk admitted. "But it was a scar. It was thin and about two inches long running at a slanted curve above his collar."
"That could be used to identify him," Harold reached up and touched his ear. At least then we can have a name for our assailant."
"Mr. Reese, I have some information on our hitman."
Monk turned around, expecting to see the Man in the Suit behind him, but no one was there.
"What kind of information?" John asked.
"Mr. Monk noticed a scar on his neck during your shootout. About two inches long just above his collar." Finch described. Mr. Monk moved closer to Harold, holding his hands up and looking through them as if they were a magnifying glass .
"Looks like our hitman has a few battle scars," John commented.
"Would it be specific enough to identify him?" Finch asked, ignoring Mr. Monk's confused gaze as he searched for what Harold was talking into. Harold tried to wave him off as Monk got uncomfortably close to his ear.
"I'll ask around," John said as the line clicked and became silent.
"What are you doing?" He asked, turning to Monk.
"You were talking to someone, on the phone. But you weren't holding your phone up to your ear. Then, I remembered that Natalie once mentioned something called...ahh, what was it, a tooth. No, bluetooth! a Bluetooth headset. But you didn't have one on your ear. But then I remembered that you like things small."
"I do enjoy a certain amount of anonymity," Harold admitted. "Not unlike yourself, Mr. Monk."
"exactly how much do you know about me?" Mr. Monk asked.
"Enough to keep you alive," Harold answered, turning back to his lap top. He redoubled his efforts and tried a different tactic.
XxXxXxX
John walked back to his car holding the ledger for the gun trades Richards had hosted. Throwing himself into the driver's seat, he began to peruse the ledger. It had a list of weapons, legal and illegal, and names of people who bought them along with the date they were bought and a number to reach them by.
The guy he was looking for probably wouldn't be a repeat costumer. A guy like him wouldn't frequent the same criminal outfit. He would want to avoid attention both from the authorities and from other criminals. He would probably attend gun trades only when he needed an upgrade and would only buy what he needed to get the job done.
A familiar ring sounded in his ear and he tapped his earpiece.
"Got something, Finch?" he asked.
"Our hitman is very careful," he said. "But I believe I found a way to track Julie. Her cell phone carrier keeps records of GPS coordinates. I hacked in and pulled up Julie's number. The last call she made was twenty miles from where we are."
"We have a location?" He asked.
"That's assuming he didn't move her after she described her surroundings," Finch confirmed.
"Even if he did, it's more of a lead than we have now," John reasoned. "Give me the coordinates, I'm on my way."
John drove for about thirty minutes until he came up to the address Harold sent. He didn't know where he was, but he was pretty sure he was no longer in San Francisco. The city lights had faded a few miles back.
"Do be careful, Mr.; Reese," Harold urged.
"I will Finch."
John ended the call and stepped out of the car. Drawing his gun, he picked the lock on the door. It took a few minutes before he heard the click of the locks disengaging. Holding his gun at the ready, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
One look around the front room and he knew he was in the right place. The walls were rotted, just like Julie had described and what had to have been a horrible paint job was faded and peeling. Moving down the hall, he expected the hitman to jump out at any second and attack him from whatever direction he was not looking.
He went from room to room clearing the house. He walked up to the last door pushed it open and froze. Julie Teeger sat against the wall, her arms tied with plastic handcuffs above her head to the bars behind her. A recent bruise adorned her cheek and she stiffened as she caught sight of him and his gun.
"Don't worry, Julie," he said putting his gun in his back pocket.. "I'm here to help."
"Wait," she remembered. "You were there when that guy kidnapped me."
John nodded and pulled out a pocket knife to cut the handcuffs.
"Do you know where he is?" he asked as the handcuffs gave way.
"He left a while ago. But he didn't tell me where he went."
"That's fine," John said, helping her stand up. "We'll find him."
He was about to tap his earpiece to call Harold when he noticed something on the wall behind the bars. Leaning down he realized it was a note. A knot of dread formed in the pit of his stomach that grew as he read it.
As I said, Monk for the girl. I'm glad you chose wisely.
Two lines. But if they implied what he thought they did, it might as well have been ten.
The ringing in his ear brought him back to the present and he answered his phone.
"Mr. Reese," Finch greeted. "have you been able to-"
"Finch, get out of there now!" he ordered.
"Mr. Reese?" he questioned. "What's going on?"
"He was tracking us just like we were tracking him," He said."He's on his way! get out now!"
XxXxXxX
End notes: Okay, I'm pretty sure I know where I'm going with this action-wise. Please tell me what you think.