Head Notes: I have no excuses for being this late. I had worked on it throughout the semester, which I should never have tried to do as I already knew that I fail at both when I attempt to juggle more than one or two interests. Thank you for being patient with me. I'm sorry it has taken me this long, but the ninth chapter is finally finished. Enjoy!

Chapter 9

"So, this Dale Beiderbeck, he is imprisoned? " Harold asked.

They were in the front room sharing the information with the others. Monk, Julie, and Natalie sat on the couch while Harold, John, and Stottlemeyer stood in various places around the room.

"Last I checked," Stottlemeyer confirmed.

"If he is imprisoned, then surely his recorded voice would have been recognized by my software." Harold insisted.

"Maybe, except that his voice was never recorded," Stottlemeyer returned.

"Isn't it police procedure to record all interrogations?" Harold wondered.

"Well, one, he never came to the station. We had to go to him."

"Why?"

"Let's just say, he's not called 'Dale the Whale' solely for the size of his fortune," Stottlemeyer said. "And two, he's one of those manipulative, secretive, rich guys who think they own everything. We had to be very careful in our investigation or risk lawsuit. Even though he knew that we knew he was guilty, "

"So basically, Finch, he's your evil twin." John stated in jest.

"I didn't have a twin brother, Mr. Reese," he returned.

"So what do we do now?" Natalie asked.

"Well, it's unlikely that Mr. Beiderbeck will stop trying to kill Mr. Monk," Harold said. "He told me as much. Which means he's has probably hired another hit-man by now."

"So, we're back to square one," Stottlemeyer said.

John suddenly stood up startling everyone else.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a call to make," he whispered walking into the other room. Stottlemeyer watched him leave the room and turned back to Harold.

"He has a call to make. Meanwhile, what do we do?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"Rest assured, Captain Stottlemeyer," Harold began. "Mr. Reese will find a way to stop any hitmen Mr. Beiderbeck sends after Mr. Monk. In the meantime, I should get better acquainted with our friend."

"You still haven't told me why you're here." Stottlemeyer pointed out. "Why you're really here. And why did your partner in there shoot up a store?"

"It's a long story," Harold sighed. "One that I'm sure we will have time to discuss later, but right now we have other pressing matters."

XxXxXxXxX

John stepped into an empty room to make the call. Just as instructed, the man on the other end answered seconds later.

"Need me already?" Richards whined.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Allen," John casually threatened. "I need some information."

"What?" Allen asked.

"I need a list of competent criminals," he said. "Start with the best and give me ten. Someone that could be hired for murder."

"You realize this is personal information?" Allen complained. "Word gets out that I slipped names to anybody, they'll skin me alive."

"And if you don't give me some names," He threatened. "Good names, I'll just drop the ledger off at the SFPD. Now a few names given to me might make a few people angry. But lose all of your clients' information to the police, I hardly think there'll be anything left of you."

He let silence hang in the air as Richards took in his threat.

"Now, the names." he casually threatened.

"Fine," Allen conceded. He gave ten names. "They're all in the ledger. Their numbers as well."

"Thank you, Allen," John said. "I'll call you again if I need anything.

"I'm sure you will," Allen grumbled as John hung up.

He flipped through the ledger looking for the names Richards had given him. He wrote the names and all available information on a separate piece of paper. He wondered whether or not he should show Stottlemeyer and the others the ledger but decided against it. The fact that the police hadn't seen it was one of the reasons Richards was cooperating at all. And while he was sure he could get him to cooperate regardless, he wouldn't be much use if he was in prison.

Once he had copied all the information from the ledger, he walked back into the other room.

"We have a starting point," he stated.

"How?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"I have a friend in the underworld," John said.

"The underworld?" Stottlemeyer asked. "As in..."

"Sometimes you need a criminal to catch one." John explained. "I have ten names of probable contract killers. If we each take two we can narrow down our list. find the one biederbeck is most likely to hire. Call Disher. He might be able to help. Finch, can you run a background on all of them?"

"I'll do what I can," Finch said, committing the first two names to memory.

Stottlemeyer was already calling Disher by the time John turned back to him.

"Monk and Natalie are fine. Julie too. No, Randy, stay there," He ordered. "Because I need you to look up public records on some suspects." He gestured for John to show him the list. "Eric Rod Merrill, Michael Cromwell, and Tristan Kingston. Everything you can find ASAP. Thank you."

"Captain, you better come look at this," Monk's voice said.

Harold's eyes met John's and John could see his question mirrored in his partner's eyes. Everyone followed the sound of monk's voice. Even at the back of the group, John could see what had garnered Monk's attention. The weapons from the store hidden in a closet.

"Whoa," Julie gasped, as her eyes took in every piece of weaponry. "Cool."

"Don't touch anything," Natalie said, as her eyes fell on the guns, legal and illegal. The machine guns, the handguns, and the grenade launchers as well as a few rocket launchers for good measure.

Every eye in the room turned to look at him. Despite the situation, John could help but see the humor in it.

Stottlemeyer could not look away from the cache of weapons.

"Where did these come from?" He asked.

"Local supplier," John replied as if it were no big deal.

"I don't suppose you have permits for all of them?" Stottlemeyer challenged.

"Not exactly."

And I'm supposed to trust you why?"

You've been a cop long enough to know that gun control doesn't always work. There are always people willing to bend or even outright break the rules for money or power. If I didn't have these, someone else would. Someone worse than me."

"Did you know about this?" He asked turning to Harold.

"While I'm not necessarily fond of lethal weaponry, It has proven to be successful in achieving our purpose," Finch replied calmly.

Stottlemeyer chewed his lip as Finch calmly held his gaze. Finally, he sighed.

"What's the plan?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"I'll take the direct approach," John explained. "I'll investigate my names out in the city. You stay here. If someone comes, I don't want them defenseless. You're welcome to use the weapons if you need to."

"Thanks," Stottlemeyer said. As John looked in his eyes he could see that Leland was gradually starting to trust him.

"Just don't let anything happen to them," He said, turning to leave.

"I'll send you an update in an hour, Mr. Reese," Finch said, sliding in front of his computer.

"I appreciate that, Finch," He said. "I'll be back. Make sure they get some rest." He said, nodding at Julie and the others.

"Good luck, Mr. Reese."

XxXxXxXxX

Adrian Monk watched as Mr. Reese left. There were still some unanswered questions about the robbery and the connection to him as well. Why did the Man in the Suit and his friend care so much about what happened to him. Why had he shot up a store in such a brutal fashion and then start protecting him. How did he know he was in danger at all. Despite all of these questions, Monk was beginning to trust him. Not just because he had few other choices.

The weapons in the closet were terrifying to see, but they too were part of the puzzle. Part of solving the mystery as to who this man was. Perhaps there were more clues. He looked around at his companions. Natalie and Julie were sitting on the couch watching television. Captain Stottlemeyer was calling one of the suspects, and Harold was feverishly searching on his laptop for any and all information on the suspects. He quietly made his way back to the closet and gently turned the handle. The door creaked silently but the noise did not disturb any of the others. Raising his hands, he looked through his fingers, searching for anything that might be out of place.

The ammunition and gun cleaner was not unexpected. He continued his search, patiently making his way up shelf by shelf. As his eyes came to rest on the top shelf, he noticed a duffel bag. Reaching up, he took it down for a closer look. It was in reasonably good shape. No catching of the zippers, no tearing in the material. In fact, the most offensive flaw was a microscopic tear in the material near the zipper. A Tear in the fabric, he repeated in his mind. The robbery two nights ago, he had found a thread that came from a duffel bag zipper. Could this be the bag? It was the same color, same texture as far as he could tell. If this was the bag stolen from Allen Richards, he was that much closer to solving this case. He could feel the answer bursting from its hiding place. He could almost see the puzzle forming. If only he could discover the missing pieces, he would find the answer.

But that would only answer the mystery of the robbery. Who these people were would be harder to solve. And he had a feeling that once he was out of danger, the two men would disappear for good. He carefully put the bag back on the top shelf. Harold caught his eye as he walked back into the front room.

"How is your investigation going, Mr. Monk," He asked, resuming his work on the computer.

"Investigation?" Monk repeated.

"You're a detective, Mr. Monk" He pointed out. "More than that, you are an intelligent one. You find questions everywhere; questions you must ask whether anyone knows the answer or not. And if no definitive answer exists you must search and hunt around until one presents itself. An intelligent mind in both a gift and a curse."

The corner of Harold's mouth twitched up into a smile.

"I have some questions," Monk admitted.

"I imagine you have several," Harold hypothesized. "Not only about your current predicament with Mr. Beiderbeck, but also about us. And I regret to say that I may not be able to answer all of them fully."

"Why are you protecting me?" Monk asked.

"As I said before, Mr. Reese and I had credible information that you might be in danger. And as I said before, I cannot tell you who gave us that information."

"But you don't even know me," Monk pointed out.

"Is it required to know someone in order to help them?" Harold asked.

"Am I right to assume that I am not the first person you have helped?" Monk asked.

"That is correct," Harold answered.

"Why do you help them?"

"I have my reasons."

"Do those reasons include your injury?" Monk asked.

Harold's eyes flinched upwards before returning to the screen in front of him.

"I imagine I could put the same question to you," Harold said. "Why do you go on solving case after case, murder after murder when it is a challenge to even leave your apartment? Might it have something to do with what happened to your wife?"

A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. Monk tried to to take a breath, tried to calm himself, but it was too late. His breaths were coming in with bitter, agonizing sobs as he sunk onto the floor.

"Mr. Monk, I'm so sorry," Harold apologized, rushing over to him. "I should have realized the subject would be difficult for you."

"What's going on?" Stottlemeyer asked, running over to them.

"Trudy!" he cried, crouching into a ball. "Her case is the one case I can't solve! I've visited the parking garage more times than I can count! I've read the file over and over again, searching for something, anything I missed before. I've done everything I can and I've still failed! I still don't understand why anyone would have wanted her dead."

He tried to breathe deeply but the air stuck in his throat to be pushed out with a fresh torrent of sobs. He pressed his hands to his eyes, the tears sliding past the obstacle as if it wasn't even there. Through his distress, he could sense the others crowding around him, no doubt frustrated with yet another one of his breakdowns. They would never say it. But he knew it was true. They hated it when he was like this and he was like this a lot. Some people might be patient the first few times, but no one wanted to face this side of him so often. That's why everyone eventually left him. He knew the truth even if no one else would admit it. He heard someone kneel in front of him.

"Mr. Monk?" Harold's voice gently whispered. "Mr. Monk, can you look at me?"

Monk tried to open his eyes; tried to look toward the voice, but he didn't have the strength to look anyone in the eyes.

"Mr. Monk, I understand how you must feel," Harold insisted. "I lost a very dear friend in a similar manner as Trudy."

"But Trudy wasn't my friend," Monk sobbed. "She was my wife. She was the only person who really understood me. She didn't just tolerate my phobias or problems. She accepted me for who I was. She truly loved me."

"I know it's not exactly the same," Harold admitted. "And I doubt that I can fully understand what you personally feel. But I do understand that as I laid there watching my friend die, I felt so helpless, so alone. I thought it wasn't fair that the world around me kept moving when such a good honest man was- was dead. You see, Mr. Monk, My friend, Nathan, he was the one person who understood me. The only friend I really had. It wasn't fair that those responsible for his death should do what they did and then casually move on with their lives without repercussions. I wanted there to be justice. Not only for my only friend and my injuries, but also for the countless other victims, the collateral damage who suffered simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had lost so much in that moment. Not just my closest friend. In that moment, I had also lost my fiancee."

Monk finally looked up at him and was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"Her name was Grace," He explained. "And she was the very definition of the word."

"Did she die with Nathan?" Monk asked, his voice in small sobs.

"No, she's still alive," He corrected.

"Then why would you live without her? If you truly loved her why would you leave her?"

"I lost her in a different way. I lost her in the sense that I can never be with her lest I put her in danger." Harold gently explained.

"Danger?"

"Due to the nature of my work, I had amassed a large number of enemies. In that moment, I realized that in order to protect her, I had to let her go. She still had a chance for a normal life. It wouldn't have been fair for me to take that away from her."

Monk once again raised his hands to his face and wiped the tears away.

"In all reality, Mr. Monk," Harold continued. "You're right. I do this, I protect people I don't even know because I don't want them to go through what I did. I don't want anyone else to suffer needless loss, whether it be their life or the life of a loved one. In the words of my friend, 'everyone is relevant to someone.' I'm just sorry it took so long for me to realize that."

"Mr. Monk," Natalie called gently.

Both Harold and Monk turn to look up at her. Tears moistened her cheeks and her arm was wrapped around Julie's shoulders who was also crying. Even Stottlemeyer looked touched.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked.

Tears still flowed down his chin but he nodded. Natalie moved toward him and helped him up while Stottlemeyer reached for Harold's outstretched hand. Even though Monk hated physical contact, he accepted the hug Natalie offered him, feeling truly understood for the first time in such a long time.

XxXxXxX

Harold grunted as Captain Stottlemeyer helped him up. As the pain in his back subsided, he watched as Monk and Natalie huddled into each other, tears still blurring his vision. He sensed someone watching him and turned to meet Stottlemeyer's eyes.

"I didn't mean to upset him," Harold explained.

Stottlemeyer shook his head.

"Any number of things can upset Monk," He said. "But it's a rare breed that can calm him down. So...thank you."

XxXxXxXxX

End Notes: I don't know if I am good at writing emotional scenes. Usually I have one or two lines that I really like but unsure about the rest. Anyway tell me what you think.