Mr. Monk is a Mess (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Mr. Monk and the Sting

I
t was a tense and seemingly endless few minutes as Irwin waited in line inside the post office and the Blackthorn operatives, in the van behind us, waited for Yuki to appear and go into the alley.

I was certain that they had spotted her in the restaurant by now, especially since she was sitting at a window booth so that she’d be seen, but they were holding off on making a move because they wanted to catch her with the money in hand.

And we wanted that, too.

So we were all showing commendable restraint.

Irwin emerged from the side entrance of the post office holding a large brown cardboard box sealed with an overabundance of packing tape. He obviously didn’t want to take any chances that this box of money would split open the way the other one had.

“Here we go,” I said, taking out my badge and putting it on a lanyard around my neck.

Monk wouldn’t wear his badge on a lanyard since there was no way to keep it centered on his chest at all times.

Irwin stepped into the alley and waited. Yuki came out of the restaurant, crossed the street, and headed for the alley. I noted a man in a suit rounding the corner at Hyde and falling into step behind her. At the same time another man, wearing jogging shorts and supposedly listening to an iPod, came around the corner at Larkin and walked toward her.

They were boxing her in.

Yuki pretended not to notice, but I knew that she did.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that the driver of the van was already turning his wheels toward the alley in preparation for the grab.

This was going to happen fast. I started the car, released the brake, and put the gear into drive.

Yuki stepped into the alley, traded some small talk with Irwin, then took the package from him. She started toward the sidewalk and the two men grabbed her, the guy in the suit jabbing her with a Taser.

Irwin bolted down the alley. He wasn’t being a coward. He’d been specifically instructed not to attempt to rescue her. We wanted her captured.

But the Taser wasn’t part of the plan.

The van shot across the street—nearly causing two collisions with oncoming vehicles—and blocked the entrance to the alley. I couldn’t see what was happening, but I was certain that the two men heaved Yuki’s limp body and the money inside the van and climbed aboard themselves, sliding the door shut behind them.

The abduction was over in less than thirty seconds.

I pulled out in front of the van, getting a head start on it as it sped off. Just before the intersection, I yanked the wheel hard to the left, fishtailing the car directly across the van’s path, giving the driver no time to veer around me.

The van skidded to a stop, burning rubber and creating a screech that sounded like Godzilla’s fingernails on an enormous chalkboard, raising goose bumps all over my body.

I swung my door open, stepped out in a firing stance, and aimed my gun at the driver.

“Police! Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!”

I guess I wasn’t very convincing, because the driver sneered at me, put the vehicle in reverse, and floored it.

The van’s tires squealed against the asphalt as it backed up at high speed.

On a one-way street.

The cars behind the van swerved wildly to avoid collisions, sideswiping parked vehicles on both sides of the street.

It was ugly.

People on the sidewalks screamed, flattening themselves against the buildings and ducking into alcoves. It was a miracle that nobody got hurt.

Monk got out of the car and looked at me over the hood. “Was this part of the plan?”

“It’s evolving,” I said, my back to him, my eyes still on the van as it retreated toward Larkin. I could hear sirens approaching from somewhere.

Monk ran to the corner. If I’d been smart, I would have done the same and got off the street.

But I stood my ground in a firing stance. I was debating whether to shoot, and was an instant away from having to make a decision when two black-and-white police cars and Captain Stottlemeyer’s Crown Vic raced across Larkin.

The cop cars came to a screeching stop in the intersection, creating a barrier behind the van, which skidded to a jarring halt just shy of rear-ending them.

Captain Stottlemeyer had been my first call after the one to Yuki. But my timing had been off. It took the police longer to show up than I’d anticipated.

But it had all worked out. The van was now trapped between the cop cars behind it and us in front. It wasn’t going anywhere, Yuki was safe, and the money had been recovered.

The plan had worked.

More or less.

As for the second Blackthorn vehicle, the one I assumed had blocked the other end of the alley on Larkin, it was probably long gone, the operatives rushing back to Tewksbury to evacuate the house they were occupying before the authorities arrived.

It didn’t matter. It was all over now.

I took a few steps toward the van to make my arrest, but then I saw its back wheels spin, kicking up smoke.

Oh hell
.

The van roared toward me like a race car just leaving the starting line.

“Shoot!” Monk yelled from the sidewalk.

I thought about it as the van bore down on me. I wasn’t the world’s greatest shot, or even the world’s 150,000th greatest shot, and Yuki was in that van.

Did I really want to take the chance that a stray bullet might find her?

I didn’t.

So at the last second, I dove out of the way.

The actors on TV shows always make dives look so smooth and graceful. What they leave out is that when you are diving onto rough asphalt, and you aren’t a professional stuntman who knows how to land and roll, and there’s no pad to cushion your fall, it’s a hard, painful, and bloody impact.

I am not a professional stuntman.

And I certainly didn’t have a pad.

I hit the ground hard, lost my grip on my gun, and rolled up against a parked car just as the van T-boned my Buick and plowed it right through the window of Allstars Donuts and Burgers.

I never liked the Buick much, but I felt bad for the restaurant. Luckily, the few patrons in the place managed to scramble out of the way and were unharmed by the car that landed in their lunch.

That’s when two black Suburbans skidded to a stop on either side of the van and half a dozen guys in blue Windbreakers with
FBI
written in big yellow letters on the back jumped out, guns drawn, led by Special Agents Thorpe and Cardea.

Kidnapping is a federal offense, which was why my second call after the one to Yuki had been to the feds to report that their stolen money was on the move.

The feds also arrived later than I’d expected.

So much for my precision timing.

I made a vow to myself that the next time that I came up with a scheme to nail a team of crack private security agents for kidnapping, and clear me and Monk of a crime, and recover money stolen from an FBI evidence room, I would make my calls to law enforcement for backup a lot earlier.

I reached under the parked car for my gun and realized that my hands were scraped and bleeding. The knees of my jeans were torn, but that only made them look more stylish.

Monk and Irwin rushed over and helped me to my feet.

“You were incredible,” Irwin said.

“That was one of the dumbest things you’ve ever done,” Monk said. “But I’ll have to check my list at home to find out where exactly this one ranks.”

“You’ve kept a list?” I said.

“I keep a list of everything.” Monk handed me a wipe. Stupidly, I used it on my hands. It stung worse than scraping them did.

“We should go out for coffee sometime,” Irwin said.

“Oh, come on, Irwin,” I said, shaking my hands, hoping that would make the sting go away. “Do you really think that this is the best time to hit on me?”

“We’ve bonded in the heat of battle,” he said.

I checked the intersection. The FBI agents had the van surrounded. Four Blackthorn guys came out with their hands on their heads and, wisely, so did Yuki.

More cop cars pulled up behind the FBI vehicles and officers ran into the restaurant to make sure nobody was hurt. Beyond them, I could see a paramedic unit, a fire truck, and an ambulance heading our way.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve still got a job to do.” I held up my badge and headed into the intersection. “I’m Officer Natalie Teeger, Summit Police Department, and you’re all under arrest for kidnapping, resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer, reckless driving, and general bad behavior.” I looked over at Thorpe and gestured to Yuki. “She’s the victim. You can let her go.”

“Where’s the money?” Thorpe asked.

“It’s in the van,” I said. “The brown box.”

Cardea climbed into the van and tore open the box, exposing the neatly wrapped stacks of cash.

“This is all a big misunderstanding,” said the guy who’d Tasered Yuki. “We’re security professionals, she’s a thief, and that’s stolen money that we’ve recovered.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “From the FBI evidence room.”

“What?” he said, stunned.

That’s when Yuki, in one lightning move, reached under the man’s jacket, grabbed his Taser, and zapped him with it, bringing him to his knees before Thorpe snatched the device from her.

“Stings, doesn’t it?” she said and gave the Blackthorn guy a kick for good measure, then moved over to us.

Stottlemeyer and Devlin walked into the intersection. Devlin looked around at the destruction and nodded approvingly.

“I have to admit that I’m impressed, Teeger. This is the kind of crazy, jackass dangerous thing I might have done to make a major arrest.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I wouldn’t take that as a compliment,” Monk said. “I’d look at it as a wake-up call.”

“You might have brought us into this a little earlier,” Stottlemeyer said to me.

I nodded. “At least ten minutes earlier.”

“I was thinking before you made the decision to pull this crazy stunt in the first place,” Stottlemeyer said.

Cardea brought a stack of the money over to Thorpe to examine. “It’s definitely our cash.”

Thorpe looked at it, then glared at me. “Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on here? When you called, you promised us our money and the man who had it, not a demolition derby.”

“Special Agent Thorpe,” I said, “meet U.S. Postal Carrier Irwin Deeb.”

Irwin offered his hand. “Always a pleasure to meet another officer of the federal government.”

Thorpe ignored the outstretched hand and looked at me. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He recovered your money,” Monk said.

“I don’t understand,” Thorpe said.

“Whoever stole it from the evidence room sent it to a mailbox service,” Monk said. “Irwin happened to be the postal carrier delivering the box, which he accidentally dropped. The box broke open, he saw the cash, and he gave in to temptation.”

“For which I am deeply sorry and ashamed,” Irwin said.

“In return for his valor today,” I said, “I’m recommending that he get immunity from prosecution for whatever slight transgressions he might have committed along the way.”

“You are?” Thorpe said with a derisive little snort. “How beneficent of you.”

“What about his coconspirator, the one who stole the money from the evidence room?” Cardea said. “You think we should give him a free ride, too?”

“I had nothing to do with the theft,” Irwin said.

“So you claim,” Cardea said. “How do we know you aren’t working for Salvatore Lucarelli?”

“Agent Cardea has a point, Natalie,” Stottlemeyer said. “Does that immunity you’re proposing extend to Jeroen Berge’s murder as well?”

“Who is Jeroen Berge?” Thorpe asked, scratching his hand.

“It’s going to take us some time to explain everything,” Monk said. “And you’re going to need a couple of hours to sort through all of this mess.”

“Which she caused,” Thorpe said, pointing a finger accusingly at me.

“She certainly did,” Monk said. “I suggest that we all continue this conversation at the Federal Building when you’re done here.”

“Oh really?” Thorpe said. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?”

The same question occurred to me, too.

“We’re taking Yuki home,” Monk said and looked at me. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes, Mr. Monk, we are,” I said, proud of him for putting his brother’s interests, and his heart, before everything else. When it came down to it, Monk usually did the right thing. But then it occurred to me there was one big obstacle remaining. “As soon as we get a ride.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Thorpe said.

Stottlemeyer tossed a set of keys to me. “Use my car. Amy will go along with you and take Yuki’s statement on the way. But the mailman stays with us.”

“Thank you, Leland,” I said.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he said. “I’m doing it for Ambrose. I haven’t decided yet whether to congratulate you or arrest you for what you did here.”

Stottlemeyer turned his back on me and walked away, taking Irwin with him. Devlin gave me a smile.

“That’s high praise in my book,” she said.

Monk looked at me. “It’s a bad book.”

“I was on the force for years before my commanding officer told me that he couldn’t decide whether to take my badge or give me commendation,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, you just became a real cop.”

Oddly enough, I was flattered. I had no idea her approval meant anything to me. But it did.

“Give me the keys and I’ll get the car,” she said.

I gave them to her and she headed off.

Yuki came over to me, looked as if she was about to say something, and then just gave me a hug instead.

Monk frowned with disapproval.

“Juanita Banana and Blackthorn will go down in a big way for this,” Yuki said. “I’ll never have to worry about them again.”

“That was the plan,” I said. “Well, half of it anyway.”

“I owe you one,” she said, letting go of me.

“Make Ambrose happy,” I said, “and we’re even.”

Monk shook his head.

“What?” I said. “Do you have a problem with that?”