Mr. Monk in Trouble Read Online Free PDF Page A

door.”
    Disher sneered at Lenihan. “Do you feel lucky today? Well, do you, punk?”
    Lenihan kept his mouth shut. Stottlemeyer stared at Disher and shook his head.
    “What?” Disher said.
    “Just read him his rights and get him out of here,” Stottlemeyer said.
    Disher read Lenihan his rights. Stottlemeyer put the bloody knife in an evidence Baggie and handed it, and the bag of candy, to one of the two uniformed officers. The other officer lifted Lenihan to his feet and led him away.
    I was used to the fact that Monk couldn’t go anywhere without encountering murderers and dead bodies along the way. But now he didn’t even have to leave his own home for it to happen. Murderers were literally knocking on his door.
    I found it a very unsettling development but the only thing that seemed to disturb Monk about it was the bloody newspapers on the floor.
    “I need to clean up,” he said and dashed into the kitchen to get his cleaning supplies.
    Disher nodded. “A man’s got to know his limitations.”
    “Mr. Monk certainly does,” I said.
    Stottlemeyer glanced at his watch. “I think we can still make it to the party if we hurry. Do you have your costume with you, Randy?”
    “I’m wearing it,” he said in a low grumble.
    “Who are you supposed to be?” I asked. I knew, of course, because he’d been quoting lines from the character since he’d walked into Monk’s place, but I enjoyed teasing him.
    Disher took a step towards me, clenched his teeth, and snarled. “Go ahead, make my day.”
    “George Bush?”
    “No.” Disher grimaced.
    “Shrek?”
    “No.” Disher grimaced.
    “Elmer Fudd?” Stottlemeyer said.
    “Dirty Harry Callahan,” Disher said.
    Stottlemeyer looked at him dubiously. “You think that all you’ve got to do is put on a pair of sunglasses and you’re Dirty Harry?”
    “I’ve already got the badge, the gun, the attitude, and the intimidating physical presence,” Disher said. “All I really need is my own catchphrase and I’m him in real life. I already get mistaken for him all the time.”
    I gave him a skeptical look. “You do?”
    “Tourists always want to have their picture taken with me,” Disher said.
    “Dirty Randy,” Stottlemeyer said and headed for the door. “That’s you.”
    “That’s what they call me on the street,” Disher said, following after him.
    “What street?” Stottlemeyer said.
    “My street,” Disher said.
    “I haven’t heard that on your street.”
    “I’ve heard it,” Disher said.
    “What your mother says doesn’t count.” Stottlemeyer turned and winked at me as he closed the door behind him.

CHAPTER THREE
    Mr. Monk Arrives in Trouble

    M onk had no problem examining a dead body without flinching, but he couldn’t live with the thought that there might be a speck of blood on his door or in his apartment. It was one of the many bewildering contradictions in his character.
    He spent the next two days scrubbing and disinfecting his entry hall before he gave up and decided that the only reasonable course of action was to replace his front door, refinish his floors, and repaint his walls.
    That was actually the compromise that I got him to accept instead of gutting the apartment entirely or moving out and finding a new place to live.
    Monk was trying to figure out where to go while the workers remodeled his place, and I was telling him all the reasons why he should stay with his brother, Ambrose, when Stottlemeyer called and said that he wanted to see us at headquarters right away.
    On the drive over, I continued to make my case for him to stay with Ambrose.
    “It’s the home where you both grew up and you can sleep in the familiar, safe, clean surroundings of your old bedroom,” I said. “You could even pass the time with your rock shining kit.”
    “There’s only one problem,” Monk said.
    “What’s that?” I asked.
    “My brother is crazy,” Monk said. “I can’t take the stress.”
    “Now you know how I feel,” I