then winced. “Forgive me, that didn’t come out at all the way I intended.”
I couldn’t help smiling at his discomfort. “It’s okay, Jerry, I understood what you meant. Did you find anything when you cleaned the hotel room?”
“We find strange stuff all the time,” Jerry said, eager to change the subject from his faux pas. “We were cleaning up after a guy who blew off his head with a shotgun, and when we ripped out the blood-and-brain-matter-stained drywall behind him, we found a wedding dress sealed in plastic underneath the insulation. Another time, when we were mopping up after the decomposing corpse from an old lady’s unattended death, we found twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and bonds that she’d saved under the floorboards.”
“Did you find anything even remotely that interesting this time?”
“I can tell you exactly what we found. We take notes in case the police come back to us.” He took a notebook out of his back pocket and flipped it open. “Forty-seven cents, a gum wrapper, a used condom, a bottle cap, three pens, assorted unidentified pills, six paper clips, a safety pin, a Tic Tac, a 7-Eleven receipt, and toenail clippings.” He closed his notebook and stuck it back in his pocket. “It was normal detritus, most of it under furniture, slightly less than the usual accumulation for a hotel room with a lot of occupants.”
“So are you done here?” I asked.
“We’ve still got to disinfect, deodorize, lay some new carpet, and replace the mattress.”
“May I observe you in action?” Monk asked.
“I’d be honored, Adrian, but I knew it was going to be just a simple, two-man job, so I didn’t bring any extra protective gear with me today.”
“That’s okay, Jerry. Natalie can run back to my apartment and get mine.”
“You have Tyvek coveralls, a respirator mask, and goggles?” Jerry asked.
“Who doesn’t?” Monk said, then glanced reproachfully at me. “That is, if you’re a civilized person.”
“This isn’t much of a job, and we’re almost done. I have a better idea,” Jerry said. “The next time you’re at a murder, stick around until we get there and you can join the crew for the cleanup.”
“That would be amazing,” Monk said. “If we’re lucky, someone will get killed today.”
“You’re a real humanitarian, Mr. Monk,” I said.
“No, I’m not,” Monk said and pointed at Jerry. “But he is. You’re doing God’s work.”
“Thank you,” Jerry said. “Speaking of which . . .”
He reached for his hood, pulled it over his head, and gave us a little salute before putting on his mask and goggles and going back into the room.
It looked like I’d have to come back later for my stylized TV-detective flashbacks of Jack Griffin’s last days.
Monk watched Jerry Yermo go and then looked at me. “That’s a hell of a man.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” I said.
“I know he’s single,” Monk said, then stood there with one eye closed for a long moment before opening it again.
“Was that supposed to be a wink?”
“You’ve never seen a wink before?”
“Winks are quick,” I said. “That was more like a nap with one eye closed.”
We went back downstairs. I stopped by the front desk, told the clerk to hold the room key for 214 under my name, and crossed the lobby toward the front entrance.
“You didn’t respond to my subtle suggestion,” Monk said. “Was it too subtle?”
“Jerry isn’t my type,” I said.
“Why not?”
“He spends his day scrubbing up gore.”
“So you have a problem with clean, decent, upstanding men who do God’s work,” Monk said, then gestured to the men in the lobby. “I suppose you’d prefer one of them.”
“Those men are indigent, drugged out, mentally ill, and elderly.”
“Well, that’s the alternative.”
“No, it’s not. There’s a wide variety of men in the world besides Jerry Yermo and them.”
“That explains why you’re alone,” Monk said. “You
I couldn’t help smiling at his discomfort. “It’s okay, Jerry, I understood what you meant. Did you find anything when you cleaned the hotel room?”
“We find strange stuff all the time,” Jerry said, eager to change the subject from his faux pas. “We were cleaning up after a guy who blew off his head with a shotgun, and when we ripped out the blood-and-brain-matter-stained drywall behind him, we found a wedding dress sealed in plastic underneath the insulation. Another time, when we were mopping up after the decomposing corpse from an old lady’s unattended death, we found twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and bonds that she’d saved under the floorboards.”
“Did you find anything even remotely that interesting this time?”
“I can tell you exactly what we found. We take notes in case the police come back to us.” He took a notebook out of his back pocket and flipped it open. “Forty-seven cents, a gum wrapper, a used condom, a bottle cap, three pens, assorted unidentified pills, six paper clips, a safety pin, a Tic Tac, a 7-Eleven receipt, and toenail clippings.” He closed his notebook and stuck it back in his pocket. “It was normal detritus, most of it under furniture, slightly less than the usual accumulation for a hotel room with a lot of occupants.”
“So are you done here?” I asked.
“We’ve still got to disinfect, deodorize, lay some new carpet, and replace the mattress.”
“May I observe you in action?” Monk asked.
“I’d be honored, Adrian, but I knew it was going to be just a simple, two-man job, so I didn’t bring any extra protective gear with me today.”
“That’s okay, Jerry. Natalie can run back to my apartment and get mine.”
“You have Tyvek coveralls, a respirator mask, and goggles?” Jerry asked.
“Who doesn’t?” Monk said, then glanced reproachfully at me. “That is, if you’re a civilized person.”
“This isn’t much of a job, and we’re almost done. I have a better idea,” Jerry said. “The next time you’re at a murder, stick around until we get there and you can join the crew for the cleanup.”
“That would be amazing,” Monk said. “If we’re lucky, someone will get killed today.”
“You’re a real humanitarian, Mr. Monk,” I said.
“No, I’m not,” Monk said and pointed at Jerry. “But he is. You’re doing God’s work.”
“Thank you,” Jerry said. “Speaking of which . . .”
He reached for his hood, pulled it over his head, and gave us a little salute before putting on his mask and goggles and going back into the room.
It looked like I’d have to come back later for my stylized TV-detective flashbacks of Jack Griffin’s last days.
Monk watched Jerry Yermo go and then looked at me. “That’s a hell of a man.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” I said.
“I know he’s single,” Monk said, then stood there with one eye closed for a long moment before opening it again.
“Was that supposed to be a wink?”
“You’ve never seen a wink before?”
“Winks are quick,” I said. “That was more like a nap with one eye closed.”
We went back downstairs. I stopped by the front desk, told the clerk to hold the room key for 214 under my name, and crossed the lobby toward the front entrance.
“You didn’t respond to my subtle suggestion,” Monk said. “Was it too subtle?”
“Jerry isn’t my type,” I said.
“Why not?”
“He spends his day scrubbing up gore.”
“So you have a problem with clean, decent, upstanding men who do God’s work,” Monk said, then gestured to the men in the lobby. “I suppose you’d prefer one of them.”
“Those men are indigent, drugged out, mentally ill, and elderly.”
“Well, that’s the alternative.”
“No, it’s not. There’s a wide variety of men in the world besides Jerry Yermo and them.”
“That explains why you’re alone,” Monk said. “You
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