Free Mr. Monk on the Couch by Lee Goldberg Page A

the table in frustration. “And you let her into your home? You’re insane. You’ve become a danger to yourself.”
    “Then so are you, Mr. Monk,” I said.
    “How can you say that? You know me. I would never act as impulsively, as irresponsibly, and as self-destructively as he has.”
    “Yes, you would,” I said. “You already have.”
    “What are you talking about?” Monk asked.
    “I’m an ex-con,” I said.
    “You were arrested for a minor offense in college,” Monk said. “It’s not the same.”
    “I’ve killed someone,” I said.
    “That was in self-defense,” Monk said.
    “Even so, all those things didn’t stop you from letting me into your home.”
    “But not in my shower,” Monk said.
    “Is that what’s bothering you, Adrian?” Ambrose asked. “That Yuki and I are together?”
    Monk stared at him. “You’re together together?”
    “How could you not know that? How could you not see the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me?” Ambrose said. “Why does everyone think you’re this astoundingly observant detective when you are totally blind?”
    “Oh my God,” Monk said, lowering his head and covering his face with his hands. “This just keeps getting worse.”
    He was right. I had to save Monk from himself. I got up from my seat. “I think it’s time for Mr. Monk and me to go.”
    “I’ll call you when we have some information for you,” Ambrose said.
    Monk got up and pointed a finger at Ambrose. “Don’t come crying to me when Yuki strips this house of valuables and runs off with her Hells Angels friends to get tattooed.”
    “She’s already tattooed,” Ambrose said. “She has a snake on her back. I think it’s beautiful.”
    “The apocalypse is nigh,” Monk said. “And the first horseman just rode in on a Harley.”
    And with that, Monk marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him. I was about to say something when Monk came back in, went straight over to one of the stacks of newspapers in the living room, straightened the issue on top, then stormed out again.
    “Please forgive him, Ambrose,” I said. “He doesn’t handle change well.”
    “I didn’t like change, either, until the change was Yuki. Does that make sense?”
    I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Perfect sense.”

CHAPTER NINE
    Mr. Monk Hits the Bottle
    T he drive back into San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge was an ordeal, as I knew it would be.
    “Can you believe what Ambrose has done?” Monk lamented.
    “I’m very happy for him.”
    “Then you care nothing for his well-being.”
    I’d had it with him by that point and couldn’t hold back any longer.
    “As I recall, Mr. Monk, the whole point of taking your brother out on that road trip was because you’d achieved a balance in your life that you felt he’d been denied. One of the things that saddened you was that he hadn’t found someone to love. Well, now he has. So what are you complaining about? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
    “Not with some biker chick that he picked up on the side of the road.”
    “Who cares where you find love as long as you find it?” I said. “Or it finds you?”
    Monk looked at me gravely. “I think they’re fornicating.”
    I wanted to slam my head against the steering wheel. “You’re missing the whole point.”
    “Take me to Dr. Bell’s office right away.”
    “You were just there this morning,” I said.
    “This is a crisis,” he said. “A psychiatric emergency.”
    “Are you having a mental breakdown?”
    “No, I’m fine,” Monk said. “I’m the epitome of clear thinking and rationality.”
    “So what’s the emergency?”
    “Do you have amnesia? My brother is fornicating with a homicidal tattooed motorcycle mama! Dr. Bell might be the only one who can save him.”
    “How do you expect Dr. Bell to do that?”
    “By committing Ambrose to a mental institution.”
    “On what grounds?”
    “Insanity, of course. If what Ambrose is doing isn’t insanity,