Before Monk could answer, someone grabbed me from behind, yanked me into an alley, and put the edge of a very sharp knife to my throat.
“Drop your purse,” a raspy voice hissed into my ear.
Monk turned and his eyes widened in shock. “Let her go.”
“Shut up and get over here or I’ll slit her throat right now.”
Monk did as he was told. We backed deeper into the dark alley. I was afraid to breathe, or even to tremble, for fear the movement would make the blade slice me.
“You,” the attacker said to Monk. “Give me your wallet and your watch.”
Monk took out his wallet, opened it, and began to carefully examine the contents.
“What the hell are you doing?” the mugger said. I was thinking the same thing. Didn’t Monk see the knife to my throat?
“Sorting through my wallet for you,” Monk said.
“I can do that myself,” the mugger said. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and the desperation in his sweat. Or maybe that was my desperation I was smelling.
“But if I do it,” Monk said to the mugger, “I can keep what you’d otherwise throw away.”
“Give me the damn wallet!”
“Obviously you want the money and the credit cards, but I’d like to keep the photo of my wife.” Monk showed him the tiny photo of Trudy.
“Fine, keep it. Give me the rest. Now. Or I’ll slit her throat. I will.”
I felt him shaking with nervous frustration right through the sharp edge of the knife pressed against my skin. All it would take was the slightest increase in pressure and I’d be bleeding.
“Please do as he says, Mr. Monk.”
Monk ignored me and took out a green-and-gold card, holding it up for the mugger to see. “What good is my Barnes and Noble Reader’s Advantage Card to you? You don’t strike me as a big reader. Do you really need a ten percent discount on books? I think not.”
“I’m going to cut her, Goddamn it!” the mugger said. I believed him. He was getting edgier by the second.
“And what about my Ralphs Club Card? What good is it to you? You probably get your discount on groceries by stealing them.”
All of the mugger’s attention was focused on Monk now. I felt the pressure on my neck slacken and his hold on my waist loosen. Without thinking, I grabbed his wrist with one hand, smacked him in the face with the back of my other hand, and stomped on his foot as hard as I could. I felt the bones crack under my heel.
The mugger yelped and released me, dropping his knife. I kicked the knife away, spun around, and drove my knee deep into his crotch. He doubled over and I shoved him headfirst into the wall. The mugger bounced off the wall and dropped flat on his back to the ground. I planted my knee in his crotch, pinned down his arms with my hands, and looked up at Monk.
He was still standing there, absorbed with putting everything back in the right place in his wallet. My heart was pounding and I was breathing hard as the adrenaline surged through me.
“Thanks,” I said. “You were a big help.”
“I was distracting him until you could make your move.”
“
“That was my move.” Monk put his wallet back in his pocket. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“I’d like to know, too.” The mugger groaned.
“Watching my daughter in her tae kwon do class.” I glanced at Monk and jerked my head toward my purse. “You can use my cell phone to call the police.”
“Not yet.” Monk came over and crouched beside me. “Excuse me, Mr. Mugger. Do you work this street a lot? Is this your mugging turf?”
The mugger didn’t answer. I ground my knee into his testicles until he whimpered. I am woman; hear me roar.
“Answer the question,” I said.
The mugger nodded. “Yeah, it’s my patch.”
“Were you working on Friday night?” Monk asked.
“I don’t get a lot of vacation days in my profession,” the mugger said.
“Did one of your victims Friday night include a man named Lucas Breen?”
“Screw you.”
I increased the pressure on his privates. “You’ll have a hard time screwing anything ever again if you aren’t more forthcoming.”
I knew I sounded like a character in a bad cop movie, but I was still riding on adrenaline and pissed off about having a knife to my throat. The tougher I talked, the better I felt and the more the fear began to fade away.
“Yeah, I robbed Breen,” he croaked. His eyes were bulging so much I was afraid they might pop out and bounce away. I eased the pressure I was exerting on him.
“What time did you mug him?” Monk asked.
“I don’t have a watch.”
“You must have stolen hundreds of watches in your career. You never considered keeping one?”
“I don’t have lots of appointments.”
“Was Breen missing anything?”
“He was after I met him,” the mugger said.
“But not before,” Monk said.
“I took his wallet and his watch. I let him keep his wedding ring.”
“Why?” I said.
“Because people are real touchy and stupid about ’em. They’ll risk their lives for their wedding rings.” He looked at Monk. “I’ve never seen anyone do it for a Ralphs Club Card.”
“The savings really add up,” Monk said. “Did you notice anything unusual about Breen?”
“He was in a big hurry, couldn’t wait to give me his stuff,” the mugger said. “And he smelled like smoke, like he just ran out of a burning building or something.”
Monk called Stottlemeyer and, while he was filling him in, a black-and-white the captain sent showed up and two officers jumped out to take care of the mugger. I took the phone from Monk, called my neighbor Mrs. Throphamner, and begged her to take care of Julie for a couple hours while we followed up on what the mugger told us. Ever since I started working for Monk, Mrs. Throphamner has become used to my frantic calls for emergency babysitting.
We were just finishing up giving our report to the officers when Stottlemeyer showed up and motioned us into his car.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I think it’s time to have another chat with Lucas Breen,” Stottlemeyer said. He made some calls and found out that Breen was still at his office, just a few blocks away.
When we got to the building, Stottlemeyer used the guard’s phone to call up to Breen’s office. He spoke to the secretary and asked if Breen would come down to the lobby to meet with us. When the secretary said that Breen refused, Stottlemeyer smiled.
“Fine,” he said. “Tell him we can have the conversation about Lizzie Draper at his house in front of his wife.”
Stottlemeyer hung up, then motioned to the Boudin Bakery. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee while we’re waiting for Breen to come down?”
I took Stottlemeyer up on his offer and convinced him to sweeten the deal with a fresh sourdough baguette. Monk settled for a warm bottle of Sierra Springs water from my bag.
Five minutes later Lucas Breen emerged from the elevator alone and joined us at our table.
“What’s so important you had to drag me out of my office?” Breen said.
“You didn’t have to come down,” Stottlemeyer said. “But I guess you didn’t want the missus hearing about your affair with Lizzie Draper.”
