Hibler nodded his head. “He was staying there. Stipe demanded four-star accommodations. We couldn’t afford to rent convention space there and they wouldn’t have us even if we could. They’re sci-fi bigots. They don’t want our kind on their premises.”
“Who knew when he was going to be showing up here?”
“Just about everyone,” Hibler said, taking another sip of his drink. “He does six or seven of these cons a year.”
Monk rolled his shoulders and tipped his head towards the 7-Up. “You’re required to drink those in pairs.”
“No, you’re not,” Hibler said.
“Yes, you are. They’re like socks,” Monk said. “Only carbonated.”
I’m sure that made sense to Monk in some way, but not to any of the rest of us. I pressed on.
“The show has been off the air for thirty years,” I said. “You’d think Stipe would have gotten sick of answering the same questions over and over.”
“Do you think the pope gets tired of discussing the Bible?” Hibler said.
“You’re comparing Beyond Earth to the Bible?” Stottlemeyer said.
“What I’m saying is that it’s like the Bible,” Hibler said. “The more you delve into it, the deeper your understanding and appreciation becomes for the history, the values, and the enduring life lessons that it teaches.”
“If you read the front of the can,” Monk said, “you’d know you’re supposed to have two at once. It’s like the Bible, too. Only on a can. You need to follow it religiously.”
“All it says is ‘7-Up,’ ” Hibler said.
“The dash means ‘and,’ as in ‘and up to fourteen,’ ” Monk said. “It means you’re supposed to go up to another can.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Hibler shook his head, which made his elephant trunk swing.
“It’s common sense,” Monk said.
Stottlemeyer began to rub his forehead. The whole room shook as a plane passed over us.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Hibler yelled.
“Me? Me? ” Monk yelled back. “Have you taken a look at yourself lately?”
Some more things were said back and forth between the two men that were, mercifully, drowned out by the plane. When the roar was over, Stottlemeyer spoke up first, silencing them both.
“Enough about the drinks, Monk. We’re conducting a homicide investigation here,” he said. “Let’s stay focused on the facts.”
“The fact is that the rest of us live in the real world,” Monk said. “Where a man has been murdered, rational human beings don’t wear pointy ears, and seven plus seven equals fourteen!”
“I’m not wearing pointed ears,” Hibler said. “These are my ears.”
We stared at him. That was a conversation stopper.
“They are?” I asked.
“I had them surgically enhanced,” Hibler said.
“Why?” I asked.
“The erotic power,” he said. “Surely you feel it.”
I was feeling something, but it wasn’t attraction. Quite the opposite, actually.
“What about the elephant trunk?” Monk asked. “Is that part of you, too?”
“Only in the emotional and spiritual sense. It’s a prosthetic,” Hibler said. “Made from the original mold they used on the show. But I follow Snork’s example in life.”
Stottlemeyer cleared his throat. “It must have cost you a lot of money to put Stipe up at the Belmont. Why bother inviting him at all? Surely you’ve heard everything he has to say.”
“A Beyondcon doesn’t have any credibility unless you’ve got Stipe and at least two of the original cast members attending,” Hibler said. “We have four of the six. Only Captain Stryker and Starella aren’t here.”
“And they are?” Stottlemeyer said.
Hibler looked at Stottlemeyer in disbelief, as if he’d just been asked who the first president of the United States was.
“The commander of the Discovery and his concubine psychic from Umgluck.”
Stottlemeyer rubbed his forehead again. Monk started rummaging around for something in the minibar. There was an awkward silence. I could feel the interview spiraling away from us.
When the captain spoke again, it was in a controlled voice, the kind he usually reserved for dealing with Monk.
“I meant in real life,” he said evenly.
Hibler stared at him. Stottlemeyer stared back.
“Kyle Bethany and Minerva Klane,” Hibler said. “What planet have you been living on for the last thirty years?”
“Earth.” Monk yanked the 7-Up can out of Hibler’s hands, startling him. “You should try it sometime.”
“What are you doing?” Hibler said.
“Enforcing law and order.” Monk handed Hibler a bottle from the minibar.
“What’s this for?” Hibler said.
“It’s a V8,” Monk said.
“I can see that,” he said. “Why did you give it to me?”
“This way you only have to hold one drink,” Monk said.
“But I don’t like vegetable juice,” Hibler said. “I like 7-Up.”
“It’s for your own good,” Monk said. “It’s a very tasty, even beverage. You’ll thank me later.”
I was still thinking about Kyle Bethany. I had a big crush on him when I was a kid. I didn’t like science fiction very much, but I could always count on two things in a Beyond Earth episode: that Captain Stryker’s shirt would get torn off somehow and that he’d end up in a romantic clinch with a female alien. And if there were no female aliens around, there was always Starella, the space shrink with the cosmic halter top that seemed to defy gravity.
Bethany was a romantic hero, always jumping into danger and making passionate, chest-heaving speeches about freedom, democracy, and humanity. I don’t remember the speeches, but I haven’t forgotten the chest-heaving.
After Beyond Earth was canceled, Bethany did some guest shots on shows like The Love Boat and Jake and the Fatman, but he basically disappeared and I shifted my unrequited romantic longing to Rick Springfield.
Minerva Klane was on The Young and the Restless until she became one of the Old and the Incontinent. I saw her picture not long ago in the National Enquirer while I was waiting in the checkout
