Mr. Monk is a Mess by Lee Goldberg Page B

not put to use in products.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it’s repulsive, unsanitary, and forces us to see and think about something that should be unseen and disregarded.”
    “But that’s just it, Mr. Monk. Poop is a fact of life. Hiding from it and not thinking about it doesn’t make it go away. That’s why Ellen is doing what she’s doing. She’s trying to make us accept that excrement is natural and recognize it as a potential resource.”
    “And that’s the insanity that I am trying to save her from,” Monk said. “The same way you’d try to talk a suicidal person off the roof of a building.”
    “You don’t see the balance that she’s trying to achieve? You told her that you did. Were you lying to her?”
    “No, I wasn’t. I see it,” Monk said and then cringed. “But I wish I didn’t.”
    “Then why not accept it?”
    “Because if she’d just change that one thing about herself, she’d be a very exceptional woman.”
    “What if she said she’d be willing to stop her excrement crusade if you agreed to stop solving murders?”
    “That’d be ridiculous,” he said. “Why would she ever propose something like that?”
    “Well, maybe she thinks if you changed that one thing about yourself, you’d be a very exceptional man. Then you could both be exceptional together.”
    “She’s never said anything like that.”
    “She might,” I said. “Of course, there’s a way to avoid the whole issue.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You could accept each other for who you are, imperfections and all. The same way Ambrose has accepted Yuki.”
    That shut him up all the way to police headquarters and right up the stairs to the homicide division.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    Mr. Monk and the Mob
    W hen we walked into the squad room, Stottlemeyer was standing in front of Devlin’s desk watching while she made notes on a file. He looked up at us as we came in.
    “I was wondering when you two would amble in here,” Stottlemeyer said. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about the corpse in Natalie’s house.”
    “Something came up,” I said and held out the plastic bag containing the 386 computer manual. “Ambrose’s girlfriend, Yuki, has disappeared. He’s distraught and he’s asked us to find her. So I need you to do me a favor and run the prints on this book.”
    Stottlemeyer looked at the bag. “Has a crime been committed?”
    “The tires on her motorcycle were slashed,” I said.
    “And you think the slasher’s prints are on that book?”
    “Yuki’s are,” I said. “I know she spent some time in prison, so I want whatever information her prints will kick back on her. It could point us in the right direction.”
    Monk cleared his throat. “Natalie, what the captain is trying to tell you is that your request would be an unlawful abuse of police resources. You should be ashamed of yourself for asking and imposing on your relationship with him.”
    Stottlemeyer snatched the bag from me. “Sure, we’ll run the prints for you.” He dropped the bag on Devlin’s desk. “Take this down to the lab when you get a chance.”
    “Monk is right,” Devlin said. “You’re just asking me to do this to stick it to him.”
    “And to you, too,” Stottlemeyer said. “So it’s a win-win for me. On top of that, I happen to owe Natalie a lot of favors and I’d like to do something nice for Ambrose.”
    “Then you’ll let Yuki remain unfound,” Monk said. “She’s a bad influence on him.”
    “Why’s that?” Stottlemeyer asked.
    “You mean besides being an ex-convict biker chick?”
    “Yes,” Stottlemeyer said.
    “She’s a wanton woman with loose morals and tattoos who fornicates all over the house,” Monk said.
    “Okay, Captain, I’ll be glad to take the bag down to the lab,” Devlin said. “I’ll have them put a rush on it.”
    Monk looked at her with disapproval. “But I thought you agreed with me that it was a misuse of the police lab.”
    “That was before you