Mr. Monk and the Red Herring

Chapter Four

It was near four in the afternoon—not prime business hours for the dingy bar that was Natalie's place of work. Still, a few customers and servers milled about, the sounds of their faint conversations blending together. Dim lights flicked above them, emitting a constant low buzz. A musky, boozy smell filled the air.

The far end of the room was the busiest, lucky for Monk. Few of the bar patrons had chosen to sit near the doorway where he stood. Most hung out in the shady corner, on one of many red pleather booths lining the wall. Candles and crystal shot glasses adorned their wooden tables. 

Natalie led Monk and Sharona through the entrance, Monk flinching as he brushed against a velvety red curtain. "It's a nice place," he commented, more for the sake of having something to say than out of politeness.

"It's a toilet," Natalie replied bluntly.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it a toilet..."

"I've been on a few dates here," Sharona offered, "and yeah, it's kind of a shithole." She paused and looked at Natalie. "No offense."

"Oh, none taken."

"I hope you washed your hands afterwards," Monk muttered, taking note of the grimy floor.

"Anyways, it'll just be a minute," Natalie said, ignoring Monk's comment. "I have to pick up my check. Have a seat."

She gestured to at least ten small, unoccupied tables to their right.

"Where?"

"Uh, well, there's a lot of chairs. Take your pick."

"Ugh," Monk said. He took a deep breath to prepare himself before stepping carefully between two tables and easing into one of the chairs. Before he even touched it, he jumped up again and moved on to the next one. He got up from it just as—if not even more—abruptly.

"Just sit down," Sharona mouthed to him.

Natalie watched Monk apprehensively, clutching the strap of her purse. She was inching away from them slowly, swaying on her feet as she waited for Monk to be done. Sharona followed him as he moved from chair to chair.

"You can go," Sharona said to her. She looked a little cross. "He'll be fine."

Natalie didn't really believe her, but she nodded anyway and made her way over to the bar. Resting a hand on the counter, she addressed the bartender: a heavyset, red-faced man. "Hey, Clem. I need to pick up my paycheck."

She glanced back to check on Monk. He was finally sitting in a chair—Sharona had forced him into one just after Natalie left.

"Yeah, right here." Clem had a raspy, nasal voice. He turned around and grabbed an envelope, pulling it back from Natalie's outstretched hand at the last second. "Actually, I was just about to call you. Carly just walked. I need you to fill in tonight."

"Yeah, I can't help you," Natalie said flatly. "There's a science fair at my kids school."

"Well, I got a kid too, but I'm here." He leaned over the counter, propped up on both of his hands, one of which still held Natalie's paycheck.

"Your kid's in jail, Clem," Natalie told him.

"You think that's funny, huh?" he asked threateningly. "You know, I'm getting pretty tired of your attitude, Teeger. Alright, the last time I asked you to help me out here, you bailed on me."

Natalie raised her eyebrows. "Are you talking about yesterday?" As Clem nodded, she added sarcastically, "Sorry I couldn't be here, Clem. I was watching the cops carry a body out of my house."