Max Hudson is Off the Air
This is my idea for a very short sequel to "Mr. Monk Is on the Air." I do not own these characters and I am not making any money off this story. Please be kind in your reviews.
Max Hudson stepped into his jail cell at Pelican Bay. The cell door slammed shut behind him with a clang that literally made his heart skip a beat. His trial was over; he had been convicted of the murder of his wife. This cell would be his home for the rest of his life. He looked around for a moment. His new home contained two bunks, a toilet, a stainless steal sink, and a shelf. Nothing else. Before his arrest and conviction, he had a luxurious home and expensive cars. He could get last-minute reservations at the best restaurants, fans flocked to his personal appearances and women threw themselves at him. He was somebody. Now all he had was this tiny, bleak cell. In here he was just one of hundreds of prisoners. No one cared about him.
"Hey, radio man!" Turning towards the voice, he saw a man in the cell across from him, standing with his hands resting on the bars. Although the man was smaller than Max was he had a menacing look about him that sent a shiver of fear up Max's spine. His hair was long and his muscular arms were covered with tattoos. "You are Max Hudson, aren't you? Yeah, you're that shock jock from the radio."
Max nodded, hoping that he did not look as scared as he felt.
The man smiled at Max, but there was no humor in his eyes. "I heard one of your last shows, you know, the one where you were laughing at that detective's wife being killed by the car bomb."
Max smiled, unsure as to what he should say. "Yeah, that was one of my highest rated shows."
"Yeah, you sure ripped that detective to pieces, didn't you?" the man said, laughing.
Feeling more confident, Max laughed too, hoping that he had found an ally. This man was not someone he wanted as an enemy.
"You sure did like to rip people up on your show, didn't you?"
Max began to worry. He was no longer sure that this man was trying to be friendly.
"What was that detective's name?" The man hesitated for a moment, never breaking eye contact with Max. "Oh, yes, Adrian Monk."
Neither man said anything for a few minutes. The man was no longer smiling. He had a cold, hard look on his face.
Max turned away from the other man, glad that there were two locked doors between them.
"Hey, I'm still talking to you!"
Max turned back, hoping that the other man could not see the fear in his eyes. How on earth had he ever gotten himself into this mess? Just a few short months ago, murder had seemed a much better idea than losing a lot of money in a divorce. Now he wished that he had just given Jeannette a divorce. He would be free now instead of standing here in this jail cell.
"You think it was funny to laugh at how Monk's wife died?"
Now Max had a real sinking feeling in his stomach. The way the other man said "Monk" worried him. There was a sense of familiarity in his voice, but how could this man know Adrian Monk?
His face must have given his feelings away. "Yeah, I know Adrian Monk. He did me a favor once. He's my friend. You hurt him. No one hurts my friends." The man started to turn away, then paused, before turning back to face Max. "My name is Spyder. You ask around here about me. Then you start watching your back."
Spyder turned away from Max again before stretching out on his bunk with his hands behind his head. Max could hear him laughing softly to himself.
Max knew that he would not have to ask about Spyder. He knew that he was going to pay for his cruel jokes about the death of Trudy Monk. Max sat on his bunk for a moment and then laid down on his side, facing the wall. Staring at the gray, cinderblock wall, he could hear doors slamming, men shouting to each other and the lonely sound of his own heartbeat. Yes, he was going to spend the rest of his life in prison. Now he didn't think the rest of his life was going to be that long after all.