On the night of Mr. Melvyn's murder, Monk was telling Stitches an amusing story. He'd sold two paintings of his to famed musician Tom Waits, flying high on LSD, for at least twice what they were worth. He'd told Tom a price, and with a shaky hand Tom had pulled out a cheque-book and signed a check for that exact amount. Nothing to it, he'd said, that had been the best deal of his life.     Getting the tickets for tonights fight had been much more of hassle. Chicky, who he fenced regularly for, had known exactly how much they were worth and had forced him to pay small fortune for them. But they really were worth it.