By now Davy was in a state of panic. In spite of all his efforts he had not been able to find any trace of Peter after losing him in the crowd. And running blindly over blocks of houses and businesses calling for the amnesiac Monkee accomplished nothing. That did not, however, stop him from continuing to do exactly that.
"Peter!" he cried, frantically looking both ways before running around a corner. "Peter!" He promptly banged into someone coming from the other direction and they both went sprawling on the sidewalk.
"Ow! Hey, watch it, man," groaned a familiar voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Micky," mumbled Davy, without really realizing what he had said. Then it hit him and he stiffened. "Micky!"
He looked up. Micky was sitting down on the sidewalk, looking disgruntled. Mike was standing a short ways behind him, shaking his head as he studied the scene.
Micky sighed. "It's okay, Davy. But why are you running around calling for Peter? He's not supposed to know you're here."
"And I don't know where Peter is!" Davy cried. "I was doin' just fine until we got to town. Then he disappeared!"
Mike cringed. "So now we've got a Monkee wandering around town who doesn't remember a thing and thinks we're all his enemies," he said.
"That's about the size of it, Mike," Davy said. "I'm sorry. Now I'm the one messin' things up."
"It's not your fault, Davy," Micky said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You tried." He started to get up. "And we're all going to have to keep trying. We won't give up until we find Peter."
"That's the spirit!" Mike encouraged. He gave Micky a pointed look. If it was not Davy's fault, couldn't he see that he was not to blame, either?
Micky felt Mike's gaze and looked over at their leader. He sensed what Mike was saying but looked away, not sure how to respond. It was easy to feel like a friend was not at fault. It was a lot harder to feel that way about himself.
Mike sighed in temporary defeat. "Well, I agree with this searching for Peter and all," he said, "but let's take the car from here on out. It'll be a lot faster."
"That's a great idea, Mike!" Micky proclaimed. He made a beeline for the car, Davy hot on his heels.
Mike strolled over at an easy pace. He had to hope Peter would be more willing to listen once they found him. If he wasn't, well...then Mike was at a loss too.
****
Baby Face was fit to be tied.
Tony, Vince, and Harry watched as he paced the floor of their current hideout like a caged animal. None of them dared to so much as move an inch. Peter stood behind Tony, bewildered.
"What's wrong with Micky?" he asked.
"Shh!" the three gangsters scolded, not even bothering to correct him on the mistaken identity problem.
Peter rocked back. "It was just a question," he said. "I mean, I know I wasn't supposed to come along, but they were shooting and I didn't want to die and I thought I could just get in the car too and..."
Baby Face stopped paced and glared daggers at Peter. "You wanna know what's wrong?" he said. Peter nodded. "I'll tell you what's wrong.
"Some dirty rotten rat decided to double-cross us on our last diamond pickup. His lackey pretended he didn't know a thing about it. They're probably going to mess up the new pickup date tonight.
"A bunch of his friends started shooting at us when we didn't have the ammunition to fight back. He probably put them up to it!"
He advanced as he spoke. When he reached the group, Tony and Vince stepped aside to allow him to get up in Peter's face. "And on top of all that, now I'm stuck with an idiot who thinks I'm one of his idiot friends!"
Peter was unfazed. "Oh. That really does sound like a lot of problems. But you wouldn't be having them if you weren't trying to be a criminal."
Baby Face drew his gun and held it at Peter's throat. "I'm not `trying' to be a criminal," he growled. "I am a criminal. Do you know what the police call me?" Peter shook his head. "The most vicious killer in America. Do you really want to rub me the wrong way?"
Again Peter shook his head. "Certainly not. Just tell me the right way, Micky, and I'll do that instead. I'm going to stay right here until I can convince you to give up your life of crime for something better and more rewarding."
Tony could practically see the vein popping on Baby Face's forehead. It would not have surprised him if the mobster had shot Peter then and there. But Baby Face spun around, his knuckles white as he clutched the semi-automatic weapon.
"Tony, get a message to Dolenz," he ordered. "Tell him to come get his friend. Now."
Tony stared at him in shock. "But Baby Face..."
"NOW!" Baby Face screamed.
Tony flinched. "Okay, I'm going." He turned, walking past the bewildered gangsters.
"Uh, Baby Face, wouldn't it be easier to just kill him?" Vince spoke.
Baby Face glared at him, the fire burning in his eyes. "Are you questioning me, Vince?" he said. His voice was perfectly calm, which they all knew from experience was more dangerous than if he was yelling. Tony paused just out of sight in the shadows, looking back with a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and dread.
Vince looked nervous now. "N-No, Baby Face, I'm not questioning you," he stammered.
"Good," Baby Face said. He stepped closer, the gun trained right at the big man. "You know how much I hate being questioned."
"I do," Vince said. "I really do, Baby Face!"
Satisfied, Baby Face stepped back. Tony slipped out the nearest door.
****
Night was coming on now. The other three Monkees had looked everywhere they had been able to think of. They had even appealed to the police, only to be told that nothing could be done until Peter was missing for at least twenty-four hours.
All of them had been indignant. "Twenty-four hours? Man, we're hoping to find him by then!" Mike had cried. "But I guess you fellas won't be helping with that, will you?"
At last, in dejected desperation they drove back to the Pad in the hopes that Peter had returned. But the beachhouse was in darkness.
Davy slumped back against the seat. "Well, unless he's sittin' in the dark, he hasn't come back," he lamented.
"Man, what are we going to do?" Micky wondered, staring gloomily at their home. The thought of giving up the search and going inside was too discouraging to bear. Then he would have to face the mess in the living room again, too, and remember all too acutely how it had got there. And he would have to wonder if Peter was ever coming home.
When Peter had been missing at the Remington Clinic and they had looked everywhere without success, Micky had been afraid that their enemies had already found Peter and killed him. He had not wanted to continue carrying false hope of discovering Peter alive if that was the case. This time, there was really no reason why Peter should not still be alive. Micky did not want to throw in the towel.
Mike started to get out. "There's no harm in checking inside, as long as we're here," he said. "Maybe he really is sitting in the dark. But if he's not, then I guess we'd better head out again. There must be a lot of places we haven't thought to check yet."
"Yeah, I guess you're right, Mike," Micky consented. He jumped over the top of the door and to the ground.
It was when Davy was getting out that another car's headlights suddenly drew near, illuminating the scene. He looked over, shielding his eyes from the glare in confused surprise. "Hey, what's all this?" he demanded.
Mike and Micky also turned to look. As they observed, the car parked and the door started to open. For some reason, they found themselves tensing.
"You guys," a voice called out of the night. "Come with me."
Davy frowned. "I know that voice," he said, taking a few tentative steps forward.
"So do I," Micky said. "You're not Mr. Babbit's lawyer with dispossess papers, are you?"
"Look, no funny stuff." Now he sounded annoyed. "Bring your own car and follow me. I know where your friend is."
All three of the Monkees began to exclaim at once.
"You do?!"
"Where is he? Where is he?!"
"Is he okay?!"
"He doesn't remember anything," their visitor returned. "He thinks you're a gangster." He indicated Micky, who stared in shock.
"What?! Me, a gangster?! But I..." Suddenly it dawned on him and his stomach dropped. "Oh no. Baby Face? Peter met up with Baby Face?!" He felt sick. "Could this day get any worse?"
"Yeah. We're in the middle of a war with a rival gang."
Mike cringed. "You should never ask how it could get worse, shotgun," he said.
"You're right, Mike." Micky sighed. "Okay, Tony, take us to Peter."
Tony started to get back into his car. "There's one more thing," he said. "Your friend said he won't leave Baby Face until he can convince him to give up crime."
Davy made the "Oh!" gulp.
"And he's still alive?!" Micky gasped.
"Yeah. Baby Face sent me to get you. You know how he is with his temper. I wouldn't waste any time." Tony slammed the door and started the engine, beginning to back away from the beachhouse to allow the Monkees room to turn their car around.
Mike swung his hands together, far more disturbed and worried than he was letting on. "Well, in light of these new facts, I'd say we'd...we'd better get going right now," he said.
Davy and Micky both nodded, hurrying to their car.
****
Baby Face leaned back in a chair at an old desk, putting his feet up on the wood. In his hands he was toying with a pack of playing cards, but he was barely paying attention to them. He was infuriated.
More likely than not, their hideout would be discovered by the rival gang, if it had not been already. He had briefed Vince and Harry on the possibility of another shootout before the night was over. Several machine guns were ready and waiting for the battle.
And now he had this Monkee nut hanging around, insisting on guiding him to a better life. Baby Face had shut him up and rattled him by saying that he was the blind leading the blind; he had no proof that he himself wasn't a crook. Currently, Peter was somewhere in a corner, agonized over not being able to remember anything.
Tony was still not back from going to get Micky. Would he ever show up? Maybe he had even run into some kind of trouble on the way.
Baby Face had not trusted in the idea of making a phone call and leaving directions. Micky was a terrible navigator. And as for going out himself to deliver Peter to the other musicians, Baby Face had held reservations about that, too. It would not have surprised him if the rival gang had jumped on him if he had tried. It was him they really wanted, so he had felt Tony was safe enough going without him. And he needed Vince and Harry here in case of the assault.
He muttered to himself. Maybe it would have been easier to have simply shot the guy down. He was certainly no stranger to it. But for whatever reason he had decided to let Peter live—provided the others came before he lost all possible patience.
At a hesitant knock he looked up, his eyes narrowed and dark. Vince, standing in the open doorway, recoiled.
"Uh, Baby Face?" he spoke, unsure of himself now.
"Yeah, what is it?" Baby Face growled.
"I think we've got company," Vince said. "There's these black cars pulling up across the street. And I saw some guys getting out with machine guns."
Baby Face swore, throwing the cards to the desk. "That's what I figured," he said. "Are we ready to fight back if they start something?"
"I guess so, Baby Face," Vince said. "But what about the Monkee?"
Baby Face swung his legs off the desk and stood. "Where is he?"
Vince gave a helpless shrug. "He's pacin' around trying to figure out what to do," he said.
"I guess he wouldn't be any good at using a machine gun," Baby Face mused. He shook his head. "What am I thinking? I don't want that idiot anywhere near a weapon!"
"He probably wouldn't use one anyway," Vince said.
Baby Face headed for the door, brushing past Vince. "At least if Tony gets back with Dolenz, maybe we can fool the other gang into thinking we've got more men than we do. The other two are sure to tag along."
"Oh, is that why you set things up like this, keeping this guy alive and sending for his friends?" Vince wondered, following him into the main room. "Just to put one over on the other gang?"
"No," Baby Face retorted. "But it'd work out nice that way."
He picked up a nearby machine gun, checking it for ammunition before setting it on an empty crate. Without warning, gunfire echoed off of and riddled the front of the warehouse. He grabbed up the machine gun again, running to find a window from which to fire back.
"Get Harry and bring your guns!" he yelled. "Now it's war."
Harry, already having heard the commotion, was running for another machine gun. Vince snatched a third.
"What happens when Tony comes?" he asked.
"He'll find another way in," Baby Face said. "Quit askin' questions and start returning their fire!"
Peter looked up in alarm as the three gangsters scrambled for places to duck down and shoot back. Each knocked out a pane of glass in a window using the barrel of their guns, and promptly sent off rounds of bullets before diving under the window to avoid being shot themselves.
"This is awful!" Peter cried. "Someone's going to get hurt!"
"That's the whole idea!" Baby Face snapped. "Preferably not us! And don't keep standing there like a dumbbell; you'll get shot."
"I didn't know dumbbells stood anywhere," Peter said in all innocence. "I thought they just kind of laid on the floor."
A stray bullet from the rival gang shattered the window and embedded itself in the wall near Peter's head. The blond Monkee stared at it with wide eyes.
"Just what I said, I should be lying down too," he declared. He dropped behind a stack of crates as the war continued.
****
Tony spotted the battle when he and the Monkeemobile were still half a block away. He put on the brakes, frowning at the sight up ahead. This was all they needed right now. He leaned out the window, calling back to Mike.
"We can't go this way," he said. "The other gang's showed up."
"What?!" Mike exclaimed in disbelief. "Then what are we going to do, man? We've gotta get in there and get Peter out of there!"
"Yeah! That's right!" Micky cried in agreement. "He can't be in there with a gang war going on!"
"Of course he can't!" Davy yelled.
In annoyance Tony began to steer the Pontiac to the right. "We'll try the back," he said. "But we might not be in the clear there, either."
Micky swallowed hard and bit at his fingernails in turmoil as they continued to follow the gangsters' car. They had been involved in too many gang wars in the past, just barely managing to avoid getting shot themselves. Now, with Peter not remembering anything, would he still be as lucky?
Tony studied the side and back of the warehouse from a distance as he drove. So far he did not see any enemy mobsters stationed in those locations. Something about that bothered him. Usually a gang would completely surround a building that they wanted to attack, blocking off every escape route. Instead, they were focusing solely on the front.
He pulled up at the back door and got out, drawing his gun. As the Monkees exited their car and saw the weapon, they tensed.
"Relax. I'm not going to shoot you." Tony gestured at the door. "Go in. I'll cover you."
"Cover us?!" Mike gave him a suspicious look. "Do you think someone's already in there who shouldn't be? Well, besides Peter, that is."
"There could be," Tony said tersely.
"Well, aren't you the cheery one," Mike remarked.
Micky pulled out ahead of them as Tony opened the door. "I'll go in first, guys," he said. "We'll go in calling for Pete. And hope he answers," he mumbled, mostly to himself. If Peter was silent, that could either mean that he was angry or suspicious and did not want to talk to them...or that he had been shot. And even though Peter being upset with them was a terrible feeling, especially under these circumstances where he did not even know them, Micky would rather have that instead of finding him bleeding somewhere. He pressed forward into the warehouse before Mike or Davy had a chance to protest.
"He's still upset," Davy said to Mike.
"He's still blaming himself," Mike said with a sigh.
Tony watched them go in, staying alert for any surprise attacks. Something still felt wrong. He stood in the open doorway, looking up towards the roofs. No one was visible, but that did not mean someone could not be hiding up there.
He sensed someone was behind him, but not quite in time. At the same moment he started to spin around, something hard came down on his head. He tumbled with a gasp into the warehouse and the door slammed shut.
Both Mike and Davy whirled in surprise and confusion. "What the...?!" Mike took in the scene in a moment and dropped to his knees beside the dazed gangster. "Hey, are you alright?"
"What happened?!" Davy cried.
Tony hissed in pain, keeping a hand clutched at the back of his head as he started to rise. "Somebody knocked me in here," he said. "Did anyone come in after me?"
"Nope," Mike said, shaking his head. "Nobody at all. They just, pop, kicked the door shut."
"Then that's it!" Tony growled, getting to his feet. "There wasn't anyone at the back because they wanted to lure us in here. They've got something planned."
"But what?!" Davy said in confusion.
A cry from Micky up ahead answered the question. "Fire!" he yelled. "They've set this place on fire!"
Davy's eyes widened in shock. "Fire?!" he repeated. He ran ahead, glancing from one side to the other. At every window, flames were already visibly leaping high. "Holy frogs' legs!"
"They must've poured gasoline all the way around the place and lit a match when we got inside!" Mike exclaimed. "Come on, we've gotta get Peter and find some way to get out of here!"
Davy and Tony followed him all too willingly.
Chapter 1
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