Chapter 1
It was a generally quiet day at the Monkees' pad. Mike was writing a
new song for them to perform at a concert the following night. Davy
was getting ready for a date with his latest girl. Micky was
practicing on the drums. And Peter had gone for a walk, which abruptly
came to a close as he ran through the front door and nearly knocked
down Davy in the process. After quickly apologizing, he looked around
at his confused friends and bandmates.
"Guys!" he exclaimed. "I just found out something big! The Evanses are
moving!" Linda and Henry Evans were a young couple who lived just
around the corner from the Monkees. They were all friends, and often
saw each other at neighborhood beach parties and other local events in
the community. The news of their impending departure came as a shock
to Peter, as he knew it would as well to the others.
Davy blinked in surprise. "You must be joking," he responded. "They've
been living here for a couple of years now, and I thought Linda said
that Henry's company was gonna let him stay on at the local branch for
a while."
"Yeah, that's what I heard too," Micky said with a frown.
Mike shook his head, looking up from his guitar. "Oh well, you know
how those kinda companies are," he said in displeasure. "They're
always changing their rules about something or another." He leaned
back. "When are they leaving?"
"I think it's going to be pretty soon," Peter said slowly. "Linda said
that they have to be in Detroit by next week. I talked to her just
now." He sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "She
was really upset about it. She said that she didn't want them to have
to go." And he felt the same. Not having them around would make things
seem so empty.
"That does seem pretty sudden," Mike remarked, "even if it's because
of the company beaurucrats changing their minds." But then again, they
all knew what such people were like, and so he knew that there was
most likely no reason to be surprised.
"Oh! Linda did say something else," Peter smiled now, pleased by what
he was about to relate. "She told me how grateful she is to have had
our friendship while they lived here, and I offered to help her and
Henry move. I know they have a lot of stuff, so I thought that they
could use all the help they could get." He looked around at the others
hopefully. "You'll all help too, won't you, fellas?"
"Sure," Micky replied, hopping down from the bandstand and going into
the normal part of the living room to sit by Mr. Schneider. "They've
always been good friends to us."
"It's the least we could do for them," Mike agreed.
"How soon do they want us?" Davy asked, willing to help but hoping
that the good deed would not cut in on his date.
"As soon as we can come," Peter answered. "She said maybe this
evening, after dinner." With that he turned on the television and
settled down to watch it.
Almost immediately he leaped up again, his eyes wide with surprise and
shock at finding something already occupying the chair. "What's
this?!" he burst out in disbelief, turning to stare at the confused
array of tangled and broken wires and intricate metal parts.
Swiftly Micky came to retrieve the conglomeration. "Sorry, Pete," he
apologized. "Since the telephone's been acting up lately, I took it
apart to see if I could find the problem." All of the Monkees were
aware of the drummer's fascination with attempting to discover what
made various inventions tick, and they were quite used to it, though
every now and then his interest would result in some slight and odd
inconvenience.
Now Peter blinked at the phone. "It doesn't look fixed," he remarked.
"It isn't," Mike was quick to interject.
"Not yet," Micky put in with a slight pout.
"Hey fellas, be quiet!" Davy hissed then. "They're talking about some
mobster who broke out of jail!" He leaned forward on the back of the
chair, studying the television screen intently. Of course, it was
highly possible that he was mostly interested in watching the lovely
female news anchor. He simply could not seem to help himself; every
pretty face made his heart flutter anew. He knew that his friends were
often exasperated because of that, and they often tried to convince
him not to pursue his infatuations, but their persuasions never
worked. He did doubt that he would actually settle down someday and
get married, as he knew it would be a nightmare with him crushing on
every girl he met. But he was perfectly fine with that.
"A mobster?" the other three Monkees echoed as they also turned to
look. As the newswoman began to speak, their expressions changed to
disbelief and horror.
"We have just received this newsflash that Baby Face Morales,
notorious for being one of the most cruel and cold-hearted killers in
America, has escaped from prison again," came the grave intonation as
a picture of the gangster flashed across the screen. "The first time
this happened, the police were assisted in his re-capture by Micky
Dolenz, a young rock musician who strikingly resembles Morales. Now
that this highly dangerous mobster is free once more, people such as
Mr. Dolenz had best watch out."
Davy was gawking at the picture as it faded from the screen. "He looks
just like you, Micky!" he cried in astonishment. He had been told by
the others about the experience with Baby Face, but it was still
nothing compared to actually seeing for himself who the man looked
like. The resemblance was so strong that it disturbed him.
"Don't I know it," Micky muttered unhappily, giving the television set
a dark look. More than once his resemblance to the murderer had caused
confusion and calamity, and he was not looking forward to the prospect
of it happening again. But of course, knowing the trouble that they
got into, it was likely that it would.
"Aren't you worried he'll come after you, Micky?" Peter exclaimed,
staring at his friend with wide eyes. "I mean, you did try to make him
think that you were his cousin, and then you pretended to be him!"
"Yeah," Mike nodded. "It's okay to admit it if you're scared." He
studied Micky, his own eyes narrowed. Knowing him, he was probably
terrified at the possibility of Baby Face coming after him but he
indeed would not say that it was the case.
"Me, scared?" Micky retorted now. "Pshaw! After all, he's only one of
the most cruel and cold-hearted killers in America. Why should I be
scared?" He quickly realized that his hands were shaking, and he
tightly gripped the disassembled telephone in an attempt to quell the
unconscious motion. Baby Face had once nearly choked him to death, and
that had only been when Micky had accidentally punched him while
pretending to be an idolizing cousin who wanted to learn how to be
just like the mobster. He had not realized then that Micky was working
for the police in an attempt to capture the entire gang by
impersonating Baby Face. Micky had to wonder what Baby Face would do
now that he did realize.
Davy blinked at him, then tried to relax and recover from the shock of
seeing Baby Face's mug shots. "Oh well, I'm sure he won't come after
you, Mick," he said. "He's probably got other things to do, like . . .
get a new gang and commit some kinda jewel robbery. There's probably
nothing to worry about." He stood up, heading for the door. "Well,
I'll be back later to help with the move," he assured the others as he
left for his date.
Mike observed his departure. "He's right," he said firmly.
Micky grinned weakly. "Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, even though he was
not at all sure. "Well . . . I'm gonna go . . . fix the phone." He
held it up for emphasis as he headed for the stairs, making his retreat.
Once he was in his room, Peter turned worriedly to Mike. "What do you
really think, Mike?" he asked, realizing that his friend had not been
telling his true feelings on the matter.
Mike sighed, leaning back in the chair. "I think he's doomed," he
answered. He was not at all convinced that Baby Face would leave Micky
alone. It did not seem likely to him that the vicious gangster would
forget the humiliation of being taken down by an imposter. Baby Face
was the type to hold grudges, and Micky would be at the top of his hit
list.
****
After dinner, and Davy's return from his date, the Monkees headed over
to the Evans' home. It was a quaint, white, wood frame house on the
corner. A hedge fenced the yard on all sides, except for where a gate
led up the walk in the front. The four young men pushed open said gate
and went up to the roofed porch, where boxes were already stacked all
around, only leaving enough room for the Monkees to crowd around the
door as Mike rang the doorbell.
"Man, if there's this much stuff outside already, how much more is
there inside?" Micky wondered as Peter backed up against him and
caused him to crash against one of the towers. Quickly he caught
himself by grabbing Peter, which resulted in him losing his balance
and slamming into Davy, who crashed into Mike. The Texan gave a
surprised cry, reaching to steady himself on the storm door just as it
was opened by Linda. Immediately all Monkees fell through and ended up
on the floor of the entryway while Linda stared in shock. They all
looked up at her sheepishly.
"Uh . . . hi," Mike said with a mild wave as everyone began climbing
off. The others offered greetings as well, to which Linda responded
warmly.
"It's so good of all of you to come help us," she said as she guided
them into the living room. "We have so many things to pack that it's a
nightmare." Boxes were already strewn about on the floor and on the
furniture, some open and empty, others open and half-filled, and still
others closed and full. Various knickknacks, books, and videos could
be seen sticking out of the packages, while others were stacked in
readiness to be enclosed.
"Yeah, it looks like it," Peter agreed, blinking at the disarray.
"The other rooms are a lot worse than this one," Linda sighed,
"especially Henry's sanctuary, where he keeps all of the junk he
collects." She idly swept a pile of books into a box as she walked past.
"Well," Peter asked brightly, "where do we start?"
Linda paused at the door leading into the kitchen. "Anywhere you can,"
she replied. "There's boxes in every room, and everything has to be
packed. I just wish we weren't so rushed. . . ." Her eyes flickered
with a certain wistfulness before she weakly smiled and leaned against
the doorframe. "But oh well. . . . Wishes don't come true, especially
in Henry's profession. I guess I should be glad that we're making
money at all. Thanks again for your help, guys." Before they could
respond, she had disappeared into the next room.
Mike crossed his arms thoughtfully as he watched her go. "You know, I
wonder what it is that Henry does," he mused. "He's always said that
he's a businessman working in the public relations department, but
he's never really said any more than that. Neither he or Linda have
ever even mentioned where it is he works." He had never found it
particularly odd, as he knew that some people did not like to discuss
their places of employment and that the Evans were not happy with
Henry's job, but now it did occur to him to wonder exactly what was
going on. It seemed strange that this move had come up all of a
sudden, almost without any warning.
"I thought it was probably at the local corporation," Davy said with a
shrug. "They've always acted like it's something pretty big." He
surveyed the room and its disaster zone. "But anyway . . . we'd better
get started."
Peter nodded. "There's only a few days to get all this done," he
declared, moving a stray box out of his way.
"How hard can it be?" Micky said, dumping a stack of videos into a
package the same way he had seen Linda do a moment earlier.
****
They soon found out the hard way. It seemed that every time they
turned around, there were more things to pack. Linda's method of
merely tossing things into boxes was quite unpractical, as Mike soon
pointed out, and they had to spend time making certain that everything
was arranged in such a way as to allow for the most to be made of the
space.
Then there were other problems. At first they could not figure out how
to put together the white boxes that Henry had bought from Office Max.
The flaps had to be folded just so, and then drawn up through the
bottom of the box, but it took several nonsensical attempts before
Mike finally figured it out, and several more tries before the others
understood as well.
Later, as Micky reached for some of the things on the hall closet's
shelves, other things came tumbling down and nearly buried him and
Davy. And when they finally filled a large box of the odds and ends
that had spilled, neither of them could lift it. They each struggled
and failed, and then tried together, to no avail. The container had
not budged an inch.
"I think we filled it too much," Davy moaned, leaning against it in
despair. "I nearly threw my back out trying to get it up!"
Micky ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "There's gotta be
something we can do," he said, but he did not know what that something
would be.
It was then that Peter came along. He looked curiously at his friends
and at the box. "Hey guys," he said. "What's wrong?"
"We can't lift the box!" Micky explained, gesturing at it in emphasis.
"It feels like there's a ton of bricks in it!" Davy added.
Peter blinked. "Oh, is that all?" He reached down and picked up the
box as if it weighed nothing at all. "It's as light as a feather!" he
proclaimed, pleased with himself.
Micky and Davy both gawked at him.
Once everything small in a room was boxed up, there was still the
furniture to move out. The Monkees soon discovered that some of it was
too heavy to carry, even with two or more of them working on it. And
getting things down from upstairs was a nightmare. At last Micky
suggested rolling the furniture down the stairs and out onto the
porch. The others balked at the idea, but soon had to agree that it
was likely the only thing that could be done. Before long, chairs,
bookcases, and even loveseats were tumbling downstairs while the four
boys observed. Linda and Henry remained on the main floor, stunned by
the display at first but soon getting used to it.
Henry's sanctuary was entirely another story. He had started to pack
some things, but the majority of his memorabilia had been left out
because he had not able to bring himself to box it up. When the
quartet peered inside, such assorted things as African tribal masks,
beaded curtains, jeweled crosses, and laser beams were decorating the
walls and hanging from the ceiling. Skull candle holders, vampire
pencil toppers, and what looked like a genuine mummy were among the
objects on and around the desk---which featured carvings of ogres in
the wood. The Monkees stared.
"Gosharooney!" Micky exclaimed at last.
"Obsessed with monsters much?" Mike muttered, not impressed in the least.
"That's disgusting!" Davy cried, eyeing the mummy.
"It's scary," Peter added, his eyes wide.
Mike sighed and stepped into the room, clearing his throat. "Well,
we'd better get started," he said, cringing as he did so. "The sooner
we start . . . the sooner it'll be over with." He frowned, seeing a
stray monkey's paw laying on the floor. Carefully and precisely he
sidestepped it.
Micky glanced down at it as well as he entered. "Hey, that looks
familiar," he remarked.
"Well, don't try to buy that one," Davy scolded as he reached for an
empty box. He began taking items off the desk.
"Oh I won't," Micky assured him. "After what happened the last time,
they just don't have the same attraction that they did before." He
brushed a piece of straight brown hair away from his eyes as he
started sorting through a half-open desk drawer.
Peter wandered over near the closet. As he opened the door, he
suddenly discovered a skeleton hanging inside. He gave a yelp of
horror, immediately running over to Mike and grabbing the other man's
arm. Mike raised an eyebrow at him before following his gaze.
"Well, what do you know," he mused. "A skeleton in the closet." He
supposed it should not be a surprise, not when there were so many
bizarre objects in the room. He did have to wonder, though, if Henry
realized the signficance of where he had placed the bones. It was
somewhat amusing in one way, and yet disturbing in another.
Micky wandered over, shaking his head at Peter's reaction as he went
to shut the door. "It's not like it'll hurt you," he said, though he
was remembering his own alarmed reaction upon having seen a skeleton
sitting on the couch in Oraculo's House of Mysteries some time back.
"I mean, it's not like it's some cruel and cold-hearted killer, like
Baby Face Morales." But then he blinked in surprise, noticing what
looked like a small envelope in the carcass's ribcage. Curiously he
reached for it to have a better look. After all, he reasoned, people
would only store certain things inside a skeleton, and if they were
going to do it at all then it needed to be investigated.
"How do we know what he was like when he was alive?!" Peter exclaimed
in response, but then noticed that Micky was not listening. The blonde
Monkee let go of Mike's arm as he wandered over. "What's that?" he
wanted to know, just as Micky gave a startled cry of his own.
Immediately Mike and Davy rushed over as well, just in time to see
Micky holding a picture away from him as if it was contaminated.
"What have you got here?" Mike asked, taking the picture from Micky to
study it. As he looked at the image, his eyes widened and then
narrowed in disbelief. It was depicting Henry and Linda standing
beside Micky outside a building that bore the name of the company that
Davy had believed Henry worked at. All were dressed nicely, with Henry
and Micky in business suits and Linda wearing a floral print dress.
"Hey, Micky!" Davy said, scrutinizing the photograph in bewilderment.
"Where was this taken? You don't wear suits like this."
Finally recovering, Micky wildly pointed at the offending picture.
"That's not me!" he hissed urgently. "That's Baby Face Morales!"
The other Monkees did doubletakes before gazing at the photograph
again. "Baby Face Morales?" Mike repeated, the doubt and disbelief
still obvious in his expression.
"That's ridiculous! Why would they know a murderer like him?" Davy
frowned. He snatched the picture from Mike and turned it over to see
if there was a description written on the back, but there was not.
"They wouldn't!" Peter said emphatically. "They're not like him at
all! They're good people!" He took the picture himself as he turned to
head for the door. "There's got to be a logical explanation! Let's ask
them about it." He could not stand the thought that any of his friends
would betray him and the others, and in his mind, it simply was not
possible. It could not be Micky in the picture, but Peter could not
believe that it would be Baby Face Morales, either. Linda and Henry
would have no reason to be in a photograph with such a gangster.
Surely it must simply be another young man who resembled Micky.
Before Peter could get very far, he was grabbed by Mike, Micky, and
Davy. "Hold on," Mike said sternly, looking into Peter's upset eyes.
"If that is Baby Face Morales, we can't risk letting them know we saw
the picture. That could get us in a lot of trouble." As much as he did
not want to consider it, he knew that the Evanses might actually not
be their friends. If the couple was on friendly terms with Baby Face
Morales, then perhaps they were even working for him and knew about
Micky getting him put back in prison after his initial escape. Mike
wanted to believe that he was letting his thoughts run wild, and yet
he knew that his ideas were actually quite plausible under the
circumstances.
"That's right," Davy agreed now. "Come on, Peter, we should put it
back where it was."
Peter frowned and sighed, his shoulders drooping, but then allowed
Micky to take it back. "I just . . . don't want to think that they
can't be trusted," he said softly. "They've been our friends. . . ."
"We think they've been our friends!" Micky corrected, still feeling
nerveshot over the discovery. A skeleton in the closet, indeed! "But
if they've been leading us on, then we need to find out subtley so
they won't be suspicious." Carefully he replaced the picture in the
envelope and hid it once more in the ribcage before shutting the
closet door.
Mike sighed, not certain what to believe. "Why would they even let us
come to help them move if they thought we'd find what they had to
hide?" he wondered. "That doesn't make a whole lot of sense."
"Aha! But it was just Linda who agreed!" Micky pointed out. "Maybe
Henry didn't! He seemed kinda cold and distant tonight, when we saw
him at all. Maybe he didn't like Linda saying that we could help, and
before he could get rid of the picture, we showed up."
"It's possible," Davy nodded.
"But he could've said that he'd fix this room or something," Mike
frowned. "Maybe we walked into a trap."
Peter was no longer listening. He had ventured over near the door,
having heard something, and now he looked back urgently. "Henry's
coming!" he declared. His feelings were mixed. He desperately wanted
to believe that there was a perfectly innocent reason for the picture,
but at the same time he knew that it was not actually very logical and
that all of them truly might be in danger---and most likely were.
The other Monkees looked at each other, panicked. For a quick moment
they raced about, tripping over various boxes and relics in their
attempts to reach inconspicuous places in the room. But just as the
door was pushed open further and Henry walked in, they felt satisfied
that he would not know that they had been into the incriminating closet.
"Oh hi, Henry!" Micky grinned, waving from where he was holding a mop
with a carved handle.
"How's it going?" Peter asked, unaware that he was adorned in an
Indian headdress. Mike shook his head and sighed, lifting it off of him.
"We were just gonna clean up things in here," Davy put in, picking up
a box in emphasis. Unfortunately for him, the bottom gave out and the
contents immediately went spilling everywhere. The British Monkee
watched in shock and disbelief as this happened, then grinned
sheepishly. "Sorry about that," he apologized, immediately setting
about to repair the broken box.
Henry briefly gawked at all of them before sobering again.
"Nevermind," he said firmly. "You four go help Linda. I'll pack the
stuff in here." He took the mop from Micky with a gesture of finality,
and the drummer fancied that he was given a bit of an odd look as this
happened.
"You sure?" Mike asked carefully, speaking with more of a drawl than
he usually did as he hoped that he sounded casual enough. "I mean,
we'd be happy to . . ."
"Linda was saying that she could use your help downstairs," Henry told
them. "I think you'd all better hurry along." Seeing that Davy was
having trouble sorting out the box, Henry shook his head and went to
take it from him, managing to repair the bottom in an instant before
kneeling down to gather up the odds and ends that had been in it. Davy
watched this with a certain awe before everything truly dawned on him.
It seemed innocent enough, and a few minutes earlier none of them
would have thought anything of it, but now that they had seen the
secret of the closet it seemed only too obvious that Henry was trying
to kick all of them out.
"Well," Peter said cheerfully, "if that's what she wants, we'd better
go down there." He quickly walked past the other Monkees, who wondered
if Peter realized that, in light of the picture, Henry seemed to be
acting suspicious. With Peter, it was hard to tell if his cheeriness
was only an act. Hurriedly the other three Monkees followed their
friend out, all having the feeling that Henry's gaze was boring into
their backs until they had exited the room.
Indeed, the man only relaxed once they were gone. With a sigh he went
back to his chair and started to sit in it before remembering that
several sharp objects had been placed there. Scowling, he placed them
on the desk and then sat down again, taking out his cell phone as he
did. He glanced around furtively before dialing a number, then
swiveled his chair to face the wall.
It was only a moment before there came an answer. "What is it?" a cold
and harsh voice asked.
Henry smirked quietly. "Everything's going according to plan, Boss,"
he declared, then narrowed his eyes. "I just hope they're not wise."
"With them, it's hard to tell," Henry's boss replied. "The one guy,
the dummy who looks like me, has a lot of guts. You know he'd have to,
or he never would've done what he did the last time. And those friends
of his are pretty kooky. Tony told me they blew up a piano instead of
the fireplace!"
Henry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that sounds like them," he remarked.
"But they're not complete idiots, not even the blonde one. We havta
watch out for them. They're not gonna take kindly to what you want to do."
"I know. But I'll do the worrying. You just get me Micky Dolenz."
There was a sharp click as the phone was hung up.
Henry's eyes narrowed at this and he fell to muttering to himself as
he got up to begin packing. His expression would have darkened all the
more if he had realized that the Monkees were eavesdropping just
outside the door.
****
Baby Face Morales folded up his girlfriend Ruby's phone and replaced
it in his pocket. He was leaning on the bar at the Purple Pelican,
coldly watching the people passing by. Ruby was standing next to him,
biting her lip as she worried and wondered about what he was scheming
this time. She loved him inspite of the fact that he was such a
notorious larcenist and murderer, though she often wished that he
would give up his life of crime and run away with her so that they
could share their lives together. But she knew that it would not
happen. Baby Face was greedy and grasping, and right now he was driven
by a need for revenge. He did not take kindly to people pretending to
be his family and then even himself. And he also did not appreciate
being betrayed by those who had once been his associates.
"Baby Face," Ruby ventured at last, seeing how he continued to glare
into the distance, "why don't you just forget about Tony and the
others and let them have their own gang? You could always find new
people who would be better." She moved closer to him as she reached up
to gently run a hand through his hair. He started and frowned at this,
but then let her do it for the moment.
"I know I could," he answered darkly, "but they've gotta learn that no
one doublecrosses me and gets away with it. Dolenz isn't exempt from
my retaliation, and neither are they." He commanded respect, and if
not that, then fear. He would make everyone afraid to turn against
him. Tony and his cohorts would regret it someday, very soon---but by
then it would be too late for them.
"We ought to just go off somewhere and leave all of this behind," Ruby
pleaded, not willing to give up. They had had this conversation many
times before, but always with the same result. "We could go to Detroit
again, or maybe someplace new." She smiled hopefully. "We could try
Chicago, or New York. . . ."
"Cool it, baby," came the sharp response. "We're staying right here."
The mobster stood up straight, moving away from the bar. "We've gotta
knock off the others. Then maybe we'll talk about going somewhere
else." He grabbed an abandoned drink off of a table and downed it in
one gulp. "I wanted Dolenz to be the last to go." He glowered at the
empty glass, as if blaming it for his problems. "Tony and the others
were supposed to drop dead one by one, while we'd make sure that the
cops found the bodies. Then he'd have started to sweat. He'd know
those guys were connected with me, and then he'd know that I'd be
coming after him too." He threw the glass against the wall as the
startled bartender ducked. "But all of them have gone into hiding, and
it's gonna take a while to find them," he berated. "So the plan's
changed. Now Dolenz'll be first."
Ruby frowned as she watched him. "Maybe you should leave him alone
too," she objected.
Baby Face whirled to glare harshly at her. "You'd better not be having
feelings for him," he threatened low. It was obvious from his eyes
that not even Ruby would be spared if she betrayed him. He did not
actually love her, as she did him, but he considered her as being his
and he was not willing to give her up because of that. He was never
willing to give up anything that he had determined was his. Ruby knew
all of that, somewhere in her heart, but it did not help her to love
him any less.
She took a step back now. "Of course not, Baby Face!" she exclaimed,
hurrying to rectify her mistake. She sighed, looking into his eyes.
"It just seems like . . . like you have too much blood on your hands
already," she told him softly. "I just wish it would all stop. . . ."
Baby Face grunted. "You knew what you were getting into when you
agreed to be my girl," he retorted. "You knew you wouldn't be able to
get away from all the crimes---the heists and the betrayals and the
murders." His eyes narrowed. "Tony wouldn't hesitate to bump me off.
I'm just gonna beat him to it." Tony had been corrupt long before he
had ever even met Baby Face. He had actually been a police officer in
Detroit, though he certainly had not been one with integrity. He had
committed extortion and run a gambling ring all while hypocritically
trying to uphold the law. But eventually he had had enough and had
joined Baby Face. The gangster had known from the start the kind of
person Tony was, and he had suspected that someday Tony would betray
him the way he had betrayed the police force, but that made very
little difference to him. He had still been betrayed, even if he had
seen it coming, and Tony should know what would now be coming to him.
Ruby's shoulders slumped. "Yeah," she replied, "I know." And though
she wished things would be different, she knew that they would not be
and that she had to accept that fact. She would be happy to remain
with Baby Face throughout whatever else happened, though she wondered
now and then what her mother would think if she ever found out about
the crowds her daughter was associating with.
****
The Monkees were extremely tense during the remainder of the time that
they spent at the Evanses' home. It had been obvious to them that
Henry had been talking on the phone about them, and it had not sounded
positive. And though they tried to assure Linda that nothing was
wrong, she had noticed how overly jumpy they seemed to be. Mike took
notice of this, and he wondered whether or not Linda was in on
whatever Henry was planning. She had been in the photograph as well,
so it seemed likely, but he supposed that she could have innocently
believed Baby Face to be a friend of Henry's---though if that were so,
Mike found it strange that she had never commented to Micky on how
much he looked like the friend.
The next day went by in relative peace as our friends again went to
assist the Evanses. They knew that they had to keep pretending that
everything was alright, but they worried that it was much too easy to
see through their facade. Both Linda and Henry often cast strange
glances at them throughout the day, and Peter felt as though they were
looking right into his mind and seeing that he knew about the
photograph. Once he nearly blurted out something about it, but Micky
managed to stop him in time.
The day after that, when they went to help again, they found an
unmarked moving van parked in the driveway. Henry was lifting the
boxes on the porch into it, with the assistance of two men in
coveralls. Curiously the quartet moved closer, wondering if their
assistance was still needed. Peter nearly tripped over a package that
was right in front of the van's ramp, and Mike and Davy had to grab
him before he could fall over.
Henry looked over now, amusement in his eyes. "Still the picture of
grace," he remarked sardonically. Peter pouted.
"Well, hello there, Henry," Mike greeted cheerfully. "How are things
going? That's some truck you've got there."
Henry nodded. "I just got it from a friend," he said.
"Oh." Micky gazed at the men in coveralls, who were obviously staring
him down. He frowned slightly. "And did they come with it?" he asked.
Henry blinked, as if not understanding at first what Micky meant. Then
he chuckled. "No, but my friends sent them over." He looked to them.
"These are our neighbors, The Monkees. They've been helping us move."
It looked to Mike as though Henry was giving them a very pointed look.
They both nodded stoically, looking at each Monkee in turn and
particularly watching Micky, who shifted uncomfortably. Mike frowned
to himself.
"Well," Davy said slowly, breaking the moment of silence that had
ensued, "I guess you don't need us anymore, do you? I mean, now you
have this van, and these guys to help out. . . ." He gestured to the
movers and then to the stack of boxes still on the porch. He shuddered
slightly as he noticed three of Henry's mummy cases propped up against
the railing. Honestly, he collected the strangest and most bizarre things.
"Nonsense," Henry retorted instantly, staring all of them down in a
way that made them feel all the more uneasy. "There's still all the
things in the house that there's no room for on the porch. The more
people helping, the faster this will get done." He sighed, setting a
box down just inside the van and running a hand over his forehead. "My
boss called again and said that we have to pick up the pace. Now we
have to be on our way to Detroit by this evening."
"This evening?!" Micky exclaimed. "Isn't that pushing it? I thought
you'd have a few more days, at least."
Henry's expression suddenly became cold. "It can't be helped," he
said, before suddenly seeming to relax again. "But anyway, come on,
guys, stay and help out. We definitely can still use you. There's
still some of the furniture inside that needs to come out, and we'll
have to remove the door to get some of it outside."
"Wouldn't it have been better to bring out all the furniture first and
then the boxes?" Mike asked with a confused frown.
Henry shook his head. "The porch was so stacked up that we wouldn't
have been able to get any furniture out unless we got rid of the stuff
on it first," he answered. "And we're going to be working long into
the night, so we'd better get to it if we're going to make my boss's
deadline." Now his gaze fell upon Micky and remained there for longer
than the drummer would have liked. He was pondering over what it was
that his boss intended to do with the boy once he got hold of him. The
entire reason that he and Linda had moved there in the first place was
so that they would be able to be close by The Monkees in order to spy
on them and to determine when they would be able to get the one that
Baby Face wanted. Micky's resemblance to the mobster was uncanny, but
Henry had forced himself to get over it during the time that he and
Linda had been befriending them. Linda had actually grown fond of all
of them and did not want to have to hurt them by doing Baby Face's
bidding, but Henry insisted and she knew that they had to do it or
else they would be killed themselves.
Micky looked away from Henry's stare, trying to grin and ignore it.
"Okay then," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's get started." But
he could not help having the feeling that something was going to go
terribly wrong.
****
For the next several hours, the Monkees worked on getting everything
out of the house and to the van. At first everything seemed to be
going perfectly well, though Peter noticed that Linda was very
obviously upset about something. He tried to ask her several times,
but she always insisted that she was fine and that it was just that
she was tired. It seemed to Peter, however, that it must actually be
something else. The others concurred, but since Linda did not want to
talk about it, there was little that they could do.
Micky was in the van, moving boxes onto the couch, when he heard
someone coming up behind him. As he glanced over his shoulder, he saw
that it was Henry. He looked back to the boxes, wanting to be able to
relax but still feeling extremely tense. "It looks like things are
going well," he commented, trying to sound casual. "I think you're
going to make your deadline." He lifted another box up after going
through a bit of a struggle with it. Once he finally had it in
position, he glared at it and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.
"Yes, I think so, too," Henry answered smoothly. "You and the others
have been a great help."
Micky turned to look at him, and as he did so he noticed that Henry
abruptly placed his hands behind his back. He frowned, wondering if it
was just a coincidence or if Henry had been about to strike him.
"Well, you know, we're just helping our friends," he said with a smile.
"And we're grateful," Henry assured him, coming closer and laying a
hand on Micky's shoulder. The drummer tensed, but tried not to show
it. Then he blinked, realizing how drowsy he was suddenly feeling.
"All this hard work makes you really exhausted," he said, trying to
stifle a yawn and failing.
"I know," Henry said, moving away from Micky again and coming to stand
in front of him. "But you'll have a chance to rest soon now."
Micky yawned again. "That's good," he said, and suddenly felt a chill
go through his veins. He really should not be this tired all of a
sudden. Had Henry drugged him?
"Very soon," Henry smiled, as Micky lost consciousness and fell
forward. Henry caught him just before he would have crashed to the
floor, then held him with one arm while replacing in his pocket the
bottle containing knock-out potion. Shaking his head, he dragged the
Monkee to one of the open sarcophagi that was laying on the floor and
placed him within it. There would be enough air to get him to where
Baby Face Morales was, and after that Henry's assignment would be over
and he truly would be able to go away with Linda---but not to Detroit.
The police would look for them there. Sighing, Henry closed the lid on
the coffin and straightened up. He did not especially enjoy working
for someone such as Baby Face, but he would do what had to be done in
order to survive. And unlike Linda, he could not afford to feel bad
about it or to wish things were different.
****
The remaining three Monkees remained at the house for a while longer,
helping to pack the items that were left and saying goodbye to Henry
and Linda. It was while they were doing this that they suddenly
realized that Micky was absent. It had taken so long to accomplish
everything that none of them had consciously noticed their friend's
absence until now.
"Hey," Davy exclaimed, glancing around the yard, "where did Micky go?"
Immediately Mike frowned, angry with himself for not having discovered
this earlier. "He's gone?" he demanded.
Peter bit his lip, the worry obvious in his eyes. "He should be here,"
he said, looking to Linda and Henry as if hoping for an explanation
from them---and in fact, he was. Still unable to believe their guilt,
at the same time he recognized that it could be the truth. He wished
fervently that he could know for certain, and now it looked as though
Micky might have paid the price if they were enemies. He knew that he
would feel extremely guilty and upset with himself if, because of his
failure to notice Micky's disappearance, the drummer would end up hurt.
"He told me that he was going to the corner drugstore to get some
sodas," Henry put in, speaking calmly and nonchalantly. "I wish we
could stay and wait for him to get back, but we really do have to be
on our way." He looked at Linda for confirmation and saw the pleading
look in her eyes. She knew that Micky was not at the corner drugstore,
and that Henry was abducting him for Baby Face, and she wanted more
than anything to not have to be involved. But Henry and she both knew
that she was involved and that she could not ruin things now. At
least, Henry hoped that she knew it. Quickly he grabbed her hand and
started leading her to the cab of the van before she could suddenly
decide to announce the truth.
"Oh . . . well, I hate long goodbyes anyway," Davy said with a weak smile.
And soon the van was being maneuvered out of the driveway and into the
street. But as they watched it go, Mike could not help but think that
something was wrong. The feeling only increased as more time went by
without Micky returning.
"What are we going to do, Michael?" Peter exclaimed, reverting to
using Mike's full name---as he tended to do when he was upset.
"They probably took him with them somehow!" Davy added, frustrated and
angry over this development. They had all treated the Evanses as
friends, and had thought that they returned those feelings---but if
they were kidnapping Micky, then the Monkees had been wrong about the
kind of people that they were.
Mike swallowed hard. "Well, we've gotta stay calm," he advised. "Tell
you what---two of us'll go down to that drugstore and see if he's
there, while the other stays behind and waits to see if he comes
back." He ran a hand through his hair. "And . . . well, if he doesn't
come back, and he's not at the drugstore, then we'll havta call the
police and have them stop that van." He looked firmly from Davy to
Peter, who looked to be at the brink of tears. "We'll get him back,"
the Texan promised. Inwardly he hoped that he could make good on that
promise.
"Why would they even want him anyway?" Davy cried as he watched Mike
and Peter hurry down the street.
"I don't know," Mike called back, "but it probably has something to do
with Baby Face Morales." Perhaps they were even assassins hired by
Baby Face to get rid of Micky. Mike tried to push that thought out of
his mind. At any rate, he did not want to make mention of it to Peter.
The blonde Monkee was already upset enough.
****
Micky remained unconscious for quite some time due to the effect of
the knock-out aroma that Henry had managed to unleash. However, he did
regain his senses before the van reached its destination. Feeling
panic-stricken as he realized that he was in such a strange, small,
enclosed space, he immediately began banging on the roof of his prison
as he screamed to be let out. After a short time of doing this in
vain, he stopped to catch his breath and desperately tried to figure
out where he was. Logic told him that he needed to remain calm and to
not use up whatever air was left, but it was hard to keep himself
under control.
He swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on clues that would help him
determine where he was. He could feel a rolling movement under him,
and it seemed likely that he was in the truck. Maybe he was in a
cupboard, or a wardrobe, or . . . a sarcophagus. He felt his stomach
twist at this possibility. It would be a place that Henry might think
was the best. Micky would be able to move around much less in a coffin
than in a wardrobe. And Henry would easily be able to smuggle him
somewhere else, since no one would think that the case would be
extraordinarily heavy. On the contrary, they would probably expect it
to be heavy, since the normal thing would be to carry a mummy inside.
But where would Henry be trying to take him? Why did Henry want him at
all? Did he somehow know that they had found that picture and he felt
that they knew too much? Would he not want all four of them if that
truly was the case? He must have had a special reason for taking Micky
in particular, and perhaps it had something to do with Baby Face
Morales. Micky felt the sick feeling in his stomach only increasing.
He wondered if there would be any way at all of getting out of the
coffin. Maybe Henry had not expected Micky to wake up before reaching
the destination and had not sealed things up as much as he might have
ordinarily done. If he could figure out how to open it, perhaps he
could then find a time to open the back door of the truck and escape,
such as when it was stopped at a red light. Right now it did not seem
as though it was slowing down at all, so it was likely that it was on
the freeway---but sooner or later it would have to get off and enter a
town.
Carefully the drummer began going over every inch of the casket that
he could reach, hoping to find some sort of trapdoor or some way to
raise the lid from inside---but to no avail. Either Henry had indeed
locked the sarcophagus just in case, or else it was like a
refridgerator and there was not a way to open it from the inside even
if it was unlocked. Micky slammed his hand down on the metal in
frustration, then winced. There had to be something he could do. He
certainly was not in the mood to die today.
Hey, he mused silently, maybe if I pretend that I'm still knocked out,
Henry will have his guard down when he opens this thing and I'll have
a chance to surprise him and get away! It was as good a plan as any,
and really the only plan he could think of under the circumstances.
Just in time, too---as he felt the vehicle stop. Letting out a breath
he had not realized he was holding, the brunette made himself go limp
as he closed his eyes. Just stay calm, he told himself as he heard the
cab door open and footsteps coming around to the back of the van.
This, however, was not an easy task. His stomach was doing
somersaults, and he had the terrible urge to grab some kind of cloth
and twist it in his hands, but he forced himself to lay perfectly
still. Soon he heard the rolling door in the back go up and two
unfamilar voices---most likely the movers---speaking.
"Is he sure this is the right place?" the first voice, which was
gravelly and sounded annoyed, muttered low to his companion.
"Yeah, he showed us the slip of paper with the address on it." The
second voice was softer and smoother, though also annoyed. "This is it."
There was the sound of something being kicked over. The first voice
cursed, then its owner stepped right over to the coffin. "Help me get
the thing out," he growled. "It's heavy enough without a living person
in it."
The second voice laughed. "Well, it's not as if he'll be living for
much longer, once Baby Face gets him. Maybe he's even suffocated already."
Micky gulped, feeling his prison being lifted up and carried out of
the truck. He knew that his time to get away was coming up quickly,
and he wondered if he would for sure have a chance at all. Perhaps he
would be greeted by Baby Face and his gang, all holding machine guns.
Think happy thoughts, he counseled himself repeatedly, though it was
easier said than done. Then he gasped and almost did cry out as the
coffin was jerked about and nearly crashed onto the ground.
"Watch it!" snapped the second, still in his quiet voice. "If he is
still alive, then we're not the ones who're supposed to rub him out."
"Sorry," grumbled the first. Now Micky felt the sarcophagus being
lowered onto what was probably the floor. He willed himself to remain
still. He would hopefully get his chance any moment.
Now he heard more approaching footsteps. At first he tensed, afraid
that it was Baby Face, but then he heard Linda's voice. "I still don't
like this!" she objected. "Henry, he and the others thought that we
were their friends, and we're betraying them like common criminals! I
don't want to be thought of in years to come as someone in the same
category as Baby Face Morales!"
"We've already been through this," Henry retorted, and Micky could now
hear him unlocking the lid. "This is the way it has to be. You know
Baby Face will kill us both if we don't cooperate." The sarcophagus
creaked open, and Micky could feel that light was flooding onto his
face. It was hard to resist the urge to blink rapidly after having
been in the dark for so long, but he somehow managed, and continued to
be limp as Henry and the movers reached in to pull him out.
"Is he still alive?" Linda worried.
"Yeah, he is," the first mover replied. "Too bad for him. It'd
probably be better for him to croak before Baby Face gets hold of him."
Micky decided that this was as good a time as any to make his getaway.
Suddenly he came to life, pushing and shoving against his captors and
managing to get free as they stared at him in confusion and shock.
"Sorry!" he yelled back as he blindly ran out of the well-furnished
room they were in. "I don't wanna have a reunion with the sneaky,
vicious face!"
It only took Henry a moment to realize that he was being outsmarted by
a Monkee. Angrily he and the movers ran after him in hot pursuit.
Linda hesitated, feeling helpless, and then ran after them as well,
still hoping to get Henry to leave Micky alone.
Micky dashed wildly through the spacious rooms, occassionally crashing
into something and knocking it down in his haste to stay alive. He
wondered if this was Baby Face's new hideout or if it belonged to one
of his associates, and he wondered if he would survive long enough to
find out. Hearing the others still stampeding behind him, he panicked
and opened the first door he came to. Quickly he slammed and locked it
behind him, then waited anxiously to hear if they would pass him by.
To his immense relief, he heard them run right past the room and go on
their way. He was safe, for now.
After waiting another moment, he began to grope along the wall for a
light switch. When he at last found one and clicked it on, he
discovered rows and rows of clothes greeting him on all sides. He was
in a giant walk-in closet, which looked like it was as big or bigger
than the entire front room of the Pad. He allowed himself a moment of
awe before becoming serious again.
"Gosharooney!" he murmured, wandering amongst the rows and wondering
if there was anything here that could be of use to him. If he could
get a good disguise, perhaps he could sneak right off the premises and
find help. After all, he was a master of disguise---when the need
arose. And certainly there was a great need right now.
As he continued to weave his way through the room-sized closet, he
noticed several business suits of various colors hanging on one rack.
Matching hats were on a shelf above him. And suddenly he got an idea.
He knew it was risky, and he truly did not relish the prospect at all,
but if he could pull it off he would have the best masquerade possible
and it would be much easier for him to successfully get away. Not only
that, but he might learn something about what was going on. He only
hesitated a moment more before grabbing a blue suit.
Henry cursed low, coming to a stop several corridors away. "He has to
be somewhere in here," he hissed, frustrated that he had not
considered the possibility that Micky would pull a trick like that. He
had believed that the drummer would stay unconscious for a long while,
and yet he had locked the coffin anyway, as a precaution. When he had
lifted the lid and had found Micky laying lifeless inside, he had been
certain that the drug had not worn off yet. And that had caused the
confusion that was taking place now.
"Who has to be?" came a cold demand from around the corner.
Henry started, recognizing the gravelly tones of his boss's voice.
This was definitely not going to look good for him. He had caught the
Monkee that Baby Face wanted, and now that Monkee was loose somewhere
in the manor. He could only hope that the mobster would not consider
that grounds enough to kill him and Linda. Quickly he whirled around,
just in time to see Baby Face glaring icily at him.
"Boss!" he exclaimed, with unfeigned surprise. "When did you get here?"
"Nevermind that," Baby Face snapped, his eyes flashing. "Did you get
Dolenz or not?"
Henry nodded slowly. "I did," he confirmed, "and he's here, Boss. It's
just that. . . ." He swallowed hard, seeing the gangster growing
impatient. "It's just that we don't know where in the house he is," he
finished sheepishly.
Baby Face looked disgusted. "You let him outsmart you?"
Henry's lip curled and he resented the question, even though he knew
it was true. "No," he insisted. "He just momentarily took us by
surprise, but he's still here, Boss. With the security system, and the
guards, he wouldn't be able to get out without us knowing."
Baby Face glared. "I wouldn't be too sure," he scolded. "He's got his
ways. It's annoying, but he's got a brain and he knows how to use it.
Too bad I can't say the same for my associates." With that he walked
past the astonished and angry Henry and continued to walk down the
hall in the direction from which Henry had come.
"I was already down there," the Monkees' neighbor growled between
clenched teeth. "There's nothing to see."
"I'll be the judge of that," Baby Face retorted.
Henry felt himself fume as he fell into step beside the crime lord.
Obviously Baby Face himself had been outsmarted by Micky, or he would
not have ended up in prison because of the drummer. But of course no
one could actually point that out. It would be almost certain death to
do so. So instead Henry tried to force himself to think of a different
topic for discussion.
"We still haven't found where Tony and the others are hiding," he said
at last, figuring that Baby Face would also be wanting information on
his former gang members.
There was a momentary flicker of surprise in the other's eyes, but
then it was swiftly gone again. "Oh?" There was a pause before Baby
Face spoke once more. "Well, I knew it wouldn't be easy," he said
then. "But they're not gonna stay hidden forever. Sooner or later one
of them'll make a mistake and cause us to get tipped off, and then
we'll get them."
Henry nodded slowly, watching as Baby Face opened the door to a
bedroom and looked inside. "I never really knew those punks too well,"
he admitted. "I was around before and after them. Which one is the
most likely to mess up?"
There was a silence as Baby Face pondered over the answer to the
question. "Well, at first glance you might think it'd be Mugsy," he
answered at last, still speaking in the same cold tone. "After all,
he's more brawn than brains. But sometimes those kinda types fool
you." Instead of continuing his analysis, the mobster then slammed the
door shut and turned to look at Henry. "Enough of the chitchat. You're
gonna help me find Dolenz at all costs, Henry, or you might find that
you've messed up yourself. And you know what I do to those who mess
up." Without waiting for Henry's response, Baby Face turned and began
walking down a new hallway, as Henry glared after him.
Once he was safely out of Henry's sight, Micky sighed to himself and
momentarily slumped against the wall. It had been a while since he had
pretended to be the notorious killer, but it seemed that his
performance had fooled his neighbor. And now he had indeed learned
something of what was going on. It seemed that he was not the only one
whom Baby Face was seeking. Micky supposed that he should not be so
surprised that Tony and the others had finally double-crossed his
counterpart for real, and yet it still did surprise him in a way. But
he supposed that was how life worked in the criminal underworld.
Deciding not to stay and ponder over it, the Monkee straightened up
and hurried to find the nearest exit.
****
The other three Monkees were at a loss by this time. They had found
that Micky was not at the corner drugstore, nor had he been there at
all. The clerk had said that no one matching Micky's description had
been there since they had opened for the day. And that, of course,
said to them that Henry had been lying.
"There are other possibilities," Mike said slowly. He, Peter, and Davy
were sitting on the porch steps at the Evanses' home and wondering how
to find their friend. The police could not put out a missing persons
report until Micky had been gone for over a day. And the trio could
not go and tell them about their suspicions without having the photo
as evidence to back up their story.
"Oh?" Davy frowned, looking at him curiously. "Like what?"
Mike sighed, glancing at Peter before finally saying what was on his
mind. "Maybe Micky really was going to the drugstore and he didn't
ever make it there," he suggested quietly. "He could've gotten into an
accident and be laying somewhere hurt." Or worse, he added to himself.
He hated to think it, but he knew that it could very well be true. It
was more likely that Henry had lied and that he had Micky, but
Mike---being the practical one---knew that they should not ignore
other scenarios.
Davy looked down at the ground, pondering over this. "But it seems
like we would've heard something," he objected, "like an ambulance, or
people being upset. . . ." Neither he or Mike wanted to voice what
else they were thinking, but Peter said it himself.
"Maybe no one knew it happened!" the blonde Monkee exclaimed, his
brown eyes filled with fear and worry for their friend. "It could've
been a hit-and-run kind of thing, and maybe no one was around to help
him after the person drove off!" He cringed at the images that were
filling his mind, tears coming to his eyes. He could not stand to
think of such cruelty, especially if it involved one of his close
friends. Poor Micky! There was no telling what kind of trouble he
could have gotten into.
Davy patted Peter's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "Don't
worry, Peter," he soothed. "I'm sure that didn't happen. It's much
more likely that he was taken by Henry and Linda." And of course, that
was not a pleasant thought either. But surely they would have taken
him alive. The idea that they could have killed him first disturbed
Davy highly. How could their friend be murdered right under their
noses? No, Micky had to be alive. That was the only thing that could be.
"Hey!" Mike said suddenly, snapping his fingers and brightening. "A
lot of people have probably seen that van by now. Let's go ask around
the neighborhood. We're bound to find out something about where it was
headed. Maybe we'd be able to head it off."
"But I thought they were going to Detroit," Davy frowned in confusion.
"Well, yeah, that's what they said," Mike agreed, "but maybe they
weren't actually planning to go there. If they really did take Micky,
then my guess is that they've been planning it for a while. And if
that's true, then they already know that the police'd be coming to
find him and might come down the highway to Detroit to head them off.
So it's possible that they've done something else and are gonna take
Micky elsewhere. It could be that they're even still right here in the
city." With that he stood in determination. "So let's go find them!"
he cried.
Davy and Peter leaped up as well, equally resolved to do everything in
their power to discover their vanished friend. They would not give up
until Micky was safe and back with them.
****
It was a long thirty minutes later when Micky finally found a door
leading outside, and he was only able to use it after telling the maid
there that he was going to check the yard for "Micky." Once he was on
the porch, with the door safely shut behind him, he leaned on it
briefly and adjusted his tie while surveying the area. If there was a
gate surrounding the property, he desperately hoped that it would not
either have spikes at the top nor that it would be electrically
charged. The last thing he wanted to do was to wind up impaled or
electrocuted when he tried to get out. He also did not want to meet up
with anyone else, but in this he was disappointed.
"Baby Face!"
He turned abruptly at the high-pitched, feminine voice. It was Ruby,
and she was hurrying over to him from a dark car that was parked at
the head of a long and winding driveway. He swallowed hard, but then
put on his cold, Baby Face expression and hoped that it would fool
Ruby as it had done before. She was a nice girl, and Micky did not
especially like tricking her, but he knew that he had to think about
his safety. If she knew that he was not her boyfriend, then he doubted
that she would let him get away.
"Yeah, it's me," he said, adopting his gravelly tone. "I'm looking for
Dolenz. He's on the property somewhere."
Ruby blinked as she reached the porch. "I know," she replied. "You
told me, and you said to keep watching incase you missed him and he
came out of the house." She stopped and looked at him searchingly,
wondering if he was feeling alright---or if this even was her Baby
Face. She had found out, of course, that Micky had impersonated him in
the past, and she wondered if he would dare to try it again. But she
did not dare say anything at this point, because she knew that if this
was Baby Face, he would be highly insulted and furious.
Micky blinked back at her. "I did? . . . Oh! I did," he said with a
weak grin. Inwardly he felt his hopes plummeting. Baby Face was here,
right in the house? He had hoped that the crime lord had not arrived
yet. Now it was even less likely that he would be able to get away,
unless he could plan it just right. But how would he explain to Ruby?
Outwardly he quickly sobered, seeing that she was giving him a strange
look. "So, I guess he hasn't come out then, has he?" he asked.
Ruby bit her lip. "I don't think so," she replied slowly. "Are you
sure you're okay, Baby Face?" She had not seen him acting so strangely
since that one night when he had broken out of prison the last time.
She knew now that the first time he had come in, it had probably
actually been Micky. And she was getting the feeling that this was him
again. But that made her wonder where the real Baby Face was. If he
met Micky now, and realized that Micky was trying to masquerade as him
once more, then she knew that he would be even angrier than he had
previously been. It would most assuredly be curtains for the hapless
Micky.
"I'm fine," Micky retorted, doing his best to sound annoyed. "Just
keep watching for him, Ruby." His eyes narrowed. "That idiot might
decide to impersonate me again, so if you see someone else wandering
around dressed up like this, it's probably him." He knew that he was
taking a chance by saying this, but he hoped that it would be a way to
stall for time. If Baby Face came out after Micky fled, then hopefully
Ruby would indeed try to keep him there for at least a few minutes,
giving Micky more of a head-start.
Ruby hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. "Okay, Baby Face," she
agreed.
Micky nodded in approval. "Now, I'm gonna go look around the yard for
a bit. He could've tried to sneak out some other way." He wanted to
ask Ruby about the exits off the property, but if he was supposed to
know all about it then it would only make him look all the more
suspicious, so instead he brushed past her and walked down the porch
steps and around the marble pillars to the side of the manor. He could
feel Ruby's gaze upon him, but he tried to ignore it. I wonder who
owns this place, he mused to himself. Perhaps none of the gang
actually did, and they were simply holed up in someone else's house
while the owners were on vacation.
As Micky arrived at the back of the house, he suddenly realized that
he could hear a growling sound nearby. Swallowing hard, he looked down
to see a vicious Doberman pinscher snarling at him as it started to
rise from where it had been reclining on the grass. "Nice doggy," he
tried to say, his voice shaking as he began to back up. The dog
advanced, and as it lunged, Micky let out a yelp of horror and began
to flee across the grass. "This is why I hate dogs!" he exclaimed as
the Doberman followed in hot pursuit. Somewhere in the back of his
mind, Micky remembered that he had heard that one should never run
from dogs when they were being aggressive, but he was already much too
panic-stricken to even try to stop at this point. He was desperately
praying that he would get back to the manor or to a tree that he could
climb before the dog got close enough to drag him to the ground.
In the middle of running, he suddenly crashed into someone coming from
the opposite direction and they both landed on the ground in a heap.
The Doberman quickly caught up to them and begin sniffing at them
both, growling at it did so. Micky tensed, gripping at several blades
of grass as he felt the dog pawing at him. He wondered why he was not
being mauled to death, but he tried not to think too much about it.
Then he heard a familiar and unwelcome voice.
"Good work, Butch." The person Micky had rammed into slowly got up,
reaching to pet the dog, who whined softly in appreciation. The Monkee
looked up in disbelief, finding himself looking in a mirror. Again he
felt that certain sick feeling.
"Oh uh, hi, Baby Face," he greeted, trying to appear calm and casual.
The gangster let the dog go and then looked down at him, his eyes
flashing with anger and hate. "You dirty, rotten, sneaky, vicious
creep," he hissed, reaching to grab Micky up by his jacket. "You
thought you could get away from me that easily, did you?" He shoved
Micky up against a nearby tree while Butch began to pace around it.
"Now you're gonna find out what happens to guys like you, who think
they can outsmart Baby Face Morales!"
Micky shifted uncomfortably, his thoughts racing as he tried to force
Baby Face away from him. He knew that it was not likely that he would
survive this. Baby Face was heartless, and Micky knew that the mobster
especially hated him. "Can't we talk this over?" the Monkee protested,
finding that Baby Face's grip on him was like iron. "I mean, you don't
wanna kill more people, do you? You'll end up getting the chair!"
Butch growled and Micky cringed, wishing that the dog would go away.
"That's only if I get caught again," Baby Face retorted, "and I'm not
going to." He sneered wickedly as his mob slinked out of the shadows,
all of them bearing their guns. "You're gonna croak this time, Dolenz,
but not here." He gazed around the yard, then back at Micky. "Too
messy. No, you're gonna die in the house. And if you come along
quietly, maybe we'll make it not too painful and make it seem like it
was an accident instead of cold-blooded murder."
Micky shuddered as he was dragged away from the tree and forced to
walk toward the house at gunpoint. "Gee, that's really nice of you,"
he said sarcastically, all the while trying to think of another
opportunity to break away.
As they approached the back porch, he got his chance.
"Baby Face!"
Everyone looked up at the sound of the voice. It was Ruby again, and
she was looking both hopeful and confused. Most likely she was
wondering whether Baby Face had actually caught Micky or if Micky was
still pretending and could have turned the tables. At least, that was
the impression Micky got as she looked from him to the real Baby Face
and back again.
Baby Face looked up at her coldly. "We caught Dolenz," he proclaimed.
"But how did he get outside, Ruby? I told you to keep watch for him!"
His eyes flashed again, and Micky wondered if Baby Face suspected that
Micky had tricked her.
Ruby again looked from Micky to Baby Face, and Micky thought he saw a
spark of guilt in her eyes. He wondered if she would suffer because of
her mistake. He was not certain if Baby Face would hurt a woman or
not. He suspected that the gangster would not, but he knew he could
not be sure. "I tried to, Baby Face!" she retorted.
Micky looked around wildly, wondering if he dared to try again. "Don't
be fooled!" he cried then, looking around at Baby Face's lackeys. "I'm
the real Baby Face! Dolenz is trying to pretend to be me, alright, and
all of you idiots are buying it!" He could see flickers of doubt in
some of their eyes, and he took encouragement from that. If he could
get them to doubt just long enough to take their guns away from him,
he might be able to break away from Baby Face and escape into the
house for temporary safety.
Immediately he was slapped viciously by Baby Face. "Shut up," the
mobster snapped. "I don't want to hear any more out of you."
Micky tried to push back the rising panic. "Why?" he shot back. "Are
you worried that they're gonna stop believing you're me?" He smirked.
"They're not so dumb as all that. Are you, boys?" He looked to the
henchmen again, who were looking more confused than before. Ruby
looked torn.
"Baby Face, which one is you?" she wailed.
"I'm Baby Face!" yelled the real McCoy with increasing impatience.
Momentarily distracted by the uproar Micky had caused, his grip
loosened on the drummer. This, of course, was exactly what Micky had
wanted. He shoved Baby Face back against one of the gang members,
grabbing the latter's falling gun in the process. Quickly he slipped
it into his pocket and dashed inside, knowing that he would not have
much time. Baby Face would set things straight before too long, and
they'd realize that the real mobster would not suddenly turn and run.
But Micky had not wanted to stay outside and try to keep up the ruse,
because he knew it likely would not work and that then he would die
for certain, with no way out. This way, he still had a bit of a chance.
As he ran inside, frantically searching for a hiding place, he
abruptly felt something hard crash down on his head. With a gasp of
surprise and pain, he collapsed to the floor.
****
The other Monkees, meanwhile, had managed to find out a bit of
information about the moving van's journey, and they had tried to
contact the police with the information that they had. Luckily for
them, they managed to find the policeman who had originally wanted
Micky to impersonate Baby Face in order to catch the gang, and he was
willing to do what he could to help. He felt it likely that Baby Face
would come after Micky, and he was willing to believe that the Monkees
truly had seen the picture of Henry and Linda with Baby Face, so he
was running background checks on both of them. The Monkees were
grateful for his assistance, but they wanted to do more. And since
they had learned that the van had gone into the Beverly Hills area,
they decided that they would go there as well and look for it.
"I could kick myself," Davy said angrily as they got into the
Monkeemobile and left the police station. "We shouldn't have let that
van go off before without making sure that Micky wasn't in it!" He
crossed his arms, glaring ahead angrily at the road.
Mike sighed, shaking his head as he started the engine. "Hey, there
wasn't much we could've done, man," he replied. "Henry would've just
acted insulted or something, and he probably had Micky hidden away
somewhere in there where we couldn't have found him even if we had
looked." He shook his head, waiting for Peter to buckle his seat belt
before driving away. "Thinking about the past isn't gonna help anyone,
least of all Micky," the Texan said firmly. "So come on, guys, let's
just start thinking of how we're gonna save him when we do find him."
"Well, I've never even met this Baby Face person before," Davy
frowned, "so I wouldn't really know how to deal with him."
"He's sneaky and vicious," Peter interjected, shuddering as he thought
of Micky having to encounter the mobster again. "He's got a really bad
temper. He almost choked Micky to death when Micky accidentally
punched him! What will he do now that he realizes Micky really isn't
his cousin, and that Micky pretended to be him?!" He twisted the seat
belt around in his hand, wishing that he knew how to help the drummer.
He felt so helpless. Maybe they would not even be able to get to him
in time. He tried to tell himself that Micky was clever and
resourceful, and that he would find a way to stay safe, but then he
would remember Baby Face and his gang and start to worry again.
"He'll kill him for sure," Davy muttered.
Nearly the entire ride to Beverly Hills proceeded in this fashion,
with the three Monkees discussing Baby Face's lack of character and
his violent temper, and the fact that Micky would not likely be able
to stay safe for very long at all. They always quickly fell to
worrying again, and they were not able to come up with a plan at all.
"We might not even meet Baby Face," Mike remarked as he maneuvered the
car onto the turnoff for Beverly Hills. "We might meet Henry and Linda
instead."
"Well," Davy vowed, "if we do, I'll give 'em a piece of my mind. The
nerve of them---doing this to Micky after we were all supposed to be
friends!" He found himself getting more angry than usual. Perhaps it
was because of the betrayal, or perhaps because of how he had trusted
their neighbors. Maybe he thought that he should have done more after
Micky had found the picture of the Evanses with Baby Face. Maybe it
was a combination of all of the above. He only knew that he felt
extremely outraged about it all, and he did not know if he would ever
be able to forgive either of them---or himself---if Micky was dead.
"I don't understand how they could have done it," Peter objected,
perking up as Mike began to travel up and down the spacious, rich
streets in search of the van. "Maybe they were replaced by evil doubles!"
"Oh Peter," Davy sighed, shaking his head.
Mike listened to them idly, all the while concentrating on the road.
"It's gotta be around here somewhere," he muttered, even though he
knew there was the possibility that it had not stopped in Beverly
Hills at all. Maybe they had gone from there to somewhere else
entirely. But if that was the case, then where would it be? Would they
actually be going to Detroit after all? The local police chief had
called the Detroit precincts to be on the alert and had given them the
licence number, but he had thought it more likely that they would not
go there, since they had mentioned it to the Monkees.
"It's too bad that we don't know if any of Baby Face's henchmen live
in this area," Peter mused sadly.
Mike suddenly perked up. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "You just gave me a
great idea, Pete!"
Peter blinked in surprise. "I did?"
Mike nodded. "Let's try to find out how many of the houses here are
vacant because of the owners being away on vacation or something," he
said. "Remember how Baby Face and his gang hid the diamonds they stole
in the DeWitts' house? The DeWitts were abroad all that time, so the
gang was able to easily get back inside when they wanted to get the
goods."
Davy brightened. "Hey, that really is a great idea, Mike!" he
declared. "It might help us narrow things down a lot. If the precinct
here will cooperate with us, maybe it'll work!"
"Well, let's try it," Mike said. "We can check the phone book in the
car to find the address of the local police station."
Peter immediately went about doing this. Soon they found the
building's location and went there, but the police chief was not
cooperative. After he spoke with the chief in the Monkees' area,
however, he finally agreed to help and provided them with the desired
list. Then the trio was able to set out looking for what might be the
correct house.
****
Slowly consciousness began to wash over Micky. At first he could not
remember what had happened, or where he was, but it gradually came
back to him as he found himself laying on a hard marble floor. He was
in the mansion where Baby Face and his gang was temporarily staying,
and he had been trying to escape when something hard had struck him on
the head. He groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position and
reaching to rub at his head.
"So, you are still alive."
He looked up at the sound of Baby Face's voice. The gangster was
leaning against a nearby wall, calmly drinking a small glass of wine.
The henchmen were gathered on all sides, their guns all pointing at
Micky. The brunette gulped nervously, gazing at all the unfriendly
faces and wishing that he could be anywhere else.
"Yeah, that's me," Micky said now, grinning weakly. "You can't kill
me, I'll keep coming back."
Baby Face snorted. "We haven't even tried yet," he replied.
Micky felt ill. "Oh." He slumped back against the wall, suddenly
noticing that he was wearing his own clothes instead of the business
suit. Baby Face, he assumed, had grown tired of seeing Micky dressed
exactly like him. Not that Micky blamed him for that. He would feel
the same way if Baby Face tried to impersonate him. "Well, not that I
wanna die or anything like that," he said slowly, "but how long are
you going to just sit here staring at me?!" He was growing more and
more nervous with each passing minute, and he realized that Baby Face
had most likely wanted that.
Baby Face downed the rest of the wine. "Not long," he smirked. "Just
long enough to make you fidget."
The door opened and Ruby walked in. She surveyed the scene and then
carefully walked over to her beau, her eyes showing how anxious she
herself was. "Baby Face, I don't think you should do this," she
pleaded again, moving closer to him and reaching to grab his arm. "He
really hasn't done anything that should make you wanna kill him. And
you might get caught. . . . He has those friends, you know. If you
kill him, they'll try to make sure that you go to prison, and maybe
even get the death penalty!"
Micky nodded firmly, grateful that someone in here was on his side.
"That's right!" he agreed.
One of the lackeys shoved a gun in his face. "Shut up," he growled.
Micky swallowed hard, immediately growing quiet.
Baby Face growled too. "Relax, baby. I said that I wouldn't get
caught." His eyes narrowed. "I hate leaving loose ends. That's why I'm
gonna make sure there aren't any here." He gestured to Micky. "Get up."
Micky wanted to protest, but the gun being pointed at him made him
reconsider. He eased himself to his feet, realizing that it was very
likely that this was the end. He could not think of any more escape
plans, and unless somehow the other three managed to find him in time,
Baby Face was going to see to it that he would be shot to death. But
Monkees had faced death before and won. Surely, surely something would
happen to rescue him!
Immediately all of Baby Face's lackeys advanced, forcing Micky against
the wall.
Micky swallowed hard as the men approached with their guns. In spite
of all of his desperate measures to escape from their clutches, all of
his attempts had failed him in the end. "Goodbye, cruel world!" he
moaned dramatically, backing up against the wall and gripping at it
with his hands. "I won't miss you, but I'll miss the ones I'm leaving
behind!" Many thoughts were running through his mind. He did not want
to die; he was too young! He wondered if the others would miss him.
Knowing Peter, he would probably cry. Mike and Davy would be upset
too, and perhaps even they would shed a few tears. They had all been
living together for so long that now it was like they were a family.
"Heh. That's cute. Any last words?" Baby Face sneered. His gun clicked
as he held it up to point near Micky's heart. "Now you've got nowhere
left to run."
Micky grinned weakly. "I guess you wouldn't believe that someone's
behind you?"
Baby Face only laughed. "You've impersonated me for the last time," he
hissed. "You're an embarrassment!" His wicked smile widened as he
nodded to his henchmen. "I should've done this a long time ago." He
opened his mouth to say "Fire!" but then suddenly changed his mind.
"Ruby, go out of the room," he ordered. "You don't wanna watch this."
Micky shut his eyes tightly. "I don't wanna watch this, either," he
groaned.
Ruby felt her heart sink. Baby Face was going to go through with this,
no matter what she said or how she pleaded. It was no use. "Okay," she
said sadly as she turned and walked out of the room. Even though she
knew that Baby Face had killed others in the past, it seemed different
to know that such a killing was actually going to go on right here,
while she was on the premises as well. And she had the feeling that
Baby Face would not be able to get away, as he believed he would be
able to. Eventually, it seemed, the police managed to catch up with
all of the criminals, and she was certain that Baby Face would not be
an exception. She just wished that he would see reason and simply come
away with her before it was too late.
Once she was gone, Baby Face nodded in approval. "Now, fire!" he ordered.
Micky heard their guns click. Then bullets rained around him, taking
out chunks of the wall and tearing at his clothes. He felt another one
slam into his chest, and his eyes flew open at the shock. He fell back
against the wall, then doubled over as he clapped his hands over the
wound. Blood seeped between his fingers, dripping to the floor, and
Micky had to look away from it, feeling sickened. This was not
supposed to happen to a Monkee. They were supposed to always be able
to come through their problems with flying colors! But there would be
no escape from this. He felt other bullets reach him as the assault
continued. The illness he had felt earlier came back in full force,
and he knew that he would not be able to stay awake. With the extreme
pain, he did not even want to try.
"I'll miss you guys," he said weakly, thoughts of the others going
through his mind for the last time. Then the dizziness and pain
overwhelmed him and he collapsed to the floor.
Baby Face smirked, lowering his gun as he walked over to the fallen
drummer. He cuffed at him with his shoe, checking for life, and then
stepped back in satisfaction. "If the idiot's not dead yet, he's gonna
be soon," he crowed. "We should get outta here before his stupid
friends show up. We've got a heist to do while we're in the area!" His
henchmen concurred, and they left immediately.
****
It was not long after this that Mike, Davy, and Peter found their way
to where Baby Face was pacing anxiously as he waited for his lackeys
to repair the getaway car. It seemed that someone, perhaps Micky
during the wild chase, had punctured all four tires. Baby Face was
seething, to say the least, and if any of his men had acted
idiotically at that moment, it was likely that he would have been the
mobster's next victim.
Peter perked up and ran over hopefully, then stopped when he saw the
cold glare. "You're not Micky, are you?" he frowned, fully taking in
the scene. Baby Face truly did resemble Micky in almost every way,
save in his eyes. They possessed none of the warmth and cheerfulness
that the brown-haired young man was known for, and Peter remembered
how eerie it had been in the past to see both Baby Face and Micky side
by side. As it was, since the moving van was gone and the getaway car
was unfamiliar, the only way the Monkees had found this place had been
by seeing Baby Face standing in front.
Baby Face continued to shoot daggers at Peter with his eyes. "No, I'm
not that dummy, dummy," he retorted, but then smirked quietly as he
looked from Peter to Mike and Davy as they ran up as well. "Micky
Dolenz is dead." He vaguely recognized Peter and Mike, but Davy was a
mystery to him. Of course, he did not particularly care. He knew that
they were all Micky's friends, and that was all he needed to know.
Davy stared. This was his first meeting with Baby Face, and it seemed
bizarre to hear "Micky" saying that Micky was dead. It took a moment
before he could actually process what he was being told. "You must be
joking!" he cried indignantly when it registered. "Micky isn't either
dead!" He swallowed hard, looking at his friends nervously. "Is he?"
"Oh, of course he's not!" Mike exclaimed, his dark eyes growing cold
as he studied the ruthless gangster in front of them.
Peter's bottom lip quivered as tears threatened to overflow. "What did
you do with him?!" he demanded, stepping forward in a sudden show of
bravery. It outraged him to see how pleased Baby Face was over his
crime. Micky did not deserve to be the victim of such cruelty. Micky
was a good, kind person who rightfully should be treated well by
others. Peter had always done his best to be Micky's friend, and Micky
had proven many times in the past that he cared about Peter as well.
Baby Face smirked more. "We shot him up," he answered. "He's in the
house and down the hall, that way." He pointed in the direction of the
porch. "He didn't stand a chance."
Without another word Peter turned and fled up the stairs and through
the front door, despite Mike and Davy's protesting and their yells
that it might be a trap. And if it truly was not, and was for real,
then it would not do for a sensitive soul such as Peter to see a
friend laying dead.
Mike turned back to look at Baby Face, disgust written across his
features. "Now look what you've done!" he cried. "Let me tell you
something, if Micky really is . . . well, dead, you're going to be in
a lot of trouble. A lot of trouble! We'll take you to court and throw
the book at you!" He stopped and looked up as a book flew out of
nowhere and nearly struck Baby Face before he stepped out of the way.
Baby Face looked at it in disbelief. "What's this?" he yelled.
"That's the book we're gonna throw at you!" Davy snapped. "Come on,
Mike, we've gotta catch up with Peter!" With that he brushed past Baby
Face and disappeared into the house as well.
Mike nodded firmly. "You just remember that!" he said to Baby Face
before turning to follow Davy.
He was halfway down a long corridor when he heard Peter give a cry of
dismay up ahead. Instantly his eyes widened and he paled. "Peter?!" he
called, feeling his stomach start to knot. "Davy? Hey, where are you?"
He wondered if he dared to call for Micky, but decided against it.
Peter's cry had probably came about because of finding Micky.
"Mike!" he heard Davy respond up ahead. "I'm over here! Where's
Peter?" There was the sound of soft bumping against the wall. "It's so
dark in here I can't see anything! Isn't there a light switch?" Then
Mike heard a click and a soft glow flooded the hallway. "Never mind."
Now Mike was able to catch up with Davy. Together they raced down the
remainder of the corridor, calling for Peter and fearing the worst.
Perhaps Baby Face had indeed had another henchman stashed somewhere
who had jumped Peter and hurt him as well. Mike would not put it past
the cold-hearted criminal.
But then they finally came to the end of the hall and reached a room.
As they looked in, they both stared in disbelief and horror. Peter was
kneeling on the floor in tears, tightly holding Micky's body in his
arms. Blood was on the floor around them, covering Peter's hands, and
coming from several wounds in the drummer's body. Micky's eyes were
closed and he had an expression of pain on his face. Peter trembled,
looking up at Mike and Davy with heartbroken eyes. "He's dead," he
whispered amid the sobs. "Micky's dead!"
Davy gazed in alarm, not wanting to believe it. This was what he had
feared would happen. Micky certainly did look dead, and all the blood
was making Davy feel dizzy. Trying to push back his own horrified
feelings, he made his way over to Peter and knelt down beside him.
Words would not come to him, and so he instead reached out and laid a
hand on Peter's shoulder, gripping tightly.
Mike also came over, but instead of attempting to offer some sort of
comfort, he surveyed the scene and bent down near Micky's body. "Did
you check to make sure?" he asked, grabbing for the drummer's wrist to
search for a pulse. He strained to concentrate, frustrated and
discouraged when he could not determine whether he was truly feeling a
soft throbbing or if it was only in his imagination.
"Check?" Peter echoed, looking as though Mike was speaking a foreign
language. He swallowed hard. "I didn't check," he admitted quietly. "I
don't know. . . . I guess I was too upset. . . ." He shuddered,
feeling himself growing hysterical again. How could something such as
this have happened? Baby Face should not have been able to triumph!
And yet it certainly looked as though he had. Micky felt so cold and
still as his blood ran over Peter's hands. There was no telling how
long he had been laying there. It could have been moments or it could
have been hours, but if he had been killed instantly, it would not
truly matter.
He looked over at Mike and was surprised to see the Texan perk up.
"Michael?" he asked uncertainly.
Mike looked up, his eyes filled with urgency. "Micky's still alive,"
he reported. "He's hurt really bad, but he's not dead yet---and we've
gotta make sure it stays that way." He looked from Peter to Davy,
seeing their expressions brighten. "We have to find a phone and call
911," he directed. None of them owned a cell phone. They were much too
expensive, and it was hard enough trying to make ends meet as it was.
"There should be a phone in the house somewhere!" Davy declared,
hurrying to get up and look.
****
As it turned out, they did manage to find a working phone and to make
the desired call. They also called the police, but by the time they
arrived, Baby Face and his gang had managed to get the car working and
escape. The Monkees were frustrated and angry about that, but they
knew that they would have to let him go for now. The most important
thing was to get help for Micky. The paramedics did not seem to have
much hope for their friend's survival, but Mike knew that they had to
keep believing in him. Micky would not give up easily.
At the hospital, all of them paced nervously, unable to sit still.
Mike would tell them that they needed to sit down and try to be calm,
but it was obvious from his eyes that he was not the least bit calm.
This in turn only made Davy and Peter all the more anxious and
concerned and caused them to pace about more than ever.
"Oh this is ridiculous!" Mike cried after several moments of this.
"Micky's gonna be okay." He stopped in the middle of the floor,
crossing his arms and trying to force himself to believe what he was
saying.
"Sure he will be!" Davy agreed. "I mean . . . just because he was all
shot up by that gangster doesn't mean he won't make it." But he was
speaking with a heavy heart, and he knew that he was afraid that Micky
simply would not be able to pull through.
Peter laid his head on Mike's shoulder, the tears freely flowing.
"Micky can't die!" he wailed.
"He won't!" Mike responded, but he felt the tears coming to his own
eyes as well.
Davy wandered over now, also sniffling as he blinked back tears. Soon
he laid his head against Mike's other shoulder and all three of them
dissolved into sobs.
"Micky probably wouldn't want us to cry over him," the British Monkee
remarked after a moment.
"He'd tell us it was going to be okay," Peter agreed.
Mike ran a hand over his eyes. "Then why can't we stop bawling
already?!" he exclaimed. At times like this he felt so extremely
helpless. There was nothing more that he could do for Micky, and he
could not find a way to comfort Davy and Peter. They looked to him for
advice and guidance, but he could do nothing. He wished that there was
someone who could offer comfort to him as well as to the others. But
the only one who could really comfort them now was Micky.
"I dunno," Davy said in a muffled voice.
Mike shook his head, then looked up as he saw the doctor approaching.
Immediately he was gripped with both hope and dread at the same time.
"Well?" he demanded.
Davy and Peter looked up as well. "Is he going to make it?" they both
cried at once.
The doctor sighed, removing his glasses and looking exhausted. "It's
still hard to say," he admitted. "He was shot at least four
times---twice in the chest, and once each in his right shoulder and
his left arm. In addition to the immense trauma he's suffered, he lost
a lot of blood and he has a mild concussion from where he was
apparently hit over the head."
Davy shook his head. "Poor Micky," he said softly.
Peter was horrified, and it showed in his eyes. "But he has to be
okay!" he cried. "He has to be!"
The doctor replaced his glasses. "Well," he said slowly, "he does have
a few things in his favor. He's young and healthy, none of the bullets
seem to have pierced anything vital, and he has the three of you who
want him to recover." He tried to give a faint smile. "I think, for
all of your sakes, he'll try to keep fighting."
Mike nodded slowly, trying to force himself to calm down. He knew that
what the doctor said was true, but it did not change the worry he
felt. "Can we see him?" he asked now.
"Yes, of course." The doctor turned to head down the hall, and the
trio quickly followed him. "The normal rules are only two visitors to
a room at a time," the physician continued, "but for you, I'm going to
make an exception. I can see that you're all very close, and it
wouldn't be fair for one of you to have to stay outside while the
other two went in. Besides, I think it would help him more if all of
you were there."
"Thank you," Mike said quietly as they arrived at the door and the
doctor opened it. "Thank you very much."
The doctor nodded and held the door open for them as they went in,
then shut it behind them.
Mike was the first one to enter. He surveyed Micky's lifeless body
sadly, feeling a pang in his heart at seeing a close friend---a family
member---laying so near to death. Micky's straight brown hair was in
disarray, his skin was pale, and he breathed very slowly and with a
rasping tone. "Man, this is awful," Mike murmured as he watched. "We
can't let Baby Face and his gang get away with this."
"But what can we do?" Davy asked, finding it eerie to see Micky so
still. The British Monkee bit his lip and shuddered slightly.
Peter was the most obviously affected. When he saw Micky, his eyes
widened as tears filled them and threatened to spill over. "Micky?" he
asked, immediately going to the bedside and gripping Micky's shoulder.
Of course there was not a response, and he gloomily sank onto a chair.
Davy laid a hand on Peter's shoulder in a comforting way. "If we could
find Henry and Linda, maybe they could tell us something," he suggested.
"We still don't even have a way to connect them with any of this!"
Mike said bitterly. "They probably skipped out with Baby Face and the
others."
And so they sat in silence, trying every now and then to talk to
Micky. But their attempts were in vain, and all of them felt quite
disconsolate. If only, they felt, Baby Face had not been able to do
this. If only Henry and Linda had not betrayed them. If only they had
done more after finding that picture. They had not put enough stock in
it, in spite of all their worrying over what would happen after they
had found it. And yet they knew that all of the if onlys and all of
the wishing would not change what was. And what was, was that Micky
was quiet and ill, and might never wake up again.
****
Baby Face and his gang were quite far away by now, just as Mike had
feared. They had escaped in the dark car and were cruising the streets
of the neighborhood in which they were going to perform their heist.
Henry and Linda, their task completed, had already left with the
moving van and Baby Face did not expect them to be back. He had known
that they had not wanted to take part in the scheme, and that they had
wished to depart as soon as the dreadful matter was over, and he had
agreed to let them go. After all, if he needed them again, he knew
that he could easily find where they were taking up residence.
Smirking to himself, he reached for a bottle of wine and an empty
glass from a cooler at his feet.
Ruby, who was sitting next to him, watched with a nervous, sinking
feeling. She had not asked him about what had happened to Micky, for
she was certain that she already knew. Baby Face was quite unmerciful
in such cases, and he had been growing increasingly angry at Micky
during the mad chase he had led everyone on. Finding out that the
drummer had been impersonating him again had been the straw that had
broken the camel's back. "He's dead, isn't he," she said quietly,
watching her beau pouring himself a drink.
Baby Face sneered. "Yeah, he's dead," he answered as he raised the
glass to his lips. After gulping down half the contents at once, he
leaned back and looked satisfied. "We didn't shoot him as full of
holes as we could've done, but what we did sufficed. And I think we
spooked him a lot right before he croaked." Now, after they committed
this latest heist, they would go into hiding for a while as he
searched for Tony and the rest of the traitorous gang. He still meant
to see them suffer the same as Micky had done.
Ruby sighed, half to herself. It was not a secret that she was unhappy
with the events of the evening, and Baby Face pointedly ignored her as
he finished the rest of his drink. And so Ruby decided to let the
matter drop. Baby Face was certain that he would not be caught, and it
was useless to protest that perhaps he should be more careful. He was
certain that he was being as careful as he could possibly be while
eliminating all of his enemies. Ruby, however, felt that one could
never be very careful while engaged in attempting to commit multiple
murders.
She looked up as she felt the car come to a halt. They had parked in
front of a large, white manor not extremely unlike the one that they
had came from. Baby Face was smiling softly, still enjoying the
evening and its latest adventure. Calmly he set down the glass and
opened the car door. "This is it, baby," he uttered, his eyes narrowed
as he looked ahead at the abode. "This is going to be the first big
heist I've pulled since I got this new gang together. And it'd better
be profitable, or somebody's gonna regret it." He said this last point
while pointedly looking back at his lackeys. Some of them swallowed
and looked nervous, while others simply looked back with eyes of steel.
"What should I do, Baby Face?" Ruby asked, looking up at him through
the open car door.
"Stay with the car, as usual, and let me know if something suspicious
happens," Baby Face returned. "If somebody gets wind of what's up and
calls the cops, we've gotta have time to get away. After all, I just
busted out of the rock and I'm not gonna go back."
Ruby nodded, feeling the nervousness coming over her again. "Okay,
Baby Face," she agreed softly. She watched as Baby Face nodded in
approval and started to walk off, flanked by his henchmen. Then she
leaned back against the seat, idly fingering her cellphone as she
worried over what might happen. Even though she had heard Micky's
friends come for him earlier and talk with Baby Face, there was not
any way that the killing could actually be connected to him. It would
be their word against his. But Ruby still worried, and she knew that
Baby Face should not have murdered the musician. The crime would catch
up with him eventually.
The house seemed quiet enough as the gangsters approached, but Baby
Face knew better than to think that was the end of it. The residents
were supposed to be gone over the weekend, but there were likely
servants somewhere on the premises. And though Baby Face would prefer
not to spill more blood tonight, he would do it if it became necessary.
****
Peter leaned forward, sadly watching Micky's still body. The brunette
drummer was laying in the hospital bed while machines beeped and
whirred around him. The only sign of life was the slow rise and fall
of his chest as he quietly breathed. Peter wondered if he would ever
wake up. It scared him to see Micky so quiet. Micky was supposed to be
goofy and cheerful, not injured so badly that he was barely alive.
Peter would even welcome one of Micky's blatantly sarcastic remarks,
just to know that he would be alright. Micky was a good friend, and
Peter felt just as close to him as he did to the other two Monkees.
He blinked back the tears in his eyes. He did not want to be here
alone with Micky, feeling so helpless. Both Mike and Davy had been
hesitant to leave Peter behind, knowing how much his sensitive heart
was breaking. Despite that, Peter had unselfishly encouraged Mike and
Davy to go out as the Monkeemen to try to stop Baby Face and his gang.
After all, he could not be allowed to get away with this atrocity!
He gazed blankly at Micky's pale complexion before finally speaking in
a soft, low voice. "Micky?" he said hesitantly, though he was not
expecting an answer. When the other young man continued to remain
still, Peter sighed and continued. "I don't know if you can hear me,
but . . . I just need someone to talk to right now." He looked down at
his hands. "And they say that people can hear things going on around
them, even when they're unconscious, so I was just hoping. . . ." He
shook his head as he trailed off.
"I really want you to be okay," he said after a moment of silence.
"We've really been through a lot together, and you've always tried to
help me no matter what. You, and Mike, and Davy . . . you're all the
best friends l've ever had." Peter felt the lump coming back into his
throat and he struggled to force it back down. "This . . . this just
isn't supposed to happen to one of us!" he cried, leaning forward on
the nightstand as he covered his eyes with his hand. After a moment he
looked back up again, a new determination showing in his eyes despite
the immense sorrow he was still feeing.
"Well . . . whether you hear me or not, I know you're not going to
give up," he decided. "I don't think I've ever seen you give up at
anything you tried to do. And I guess Mike would probably say that if
you . . . die, you'll be letting Baby Face win. And . . . well, we
can't have that." He paused again, the sound of the beeping machines
filling the room. "I know you wouldn't want it, either. . . ." His
shoulders slumped and he looked down once more. "Just . . . please,
Micky, try to stay here!" he begged softly. When there was still no
reply, Peter let the tears fall.
He did not know how long he was there, or how long Micky was
unconscious, but at one point, out of nowhere he felt a hand being
laid on his shoulder. When he started in complete shock and confusion,
he heard Micky weakly say, "Hey, it's okay, Pete."
Immediately the blonde Monkee perked up. Hopefully he looked over at
Micky, hardly daring to believe. But he saw that his friend was awake,
if only barely. Micky was smiling vaguely, his eyes showing that he
was still in a lot of pain. Yet he was alive, and happy to be. Peter
felt himself brighten. Everything was going to be alright. It had to be.
****
Mike and Davy, dressed as Monkeemen, were having very little success
finding any trace of Baby Face or his men. Of course, they had
expected that it would not be easy, but they were getting frustrated.
But then, as they were driving down the highway in the Monkeemobile,
they noticed a familiar moving van just behind them. At first they
could not believe it actually was the one they were looking for, but
Davy was certain that he recognized the license plate.
"It is the one, Mike!" he exclaimed. "They're following us!"
Mike's eyes narrowed. "Haven't they caused us enough trouble?" he
muttered, sharply turning around a corner. The moving van followed,
its tires screeching on the asphalt as it went. Convinced that they
were, indeed, being followed, Mike maneuvered the car to the side of
the road and then climbed out, slamming the door shut behind him as he
strode up to the van with purpose. Davy followed, adjusting the wide
rimmed glasses as he did so.
Mike felt his blood boil once he saw Henry and Linda stepping to the
ground, but he tried to keep his anger in check. "Well," he said
smoothly, his black cape whipping out from behind him, "fancy meeting
you two here."
"Yeah!" Davy put in, crossing his arms. "What happened to being on
your way to Detroit?"
Linda looked down, guilt filling her eyes. "I'm sorry, boys," she said
softly, her voice cracking with regret. "I never wanted this to
happen." She could not even bear to face Mike and Davy, knowing that
Micky had been killed by Baby Face---and that it had been she and
Henry who had made certain that Micky was delivered to him.
Henry looked at them with cold eyes that held none of the friendliness
that they had once had. "This is just the way it had to be," he put
in, tightly twisting a tie-dyed bandanna around in his hands. "You
don't understand . . . Baby Face would've killed us if we'd backed out."
"So you figured that Micky had to die?" Mike answered darkly. "Come
on, man, you could've done something. You could've gone to the police
or the FBI, and they could've put you in the Witness Protection
Program. . . . You didn't have to do Baby Face's dirty work!" Perhaps,
he reflected in a part of his mind, he should have been more
understanding. After all, the Monkees themselves had been forced to
commit a robbery once, in order to save Peter's life. But then again,
that was not anywhere near as serious as being an accessory to murder.
They could have never done such a thing, and it disgusted Mike that
the Evanses had.
"I didn't want to be a part of this!" Linda cried, trying in vain to
wipe her eyes. "I pleaded with Henry right up to the end not to do it.
. . ."
"You could've warned us somehow!" Davy shot back. "Instead you just
stayed quiet and let him take Micky to that mobster! And that's just
as bad as having actually supported Henry in doing it!"
Linda continued to look at the ground, disheartened. "Is he really
dead?" she whispered finally.
"As if we'd tell you," Mike growled. Henry, at least, might go back to
Baby Face and report that the job had not quite been completed. And
then the criminal might come back to try again. It would be much
better for them to believe that Micky truly had perished. And anyway,
Mike knew, there was still a great chance that he would. The Texan
just hoped desperately that if it had to happen, it would not come to
pass while Peter alone was with Micky. Mike did not know how Peter
would handle something like that, and he did not want to find out.
"He's dead," Henry said with a curt nod. "Baby Face called me up after
they did it." He looked to Linda. "What's done is done."
"Maybe so." Mike removed his glasses and glared coldly at them both.
"But why were you following us? Did Baby Face tell you to come get the
rest of us, just in case we could actually do something about getting
him locked up?" It would not surprise him, not after what had already
happened. It was possible that the gangster would have second thoughts
about letting the other Monkees go free, and it was probable that
Henry would agree to Baby Face's orders if that was the case. Mike had
lost all respect for their former neighbor.
But Henry shook his head. "Linda was driving," he replied. "She wanted
to tell you she was sorry, and to warn you that Baby Face really might
decide to bump all of you off." He turned to go back to the truck.
"We're splitting for real, now. You won't hear from us again, and
neither will Baby Face and his mob."
"It's a little late for that decision, isn't it?" Davy snapped. "You
can't just walk away from the Mob; they always find you." He wanted to
add that sorry would not fix anything, but he forced himself to bite
his tongue. In spite of himself, he did feel a certain pity for Linda
now that he saw how upset she was over the matter. But he did not want
to show his feelings. She had not actually tried to do anything to
stop Henry, and Davy wanted to make certain that she knew of his
displeasure and anger because of that.
"If you were gonna walk away, you should have done it before you
betrayed us---and especially Micky," Mike agreed. "I don't think
there's anything more that we want to hear from you." He was about to
turn and leave as well, but then he stopped as something occurred to
him. "Well, unless you can tell us where Baby Face is right now," he
said then.
Both Linda and Henry stared at them, realizing what their plan was.
But Henry could not (or would not) give out the gangster's current
location, and all that Linda could say was that she thought they were
going to rob a house in the area. She begged the two Monkees not to
get into a situation where they could be seriously hurt, and then she
became aware of Peter's absence.
"Where's Peter?" she asked, worrying and wondering if he had been hurt
too.
"It's not as if you really want to know," Davy retorted, walking back
to the Monkeemobile and climbing in. He did not want them to get off
the hook, especially Henry, and he had already decided that once he
and Mike were on the road again, they would call the police and
mention their encounter. The Evanses had both been accessories to
attempted murder, and they deserved to end up in prison to pay for
their crimes. And knowing Mike, he felt even stronger about the
subject than Davy did.
The Texan quickly joined his friend in the car and started the engine,
watching through the rear-view mirror as the Evanses slowly went back
to their van. "They've gotta be crazy if they think we're just going
to let them get away," he muttered.
Davy sighed, leaning on the passenger door. "I do feel kinda sorry for
Linda," he remarked. "She was just kinda thrown into this and didn't
want to be. But I know that's not any excuse. She should have tried
harder to stop Henry from what he was doing." He gazed ahead, the wind
tousling his dark brown bangs as the Monkeemobile gained speed.
"She should have, but she didn't, and neither one of them should get
off scot-free," Mike declared. "Tell me when you see a phone booth.
Then we'll pull over and I'll call the police."
"Okay." Davy felt his spirits drop even further. "I wonder how Micky's
doing," he murmured then, remembering how pale and cold the drummer
had looked when he and Mike had last seen him.
Mike shook his head. "It's hard to say." He did not voice what they
were both wondering---if Micky had passed on and how Peter would ever
deal with that.
As it turned out, the police were not called to the scene of the crime
until Baby Face and his gang were practically finished with taking
everything of value. The guards and the servants had all been rendered
unconscious, but one of them had woken up before the others and had
managed to sneak to a telephone and place the call to the local
precinct. The officers wisely kept their sirens off as they approached
the mansion, but Ruby spotted the familiar black and white cars and
quickly hurried inside to warn Baby Face.
The crime lord was just closing up the last jewelry box and placing it
in the suitcase he had brought when Ruby entered and informed him of
the unwanted visitors outside. Cursing to himself, Baby Face turned
off the lights and looked out the window, studying the yard for the
best escape route. Eventually he determined that the best way out was
to go through a back door and creep silently over the grounds until
the getaway car was reached. Ruby had made certain that the
driver---another gang member---had driven it into the shadows as she
had gone inside the house, not wanting the police to stumble across it.
"There's not going to be any more killing tonight, is there, Baby
Face?" she pleaded as they hurried down the hall and the stairs that
led to the kitchen.
Baby Face growled. "There might be," he answered, "if some dope gets
in the way. 'Course, now that Steve Blauner's not around, hopefully we
won't have trouble running down cops when we're trying to peal off.
That kinda thing just makes it worse."
Ruby shuddered. "I mean deliberate killing," she said, but before Baby
Face could reply they burst into the kitchen and found a cook ready
and waiting with a rolling pin as a weapon. One of the henchmen struck
out and shot him point blank as they ran past, figuring that there was
not any time to do otherwise with such an obstacle. Baby Face,
however, did not look pleased.
"You idiot!" he snapped, backhanding the lackey as they made their way
into the backyard. "Did you already forget what I said about not
killing unnecessarily? You're opening Pandora's Box! The cops probably
heard that shot and will come right to where we are!" Indeed,
footsteps could be heard swiftly approaching the kitchen area, but
they could not turn back to shut the door behind them. Baby Face
darted around a large hedge, hiding among the foliage as he groped for
his own gun. He had the silencer fixed on his, and if his location was
discovered he would not hesitate to do away with whatever hapless
individual stumbled upon it.
"Here!" he said suddenly, thrusting the suitcase of jewelry at Ruby.
"Take this and go to the car. I'll be right behind you."
Ruby bit her lip, hesitating only briefly before doing as she was
told. She generally was not involved in Baby Face's escapades, as he
tended to not want her or other women around at those times, but
whenever she did get involved, it seemed that there was always
something wild and dangerous happening. It was most likely just
routine for Baby Face, but for her it was not, and she wondered how
much of the excitement she would be able to take.
It was only a moment after she and the gang members had gotten safely
into the car that she saw Baby Face coming as well, firing his gun off
at anyone foolish enough to try to stop him. Killing may not have been
the original plan, but if Baby Face felt that it was necessary (or, of
course, if he was feeling vindictive) he would go at it with fury.
Ruby saw two officers go down as her beau was running to the vehicle,
and then she gasped as she saw him suddenly pitch forward. Had he been
shot? Unconsciously she tightly gripped the valise she was holding,
fear for his life coming over her.
But then the door was flung open and Baby Face stumbled in, fumbling
uselessly with his left hand to shut it behind him. His hat was askew
and his hair was in complete disarray, and Ruby could see blood coming
from a wound in his shoulder. Trying to ignore it, he yelled for the
driver to start the engine and to get them out of there, but Ruby
could see pain flickering in his eyes.
"Baby Face, you're hurt!" she gasped in horror. It seemed, perhaps, to
be some sort of poetic justice---he had shot Micky and now he had been
shot himself. But unlike Micky, Baby Face was not mortally injured. He
would be able to recover quite easily. At least, Ruby hoped that he
would be able to. Quickly she tore off part of her dress and pressed
it against the wound as the car practically flew around a corner.
"It's nothing," he growled, though he let her try to help him. "It's
just a flesh wound."
"But Boss," exclaimed one of the henchmen, "the bullet went clean
through your shoulder!"
"All the better," Baby Face retorted. "Now we don't have to go to the
trouble of getting a crooked doc to dig it out, or to try to do it
ourselves." He leaned back in the seat, ignoring the alarmed and
revolted looks plastered across most of his lackeys' faces. The
thought did not sicken him in the least, but it was an inconvenience
that he was glad to not have to worry about. Still, he knew it would
take time for his shoulder to heal. That annoyed him, but he had been
planning that they would go undercover anyway, so he supposed that it
would all work out for the best.
There was silence for the next few moments as the driver swerved and
spun about and tried to get the police off of their tail. Baby Face
tried to settle back and relax, but every time he tried he found
himself being jostled about. That, of course, put more pain on his
shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and tried to block the pain out of
his mind. This was not the first time he had been injured during a
caper, though it was the first time that he had received this
particular kind of ailment. He hoped that he would not be out of
commission for an extremely long time. That simply would not do.
Ruby, meanwhile, continued to attempt to stop the bleeding, but the
constant jarring of the car made it difficult, and she worried that
the motion was causing her to press harder than she should. She knew
that if Baby Face lost too much blood, then the "flesh wound" would
become quite a serious problem. It would not be easy to find a
hospital that would take him in without reporting to the police, but
if he ended up requiring a blood transfusion then he would need to go
somewhere. For his sake, she hoped that it would not come to that.
****
Mike and Davy did not catch Baby Face that night, as they had hoped to
do. And so, after pondering over their meeting with the Evanses and
failing to locate the gangster, and after changing back into their
normal clothes in defeat, they finally decided to head back to the
hospital.
As they parked the car and headed for the door, they noticed at least
three ambulances arriving and going to the Emergency entrance.
Paramedics rushed about, wheeling the injured inside on gurneys, while
police officers followed. The two Monkees stared.
"What on earth could've happened?!" Davy cried as they went to the
main entrance.
"I don't know," Mike frowned, an idea beginning to occur to him,
"unless Baby Face struck again." And that seemed quite likely. After
all, the heist he had been going to do would have been in the area,
and this hospital would probably be the closest one to the site.
"Baby Face?" Davy echoed, knowing that Mike was likely right. He felt
frustration burning all the more because of not being able to have
captured the villain. Now even more people had been hurt, and maybe a
lot of them would be at death's door as Micky was. He felt a certain
relief that he and Mike were not still dressed as the Monkeemen. Right
now, he did not feel like a superhero at all.
One of the police officers in the reception area started, having
overheard the duo's conversation as they had walked in. "You know
about Baby Face?" he asked, looking them up and down and probably
wondering why a couple of "long-haired weirdos" would know anything
about such a vicious mobster's exploits.
Davy blinked, looking over at him. "Yeah, that's right," he confirmed.
"One of our friends was brutally attacked by the guy."
The policeman shook his head, instantly sympathizing. "We were chasing
him tonight," he said. "He ran off with the Boyers' silver, jewelry,
and some small but expensive electronics." His voice and eyes turned
bitter. "But he got away, shooting down a house servant and at least
two officers in the process."
"Well, we're really sorry, man," Mike instantly replied, speaking for
both him and Davy. Then he paused, considering what he wanted to ask
but figuring that he already knew the answer. "So Baby Face got away
then?"
The officer growled. "Did he get away?" he repeated. "Oh yeah, he got
away---but not before I shot him clean through the shoulder." Mike
thought that he could hear him mutter, "I wish it'd been his heart,"
but he was not sure.
Davy bit his lip. "Won't he have to go to a hospital somewhere?" he
asked. But as soon as he had said it, he realized that it probably
would not come to pass. Someone as sneaky and cold-hearted as Baby
Face Morales would likely find some other way. Probably, Davy decided,
the gangster would treat the wound himself---or have his lackeys do it.
"We've thought of that," the policeman answered as he started to head
for the waiting room. "There's men posted in all the nearby hospitals,
but it's not likely that he'll try to get into one." Then he paused
and looked back. "Hey, I hope your friend will be alright," he said
quietly. He had seen many people fall because of Baby Face and others
who were just like him, and he had become utterly disgusted with the
mobsters' lack of morals. He had made it his own personal goal to
bring Baby Face to justice, and it angered him that he had come so
close tonight but had still failed---and that four people, at least,
had paid for it.
Mike nodded. "So do we," he answered.
"Yeah," Davy agreed, then added, "We hope the same for those officers
and that servant."
Then they went their separate ways, to worry about their various loved
ones and friends.
****
When Mike and Davy found Micky's room and went inside, it did not
appear to them as though there had been any change. Micky was still
laying pale and cold and still, the machines beeping monotonously in
the background, and Peter was still keeping his vigil. But as Davy
drew closer, he saw that Peter seemed very much at peace compared with
the worried state he had been in earlier.
"Hey, Peter," the British Monkee said in surprise, "are you alright?"
Peter smiled up at him. "I'm just fine," he proclaimed, "and Micky's
going to be alright too."
Mike did a doubletake. "He is?" His gaze drifted to Micky's
unconscious form, then back to Peter. "Well . . . that's great and
all, Shotgun, but how do you know that?" He had to wonder if Peter had
become so worried and distraught that he had made himself believe that
everything would be fine, whether it actually would be or not.
"He woke up and told me," Peter explained, as if it was the most
logical thing in the world.
Both Mike and Davy blinked, staring at him. "He . . . told you?" Mike
repeated slowly. It did not seem to him as though Micky was in any
condition to be able to wake up and tell Peter anything, and again the
Texan wondered if Peter had imagined it.
"That's right, he sure did," Peter replied. "So there's no need for us
to worry anymore." In his childlike mind, the matter was resolved. If
Micky was well enough to regain consciousness and speak to
him---though only briefly---then Peter was absolutely certain that the
drummer would continue to heal.
"That's . . . good, then," Davy said, also speaking hesitantly. He sat
down by the blonde Monkee and studied him carefully. It was obvious
that Peter truly believed Micky had spoken to him, and perhaps he even
had. Davy wanted to believe. He wanted it very much, but he simply did
not know if it was plausible to have happened considering Micky's
condition. "When was this, Peter?" he wanted to know.
Peter scratched his head as he tried to remember. "I'm not sure," he
admitted. "I haven't really been keeping track of time. But it was a
while ago." He smiled again. "Micky told me it would be okay, and then
he went back to sleep. I went and got the nurse to check on him then."
"Oh, you did, huh?" Mike said, a bit surprised at Peter's quick
thinking. "What did she say?"
Now Peter's expression became confused. "She said that he wasn't any
different than before, and that he couldn't have woken up and told me
anything," he reported, "but I know he did. I know it!" He looked at
Mike and Davy, a certain desperation in his brown eyes. "You guys
believe me, don't you?" he pleaded urgently. He knew that he was often
considered to be naive or simple-minded by the others, and he was
afraid that they would not believe him now, but he was positive that
this had truly happened. Micky had spoken to him! It was not a fantasy
or a dream.
Davy bit his lip, not certain what to do. If the nurse was certain
that Micky was not well enough to come to, then it did not seem likely
that he had done so. But, not wanting to create tension, Davy finally
patted Peter on the shoulder and assured him that he was believed.
Peter smiled, and Davy exchanged a look with Mike that Peter did not see.
Davy's look was a question, asking if Mike believed that what Peter
said was true. Mike's look was also a question. He was not certain
what to believe, though he understood---as did Davy---that Peter was
sincere. It was highly possible that Peter had fabricated the story,
unknowingly, after having a realistic dream in which Micky had woken
up. But Mike recognized that doctors and nurses did not know
everything, and that it was also possible that things had happened
just as Peter had said. For now, he would hope that was so.
****
The casino was almost deserted that night. Only a few souls
remained---those who were either extremely lucky, foolish, or crooked.
A few were playing the slots. Several others were still at the craps
and roulette tables. But most were at the poker game, either
participating or watching. This round was highly intriguing to them,
as the same four had been playing now for hours, each time raising the
stakes a bit more. By this time, two of the players had been forced to
drop out, and it seemed that one of those remaining was about to lose
as well.
The ceiling fan turned slowly overhead as these two gamblers stared
hard at first the cards and then each other. At last one of them laid
his hand down. It was a very good hand, and those observing were
impressed. No doubt he would win. He had been the winner against every
other opponent there.
But this opponent did not seem concerned. He watched stone-faced
before setting his cards on the table and calmly announcing what he
had. And instantly everyone there knew that he was the winner instead.
The former winner glared, cursing as he got to his feet. There had to
be some mistake, he was certain. This person had probably cheated. It
would not be under him, he was certain. Everyone cheated in games such
as these. But he did not appreciate someone cheating against him and
winning because of it. Hotly his voice boomed out as he made his
accusations.
The current winner looked up at him coldly and with a dead calm. "I
don't cheat," he replied, shuffling his cards together. "Face it, you
lost and now you're a washed-up has-been, just like Baby Face Morales."
His opponent slammed his hand down viciously on the table. "Just like
Baby Face Morales, huh?" he snapped, his eyes flashing with dark
amusement over something that he knew which the other man did not.
"Baby Face was on a rampage tonight, you know. The guy killed at least
four people and made off with the Boyer stash. If I'm not mistaken,
you've had your eye on that for some time now." He began to smirk in
satisfaction, especially when he saw the look of anger coming across
the features of the winner. "Face it, he's not a has-been, Tony. He's
still as successful as he ever was, and moreso than you've been at
anything other than poker."
Tony Ferano's eyes flashed. Though he had managed to stay calm and
collected during the game, being compared to his former boss was not
something he relished at all. In fact, he downright despised it. "The
guy waves a gun around and thinks he's a big shot," he muttered. "But
not all of us have the kind of short temper he does. People are afraid
of him instead of respecting him, the way they respect our gang." Tony
made it a point to not kill unless necessary, and though he could be
rough with his enemies, he did not lash out at random people with
murderous fury the way Baby Face did. He did, however, wish that he
could eliminate Baby Face once and for all. Some part of him still
lived in the fear of the crime lord returning again and wanting to
take over the gang. And he knew that if that happened, Baby Face was
certain to know of Tony's insubordinations and he would make sure to
retaliate when Tony least expected it.
"Hey!" Mugsy exclaimed suddenly. "I heard about that heist on the
radio, right before your game started. They said that Baby Face got
himself shot by the cop who was leading the chase."
Tony perked up at this, raising an eyebrow. "He did, huh?" He could
not control the sense of fulfillment that he felt at this news. Part
of him wished that it would have been a fatal shot. Then the thorn in
his side would be successfully removed. But knowing Baby Face, he
would not go down that easily, and so Mugsy's reply was not a surprise.
"The cop said that he only got him in the shoulder, and that he got
away." The heavyset man crossed his arms, wondering what Tony would do
with this information. He could already see the wheels turning in his
boss's head. After all, it was certainly not a secret that Tony hated
Baby Face. He had feared him to a certain extent when they had been
part of his gang, and after the DeWitt caper that had resulted in the
young gangster's arrest, Tony had been more than happy to take
control. Since that time, their mob had been gaining notoriety, but
with Baby Face back, Mugsy felt that it was likely that they would be
overshadowed by him. No matter how good Tony was, Baby Face had always
received the most attention. Perhaps it was because of his infamous
short temper, or perhaps it was something else, but in any case, he
was the most widely recognized and Tony was furious about that as well.
Slowly Tony set the cards down on the table as he eased himself out of
the chair. "He'll have to go into hiding for a while," he mused. "Even
if he doesn't think he was hurt that badly, it won't do to have one of
his arms virtually useless."
Mugsy gulped. "You're not thinking of doing what I think you're
thinking about doing, are you, Tony?" he asked.
"Well, why not?" Tony grunted. "It has to be done sometime."
His poker opponent stared. "Just because he's injured, he's not
helpless," he exclaimed.
Tony glared at him. "I know that," he snapped. "And I know we'll have
to be careful. But this is the perfect time to make sure he gets
bumped off." He looked around at the other members of his gang. "Are
you with me?"
Mugsy gulped, but then nodded. Tony was the current boss, after all,
and in general Mugsy liked him much better than Baby Face. He was
willing to try to see that Baby Face died, but he was afraid that it
would not go well. After all, surely Baby Face realized that Tony
wanted him dead. In fact, Baby Face probably already wanted to kill
Tony. And he would not spare the other members of the mob, either. If
they wanted to get the first strike, they would have to be extremely
careful. Baby Face could be watching them at any given moment.
"Hey," exclaimed the man who had lost the poker game, "didn't you say
something once about some guy that looks exactly like Baby Face? You
guys'll have to be careful that you don't knock him off instead." He
was actually not a part of Tony's gang, or of any other gang, but
merely a great fan of poker who frequented the casino where they were
now. He was one of Tony's friends, if mobsters could be said to have
friends, and he often provided Tony with needed information for
various capers.
Tony rolled his eyes in annoyance at the memory. He knew now that it
had been Micky whom he had encountered on the street one day, and
Micky whom he had later tried to gun down in front of a local police
station. But there would not be any other such mistakes. "The next
time we strike, we'll get the real Baby Face," he vowed. He would tail
the double too, if he had to in order to make certain that they did
not attack him. Tony was annoyed that he had been fooled by Micky,
when Micky had later impersonated Baby Face?but he was not so annoyed
that he hated him and wanted to kill him, as Baby Face did.
****
It was late the following evening when Micky regained consciousness.
At first he gazed around the hospital in awe and confusion,
temporarily unable to determine where he was or why. But when he tried
to shift position and found that the motion ached almost unbearably,
he remembered the attack by Baby Face and its results.
I'm lucky to be alive at all, he realized, sleepily gazing around the
room. The other three Monkees were sitting on chairs by the bed. Mike
was in the middle, and Peter and Davy were unwillingly dozing, having
laid their heads against Mike's shoulders. All of them looked
exhausted, and Micky doubted that any of them had gotten much sleep
since finding him. Maybe if they realized that he was awake now, they
would be able to feel more at peace about going to sleep.
"Hey, guys," he said slowly. He wanted to sit up more, but he knew
that such an action would be a serious mistake under the
circumstances, so he remained where he was and leaned a bit more into
the pillows.
Instantly the others snapped to attention. "Micky?!" they burst out
with one voice.
Mike felt himself relaxing. "It's good to see you awake, Shotgun," he
declared.
"We were worried you weren't going to make it!" Davy added.
"I knew you would," Peter smiled.
Micky blinked at him, brushing unruly bangs out of his eyes. "Yeah?"
he said in confusion, but before Peter could explain himself further,
Davy was asking how Micky was feeling.
The drummer grinned weakly. "Well, I guess I could feel worse," he
replied ruefully.
Mike shook his head. "Baby Face really did a number on you," he
proclaimed. "He shot you in four places!"
Micky winced. "Yeah, I remember. Did he get away?"
"He sure did," Peter frowned. "But it's okay. He'll get caught
eventually, because crime never pays and evil never wins." He smiled
assuredly and leaned back.
"But how many people will get hurt or even die before that happens?"
Micky pointed out.
Peter looked down. "I didn't think of that," he confessed, and
shuddered. Micky had almost died, and there were certainly plenty of
others who had, or else Baby Face would not have gotten the title of
the "most vicious killer in America." And the people he had killed had
probably had families and loved ones who missed them. Peter could not
stand to think of any more deaths at Baby Face's hands.
Davy patted him on the shoulder.
Now Micky remembered Peter's earlier remark. "Hey," he said, looking
to the bassist, "why did you say that you knew I'd be okay, Pete?" he
asked.
Peter turned his gaze back to Micky. "Because you told me," he
replied, "and anyway, I knew you wouldn't want Baby Face to win."
Micky continued to feel confused. "But Pete, I didn't tell you
anything," he answered. "I've been kinda down for the count."
Mike stepped forward. "Yeah, well, Peter thought that you'd woken up
at some point and talked to him," he explained, feeling bewildered
himself.
Davy nodded. "Mike and I went out to try to find Baby Face, and Peter
said he'd stay here with you while we were gone. When we came back, he
told us this about you." He leaned on the railing of the bed as he
spoke, wondering if Micky simply did not remember because he had been
so ill at the time, or if the incident Peter had mentioned had not
actually happened at all.
"But I know I wasn't sleeping!" Peter cried. "This really happened!"
Now Micky reached over and laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Just
because I don't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen," he said,
not being obnoxious for once. He knew that Peter had been just as
worried about him as Mike and Davy had been, and he did not feel like
teasing Peter or being sarcastic at the moment. "But oh well, it
really doesn't matter, does it? Whether it was real or not, it gave
you comfort, and hey, I am gonna be okay." He smiled slightly.
Peter smiled too. "And then everything will be back to normal," he
proclaimed.
"We can hope so," Mike remarked.
Chapter 2
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