Chapter 2
Three weeks passed by. Micky was healing quicker than expected and was
able to go home to recover after spending a couple more days in the
hospital. Tony was keeping a close watch on him and the other Monkees,
just to be sure that he did not go after Micky when he wanted Baby
Face?and also because he wondered if Baby Face might learn that Micky
was not dead and come to try again. So far Tony was not having any
luck finding where Baby Face was hiding. Ruby had apparently gone with
him, too, so she was not at the Purple Pelican for him to question.
The elusive mobster was actually hiding out in the same ghost town in
which the Monkees had once been stranded. He and the others had taken
up temporary residence in the hotel, and he had picked a suite that
had an adjoining door into the next room over, which Ruby claimed. She
was worried about him and especially concerned that he had lost too
much blood, despite his insistence that he was fine.
Days spent in the deserted town were long and dull, and the gangsters
entertained themselves with rounds of target practice and searching
the buildings for any loot that might have been left by previous mobs.
After all, Baby Face had pointed out, it was a spot known among those
in the underworld as a good hideout. They had not been the first to
come there, and in particular Baby Face had heard that it was the
location that the mobster known only as The Big Man had chosen for
several of his capers?before he had been murdered by his wife, Bessie
Kowalski. Baby Face still felt that The Big Man had been a fool to
have not realized that Bessie wanted to take over his criminal
operations. He was certain that he would not have been so stupid. Ruby
did not have any such ambitions, and Baby Face had made sure of that
before getting involved with her.
One day, at the close of the third week, Baby Face decided to wander
into the old jail. It gave him a certain sense of pleasure to see an
abandoned correctional facility, and as he searched the cells, he
happened to notice something falling out of an old mattress.
Ordinarily he would not have paid any attention to it, but the sun had
fallen on it and he noticed it glimmering. So he went over and pulled
it free of the stuffing?and promptly found himself holding an emerald.
Slowly he began to smirk. Some other mobster had hidden his stash in here.
Over the next several minutes, he cut open both mattresses with a
pocket knife and discovered not only more jewels, but a locked
briefcase. He soon managed to get that picked open, after a lot of
cursing and yelling, and then found a stack of documents concerning a
criminal organization known as the Syndicate. As he leafed through
them, his eyes lit up. There was a lot of incriminating information
contained in those documents. He could easily blackmail members of the
Syndicate, if the need ever arose.
"Boss?"
He turned around quickly, finding himself looking at a confused
lackey. Most likely the older man was wondering why Baby Face had
decided to pick the jailhouse to explore.
The mobster smirked. "Yeah? What is it, Rocco?"
"Why're you here?" Rocco asked, blinking at him in confusion. "I
thought we were gonna get away from jails."
Baby Face regarded him coolly. "I'm just making plans for our next
caper." He held up the documents. "You used to be part of the
Syndicate, didn't you?"
Rocco gulped. "Yeah, but that's all over now," he said quickly. He had
been let out of prison some time ago for good behavior, and he had at
first tried to lead an honest life?until he discovered that the
Syndicate was not going to let him go so easily. His former boss was
dead?killed in a shootout with other gangsters, in which Rocco himself
had been wounded?but there were plenty of other Syndicate members that
also knew of Rocco's involvement in the organization. It had been
quite by accident that Baby Face had stumbled across him one night,
and he had decided to take Rocco into his mob in place of Mugsy. Rocco
had at first been reluctant, but then he had accepted, deciding it
would be a way to get away from the Syndicate at least for a while.
And yet on the other hand he was actually just trading one criminal
organization for another, and it probably actually did not make much
difference which one he remained with.
It certainly was different, though, to have Baby Face for his boss
instead of Mr. Fuselli. Baby Face was at least fifteen years younger
than Rocco, and was actually only barely out of his teens. Rocco was
still mystified that Baby Face could even be the notorious murderer
that he was, and sometimes he also wondered why so many criminals who
were much older than Baby Face would agree to serve under him and take
orders from him. Of course, it was probably because Baby Face had a
way of instilling fear in the hearts of so many people. Those who were
his henchmen were with him mostly out of fear, not respect, as Tony
had long ago surmised. Baby Face had a disturbing amount of strength
when he was furious, and Rocco had already seen him take out his anger
on several people.
"They're probably still looking for you," Baby Face retorted, his
voice smooth as he flipped through the papers.
Rocco was not sure that he liked where this was going. "What do you
mean, Boss?" he asked.
Baby Face smiled. Rocco never liked it when he smiled. It looked eerie
coming from him. "They owe us some favors," he explained, "and I think
we can squeeze 'em right out of the Syndicate mobsters' scrawny necks."
Rocco gulped. "Playin' with the Syndicate's pretty dangerous," he
observed, "even for you, Boss." Then he winced as Baby Face slapped
him across the face.
"Everything in the underworld is dangerous," Baby Face growled.
"That's never stopped me before. I could get all of the Western U.S.
Syndicate members sent to the chair with these papers." With that he
replaced them in the briefcase, along with the gems that he had found.
Rocco looked at these with goggle-eyed interest before the valise was
closed.
"Are you gonna give one of those to Ruby?" he asked.
Baby Face grunted. "What I give to Ruby is my own business," he
answered. "Now go round up the boys. We're going to be going into the
city soon."
Rocco felt confused at this, though he hesitated to question Baby Face
again. Still, he could not seem to hold his tongue. "Soon?" he
repeated. "But, Boss, your shoulder. . . ."
"My shoulder's fine," Baby Face answered smoothly. "Now go round up
the boys." With that he turned and walked out of the cell with the
briefcase. They would not be going back to Los Angeles just to
blackmail the Syndicate. No, Baby Face had plans a lot deeper and
darker than that. Before he was done, he was certain that Tony would
be led into a trap?and then Baby Face would have his revenge. And
while he was at it, it would not hurt to attempt another heist?one
more daring than ever before. If he succeeded, it would also be the
most rewarding.
****
Micky sighed to himself as he leaned back on the couch and leafed
through a magazine. He was frustrated that he had ended up injured by
Baby Face. While he had been so gravely hurt, of course there had not
been a way for him to play gigs with the others. As luck would have
it, they had received several offers during the course of the past
three weeks. Peter had decided that there was not anything they could
do except to say that they could not play, but Micky insisted that
they get a temporary replacement drummer so that they could take the
jobs. After all, they needed money in a bad way, and now with the
hospital expenses they needed even more. At last the others had
agreed, reluctantly, and already they had tried several different
drummers?a new one for each gig?and had not been especially impressed
by any of them. Right now Micky was waiting for them to return from a
job at the Club Cassandra.
Feeling extremely bored, the brunette tossed the magazine down onto a
table and gazed up at the ceiling as he rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He
was not very patient when it came to matters of health, and he was
anxious to recover. Laying around the house got dull very quickly, and
he missed playing gigs with the others. He felt as if he was only
being a burden at this point?unable to help them earn the badly needed
money and only adding to the amount they needed to come up with. He
wished that there was something he could do, but he could not really
think of anything?unless he tried the offer he had gotten the other
day to take surveys and browse websites. But Peter had tried something
similar in the past, and they had discovered that such things did not
actually pay very much. Micky was not surprised, and he did not want
to try it himself, but he did not know what else he could do from home.
Stifling a yawn, he laid down on the couch and pulled the throw pillow
closer to himself. He had been much more tired since the shooting, and
often found himself dozing at various points during the day. He
supposed that was a good thing, and that it was helping his body to
heal, but it still annoyed him as well. It seemed to him that the
problem must be that he was so bored that that was making him tired.
Maybe he could just shut his eyes for a moment. He would not have to
go to sleep; he could just rest there, listening to the sounds of the
house?the ticking of the clock, the creaking of the building as it
settled in, the scratching at the window. . . .
Micky's eyes flew open again. They were on the beach, so there were
not any trees around that could make that noise. He sat up faster than
he should have and looked over the back of the couch to the bandstand,
hoping desperately that he would not see anything and hence be able to
conclude that it was merely the wind. But he could see a silhouette
out on the balcony, looking in at him. He gave a yelp of alarm as he
got up, but then was not sure what course of action to take. If he
grabbed the telephone and tried to call the police, the person could
break the glass, shoot him, and come inside to see if there was
anything of value to take. If he screamed for help, the person could
break the glass, shoot him, and come in to see if there was anything
of value to take. If he did nothing, the person could break the glass,
shoot him, and come in to see if there was anything of value to take.
And so he simply stood looking at the figure for a moment, trying to
determine if it was a Peeping Tom, a burglar, a vagrant, or even
something else entirely. And the thought occurred to him that they
needed to put curtains up in a bad way.
As he was still attempting to determine what he should do, the front
door suddenly opened as Mike, Davy, and Peter entered. Micky nearly
jumped a mile when he heard the knob turn, and in the few seconds it
took for him to see that his friends had returned, the figure at the
picture window fled. When Micky turned back, everything looked as
quiet and still as it had several minutes earlier?and he wondered if
he had truly seen someone there or if he was going out of his mind.
"Hey, Micky," Peter greeted, looking as tired as Micky felt. But the
bassist tried to smile cheerfully anyway. He was glad to be home, and
he was glad to see that Micky seemed to be alright?though he did act
somewhat edgy. From the look in his eyes, Peter did not think that it
was merely caused by boredom.
"Hi, Pete. . . . Mike. . . . Davy." Micky looked at each of them in
turn, trying to relax. "How did it go?" Maybe everything he thought he
had seen had only happened in his mind. Maybe he had gone to sleep,
and he had still been half in that state when he had gotten off the
couch. He wanted to believe that was so. After all, why would anyone
especially want to be looking in at them? They did not generally have
such problems, which was one reason why they had never bothered to get
some form of covering for the window at night.
Mike shook his head, walking over to the bandstand to set his guitar
down. "Oh, I guess it went about as good as it could go," he replied,
and Micky did not find that to be a very enthusiastic response.
"Did this guy not work out either?" the drummer asked hesitantly.
"Well, he's alright and all," Davy answered with a shrug, "but he
couldn't quite keep up with us." He collapsed into a chair, still
holding his tambourine and maracas.
The thought was unspoken, but all of them were wishing that Micky
could have performed with them. Of course they were relieved that
Micky was still alive, and they knew that was the most important
thing, but that did not change the fact that they did desperately need
Micky to be able to play the drums for them again.
"How were things here?" Peter asked, remembering how nervous Micky had
seemed when they had opened the door.
Micky grinned weakly. "Oh, about the same as it's been being," he
answered, still unsure if he should mention what he believed had
occurred moments earlier. If he actually had seen someone, maybe that
was an indication that they were still in danger. He supposed that it
could have even been one of Baby Face's henchmen. He would not put it
past the crime lord to try to find out what had happened to him, since
he had not been dead right after the shooting and Baby Face might have
even the slightest doubt about his demise.
Peter continued to look at him. "So everything went okay then?" he
asked hopefully.
"Sure!" Micky told him, a bit too quickly. "It was just another dull
evening." He glanced over at Mike, who was absently tuning his guitar.
"I think I'll be able to play with you guys again soon," he declared.
"I'm feeling a lot stronger now, and my shoulder doesn't hurt as
much." He had actually been practicing on his drums earlier, before
the nonsense with the Peeping Tom had occurred. His shoulder probably
still hurt a lot more than he was willing to admit, but he had
definitely seen improvement over the way it had been before.
Davy smiled. "Really, Micky? That's great," he said, and
whole-heartedly meant it.
"Yeah," Mike chimed in. "We've really missed you."
"The people we play for have, too," Peter added. "This one girl
stopped us tonight and asked about you and said that it just wasn't
the same without you."
Micky blinked, somewhat surprised. "She did?" It seemed to him that
usually it was Davy who received all of the attention, and that if
anyone was absent and would be greatly missed, it would be him.
Sometimes Micky had wondered if their audiences considered all of them
to be expendable except Davy.
Peter nodded and grinned.
Mike looked over at Micky again, a new thought coming to him. "Just
don't overdo things," he cautioned. "I know we're all anxious for
things to get back to normal around here, but if we rush too much to
make that happen, then it'll probably only make everything worse. We
want to make sure you heal up properly." He absently picked out For
Pete's Sake on the guitar as he spoke.
Micky grinned as well. "Don't worry," he replied. "I'm careful."
Mike nodded, not looking convinced. "Uh-huh. Careful, yeah," he muttered.
****
The first thing Baby Face did after returning to the Los Angeles
metropolitan area was to go to the same casino that Tony had been at
before. He received information from the same poker player whom Tony
considered a friend/informant. As far as Baby Face was concerned, the
man was not working for either of them and probably was also not loyal
to either of them. But he would keep him in line by threatening him
regularly, and then he would get whatever information he wanted. It
was amazing, how many people were so spineless. Baby Face had rarely
met anyone who was willing to stand up for himself even in the face of
violent warnings and intimidation.
Now as the mobster walked in, everyone looked up with a start. Most
then returned to whatever they were doing, but a few followed him with
their gaze until he found the desired person. He was currently engaged
in a game of poker and had not even looked up. Smirking, Baby Face
wandered over to an angle where he could see first the opponent's
cards, then his informant's. "You're going to win, Bruno," he
commented, and both poker players jumped.
Bruno slammed his poker hand facedown on the table as he looked up at
the crime lord standing over him. "Baby Face," he greeted nervously.
"You haven't been here for a while."
"Yeah, I had some other things to take care of," Baby Face answered
cryptically, then looked over at the man on the other side of the
table and snapped his fingers commandingly with a look that read,
"You've lost the game, and we have business to talk over, so get
lost." The opponent did not wait to be told twice, nor to actually see
if Bruno did have the winning hand. Immediately he leaped up and fled
the table, going instead to the slot machines.
Baby Face now claimed the vacant chair, shoving the half-finished
drink off the table and to the floor as he did. Instead of speaking
again, he looked at Bruno expectantly.
Bruno leaned back and tried to mask his apprehension. "We've been
hearing things since you split," he said slowly.
Baby Face frowned, studying him with a look that seemed to bore into
his very soul. "Yeah? What kinda things?" he demanded.
Bruno smiled slightly, seeming to enjoy being the one with the
information. Baby Face could not kill him as long as he had a use for
him, after all. "Well, first we heard that you'd been shot during your
last caper," he began. "The cop who did it kept bragging about how
he'd actually hit his target. He said he'd got you in the shoulder,
but after a few days went by without another heist, the rumors started
flying. Some guys said that you'd been shot in the leg, and then your
back, or even your neck. So it's gotten strung around in a lot of
places now that you're dead."
Baby Face leaned on the table and laced his fingers. "And what does
Tony think?" he asked. "He's been here, hasn't he?"
Bruno nodded. "Yeah, he was in just a couple of nights ago. He doesn't
believe any of the rumors. He figures that you just went into hiding,
like you usually do after a big heist. And he believes the cop's
story, about you getting shot in the shoulder."
Baby Face smirked. "I wouldn't have expected anything less from Tony."
Now he crossed his arms on the table. "He wants to kill me, doesn't he?"
"Well," Bruno said slowly, "he was talking about it on the night when
we first heard that you'd been shot. And when he was here last, he
said again about wanting to see you dead. He's a lot more confident
about the whole thing when he's got the gang with him."
"He's too afraid of me to try anything without them around," Baby Face
retorted. "And then if he does try, he knows that he'll get it from me
later on." He had heard about the incident when Tony had attacked
Micky with a newspaper, continually apologizing even as he had been
striking the drummer. That both amused and annoyed Baby Face. He would
not have stood for such a thing and would have attacked back, as Tony
should have known.
"Yeah, that sounds like him," Bruno agreed, then paused. He had heard
something else recently from Tony, and he knew that Baby Face would
not be pleased in the least. Part of him hesitated to mention it, as
he was afraid of invoking the gangster's legendary and infamous temper.
But Baby Face could see from his expression that there was something
else. "What is it now?" he growled. "Did Tony say something else?"
Bruno knew that it was useless to try to keep the knowledge from him.
"Tony said that he's been tailing those Monkee people," he said
slowly. "The guy you shot up is still alive."
Baby Face's eyes flashed. "What?" he yelled, reaching over and
grabbing Bruno by his tie and shirt. Many people in other parts of the
casino looked to their table in curiosity, but none of them bothered
to think that the police needed to be called. Skirmishes happened all
the time, and they did not want to involve the police if they could
help it.
Bruno struggled to loosen the mobster's grip, feeling a sense of panic
rising in his heart. "Tony said he's still recovering, but he's
definitely alive and he's expected to be just fine," he gasped. "I'm
just the messenger!"
At last Baby Face released him, sending him flying back into his seat.
"One more thing," he said after a moment in a perfectly calm voice,
not giving any indication of what he planned to do with the
information of Micky's survival. "Did Tony tell you where he's staying
now or what he's planning to do other than to try to kill me?"
Bruno shook his head. "No, Baby Face," he replied, straightening out
his clothes and feeling an overwhelming relief. "He said something
about the walls having ears. But everyone already knows about you and
him being on the outs, so I guess he figured it was okay to talk about
wanting to knock you off."
Baby Face nodded and began to relax. "Okay. If Tony comes back before
I do, try to find something else out," he directed. "Does he show up
often?"
"About once or twice a week," Bruno told him. "No more than that. And
sometimes he'll go a week or two without making an appearance."
"Is there a chance he might come here tonight?" Seeing a waiter, Baby
Face hailed him and placed an order for wine. The waiter agreed
nervously. Baby Face was quite well-known and notorious in these
parts, and no one was ever certain what might happen when he was around.
"I guess it's possible," Bruno admitted.
"Then I'll stick around a while," Baby Face said smoothly.
Bruno gulped. "Okay, Baby Face," he agreed. Not that there was
anything else to do but agree when Baby Face wanted something.
"That's not gonna be a problem for you, is it?" Calmly Baby Face took
the glass and the bottle of wine from the waiter and pulled the cork
out of the bottle. He was highly irritated that Micky had survived the
murder attempt, but there was little that could be done about that.
Perhaps at least it would teach him to stay out of the way of Baby
Face and his mob. There were other matters that Baby Face wanted to
put his mind to at the moment, so he would have to ignore Micky's
recovery and allow him to live.
"Oh, of course not, Baby Face!" Bruno hastened to exclaim. "It's not a
problem at all!" But he could not help but worry over what would
happen if Tony did happen to come and then realized that Bruno was
also giving information to Baby Face. That would not be pretty.
"Good." Baby Face downed the liquor in one gulp and began pouring
another half a glass. One thing he had to be careful of was to not
drink so much that he would become intoxicated and possibly might make
a foolish mistake. Of course, he was able to tolerate alcohol quite
well, so he was not extremely concerned about that possibility. He
knew his limits and did not consume more than that.
****
It was later that night when it began to rain. At first it was a mild
shower, but as time stretched into the early morning hours it started
to beat down harshly over the buildings, cars, and streets. Anyone who
was outside for some reason scrambled for any shelter that they could
find, desperate to get out of the downpour.
Linda was heading for the Monkees' pad, pulling her cloak close around
her as the rain beat down on her back and slapped her face. She had
ran away from Henry sometime back and had been hitchhiking her way
back to Malibu Beach since then. He had promised her that they would
run away from Baby Face and the Mob, but she had caught him making
plans on the telephone to pull off another caper with Baby Face and to
use the moving van to escape with the loot. After what had happened to
Micky, Linda did not feel that she could trust Henry at all, and that
conversation had sealed things for her. Now she was running to the
only people she felt she could trust, and yet she knew that they would
not want her around after the part she had played in Micky's death.
As she stumbled around a corner, her right foot splashed into a puddle
and she gave a cry of surprise as she started to fall right into the
path of an oncoming car. The horn blared in warning or
irritation?Linda was not certain which, but it hardly mattered. She
wondered if she was going to die, and instinctively she held her hands
out in front of her as she tumbled forward. She almost wondered if it
would be better to simply perish, but at the last possible moment the
vehicle halted. Stunned, Linda looked up to see an annoyed man leaning
out of the window.
"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped.
Then they both started, realizing that they knew each other. Linda
could hardly believe it. "Vince!" she exclaimed, addressing Mugsy by
his real name. Of all people she could have met in this area, she had
least expected to see him. She had not heard from him or Tony or any
of the others since they had betrayed Baby Face and had left to form
their own gang, though she had known that the mobster wanted to kill
them as well as Micky. That did not surprise her, but she was not
happy about it either. Of course she knew that Tony wanted to kill
Baby Face, but she had to admit that she would not be that sad to see
him die. He had killed so many others, and most of them had perished
needlessly. For him to be dead would be a service not only to the
underworld, but to all the innocent people in America. But in thinking
of this, Linda failed to consider the fact that if Baby Face was dead,
it would only give rise to others just like him?or worse.
"Linda, what are you doing here?" Mugsy asked in disbelief. "Is Baby
Face around?"
Linda shook her head vehemently as she hurried over to the car. "No he
isn't, and I hope I never see him again!" she declared. "I don't want
to see Henry again either! They're both terrible people!"
Mugsy blinked in confusion. "So you're running away from Baby Face's
mob?" he asked.
"Yes I am!" Linda said without hesitation. "I'm tired of living a
double life. The last straw was when Henry helped our former boss kill
Micky Dolenz." Her eyes flashed bitterly. Even though she was
generally a submissive, kind person, she felt that she had been
gravely betrayed?and even worse, that her submissiveness had helped to
be responsible for what had happened to Micky. This sense of guilt
mixed with bitterness was turning her into a much different person.
"But Dolenz survived," Mugsy replied, still bewildered.
Linda stared at him, swaying and nearly falling over in her
astonishment. "He did?" she gasped, grabbing onto the car window to
steady herself.
Mugsy nodded. "Yeah, Tony's had us watching him and the others, in
case Baby Face decides to come back and try again. Tony kinda thinks
that Baby Face will leave Dolenz alone for right now, but he wanted us
to try anyway. He wants to kill Baby Face, you know." Suddenly
realizing something, he unlocked the passenger door. "Hey, you'd
better get in," he exclaimed. "The rain's really coming down."
Linda blinked, then nodded slowly as she walked around the car and got
inside. What Mugsy had told her had been so shocking that she had
forgotten that she was drenched. With a sigh she brushed a stray and
wet lock of hair out of her eyes, then looked back to Mugsy. "So he
really is alright?" she demanded to know. That seemed too impossible
to be true. Henry and Baby Face both had been certain that Micky was dead.
"Yeah, he seems to be," Mugsy replied. "Well, he's mostly been staying
at his home. He hasn't even gone out to play the gigs with his
friends, but I think he's been getting a lot better than he was."
Linda let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding.
"That still doesn't change things," she said darkly, though an immense
sense of relief and happiness was washing over her at the news of
Micky's survival. "I still want out."
"Well, I don't think they'll let you go," Mugsy told her.
"I don't care," Linda answered, and found she meant it. "If the only
way I can live is to be involved with killing other people, then I'd
rather just die myself." She crossed her arms over her chest as she
glared out the windshield at the pouring rain.
Mugsy sighed. "You were never really cut out for this kinda business
anyway," he said, revving the engine and turning the car around. Henry
had always thought that Linda would either get used to it and become
hardened, or else that she would stay as submissive and quiet as ever,
disapproving but never doing anything about it. Baby Face, Tony, and
the rest of the gang had been certain that Linda would never get used
to it and that eventually she probably would rebel. It seemed strange
that they had known her better, in that respect, than had her own husband.
Linda was silent during the drive. She did not know where they were
going, but at this point she did not care. Henry would be looking for
her. He would probably catch up sooner or later. It would not look
good for her to be with someone who was now in a mob rivaling Baby
Face's, but she did not think that things could get any worse than
they already were. Tony's gang was already in hot water with Baby
Face, and Linda did not believe that her presence would make things so
very much more worse. Besides, she liked the company. At least Mugsy
listened to her instead of always insisting on being right.
****
The next day Micky was up early to practice on the drums. The other
Monkees were still sleeping, so instead of actually hitting the
instruments, Micky mimed it. Right now the main thing he wanted to see
was how long he could go at it without his wounds bothering him. If he
could successfully go at it for an hour or more, then he was confident
that he would be able to last during a concert.
After about thirty minutes, Micky's shoulder was starting to ache.
Narrowing his eyes in frustration, he ignored his previously set goal
and continued to work. He knew that it was likely that he should not
keep at it, but really, the wounds were healing nicely and he was so
tired of being left at home while the others were working hard to make
money. The last thing Micky ever wanted was to be a burden.
Before long the motions were almost mechanical and Micky's thoughts
began to wander as he continued his unorthodox practice session. He
wondered about the figure he had seen at the window the previous
night. He was certain that it had truly happened and that he was not
simply seeing things. And he knew that in that case, he needed to tell
the others in case it meant they were still in danger. Maybe it had
even been Baby Face. But actually, as Micky thought more about it, he
realized that the prowler had been quite a bit shorter than Baby Face.
The drummer's eyes widened, then narrowed as he contemplated this. Did
that mean it could have been Tony who had been watching him? If so,
why? What interest would Tony have in it? He shuddered. Could Tony be
mistaking him for Baby Face again? The last thing he wanted to do was
to deal with Baby Face's former associate. Tony made him extremely
nervous.
Abruptly he was startled out of his reverie by the ringing of the
telephone. With a sigh he eased himself up and slowly moved over to
where the red device was still incessantly announcing a caller. "I'm
coming, I'm coming," he muttered. To his surprise, he managed to reach
it before it ceased ringing. "Hello, this is the Monkees' place," he
said as he answered and leaned back on the couch.
"There's four Monkees, aren't there?" a gravelly voice asked.
Micky frowned, not liking the sound of this at all. "Yeah," he
admitted. "Why? Who is this?" He could not believe that someone would
call this early about a job, so perhaps it was instead someone who did
not have good intentions. He did not recognize the voice, but it did
not sound friendly in the least.
"Never mind," snapped the voice's owner. "Just stay on your toes if
you wanna make sure that there continues to be four of you."
"Hey! Is this a threat?" Micky demanded. It certainly sounded to him
as though it was one. Why else would someone say such a strange thing?
Subconsciously he gripped the telephone cord. "Are you working for
Baby Face?"
A dry laugh was his answer. "As if I'd work for him, or any other
mobster. I wouldn't wanna be tied down like that." Now there was a
pause, and Micky could hear heavy breathing on the other end of the
line, as if the person was anxious. When the man spoke again, his
voice was considerably lower. "If you wanna catch the guy, and his
mob, there's still some stuff hidden in the Evanses' house. Linda put
it there right before she and Henry left."
Micky was stunned. "There is?" he exclaimed, then frowned
suspiciously. "How do you know that?"
"You'll just have to trust me."
Micky never liked being told that by a stranger, and he was especially
sensitive on the matter at this point. "Look, whoever you are," he
snapped, "my friends and I were betrayed by Linda and Henry Evans,
when we'd thought they'd been our friends for years! But they set me
up to be killed by Baby Face Morales. So now you call, I've never
heard you before at all, and you want me to trust you? If I can't even
trust people who were my friends, why should I trust some guy who's
never even talked to me before?"
Now there was another pause, longer than the first. "Okay, okay, I see
your point," the caller growled. "But I still can't tell you anything
about me. So don't trust me. Just go check out the house, or get the
police to do it, and see what you find. And even though I'm not
threatening you, it's possible that someone else might. You mess with
the Mob, you're bound to get burned."
Micky was more confused than ever. "So you tell us to be careful so
someone won't get killed, and then you tell us about investigating the
Evanses' home? How can we be careful that way?" He had to wonder if
this entire call was a prank. Maybe it was a complete waste of his
time and he should have hung up ages ago, when the person had first
given their "threat," or warning, or whatever it had been supposed to be.
Instead of an answer, Micky heard what sounded like arguing on the
other end of the line. He tried to hear what was being said, but it
was too indistinct. Then the sound of either a car backfiring or
gunshots filled the receiver, and there was a sharp click. Though
Micky yelled "Hello" repeatedly, there was neither a reply or a dial
tone and he was left to wonder what on earth that had been about and
if the man he had been speaking with had been murdered. In frustration
he replaced the phone in its cradle and then turned around to see the
others coming down the stairs.
"Micky, what's going on down here?" Davy asked sleepily.
"Yeah, you don't usually get up so early," Mike noted.
"He probably got woke up by the telephone," Peter surmised, and looked
to Micky for confirmation.
The drummer was too rattled to argue. "Never mind that!" he exclaimed.
"Something weird's going on, guys!" With that he proceeded to explain
about the Peeping Tom he had seen last night and then about the
telephone call that had just come through. The other Monkees listened,
stunned and speechless. It was so much to be happening all at once.
"You don't have any idea who you were talking to?" Mike wanted to know.
"No!" Micky retorted.
"And there weren't any background sounds that would help determine
where he was calling from?" Davy asked.
Now Micky had to pause to think. "I didn't think there were," he said
slowly, "but now that you mention it, it kinda sounded like there was
a rushing noise."
"A rushing noise?" Peter said in confusion.
"Yeah," Micky replied. "You know, like water or something." He began
to pace about the room. "The ocean's calm right now, so he couldn't
have been calling from somewhere on the beach," he thought out loud,
"and anyway, it didn't sound like that kind of water." He gazed up at
the ceiling as he tried to think of a way to describe it. "It was more
like it was falling down from somewhere," he said finally.
The other Monkees looked at each other, then back at Micky. "You mean
like a waterfall?" Davy suggested.
Micky snapped his fingers. "A waterfall! That's it!" Then he frowned.
"But where are there any waterfalls around here?" It seemed hopeless.
"There's some canyons not too far away," Mike mused. "Maybe the guy
has a cabin up there somewhere."
Micky nodded. That sounded logical. "Well, maybe we need to have the
police check it out," he said slowly. "It sounded like he was being
shot." He sighed. "I guess he's probably dead, but we should probably
still try to get help for him, just in case." He went over to the
spiral banister and leaned on it. "And we need to figure out what
we're going to do about what the guy said about the Evans' house."
"Do you really need to wonder?" Davy retorted.
"Monkees are notoriously curious, after all," Peter smiled.
"Let's call the police about that guy, and then go," Mike said firmly.
****
Searching the Evans' home proved to be quite an unpleasant task. Most
everything had been moved out, and the house was bare, but the Monkees
still had the memories of the times spent there when Linda and Henry
had been their friends. It was hard for them to go back now and to
look through the abode, remembering those good times and also what had
come after that.
Peter was especially affected. "I remember the last time they had us
over for dinner," he said quietly as he and Micky finished their check
of the dining room and headed upstairs. "Then we played for them and
they sang along. . . ." His shoulders slumped. "Was none of that
sincere?" he wondered. "Were they never our friends, or did they just
turn against us later, when Baby Face found out that they were our
neighbors?"
Micky sighed, pushing open the door to Henry's office. "It's really
hard to say, Pete," he answered, surveying the completely empty room.
Henry had made certain to take every bit of his collection, including
the closet's occupant. But Micky wandered in anyway, deciding to check
the walls for trapdoors. "Does it really matter now?" he asked,
glancing over his shoulder at Peter. "I mean . . . they sure aren't
our friends any more."
Peter followed him in and began feeling along the opposite wall. "I
think it matters," he said sadly. "I mean, wouldn't it be worse if
they really had been our friends and then they just turned against us?
That would be like . . . like any of us turning against the others."
Micky stopped what he was doing and looked back at his friend.
Sometimes the insights that Peter came up with amazed him, not that he
ever admitted when that was the case. But this was one of those times,
and he could see that Peter had a point. "Yeah," he said finally. "I
guess so."
Peter sighed, turning to look at him. "Sometimes I still think about
that time when we all fell for April, the girl from the laundromat,"
he declared. "Do you remember that, Micky?"
Micky groaned. "Don't remind me." He knew that none of them had been
at their best during that escapade. April had almost been the
unwitting cause of the quartet's friendships completely falling to
shreds. Micky felt annoyed when he recalled that time now, and
disgusted at the way he and the others had behaved.
Peter resumed checking for secret panels as he talked. "Well, we
almost all turned against each other," he said. "What if . . . what if
something like that happens again sometime?" That was one of his worst
fears. He could not stand the thought that anything would happen to
break up their friendships, but now after the experience with the
Evans, it worried him more than ever?and that was the real reason why
he was so concerned about whether the couple had ever actually been
their friends or not.
Micky froze and then glared at the wall. He hated that Peter even had
to worry and wonder about something such as that, and he had decided
that if the misadventures with April and with the Evanses had taught
him anything, it was that they could not let anything destroy their
friendships. They had become like a family, and that was something
that should not be treated lightly in any way, shape, or form. "Oh
come on, Peter!" he cried now, perhaps sounding more harsh then he had
intended. "That's not going to happen."
Peter bit his lip. "I hope not," he said softly.
Micky sighed and went over to the blonde Monkee. "It won't, okay?" he
said firmly, but in a quieter voice.
Peter tried to smile. "Okay," he agreed.
Micky patted him on the shoulder, then went to the door. "I can't find
anything in here. Let's try the bedrooms," he suggested.
As they walked into the hall, they could suddenly hear a shout from
Davy on the first floor. Startled, Micky stopped and Peter slammed
into him.
"I think I found something!" the British Monkee announced. "You fellas
had better get down here."
****
Linda looked down into the mug of cocoa that she had been nursing for
the past half hour. Her hair, still damp from the rain, hung over her
shoulders and framed her face. Tony was sitting across the table from
her, looking impatient, but Linda ignored him. Her mind was in a
whirl, still processing the information that Mugsy had given her the
previous night and wondering what she should do about the other mob.
Suddenly her eyes lighted up.
"What is it?" Tony growled. He had never particularly liked Linda, and
especially not when she became overly emotional. He had not been happy
when Mugsy had brought her back to the hideout and said that she was
leaving Baby Face's mob, but he had decided to let her stay for at
least a short while just in case she had something worthwhile to tell
him. He knew, however, that she would not remain long. If she was
serious about trying to get out of the Mob, then she would not want to
be with Tony's operation any more than she wanted to be with Baby Face's.
"I hid some papers in my house!" Linda exclaimed, looking up at him.
Tony was not impressed. "What kind of papers?" he demanded.
"Documents about the kinds of things Henry and Baby Face are doing,"
Linda replied, growing more excited. If she could get hold of those
papers again, she could see to it that the entire gang was brought to
justice.
Now Tony was starting to become interested. He did not care about
sending the mob to jail, but having those papers could prove useful to
him. He might be able to use them to manipulate his former boss and
lead him into a fatal trap. "How long ago was this?" he wanted to know.
"It was right before Henry and I left, when we took Micky to Baby
Face," Linda answered, walking out from behind the table. "I hid them
behind a panel in the family room. They should still be there!" She
looked back to Tony, seeing his eyes flash with contemplation, and
then knew. "You want them, don't you?" she said quietly.
"What good is getting them thrown in the pen?" Tony responded as he
stood up and went over to her. Linda was not the smartest person
around, but at times she could be good at discerning what people were
thinking. "They'll only get out again. I want to fix it so that Baby
Face can't come back at all." He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
"That's what you want too, isn't it?"
Linda swallowed. She hated to admit that it was true, but in her heart
she knew that it was. She wanted Baby Face out of the way permanently.
In some way, she felt like that was the only way that she would be
able to make up what had happened to Micky. Having Baby Face die, when
he was a notorious, heartless murderer, would never be the same thing
as killing a guiltless person such as Micky.
"Don't bring in the police," Tony went on, observing from her actions
that she was coming to terms with the fact that he was right. "We'll
go with you to your house and get the papers, and we'll use them to
lead Baby Face into a trap that he won't walk away from."
After a moment she looked up at him again. "You don't want him to die
for the same reasons that I do," she said quietly.
Tony's eyes narrowed in frustration. "You know that you could never
see that he dies by yourself," he retorted. "You need us along or it
will never happen." He knew that he and Linda had different motives,
but that did not concern him. If Linda was desperate enough to see
that Baby Face died, then he was certain that she would work with him.
And if she still refused, well, he could get the papers away from her.
But at last Linda slowly nodded. "You're right," she acknowledged. "I
couldn't even stop my husband from taking Micky to Baby Face. I'd
never be able to outwit a heartless mobster on my own." Her stomach
twisted, and somehow she had the feeling that she still was not doing
the right thing, but she ignored her conscience and looked to Tony
with eyes of determination and steel. "Let's do it."
Tony nodded, satisfied. "I'll tell Vince to get the car," he said,
walking out of the room.
****
As it turned out, by the time they arrived at Linda's old house the
police were already there. They stared at the black-and-white cars in
disbelief and bemusement, but then Tony quickly told Mugsy to drive
around the block before they could be seen. Mugsy immediately
complied, and Tony looked at Linda with annoyance burning in his eyes.
"It looks like the cops have already got to whatever you put there,"
he snapped. "You should've gone and got it last night instead of
trying to run off to those musicians."
"I didn't remember at the time!" Linda gasped. "I was so distraught. .
. ."
Tony rolled his eyes, not impressed at all. "It should have been the
first thing you thought about when you ran off!"
Mugsy kept quiet during their argument. It was always better to not
anger Tony further when he was already upset. Even though Tony did not
completely go berserk the way Baby Face was prone to, it was wise to
leave him alone. Mugsy understood how overwhelmed Linda must have felt
the previous night, but he was irritated with this setback as well. He
could not understand how Linda could have not remembered about the
documents.
Abruptly Tony cut into his thoughts. "Alright, there's not any point
in getting ticked off about this." He leaned back in the seat, a new
plan beginning to form. "There's no reason why Baby Face has to know
that we really don't have the papers."
Mugsy blinked. "You mean we'll make him think we do?"
"That's right," Tony nodded. "The police probably won't broadcast that
they have them, so Baby Face won't know we're bluffing. And by the
time he realizes we are, it'll be too late."
Linda was liking the sound of this less and less. She had wanted to
get away from the Mob, and while she had broken ties with Baby Face's
gang, here she was getting involved with those who had once been part
of it and were plotting to kill someone else. Now she was starting to
wonder if it was right to try to kill even Baby Face, but she could
see that she had already dug herself into a deep pit from which she
could not easily get out of. She shrank back into the seat, wishing
that she could disappear. It probably would have been better, she
decided, if she had been killed by the car last night. "What about
Henry?" she asked finally.
Tony looked at her. "What about him?"
"Are you going to try to kill him too?" Linda searched his eyes, but
she could not find the answers there. "I . . . I still love him, even
though I'm upset with what he's been doing."
"We'll have to see." Tony glared out the window. "I don't know what's
going to happen."
But Linda's bad feeling only increased.
****
Mike relaxed somewhat as the police officers looked over the
documents. "How about that?" he mused. "They said there's enough stuff
there to get the whole mob behind bars." Of course, that was
providing that they could find Baby Face and his mob in the first
place. Other police officers and search and rescue teams were in the
canyons, trying to find the cabin from which the phone call could have
been made. So far, they had not seemed to have had any luck.
"That would certainly be a relief," Davy agreed, crossing his arms.
They had just finished going over the rest of the house to make
certain that nothing else was hidden there in some other place, but it
looked as though they had gotten everything there was to find.
Peter blinked, suddenly noticing a piece of paper on the ground.
"Hey," he said, reaching to pick it up, "it looks like they dropped
something."
"What is it?" Mike asked, glancing over.
Peter frowned, turning the paper first one way and then another. "I'm
not sure," he admitted. "It's a map of some kind, I think."
Immediately Micky snatched it from him and looked it over. "Hey!" he
exclaimed. "This is a map showing how to get to a cabin in the
canyons!" He smiled, looking up at the others. "Coincidence? I think not."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Davy declared. "Let's show this to
the police and go there!"
****
Naturally, the police did not want the Monkees to accompany them to
the cabin. It was much too dangerous, they said, and civilians should
never be involved if they did not have to be. The Monkees had already
had more trouble than they should have had from the mess, and they
were advised to sit back and allow the police to handle the rest. The
Monkees, however, had different ideas.
"It's true that we've ended up with more than our fair share of
trouble with Baby Face and his mob," Mike said as they drove up the
highway leading to the canyons, "but that's all the more reason why we
wanna see this thing through to the end." Seeing a sharp turn up
ahead, he called for the others to brace themselves and then whipped
the Monkeemobile around it as quickly and as safely as he could.
"That's right!" Davy cried as the swerve caused him to crash against Mike.
"But what about the warning we were given?" Peter asked.
"You mean from that guy?" Micky asked, slowly letting go of the seat
in front of him as the car straightened out again.
"Yeah!" Peter nodded. "He told us to stay on our toes."
"Well," Mike quipped dryly, "we're not ballerinas." He rounded
another, gentler corner. "What's the map say, Micky?"
The drummer glanced down at the paper that was spread open on his lap.
"It looks like we go around a couple more times, and then we get off
the road. There's supposed to be two tall pine trees that mark where
we turn. . . ." He trailed off as he saw something out of the corner
of his eye. "Actually, uh, that looks like them there," he said with a
sheepish smile.
Mike sighed. "Are there any other cars around?" he wanted to know.
"I don't see any," Davy replied. "Everything looks deserted!"
Mike glanced about himself before carefully making a U-turn and going
off the road at the spot where the two trees were. Though he did not
say anything, he was thinking that it would probably be better if
Micky did not serve as their navigator. This was not the first time he
had nearly sent them on the wrong course.
They drove through the woods for quite some time before anything
resembling civilization came into view. Then a cabin appeared, but it
was not the one on the map. Confused, the Monkees drove on further and
then saw another cabin, and another.
"I didn't realize this was such a hot spot for people to build their
cabins," Mike said with a slight frown as they drove by the sixth such
abode.
"It's almost like a village," Peter smiled, thinking it seemed very
quaint.
Micky sighed, leaning on the window. "Well, none of these places are
right," he remarked. "They're not by a waterfall." Perhaps they were
not in the correct area at all. He rubbed his eyes, frustrated and
hoping that he had not led them on a wild goose chase.
"Hey," Davy said, leaning forward in the seat to look ahead, "there's
another cabin way over there, right on the edge of that cliff. And
does anyone else hear that rushing noise?" He was baffled, as he could
not see where the source of the sound was coming from. And yet it was
a very obvious and loud noise, and the other Monkees heard it as well.
"Maybe it's on the cliff that the house is on," Peter suggested. The
others looked at him as if they thought he was quite mad, and the
blonde Monkee sighed and looked down.
"Actually," Mike said after a moment, "I think Peter might be right."
Expertly he maneuvered the car into a hiding place among the thick
pine trees. "And it looks like the police aren't here yet," he
muttered to no one in particular.
"You know we're getting into a very potentially dangerous situation,"
Davy remarked as Mike shut off the engine.
"And I think I saw the curtain move!" Peter exclaimed, staring
intently at the first bungalow.
Micky sighed, shaking his head. "They must have heard us coming," he
muttered. "I just hope the ones in the cabin by the cliff didn't."
They had determined to park a certain amount of space away from that
abode and then walk the rest of the way. Hopefully, the occupants
would not be able to see the Monkeemobile from its current location
and they would merely think that the engine sound was a car going to
one of the other bungalows.
Mike nodded in agreement. "Let's walk through the, uh, village while
we can," he suggested, "and then keep to the trees when we're past it."
"Maybe someone here knows what happened," Peter remarked as they
walked over to the small white houses.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask," Davy said with a shrug, wandering
to the nearest door and knocking. After a moment of not getting a
response, Mike shook his head and turned away.
"Let's go," he said. "There's probably not anyone home. Maybe none of
these cabins are occupied right now, except the one that guy was
calling from."
Davy was about to turn and follow when the door suddenly flew open.
Then his eyes widened and he stared in disbelief at Toto, Dragonman's
lackey. "You!" he gasped, while Toto was looking at him and the other
Monkees in confusion.
"Am I supposed to remember you from somewhere?" he asked. It seemed
that all Americans still looked alike to him.
"You fool!" came Dragonman's angry voice from inside. "It's the
Monkees, the musicians who took the Doomsday bug formula!"
Mike immediately grabbed Davy and dragged him off the porch while
Micky and Peter were also fleeing. "Well," the Texan said now, "it
looks like we came at a bad time, so we'll just be on our way."
"Sorry for bothering you!" Davy added.
"After them!" Dragonman yelled.
In a panic, the quartet ran to the next cabin and knocked, hoping for
help. But in this they were disappointed, as the door was thrown open
by Rudi Bayshore. "Hey, Master," he called, "it's those four guys that
you tried to make into your mind slaves!"
"Really? You don't say," Oraculo could be heard to reply. "Don't let
them get away, Rudi!"
"What is this?!" Micky gasped in disbelief as they ran away from that
cabin, pursued by Dragonman, Toto, Chang, Oraculo, and Rudi. "It looks
like all of our old enemies are hanging out here!"
"Maybe we should try the next cabin," Peter suggested, much to the
other Monkees' displeasure and alarm.
"Let's just run!" Davy gasped, flying over a log in his path.
"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," Mike remarked, thinking of
what was probably awaiting them at the bungalow on the edge of the
precipice.
****
Baby Face leaned back at the table, pouring himself a glass of wine.
"The representative from the Syndicate said he'd be over to negotiate
by five o'clock, and it's already five-thirty," he muttered, rubbing
at his eyes.
"Maybe they're not going to negotiate, Boss," Rocco suggested
nervously. "Maybe they're going to come with machine guns to kill us
all." He paced back and forth in front of the window, pulling the
curtain aside every now and then to look outside. But everything still
seemed deserted.
"I already thought of that," Baby Face grumbled. "That's why we don't
have the papers on us anymore. If they come to kill us, then they
still won't get the papers back." He downed the liquor and slammed the
glass down on the oak wood table. His eyes were bloodshot and he
looked seriously close to becoming completely inebriated. Being in
this condition only made him all the more angry.
Rocco was careful to keep his distance from him. "Maybe they'll kill
us anyway," he worried, thinking of the shootout he had been involved
in when Mr. Fuselli and almost everyone else had ended up dead.
"We're ready for them," Baby Face answered, drawing his gun out from
inside his jacket. "If they wanna fight, we'll fight." He leaned
forward, propping himself up on his elbow. "What I'd like to know is,
What did Henry spill before we knocked him off? He was on the phone
with someone. Did you hear any of his conversation?"
"No, Boss, not really," Rocco admitted sheepishly, then gulped as Baby
Face aimed the gun at him in a threatening way. "Well," he added
quickly, "I did hear him saying something about not threatening
someone, and then he said that if you mess with the Mob, you're gonna
get burned. That's when I came in. We argued, and I shot him. And when
I looked around here, I found most of the stuff that he'd run off
with?except one of the jewelry boxes."
Baby Face growled. "You should've kept him alive so that we could've
questioned him."
"Sorry, Boss. We were fighting and the gun went off." Rocco stopped by
the window again. It sounded to him as though someone was out there?or
a lot of someones. He could hear shouting nearby, and it made him
nervous. It made Baby Face irritated, on the other hand, and that made
Rocco even more nervous. At least Mr. Fuselli had been more
even-tempered. "Maybe he knows where Linda ran off to," he suggested.
"I think he did," Baby Face retorted. "I think the whole thing must've
been a plan they crafted to try to get away for good."
"Do you think Linda would go back to . . . them?" Rocco asked
hesitantly. With Baby Face in his current state, Rocco was not certain
what sort of things would make him furious?but he did know that Baby
Face did not like to speak of Tony and the others, unless it was to
make plans to get rid of them.
"It's possible." Baby Face pushed the glass away from him now, and
Rocco hoped that meant that he was not planning to consume any more
wine. "She and Vince always seemed to get along alright. Tony never
liked her, though. I didn't, either." He slammed his hand down on the
table as the shouting grew louder. "What's going on out there?a lynching?"
Rocco cautiously peered outside. "It looks like everyone's chasing
four guys," he reported.
"Four guys?" Baby Face repeated in incredulity, getting up to see for
himself.
Before he could, however, the front door was thrown open as the
panicked Monkees came dashing in to escape their pursuers. Micky, who
entered last and remained unseen as he was concealed by the other
three, quickly closed and locked the door behind him and started
looking for furniture to push against it. Baby Face and Rocco stared
in amazement, too appalled to do anything at the moment.
"Do you think it's over, Mike?" Davy asked, breathing heavily and
leaning against the wall. During the course of the chase, other
enemies had joined in?including The Big Woman and her henchmen George
and Lenny, Major Pshaw, and Black Bart. The initial problems with just
one mobster and his gang almost seemed like a relief at this point.
"I don't know," Mike gasped. "I guess we can only hope."
"Well, we have one thing to be grateful for," Peter decided.
"What's that?" Micky asked, looking over at him.
"I don't think they'll dare try to follow us here," the blonde Monkee
smiled.
Mike frowned in confusion. "Why's that?"
"Because of all the men outside with machine guns," Peter answered
cheerfully.
Instantly everyone in the room, Monkee and gangster, was staring at
Peter. "Machine guns?!" they echoed.
"Is it the Syndicate?" Baby Face demanded to know, despite not knowing
that the Monkees had ever tangled with the Syndicate before.
Peter blinked, noticing his presence for the first time. "No, I don't
think so," he replied. "It looked more like Tony and his men." Then he
fully realized who he was speaking to. "Hey!" he burst out. "You're
the one who hurt Micky!"
Baby Face regarded him with annoyance. "I'll do it again, too," he
answered, to which Micky yelled,
"You do and I'll be sorry!"
Baby Face ignored the remark. "There's bigger things to worry about
now." He clutched his gun and cursed. "How did Tony find out about
this place? We got it after he double-crossed me." But then the answer
dawned on him and he cursed again. It must have been Linda, just as he
and Rocco had suspected. "So much for getting out of the Mob," he
muttered in reference to her.
"You're getting out, Boss?" Rocco exclaimed in disbelief, and earned a
slap.
That was when the window was shot out. Immediately everyone ducked or
ran for cover as glass and bullets flew about, but before they could
do much about the onslaught, Tony was climbing in through the gaping
hole. He was holding his machine gun threateningly, and once he was
inside, Mugsy leaned in as well, pointing his gun at the group.
"Don't anybody move," Tony ordered, looking from the Monkees to Baby
Face. Though he was at first surprised to see the musicians there, he
decided not to dwell on it. After all, they were of no consequence to
him. And as long as Micky was not dressed the same as Baby Face, Tony
would not be getting them mixed up again.
"Look, what's this all about?" Davy exclaimed, having raised his hands
in the air out of habit.
"I thought you guys worked together," Peter added with a frown.
"Shut up!" Tony snapped. "That's all over and done with." He looked to
his former boss. "This time, Baby Face, you really are going to die."
Baby Face glared coldly at him, his gun aimed at Tony's heart. "You
can't stay loyal to anyone for long, can you, Tony?" he said in a
frosty tone, obviously growing more and more incensed. "You weren't
dependable with the police department, and you weren't with me,
either. As soon as I was out of the picture, you started plotting to
take over. You dirty, rotten, sneaky . . ."
"Well, we'll just make our exit," Micky interrupted, grinning weakly
as he inched toward the door.
"What about the mob outside?" Davy pointed out.
"What about the mob inside?!" Micky retorted. Both Baby Face and Tony
ignored him and the others as they continued to glare at each other
and argue loudly.
Rocco looked over at them. "There's gonna be a shootout, so if you
guys don't wanna be in it, you'd better leave," he said as he got his
own gun ready. He, frankly, wished that he could leave as well. He did
not want to become involved in another gang war. He might not be as
lucky as he had been the last time. But he knew his place was with his
boss, and that if he tried to leave he would most certainly be killed
later.
"Oh, don't worry!" Davy declared. "We're leaving!" Never mind the
thought that Baby Face's gang was not as much of a problem as their
other enemies outside. At least the others were not preparing to open
fire. Monkees are notoriously opposed to being caught in gang wars,
after all.
But just as the Monkees were preparing to run out, half a dozen more
gangsters barged into the cabin, their advancement forcing the quartet
to back up.
"The Syndicate is here," growled the one in the lead.
The Monkees looked at each other in horror. "The Syndicate?!" they all
cried with one voice.
Baby Face glanced briefly at them, but then quickly looked back to
Tony. "What kept you?" he snapped at the Syndicate members. "You're late."
"We got lost," a short one answered in a smart-aleck way, then
smirked. "No, actually, we wanted to make you squirm."
Tony frowned darkly. "What did you call the Syndicate here for?" he
demanded of Baby Face.
The mobster smirked at him. "I don't think it's any of your business,"
he replied smoothly. "We're not associates any more." He glanced at
the Syndicate members again. "But if you have to know, I called them
here for some negotiations."
"And we're here to negotiate too," responded the leader as he drew out
a machine gun.
Panicking, the Monkees darted behind the couch.
"You can't do that!" Rocco exclaimed, recalling what Baby Face had
told him before this insanity had started. "You'll never find the papers!"
Tony was now confused. "What papers?" he asked, glaring suspiciously
at Rocco. It did not seem likely that they could be discussing the
same papers that he had wanted to get, but he had to wonder what they
were referring to if not that.
Rocco was about to reply when Baby Face gave him a murderous look.
"Don't tell him anything!" the mobster ordered.
The Syndicate mob leader looked from Baby Face to Tony, never lowering
his own gun. "It looks to me like we've interrupted something," he
remarked. "Not that we care, of course." He nodded to his cohorts.
"Let's get `em."
For the next several minutes, the Monkees cringed and stayed hidden as
bullets could be heard ringing out from every direction. Lamps
shattered. Couches and chairs were pierced. Plaster rained down from
the ceiling and out of the walls. And the musicians prayed fervently
that none of the bullets would reach them.
"You know, maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea," Davy exclaimed.
"Oh, I don't know about that. What gave you that idea?" Mike answered
sardonically.
"Can't mature individuals resolve their differences peaceably?!" Micky
cried in frustration, but he had already discovered how futile it was
to try to stop gangsters from gunning each other down if they felt it
necessary. This time he was not even going to attempt it.
Peter glared at the floor. "There's been enough violence already," he
complained, afraid that his friends were going to get hurt. And
actually, he did not really want to see anyone die, including the
mobsters. He wanted everyone to make it out alive, but judging from
the screams echoing around them, some of the shooters were not so lucky.
"It's probably only going to get worse, Pete," Micky told him, ducking
down even further as a bullet whistled dangerously close. Then he
blinked in surprise as his action of leaning forward caused a floor
panel to flip one hundred and eighty degrees and reveal an opening.
"Gosharooney!" the drummer declared, looking into the hole and pulling
out what seemed to be a jewelry case. When he lifted the lid, he found
that it was filled with gems, rings, and pearls.
"What's that?!" Davy asked as he looked over.
"It must be some stuff that Baby Face stole," Micky decided. "But
what's it doing here?" He frowned in confusion.
"This place is probably one of his hangouts," Mike replied. "Or maybe
the guy who called you took this stuff and had it hid here." Idly he
lifted out a string of pearls and examined it before setting it back
in the box. "In any case, maybe you ought to hang onto it and we'll
give it to the police."
"If they get here before everyone's dead," Micky muttered, wondering
what on earth was taking them so long.
It was nearly another ten minutes before the shooting ceased. Even
after it had seemed to stop, the Monkees remained in their hiding
place for several more minutes before daring to venture out. Peter was
sorry that they did.
Dead and wounded gangsters were everywhere?on the floor, on the
furniture, slumped against the wall. Most of them the Monkees did not
know. Baby Face seemed to have come through alright, though he was
rubbing at his previously injured shoulder and still looked quite
vexed. Rocco was standing next to him, looking as though he was not
quite certain what to do now. Tony was laying on the floor, either
unconscious or dead, and Mugsy was tending to the wounds that his boss
had sustained.
And then, in the middle of all the commotion, the door flew open again
and Linda entered. She gasped, staring at the scene before her with
wide eyes. At first she feared that the Monkees had been hurt or
killed during the battle, but then she saw them safe and sound?and
eyeing her in bewilderment. Still, she could not help feeling a
certain sense of horror and guilt as she gazed at all the people who
had been hurt or killed. A lot of this would not have happened if she
had not agreed to take Tony and the others to the cabin. And even
though these people were by no means innocent, Linda found that she
could not bear the knowledge that she had helped to bring about many
of their injuries. Shaking her head, she sank to her knees in shock.
"Hey Linda!" Micky gasped. "What's going on?! Why are you here?!"
"This is my fault," Linda whispered, tears filling her eyes. It had
not been supposed to be this way! Everything had gone wrong. Baby Face
was still alive, and did not even seem to be wounded from this battle.
So many others were injured?some fatally?and Linda was kneeling in
front of the entire disastrous scene. The pit that she had fallen into
was getting all the more deep and she could no longer see any speck of
light at the top. It all seemed so horrendously overwhelming!
"Your fault?" Davy repeated in disbelief. "How could it be your
fault?" He frowned. "I know you helped to get Micky banged up, but I
don't see how you could have had anything to do with this!"
"I did!" Linda screamed, looking up at him with haunted eyes. "I did!"
Then she looked down, gripping tightly at the knees of her skirt.
"There's no running away from the Mob."
"You're right," Baby Face said coldly as he looked at her, "there
isn't." With that he gazed around the room and then noticed Micky, who
was still holding the valise of jewelry. Immediately the mobster's
eyes flashed with fury. "Where did you find that?" he demanded.
Micky swallowed hard. "Oh, this old thing?" he said, looking down at
it and then back up at Baby Face. "Well, I, uh, just happened to find
it laying around and I figured it belonged to somebody, so I picked it
up." Then he gave one of his trademark smiles, though he felt
extremely nervous.
Baby Face started to walk over to him. "You're right," he said, "it
does belong to someone?me! Now hand it over."
Immediately Micky turned and fled, throwing the box to Mike before he
did. Mike then passed it to Davy, and Davy shoved it at Peter. Things
went along in this way for several minutes, with Baby Face only
growing more infuriated as the game of catch proceeded. He would just
lunge at one Monkee to get the box when it would be passed on to
someone else. But eventually he tackled Micky near the big picture
window and they fell to struggling, even though the jewelry box had
just been passed on to Peter. Baby Face was seeing red, and he was
taking out his anger on the hapless Monkee.
Micky gasped, trying to force the gangster away from him. First Baby
Face would have his hands around Micky's throat, and then Micky would
kick or punch or desperately wrestle to get free. He would succeed,
but the mobster would only come at him even more vicious than before.
And before either of them realized what was happening, they were
breaking the glass of the window and falling out?right onto a thin
ledge that was just above the waterfall.
The other Monkees gasped in terror. "Micky!" they cried, running
outside onto another ledge that was above the one their friend was
fighting on. This was an alarming turn of events. Micky could not
fight on such a small space for very long, and it was likely that both
he and Baby Face could end up going over the falls.
"This is horrible!" Peter declared, grabbing Mike's arm in panic. "We
shouldn't have come! We haven't been able to do anything to help, and
now this!" He gripped tighter. "Maybe we should have just let Baby
Face have the jewels! Then he wouldn't have gotten so mad like this!"
Mike shook his head, not able to think of a suitable reply.
The two enemies were locked in mortal combat on the cliff. Baby Face
wrestled with Micky, trying to throw him over the edge, and Micky
simply struggled to not fall. The sound of the waterfall underneath
him made him grow all the more nervous as he tried to shove Baby Face
against the wall of the next cliff up.
"Come on!" he gasped. "Hasn't this gone far enough?"
Baby Face sneered. "It's not over till you're dead!" he retorted,
blinded by his anger and frustration over everything that had gone
wrong. The Syndicate had attacked, Tony and his mob had attacked, the
Monkees had wandered into the picture again. . . . And even knowing
that Tony was probably dead now did not give Baby Face a sense of
fulfillment or satisfaction, as he had thought it would. It had
actually been one of the Syndicate members that had shot Tony in the
melee, but that made little difference. Baby Face had wanted to kill
him. It was actually a pity that Tony had decided to turn against him.
Tony was one of the most intelligent people that Baby Face had worked
with, and the mobster was quite annoyed at the loss. He was just
realizing now how much.
Their battle continued, with no way for the other Monkees to get to
them. First one neared the edge, then the other. It happened so fast
that none of them quite realized what had occurred until Baby Face had
toppled over the side and barely managed to grab onto the edge before
he would have fallen to an almost certain death.
Micky blinked, then swallowed hard as he looked into the mobster's
hate-filled eyes. He could not deny that part of him wanted to simply
leave him there and to not deal with him anymore, but he knew that he
was not the same kind of person as Baby Face. He could not abandon
Baby Face now and feel good about it. Forcing himself to bend over, he
shakily reached and took hold of the gangster's wrist.
"I'll pull you up," he offered, grimacing as he did and knowing that
Baby Face would not be grateful. But he was not expecting what
happened next.
Baby Face looked up at him with an expression that was a mixture of
surprise and disbelief. "I should've figured you'd be that kind of
idiot," he remarked. "The smart thing to do would be to walk away." He
held tighter to the rock, concentrating on staying alive. If Micky did
indeed help him back onto the cliff, then Baby Face would only go
right back to trying to push him over the edge. At least, that had
been the thought that had flashed through the gangster's mind a moment
earlier. Perhaps the logical thing for him to do would also be to walk
away. Micky?and everyone else?had interrupted a caper. Maybe he should
go back to trying to pull it off instead of trying to kill Micky in a
situation that was potentially fatal for him as well. As much as Micky
angered him, Baby Face did not hate him so much that he was willing to
die himself in order to kill him.
Micky grinned weakly. "Yeah, well, I guess I didn't learn my lesson."
He strained hard, trying to hoist his double up onto the level ground.
Even as he did so, he could feel the ground starting to crumble under
them both. The ledge was simply too old and too weather-worn to stand
the pressure that was all of a sudden being put upon it.
The drummer gave a yelp of shock as they both tumbled over the side
and the water rushed up to meet them. Then it was sweeping over him,
rushing into his nose, his mouth, his eyes. He gasped for breath,
losing track of Baby Face in the commotion and trying to keep hold of
the vine he had somehow snatched during the fall. It was all he could
do to hold on and to not be completely caught over the falls. Even so,
he doubted that his grip would last much longer.
****
On the top of the tallest cliff, Mike, Davy, and Peter watched in
helpless horror. "Micky!" they exclaimed with one voice, and Peter
continued to grip Mike's arm in panic.
"Michael, we have to do something!" the blonde Monkee cried
desperately. "He's going to die!"
Mike shook his head, a sick feeling coming over him. "They . . . they
already hit the water," he replied quietly. "It's going so fast. . . .
I don't think he made it, Peter." He looked over the side of the cliff
again, gazing into the rushing aqueous depths as he searched for any
sign of their friend, but there was none. Micky and Baby Face were
both gone.
Peter shook his head adamantly, refusing to listen. "No. No, that's
not true!" he cried. "Micky's alright. He . . . he has to be. . . . He
couldn't not be alright . . . not after everything else that's
happened. . . ." He stared into the water as well, but soon had to
stop and look away. The waves dashed and crashed over the rocks that
were both at the top and at the bottom of the falls, and other than
some faint red streaks there were not any indications that humans had
been there only moments before. Peter knew that he had to accept that
Micky was likely dead, but he could not bear to.
Davy bit his lip, laying his hand on Peter's shoulder. "What was he
thinking?" he said softly.
"He probably would've been alright if he hadn't tried to pull up Baby
Face," Mike muttered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
In spite of his words, he did not actually believe that he would have
simply left the gangster either. It actually was not in any of their
natures to walk away from someone in obvious trouble, if they could
help?even if that someone was a criminal.
Peter felt the tears coming to his eyes and he did not even try to
control them. "Micky!" he yelled in vain, standing at the cliff's edge
with his eyes closed. He was afraid to look at the water again. What
if he saw Micky's body? It had been so nightmarish before, when he had
found Micky laying in a puddle of blood in the Beverly Hills mansion.
He did not think he could bear for something similar to happen now.
Mike waited for another agonizingly long moment, wishing in vain for
some kind of response, and then gently put an arm around Peter's
shoulders. "He was a good friend," he said quietly.
Davy nodded. "He always tried to keep things cheerful for us." He
could name countless times when he or one of the others had felt
depressed and Micky had tried to cheer them up. Micky was the one who
had tried to create laughter when no one felt like laughing. And even
though it usually did not work on one such as Mike, who was usually
stoic, Davy could think of a lot of times when he himself had felt
better after Micky's kidding.
Mike sighed. "Heck, I wouldn't even mind hearing one of his
impressions now. . . ." Just to know that he was safe. . . . Mike was
certain that Micky was lost to them this time. Perhaps he had simply
been destined to die, the Texan thought cynically. But that did not
make it any easier to bear.
None of them realized it, but Micky had struggled to climb back up the
vine and now was standing behind them, feeling exhausted and ragged.
"Hey, guys," he gasped when he had finally caught his breath, "I'm
right here!"
Peter sniffled. "I can almost hear him. . . ."
Davy's eyes widened. "I heard him too!" he cried, whirling around and
finding himself looking at the formerly missing drummer. "Micky,
you're alive!" he said in disbelief as he ran over to their friend.
Immediately Mike and Peter turned around as well. Peter brightened and
ran to embrace Micky, while Mike stared in confusion. "How did you get
back up here?!" he demanded. "We thought you'd gotten killed!"
Micky coughed, brushing several damp locks of hair out of his eyes. "I
almost did!" he retorted. "I'm only safe because I was able to hold
onto a vine." He returned Peter's hug, smiling a bit before sobering.
"I don't know what happened to Baby Face."
Mike shook his head. "I don't see how he could've survived too. He
probably didn't have a vine to grab." And it would not really bother
him much if the mobster had perished. He had caused them enough
trouble for several lifetimes.
"Yeah. . . ." Micky frowned a bit. "But I guess he could've found
something. I don't think he'd go down easily."
Davy looked at him curiously. "Do you think he would've actually let
you help him?" he asked.
Micky shrugged. "I dunno. It's hard to say, with him." All he did know
was that Baby Face had acted as though he would allow it. That
surprised Micky, but he supposed that if Baby Face's desire to live
had outshadowed his desire for revenge, then he would have indeed gone
along with it.
****
It was not long before the police had organized a search team to look
for Baby Face or his remains. But though the effort went on for hours,
nothing more than his hat was ever located. The police, the Monkees,
Baby Face's mob, and Tony's gang were all left to assume that Baby
Face had indeed perished in the waterfall.
Tony, incidentally, had survived, and he had been taken away from the
cabin while Micky and Baby Face had been fighting. The gang had
remained in the area for a bit longer, to see the outcome, but then
had fled down a back road. Though the police looked for them, they had
not been found. Linda had apparently gone with them, as she could not
be located either.
As Micky and the others were heading back to the Monkeemobile, Micky
happened to notice Ruby standing apart from everyone else, staring
forlornly over the edge of the cliff. She had returned at the wrong
time, after the police had arrived, and was obviously shaken at the
news of Baby Face having fallen off the ledge. Micky bit his lip,
hesitating for a moment, and then slowly went over to her. "Hey, uh,
I'm sorry," he said awkwardly, and meant it.
Ruby started and looked up at him, quickly recognizing that this was
Micky and not the man she loved. "I knew this would happen someday,"
she said softly. She was not being charged with any crimes, but the
police did want to take her in for questioning. She dreaded it, as she
did not want to say anything that could further incriminate Baby
Face?just in case there was a chance that he would still turn up alive.
Micky shifted, not sure what to say to her. "I did try to save him,"
he admitted finally.
"I know," Ruby answered, and her gaze turned to one filled with
confusion and curiosity. "Why did you? It would've been better for you
if he'd just fallen. You almost got killed yourself because you tried
to help him."
Micky shrugged helplessly. "It . . . it was the right thing to do," he
said at last.
Ruby nodded slowly and did not say more. After a moment one of the
officers came and began leading her to the nearest squad car. She went
peaceably, but with a heavy heart. She did not want to lie, but she
knew that she would if she had to. Silently she slid into the
backseat, her thoughts whirling. Surely Baby Face was alive somewhere,
and perhaps someday he would turn up when she least expected it. She
had to comfort herself with this thought or she did not think she
could bear it.
Micky watched her go, and sighed softly. In some ways, he supposed,
she was like Linda. Ruby had also gotten into a mess that she could
not easily get out of. The difference was that Ruby did not seem to
want to try. Micky knew that she genuinely loved Baby Face, and it did
not seem as though that would change. It's too bad, he thought, that
Baby Face can't just realize what a good thing he already has and get
out of the crime business to be with her.
Mike sighed as well, and laid a hand on Micky's shoulder. "Let's go,"
he said quietly. "There's no reason for us to hang around."
Micky agreed, and he and the others left.
****
Still, even when Micky read the news of Baby Face's demise in the
paper the following day, he found that he still had his doubts?quite a
few of them. He could not shake the feeling that he had not heard the
last from his double, but of course he did not have any proof other
that that. And he was not at all sure that he could consider a feeling
to be solid proof.
With a sigh he set the newspaper back on the table and leaned into the
soft couch. "Boy, that was some wild experience, I'm telling you," he
remarked, looking up at the ceiling but speaking to his friends.
Peter nodded. "I sure hope we don't have trouble like that again," he
said with a shudder as he poured himself a bowl of Corn Flakes. "Maybe
from now on we should just leave things like that up to the police."
"Well, we really couldn't help but get involved, Peter," Davy replied.
"After Henry and Linda took Micky, how could we just sit home and
twiddle our thumbs?"
"I know, but we didn't have to do anything else after Micky was
found." Peter looked around at the others, his brown eyes serious and
filled with concern. "We took a lot of chances, especially by going up
to that cabin." He sighed softly. "I don't think we really did any
good by going there, anyway. And poor Micky almost got killed in that
fight with Baby Face."
Mike shook his head, frowning down at the piece of toast he was
buttering. "I wonder what happened to him," he muttered. "And Linda,
too. She kept babbling that the gang war was her fault."
"No kidding." Micky leaned on the couch arm. "I wonder what that was
all about, anyway. I don't get how she could have made much of a
difference there. They would've all started fighting whether she did
anything about it or not." And perhaps the same could be said for her
part in what had happened to Micky. He did remember that she had
pleaded with Henry at the manor and that she had insisted that she did
not want to kill Micky. And she had chased her husband around the
mansion, trying to get him to stop. Yet it still seemed that she had
not done everything that she could have, as Mike had pointed out to
her before. She could have called the police and told them what was
going on, but she had not. Most likely she had not wanted to get Henry
into trouble, even though she had known that what he was doing was wrong.
"Well," Davy said after a short silence, "I hope she's alright,
wherever she's gone." He paused again. "The police said that they
found Henry's body in the woods."
The others looked at him in shock. "How'd that happen?" Mike wondered.
"I thought he was working with Baby Face's mob."
Davy shrugged helplessly. "They thought that maybe he was trying to
get out of the business and the mob wouldn't let him go," he answered.
"I'd like to think that, rather than thinking that he wanted to stay
with them. After all, he and Linda did say that they were planning to
run away from everything."
Peter sighed. "Hey, I wonder if he was the guy who called you, Micky,"
he mused.
Micky blinked. "Him? That's ridiculous! I would've recognized him!"
But he frowned. Was it possible? Henry could have been disguising his
voice. And even though he had said that he did not work for any mob,
he could have been saying that to throw Micky off the track. At any
rate, he supposed that he should not forget about the possibility.
Actually, it would make him happy to know that it was Henry. That
would indicate that he had been trying to do the right thing in the end.
Mike looked over at the drummer. "I hope all that excitement yesterday
hasn't put too much of a strain on your wounds, Micky," he said
seriously. He, Davy, and Peter had been worrying about that since they
had returned home the previous night, but of course Micky had said
that he was fine. They had all noticed, however, that he seemed very
tired and worn out, and that he did not seem to want to do much of
anything that would require him to move.
"Me? Pshaw, I've never been better," Micky answered typically with a
smile. "The next time we've got a gig, I'll be able to come with you
guys and play the drums." He leaned back into the soft couch. He was
eager for things to start going back to normal, especially after how
hectic their lives had been for the past few weeks. The most
excitement he wanted to see was ecstatic teenage girls dancing to
their music.
"I hope so," Peter smiled back. Now he glanced over the newspaper.
"Hey, it says that the police are sure that Baby Face is dead," he
announced.
"Yeah, I know," Micky sighed. "I really think they're jumping the gun.
It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet."
"Well," Mike mused, "if he hit those rocks, then there's probably not
much hope for him. I kinda don't think he'll be bothering us anymore."
Micky rubbed his eyes. "You're forgetting how sneaky he is," he retorted.
"Yeah," Peter nodded, "sneaky and vicious."
"Sneaky and vicious can't keep someone alive in every situation,
Peter," Davy pointed out.
"His crimes would have to catch up with him sooner or later," Mike agreed.
"Well," Micky answered, now coming over to the table, "I guess we'll
just have to wait and see." He grabbed for a piece of toast. "Hey, do
we have a gig tonight?" he asked.
Mike shook his head. "Not tonight. There's one set for Friday."
"Oh good." Micky smiled. "That'll give me a few days to practice." He
settled back. It was not that he wanted Baby Face to be dead, but he
had to admit that he would be relieved if the crime lord would not be
around to cause more trouble for them. That was the last thing any of
them needed right now. Maybe with any luck, they would be able to go
back to their normal lives.
"You know," Peter said suddenly, "I wonder what happened to that guy
Tony."
"You mean if he's alive?" Mike asked.
"Well, that too," Peter admitted, "but what I'd really like to know
is, How did he meet up with someone like Baby Face anyway? He was a
police officer in Detroit, but he started doing bad things before he
even quit the force. How does something like that happen?" It made him
feel quite sad, actually. He did not understand, if Tony had
originally set out to uphold the law, how he had suddenly got turned
around and joined the very forces he had been fighting against. Part
of him wondered if Tony's situation had been similar in some way to
Linda's, at least in the beginning. Perhaps Tony had started dabbling
in certain criminal activities, and then he had been completely pulled
into the trap without even quite realizing it until he was in too deep.
"Who knows," Mike said with a shrug. "Maybe he was always a crooked
cop. Maybe he joined to please his dad or something, but he never
really believed in it."
"Or maybe he just got mixed with the wrong crowd," Micky suggested.
Davy patted Peter on the shoulder. "Don't think about it too much," he
advised.
Micky nodded in agreement. "After all, we'll probably never know the
truth."
Peter nodded slowly. "You're probably right." But he still wondered.
Chapter 1
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