****
Baby Face did not relax until the car finally came to a halt in the bad part of town, in front of an older house that looked as if it was falling apart. It was a three-story mansion, and once had probably been one of the most pleasant houses in the area, but now it had seen better days. He took one look at it and then wondered if he had decided to calm down too soon. Frowning, he looked to Ruby. "Rocco's staying there?" he demanded to know.
"I'm sure this is the place he told me about," Ruby replied slowly as she undid her seatbelt. "He said it's not as bad on the inside."
Baby Face snorted, but otherwise did not comment on that. As he climbed out of the car, he looked back at Ruby sternly. "Next time, baby, I'm driving!" he declared, pointing his forefinger at her in emphasis. He had not expected, or remembered, that Ruby was such a wild driver, but she had taken a lot of chances on the road and could have gotten them killed several different times. He was definitely not impressed.
Ruby glared at him slightly when he turned away, but she did not reply.
As they reached the porch, Baby Face banged on the door. "Rocco, open up," he called, and then gave the abode a dark look upon not receiving an answer. He leaned on the doorframe as he waited for another moment.
Ruby blinked at him in confusion. "I thought you'd just barge in, Baby Face," she remarked. He rarely ever had the courtesy to knock.
He turned to look at her. "Barge in?" he repeated vaguely as he straightened up. "Oh. Yeah, we might as well. Even if Rocco's not here, we have to go somewhere."
With that he kicked the door open and walked into the darkened living room. He could see various old furniture, some of it still covered by white sheets but most of it ready to be used. Some playing cards were spread across a table, indicating that someone had been there recently, and Baby Face raised an eyebrow. That seemed to say that Rocco was not alone, so perhaps some of the other gang members had escaped arrest as well.
Ruby shut the door behind her and took a flashlight out of her purse. She could not deny that Baby Face had been acting somewhat strange ever since he had walked into the Purple Pelican. She wondered if the knock on the head, in addition to what had happened to him when he had fallen last month, had done something to his mind. It was not something she wanted to think, but it seemed highly possible.
Of course, there was also another possibility, which she also did not want to consider. The man with her might not even be Baby Face. It could be Micky Dolenz, for some reason. Perhaps he was doing undercover work to try to round up any gang members who had eluded the police. But she pushed that thought out of her mind. If this was not Baby Face, then that meant that the man she loved was still missing and probably was dead?and she did not want to accept that at all.
As Baby Face wandered into the next room, he suddenly jumped and stepped back as someone lunged at him. Immediately he grabbed a nearby vase to use as defense, but just before he could throw it at his opponent, the other man backed away.
"Boss!" Rocco exclaimed, suddenly feeling alarmed and embarrassed and confused.
"Rocco?!" Baby Face frowned up at his lackey. "What's the matter with you? Didn't you hear me at the door?" He still clutched at the vase, not willing to set it aside just yet. For all he knew, Rocco had decided to turn against him the way Tony and the others had already done. And the uneasy feeling he had felt at the Purple Pelican had only increased now, instead of going away. This was only making him more confused and angry.
Rocco swallowed hard. "No, Boss," he said sheepishly, still shocked to see the mobster alive. "I was in the kitchen making a sandwich." And even if he had heard Baby Face at the door, he most likely would have not believed it and instead would have thought that it was someone trying to pretend to be him.
Baby Face rolled his eyes and finally relinquished the vase. "The cops are looking for me, so we came here," he announced. "Are you here alone?"
Rocco shook his head. "Eddie and Charlie got out of jail," he reported, "and they're here too."
"Yeah?" Baby Face started to walk around him to go down the hall, not wanting to admit that he did not have any idea of who Eddie and Charlie were. "Did they dig their way out?" He supposed that they had come in after Tony and the others had turned against him, but he was annoyed that he could not recall for certain. He hoped that the accident was not going to leave him with permanent memory loss. That would be highly inconvenient, and he would not be able to conceal it for long.
"Nope," Rocco replied, "they had a crooked lawyer." He followed Baby Face after a moment. "How did you survive the fall, Boss?" he asked after a slight hesitation.
Ruby, who was now walking alongside Baby Face in the dimly lit corridor, watched him carefully. She could not help but notice that his gaze was darting about, as if he was nervous or uncomfortable, and it almost looked as though a vague flash of panic could be seen on his face before it was gone again?replaced by the cold expression that Ruby knew so well.
"I missed the rocks," he finally said in a smooth tone.
"Yeah," Rocco agreed slowly, "but still, you're in pretty good condition after what happened. You don't look banged up at all."
Baby Face grunted. "It's been a month." Seeing that they had reached the kitchen, he promptly went in and began looking through the cupboards and drawers for something to eat. Then he raised an eyebrow upon seeing the ancient icebox in the corner. "Does that thing actually work?" he asked, slipping out of using his gravelly tones. Then he blinked in surprise, realizing what he had done.
"Yeah, Boss, it does," Rocco replied, not seeming to have noticed. "Eddie had to tinker with it, but he got it running!" He seemed quite pleased about it too.
Baby Face nodded in approval and opened it.
Ruby bit her lip and sat down at the table as she continued to observe him. The Baby Face she knew could speak in a more normal, less threatening voice, but he did not usually like to. This made her all the more suspicious, and yet she still could not say for certain if this was not Baby Face. Of course, she did not want to openly question him?not yet. She would wait a bit longer and see what happened.
****
Far away from all of this, in the main part of the city, another figure was stumbling down the sidewalk in an apparent daze. He reached up, rubbing his forehead in obvious pain, and held out his other hand in front of him to try to insure that he would not bump into anything. He was wearing navy blue dress pants and a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top. His dark brown hair was a disheveled mess, flying in all directions and into his eyes, but he paid little attention. To an observer, he looked as though he was drunk?or else suffering from a terrible hangover, but neither was true.
He was, however, in a very bad daze and very unaware of where he was or what he was doing. His thoughts were in a confused muddle, and had been ever since he had escaped from a crooked hospital several suburbs away. He could recall very little of what had been happening, but his most immediate thought had been to get far away.
He did not hear the car honking at him until it was almost on top of him. Then he looked up, vaguely seeing it trying to put on its brakes, and struggled to dive out of the way. But he was not quick enough.
It was not long before the police, an ambulance, and the crowds began to arrive. Stunned and confused passers-by gathered around, asking the same questions again and again. Was he alive? What had happened? Had it been an accident?
The man who had hit him tried to explain to the police how it had been that he had not meant to strike the boy, that he had been honking but that he had not been heard. "He's probably drunk, or on drugs, or something," he said finally, crossing his arms and wishing that he could simply leave.
The paramedics pushed through the crowds and knelt down, examining the victim and finding that he was still alive. It looked as though he had not been hurt seriously by the car, and that he was unconscious because of striking his head on the pavement as he had gone down. Carefully they placed him on a stretcher and searched his pockets for any identification once they had him in the ambulance. Then they found it.
"Hey," said the one, blinking in confusion, "according to this I.D. card, the guy's name is Micky Dolenz."
One of the police officers looked up in astonishment. "Micky Dolenz, eh?" he repeated. "His friends reported him missing several hours ago."
The second paramedic shook his head, reaching to close the ambulance doors. "Well, it looks like he did too much partying," he remarked. "By all indications, he was high on drugs when he was struck."
****
It was not long before Mike, Peter, and Davy were called and informed of the outlandish story. In stunned shock they hurried to the hospital, unable to believe what they had been told.
"They must be joking!" Davy said indignantly as he climbed out of the Monkeemobile. "Micky doesn't do drugs."
Mike shook his head slowly. "We hope," he muttered, undoing his seatbelt. He could not believe the story, either, but he had heard of many people who did drugs and were able to keep it a secret from even those closest to them. It worried him, and he wondered if there was even the slightest chance that there was another side of Micky that they did not know.
"We did the song Kicks," Peter spoke up as he also got out, "and when we were first learning it, Micky thought it was really neat to do an anti-drug song." He followed the other two inside, refusing to believe that Micky had been willingly taking drugs. Surely there was something more to the story.
"Hey!" Davy exclaimed then, feeling triumphant at the idea that had just come to him. "Maybe Baby Face had him drugged up because he hoped that he wouldn't get away." This seemed possible to him, and certainly more plausible than the idea that Micky had gone out and deliberately gotten high.
Mike blinked. "You might have something there," he admitted as they went inside and to the waiting room.
All of them were relieved that they did not have to wait long before the doctor came to see them. When they saw the older man, the three Monkees immediately leaped up and mobbed him, demanding answers. He looked at them, obviously somewhat overwhelmed, and held up his hands for silence.
"Micky was not seriously injured in the car accident," the doctor told them then, "though it does look like he has a mild concussion." He frowned, hesitating to tell them the rest.
"What about the drugs?" Peter asked.
Mike nodded. "We were told on the phone that he was stoned."
The doctor sighed. "Well," he said slowly, "he was. But," he went on quickly before the young men could protest, "it looks like he was being drugged on purpose, and possibly without his permission. Frankly, from the tests we've been doing, it looks like they were using various strong painkillers and anesthetics to keep him subdued." And it baffled him, because it looked as though it had been going on for a while, whereas Micky had only been missing for several hours. When he explained this to the Monkees, they were just as bewildered,or more so.
"How could that be?!" Davy cried. "Micky hasn't been gone that long!"
Mike narrowed his eyes darkly. "It doesn't make sense," he agreed.
"Maybe Micky can tell us what happened," Peter said hopefully. "Is he awake?"
The doctor studied him for a moment, then at last nodded. "He was half-awake when I checked on him," he reported, "but he's still a good deal out of it. I wouldn't expect him to make sense for a few hours yet." But of course they wanted to see him anyway, so the physician led them to the room and then left them there.
Micky was laying in the bed, his eyes partially open as he half-glared at the wall. He did not seem to notice the others at all, either because of the lingering effects of the drugs or because he was deep in thought,or both. The other Monkees approached slowly, worrying and wondering exactly what Baby Face had done to him?for certainly this had been the gangster's handiwork! They could not think of anyone else who would have done it.
Peter reached out to lay a hand on the brunette's shoulder. "Micky?" he said hopefully.
Micky started wildly and looked up at Peter with a dark glare, not speaking. The blonde Monkee's eyes widened in surprise and he swallowed hard, hating to see his friend give him such an annoyed and almost hate-filled look. Immediately he backed up, feeling crushed.
Davy was stunned as well, but he reached and put an arm around Peter's shoulders in a comforting manner. "Hey, it's alright, Peter," he tried to say. "He's probably still not really with it, like the doctor said."
Mike nodded. "I bet he doesn't really know we're here," he added, trying to speak quietly. But even so, he could not deny that Micky was seriously disturbing him. Now the drummer was looking all of them up and down, his eyes never losing their cold, cruel gleam. When he stared down Mike, the Texan tried to stare right back...and then soon looked away. It was almost as if he was actually looking at...but no, that was impossible. He would not have Micky's identification card!
"Hey, Micky," Davy finally said after another stretch of silence, "how are you feeling?"
"Can you talk to us?" Mike added, giving him a frown of his own as the other young man simply continued to scrutinize him and the others. He wondered if Micky falling and hitting his head had anything to do with this strange behavior.
At last Micky replied, but this did not help to ease the others' minds at all. "I'm not your friend, punks," he growled in a slurred, gravelly voice. "I don't know where he is, but you're looking in the wrong place." With that he closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness.