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DREAM WORLD
The "Daydream Reality" sequel

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"The mothah of all neck cramps, that's what Ah've got." George moaned quietly as he sat up. They had only gotten perhaps, three hours of sleep tops, laying on the floor like this, but that was better than nothing.

Besides, he had this sneaky suspicion that those three hours had been three hours more than Kez had gotten. After nearly being arrested, Kez had insisted that he be the one to stay up and play lookout while the others got some much-needed rest.

"Mornin'." Jeff drawled, still sprawled out on his back. "Ya sleep well, David?"

George moaned. This again. He slapped Jeff upside the head.

"Yeouch! 'Ey! Watch it, George."

"Whew. Scared me for a moment there."

"Huh?"

"Yah slipped an' "it" 'appened again."

A frustrated groan escaped Jeff's throat. "Guess I should be thankin' ya then."

Everything grew oddly quiet. LB and Aaron, as well as most of the other guys, were still asleep. Neither of the two who were awake could think of what should be said next.

"Ah'm sorry." George finally spoke.

"Don't worry 'bout it. From what you said, I was almost gone there. Ya did the right thing, shotgun."

"Not about that." George sighed. "About that conversation we 'ad two days ago. Ah blamed everythin' on you."

"Hold on! That's not important right now." Jeff protested.

"Yes it is. Ah said 'ow yah seemed ta like what 'appened last time. Well, Ah've been thinkin' since we came back 'ere. Deep thinkin'. It wasn't you-- it was me. Ah enjoyed it, an' that scared me worse than anythin' else evah 'as. So, Ah passed my guilt off onta you."

"George---"

"Lemme finish. I guess I was thinkin' 'bout 'ow as least this way we 'ad each other for friendship, we didn't 'afta worry 'bout stupid things like gettin' our own careers goin'. It was already laid out for us. I was willin' tah trade my old life ta live like this." George took a breath, realizing quickly that he hadn't taken enough of those lately.

Jeff did something then that George wouldn't have expected in a million years. He laughed. "Yer not the only one. It's not so bad, havin' three other guys lookin' out for ya all the time. 'Sides, I knew the moment I met you guys that I wanted to have ya as best friends."

Aaron yawned and rolled over, crashing straight into the wall with a thunk. "Ooops. Didn't see you there."

"The wall's glad ya apologized to it, I'm sure." Jeff smiled.

"You two up already?" Aaron scratched his head.

"For awhile." LB rolled over, mischievous smile on his face.

Jeff and George's jaws dropped. "'Ow long were yah listenin' in?"

"Long enough to say that what you thought about isn't unnatural. I was the same way. Coming back here isn't making those old memories go away either. Probably why we keep lapsing-- part of us wants it."

"Uhm... okay. Thinking I missed a lot here." Aaron cocked an eyebrow.

The other three laughed at him.

"Everyone up!" Kez's voice echoed down from the upstairs. "It's time to go."

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"It's time to go." One of the thugs tapped his watch. From everything they had managed to piece together, the protest concert would take place within the next two hours. Going on the assumption that a centralized location would have been chosen for the event, orders had been handed out to break up any large gatherings of people within the immediate center of the city.

"Excellent." The Boss gathered a file folder in his hand-- arrest warrants for the rabble-rousers. "Coming, boy?"

Bruised and obviously sleep deprived, a young man with sandy blonde hair was pushed foreward, into the main office.

"We're going to go put a stop to this little game your friends are playing--" The Boss leaned over, and delivered a swift kick to the boy's midsection, causing him to double over, "-- Eric."

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The windows of the old beat-up van were darkened so that passers by wouldn't happen to glance in and see the large stash of musical equipment. They had everything packed inside from a twin set of amps to a large kettle drum.

Kez piled in with sixteen other guys. He glanced back at the four men sitting in the back seat, each decked out in matching red eight-button shirts and gray slacks. Tension was running high and say that he was concerned for their safety would have been a gross understatement.

Good luck everyone. He said to himself, wishing he could have had the courage to say it aloud.

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It hadn't been hard to find the demonstrators. They hadn't really practiced a large degree of caution, setting up right in the middle of the park like this.

"Your friends are idiots, kid." The Boss chortled mockingly. "We'll have them downtown and behind bars in the blink of an eye."

Eric pressed his face up against the window of the stretch limousine, but uttered not a sound.

"Don't worry. We aren't going to lock 'em up just yet. We're waiting for the featured artists to make their appearance first.

Eric whimpered.

"That's right. Shortest 'gig' The Monkees will ever play." He grinned and lit a fat Cuban cigar. "That will teach those fifth-rate musicians to meddle in an affair which doesn't concern them."

"Third-rate musicians!" Eric exclaimed, having opened his mouth to speak for the first time in what felt like months.

"So you do talk... had me thinking that you'd forgotten how." Weitmagen slapped Eric hard enough on the back to cause the already bruised and battered kid to spit blood. "Ah, but no matter. We'll be done here soon, and then you can give me a proper tour of that lovely little world you call home."

Boss Weitmagen pulled the orb from his pocket and tossed it up in the air. "Yeah, I brought it with me. Guess I just can't stand to be separated from it. Can't risk having some interloper steal it on me, now can I?"

Eric shuddered openly at the thought that at any moment the orb might fall and shatter into a million pieces.

"Oh. Are we worried about our strange little robot ball?" He safely pocketed it once more. "I wouldn't be. You know I wouldn't let anything happen to this shiny little bauble. We must be certain that it remains in perfect condition. Can't risk anything going wrong on my next trip into 2001."

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A crowd of mostly teenagers had started to form around the performance site. Kez glanced around, certain that at any moment the police would show up and start dispensing 'justice' in that special way which only they were known for. It actually surprised him that the police hadn't already stepped in. Oh well. Thank God for small favors, I guess.

"And now for the featured performers of this event!" The announcement blared, drawing the attention of the crowd. "They are a small, but immensely talented group of boys. Hailing from 1428 North Beachwood----"

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The Boss motioned his men into action. "Patrol units converge on the source of this transmission." He clicked off the walkie-talkie for a second to motion to his driver. "Pull right in through the thick of the crowd. We need to do this right now!"

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"-- you know 'em, you love 'em. Let's give it up for The Monkees!"

A car suddenly came roaring through the crowd, grinding to a halt at the foot of the stage. Everyone backed up a step as a man they recognized as Mayor Sidney Weitmagen stepped from the jet-black limousine. He rushed up the steps of the bandstand, prepared the slap handcuffs on the ringleader of The Monkees--- Nezgrum or something like that.

The police chief barked orders over his bullhorn. "You are ordered to cease and desist for violation of city ordinance."

This distracted the wool-hatted Monkee long enough for Weitmagen to slap the cuffs on him. Angry teenagers screamed as the protesting musicians were ushered towards the waiting patrol cars.

"Stop them!"

"Bastards!"

"They didn't do anything wrong!"

"DAVEE!"

Kez took a shot to the head and went down amidst the chaos. Squinting into the bright sunlight with his one good eye that wasn't purple, puffy, and swelling shut, he caught sight of a helicopter flying overhead.

Weitmagen was in the process of signing the necessary papers to lock the long-haired weirdos away for good when strains of an all-too-familiar tune filled the air.

Take the last train to Clarksville
And I'll meet you at the station---

"WHAT?!" He grabbed the smallest Monkee by the front of his shirt and hoisted him into the air. Weitmagen was crestfallen by what he saw. "You're... not Davy Jones."

"No kiddin'." A Brooklyn accent met his ears. "I ain't even English. Guess ya got the wrong apes." He held out his hand with a cheeky grin. "Name's Tony! Pleased ta meetcha!"

Weitmagen tossed Tony aside and made a grab for Wool Hat next.

"Heya! Ronny MacLean." The second fake Monkee chuckled and held up a cupped hand. "Give to the strike fund, Mister?"

"Damn you." The portly politician sneered.

"Shhhh! Watch your mouth!" Ronny was thoroughly enjoying this. "There are kids around here. Never know what language little ears will pick up on!"

"If you guys aren't The Monkees---" A 12 year old scratched her head in confusion.

Ronny chuckled and pointed across the park to where the music was coming from. There, perched on the roof of the municipal pool house, stood Aaron, George, Jeff and LB, jamming away. Aaron waved in the middle of his solo.

A rush of girls cheered and migrated instantly across the park.

Take the last train to Clarksville
Now, I must hang up the phone
I can't hear you in this noisy
Railroad station all alone---

Weitmagen attempted in vain to approach the makeshift stage, but the crowd of giggly prepubescent girls proved a very effective blockade.

The song wound down with an ear-piercing scream of approval. Aaron grabbed the microphone with a mischievous grin on his face. "Surprise!"

"WE LOVE YOU MICKY!!" A gaggle of six or so girls screamed out at the top of their lungs.

Aaron waved, sending them into near hysterics. "Love you too!" He next made a big show of squinting, trying to get a good look at the 'big boss'. "Speaking of surprises, we still have a few left up our sleeves."

The same gaggle of girls erupted into fits of giggles.

"No, Mike ISN'T going to take his pants off." Aaron cracked. Jeff shot him a 'look' as the crowd whooped and hollered shouts of 'Aw, c'mon!' and 'Please?'.

"Actually, the surprise is for the 'established authority' in town." LB waved to settle the crowd down a little bit as Aaron continued talking.

Weitmagen paused from his position in the crowd he had been trying to push through moments before. The kids, starting to figure out who this guy was, began to jab and jeer him from all sides. "Leave me alone you crazy kids!" He hissed. Then, raising his voice to the four onstage, he yelled, "Well, this has all been a blast gentlemen, but the police should be along soon and---"

Aaron didn't have to cut him off... the mob of teens did it for him with a sharp boo. "Wow! How did you know what I was going to say?"

"What?!"

"See, we did some digging and found out just how you got your laws passed around this city."

On cue, Kez popped up next to Weitmagen, waved a quick greeting and unclasped the briefcase in the man's hand. As the assemblage looked on, wads of cash tumbled to the pavement and Weitmagen bent over to try and retrieve it.

"I dunno what you business-types call that," Jeff began, "but back home in Texas we call that bribery. An' it's a pretty serious offense."

Kez nodded and waved over the federal agents stepping out of the helicopter which had flown overhead moments before. "At least that's what these folks said when I asked them about it. Whaddya think?"

"I was just... taking that to the bank. Deposit for an old lady who..."

"Save it." One of the officers approached and pulled out a set of silver handcuffs from his belt.

"Y-you work for me!" Weitmagen spluttered, still attempting to stuff the rogue cash into his pockets.

"Actually, nope. Sorry. Wrong about that." Kez yanked the briefcase away and handed it to another officer. "Your friends in the system all mysteriously received pink slips this morning. Anyone on duty with you... is under arrest too."

Weitmagen stood dumbfounded as he was handcuffed and read his rights. Touché, boys. I must admit that you got me this time. But I have a lot of friends. Next time you won't be so lucky.