"There was a narrow escape last night by a young David Jones. Apparently the famed singer of the new group the Monkees was targeted last night when an unidentified third party threw a smoke bomb into his bedroom window. Quick thinking on his part allowed him to get out safely…"
A quick flip of the switch shut off the television and the annoying announcer. They didn't need to rub it in. With a sigh, she turned back to the file she had stolen. She was lucky a friend of hers worked at the police station or she'd never have gotten away with Davy's personal file.
She thumbed through the photos in the beginning. Pictures of Davy and her sister in happier times filled the file folder. She was forced to hold back the tears she felt when she saw her deceased sister's face smiling happily at her in the picture. It wasn't fair! How could they have let him get away!? It was his fault she was dead!
Composing herself, she turned back to the file. There had to be something of use in here. There had to be. She thumbed through some papers and dismissed them as boring. Various legal mumbo-jumbo that wasn't important at all.
A paper at the bottom of the pile caught her eye. The important looking heading on the top read "Harvest Meadows Hospital". It took her a moment, but then she remembered. Harvest Meadows. That was a mental hospital! A loony bin! The great and all important, wonderful David Jones had been in a loony bin! This was something to look into. Definitely something to look into.
"What happened last night, Davy?" Peter whispered to Davy as soon as they had arrived at the building. Davy didn't respond. "Davy?"
"Oh, 'ey Petah," Davy replied. "What's up?"
"You were all over the news this morning, Davy. What happened?"
"'Aven't a clue," Davy answered. He was about to get into an explanation when a man came up to him.
"Davy Jones, right?" the man asked. Davy nodded.
"That's me."
"The rest of your group here yet?" the guy asked. Davy nodded.
"Right behind ya," Mike's voice replied, and the man turned around.
"Oh good, you're all here," the man replied. "My name's Bob Smith. Easy name, ok? Remember it. We're about ready inside."
"Oh good," Mike replied. "We'll be there in just a second. I wanted to talk to 'em first." Bob nodded.
"Ok, but make it snappy. We've got people waiting."
"Mike what's this all about?" Micky asked. Mike waited until Bob was gone before he explained.
"This, my fellow comrades, is what we call a press conference," Mike replied.
"A…a press conference?" Peter asked.
"About what?" Micky asked.
"Is it about last night?" Davy asked.
Mike shook his head. "No. It's a way for us to announce that we're going on tour," he replied.
"Tour?"
"Tour?"
"Tour?"
Mike smiled to himself at the three blank faces. "You remember we talked about this, guys. We need to go on tour. Bob and I have been workin' out the details."
"Mike, 'ow come you didn't tell us?" Davy asked.
"I did," Mike replied. "You just never listened."
Davy groaned.
"Well, spill the details quick," Peter said. "We've got to try and wing this somehow or another."
Mike nodded.
