Chapter Four
It was dark. It was dark and he hurt all over. Trying to move only hurt morehis entire left side was stiff and ached with every breath.
Voices licked at the edge of his consciousness, but the pain blurred them into meaninglessness at first.
His stiff fingers flexed slowly; it took him almost five minutes to realize they were bound, the digitssticky with bloodpressed against the rough fabric of a lumpy sofa. His eyelids opened with effort against something thick and black tied over his eyes.
The voice became clearer. Very pleased . . . Tiger . . . pawn . . . was all he could make out at first.
Even though it sent flares of pain through him, Davy sucked in a breath. Whaa . . . he gasped, his voice raw.
Ah, hes awake.
Cant . . . see . . . he groaned.
You are blindfolded, the womans voice said.
Where . . . ?
Over your eyes, of course.
For a moment irritation overwhelmed the pain. Why? Who are you? The words were coming easier now.
She laughed. My identity is irrelevant.
Sounds right cowardly to me, Davy said. Its not like I can hurt you . . . though Id really like to right now.
No . . . but I can hurt you. A hand touched his ribs.
He trembled, sucking in a breath. You . . . bitch, he gasped out, unable to think of anything else.
Thank you! It pushed harder.
His bound body twisted painfully and he released a strained, gasping cry that whistled in the back of his throat.
Consider thisyoure in my clutches now. You are helpless as a kitten.
Ill escape . . . and youll be sorry . . .
Laughter greeted that.
Mistress, are you sure this is a good idea? What if someone sees or hears him? Davy listened to the new voice intentlyhed heard it before, he was sure.
Youre right. The hand moved off of him. Thank you, Robertmy joy at seeing him like this overrode my common sense.
Robert? Rob Roy? The name and voice clicked. You!? Davy wheezed, the cry taking its toll on his traumatized lungs.
Ah, he remembers me, how touching.
When I get free . . . you and your woman are dead.
My woman? Shes not my womanmore like Im her man! He laughed in genuine amusment.
Sounds like you keep her on a short leash, Davy growled, tugging at his restraints.
A growl reached his ear and a furious, No one commands me! I command! was snarled before a fist smashed into his left side.
Davy arched, a nearly soundless scream escaping his chest. The pain rolled over him, starting at the grinding edges of his broken bones and shuddering throughout his body. A second blow slammed into the side of his neck. He panted, trying to keep conscious.
I command, a harsh voice snarled into his ear as a hand tangled in his hair and jerked his head back painfully. Remember that. His head was shoved forward viciously and then released.
Very good, Jones, Rob Roy said. Keep it upthis is quite entertaining.
Ah, youre photographing again, she laughed. You were careful not to get my face in any shots, correct?
Of course, he replied. I will double check before I send them, of course.
Davys ears perked up. Send them? he croaked. His tattoo began to twitch, a sensation that was barely noticeable through the pain.
Yes, send them where? the woman asked a little coldly.
To the other Monkees, of course, Rob Roy said. Davy could see the smirk even through his blindfold.
And the purpose of this would be?
Well, you did say you wanted to hurt them all. This . . . is hitting them where it hurts the most.
I must think on this. There were footsteps and a door closing.
You bastard, Davy snarled. You bastard! When I get loose youll pay for this!
Who said youll get loose? As soon as the voice was done speaking a fist struck him in the solar plexus.
Davy retched, his stomach trying valiently to empty its nonexistent contents. Tendrils of spit trailed from his dry lips as he slumped, panting for breath.
Face it . . . this time you wont humiliate me.
No, I wont, Davy gasped. Im gonna kill you instead.
He laughed and Davy heard the click/whirr of a shutter. Doubtful.
Davys eyes closed under his blindfold. I wish the guys were here.
~~~~~
A single light burned in the Pad. The light above the kitchen table was on, even though it was way past midnight. Micky was slumped over the table, lost in an exhausted sleep.
Peter walked in and sighed. Micky . . .
Let him sleep, Mike said, stumbling down the stairs. Least he stopped pacin.
Looks like hes been going over the pictures again and again.
Mike picked up the sheaf sitting near Mickys elbow. We gotta find him, Peter.
Any clues in those pictures? We gotta start somewhere.
I dont see any. Cant see anything but Davy and the street.
Peter closed his eyes, then opened them again. Here. That blow must have broken something. He pointed to the kicking picture.
His ribs, probably, Mike said bitterly. And he had to have lost a lot of blood. The Texans voice lowered on the word blood.
Peter grabbed the pictures. If therere bloodstains on the street . . .
Then theyll still be there! Mike looked around wildly. But . . . theres thousands of alleys in this citywhere do we start looking?
Thoughtful for a moment, Peter turned the pictures back over. Theres some insignia on these jackets . . . gang related, do you think?
Probably, Mike said.
Find out which oneand well have a general area.
Well still have to figure out where he was taken.
But at least its something.
Yeah, Mike said. Well go first thing in the morning.
Peter nodded and lifted Micky. The drummer lashed out, eyes open and looking around wildly. Get off me! I . . . oh.
Fine, thank you.
Whats happening? Micky said, rubbing his face. Whatre you guys doin up?
We came tput you to bed.
Micky shook his head. Im fine. Peter looked at Mike.
Micky, you need to get some sleep. You wont do Davy any good half exhausted.
Hes right.
Micky sagged, too exhausted to argue, and meekly went upstairs to bed.
~~~~~
His tongue was dry. Moving it around his mouth didnt help much, but it helped to take away the ache. He wondered if asking for water would earn him another punch to the ribs.
He could no longer hear the woman, but Rob Roy was still there, puttering around with what Davy assumed to be his camera equipment.
He decided to chance it. May I . . . have some water? It hurt his pride to ask the treacherous photographer for anything, but the thirst was starting to hurt worse.
There was a pause. Surewe dont want you dying, after all.
You . . . dont?
If you die, there goes my revenge! Here, easy now. A cup with cool liquid touched his parched lips. He drank greedily, the metallic tap water as refreshing as any from some untouched mountain spring.
Slowly, dont make yourself sick!
Davy ignored him, opening his mouth wider to allow some of the water to dribble down his chin and neck.
Messy messy messy, Rob Roy chided, wiping it off. Davy hissed as Rob Roys fingers hit the long scrape on his chin.
You really are a pig, Jones. He was definitely angry now.
Sharp stabs of indignation flared through him. Well, excuse me. Im lyin here tied upsorry if I couldnt manage the tuxedo.
Rob Roys palm connected soundly with his cheek. Thatll be enough of that.
At that moment something, perhaps the ghost of Peter or Mike, swam up into his consciousness as the pain faded. I dont understand this change, Rob. You werent such a bad guy before. Now . . . youre a kidnapper whos smacking around an injured man. Why?
Youre not a man, Jones. Youre a thorn. You and your antics got me blackballed.
You were making us out to be something we werent. Just to put in your magazine. The fellas and I lost a couple good friends over that.
And I lost my career.
Then were even.
Not hardly.
The shaky strands of reason snapped, freeing the anger. What do you want, then? A pint of my blood? You already have that, so what else do I have to give you to turn me loose!?
Turn you loose? Rob Roys laughter followed him out of the room.
Davy laid his head back on the cushions, panting softly. Think, Jones, think! How would Mike get out of this?
His heart sank. Mike wouldnt have gotten into this in the first place.
On to Chapter Five
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