Not Your Stepping Stone, Part 1 of 2
Hi there! I've been an avid Monkee fan since 2000. I've been tinkering with a new fic and in trying to determine where the fanbase mostly hangs out these days, I decided to see if anyone here is interested. I'm tentatively splitting it in two parts to post it. This is the first half. I hope I'm putting it up right.
Oh, and since I saw it said new tags are for canon characters only, does that mean oneshot episode characters are fair game? Or does the new tags thing only apply to pairings?
Title: Not Your Stepping Stone
Author: insaneladybug/Lucky_Ladybug
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Peter is struck with amnesia during a goof-off session with Micky and turns distrusting. The situation only gets worse when he wanders off and runs into Micky's double, Baby Face Morales.
Warnings: Violence, Guns, Gangsters, Angst
Genre: Drama, Action
Pairing: None
OR if there is NO pairing:
Main Character(s): Micky, Peter, Baby Face Morales, Tony Ferano
The Monkees
Not Your Stepping Stone
By Lucky_Ladybug
Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! This is something I’ve wanted to write for quite a while. The idea was sparked by the amnesia scene in The Case of the Missing Monkee. I noticed that Peter seemed to be slightly colder towards Micky than the others and I wanted to explore that concept a bit. Peter’s expression when Micky suddenly bursts out in hyperactive taunting at the villains in The Prince and the Paupers was an inspiration too, as well as Peter’s discouragement in The Audition (Find the Monkees). This is being written for the theme Found the dark in you at 31 Days on Livejournal. This takes place after the other stories I’ve written that feature The Monkees encountering Baby Face and his gang again, but they don’t need to be read to understand this. Thanks to Crystal for plot help!
It was a basically quiet day at the Monkees’ Pad. Mike and Davy had gone to take care of the grocery shopping with their limited funds. Micky had slept late and Peter had not felt like going, so they had been left home with Mr. Schneider.
Peter sighed to himself as he came down the stairs. It had been a while since they had had a gig, which was unfortunately usual. But there had been a much longer amount of time without a job than was usual. Considering how difficult it was for many people to find work these days, he was starting to wonder if they would ever be needed again.
That was the main reason for his current, disconsolate state of mind. He had felt increasingly depressed the longer this went on, and being an emotional person, it had been impossible for him to hide his feelings. All of the others had noticed and were concerned.
Peter was generally cheerful and did not at all mind the nonsense that took place in the Pad. He was usually an active participant. But sometimes enough was enough, especially from Micky, who would sometimes burst into hyperactivity without any warning. Peter had grown tired of the randomness for the time being and was not currently interested in participating.
Maybe, if Micky actually was doing it more of late and it was not just in Peter’s mind, it was his way of dealing with the stretch of unemployment. It had been affecting all of them. But that did not change that the boisterous behavior was rubbing Peter the wrong way right now.
“Is there anything good on TV tonight?” he wondered, coming to sit near Micky on the couch.
Micky flipped through the newspaper. “Nah, unless you want to brave the paranormal and the world of cheesy, bad B movies to watch Curse of the Werewolf, Part 11!”
Peter shook his head. “I’ll pass.”
Micky was already on a roll. He set the paper aside and took off his reading glasses, leaning forward in the chair. “The hapless victim is running through a field, trying to get undercover before the dreaded time arrives. But the clouds step aside and the full moon is there in all its brightness, shining down on him. And then, it happens! The transformation begins!”
Peter sighed. “Here we go again,” he mumbled to himself.
Micky jumped up, writhing in pretended agony. “He tries to fight it. He tries in desperate . . . uh, desperation to stay human. But it’s no use!” His face twisted in a grotesque manner. “He’s overcome by the curse of the werewolf. All human thoughts are gone. Now all he can think of is carnage and killing and murder and other bad stuff!”
He let out an ear-piercing howl as he lunged at Peter, who just turned away. “Come on, Mick, I just don’t feel like it now,” he said.
Micky backed off, surprised and a bit hurt. “Oh,” he said. “I’m . . . sorry, Pete.”
Now Peter felt bad. Micky was a naturally cheery person, not to mention one of Peter’s closest friends. The last thing Peter wanted was to bruise his feelings. “I’m sorry, Micky,” he said, turning back to face the other boy. “I shouldn’t have said that. I guess I haven’t been feeling like being crazy for a while now.”
Micky sat down next to him. “I’ve noticed that,” he said. “Actually, all of us have.” He sighed. “I guess I just thought if I could get you laughing and happy again, you’d feel better, you know? I didn’t mean to make it worse.” He gave a helpless shrug. “Goofing off like that . . . it’s the only approach I really know. And when I get worried I fall back on the jokes and stuff even more.”
Peter frowned. “And . . . and that’s why you’ve been acting sillier more often than usual lately?” he asked. “You’ve been worried about me?”
“Well . . . yeah,” Micky said. “I don’t like seeing you so down. It’s not right.” He stared at the floor. “I don’t know. . . . Maybe if you tried playing along, just for a few minutes, it’d help. You could blow off steam or something.”
“Blow off steam?” Peter repeated, blankly. He was envisioning himself literally blowing steam out of his mouth to the sound of a train whistle.
Micky slapped his forehead. “No, not like that!” he exclaimed. “Like . . . being able to let out all of your frustrations and feel better.”
“Oh.” Peter smiled, making a decision. “Okay, let’s try it!”
Micky grinned. “Great! Alright, the werewolf was lunging at you! Grrr!” He howled again and clawed at Peter, who leaped up with a frightened cry. Micky gave chase, and as they fled around the living room, it soon became a disaster area as furniture sprawled and toppled.
Peter found himself grinning as they tore up and down, around and around. This did feel good. It had been so long since he had immersed himself in a rambunctious romp like this. He had forgotten the sheer freedom and joy of it.
“Hey, Micky!” he started to call over his shoulder. “You’re right-this does feel . . .”
But he was not watching where he was going. Suddenly he tripped on the telephone cord and went down with a surprised yelp. The game-and Micky-ground to a halt. Micky looked down at him in concern.
“Peter!” Micky exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
Peter pushed himself up, rubbing his head. He frowned at Micky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he declared. “What am I doing on the floor?”
Micky blinked in confusion. “You tripped on the phone cord,” he said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Peter objected. “Why would I do a dumb thing like that?”
“It was an accident!” Micky told him. “We were running around being silly and . . .” He trailed off. “Pete, are you sure you’re okay?”
“And don’t address me so familiarly!” Peter retorted. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
Now Micky’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. He stammered wordlessly, staring at the blond Monkee in disbelief.
“You’ve got amnesia?” he finally managed to choke out. “But . . . but you were fine just a minute ago! You must’ve hit your head and . . .” He shook his head, overwhelmed. “This is my fault,” he berated. “If I hadn’t been chasing you . . .”
“You were chasing me?!” Peter interrupted. “Why?!”
“It was just a silly game!” Micky cried. “We play silly games like that sometimes, because we’re Monkees, and Monkees are fun-loving and . . .”
“Monkeys?” Peter repeated. He stumbled to his feet, backing away from Micky. “We’re both human beings! Hold on, I’m going to call in help for you right now.” He grabbed the telephone receiver. “Operator, get me the nearest psychiatrist. And hurry! This man is in bad shape.”
Micky snatched the receiver away. “No!” he burst out. “Not that kind of monkey. The kind of Monkee that sings! You know, Here we come, walkin’ down the street . . . !” He gripped the phone as he sang, his knuckles turning white. All thoughts of hanging it up were in the furthest corners of his mind. Peter didn’t remember anything. That was clear from his blank, unimpressed expression. And Micky was bowled over by the enormity of this disaster.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said.
At that moment the door opened and Mike and Davy entered, each holding a bag of groceries.
“Well, here we are,” Mike called. “We just got the bare essentials, but it should tide us over for a little while anyway.”
Davy barely heard. He was staring at the upturned living room in stunned shock. “Micky! Peter! What’ve you been doing to the Pad?!” he exclaimed.
Fully focusing on the mess, Mike’s eyes bugged out. “For crying out loud, you two! You’re lucky the landlord didn’t hear all the noise when you were wrecking the place!”
“Oh . . . he’s visiting his sister,” Micky said meekly. “But Mike, Davy . . . something happened that’s a lot worse than just this mess. . . .”
Mike was not listening. “Peter, you’re awfully quiet,” he said as he picked his way through the cyclone and to the miraculously still-standing table.
“Why does everyone keep calling me Peter?” Peter frowned. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
Davy nearly dropped his sack. “Peter, what’s happened to you?!” he cried. Setting the groceries on Mr. Schneider’s lap, he hurried over to the blond Monkee.
Peter gazed down at him. “I’ve never seen you either, or him,” he added, looking to Mike.
Micky swallowed hard. “I was trying to tell you guys. Peter’s got amnesia.”
“What?!” Mike gasped.
“How’d it happen?!” Davy demanded.
Micky’s shoulders slumped. “He tripped and hit his head or something when we were running around being silly. It’s all my fault.”
“Now, you couldn’t have known something like this would happen,” Davy said.
“That’s right,” Mike said. He came over to them, studying Peter’s eyes. “But maybe Peter here has a concussion. We might need to call a doctor.”
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” Peter said.
He looked around the room. “Do we really all live here?” he wondered.
“Well, yeah,” Mike said.
“It’s kind of small, isn’t it?” Peter said.
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” said Davy. “It’s got a cozy atmosphere to it.”
“It’s suited us fine,” Mike agreed.
“That’s good,” Peter said, but he sounded vague. He wandered over to the front door and looked out through the peephole.
Micky hurried after him. “Hey, Pete, maybe you should lie down or something,” he said. “I mean, after getting hurt and all . . .”
Peter turned to face him, frowning a bit. “I don’t need your advice. Don’t you know who I am?” He blinked, suddenly puzzled. “Wait, who am I?”
“Oh, Peter.” Davy sighed, coming over to them.
“This is just like it was after that crazy doctor made Peter forget everything,” Mike frowned.
“But that was a shock to the nervous system,” Micky said. “I guess trying to scare Peter’s memory back wouldn’t work this time.”
“It couldn’t hurt to try,” Mike said.
Peter was already tuning them out, instead moving to open the door. The other three Monkees nodded to each other and leaped forward without warning, yelling, “BOO!” in unison.
Peter jumped a mile. He whirled around, his eyes wide as he held a hand over his heart. “What kind of sick joke are you trying to play?!” he cried. “I’m innocent! At least, I think I’m innocent. . . .”
Micky, who had felt ever so slightly hopeful, now turned dejected. “We’re sorry, Peter,” he said. “We were just trying to help you get your memory back.”
“I can get help like this from my enemies!” Peter retorted. “And since I don’t remember any of you, I don’t know but what you are. Especially since you say this happened because I tripped when you were chasing me.” He looked to Micky.
Micky flinched and stared at him, clearly crushed. “But . . . Pete . . . I was just . . .”
Peter turned and opened the door. “And if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to take a walk,” he said. “Don’t wait up for me; I don’t know if I’ll be coming back.”
“Oh come off it, Peter, you have to come back!” Davy exclaimed, hurrying to the doorway with him.
“Why?” Peter frowned.
“Because you don’t have anywhere else to go!” Davy said. “And you don’t have any money for food!”
Peter checked his pockets. “You’ve got a point,” he said. “Okay, I’ll come back.” He walked out, shutting the door behind him.
Mike frowned, opening the peephole to watch him go. “I don’t like this, guys,” he said. “He shouldn’t be wandering all over the place in his condition.”
“We’d better follow him,” Davy determined.
Micky turned away. “You guys go,” he said quietly. “I’ll . . . stay here and put the groceries away.”
“What?!” Mike looked to him in shock.
“Now wait just a minute,” Davy said. “You’re just as worried about Peter as the rest of us, Micky. Why won’t you come?”
“Oh, I’ll probably make everything worse,” Micky said. “You know me, Calamity Dolenz. Want a disaster? I’m your man!” He righted a lamp and maneuvered his way to the fridge. Opening it, he began to put items from Mike’s shopping bag on the shelves.
“Oh Micky, don’t talk like that!” Davy exclaimed. “You’re not a calamity or a disaster.”
Mike nodded. “You’re just . . . overly enthusiastic sometimes. And right now you’re not in any shape to be doing this.” He walked over and reached into the fridge, pointedly lifting out a roll of paper towel.
Micky glowered at it. “Man, you see? I can’t get anything done right!” he burst out.
“It’s not that, Mick. You’re just upset.” Mike removed several other non-food items, setting them on the table. “Did something go on here that you didn’t tell us?”
Micky averted his gaze.
“That’s a Yes then,” Mike said.
“As much as I’d like to offer my sincere support, maybe I’d better follow Peter while you two have a heart-to-heart,” Davy interjected.
“Yeah,” Micky said instantly. “You do that, Davy. I don’t want Peter to get lost because of me.”
Davy hurried out the door, puzzled and concerned for both Peter and Micky. From what he could gather, there was a great deal wrong under the surface as well as what they could see. And that was a huge worry.
Mike watched as Micky dug deeper into the grocery bag and found some things that belonged in the fridge. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?” he asked as the drummer walked past, his arms loaded with food.
Micky dumped everything onto the shelf and then began to sort through it. “You know how Peter’s been so gloomy lately, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike nodded. “I guess all of us’ve been pretty down, with the lack of work and all.”
“And I just wanted to cheer him-and well, all of us-up. So I’ve been doing more of my shtick. Impressions, jokes, random silliness, the works.” Micky finished arranging the food and took the milk as Mike brought it over from the other sack. “And I guess I’ve been overdoing it and Peter was bugged.” He straightened, closing the fridge. “We had a talk and I convinced him that maybe he’d feel better if we goofed off for a few minutes.”
“And that’s how the living room got wrecked,” Mike surmised.
“Yeah. I thought Peter was enjoying it. But then he tripped and said he didn’t remember anything and . . .” Micky shook his head. “It’s just a big mess.”
“Now, Micky, you didn’t know anything was going to go wrong.” Mike laid a hand on his shoulder. “You were just trying to help. And I’m sure Peter-the real Peter, deep down-appreciates that.”
Micky looked at him with woebegone eyes. “But . . . what if we never get him back?”
“We’ll get him back,” Mike replied firmly. “Don’t you worry about that. There has to be a way.” He stepped back. “How about we go join Davy in looking for Peter? Maybe his memory will start coming back as he’s walking.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Micky did not sound too hopeful, but he walked to the door. “I guess we can pick up all this stuff when we get back.”
Mike nodded. “Sure thing. It can keep till then.”
****
Davy had managed to keep track of Peter for a while. Peter had walked at an average pace, not seeming to be affected by the bump he had taken to his head. Davy had followed unnoticed, and had thought and hoped that things would continue to be that easy. But once they got into the heart of town and the crowds began to thicken, the bass player soon vanished. Never having realizing that someone had been following him, Peter continued to roam the streets, not sure where he was going or when he was going to head back.
He really wanted to grab at his hair and cry out in frustration. Why couldn’t he remember anything? Had those guys really been telling the truth, that he belonged with them? Why did he just feel blank inside when he looked at them? Shouldn’t he feel some kind of connection or positive feeling or something, anything?
Well, if he was honest with himself, he supposed he had felt something when the one guy, the one they called Micky, had looked at him so stunned and as though he had been seriously, emotionally wounded. That bothered him more as he continued to think about it. What if he and those others really had just been trying to help him? Maybe he should give them another chance and go back now.
Yes, that was what he should do. Everyone deserved a second chance.
He was starting to turn around when a nearby person caught his eye. As he stepped closer for a better look he stared in shock. There was Micky now! And he was holding a gun.
Peter gasped, a hand flying to his mouth. Had he been right to not trust that guy? He tried to inch close enough to hear what Micky was saying to another guy standing near him.
“That’ll teach him to mess with us.” Micky called the “him” a foul name and stuck the gun inside his jacket. Instead of the more light, cheery tones from before, he was speaking in a low, gravelly voice.
“He’ll be back.” The other guy sounded like he was from New York. And he did not look impressed by whatever the gunman had done. “Look, Baby Face, we’re standing out in the open. We’re vulnerable like this.”
“Tony, Tony, you worry too much. No one’s around.” Micky, or Baby Face, or whatever his name was, pushed up his fedora hat. “Now come on. Vince and Harry are waiting.”
Tony started to walk over but then stopped, looking around with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know, Baby Face. I get the feeling we’re being watched right now.” He reached for his own gun. “The pickup tonight isn’t going to go well if this is what’s going on already.”
Suddenly outrage and indignation filled Peter’s heart. He stepped into full view of the duo. “You most certainly are being watched!” he cried.
Both men stared at him in shock. “You?!” Baby Face exclaimed. “What the heck?”
“That’s right, it’s me!” Peter declared. “I knew there was something I didn’t like about you. Now I know what it is. You’re leading a double life! While you pretend to be cheery and kind and helpful, behind everyone’s back you’re a . . . a criminal!”
Tony gawked. “What’s he talking about?”
“Something isn’t right here,” Baby Face growled. He glowered at Peter. “Just what are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to be friends with a criminal!” Peter shot back. “What about Mike and Davy? Are they in on this too?”
“Mike and Davy?!” Baby Face’s expression only darkened. “What’s the matter with you? You’re talking like I’m that idiot Micky Dolenz.”
“You can’t fool me, Micky.” Peter refused to back down. “Now I know your secret!”
Tony just kept staring. “He’s out of his head. What are we going to do with him?”
“What I’d like to do and what I’m going to do are two different things,” Baby Face growled. He took out his gun and pointed it at Peter. “I’m only going to tell you this once. Get lost!”
“You don’t scare me!” Peter retorted.
“Look, don’t try my patience,” Baby Face snapped. “You’re just lucky I’m feeling generous today.”
Without warning, machine gunfire rained in their direction from across the street. Baby Face looked up with a start, swearing vilely at the unwelcome interruption. For now they had no choice but to run into the nearest building for cover, a frightened Peter in tow.
“What’d you do, Micky?!” Peter yelled as they tore inside. “You’ve got them really mad!”
“I’m not Micky!” Baby Face roared. “And we’re completely unprepared for this.” He looked to Tony. “Where’s the machine gun?”
“It’s in the car,” Tony told him. “We weren’t supposed to need it for the meeting. Remember?” He had wanted to bring it, but Baby Face had felt it would not be necessary. And although Tony had always refused to blindly follow Baby Face without will or opinion of his own, he usually let Baby Face have his way, unless he had a particular reason for feeling that it would not be wise.
Of course, Baby Face had either forgotten or chose to ignore the fact that he himself had not wanted the machine gun out. “Oh, well, that’s a big help,” he muttered. He looked like he wanted to physically assault Tony for the oversight, but there were other, more pressing matters at the forefront of his mind. “Alright, we’ve got no choice-we’re just gonna have to wait ’em out.”
Above them, bullets peppered the old windows. Glass and lead flew in all directions as the trio tried to shield themselves. Other bullets pounded into the walls. Baby Face grabbed both of the others, dragging them to lie flat on the floor. The fury in his eyes at not being able to fight back was frightening for anyone unlucky enough to be near him.
Then it was over. Slowly Baby Face rose, peering through one of the new Swiss cheese holes in the wall. There was no sign of the other gang. He drew his gun as he knelt on the floor. Poking the barrel through the opening, he fired an exploratory shot. No gunfire answered him.
“Okay, get up!” he snarled at Tony and Peter. “They’ve scrammed.”
“And that’s what you’d better do yourself,” Tony said, glaring at Peter.
Peter rose as well, crossing his arms as he glowered at the gangsters. “I’m completely disappointed in you, Micky,” he declared. “I don’t know what would be worse-for Mike and Davy to be in on this or for them to not know what’s going on with you at all.”
“Maybe they’re in the other gang,” Baby Face growled sarcastically.
Peter’s eyes widened. “What?!” He stared at the ceiling, anguish and devastation that he did not even fully understand sweeping over him at the thought. “Then . . . then I really don’t have anywhere to go! I can’t live with criminals!”
“Shut up!” Baby Face yelled as he stood. Broken glass crunched under his shoes. “You don’t remember anything. You could even be a crook yourself, for all you know.”
“Baby Face, you’re making it worse,” Tony said in frustration. “This guy takes everything literally, even when he doesn’t remember!”
Indeed, Peter could not be more wounded now than if Baby Face had shot him with the gun. “I’m a criminal too?!” he wailed, whirling back to face Baby Face. “Oh Micky, say it isn’t so! Please!”
“Fine! It ain’t so!” Baby Face retorted. “Now come on.” He gestured with his gun. “We’re going out the back way. From there, you’re on your own.”
Peter swallowed hard but obeyed, following the two crooks around old crates, through the warehouse, and to the back door.
Baby Face eased it open, keeping his gun ready in case of attack. But upon seeing nothing suspicious he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped out. The others followed, continuing to flank him as he led the way to the old tan Pontiac. After making sure the machine gun was still in the back, he pulled open the front passenger door and started to get in.
“Get lost,” he ordered Peter. “I’m not gonna look after you.”
“You can’t do this to me!” Peter cried. “I need love and understanding! . . . Wait, what’s that from?” He frowned in confusion. “And that’s the second time you’ve told me to get lost. You said you wouldn’t say it again.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Baby Face started to slam the door. “Tony, get in now!”
Tony was just opening the driver’s door when a bullet sailed past his ear. He looked up with a start. The source was unseen, but for it to be so close there had to be a sniper on the warehouse roof. He did not even have a chance to call out a warning before bullets were flying from across the way as well.
Baby Face swore. “They’re still after us!” he yelled. “We’re sitting ducks here. Let’s go already!”
Tony dove into the driver’s seat and started the engine in almost the same movement. As he sped off, Baby Face slammed hard into the passenger seat. “Watch it!” he snapped.
“You watch it,” Tony retorted. “I’m not slowing down for anything right now.”
Baby Face rolled down the window just enough to point the barrel of his gun outside and fire two warning shots. He was sure he would not hit anyone at this distance, but the meaning should be clear to the snipers. This was not over. He was not going to lie down and be submissive to his enemies.
By the time they made it out of the firing zone, the old car had received more than a few dents, nicks, and a shattered back windshield. They would be easy enough to replace, but Baby Face was annoyed by the battle damage anyway. As they finally pulled in at their current hideout-another warehouse farther away-he was in a very bad mood.
“Get the gang together,” he growled as Tony turned off the engine. “We’re gonna be havin’ company tonight. And if they don’t show, we’ll go crash their party.”
“A party?!” exclaimed an unwelcome voice.
Both Baby Face and Tony turned in stunned disbelief as Peter rose from the floor in the back. He looked innocent and hopeful in spite of his current memory loss. “I love parties! What kind of refreshments are we having?”
Baby Face slumped into the seat, clawing his fedora over his eyes in aggravation.
****
By now Davy was in a state of panic. In spite of all his efforts he had not been able to find any trace of Peter after losing him in the crowd. And running blindly over blocks of houses and businesses calling for the amnesiac Monkee accomplished nothing. That did not, however, stop him from continuing to do exactly that.
“Peter!” he cried, frantically looking both ways before running around a corner. “Peter!” He promptly banged into someone coming from the other direction and they both went sprawling on the sidewalk.
“Ow! Hey, watch it, man,” groaned a familiar voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Micky,” mumbled Davy, without really realizing what he had said. Then it hit him and he stiffened. “Micky!”
He looked up. Micky was sitting down on the sidewalk, looking disgruntled. Mike was standing a short ways behind him, shaking his head as he studied the scene.
Micky sighed. “It’s okay, Davy. But why are you running around calling for Peter? He’s not supposed to know you’re here.”
“And I don’t know where Peter is!” Davy cried. “I was doin’ just fine until we got to town. Then he disappeared!”
Mike cringed. “So now we’ve got a Monkee wandering around town who doesn’t remember a thing and thinks we’re all his enemies,” he said.
“That’s about the size of it, Mike,” Davy said. “I’m sorry. Now I’m the one messin’ things up.”
“It’s not your fault, Davy,” Micky said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You tried.” He started to get up. “And we’re all going to have to keep trying. We won’t give up until we find Peter.”
“That’s the spirit!” Mike encouraged. He gave Micky a pointed look. If it was not Davy’s fault, couldn’t he see that he was not to blame, either?
Micky felt Mike’s gaze and looked over at their leader. He sensed what Mike was saying but looked away, not sure how to respond. It was easy to feel like a friend was not at fault. It was a lot harder to feel that way about himself.
Mike sighed in temporary defeat. “Well, I agree with this searching for Peter and all,” he said, “but let’s take the car from here on out. It’ll be a lot faster.”
“That’s a great idea, Mike!” Micky proclaimed. He made a beeline for the car, Davy hot on his heels.
Mike strolled over at an easy pace. He had to hope Peter would be more willing to listen once they found him. If he wasn’t, well . . . then Mike was at a loss too.
****
Baby Face was fit to be tied.
Tony, Vince, and Harry watched as he paced the floor of their current hideout like a caged animal. None of them dared to so much as move an inch. Peter stood behind Tony, bewildered.
“What’s wrong with Micky?” he asked.
“Shh!” the three gangsters scolded, not even bothering to correct him on the mistaken identity problem.
Peter rocked back. “It was just a question,” he said. “I mean, I know I wasn’t supposed to come along, but they were shooting and I didn’t want to die and I thought I could just get in the car too and . . .”
Baby Face stopped paced and glared daggers at Peter. “You wanna know what’s wrong?” he said. Peter nodded. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Some dirty rotten rat decided to double-cross us on our last diamond pickup. His lackey pretended he didn’t know a thing about it. They’re probably going to mess up the new pickup date tonight.
“A bunch of his friends started shooting at us when we didn’t have the ammunition to fight back. He probably put them up to it!”
He advanced as he spoke. When he reached the group, Tony and Vince stepped aside to allow him to get up in Peter’s face. “And on top of all that, now I’m stuck with an idiot who thinks I’m one of his idiot friends!”
Peter was unfazed. “Oh. That really does sound like a lot of problems. But you wouldn’t be having them if you weren’t trying to be a criminal.”
Baby Face drew his gun and held it at Peter’s throat. “I’m not ‘trying’ to be a criminal,” he growled. “I am a criminal. Do you know what the police call me?” Peter shook his head. “The most vicious killer in America. Do you really want to rub me the wrong way?”
Again Peter shook his head. “Certainly not. Just tell me the right way, Micky, and I’ll do that instead. I’m going to stay right here until I can convince you to give up your life of crime for something better and more rewarding.”
Tony could practically see the vein popping on Baby Face’s forehead. It would not have surprised him if the mobster had shot Peter then and there. But Baby Face spun around, his knuckles white as he clutched the semi-automatic weapon.
“Tony, get a message to Dolenz,” he ordered. “Tell him to come get his friend. Now.”
Tony stared at him in shock. “But Baby Face . . .”
“NOW!” Baby Face screamed.
Tony flinched. “Okay, I’m going.” He turned, walking past the bewildered gangsters.
“Uh, Baby Face, wouldn’t it be easier to just kill him?” Vince spoke.
Baby Face glared at him, the fire burning in his eyes. “Are you questioning me, Vince?” he said. His voice was perfectly calm, which they all knew from experience was more dangerous than if he was yelling. Tony paused just out of sight in the shadows, looking back with a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and dread.
Vince looked nervous now. “N-No, Baby Face, I’m not questioning you,” he stammered.
“Good,” Baby Face said. He stepped closer, the gun trained right at the big man. “You know how much I hate being questioned.”
“I do,” Vince said. “I really do, Baby Face!”
Satisfied, Baby Face stepped back. Tony slipped out the nearest door.
****
Night was coming on now. The other three Monkees had looked everywhere they had been able to think of. They had even appealed to the police, only to be told that nothing could be done until Peter was missing for at least twenty-four hours.
All of them had been indignant. “Twenty-four hours? Man, we’re hoping to find him by then!” Mike had cried. “But I guess you fellas won’t be helping with that, will you?”
At last, in dejected desperation they drove back to the Pad in the hopes that Peter had returned. But the beachhouse was in darkness.
Davy slumped back against the seat. “Well, unless he’s sittin’ in the dark, he hasn’t come back,” he lamented.
“Man, what are we going to do?” Micky wondered, staring gloomily at their home. The thought of giving up the search and going inside was too discouraging to bear. Then he would have to face the mess in the living room again, too, and remember all too acutely how it had got there. And he would have to wonder if Peter was ever coming home.
When Peter had been missing at the Remington Clinic, Micky had been afraid that their enemies had already found Peter and killed him. He had not wanted to carry false hope of discovering Peter alive if that was the case. This time, there was really no reason why Peter should not still be alive. Micky did not want to throw in the towel.
Mike started to get out. “There’s no harm in checking inside, as long as we’re here,” he said. “Maybe he really is sitting in the dark. But if he’s not, then I guess we’d better head out again. There must be a lot of places we haven’t thought to check yet.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Mike,” Micky consented. He jumped over the top of the door and to the ground.
It was when Davy was getting out that another car’s headlights suddenly drew near, illuminating the scene. He looked over, shielding his eyes from the glare in confused surprise. “Hey, what’s all this?” he demanded.
Mike and Micky also turned to look. As they observed, the car parked and the door started to open. For some reason, they found themselves tensing.
“You guys,” a voice called out of the night. “Come with me.”
Davy frowned. “I know that voice,” he said, taking a few tentative steps forward.
“So do I,” Micky said. “You’re not Mr. Babbit’s lawyer with dispossess papers, are you?”
“Look, no funny stuff.” Now he sounded annoyed. “Bring your own car and follow me. I know where your friend is.”
All three of the Monkees began to exclaim at once.
“You do?!”
“Where is he? Where is he?!”
“Is he okay?!”
“He doesn’t remember anything,” their visitor returned. “He thinks you’re a gangster.” He indicated Micky, who stared in shock.
“What?! Me, a gangster?! But I . . .” Suddenly it dawned on him and his stomach dropped. “Oh no. Baby Face? Peter met up with Baby Face?!” He felt sick. “Could this day get any worse?”
“Yeah. We’re in the middle of a war with a rival gang.”
Mike cringed. “You should never ask how it could get worse, shotgun,” he said.
“You’re right, Mike.” Micky sighed. “Okay, Tony, take us to Peter.”
Tony started to get back into his car. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “Your friend said he won’t leave Baby Face until he can convince him to give up crime.”
Davy made the “Oh!” gulp.
“And he’s still alive?!” Micky gasped.
“Yeah. Baby Face sent me to get you. You know how he is with his temper. I wouldn’t waste any time.” Tony slammed the door and started the engine, beginning to back away from the beachhouse to allow the Monkees room to turn their car around.
Mike swung his hands together, far more disturbed and worried than he was letting on. “Well, in light of these new facts, I’d say we’d . . . we’d better get going right now,” he said.
Davy and Micky both nodded, hurrying to their car.
Oh, and since I saw it said new tags are for canon characters only, does that mean oneshot episode characters are fair game? Or does the new tags thing only apply to pairings?
Title: Not Your Stepping Stone
Author: insaneladybug/Lucky_Ladybug
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Peter is struck with amnesia during a goof-off session with Micky and turns distrusting. The situation only gets worse when he wanders off and runs into Micky's double, Baby Face Morales.
Warnings: Violence, Guns, Gangsters, Angst
Genre: Drama, Action
Pairing: None
OR if there is NO pairing:
Main Character(s): Micky, Peter, Baby Face Morales, Tony Ferano
The Monkees
Not Your Stepping Stone
By Lucky_Ladybug
Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! This is something I’ve wanted to write for quite a while. The idea was sparked by the amnesia scene in The Case of the Missing Monkee. I noticed that Peter seemed to be slightly colder towards Micky than the others and I wanted to explore that concept a bit. Peter’s expression when Micky suddenly bursts out in hyperactive taunting at the villains in The Prince and the Paupers was an inspiration too, as well as Peter’s discouragement in The Audition (Find the Monkees). This is being written for the theme Found the dark in you at 31 Days on Livejournal. This takes place after the other stories I’ve written that feature The Monkees encountering Baby Face and his gang again, but they don’t need to be read to understand this. Thanks to Crystal for plot help!
It was a basically quiet day at the Monkees’ Pad. Mike and Davy had gone to take care of the grocery shopping with their limited funds. Micky had slept late and Peter had not felt like going, so they had been left home with Mr. Schneider.
Peter sighed to himself as he came down the stairs. It had been a while since they had had a gig, which was unfortunately usual. But there had been a much longer amount of time without a job than was usual. Considering how difficult it was for many people to find work these days, he was starting to wonder if they would ever be needed again.
That was the main reason for his current, disconsolate state of mind. He had felt increasingly depressed the longer this went on, and being an emotional person, it had been impossible for him to hide his feelings. All of the others had noticed and were concerned.
Peter was generally cheerful and did not at all mind the nonsense that took place in the Pad. He was usually an active participant. But sometimes enough was enough, especially from Micky, who would sometimes burst into hyperactivity without any warning. Peter had grown tired of the randomness for the time being and was not currently interested in participating.
Maybe, if Micky actually was doing it more of late and it was not just in Peter’s mind, it was his way of dealing with the stretch of unemployment. It had been affecting all of them. But that did not change that the boisterous behavior was rubbing Peter the wrong way right now.
“Is there anything good on TV tonight?” he wondered, coming to sit near Micky on the couch.
Micky flipped through the newspaper. “Nah, unless you want to brave the paranormal and the world of cheesy, bad B movies to watch Curse of the Werewolf, Part 11!”
Peter shook his head. “I’ll pass.”
Micky was already on a roll. He set the paper aside and took off his reading glasses, leaning forward in the chair. “The hapless victim is running through a field, trying to get undercover before the dreaded time arrives. But the clouds step aside and the full moon is there in all its brightness, shining down on him. And then, it happens! The transformation begins!”
Peter sighed. “Here we go again,” he mumbled to himself.
Micky jumped up, writhing in pretended agony. “He tries to fight it. He tries in desperate . . . uh, desperation to stay human. But it’s no use!” His face twisted in a grotesque manner. “He’s overcome by the curse of the werewolf. All human thoughts are gone. Now all he can think of is carnage and killing and murder and other bad stuff!”
He let out an ear-piercing howl as he lunged at Peter, who just turned away. “Come on, Mick, I just don’t feel like it now,” he said.
Micky backed off, surprised and a bit hurt. “Oh,” he said. “I’m . . . sorry, Pete.”
Now Peter felt bad. Micky was a naturally cheery person, not to mention one of Peter’s closest friends. The last thing Peter wanted was to bruise his feelings. “I’m sorry, Micky,” he said, turning back to face the other boy. “I shouldn’t have said that. I guess I haven’t been feeling like being crazy for a while now.”
Micky sat down next to him. “I’ve noticed that,” he said. “Actually, all of us have.” He sighed. “I guess I just thought if I could get you laughing and happy again, you’d feel better, you know? I didn’t mean to make it worse.” He gave a helpless shrug. “Goofing off like that . . . it’s the only approach I really know. And when I get worried I fall back on the jokes and stuff even more.”
Peter frowned. “And . . . and that’s why you’ve been acting sillier more often than usual lately?” he asked. “You’ve been worried about me?”
“Well . . . yeah,” Micky said. “I don’t like seeing you so down. It’s not right.” He stared at the floor. “I don’t know. . . . Maybe if you tried playing along, just for a few minutes, it’d help. You could blow off steam or something.”
“Blow off steam?” Peter repeated, blankly. He was envisioning himself literally blowing steam out of his mouth to the sound of a train whistle.
Micky slapped his forehead. “No, not like that!” he exclaimed. “Like . . . being able to let out all of your frustrations and feel better.”
“Oh.” Peter smiled, making a decision. “Okay, let’s try it!”
Micky grinned. “Great! Alright, the werewolf was lunging at you! Grrr!” He howled again and clawed at Peter, who leaped up with a frightened cry. Micky gave chase, and as they fled around the living room, it soon became a disaster area as furniture sprawled and toppled.
Peter found himself grinning as they tore up and down, around and around. This did feel good. It had been so long since he had immersed himself in a rambunctious romp like this. He had forgotten the sheer freedom and joy of it.
“Hey, Micky!” he started to call over his shoulder. “You’re right-this does feel . . .”
But he was not watching where he was going. Suddenly he tripped on the telephone cord and went down with a surprised yelp. The game-and Micky-ground to a halt. Micky looked down at him in concern.
“Peter!” Micky exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
Peter pushed himself up, rubbing his head. He frowned at Micky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he declared. “What am I doing on the floor?”
Micky blinked in confusion. “You tripped on the phone cord,” he said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Peter objected. “Why would I do a dumb thing like that?”
“It was an accident!” Micky told him. “We were running around being silly and . . .” He trailed off. “Pete, are you sure you’re okay?”
“And don’t address me so familiarly!” Peter retorted. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
Now Micky’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. He stammered wordlessly, staring at the blond Monkee in disbelief.
“You’ve got amnesia?” he finally managed to choke out. “But . . . but you were fine just a minute ago! You must’ve hit your head and . . .” He shook his head, overwhelmed. “This is my fault,” he berated. “If I hadn’t been chasing you . . .”
“You were chasing me?!” Peter interrupted. “Why?!”
“It was just a silly game!” Micky cried. “We play silly games like that sometimes, because we’re Monkees, and Monkees are fun-loving and . . .”
“Monkeys?” Peter repeated. He stumbled to his feet, backing away from Micky. “We’re both human beings! Hold on, I’m going to call in help for you right now.” He grabbed the telephone receiver. “Operator, get me the nearest psychiatrist. And hurry! This man is in bad shape.”
Micky snatched the receiver away. “No!” he burst out. “Not that kind of monkey. The kind of Monkee that sings! You know, Here we come, walkin’ down the street . . . !” He gripped the phone as he sang, his knuckles turning white. All thoughts of hanging it up were in the furthest corners of his mind. Peter didn’t remember anything. That was clear from his blank, unimpressed expression. And Micky was bowled over by the enormity of this disaster.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said.
At that moment the door opened and Mike and Davy entered, each holding a bag of groceries.
“Well, here we are,” Mike called. “We just got the bare essentials, but it should tide us over for a little while anyway.”
Davy barely heard. He was staring at the upturned living room in stunned shock. “Micky! Peter! What’ve you been doing to the Pad?!” he exclaimed.
Fully focusing on the mess, Mike’s eyes bugged out. “For crying out loud, you two! You’re lucky the landlord didn’t hear all the noise when you were wrecking the place!”
“Oh . . . he’s visiting his sister,” Micky said meekly. “But Mike, Davy . . . something happened that’s a lot worse than just this mess. . . .”
Mike was not listening. “Peter, you’re awfully quiet,” he said as he picked his way through the cyclone and to the miraculously still-standing table.
“Why does everyone keep calling me Peter?” Peter frowned. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
Davy nearly dropped his sack. “Peter, what’s happened to you?!” he cried. Setting the groceries on Mr. Schneider’s lap, he hurried over to the blond Monkee.
Peter gazed down at him. “I’ve never seen you either, or him,” he added, looking to Mike.
Micky swallowed hard. “I was trying to tell you guys. Peter’s got amnesia.”
“What?!” Mike gasped.
“How’d it happen?!” Davy demanded.
Micky’s shoulders slumped. “He tripped and hit his head or something when we were running around being silly. It’s all my fault.”
“Now, you couldn’t have known something like this would happen,” Davy said.
“That’s right,” Mike said. He came over to them, studying Peter’s eyes. “But maybe Peter here has a concussion. We might need to call a doctor.”
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” Peter said.
He looked around the room. “Do we really all live here?” he wondered.
“Well, yeah,” Mike said.
“It’s kind of small, isn’t it?” Peter said.
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” said Davy. “It’s got a cozy atmosphere to it.”
“It’s suited us fine,” Mike agreed.
“That’s good,” Peter said, but he sounded vague. He wandered over to the front door and looked out through the peephole.
Micky hurried after him. “Hey, Pete, maybe you should lie down or something,” he said. “I mean, after getting hurt and all . . .”
Peter turned to face him, frowning a bit. “I don’t need your advice. Don’t you know who I am?” He blinked, suddenly puzzled. “Wait, who am I?”
“Oh, Peter.” Davy sighed, coming over to them.
“This is just like it was after that crazy doctor made Peter forget everything,” Mike frowned.
“But that was a shock to the nervous system,” Micky said. “I guess trying to scare Peter’s memory back wouldn’t work this time.”
“It couldn’t hurt to try,” Mike said.
Peter was already tuning them out, instead moving to open the door. The other three Monkees nodded to each other and leaped forward without warning, yelling, “BOO!” in unison.
Peter jumped a mile. He whirled around, his eyes wide as he held a hand over his heart. “What kind of sick joke are you trying to play?!” he cried. “I’m innocent! At least, I think I’m innocent. . . .”
Micky, who had felt ever so slightly hopeful, now turned dejected. “We’re sorry, Peter,” he said. “We were just trying to help you get your memory back.”
“I can get help like this from my enemies!” Peter retorted. “And since I don’t remember any of you, I don’t know but what you are. Especially since you say this happened because I tripped when you were chasing me.” He looked to Micky.
Micky flinched and stared at him, clearly crushed. “But . . . Pete . . . I was just . . .”
Peter turned and opened the door. “And if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to take a walk,” he said. “Don’t wait up for me; I don’t know if I’ll be coming back.”
“Oh come off it, Peter, you have to come back!” Davy exclaimed, hurrying to the doorway with him.
“Why?” Peter frowned.
“Because you don’t have anywhere else to go!” Davy said. “And you don’t have any money for food!”
Peter checked his pockets. “You’ve got a point,” he said. “Okay, I’ll come back.” He walked out, shutting the door behind him.
Mike frowned, opening the peephole to watch him go. “I don’t like this, guys,” he said. “He shouldn’t be wandering all over the place in his condition.”
“We’d better follow him,” Davy determined.
Micky turned away. “You guys go,” he said quietly. “I’ll . . . stay here and put the groceries away.”
“What?!” Mike looked to him in shock.
“Now wait just a minute,” Davy said. “You’re just as worried about Peter as the rest of us, Micky. Why won’t you come?”
“Oh, I’ll probably make everything worse,” Micky said. “You know me, Calamity Dolenz. Want a disaster? I’m your man!” He righted a lamp and maneuvered his way to the fridge. Opening it, he began to put items from Mike’s shopping bag on the shelves.
“Oh Micky, don’t talk like that!” Davy exclaimed. “You’re not a calamity or a disaster.”
Mike nodded. “You’re just . . . overly enthusiastic sometimes. And right now you’re not in any shape to be doing this.” He walked over and reached into the fridge, pointedly lifting out a roll of paper towel.
Micky glowered at it. “Man, you see? I can’t get anything done right!” he burst out.
“It’s not that, Mick. You’re just upset.” Mike removed several other non-food items, setting them on the table. “Did something go on here that you didn’t tell us?”
Micky averted his gaze.
“That’s a Yes then,” Mike said.
“As much as I’d like to offer my sincere support, maybe I’d better follow Peter while you two have a heart-to-heart,” Davy interjected.
“Yeah,” Micky said instantly. “You do that, Davy. I don’t want Peter to get lost because of me.”
Davy hurried out the door, puzzled and concerned for both Peter and Micky. From what he could gather, there was a great deal wrong under the surface as well as what they could see. And that was a huge worry.
Mike watched as Micky dug deeper into the grocery bag and found some things that belonged in the fridge. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?” he asked as the drummer walked past, his arms loaded with food.
Micky dumped everything onto the shelf and then began to sort through it. “You know how Peter’s been so gloomy lately, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike nodded. “I guess all of us’ve been pretty down, with the lack of work and all.”
“And I just wanted to cheer him-and well, all of us-up. So I’ve been doing more of my shtick. Impressions, jokes, random silliness, the works.” Micky finished arranging the food and took the milk as Mike brought it over from the other sack. “And I guess I’ve been overdoing it and Peter was bugged.” He straightened, closing the fridge. “We had a talk and I convinced him that maybe he’d feel better if we goofed off for a few minutes.”
“And that’s how the living room got wrecked,” Mike surmised.
“Yeah. I thought Peter was enjoying it. But then he tripped and said he didn’t remember anything and . . .” Micky shook his head. “It’s just a big mess.”
“Now, Micky, you didn’t know anything was going to go wrong.” Mike laid a hand on his shoulder. “You were just trying to help. And I’m sure Peter-the real Peter, deep down-appreciates that.”
Micky looked at him with woebegone eyes. “But . . . what if we never get him back?”
“We’ll get him back,” Mike replied firmly. “Don’t you worry about that. There has to be a way.” He stepped back. “How about we go join Davy in looking for Peter? Maybe his memory will start coming back as he’s walking.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Micky did not sound too hopeful, but he walked to the door. “I guess we can pick up all this stuff when we get back.”
Mike nodded. “Sure thing. It can keep till then.”
****
Davy had managed to keep track of Peter for a while. Peter had walked at an average pace, not seeming to be affected by the bump he had taken to his head. Davy had followed unnoticed, and had thought and hoped that things would continue to be that easy. But once they got into the heart of town and the crowds began to thicken, the bass player soon vanished. Never having realizing that someone had been following him, Peter continued to roam the streets, not sure where he was going or when he was going to head back.
He really wanted to grab at his hair and cry out in frustration. Why couldn’t he remember anything? Had those guys really been telling the truth, that he belonged with them? Why did he just feel blank inside when he looked at them? Shouldn’t he feel some kind of connection or positive feeling or something, anything?
Well, if he was honest with himself, he supposed he had felt something when the one guy, the one they called Micky, had looked at him so stunned and as though he had been seriously, emotionally wounded. That bothered him more as he continued to think about it. What if he and those others really had just been trying to help him? Maybe he should give them another chance and go back now.
Yes, that was what he should do. Everyone deserved a second chance.
He was starting to turn around when a nearby person caught his eye. As he stepped closer for a better look he stared in shock. There was Micky now! And he was holding a gun.
Peter gasped, a hand flying to his mouth. Had he been right to not trust that guy? He tried to inch close enough to hear what Micky was saying to another guy standing near him.
“That’ll teach him to mess with us.” Micky called the “him” a foul name and stuck the gun inside his jacket. Instead of the more light, cheery tones from before, he was speaking in a low, gravelly voice.
“He’ll be back.” The other guy sounded like he was from New York. And he did not look impressed by whatever the gunman had done. “Look, Baby Face, we’re standing out in the open. We’re vulnerable like this.”
“Tony, Tony, you worry too much. No one’s around.” Micky, or Baby Face, or whatever his name was, pushed up his fedora hat. “Now come on. Vince and Harry are waiting.”
Tony started to walk over but then stopped, looking around with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know, Baby Face. I get the feeling we’re being watched right now.” He reached for his own gun. “The pickup tonight isn’t going to go well if this is what’s going on already.”
Suddenly outrage and indignation filled Peter’s heart. He stepped into full view of the duo. “You most certainly are being watched!” he cried.
Both men stared at him in shock. “You?!” Baby Face exclaimed. “What the heck?”
“That’s right, it’s me!” Peter declared. “I knew there was something I didn’t like about you. Now I know what it is. You’re leading a double life! While you pretend to be cheery and kind and helpful, behind everyone’s back you’re a . . . a criminal!”
Tony gawked. “What’s he talking about?”
“Something isn’t right here,” Baby Face growled. He glowered at Peter. “Just what are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to be friends with a criminal!” Peter shot back. “What about Mike and Davy? Are they in on this too?”
“Mike and Davy?!” Baby Face’s expression only darkened. “What’s the matter with you? You’re talking like I’m that idiot Micky Dolenz.”
“You can’t fool me, Micky.” Peter refused to back down. “Now I know your secret!”
Tony just kept staring. “He’s out of his head. What are we going to do with him?”
“What I’d like to do and what I’m going to do are two different things,” Baby Face growled. He took out his gun and pointed it at Peter. “I’m only going to tell you this once. Get lost!”
“You don’t scare me!” Peter retorted.
“Look, don’t try my patience,” Baby Face snapped. “You’re just lucky I’m feeling generous today.”
Without warning, machine gunfire rained in their direction from across the street. Baby Face looked up with a start, swearing vilely at the unwelcome interruption. For now they had no choice but to run into the nearest building for cover, a frightened Peter in tow.
“What’d you do, Micky?!” Peter yelled as they tore inside. “You’ve got them really mad!”
“I’m not Micky!” Baby Face roared. “And we’re completely unprepared for this.” He looked to Tony. “Where’s the machine gun?”
“It’s in the car,” Tony told him. “We weren’t supposed to need it for the meeting. Remember?” He had wanted to bring it, but Baby Face had felt it would not be necessary. And although Tony had always refused to blindly follow Baby Face without will or opinion of his own, he usually let Baby Face have his way, unless he had a particular reason for feeling that it would not be wise.
Of course, Baby Face had either forgotten or chose to ignore the fact that he himself had not wanted the machine gun out. “Oh, well, that’s a big help,” he muttered. He looked like he wanted to physically assault Tony for the oversight, but there were other, more pressing matters at the forefront of his mind. “Alright, we’ve got no choice-we’re just gonna have to wait ’em out.”
Above them, bullets peppered the old windows. Glass and lead flew in all directions as the trio tried to shield themselves. Other bullets pounded into the walls. Baby Face grabbed both of the others, dragging them to lie flat on the floor. The fury in his eyes at not being able to fight back was frightening for anyone unlucky enough to be near him.
Then it was over. Slowly Baby Face rose, peering through one of the new Swiss cheese holes in the wall. There was no sign of the other gang. He drew his gun as he knelt on the floor. Poking the barrel through the opening, he fired an exploratory shot. No gunfire answered him.
“Okay, get up!” he snarled at Tony and Peter. “They’ve scrammed.”
“And that’s what you’d better do yourself,” Tony said, glaring at Peter.
Peter rose as well, crossing his arms as he glowered at the gangsters. “I’m completely disappointed in you, Micky,” he declared. “I don’t know what would be worse-for Mike and Davy to be in on this or for them to not know what’s going on with you at all.”
“Maybe they’re in the other gang,” Baby Face growled sarcastically.
Peter’s eyes widened. “What?!” He stared at the ceiling, anguish and devastation that he did not even fully understand sweeping over him at the thought. “Then . . . then I really don’t have anywhere to go! I can’t live with criminals!”
“Shut up!” Baby Face yelled as he stood. Broken glass crunched under his shoes. “You don’t remember anything. You could even be a crook yourself, for all you know.”
“Baby Face, you’re making it worse,” Tony said in frustration. “This guy takes everything literally, even when he doesn’t remember!”
Indeed, Peter could not be more wounded now than if Baby Face had shot him with the gun. “I’m a criminal too?!” he wailed, whirling back to face Baby Face. “Oh Micky, say it isn’t so! Please!”
“Fine! It ain’t so!” Baby Face retorted. “Now come on.” He gestured with his gun. “We’re going out the back way. From there, you’re on your own.”
Peter swallowed hard but obeyed, following the two crooks around old crates, through the warehouse, and to the back door.
Baby Face eased it open, keeping his gun ready in case of attack. But upon seeing nothing suspicious he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped out. The others followed, continuing to flank him as he led the way to the old tan Pontiac. After making sure the machine gun was still in the back, he pulled open the front passenger door and started to get in.
“Get lost,” he ordered Peter. “I’m not gonna look after you.”
“You can’t do this to me!” Peter cried. “I need love and understanding! . . . Wait, what’s that from?” He frowned in confusion. “And that’s the second time you’ve told me to get lost. You said you wouldn’t say it again.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Baby Face started to slam the door. “Tony, get in now!”
Tony was just opening the driver’s door when a bullet sailed past his ear. He looked up with a start. The source was unseen, but for it to be so close there had to be a sniper on the warehouse roof. He did not even have a chance to call out a warning before bullets were flying from across the way as well.
Baby Face swore. “They’re still after us!” he yelled. “We’re sitting ducks here. Let’s go already!”
Tony dove into the driver’s seat and started the engine in almost the same movement. As he sped off, Baby Face slammed hard into the passenger seat. “Watch it!” he snapped.
“You watch it,” Tony retorted. “I’m not slowing down for anything right now.”
Baby Face rolled down the window just enough to point the barrel of his gun outside and fire two warning shots. He was sure he would not hit anyone at this distance, but the meaning should be clear to the snipers. This was not over. He was not going to lie down and be submissive to his enemies.
By the time they made it out of the firing zone, the old car had received more than a few dents, nicks, and a shattered back windshield. They would be easy enough to replace, but Baby Face was annoyed by the battle damage anyway. As they finally pulled in at their current hideout-another warehouse farther away-he was in a very bad mood.
“Get the gang together,” he growled as Tony turned off the engine. “We’re gonna be havin’ company tonight. And if they don’t show, we’ll go crash their party.”
“A party?!” exclaimed an unwelcome voice.
Both Baby Face and Tony turned in stunned disbelief as Peter rose from the floor in the back. He looked innocent and hopeful in spite of his current memory loss. “I love parties! What kind of refreshments are we having?”
Baby Face slumped into the seat, clawing his fedora over his eyes in aggravation.
****
By now Davy was in a state of panic. In spite of all his efforts he had not been able to find any trace of Peter after losing him in the crowd. And running blindly over blocks of houses and businesses calling for the amnesiac Monkee accomplished nothing. That did not, however, stop him from continuing to do exactly that.
“Peter!” he cried, frantically looking both ways before running around a corner. “Peter!” He promptly banged into someone coming from the other direction and they both went sprawling on the sidewalk.
“Ow! Hey, watch it, man,” groaned a familiar voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Micky,” mumbled Davy, without really realizing what he had said. Then it hit him and he stiffened. “Micky!”
He looked up. Micky was sitting down on the sidewalk, looking disgruntled. Mike was standing a short ways behind him, shaking his head as he studied the scene.
Micky sighed. “It’s okay, Davy. But why are you running around calling for Peter? He’s not supposed to know you’re here.”
“And I don’t know where Peter is!” Davy cried. “I was doin’ just fine until we got to town. Then he disappeared!”
Mike cringed. “So now we’ve got a Monkee wandering around town who doesn’t remember a thing and thinks we’re all his enemies,” he said.
“That’s about the size of it, Mike,” Davy said. “I’m sorry. Now I’m the one messin’ things up.”
“It’s not your fault, Davy,” Micky said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You tried.” He started to get up. “And we’re all going to have to keep trying. We won’t give up until we find Peter.”
“That’s the spirit!” Mike encouraged. He gave Micky a pointed look. If it was not Davy’s fault, couldn’t he see that he was not to blame, either?
Micky felt Mike’s gaze and looked over at their leader. He sensed what Mike was saying but looked away, not sure how to respond. It was easy to feel like a friend was not at fault. It was a lot harder to feel that way about himself.
Mike sighed in temporary defeat. “Well, I agree with this searching for Peter and all,” he said, “but let’s take the car from here on out. It’ll be a lot faster.”
“That’s a great idea, Mike!” Micky proclaimed. He made a beeline for the car, Davy hot on his heels.
Mike strolled over at an easy pace. He had to hope Peter would be more willing to listen once they found him. If he wasn’t, well . . . then Mike was at a loss too.
****
Baby Face was fit to be tied.
Tony, Vince, and Harry watched as he paced the floor of their current hideout like a caged animal. None of them dared to so much as move an inch. Peter stood behind Tony, bewildered.
“What’s wrong with Micky?” he asked.
“Shh!” the three gangsters scolded, not even bothering to correct him on the mistaken identity problem.
Peter rocked back. “It was just a question,” he said. “I mean, I know I wasn’t supposed to come along, but they were shooting and I didn’t want to die and I thought I could just get in the car too and . . .”
Baby Face stopped paced and glared daggers at Peter. “You wanna know what’s wrong?” he said. Peter nodded. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Some dirty rotten rat decided to double-cross us on our last diamond pickup. His lackey pretended he didn’t know a thing about it. They’re probably going to mess up the new pickup date tonight.
“A bunch of his friends started shooting at us when we didn’t have the ammunition to fight back. He probably put them up to it!”
He advanced as he spoke. When he reached the group, Tony and Vince stepped aside to allow him to get up in Peter’s face. “And on top of all that, now I’m stuck with an idiot who thinks I’m one of his idiot friends!”
Peter was unfazed. “Oh. That really does sound like a lot of problems. But you wouldn’t be having them if you weren’t trying to be a criminal.”
Baby Face drew his gun and held it at Peter’s throat. “I’m not ‘trying’ to be a criminal,” he growled. “I am a criminal. Do you know what the police call me?” Peter shook his head. “The most vicious killer in America. Do you really want to rub me the wrong way?”
Again Peter shook his head. “Certainly not. Just tell me the right way, Micky, and I’ll do that instead. I’m going to stay right here until I can convince you to give up your life of crime for something better and more rewarding.”
Tony could practically see the vein popping on Baby Face’s forehead. It would not have surprised him if the mobster had shot Peter then and there. But Baby Face spun around, his knuckles white as he clutched the semi-automatic weapon.
“Tony, get a message to Dolenz,” he ordered. “Tell him to come get his friend. Now.”
Tony stared at him in shock. “But Baby Face . . .”
“NOW!” Baby Face screamed.
Tony flinched. “Okay, I’m going.” He turned, walking past the bewildered gangsters.
“Uh, Baby Face, wouldn’t it be easier to just kill him?” Vince spoke.
Baby Face glared at him, the fire burning in his eyes. “Are you questioning me, Vince?” he said. His voice was perfectly calm, which they all knew from experience was more dangerous than if he was yelling. Tony paused just out of sight in the shadows, looking back with a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and dread.
Vince looked nervous now. “N-No, Baby Face, I’m not questioning you,” he stammered.
“Good,” Baby Face said. He stepped closer, the gun trained right at the big man. “You know how much I hate being questioned.”
“I do,” Vince said. “I really do, Baby Face!”
Satisfied, Baby Face stepped back. Tony slipped out the nearest door.
****
Night was coming on now. The other three Monkees had looked everywhere they had been able to think of. They had even appealed to the police, only to be told that nothing could be done until Peter was missing for at least twenty-four hours.
All of them had been indignant. “Twenty-four hours? Man, we’re hoping to find him by then!” Mike had cried. “But I guess you fellas won’t be helping with that, will you?”
At last, in dejected desperation they drove back to the Pad in the hopes that Peter had returned. But the beachhouse was in darkness.
Davy slumped back against the seat. “Well, unless he’s sittin’ in the dark, he hasn’t come back,” he lamented.
“Man, what are we going to do?” Micky wondered, staring gloomily at their home. The thought of giving up the search and going inside was too discouraging to bear. Then he would have to face the mess in the living room again, too, and remember all too acutely how it had got there. And he would have to wonder if Peter was ever coming home.
When Peter had been missing at the Remington Clinic, Micky had been afraid that their enemies had already found Peter and killed him. He had not wanted to carry false hope of discovering Peter alive if that was the case. This time, there was really no reason why Peter should not still be alive. Micky did not want to throw in the towel.
Mike started to get out. “There’s no harm in checking inside, as long as we’re here,” he said. “Maybe he really is sitting in the dark. But if he’s not, then I guess we’d better head out again. There must be a lot of places we haven’t thought to check yet.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Mike,” Micky consented. He jumped over the top of the door and to the ground.
It was when Davy was getting out that another car’s headlights suddenly drew near, illuminating the scene. He looked over, shielding his eyes from the glare in confused surprise. “Hey, what’s all this?” he demanded.
Mike and Micky also turned to look. As they observed, the car parked and the door started to open. For some reason, they found themselves tensing.
“You guys,” a voice called out of the night. “Come with me.”
Davy frowned. “I know that voice,” he said, taking a few tentative steps forward.
“So do I,” Micky said. “You’re not Mr. Babbit’s lawyer with dispossess papers, are you?”
“Look, no funny stuff.” Now he sounded annoyed. “Bring your own car and follow me. I know where your friend is.”
All three of the Monkees began to exclaim at once.
“You do?!”
“Where is he? Where is he?!”
“Is he okay?!”
“He doesn’t remember anything,” their visitor returned. “He thinks you’re a gangster.” He indicated Micky, who stared in shock.
“What?! Me, a gangster?! But I . . .” Suddenly it dawned on him and his stomach dropped. “Oh no. Baby Face? Peter met up with Baby Face?!” He felt sick. “Could this day get any worse?”
“Yeah. We’re in the middle of a war with a rival gang.”
Mike cringed. “You should never ask how it could get worse, shotgun,” he said.
“You’re right, Mike.” Micky sighed. “Okay, Tony, take us to Peter.”
Tony started to get back into his car. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “Your friend said he won’t leave Baby Face until he can convince him to give up crime.”
Davy made the “Oh!” gulp.
“And he’s still alive?!” Micky gasped.
“Yeah. Baby Face sent me to get you. You know how he is with his temper. I wouldn’t waste any time.” Tony slammed the door and started the engine, beginning to back away from the beachhouse to allow the Monkees room to turn their car around.
Mike swung his hands together, far more disturbed and worried than he was letting on. “Well, in light of these new facts, I’d say we’d . . . we’d better get going right now,” he said.
Davy and Micky both nodded, hurrying to their car.