Mike turned, the mystery of his name finally solved as Peter hurled himself into Mike’s arms, sobbing.
“Mike! Where have you been? We thought we’d never see you again!” Peter held Mike at arm’s length, tightly grasping his arms as if afraid to let him go.
Peter.
The name clicked and the rest of the memories finally came surging back, snapping into place. He looked at the three others who stood nearby, their eyes wide and round with shock as they clung to each other.
“Hey guys,” he said.
“It is Mike,” Ella said. “No one else can understate like that.” She detached herself from Micky and Davy and advanced on Mike, throwing her arms around him in a very uncharacteristic show of affection. “We’ve missed you, Mike,” she said. Micky and Davy followed suit, and Peter tried to put his arms around all four of them. Though normally such a public display of affection would have made Mike very uncomfortable, at the moment he was just happy to have his friends back.
Moreover he was happy to have his life back.
~*~
As Mike finished his story he studied the faces of his friends. Micky, Davy, and Ella quivered with barely contained rage; Mike knew that if Will Fredricks were to walk in the door he would have been quickly ripped to pieces. Peter just sat, looking like a forlorn child as he tried to grasp everything that had happened.
Mike slumped back on the sofa and sighed. His eyes roamed about the Pad, taking everything in; he never thought he’d be so happy to see the beach house’s eclectic furnishings. Nevertheless, there was a part of him that missed the Barrett’s farmhouse.
“All right,” Ella said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “What do we do?”
“About what?” Mike asked.
She leveled a stern gaze at him. “About Will. He can’t be allowed to get away with this.”
Mike spread his calloused hands helplessly. “Yeah, but what can we do? You guys told me that the police found the car and my wallet and the keys with no fingerprints . . . it’d be my word against his.”
“Well . . . maybe we could get him to confess,” Peter said.
Davy, Mike, and Ella gave him doubtful, ‘oh Peter’ looks, but Micky stopped, his ample jaw dropping open.
“That’s it!” he shouted, sending Ella, who was perched on the arm of Peter’s chair, tumbling to the floor.
“Oh, sorry,” Micky said as she crawled to her feet.
“It’s okay, Micky,” she said. “So what’s ‘it’?”
Micky stood, pacing excitedly as he related his idea. “Will’s been showing up at every gig we’ve played--”
Mike’s eyes suddenly went wide. They’ve been playing gigs without me? He realized that Micky was still talking and reined his thoughts in.
“And he’s been lording your disappearance over us, Mike. I never thought about it before, but his behavior sure has been suspicious.”
“Yeah,” Davy said. “It has. So what do we do?”
Mike watched in mild astonishment as Ella, Peter, and Davy all looked to Micky. Since when do they look to Micky?
“Simple,” Micky said. “We spring Mike on him.”
“We what?” Mike said.
“Think about it, Mike. You are the last person he’ll expect to see--he thinks he got rid of you. So if you confront him maybe he’ll confess, and if we have the police there to get it on tape . . . ”
Ella whistled. “I love the way your mind works, Micky. Delightfully devious, I must say.”
Micky gave her an ‘it was nothing’ look. “Well, Mike? What do you think?”
“Well Mick, it’s your idea. Go for it.”
As Micky ran for the phone Mike turned to Ella. “When’s the next gig?”
“Tonight. Maybe you should go and get some rest,” she added as Mike stifled a yawn.
“You may be right,” he said, stumbling over to the stairs. Peter followed, carrying Mike’s bag. As he entered the bedroom his eyes widened slightly--his bed had been slept in. As Peter swept by him and began straightening the covers Mike looked down at Micky’s bed; as usual the blankets were a mess, but he noticed something very different--there was a nightgown on top of the bed.
He reached out and picked it up. “Since when does Micky wear girl’s nightgowns?”
Peter looked over his shoulder, puzzled. “Oh, that’s not Micky’s. That’s Ella’s.”
“Ella’s? You mean she’s been sleepin’ in here? With who?”
“With me,” Peter replied.
“With you?”
“Yeah.” Peter sat on the edge of Mike’s bed and stared at the floor. “When you were gone I had nightmares, and . . . Ella took care of me.”
Mike sat down next to his friend and gently touched Peter’s shoulder. “Listen, Peter . . . I know things have been hard for you guys, but . . . I just want you to know that I’m here and I’m not gonna leave you again, okay? And . . . it’s good that Ella was here to help you guys.”
Peter moved aside as Mike stretched out on his own bed, his eyes closing. He heard the bedroom door close quietly and sighed. Micky taking care of everyone, Ella drumming, the four of them playing gigs . . . Ella and Peter . . . am I gonna be able to fit back into this?
~*~
“Okay Mike, we’re all ready.”
Mike looked up as Peter approached, still not used to seeing his twelve-string hanging from the blond man’s shoulders. Beyond the edge of the stage curtain he could see Ella sitting behind the drums, idly thumping the tom tom and trying not to look anxious.
“Okay,” Micky said as he came up on Mike’s other side, “the police are sitting at that front table, Mike--there’s two of them. They have a tape recorder and there’s a few microphones set up--if Will talks above a whisper they’ll get it.”
“I don’t think talkin’ loud’ll be a problem for that creep,” Mike murmured. He peered around the curtain, his dark eyes alighting upon a staggering figure who had just entered the club.
Will.
On to Chapter Ten
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