Chapter Seven
“Hey!” Micky hollered.
“Let him go!” Peter snarled.
The two men holding Mike moved, letting a shorter figure enter. “Now is that any way to treat a guest?” a deep voice purred.
“Zeckenbush,” Peter growled.
“Very good. Now. You have some property of mine that I’d like back.”
“No.”
“No?” Zeckenbush asked with the tone of someone unaccustomed to hearing the word.
“No.” Peter stepped forward. “You’re a cold-hearted son of a bitch and you will not get away with this.”
Zeckenbush snapped his fingers and one of his henchmen rammed his fist into Mike’s side. “Won’t I?”
Peter flinched. “No. you won’t. Because now you’ll have to keep watching your back.” Peter took the envelope and winked at Davy as he slid the evidence into his shirt before turning around again. “Leave Mike alone. Here’s your filthy property.” He threw the envelope at Zeckenbush, hitting him square in the chest.
Zeckenbush paused, flipping carefully through the envelope. “You forgot something.”
“You miscounted,” Davy shot back.
Zeckenbush glanced at one of his men, who wrenched Mike’s arm a little higher up behind his back.
“All right, all right!” Peter grumbled as he pulled the paper out and jammed it back into the envelope. “There!”
“Very good,” Zeckenbush said. “I’m still going to have to break your friend’s arm in return for breaking into my house, but at least you all will live.”
“He didn’t break into your house, I did,” Peter snarled.
“What makes you think I care?”
Peter stepped forward. “Break my arm. Break my face if you have to. But leave him alone.”
“Ah, nobility. Why weren’t you this noble when you decided to meddle in my affairs?”
“If you’d not messed with our freinds, we wouldn’t have meddled.”
“Friends?” Zeckenbush lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Ah, yes! The old folks!”
“Not so old,” came a male voice from above them.
Zeckenbush looked up. “Bennett. I do so hope you moved all your things out.”
He gave a closed-mouth smile. “Money’s everything with you, isn’t it?”
“Spoken like someone who has none, Bennett.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“Isn’t it? It’s power, Bennett—something you are far too cowardly to pursue.” He looked at the Monkees. “Have you been teaching these boys the same thing?”
Bennett chuckled as he came down the stairs. “Power isn’t wealth. They may be identical for awhile, but eventually they become mutually exclusive.”
“Mr. Bennett, please . . . get back upstairs, let us handle th—ow!” Mike cried as his arm was wrenched up further.
“There never were parking lots, were there?” Benentt asked Zeckenbush coldly. “You just wanted us gone.”
“And what if I did?” Zeckenbush replied smoothly. “It’s not as if any of you could stop me.”
Bennett shook his head. “I feel sorry for you, Zeckenbush.”
“And why is that? I’m not the one about to lose his house.”
There was movement on Zeckenbush’s left as Mike lunged, trying to break free. Davy dropkicked one of the men holding Mike, sending all three of them to the floor. Mike pulled away, scrambling for his weapon.
The downed man spied the gun on the table and lunged for it.
“Micky!” Peter shouted.
Micky jumped, snatching the gun away just as the man’s fingers grazed it.
The man growled and lunged for Micky, trying to hit him low and hard.
Micky aimed the gun at him, holding it with the nervousness of a novice. “Hold it right there!”
He laughed.
“Zeckenbush, these boys are more than a match for you,” Bennett said. “They won’t stop fighting you.”
Unnoticed by everyone except Bennett, Davy was easing toward the bay window.
Zeckenbush turned to Peter. “How much will it take for you all to go away?”
“Stop destroying houses. Build new ones for the people you’ve already displaced.”
Zeckenbush laughed. “I mean how much to keep you quiet?”
None of them answered.
“You think it’s about money?” Mike said, holding his elbow. “You’re even dumber than you look, then.”
“It’s not about money, it’s about people,” Peter added.
“You see, there you go again!” Zeckenbush snapped. “If people are the most important thing then why won’t they just give up their houses?”
Mike shared a look of disbelief with Peter, who shook his head.
Davy made it to the back door and slid out of the Pad.
“Zeckenbush, if you give up now I’ll call them off. You might escape a prison sentence—if you surrender to us and reimburse people for their lost houses,” Bennett said.
The Winds nodded.
Zeckenbush released a derisive snort.
Mike rolled his eyes.
They stood there, exchanging glares, realising they’d hit a stalemate. Neither one would budge from their positions.
Zeckenbush frowned as he studied them. “Wait a second . . . there were four young men earlier . . . ” He waved at one of his goons. “You! Go find the small one!”
The indicated goon began to search the house, none too gently. Twenty minutes later, he came back and shook his head.
“Imbecile!” Zeckenbush roared. “Can’t keep track of a child!”
Behind him the front door opened. “I’d watch who you call a child, Zeckenbush,” Davy’s unmistakable voice rang out.
Smiles began to spread across the other Monkees’ and Barnett’s faces. When Zeckenbush turned, he received a jolt.
Davy stood in the doorway, his face grim and his eyes flashing.
Standing by his side was a sleepy-eyed Mayor Motley.
On to Chapter Eight
Back to Chapter Six
Back to Secrets and Lies
