Chapter Four
“Micky, aren’t you finished yet?”
“Yeah, man, that thing’s gonna be a cinder at this rate!”
Gavin just chuckled at them. They’d been introduced to all the cast members except for Sirs Harold and Richard, who had been curiously absent that day. When the two had finally shown up the Monkees had already gone home to get clothing for the next day, as well as their uniforms and weapons. The quartet had returned just as the last of the crew was leaving, and Gavin admitted them, locking the doors firmly behind them.
Micky ignored them, turning the marshmallow in a slow circle. “It’s not my fault we only have one candle, now is it?”
“We couldn’t bring more candles, Micky,” Peter said. “We need to keep things dark and quiet.”
“If we have to be quiet, why did we bring him?” Davy asked, poking Micky in the side.
“I’ll be back,” Gavin said, sitting up and stretching. He looked up at the shadow, barely visible, moving silently back and forth on the catwalk like a panther.
Gavin climbed the steps and joined him. “Hi.”
Mike half turned, his hand gripping the sword on his hip. He certainly cut a different figure, the black of his uniform and hair blending him in with the shadows. “Hi.”
“Whoa. Hey, is that real?”
Mike nodded. “It’s as real as those props down there are unreal.”
“Ho-lee mackerel!”
“Are they behavin’ themselves down there?”
“Roasting marshmallows over a candle. How are things up here?”
“Quiet,” Mike said, scanning the empty room.
Gavin did the same, leaning on the rail. “Yeah. Gotta admit somethin’.”
“What’s that?”
“When Micky opened that door and I saw you inside—I thought I’d fallen down the rabbit hole!”
Mike smiled. “Feelin’s mutual.”
Gavin laughed. “They say everyone’s got a double.”
“Well, that means that you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
Gavin sighed. “Could be worse.”
“How?”
“You could be Gwen.”
Mike chuckled and shook his head. “Oh no. Not me. That privilege is all yours.”
Gavin gave a stage-bow. “And I am more than happy to uphold that fine tradition.”
Mike clapped him on the shoulder, laughing softly. “Better you than me.”
Another small bow, then Gavin looked down. “Lovely. Now they’re trying to smear the marshmallows in Micky’s hair.”
Mike sighed. “They’re so much like little kids sometimes.” A fond smile crossed his face. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
A marshmallow suddenly went splat against Gavin’s forehead. He sighed and wiped it off.
Mike’s grin grew. “I’ll have to teach you how to duck.” Another marshmallow came flying up at them; Mike took a step back, drawing his sword, slicing it neatly in two, and sheathing the blade again in one flawless movement.
Silence for a moment, then Gavin’s whispered, “Daaaaaamn . . . ”
Mike blushed a little. “Thanks. I don’t usually show off.”
“I’m glad you did!”
Mike looked up at the sound of a clatter. “What was that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Gavin, get back down there with the others. I’m gonna go check it out.”
Gavin nodded and bolted for the stairs, breathing hard when he reached the floor. “He heard something.”
The others were gone. The candle, marshmallows, and empty sleeping bags were the only indication that they’d been there. “Guys?” Gavin whispered, suddenly feeling very abandoned. The trees and houses weren’t inviting anymore—they loomed over him like threatening giants, with branches reaching out to swallow him up. There was a flash of movement to his left, then one to his right—he whirled around, trying to catch a glimpse.
“G-Guys? C-come on . . . ”
“Well, well. Gavin,” a voice purred from behind him.
He stiffened. “Who . . . ?” Hands grabbed him, slamming him face-first into the nearest set piece. “Now, now. It’d ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?” He grunted, the air forced from his lungs by the impact.
“So . . . who are the bodyguards you’ve hired?” the voice whispered.
“Friends.”
A fist hit him in the kidney. “Friends who?” the voice snarled. “You don’t have any friends.”
Gavin tried not to throw up from the pain. A hand—perhaps the one that had punched him—grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head back. “Here’s the deal, Gavin. Your pitiful little play is done for. Stay out of our way, and you’ll walk away unharmed. Interfere with us . . . and you won’t be the only one who gets hurt.” The hand gripped him tighter, slamming his head into the set piece. Two more blows—one to his ribs and another to the back of his thigh—and he was thrown to the ground. He laid there, panting for breath and barely daring to move.
“Gavin?” More hands touched him, but this time they were gentle.
“No! Let go!”
“Gavin, relax! It’s Peter! It’s okay—they’re gone!”
“Pe . . . Peter?”
“Yeah. It’s okay, just lay still and catch your breath. Where’d they hit you?”
Gavin described where, then what was said. Peter growled softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. Mike and Micky and Davy are off securing the building.”
Gavin nodded. “Oh man it hurts . . . ” Peter’s hand gently touched Gavin’s back where he’d been punched. He hissed in pain.
“Easy.” Peter’s voice was soothing as he gently traced along Gavin’s ribs. “They’re not broken, just bruised bad. Can you sit up?”
“Dunno, scared to try!”
Peter’s arm slid under him. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
“Gahh . . . ” he groaned, but he sat up.
A warm hand gently massaged his back. “Just take it easy. You’ll be okay in a few minutes.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve . . . had experience, you could say.” The soft baritone was slightly rueful.
“I don’t think I wanna know.”
“No, Gavin, you don’t.” Peter paused. “Feel any better?”
“No.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Bastards.”
“That about sums it up,” Micky said as he, Davy, and Mike wandered over to join them. “Add slippery, too—they skinned out on us.”
Gavin repeated the threats made to the play. “Oh, sure, let’s just take everything down and run home with our tails between our legs,” Mike snorted.
“Didn’t say I was,” Gavin growled back at him.
“Well we’re not either,” Peter said, glaring. “The Four Winds don’t surrender.”
“Neither does Princess Gwen.” Gavin smiled at him.
“Was anything destroyed?” Peter asked.
“No,” Mike said. “It’s the one break we caught.”
“So this was intimidation, not destruction?” Davy asked.
Mike frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I think they probably came to finish the job they started this afternoon and we foiled them. Or maybe,” he added, looking at Gavin, “they came here to deliver a message under the guise of destruction.”
Gavin sighed. “Hey, don’t worry,” Peter said. “We’re going to put on that play tomorrow come hell or high water.”
“Or both,” Micky quipped.
“Don’t,” Davy said coldly. “Way our luck’s run lately . . . just don’t.”
“Expecting a flood, are we?” Micky said with a wink. Davy rolled his eyes.
On to Chapter Five
Back to Chapter Three
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
