Chapter Three
The Monkees were gathered around the farmhouse’s small table, finishing up their second helpings of pie when the door opened, admitting the Creature from the Black Lagoon.
“Michael!” Kate screeched.
Peter shot to his feet. “What the—you’re filthy!”
“Thank you so much for noticing,” Mike said, leaning his staff on the wall.
Lucy leapt for the sink, filling it full and pulling down washcloths.
“You know, Mike, mud baths are good for the skin but this isn’t how they work,” Micky said.
Mike just smiled and placed his hand on Micky’s shoulder, smearing the drummer’s shirt with mud.
“Eeeewww . . . ” Micky grimaced, then did it again when a pat to the cheek smeared his flesh.
Davy keeled over, howling with laughter as he pointed at the pair. Mike leaned over, shaking his hair. Davy choked.
“Michael, are you hurt?” Kate said. “Who was it?”
Lucy was daubing his cheek with a rag. “Black Bart.”
“No, it was his men,” Mike said. “And no, I’m not hurt. They knocked me around a bit is all.”
“But you’re filthy!” Kate gasped out.
Mike lowered his eyes. “Yeah. They dumped water on me. To humiliate me.”
Peter was growling.
“Michael, you boys should go, really. Before you get hurt.” Kate wiped the dirt from Mike’s forehead, her eyes filled with tears.
“Kate, we’re not goin’ anywhere,” Mike said.
“We’re here to help,” Peter put in.
“Michael, go upstairs and get a shower. On the double,” Kate said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, trekking mud in his wake.
“I knew this would happen,” Kate said, returning to the kitchen. “I just knew it.”
“Kate,” Peter said softly. “I think you should go upstairs and help Mike. You know, find him some clean clothes and towels and things.”
Kate turned, nodding. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you, Peter.” She gathered up her skirts and hustled to the stairs, hiking up to the second floor. “Let’s get you to the bathroom and out of these muddy things!” she announced, following Mike down the hall. “Lucy!” she called. “Bring lots of towels!”
“Aunt Kate, you are not coming into the bathroom with me!” Mike said.
“Michael Nesmith, I ain’t gonna be seein’ any part of you I ain’t seen a thousand times before! March!” Mike grumbled all the way into the bathroom with the ornate porcelain sink and the huge claw-footed tub.
Kate followed and ordered, “Strip.”
Mike crossed his arms for a moment, then let them drop as he peeled his shirt off, revealing a chest that was a little broader and more muscled than it had been the last time he’d been in Texas. His shoulders, too, were more defined.
Kate’s eyes widened. She whistled. “California’s been good to you, boy.”
Mike smiled. “That’s not just California.”
“What else can it be?”
“Daily workouts, sparring sessions, exercise . . . ” He held up his right hand, curling it into a fist.
Kate let out a yelp and backed up. “Michael! Your hand!” she reached out and touched the ring finger, which lay as flat and deadly as the rest of them. “You had that surgery?” She turned the fist over. “I don’t see any scars.”
“It wasn’t surgery.”
“Nothing else could cure that hand.”
“The tea did.” Mike pulled off his belt. “I noticed it about a month later.”
“That tea again?” She filled the tub.
“Yes, Aunt Kate. How many times do I have to explain this?”
“I want you to come home, Michael. Stay home.”
“What, here?” Mike pulled off his shorts, quickly wrapping a towel around his waist.
“Yes. Stay here so you can get out of that insanity!”
“That insanity is my life, Kate. Maybe I don’t always like it, but I can’t just abandon my friends.”
“You were beat up tonight!”
“No I wasn’t,” Mike said.
“They attacked you!”
Mike gave Kate a stern look. “Better me than you or Lucy.”
“You got involved with it cause of this damned Eastern—”
“That has nothing to do with it!” Mike thundered. “That ‘damned Eastern stuff’ is the reason I’m standing here!”
“Bullshit!”
Mike voice softened as he told Kate about their trip to Mexico a few months back. “ . . . and if Micky hadn’t had his speed and agility I’d have been shot.” He looked at Kate, his solemn face suddenly looking much older. “I’d have been dead.”
She shook her head. “But don’t you see, Mike? Without those skills, this wouldn’t have happened at all! You’d be home, you’d be safe—”
“No, Kate. This stuff happened to us long before we got these skills. Now . . . we’re just better able to protect ourselves.”
She turned from him. “I’m afraid, Michael. That’s all. Just a silly old woman afraid for her nephew.”
He touched her shoulder. “I know. I get afraid for us sometimes too. But what we do is important, and . . . despite the danger I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”
“Not even for me?”
Mike shook his head. “Not even for you. I’m needed where I am.”
“And you came back here . . . now? We didn’t ask you to—”
“I know you didn’t.”
“But we’re in trouble . . . and here you come!”
Mike shrugged. “The back of my neck itched.”
Kate frowned. “The back . . . huh?”
“Our tattoos. They itch or wriggle when there’s danger,” Mike explained.
“But that’s . . . ” she stammered, even as she waved him toward the tub. “ . . . insane!”
“Yeah, it is,” he said, sinking into the warm water with a sigh.
Kate frowned. “You agree?”
Mike ducked his head under the water and came up sputtering. “I sure do.”
“But . . . oh, never mind. What use is arguing going to do?”
“None at all,” Mike said with a smirk.
“Nothing I say will break you out of this lifestyle, will it?”
“Nope. Not unless you tie me up and lock me in the basement. And even then I’d still escape.”
“I just want to protect you, you know.” Her voice was sad and tired as she gently touched the darkening bruise on his shoulders.
“I know, Kate. But I’m a grown man now. You gotta let me blow my own way now.”
She sighed, nodded, and left.
On to Chapter Four
Back to Chapter Two
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
