Mike caught Micky’s eye and nodded imperceptibly.
Mike carefully slid his hand behind his back and held out three fingers. His eyes darted back to the man holding Peter hostage. Millie still didn’t appear in the doorway.
“Shit,” the man breathed. “Where IS she?”
Good, Millie, just stay in there . . . Mike said, willing Millie to stay put. He glanced at Peter. Peter looked back at him. He looked more irritated than scared.
Wishing more than ever that he had telepathic abilities, Mike tried to gesture with his eyes. Behind his back he tucked one of his fingers down, leaving two. He felt Micky tense.
Was that a ghost of a smile on Peter’s face? Did he nod imperceptibly?
Mike glanced over at the man grinding his blade into Davy’s back; he was within kicking range. Folding down another finger, Mike prepared himself to move.
Peter closed his eyes and his entire body seemed to relax. Davy saw this and followed suit.
With a twitch Mike folded down the last finger and all hell broke loose. Micky’s hand snapped out, the star whizzing across the room to lodge itself firmly in the swordarm of Peter’s assailant. A sideways kick from Mike sent the man holding Davy sprawling, and as soon as Peter was on his feet the air was alive with the clangs of weapons and the grunts of bodies crashing into one another.
Thinking their gender would protect them, the women waded into the fray, only to be surprised by Davy’s arrow lodging in one woman’s shoulder and spinning her into the others. All three screamed as they went down, then one slid out and charged back in as the other one got her wounded comrade to the side.
Lost in the battle rage to which he’d become increasingly prone, Micky snapped his forearm out, clotheslining the woman and sending her slamming to the floor. He barely paused over her still form before whirling around, catching a man in the cheek and jaw with a backspin kick and having to suppress a shout of joy when he heard the crunch of bone shattering.
The man who’d held Peter hostage pulled his bleeding arm to his side and tried to sneak up on Micky’s left, going low and fast in the hopes of disabling the berserker and maybe still getting to Millie.
“Oh no you don’t!” Micky snarled, smashing his booted heel into the man’s ribs, knocking him to the floor and pinning him. The man struggled under his weight as Peter and Mike got the final attackers subdued and Davy walked over and retrieved his arrow.
“Look who’s cryin’, guess you lose,” Micky said.
“Let’s see who we’re dealin’ with,” Davy said as he pulled the scarf from the face of the woman he’d shot. “Figures. Clarice.”
Micky’s grin twisted. “Didn’t I tell you we were full of surprises, chick?”
“Go to hell,” she ground out.
“You first,” he said triumphantly.
The man below him growled, “You have no idea who you’re dealin’ with.”
“A bunch of losers who picked the wrong guys to mess with,” Davy said.
“Millicent belongs to us,” Clarice growled.
“Millie don’t belong to no one but herself,” Mike said, his voice quiet but with a razor sharp edge.
“She married into our Family,” a second man sighed, sitting up. “You don’t leave the Family.”
“Look, she doesn’t want to be a part of your dumb organization, okay!?” Micky snarled, his face flushing bright red. “She’s a poor old widow—don’t you have any shame picking on someone like that!?” Mike sidled a little closer, gently touching Micky’s arm. The drummer was already starting to lose what little control he had.
“She’s the widow of the best damn runner we ever had,” Clarice grunted. “We take care of our own.”
“What if she doesn’t want to be your own any more?” Peter asked.
“That’s not her choice,” the man formerly holding Peter hostage said, sighing.
Mike had a sudden idea. “What if Millie was to marry someone else? Someone not in the Mob? Would you leave her alone then?”
Eyes found eyes all across the room. “We’d . . . consider it. Consult about it.”
“Good. Then go consult,” Mike said, his tone severe. “If you come back you’ll never leave. You’ll have your answer from Millie in two days.”
Slowly, the man put his hand in underneath his shoulder. “Drawing a card with my phone number on it,” he said, his eyes on Mike’s as he did, indeed, draw just a card out.
Mike took it. “Fine. Get out.”
One by one, they climbed to their feet and lifted their wounded. One of the men turned, hand going quickly toward a knife at his belt. “No, we can win!” he howled.
Peter turned, shoving Mike out of harm’s way. The knife sliced deeply into his forearm, but he didn’t lose a beat as he drove the heel of his palm into the man’s Adam’s apple. The man went down, choking and spluttering.
Peter stood, his fists clenched. “Get out of our house,” he rumbled. Limping, they left in a silent, bedraggled line.
“Your arm!” Davy gasped.
Peter stumbled over to the kitchen table and sank down wearily. His face was chalk white as shock started to set in. Micky put his battle-honed energy to work getting bandages and quilts and binding Peter’s wounds.
“Peter?” Mike said, sitting down in front of the blond. Millie was temporarily forgotten. “Peter, talk to me.”
“It’s simple, Michael,” Peter said dully. “We have to get Larry to marry Millie.” Slowly, glazed eyes turned to him.
Micky shook his head. “But he’s so shy . . . ”
“It’s the only way. He likes her and she likes him . . . it’ll be a snap.” Peter mumbled, his eyes closing.
Mike and Davy carefully carried Peter to the downstairs bedroom. “Millie?” Mike called. “It’s us.”
Slowly the door opened.
“Can we come in?” Mike asked. “We gotta get Peter into bed.”
She opened the door fully. She was pale and trembling herself.
“It’s okay, Millie,” Micky said, his soft tenor soothing. “They’re gone.”
“I heard . . . ooh . . . ”
“We’re all right,” Davy was quick to soothe.
“The windows aren’t, but we are,” Micky said, turning to survey the damage.
Peter, his eyes fluttering open, started to chuckle. “This all started because Babbitt wanted the place kept neater . . . ” he giggled.
Micky started giggling helplessly. Millie began to smile, then to chuckle.
“You need rest, Peter,” Mike said.
“I’m fine,” Peter said, straightening and gently removing himself from Mike’s grip. “Really.”
“All right, Peter.” Mike turned his attention to the shattered windows. “Well, we got two days t’get the windows fixed and to get you hooked up with Larry, Millie,” he said.
She blushed. “I really like him. I hope it’s mutual.”
Davy snorted. “Hope, nothing! You saw the way he was looking at you!” He frowned in disgust at the damage.
“We’ll fix that too,” Mike said, looking around. “Now where’d we stash that broom?”
It took the Monkees nearly three hours to clean up the broken glass and put boards over the windows and wall. It was a miracle their instruments had survived.
“Not even a broken string,” Peter mused, smiling.
Mike cradled his twelve string. “Okay there, darlin’?” he murmured.
“My bird!” Millie gasped, seeing the thing at the bottom of the cage, split by glass.
“Hey, wasn’t that thing dead to begin with?” Davy hissed to Peter.
Peter hissed for him to be quiet.
Mike put his guitar aside and walked over to her. “I’m sorry, Millie.”
“It’s okay . . . it was Herman’s favorite pet.”
Mike stood awkwardly, not sure what to do.
She sighed. “Maybe it’s time to put him to rest.”
Mike reached up and gently pulled the cage down. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She took a deep breath. “The last few days, well . . . I do’nt think Herman would like me living in he past.”
Mike slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It’ll be okay, Millie.”
She leaned into the comfort for a second. “You’re a lot like Herman.”
Mike raised his eyebrows. “I am?”
“All of you are.”
Micky looked up. “We are?” He looked at Davy. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”
“I think it was meant to be one,” Davy smiled at Millie, who looked overwhelmed again. “It’s catching up to her.”
“C’mon, Millie. We’ll give Lewis a proper burial, and then we’ll invite Larry over for dinner,” Mike said, gently steering Millie to the door.
“Bury him at sea?” she mumbled. “Herman wanted to be buried at sea . . . ”
“Sure thing,” Mike said, gesturing over her shoulder for the other three to get the house ready for a visitor.
On to Nine
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