Chapter Eight
The next afternoon Peter and Micky stood in Honeywell’s office. Micky chewed his nails while Peter paced, his arms crossed. They’d spent a long night huddled around the phone waiting for a call that hadn’t come. Now, they couldn’t help wondering if Honeywell had been conning them. Peter even said as much.
“If he is, I don’t care how many agents he has—I’ll kill him,” Micky growled.
“That won’t be necessary, Dolenz,” Honeywell said as he entered the room. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept either.
“If you’re not here to tell us you’ve found them, you can walk right back out,” Peter snarled.
“No, we haven’t found them,” Honeywell said, not bothering to follow Peter’s instructions. “But we know where they’re not.”
“Well, where are they not?” Peter moved to the map of the city behind Honeywell’s desk.
Honeywell unrolled a clear plastic sheet that he’d been carrying under his arm and laid it over the map. A spiderweb of red lines was superimposed over the streets. “This is a map of the routes covered by the buses that go to that stop, the one where you found the stars.”
Peter hissed softly. Behind him, Micky did the same. “Go on,” Micky urged in a low, dangerous voice.
“Now, based on the time frame you gave us, we know they went northwest. None of the buses within that time went in any other direction. Also, we found the driver of the bus we think your friends were on. He reported that about six or seven men got on, smelling of salt water.”
Micky met Peter’s eyes. “Rainwater.”
“No, more likely saltwater. We think they might be somewhere down near the docks. This is all highly speculative, gentlemen, but at the moment it’s all we have to go on.” Honeywell turned to look at Peter. His eyes were solemn and concerned. Peter met his eyes, then looked back at the map. He traced the stop they were at, moving his finger northwest. When it stopped, he turned to look at Micky.
The red line ended very near the docks.
“What if they were put on a ship?” Micky cried. “They could be anywhere!”
“Those docks are abandoned,” Honeywell said, his voice with a slight touch of tension. “No ship has left there since 1959.”
“What’s there now?” Peter asked, the same tension in his voice.
“Abandoned warehouses, mostly. It’s a hotbed of spy and gang activity—lots of places to hide, no guards, few police . . . I think it’s pretty likely that your friends were taken there.”
“I think you’re right,” Peter mused softly. His hand moved to the back of his neck, where the tattoo had started its twitching once more. “In fact, I know you’re right.”
Honeywell picked up his phone. “You two go home and get some rest. Tomorrow at dawn we’ll go and find them, since I know I won’t be able to keep you from coming.”
“Who are you calling?”
“My agents. I don’t want to get caught unawares.”
Micky’s hand landed on the cradle, breaking the connection. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”
Honeywell’s glare briefly reminded Micky of Mike. “There’s a lot that I don’t tell you. There ARE some things you don’t need to know.”
“Micky, you heard him,” Peter said. “Lots of gang and spy activity. It wouldn’t help if we went with four agents and found ourselves outnumbered.”
“Right. No surprises,” Honeywell said.
Micky sighed. “Look, man, I-I’m sorry. This whole thing . . . it’s got me paranoid.”
“Perfectly all right. Go home. Do whatever you need to prepare, and as soon as we are I’ll call you, all right?”
~~~~~
Far down the hall from Dragonman’s room, Mike protested as he woke.
“Mike,” Davy whispered, unable to manage anything louder.
“Hurts . . . ”
“Shocked . . . ” Davy rasped. “All . . . over . . . ”
“Yeah . . . bastard . . . ”
“Mike . . . I’m scared.”
“Me too, Davy . . . Me too.”
Davy groaned. “Wish you . . . hadn’t said that.”
“Why’s . . . that?”
He sighed. “Because . . . you’re the leader, y’know?”
“Doesn’t mean . . . don’t get scared. Just . . . ” he chuckled. “Horse sense.”
“So what now?” Davy said, his voice weary and defeated.
There was a very long pause before Mike answered. “We hold on . . . we HAVE to hold on.”
“What for? We’re just gonna die anyway!” Mike recognized the panic in Davy’s voice. Dragonman’s torture and fear was starting to get to him.
“Davy, we’re together.”
Davy sighed. “For now.”
~~~~~
Peter’s silhouette appeared in Micky’s doorway hours after they’d arrived back at the Pad. “You can’t sleep either?” he asked.
“No,” Micky said. He was fully dressed, absently twirling his tonfa. “This sitting stuff stinks.” He was silent for almost a minute before he said “Peter, are you sure we can’t just go?”
Peter reached out and turned on the light. He was fully dressed as well—in full uniform, including the dark hat that hid his light hair. His face was grave. “We’re going.”
Micky jumped up. “Finally. You think Honeywell’ll be mad?”
“At this point, I don’t really care. I just . . . we’ve got to find them. And I can’t wait till dawn.”
Micky nodded. “Let’s go, then.” Peter nodded and shut off the light.
The early night provided excellent cover for them as they took off, driving the Monkeemobile and parking it several blocks from the docks. The silently slipped from shadow to shadow until the warehouses came into view.
“Now what?” Peter asked.
“You’re asking me?” Micky said.
Peter frowned and scanned the warehouses. Then his eyes widened and he grabbed Micky’s arm. “Look . . . there—and there—and there . . . some are lit!”
Micky craned his neck. “They’re all in the same building. That’s it, Peter—let’s go!”
On to Chapter Nine
Back to Chapter Seven
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
