Diversion

Author's Note: This fic takes place during Alias Micky Dolenz.

Mike wasn't expecting much to happen that day.

Yesterday, the guys finished playing a series of gigs in a row over the last two weeks. The money they had earned made it possible to catch up on their bills, put some food in the cupboards, and still have funds left over. That morning, Davy left for England to visit his grandfather, who had put up the travel expenses for him to come. As a result, Peter, Micky and Mike decided to relax until Davy came back. Granted, they would need to be frugal so that they could afford to not work for a while, but they were all quite familiar with ways to live and have fun while spending little to no money.

Mike leaned against the wall and strummed a series of chords on his guitar, frowning at how they sounded. Peter had gone with some friends to spend the day on the beach, and Micky had taken the Monkeemobile to run a couple of errands. The Texan thought that when Micky got back, he would go to get his guitar looked over at one of the music shops close by. Mike had gotten to know the owner over the last couple of years and had done him some favors. As a result, the owner had a standing offer with him to do any minor repair or maintenance work he might need on his blonde Gretch free of charge. Mike didn't think there was anything major wrong with his guitar right now, but figured that preventative measures were almost always better than waiting around for something truly bad to happen.

Decision made, Mike packed up his guitar and sat it on one of the chairs so that it would be ready to go when the drummer got back. After thinking about it a little more, Mike decided to invite him along. Micky loved to visit the store too, and once they were done there, the two of them could go and grab a hot dog or something.

The Texan plopped onto the lounging couch and sprawled out on his back to wait. Only a couple minutes later, he heard the sound of the Monkeemobile pulling into their driveway, the tires screeching as it came to a halt. He quickly jumped up to meet Micky, a lecture already forming in his head. He had told Micky more than once to not to pull in like that and expected another excuse from the drummer as to why he did it.

What he didn't expect was a very jittery Micky Dolenz to come dashing in from outside. The drummer slammed the door behind him and leaned against it.

"Micky?"

Micky's entire body jerked violently, his eyes wide, as he moved further inside. Mike walked over and clasped his shoulders in an attempt to calm him while noting that Micky was trembling.

"Micky? Mick, what's goin' on?" the Texan said in the most relaxed tone he could manage. "What's the matter?" Micky grabbed at Mike's arms.

"Mike!" he gasped. "Has anyone been here?"

"Been here?" Mike repeated. "No, of course not. You know that Pete won't be back until evening, and that Davy's not due until…."

"No, no not them," Micky said, pulling out of Mike's grip. "I mean, has anyone been here, you know, looking for me?"

"No," Mike drawled. "Why? Are you expecting someone?"

Micky said nothing as he crept around the pad. He opened up doors and peeked into rooms, looked out the window several times, and even searched under chairs and inside the fridge. The drummer was usually energetic and was frequently in motion during his daily routines, but this flurry of activity was anything but normal. More like high-strung and frightened.

"Micky…."

"Are you sure you haven't seen any mean-looking types hanging around here?" Micky continued. "You know, straight out of a gangster movie? You know, with the hats and pin-stripe suits and, and the tommy guns hanging out of the side of the cars. Although I never did get that. I mean, all those times the gangsters were shooting at each other out of cars and you never see the cars just like die from the bullets. They never hit the gas tank or the engine or, or anything that could make the car go 'boosh' and totally conk out, you know. Nope they always drive away, tearing down the road…."

Micky continued to babble away, his voice getting higher and more strained as he went on. Soon his movements became increasingly animated as well as he searched every inch of the pad. After only a few moments of this, Mike strode over to block Micky's path and took him by the shoulders.

"…and, and why do the cops never look for the cars with the bullet holes, huh? Couldn't they just do patrols around the neighborhood and when they find the cars that look like Swiss cheese, they can call it in and…."

"Mick," Mike said, firmly but gently. "What is goin' on?"

Micky abruptly stopped talking in mid-sentence. Then he shook his head while lowering his gaze. The Texan waited for Micky to speak for several moments, but Micky did not make a sound. Mike couldn't decide if he was more irritated by a chattering Micky or a silent one, but his annoyance was kept in check by the way that Micky shivered in his grasp.

"Mick, talk to me," he tried again. "Are you in trouble? 'Cause if you are then you need to tell me so I can fix things."

"No, no," Micky said, shaking his head. "You can't. I don't want you to get…. I mean, nothing's wrong, really. It, it was just a stupid mistake. It had to have been. Just a stupid mistake."

"A mistake? What mistake?" Mike asked, puzzled. "Micky, are you sayin' that….?"

The Texan's words halted when he noticed something when Micky shook his head again. He leaned closer and put a hand under the drummer's chin, tilting his head up slightly. Micky flinched, but did not pull away. Mike then brushed some of Micky's hair aside to reveal a cut on his forehead. It was only a small line of red, less than an inch and barely bleeding, but it was enough to awaken Mike's anger. He looked the drummer over even closer and found a small bruise near the back of his head.

"Micky," he said, his voice much harder than it was before. "Did someone do this to you? Is that why you were wonderin' if someone had been here? Are they after you?"

"Mike, I, I don't, I don't want you to…."

"No, Mick, listen to me. This ain't a question of whether or not I should get involved 'cause as far as I can see, it's too late for that. So you need to tell me what happened so we can figure out this thing, all right?"

Micky hesitated, and Mike had begun to prepare another argument in his head when the drummer finally relented and nodded his head. Mike guided him over to the couch and sat him down before going to the kitchen. There he got an ice pack and wet down a paper napkin laying on the counter. He took both over to Micky, carefully pressing the pack against his neck and wiping at the cut on his forehead.

While Mike tended to him, Micky explained what had happened. He told the Texan about how he had parked the Monkeemobile and was about to go into a store when he was approached by some stranger who acted like he knew him. A stranger who then proceeded to whack him with a newspaper over and over again. The cut on his forehead had been from a knob on the guy's watch hitting him just right.

Mike listened to all this silently, his expression grim. From what Micky had told him, it sounded like this guy had confused the drummer for someone else. Usually these types of mistakes were nothing more than odd or funny inconveniences, but this was far more serious. Whoever it was that Micky was being mistaken for must not be very well liked by people from distinctly shady backgrounds. Even more disturbing was the fact that this guy got away which meant that it could happen again…or it could involve people who would not be satisfied with just hitting Micky with a newspaper.

Chilled by both of these possibilities, Mike immediately started to persuade Micky to go to the police so they could report what happened and maybe get some idea of why it happened in the first place. Unfortunately, Micky was more than a little reluctant to go."

"I'm telling you, Mike, it was just a mistake," Micky insisted. "He didn't mean to go after me. It was supposed to be somebody else."

"Yes and what if he makes the same mistake again?" Mike countered. "What if someone else does? What if someone decides that just roughing you up and then leaving you alone ain't enough?"

Micky paled at those words, the trembling returning. Mike really did not want to scare Micky again, but he was determined to get the drummer to understand why going to the police was so important.

"Hey, don't, don't worry now," Mike said, placing a hand back onto Micky's forearm. "It'll be ok. I'm sure that guy won't be back any time soon. And you said that you haven't run into anyone else who thought you were some other person, right? So maybe it is just this one guy, and maybe you won't ever see him again."

Micky fiddled with his fingers in his lap, his expression still doubtful. The Texan moved closer to him and put his other hand onto one of Micky's shoulders.

"I ain't saying that something is goin' to happen. But it still could happen at some point. And I don't, um…it would be better if we did something now, just in case, before it's too late."

The drummer still looked unsure and Mike wondered what he should do or say next. Before he could make a decision, however; Micky lifted his head and nodded.

"Ok Mike. I, I guess we should let the cops know…."

After that it was a quiet ride over to the police station.

Mike loaded up his blond Gretch into the back seat. Once they were finished at the police station, he figured that he would take Micky with him to the music store like he had originally planned. Mike hoped that the distraction would help Micky get over his encounter from earlier.

During the ride over there, Micky kept his eyes firmly fixed on his lap, his hands fidgeting constantly. Occasionally, Mike patted his shoulder to reassure Micky who seemed grateful for the touch. However, as soon as they arrived at the station, Micky became hesitant again. It took a lot of persuading to get the drummer out of the car, and then Micky still acted like he wanted to leave as they walked toward the entrance.

Doing his best to hide his exasperation, Mike got his guitar out of the back and tried again to convince Micky to go along with his plan.

"Micky, you've got to go in and report this," the Texan insisted. "Do you want to promote violence on the streets?"

Micky shook his head and even Mike had to admit that the words sounded hollow to him. Nevertheless, Mike persisted in his efforts until he was finally able to convince Micky to accompany him inside.

Unfortunately, things did not improve inside the station. In fact, they got worse.

The cops on duty apparently made the same mistake that the guy Micky ran into did because as soon as they saw the drummer, there was panic and plenty of running around. While they were able to convince the policemen that Micky was not this mysterious "Baby Face" who they thought he was, Mike was even more concerned that Micky was in real peril from anyone else who might mistake the drummer for this Baby Face person.

Even worse, instead of offering to take a statement, putting Micky in protective custody, or even giving any assurance that Micky would be safe, the detective in charge immediately started to pressure Micky to impersonate Baby Face as part of a sting operation. Mike was infuriated that this cop would encourage an untrained civilian, and more specifically his best friend, to put himself into such a dangerous situation. Still, for a moment, Mike was just as worried that Micky would be impulsive enough to consider doing it.

However, when Micky looked over at him with a mixture of fear and reluctance, Mike was marginally relieved. Micky clearly didn't want to do this either, and Mike made sure that Micky knew that he did not like the idea at all. That turned out to be all the incentive Micky needed to firmly reject the detective's plan. Not that that stopped the cop from continuing to try to push Micky into going along with his idea. Eventually, the detective gave up, but not before using one last scare tactic.

"Baby Face's got a lot of enemies out there," the cop mused. "A guy with a face like yours is liable to get hurt."

Mike thought about reminding the detective that it was his job to find Baby Face's gang and enemies and to keep Micky safe, but thought better of it at the last moment. Right now, what mattered was finding a way to protect Micky until this blew over.

The Texan's brows furrowed as he watched Micky walk out of the station. Davy was staying in England for two weeks which just left himself, Micky and Peter to think about. Mike figured that the best solution would be to get out of town for a while. He then remembered that his Aunt Kate had been wanting him to visit her in Texas. It would be a long drive, but her place was far out in the country and would have plenty of room for the three of them to stay there. A part of him was reluctant to possibly get his family involved in his problems, but Mike also knew that Kate would urge him to come once he told her the situation.

'Besides that, if we pack up quickly and leave in the middle of the night, no one's goin' to know where we went,' he told himself. 'We could stay with Aunt Kate until Davy comes back. That should be enough time for the cops to catch this gang and then we won't have to worry about it.'

Satisfied with his plan, Mike hefted up his guitar up closer to him and started to look for Micky. The Texan scolded himself for letting Micky get so far ahead of him, but figured that the drummer was probably waiting for him in the car. He was about to head out the door when a policeman held out a hand to stop him.

"Hold it," the man said. "Hand it over."

"Hold it? What do you mean, hold it?" Mike demanded. "What is this?"

"Let's see that case," the officer said, motioning at Mike's guitar case.

"This?" Mike said, holding it up. "This is just my guitar. Why do you need to…?"

"That's what you say it is," the cop interrupted. "But how do I know that you haven't got something stashed away in there. Like a weapon. Or maybe even some illicit substances. Could be almost anything in there."

"Now wait a minute," Mike drawled. "This is ridiculous. The only thing in there is a guitar. Dig?"

"So you keep saying," the cop responded. "But I've got orders to search it. So hand it over."

"Orders? Whose orders?" Mike asked.

"That's none of your concern. Now, are you going to cooperate or am I going to have to arrest you for obstruction?"

"Hey, hey now hold it," Mike said, raising his hands. "Now look, I don't have time for this. I've got to catch up with a friend of mine."

"Your friend can wait," the officer said. "Now, what's it going to be?"

Mike glared at him. He didn't want to waste time with this, but couldn't see any alternative. He handed his guitar case over to the officer who took it away down a nearby corridor. Mike followed him, questioning him every step of the way with few results.

"How long is this going to take?" the Texan finally asked.

"As long as it takes to get a thorough search done," the cop answered. "Why? You anxious to get somewhere?"

"Well no, not exactly," Mike said, scratching his head. "But I would like to catch up with my friend. You know, the one who's still waiting for me?"

"He'll be just fine here at the station," the officer said. "Now, how about you turn out your pockets as well? Just so I can be sure that I haven't missed anything."

"Hey, wait a minute," Mike said, indignant. "What, um, what right have you got to do this? I don't remember seeing any search warrant or anything like that."

"Reasonable suspicion," the cop replied offhandedly. "Of course, if you are so concerned about your rights and want to make this official, I could oblige you."

"Yes, I think I might prefer that," Mike said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Of course that will also mean that I will have to put this case into our evidence locker and have you put into holding until we can get a lawyer over here to clear this up. I hear that they are pretty busy at the courthouse these days. Could be hours before we can get someone over here. Unless you have your own attorney on retainer."

Mike scowled even more. He did not like the direction this situation was taking and struggled with his frustration as he tried to decide what to do. He also didn't trust this cop and was anxious to get out of here so he could get Micky and Peter packed up and they could leave town.

"All right, all right," the Texan grumbled. "Let's get this over with."

"I thought you might see things my way," the cop smirked at him. "Don't worry. This shouldn't take too long. That is, as long as you've got nothing to hide."

The frown on Mike's face deepened as he reached into his pockets. Not wanting to antagonize the man any further, he kept his bitter thoughts to himself.

Instead, he would do what was necessary to get this over with as quickly as possible.