Mr. Babbitt pounded on the door again, "Boys! I know you're in there! You guys owe me three months rent!"
"What's wrong with the closet?" Peter whispered, desperately clutching Mr. Webster's feet in his hands.
"Peter, we don't have a closet!" Micky shot back in an equally low tone, grimacing as Mr. Webster's head dropped closer to the ground.
"Put him in the bathroom!" Mike suggested, and the other two boys followed his order. When Peter had firmly closed the door of the bathroom, blocking out any sight of the corpse that was lying on the floor within, Micky bounded to the door and opened it wide.
"Sorry, Mr. Babbitt, we were just hiding a dead body."
Their landlord rolled his eyes and let loose with a deep sigh, "Just quit the monkey business and give me what you owe me."
"But we already payed you!" Peter said, attempting to lean casually against the wall but hitting his head off of it instead, "Ow..."
"That was for May," Mr. Babbitt growled. Mike held up a hand.
"No need to get so durn nasty. Look, we'll get you the money as soon as we manage to get a job. You know we always pay you," the boy drawled.
"Someday you're going to come to pay me and I'm going to have died from old age," the older man muttered, then abruptly stormed out, calling back over his shoulder, "One week! If I don't have the money by then, I'm going to throw you out. This time, I mean it!"
"Gee, what a nice guy. He's all heart," Micky remarked, slumping down onto the couch, while Mike merely hopped over the back of it and settled himself next to Micky. Peter left his position by the bathroom and joined them, taking a seat in his favorite chair.
"Hey, fellas? We've got to do something about Mr. Webster. And Davy, too, for that matter," he said, casting a worried glance at the closed bedroom door. It had been nearly two hours... what could the boy possibly be doing in there?
"Yeah, but what, man? It's not like we can call the cops or anything."
"Wait, why do you say that? Why can't we call the cops?" Mike inquired, sensing that there was something going on which he was quite unaware of.
Peter squirmed in his seat, "Uh, because they're closed on Saturdays."
"They are not!" said Mike, cracking a smile before focusing his gaze on Micky, "Seriously, now. Why don't you want to call them?"
"I know him. I'm scared they might think I killed him," was all the curly-haired boy would explain.
"Hold on just a minute, you know him? I do too. What about you, Pete?"
"No, I... I don't know him."
Micky narrowed his eyes, "Are you sure?"
"Well, maybe I... I met him awhile back..." Peter replied, staring at the floor.
"Peter..." Mike said slowly, "Come on, out with it."
The blond sniffled, "Alright, alright. Valerie - she knew him, and he came around one time when we were together at her house. I don't think she liked him very much."
"I don't blame her," the other two boys said in unison, then looked at each other quizzically. Micky clasped his hands together and rested them on his lap, "Why don't you blame her, Mike?"
Mike didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled off his wool hat and examined it like he didn't know what it was for a couple minutes. Finally, he spoke, "He knew some things about me and used them to his advantage, is all."
"Me too, man. I don't know how he found out."
"I bet he had something on Davy, too. Did you see the way that guy acted?" Peter said, looking again towards the bedroom. Mike nodded.
"I'm gonna go see if I can get him to come out or somethin'," the Texan announced, standing.
"Yeah, good idea," Micky replied, as Mike ascended the staircase to the second floor. He knocked on the door softly, at the same time calling out, "Davy?"
"Go away," was the response that greeted Mike. He sighed.
"Davy, I just want to talk."
"Well, I don't."
"Fine, then I'll just have to do enough for the both of us. Y'see, we've been conversin' out here, and if you knew Mr. Webster, then it's okay to tell us. I knew him, and Micky knew him, and Peter did, too. He's not just your problem."
The door opened, and Davy poked his head out, "'ere, you're not jus' pullin' me leg, are you?"
"No, man, I'm not pullin' your leg. Come on downstairs and tell us about it."
Davy reluctantly allowed Mike to lead him down the stairs and over to the couch, where the taller boy motioned for Davy to sit.
Taking a seat, Davy sighed and began to talk, "I probably should 'ave told you fellas along time ago, but I jus' couldn't bring myself to. Y'see, I used t' be pretty crooked."
Peter gave him a warm smile, "It's alright now, Davy. You look pretty normal to me."
"Oh, Petah, not that kind of crooked. I mean, I rode fixed races. Mr. Webster... that guy knew everythin' about me. I don't know how, but 'e did, and 'e threatened to tell me grandfather, so I had to keep payin' 'im off. I'm sorry I kept it from you... it was wrong of me, I know." As he talked, Davy lowered his head and looked at the ground, refusing to meet anybody's gaze. Micky reached over and rested his hand on Davy's shoulder.
"Hey, man, don't let it get you down. I haven't been completely open with you guys either, I'm afraid," he said with a sigh.
Mike settled himself onto the arm of Peter's chair and crossed his arms, "Just what were you bein' blackmailed for, then?"
"Look, I'm not proud of what I did. It doesn't make me happy to say that I blinded someone. Just because it was an accident doesn't mean it's okay," the curly-haired boy snapped bitterly, quickly snatching his hand away from Davy.
Mike registered surprise, then cast a sidelong glance at Peter. The bassist's face was completely devoid of any emotion, and Mike nudged him, "Did you know, Pete?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Peter responded in an equally soft tone, "I did. I knew about all of you."
Davy stood up and began to pace, "So, what are we gonna do, fellas? I mean, we can't jus' leave 'im in the bathroom forever..."
"I figure there's only one thing to do, and that's the right one. Look, none of us killed him, right? We shouldn't be afraid of anything. Let's call the cops," Mike said.
Peter jumped to his feet, knocking Mike off the arm of the chair in the process. The Texan glared at him and settled back down into his previous position.
"How do I know that one of you didn't kill him? Micky said that he could have poisoned him before he was with me."
Micky gave a cry of alarm, "Peter! I was only kidding!"
"Man, even Peter thinks we're guilty."
Looking towards Mike, Peter shook his head, "I don't think you're guilty. I just don't see how you could possibly be innocent."
Davy stopped pacing and tapped Peter on the shoulder, "'ey, that's no good. You've already used that line before."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
Even though their present situation was not exactly a good one, Mike couldn't help but smile. Maybe everything would be fine in the end, after all.