Davy's eyes slid to the second hand as it pounded another minute. Two minutes before noon and Micky still hadn't showed. Mike was standing close behind Davy, squinting in the sun.

He checked his watch once more. Mike had spent the last two hours explaining what he knew to Davy, but he was still nervous. The air suddenly became still and nothing but the wind echoed around them. The second hand clicked once more. One minute. Davy narrowed his eyes and slowly looked to either side. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, but not enough to disturb the silence that, as it settled, seemed to sharpen his senses.

The faintest sound came to him, a small scraping, right as the last minute ended and the chimes rang far in the distance. Unconsciously, Davy was counting—four, five, six—but at another sound he was ready to strike or split, whichever Mike would approve of.

Nine, ten, eleven—

And then a zipping rope shot out of the sand, twisting around Davy's ankles and pulling him clean off his feet. Mike was already jumping onto him before he was dragged wherever the rope was taking him.

A fuzzy head popped out from around the corner, but, before it could disappear, there was a snapping sound and another rope whipped through the air, catching the escaping Micky, throwing a beach pail over his head, and simultaneously pulling all three shocked Monkees up to dangle helplessly under the deck.

It was dark under there, and after a few minutes of complaining and trying to straighten themselves out, but only getting more tangled, squeezed, and wrenched about, Davy came face to face with the person he'd been dreading.

"I told you not to bring help!" Micky's snarls reverberated in the orange plastic bucket. "You know what happens if you do that!" Davy saw something red in his periphery and craned to see behind his back.

Davy realized in horror that Micky had his maracas in hand, flailing them blindly about trying to hit the ground and getting dangerously close. Mike tried to grab for Micky through the ropes while Davy flat-out screamed.

Mike didn't reach Micky, but he did manage to snatch both maracas in one hand without Micky's hardly noticing it.

"Hammurabi and Greece and justice— eye for a— get back at—" echoed around in the bucket as Micky thrashed around, trying to destroy something.

Finally having enough, Mike kicked the bucket off Micky's head with his boot, scolding over top of him, "Why are you doing this, Micky? You really shouldn't be this fired up."

Micky reacted hotly. "You would if you knew what he did!" As quickly as it came out, he slammed a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

Davy realized this was his chance. Micky didn't want Mike to know, and at this point, Davy was beyond that. "Hah!" he crowed. "Wait till I tell you!" Micky switched, using his one free hand to cover Davy's mouth instead.

Davy wriggled and tried to bite, Mike yelled for order, and Micky shouted threats—for at least a solid minute.

In the midst of this, Davy spotted an eye peeking from behind the support post. He mumbled through Micky's hand, and when that didn't work, resorted to elbowing Mike in the hip to get his attention.

Mike saw Peter almost immediately. "Peter!"

The eye went wide and silence fell as the trio slowly rotated in midair.

"Peter," Mike said slowly. "What did Micky do?"

Peter slowly stepped into full view, seeming to weigh his options. He opened his mouth ever so slightly, ready to answer Mike.

"Hey, Pete, come on," encouraged Mike. "What did he do?"

Peter barely opened his mouth and stuttered, "I...I...uhh..."

But Micky wasn't about to give it all up now. Unbeknownst to Davy and Mike, he had spun around far enough to catch Peter's eye and had frozen him in place. He darted his eyes toward a non-descript basket tucked further under the deck, hidden in darkness. Peter followed his gaze and saw, after a few moments, the little tails coming out of the top.

Peter stopped, as if in shock, and slammed a hand over his mouth, shaking his head as he ran headlong in the other direction.

"Pete, Peter!" Mike called. He pressed his lips together and sighed. Why couldn't anyone cooperate?

Mike, to the surprise of all, was able to untangle himself and only himself, leaving Micky and Davy dangling next to each other. He wrenched the maracas from Micky's grip, Davy watching tensely and cheering him on. The two started hissy fighting by flapping their hands in each other's direction, both trying to get away from the other and failing miserably.

"Stay there!" Mike ordered as he marched after Peter.

Not five minutes passed before Mike was back, dragging Peter by the back of his collar. At this point, Davy and Micky had stopped fighting and were now silently and diligently crossing their arms, back to back, in a stalemate, not willing to look at each other.

Mike sat Peter down on the bucket that had been on Micky's head and glared at him. Wagging his finger, he started, "Don't run away, alright? This is an interrogation and I'm going to get to the bottom of this mess before it gets out of hand. Although, I think it already has," he said out of the side of his mouth, purposefully looking at Micky, who looked away and stuck his nose into the air, or rather down at the ground.

Peter didn't respond, but eyed the basket in the corner. His head snapped back into place when Mike spoke again punctually spitting every word into each of their directions.

"Now I want all o' you t' act like civil people an' tell me the exact - hm- truth!" He turned back to Peter. "Startin' with you!" The accent was getting heavier the more furious Mike got. It made Davy want to take up arms, Micky want to punch something, and Peter want to cry, all of which did no good in helping their situation.

"Uh...uh...M-M-M-Mike?" Peter was shivering in his boots.

"Yeah?!"

"I... I wanna tell you, but I can't!" He blurted the last words out as if it hurt. Mike breathed in slowly, seeing the fear in their eyes. He had made his point well enough, he thought, and decided to use a softer tone. "A'right, fine. Micky?"

"You called for me, sir?" Davy kneed Micky in the back, trying to get him to back off after seeing the glint in Mike's eye.

Micky very reluctantly reworded his response. "Yes, Mike." However, quite a bit of sass was still evident.

"What is Peter not allowed to tell me?" Mike tapped his foot. He knew this could take awhile, but he didn't have all day.

Micky's face scrunched up in all different ways before he appeared to come to a resolution. He concentrated hard and, with unbearable force, tried to admit the whole truth. He struggled over every thought and instinct from the past several days, and tried his very best to pronounce every word. After several indiscernible attempts at various syllables and with a dramatic sigh, he gave up.

"Uh—hhh— Sorry, Mike, I can't."

"Well if you won't, I will," Davy declared loudly, realizing that Micky had no power over him now. He no longer had the precious maracas and the two of them were at such an angle that it would be impossible for Micky to cover his mouth again. "Man, are you gonna be in trouble!"

"Huh—da—WAIT!" Micky squeaked. "My new—TOMTOM'S! Yeah, that's right! Davy, Davy messed 'em all up! Yeah, he ruined them!"

"He ruined your drums?" Mike clarified.

"'old on a minute. That's what this is all about?"

"Oh, don't play innocent you undersized, little..."

"Oi!"

Mike interrupted. "Is that really all he did to get you to spend the last three days completely overreacting? In fact, acting like a child?"

"Child?! Ha! You know just as well as I do how much those cost!" Micky's voice was reaching new heights and on the verge of cracking.

"Micky, would you cool it, please?"

"Cool it?! Are you kiddin' me? He's been doing it for weeks. I told him to please not to and then I told him not to and did he listen? Oh no! I wake up one morning and my babies are ruined! Ruined! It was just as well that your little rattles got it too!"

"MICKY!"

Micky's mouth was slammed shut, dead-bolted, and sealed. Everyone's eyes were wide with fear again.

Mike had stepped up to Micky and looked down at him, jabbing his finger at Micky, "You didn't need to scare us all half to death over that, and you," Mike's finger moved to Davy, "didn't need to throw fifty bucks out the door! Alright?"

They both quickly nodded their heads. He looked up and huffed, putting his hands on his hips. He looked back down as a tiny voice said, "Please, don't kill us, Mike."

Mike made eye contact with Davy. "I won't kill you so long as we be more truthful with each other, from now on."

"We will," Davy said sincerely. Micky nodded vigorously.

"Alright then, Micky, what exactly did he do?"

Micky sighed, defeated, and still upset that he couldn't get true revenge without Mike finding out and ruining his whole plan. "Davy used my drums as a coaster for his iced tea."

"Davy?"

He nodded resignedly. "It's true."

"Peter?"

The bassist responded quickly and seriously. "I was sworn to secrecy."

Mike raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Okay. Sounds good." He looked around at everyone. "All forgiven?"

"All forgiven," they repeated.

"Okay." And he stepped up to start working at the tangles of rope they were caught in.

Ten minutes later, they were all free and heading back up the stairs to the deck. Mike was walking beside Peter in front and Micky was sorting things out with Davy, who had his maracas safely cradled in his arms.

"What kind of person puts cream in their iced tea?"

"It's tea. And that's what you put in tea." Davy stated.

"But not iced tea!"

"I think you should leave that up to the expert." Davy pointed a thumb at himself, "I'm British, remember?"

As he listened to their bickering, a thought struck Mike. He turned around to look at Micky. "Micky, if there's no raccoon, then what was that mess in Peter and Davy's room?"

Micky looked confused and shrugged as they reached the back door. "I don't know."

"Umm," said Peter. "I think the birds are mad."

Mike turned around to look through the windows and stopped in his tracks just as Peter had. There, sitting on the back of the couch, were two magpies. Each one had an equally crafty look in their eye with fragments of the apartment scattered around their feet.

"You befriended magpies! What were you thinking?!" Micky practically shouted, as if he knew from bitter experience never to do such a thing.

"My mother always said to be kind to every animal," Peter countered.

"Not ones that destroy your apartment when you're not looking," Mike muttered, surveying the damage as well as the unwanted birds.

Before anyone moved, one of the birds flew closer, landing on the edge of a drum. It took a good, long moment to fix them in its sly stare, then brought its bill down straight on the drum skin.

Micky shrieked and ran inside, but as soon as he opened the door, the birds flew out, their eyes on a bigger prize.

They flew over Micky's head and each snagged a maraca from Davy's hands. Before anyone could react, they were flying off to the beach with their loot.

"Hey! Give those back!" Micky shouted, running after them. "I just apologized!"

Peter dashed down the beach after Micky, and Mike almost did too, except that he noticed a soft sigh from Davy and caught him just in time. The poor kid had fainted from too many emotional roller coasters. He set Davy down gently, then heard Peter yell in fear. Besides the two magpies Micky was still intently chasing, a third had joined, and it seemed to have retrieved a small toy that it had dropped on Peter. Now Micky and Peter were running opposite directions, and Mike could only shake his head.

No matter what they did or how hard they tried, they always end up in some sort of trouble. But, Mike thought, that was probably his favorite part about their life.

"Huh? What happened?" Davy said from the floor of the deck.

Mike held out a hand to pull him up. "Come on, shotgun. Let's go get your maracas."