The Young Ones Monkees
By Melisssa
Part Three: Taxi Man

The scene in the kitchen was not a pretty one. All eight men -- Mike, Micky, Peter, Davy, Neil, Vyvyan, Rick and Mike -- sat huddled around the tiny table which at most was designed to seat four. So far they'd gotten absolutely nowhere. It had, in fact, been going so poorly that no one had yet said anything, and they'd been at it for nearly thirty seconds. Both Mikes, the leaders of their respective groups, appeared as if they wanted to speak, but neither seemed sure how to proceed. Another thirty seconds passed, and the silence grew as everyone present tried desperately to avoid making eye contact with a member of the "opposing" group. Most appeared to be attempting to bore holes in the floor with the sheer power of their eyes only pausing to steal quick glances at one of the Mikes, both of whom appeared lost in thought.
Had anyone in the group been empathic, they would have discovered Mike Nesmith was going over the events of the day in his mind furiously trying to figure a way out their current mess that would benefit both parties, but try as he might he could think of nothing that would help them. What annoyed him most was that he could think of no way to broach the subject to the others.
The other Mike was also "hard" at thought. The reason for this being that he was mentally undressing Felicity Kendal and could really have cared less about the events of the day.
Finally, just when it seemed the silence would all but devour them, those who were paying attention that is . . .
Micky sighed. "Well this is getting us nowhere fast."
"He's right ya know," agreed Davy.
"Neil," Rick began turning toward the hippie, "what happened to the lentil nibbles you were making?"
"It's the weirdest thing guys," Neil answered. "I looked through the whole kitchen, everywhere, and I didn't find a single lentil. None. I think, right, someone must have snuck in, stolen them, left everything else in the house, and then run off."
"Stolen lentils?!" Rick asked in near exasperation. "That's ridiculous! Who the hell would steal lentils?! Homicidal hippies? Or maybe it was magic lentil fairies!"
Neil frowned in thought for a moment, when suddenly a thought seemed to grab him. "I bet, right, it's the same ones who chewed up my term paper and are always stealing my socks."
"No," said Vyvyan. "SPG's the one who ate you term paper, and Rick has been stealing your socks."
"I have not!" Rick shouted in response. "What would I want with Neil's socks?" he asked nervously, accenting "Neil" derisively.
"He uses them to stuff down his trousers!" answered Vyvyan.
"That's a lie!" Rick shouted. He started to stand, but glanced nervously at his crotch and thought better of it. Instead, he sat back down and crossed his legs.
"Rick! You didn't?!" Neil asked horrified.
"Of course not!" he began, fidgeting nervously. "I would never put anything that had been on Neil's feet down my trousers." He nodded as though accepting the answer himself. Neil frowned at his feet suspiciously.
There was a brief pause before Vyvyan said, "If we don't start this meeting soon, I'm going down the pub."
"You can't go to the pub, Vyvyan," countered Rick.
"Why not?" Vyvyan almost shouted.
"Because if we went to the pub we wouldn't be having a house meeting, would we?" Rick explained smugly, prompting Vyvyan to hit him in face.
"No wait, Vyv, he's right," said Neil. "It would be, like, a pub meeting." As with Rick, Vyvyan proceeded to smack Neil in the face.
Davy leaned over to Neil and asked, "Does he always do that?"
"No," answered Neil. "Usually he uses a cricket bat." He paused, thinking. "Or a pan, or an axe, or the telly, or a window, or a wall, or . . ."
"All right guys," Mike interrupted, "I don't want to be a drag, but Rick's right."
Still clutching his head from the blow Vyvyan had dealt him, Rick looked up in astonishment. "I am?" he asked in utter disbelief.
"Yes, no one's going anywhere until we get this straightened out."
"Why Mike," Neil began. "Is it crooked?"
Mike sighed. "Vyv."
Nodding, Vyvyan grabbed a glass from the table and broke it on top of Neil's head.
Davy leaned over to a slightly woozy Neil. "I see what you mean."
Mike Nesmith decided it was time to speak up. "He's right . . ."
"I am?" asked Davy.
"No not you. Mike, the other Mike," Mike said gesturing toward Mike.
"Of course I am," was the other Mike's reply.
Micky looked up thoughtfully. "This is really going to get confusing."
Mike, Monkee-Mike that is, chose to ignore the interruptions. "We've got to think this through logically."
"Well that's us knackered then!" interjected Vyvyan.
Mike glared at him, but continued. "There must have been some kind of mistake. Surely Mr. Babbit, or your landlord Mr. Balowski would have told us something. They wouldn't just throw us together and hope we make the best of it, would they?" He said this commandingly, but the words sounded hollow. Or would they, he thought to himself. The group mulled this thought over in forlorn silence.
Suddenly, a bell sounded. "Brrring! Brrring!"
Micky, Davy, Mike, and Peter looked around quizzically.
"Brrring! Brrring!" the bell said again.
"There's someone at the door," the other Mike said showing no indication of answering it.
"What door?" Peter asked.
"Brrring! Brrring! Brrring!" The bell seemed to be getting louder.
Rick sighed. "There's someone at the door!" he said emphatically to no one in particular. He, too, showed no sign of getting up.
"Wait a minute, we don't have door bell," Micky said, a confused look on his face. At that remark, everyone's eyes darted toward the doorway just as the bell entered the room in the form of a man on a bike. He stopped the bike in front of the crowded table, rang the bell, "Brrring! Brrring!" and shouted, "Someone call for a taxi?"
"Billy Balowski!" Rick, Mike, Neil and Vyvyan said at the same time.
"Who's he?" asked Micky staring at the newcomer. "Is he your landlord?"
Rick sighed, "No, it's Billy Balowski! Don't you listen?"
"Oh," Micky said though he obviously didn't understand.
Billy got off his bike to show he was wearing a smudged grey overcoat buttoned all the way up with black trousers underneath.
"Who called for a taxi?" he shouted again.
"A taxi?" asked Davy. "You must be joking."
Billy walked toward the table and addressed Davy. "Why don't you stand up and say that to my face?" he said threateningly.
"I am standing up."
"No you're not," Vyvyan told him.
Davy looked down and noticed his bottom was still in the chair. He stood and repeated, "I am standing up."
"All right, enough with the corny catch phrases," said the shorter Mike. He looked at Davy, "Sit down, shorty. I'll handle this."
Davy sat. Mike continued, "Now what do you want Billy? Did Jerzei Balowski send you?"
"No," Billy replied. He grinned stupidly and continued. "Me brother sent me!"
"Jerzei is your brother," said Rick.
"No!" Billy paused, "He's me brother."
"Look, what do you want!?" Rick yelled, obviously annoyed.
"Who called for a taxi?" Billy reiterated, a bit more slowly.
"No one called for a taxi," Micky said, confused.
"Right, I'll be off them," he said picking up his bike and heading for the missing door.
"No wait! Wait!" Mike began again. "Hold on Billy. Rick called the taxi."
"What? No I didn't!" He looked around frantically for a scapegoat. "It was Vyvyan!" he finally proclaimed.
"No it wasn't," Vyvyan said looking up, "it was Neil."
"No it wasn't, it was . . . me," Neil finished while a confused look crossed his face.
Billy crossed the floor a bit impatiently and spoke to Neil. "That'll be ten quid."
"Ten quid? But I don't want to go anywhere."
Flustered, Billy shouted, "Then why'd you call for the fucking taxi?!"
Neil fidgeted about nervously and was just about to reply when Rick leaned over to Mike. "A fucking taxi? That would certainly make transportation more interesting, wouldn't it?" he said with a snort.
"Rick?" Mike began.
"Yes, Mike?"
"Shut up."
"No, I don't think you understand. I mean a 'fucking taxi' . . ."
"I know Rick, just shut up."
"The taxi could actually fu . . ."
"We know Rick, we know!"
"Rick!" Vyvyan interjected. "Shut up, or I'll kill you!"
"Fine!" Rick shouted and began to sulk. "Besides, none of you would know a good joke if it flew across the room and hit you in the face!"
Suddenly, seeming to come from nowhere, a small blob of fur hurled itself across the room toward Rick's head. Rick screamed as it viciously attacked him. "Shut up, ya rat bastard!" it said in a distinct Scottish accent.
"SPG!" Vyvyan yelled smiling. "I wondered where he'd got to."
"Ahhhh!" Rick cried as the tiny creature threw him to the floor.
"What is that?" Peter asked fearfully, backing away.
"That's my hamster," Vyvyan answered casually as Rick tried desperately to free himself form the creature's grasp.
Ignoring the carnage, Mike Nesmith stepped forward and addressed Billy. "You're their landlord's brother, right?"
Billy seemed to ponder this carefully before answering. "Right," he said suspiciously.
"Do you know what's going on here?"
Billy looked around. He gestured toward a screaming Rick. "It looks like your friend's being murdered by a hamster."
"Ahhhh! Vyvyan get it off!" Rick yelled.
For his part, Vyvyan just watched excitedly, a grin on his face.
"Uh, Vyv," Neil began tentatively, "Shouldn't we, ya know, help Rick?"
"What ever for, Neil?"
"Well, he's spilling blood all over the carpet."
Reluctantly, Vyvyan agreed, and the two began pulling SPG from Rick's body. Mike continued his interrogation amidst the rumble.
"No, I mean, do you know why . . ." he began, but was interrupted.
"Billy, did Jerzei give you a message for us?" the other Mike said.
"No," he said. "He gave me a message for ya!"
"Well can we have it?" asked Micky coming around to join the negotiations. Peter followed closely behind, but was careful not to take his eyes off the hamster as it madly tried to burrow through Rick's chest.
Billy followed Peter's gaze before answering. He saw Vyvyan lean over Rick's writhing body, pluck the furry little critter from its victim and violently hurl it through a closed window. Vyvyan grinned as Rick slowly got up, desperately trying to wipe the tears from his face before anyone could see.
"I suppose you think that's funny, Vyvyan!" he yelled.
"Yes I do," said Vyvyan who had thrown himself into a chair at the table next to Davy.
"Ha!" Rick began in response. "Well you'll be surprised to know that you're wrong! You couldn't possibly be more wrong! Isn't that right guys?" he looked to the others who were, by now, staring at him. He paused, but when it was obvious no one was going to leap to his aid, he carried on. "I certainly don't see anybody laughing here. Is anyone laughing? NO!"
"What's your point?!" bellowed Vyvyan.
Rick opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was, "Uh . . ." He scratched his head. "Uh, yes, my point . . ."
When it was clear that Rick's point was not forthcoming which was probably a blessing, Mike, Mike, Micky, Peter and Billy turned back to negotiations.
"Yes!" Billy suddenly said startling the others. "I'll give you the note," he declared and promptly produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.
"That was easy!" Peter said smiling now that SPG was gone.
Mike took the proffered note with caution as though he expected a clinically insane, blood thirsty hamster to leap from it. Stranger things have happened. In his Texan drawl he read out loud the hastily scribbled message. " 'Dear Fascist Bully Boy, Give me some more money, you bastard. May the seed of your loins . . .' " was all he got out before Billy snatched the note back.
"Sorry," he said. "That's the note to me bank manager. Ah! Here it is!" he said after a thorough search. He held an envelope triumphantly for all to see, grinning proudly.
"Are you gonna give it to us?" the shorter Mike finally asked when Billy showed no sign of relinquishing the note.
"I'm hungry," was his reply.
Mike sighed. "The fridge is over there."
Billy headed for the insanely decorated appliance. "Hello there little fridge. How are you?" He paused before opening the door and leaned in conspiratorially. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?" he asked before opening the door suggestively. He thrust in his hands and began rummaging through the "food" items.
"You'd better watch out, mate," Davy said, grinning at Micky. "He's chatting up your bird."
Micky shot him a confused look. Only Peter giggled at the joke. Davy smiled at the confused faces, trying very hard not the laugh. He grinned impishly at Vyvyan who merely sneered and backhanded him in the face. Davy's chair fell over taking Davy with it, and both he and the chair landed squarely on Neil's back.
"I'm really beginning to see what you mean," he said to Neil as he climbed off the man's back. "Sorry man."
"That's okay," Neil said with a grimace. "Everyone picks on me anyway because they all hate me even though I'm the only one who ever does anything, ever." He gestured to the blood stains on the floor he'd been trying to get up. "I don't know why I bother sometimes . . ."
"I don't know why you bother at all," Vyvyan said.
Neil continued undeterred, ". . . I may as well just kill myself and get it over with since nobody cares. None of you are even listening to me anyway. I should probably just . . ."
"Shut up, Neil!" Vyvyan yelled standing up to face the long haired weirdo.
Rick who had been strangely silent since his last remark jumped into action. "My point is that I'm right and you're wrong. So there!" he proclaimed pointing an accusatory finger at Vyvyan. His smug look of victory was soon wiped from his face when he discovered a hand on his head. The hand, of course, belonged to Vyvyan who with his other hand grabbed the most convenient thing he could find, namely Neil's head, and smashed the two together. With a dull thud, both men fell slowly to the floor.
Vyvyan resumed his seat at the table next to Davy. "You just can't get any peace in this house," he said to Davy with a weary sigh.
"Oh great," said Neil from the floor. "More blood for me to clean up."
Billy emerged from the fridge victorious. He quickly withdrew his hands revealing a half-drunken bottle of Coca-Cola in one and, in the other, something that looked like it was a sandwich at some point in time. He closed the door, a satisfied look on his face. "Was it good for you, too?" he asked, winking at the fridge.
He made his way to the table, took a seat next to Davy and began with the soda.
"The note, Billy," the shorter Mike said irritably.
"No," said Billy pointing to his plate, "It's a sandwich."
"Would you just give us the note!?" shouted the shorter Mike's counterpart. He received his answer shortly when something that looked like it had been a sandwich at some point, hit him square in the jaw.
"Would you give us the goddamn note!?" shouted Vyvyan.
"Well if you're gonna get all sniffy about it," he said and threw an envelope down on the table. Vyvyan grabbed it and studied it carefully while Billy made his way to the centre of the room. "I never wanted to do this anyway," he said in a serious manner to no one in particular. "I always wanted to be . . . a lumberjack." He pulled of his dirty overcoat to reveal a plaid shirt complete with braces. He pulled a furry cap from his pocket and placed it on his head. "Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia."
"Oh shut up!" said Rick who had since picked himself up off the floor.
"The redwood, the larch, the mighty Scotch pine . . ."
"If you don't shut up," said Vyvyan said menacingly, "I'll have SPG rip off your testicles with his teeth."
"Like hell I will!" came a Scottish voice from outside a broken window.
"What about my comedic monologue?" asked Billy edging toward the exit.
"Get out, ya fairy!" shouted Vyvyan dropping the letter and picking up the bike.
"I'm not sleeping with that writer again."
"Get out you stupid bastard!" Rick shouted as Vyvyan hurled the bike at Billy.
Both the bike and the now unconscious Billy Balowski landed outside safely out of sight.
The envelope lay on the table. For moment everyone stared at it as though their fate were sealed within. Then again, it was. Davy who was the closest as he was still seated at the table motioned to it. "Shouldn't we open it?" he asked tentatively.
"You're the closest, Dave," Micky told him.
"Right," he said. He gingerly picked up the plain white envelope with two hands holding it at least a foot from his face. He licked his lips and positioned his hand to tear it opened. Several seconds passed, but Davy didn't move, his fingers stilled poised on the brink of action. "I can't do it," he said finally passing it to Peter.
Peter took the envelope and stared at it fearfully as if it contained the plague.
"This is ridiculous," Rick said, "just open the bloody thing."
"Why don't you?" Peter said holding the letter out to Rick.
"Uh, I would . . ." Rick began taking a step backwards, "but, uh . . . I don't have my spectacles on."
"Rick you don't wear spectacles," Mike said in his cool British accent.
"Yes I do," Rick countered indignantly. "They're . . . they're invisible, so you can't see them!"
Mike shook his head and sighed. "Vyvyan."
Vyvyan walked over to Rick and belted him across the face.
"No Vyvyan," Mike corrected, "the letter! Open the letter."
"Oh!" Vyvyan walked over to the frightened Peter and roughly grabbed the note. "Give it here ya pansy," he said and opened it up with ease. He looked at it for a moment. "It was a good shot though, wasn't it Mike?"
"Oh very good, Vyvyan!" Rick said sarcastically still holding his aching head.
"Terrific, Vyv, now what does it say?" Mike answered.
Vyvyan still grinning at Rick's discomfort looked at the note. His smile turned quickly to a frown of concentration. "D . . . Dee . . . Dee-a . . ." he began.
"Very good Vyv," said Mike coming round to his side. "Now what's that letter there?"
"Uh . . . an R?"
"Good, so what's the first word?"
"Uh . . . Dee-arr . . . dear!" Vyvyan shouted.
"Good! Now the next," Mike prompted.
"Dear B . . . B . . . oo-oy . . . s . . ."
"Oh give me that!" Rick yelled and grabbed the note.
"Dear Boys," he read.
"Hey!" Peter stopped him. "I thought you said you needed glasses!"
"Spectacles," corrected Davy.
"Invisible spectacles," added Micky.
A look of concern crossed Rick's face. "Well," he began tentatively but with growing confidence. "They're invisible, right? So how do you know I'm not wearing them now!?" he answered. He gave an exasperated sigh and turned his attention back to the note.
"Dear Boys," he began again as Neil and Vyvyan came up behind him. "G . . . G . . . oh . . ."
"That's an E, Rick," said Neil from over his shoulder.
"Yes, yes! Shut up, I can see that! G . . . ee . . . it."
"Git!" shouted Vyvyan.
"Doesn't 'git' have, like, an I in it?" Neil asked.
"Does it?"
"I think so," said Rick.
"Oh yeah," Vyvyan mumbled.
"Gee . . ." Rick pronounced. Neil and Vyvyan helped him out by making various "Guh," "ee," and "tee" noises. Finally, Mike could take no more. The tall Texan pounded over and grabbed the note from them.
"You guys are pathetic!" he said. "Can't you even read?"
"What'd you expect? We're college students," said Neil.
"Yeah," Rick agreed, "I suppose you could do better."
Mike shot him an annoyed look. "Peter could do better."
At the mention of his name, Peter brightened. "Thanks man."
Mike should his head and forced a smile. "No problem, buddy." He then turned back to the paper in his hands and read it. It said: Dear Boys,

Get Stuffed!

Your loving (co) landlords,
Mr. Babbit & Mr. Balowski "Get stuffed?" Micky asked. "What does that mean?"
"It means we're buggered," Mike answered.
"Right up the bottom," Vyvyan added.
Rick sighed, "And we all know what that's like."
There was a brief silence while everyone digested the news. No one moved or said a word for some time. Finally a voice emerged from the quiet.
"What do we do now?" asked Peter.
Strangely, the reply came from outside. "I told you!" it said. "You should have taken the taxi!"
"Will you fuck off!" Vyvyan hollered, his face turning red with effort. He picked up a chair and was about to give chase when he felt a hand on his shoulder restraining him.
"Look man," Mike Nesmith said, "if you keep doing that we're not gonna have any chairs left."
Vyvyan looked at him and smiled. "You're right," he said and smashed the chair over Mike's head.
"Now that," Davy began, "I did not see coming."
"Well, I think that's enough for today," said the other Mike, the one still standing. "House meeting adjourned," he finished and causally made his way to the living room.