Agent Psychedelic Llama stayed with them in the house until Howie got home. She had a security detail with her, two Agents code-named Agent Zipper and Agent Flashlight to stand guard inside the house, and Agent Black Key and Agent Green Lamp patrolling outside. Polly tried to treat it like business as usual, but as she cleaned house and took care of Marissa, it was obvious to all of the Monkees that she was anxious about the whole thing.
As for the Monkees themselves, they sat in the living room and said nothing, each of them thinking about what had happened. Micky fidgeted nervously, glancing at all the windows in the living room repeatedly, as if he thought someone would come bursting through them. Davy was alternating between sitting quietly to stare at the wall and pacing up and down the living room, while Mike sat on the couch and glared at the floor, his arms folded, trying to think of a way out of this.
Peter was doing a mixture of the three; he would stare at the wall, get up and pace, frown in thought, and glance at the window whenever he heard a noise.
And so the afternoon wore on.
Nearing five o'clock, everyone stiffened as they heard a car pull into the driveway and park. A car door opened and slammed shut, and footsteps ran quickly up to the back door. Agent Psychedelic Llama put her hand on her gun, but didn't look too concerned. There was a knock at the door in very unusual pattern, eight knocks in succession, then two, then two more. Agent Psychedelic Llama took her hand away from the holster and moved to keep watching the front door as Howie unlocked the back door and stepped in.
"Howie!" Peter said, standing up. "They know about me!"
"I know, Peter," Howie said wearily, dropping a newspaper onto the coffee table. "Read the front page."
The Monkees all moved to read the headline.
GANG MEMBER REVEALS STARTLING NEWS ABOUT "JUNIOR" BEST
"Oh no," Mike said, as everyone stared at the paper in shock. "This is bad."
"Keep reading, it gets worse," Howie said. So they all looked down and began to read the article.
Authorities were baffled when, at the town fair this morning, three known criminals from the notorious Black Rose Gang were found unconscious in one of the exhibit buildings. The criminals, Thomas "Chain-man" Harrison, Cedric "Tooth-Champ" Pots and James "Jamie" Jameson, claimed that they were at the fair to run an operation from the Duck Pond when they discovered some startling news.
Deputy Mitchell, the arresting officer, comments: "After interrogating the criminals, we have reason to believe that the town of Kent is in considerable danger. Not only have we attracted the attention of dangerous men such as Chain-man, Tooth-Champ, and Jamie, but we have now been told that the leader of their rival gang, Mr. Best, has been paying us a few visits as well."
When asked about the rumor that Mr. Best is training up an heir for his empire of crime, the deputy comments: "We can neither confirm nor deny the claims given by these three criminals, but we are investigating the possibility."
When arrested, Cedric Pots claimed that Mr. Best's son, "Junior" Best, was definitely at the fair this afternoon, and expressed on behalf of his gang that the young heir to this national crime syndicate would be found.
"We're at the scene of a gang-war," Thomas Killigan, police chief, states. "It's a scary thought, but true. Even if Mr. Best turns out to have nothing to do with Kent, The Black Rose gang are making it clear that they're going to search this town top to bottom."
Authorities assure us that they will do everything they can to protect the town and it's citizens from such an occurrence, but advise people to stay indoors at all times. A reward of 500 dollars has been issued for anyone with information on the whereabouts of either gang, and of 1,000 dollars for any regarding Mr. Best or his son, Junior.
The Monkees all stared in shock at the newspaper, and Peter groaned.
"The news is all over town," Howie said. "Police are poking around everywhere, but that's the least of our problems. All of the Agents who know my identity, I trust to keep it a secret from the cops, and any members of the Black Rose gang who might know would rather take it upon themselves to bring me to justice than to let the cops handle it. So the cops don't have any leads on me. What concerns me is that those members of the Black Rose gang knew about Peter. If they knew about Peter, they must've had an informant. So they probably know about me."
"But that gang member said he didn't know your identity," Micky pointed out.
"Yeah, but he was talking to reporters and the police," Howie said. "And even if he was telling the truth, he's one of the flunkies. Just because those three didn't know my identity doesn't mean no one in his gang does. They've been on to Mr. Best for months, they know I work from Kent, they've been examining every business in town, trying to find the front for the gang. They've never been close to finding my identity before, but how else could they have known that Peter was in the pig exhibit? It doesn't make any sense! They had to have known that it's me. Sammy's clearing out the store front right now, any evidence of our operating from there will be gone by ten o'clock tonight."
"Are we going to have to move?" Polly asked. "I know, it's probably a silly question, but if we do, I want to get started packing right away."
"Go ahead and pack some things in case we need to make a quick getaway," Howie said. "But we can't skip town now. It'd be too suspicious, with the police poking around everywhere. We'd have to wait a few weeks to be safe."
"What about us?" Mike asked. "I know this might be the wrong time, but I'd kinda like to get back to Malibu as soon as possible."
"Of course," Howie said. "You'd still have to wait a few days, just so it doesn't look too suspicious. But with enough Agents on the train, and in the police force, we could probably get you out of Kent and safely on your way back to Malibu."
"Thank you," Mike said. "Because, really, it's been very nice meeting you both, and we all love Marissa. But things are beginning to spiral."
"Mike-and-Ike, you shouldn't say 'spiral'," Howie said absently. "Because that means we're careening out of control and falling right out of the sky, and I don't particularly like the mental image that produces."
"You're right, sorry," Mike said. "What should we do for the next few days?"
"Just stay put, don't leave the house," Howie said. "No one will think anything of it, as everyone's been advised to remain indoors anyway. I've closed the store front, under the pretense of a fear of gang activity. Once Sammy is done clearing out the back room, there won't be any evidence of illegal activity, and that should appease the cops. Anything we miss, well, our inside man will take care of that."
The phone rang then, and Howie rushed over to pick it up. "Hello, you've reached the Bessetti residence, Howie speaking." He paused for a moment. "Ah, yes, the bakery downtown. How's business?" He waited a little longer, the Monkees watching him. "What!?" He demanded, going pale. "Oh, oh, I see... Um, okay, I"ll come pick it up right now."
He hung up the phone. "Who was that?" Davy asked.
"That was the bakery downtown," Howie said, opening the door and beckoning for Agent Psychedelic Llama. "They're calling about my order for ten frosted cupcakes. Apparently, the delivery's been interrupted, so I have to go pick them up myself."
Agent Psychedelic Llama nodded briskly and pulled her gun out of its holster before turning to wait by the back door.
"What does all that mean?" Micky asked.
"It means that Agent Cupcake called," Howie explained, crossing the room and picking up his jacket. "The store front is under attack, the Black Rose gang have it surrounded and are going to move in quickly. Sammy doesn't have enough fire power with him; this was supposed to be a quick job. He needs back up."
"So you're going down there alone!?" Polly asked, grabbing Howie's arm as he walked towards the back door. "But it's dangerous!"
"I won't be alone," Howie promised. "I'm taking Agent Psychedelic Llama with me, and Agent Black Key. We're going to pick up a few agents on the way, we'll be perfectly fine. We just have to drive out enough of the Black Rose members to get our men out, then we'll come right back here, I promise."
"Alright," Polly said quietly, letting go of Howie's arm. "But you'd better not break that promise!"
Howie smiled. "I won't," he said, jumping up onto an end table and pushing up a ceiling tile. Reaching behind it, he pulled a gun out and replaced the tile.
"You keep a gun in the house?" Peter asked in surprise.
Howie looked at him. "...It's just a safety precaution," he said. "For emergencies only. It's all part of the job."
Peter didn't look reassured. "...Right," he said. "Howie, be careful, alright?"
"Don't worry, Peg-leg-Pete," Howie said with a lopsided grin. "I still haven't heard you sing. Wouldn't wanna miss out on that. Hold down the fort 'til I get back, alright?"
With that, he left through the back door. After a few moments, they heard the sound of the car engines start and drive away.
If the Monkees had been anxious before, it was nothing compared to the way they felt now. They didn't even dare leave the living room, and all the lights were still off. Marissa was asleep on Polly's lap, she'd been tired out by all the stress of the evening. Peter sat straight up in one of the chairs, staring at the window that faced the street, even though he couldn't see through it as the curtains were drawn. He didn't move or talk, even when the others tried to get him to, and Micky was reminded of the time when the Evil Wizard Glick had hypnotized him through the power of the Frodis on television.
As ten o'clock crept closer and closer, and there was still no sign of Howie, their tensions rose. Finally, Mike couldn't take any more. "I'm gonna go see if there's been any news," he whispered to Davy, who nodded.
Standing up, Mike began to quietly make his way to the door of the living room, Agent Zipper would be in the hall, patrolling the house.
"Where are you going?" Micky whispered from beside Peter, who didn't seem to notice.
"I'm gonna go ask Agent Zipper if he's heard anything," Mike whispered back.
"Oh, okay," Micky said. "Hey, if he's in the kitchen, would you bring me back a sandwich and a glass of water?"
"Micky, this is no time to worry about your stomach," Mike said.
"It's not for me," Micky said, irritation flashing through his eyes. "It's for Peter. Maybe if he got something to eat..."
Mike rubbed his eyes with his hands. Of course that's what Micky meant. "Of course," he said. "I'm sorry, Mick, I guess we're all a little on edge here."
"That's okay," Micky whispered. "Although, really, it wouldn't hurt if all of us got something to eat. I don't think anyone's eaten since breakfast."
"You're right," Mike said. "I'll see what I can do."
With that, he crept out into the hallway. He found Agent Zipper, who was standing next to the front window, gun drawn, peering through the curtains.
"Hey," Mike whispered loudly, making sure to get the Agent's attention without sneaking up on him. One thing he knew about men with guns: You never want to startle one.
Agent Zipper glanced at him and nodded for him to come forward. Mike walked quickly and quietly up to him. "Any news?" He whispered.
Agent Zipper shook his head. "It looks quiet out there," he said. "Green Lamp and Flashlight are still patrolling the house from outside, they haven't reported any sign of trouble. Nobody's got back to us on the situation at the store front, though."
Mike nodded. "Is it alright if I go get some food from the kitchen?" He asked.
Agent Zipper nodded. "I'll come with you, just to be safe," he said. "The back door's in the kitchen, we wouldn't want anyone surprising you there. How good are you at getting food with all the lights off?"
"Well, let's hope I'm naturally gifted," Mike said. "I've never had experience with such matters."
They made their way to the kitchen, where Mike began carefully making sandwiches, pressing down the switch in the refrigerator to turn off the light. After the sandwiches were made, he was about to search the cupboards for glasses when there was suddenly a loud crash from the window on the kitchen door. Glass from the window flew everywhere as Mike ducked down behind the counter. He heard shots, Agent Zipper was shooting first, asking questions later. A few shots were returned and the Agent let out a yell, he'd been hit.
Agent Flashlight came into the room then, and ducked behind the refrigerator, shooting his own gun into the door. "Go back to the living room," he called to Mike. "Now, before they get in!"
Mike stood up and ran into the hallway, Agent Green Lamp was guarding the front door. "What happened!?" He demanded.
"I'm not sure," Mike said, running down the hall towards the living room. "The window in the door was shot up, whoever's coming shot Zipper!"
"No!" Agent Green Lamp said. "This is why we should be allowed to have real guns! I told them, I told them just a bang and some smoke wouldn't work in situations like this!"
"You're telling me," Mike said, opening the door to the living room and stepping inside.
He was immediately met with a tackling hug, the sound of the gunshots had brought Peter out of his trance and now all three of the other Monkees were hugging him.
"Mike, what happened!?" Davy demanded, all of them releasing him and taking a step back. Polly was standing nearby as well, holding Marissa, who was awake now and looking scared.
"I'll tell you all about it, but now we have to barricade the door," Mike said. The Monkees made quick work of it, piling the couches, the bookcase, the end tables, the stage equipment, and the stage lights all against the door at a speed that some would say was impossible.
"There, now that's done," Micky said. "Tell us what's going on!"
"Well-" Mike started.
CRASH!
Everyone ducked down instinctively as several men with guns came in through the window. Mike groaned, they had just sealed off their only means of escape.
"EVERYONE GET ON THE FLOOR!" One of the men yelled, shooting his gun into the air a few times. Everyone sat down on the floor.
"Oh, please, don't kill us!" Micky said. "We're nobodies, just humble musicians!"
"Quiet," the man barked, leveling his gun at Micky, who promptly shut his mouth. The man smiled. "Now then," he said, pointing his gun at Peter as his men covered the rest of them. "You, Junior, get up."
Peter stood shakily to his feet.
"Put your hands up," The man said, and Peter obliged. "You're coming with us."
Peter frowned. "You- you're not gonna kill me?" He asked.
"Shut up!" The man said. "Now, slowly, no sudden movements, walk over to your mother there and get your sister."
Peter froze. "...What?" He asked.
"Do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?" The man yelled angrily. "Go over there and get the little girl! You're coming with us!"
Peter stood his ground. "Please," he said. "Leave her out of it. She doesn't have anything to do with any of this. I'll come with you, but please, let her stay."
"Peter, no!" Davy exclaimed.
"SHUT UP!" The man yelled, pointing his gun at Davy this time. Then he smiled. "Here's the new deal," he said, turning his gun to Marissa, who gasped and hid her face in Polly's shoulder. "You go and get your baby sister," the man said. "Or I'll shoot."
Peter hesitated, but the man cocked the gun, so he stepped quickly in the line of fire between the weapon and Marissa, then began walking slowly towards Polly. "I'm sorry," he said, bending down and picking up Marissa. Polly just nodded. "It's not your fault, Peter," she whispered bravely as he stood up, holding Marissa.
Then he turned to the man. "Alright," he said. "Let's go."
"Rex, Georgie, Alfonso," the man said. "Escort these two to the cars."
Three of the men trained their weapons on Peter and roughly helped him out the window, following behind him.
"Now," the man said, pointing his gun around at the other Monkees. "How do I know you boys won't try to follow us?" All the other men in the room, each of them pointing their guns at a different target, cocked their weapons.
"Uh, because!" Mike said quickly, trying to come up with a reason to convince them to leave without killing everyone. "Because, uh, well, because... because we're all chickens! And um, we have to have a very long club meeting before we decide to do anything that might put us, in harm's way. Not to mention, since none of us have weapons, or training in hand-to-hand combat, or a strategy of any kind, we would have to regroup and rethink anything we come up with, uh, before we could even try."
"True," the man said, smiling. "But I'd like something a bit more substantial. I'm not a bad guy, really. I might not be a Good Guy, but I'm not evil." He lost his smile and turned to all of his men. "Knock 'em out," he said, turning to climb through the window. Mike looked up at the man nearest him and swallowed. The man grinned before raising his gun. Mike closed his eyes. Then he felt a jarring pain in his skull and saw stars. Huh... how cliche... He thought as everything went black and he knew no more.