Chapter 11- In and Out Again
Richie Osmond stood, his back to the doorway. "So, Morales, break this down for me. What am I doing that's worth three-hundred dollars?"
BabyFace Morales smiled his vicious, sickening smile. "You're going to break the ribs of a friend of an enemy, all while he's awake."
"Whoah, now." Richie held his hands up. "If he's going to be awake, I need to charge another one-fifty."
"We agreed three-hundred." BabyFace sneered.
"That was your original price and you said nothing about him being awake." Richie got off the wall and walked over to the empty table in the room, putting on rubber gloves as he did so.
"Fine. We'll leave him out." BabyFace grumbled, joining him at the table.
"Besides, why is he so important? You said he was a friend of your enemy. Why don't you just hurt your enemy and save this kid the trouble?" Richie asked, noticing two gangsters carrying a young, blonde man into the room.
"Because this will hurt him." BabyFace said simply. "This enemy… he's in this band. This is one of his band mates. I've learned that they're all sensitive kids, so if I hurt one of them, I hurt all of them. This was just the first one I could get my hands on." The gangsters dropped the man onto the table in front of Richie. Richie reached for the chloroform bottle on a smaller table that was equipped with surgical tools. BabyFace snatched his hand before he could touch it.
"What are you doing?" BabyFace demanded.
"I'm going to make sure he doesn't wake up while I'm operating." Richie retorted, pulling his hand away and grabbing the bottle. "Unless you want to pay four-hundred and fifty bucks for my work, I suggest you let me work." BabyFace frowned, but didn't stop Richie from applying the odorless liquid to a washrag and placing it over the young man's face. Richie then carefully unbuttoned the man's shirt and grabbed a clean knife. "And so we begin…"
"Mr. Nesmith?" A nurse whispered, poking her head into the doorway of Davy's room. Mike looked up to let her know she had his attention. "Visiting hours are over, now. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave." Mike nodded and stood, walking towards the door. Before leaving, he looked back at Davy.
In his hospital bed, he looked much older than they all knew he was. He had dark bags under his eyes and his skin was pale white, apart from the various purple bruises that haunted Mike for the last few days. They had a bandage wrapped around his head, along with his arms covered from his shoulder to his wrist in the white tape. They had told him that Davy was suffering from a concussion, as well as burns on his arms. There was some internal bleeding as well. He wasn't going to be able to eat anything solid for a while. When they first settled Davy in, the doctor told Mike that he should wake up in a few hours. That, of course, was over ten hours ago. Mike's stomach knotted with worry.
Micky stopped in every half hour or so to check in on them. Mike would silently rant to his band mate when the hours passed and their friend refused to stir. Micky would constantly reassure Mike that everything would be alright before retreating back to Peter's room to update Peter on Davy's physical condition, as well as Mike's mental condition.
"I wish I could help him." Peter would say after the update.
"All we can do right now is wait for Davy to wake up. Once he does, we'll know he's on the road to recovery and Mike will feel better." Micky would reassure him, even though Micky felt the same way. He wished he could help them.
Peter and Micky were conversing over their songs when Mike came into the room. "Visiting hours are over, Mick." Mike said, his Texas drawl apparent in his voice.
"Coming, Mike." Micky stood. "See you tomorrow, Peter." Micky said, giving Peter one of his genuine smiles.
"See you tomorrow Big Pete." Mike said as well, smiling too. Peter said his goodbyes to his two band mates and the two left.
"So how long have you been here?" Mike asked as they made their way back to the waiting room.
"About a week," Micky said. "Or at least I think it has been a week."
"So what have you been doing for the past week?" Mike asked.
"These two awfully nice ladies found Peter and brought him to the hospital. I met the younger of the two at a diner downtown. I have been staying with them. Once I tell them you're Mike I'm sure they will let you stay."
"What do you mean?"
"Peter and I have been telling these ladies about us. They opened up their home to us. Plus I need to pick up Annette from the diner. We can have dinner there."
"Whatever you say, Mick." Mike said as the two walked out of the hospital. The sun had set a few hours prior, and the chill of the night had set in. Micky quickened his pace to make it to the MonkeeMobile, however Mike kept a leisurely pace. After everything that had happened, he just wanted to slow down. He quickly caught himself thinking about how days prior, technically the year before, he and his friends were living life as any young adult could. Their lives were littered with crazy schemes, beautiful girls, and music. There was so much music. Mike smiled at the thought of returning to that life.
A muffled cry woke Mike from his reverie. Looking up, Micky was nowhere in sight. "Micky?" Mike asked cautiously. There was no answer. Mike froze in his tracks. The darkness had enveloped most of the parking lot, the only light coming from the minimal lamp posts and illuminated hospital behind him. "Micky? Where are you?"
"Over here, Mike." Mike could hear Micky say. Mike moved towards the voice, hoping to find the drummer.
"Micky? Come on out, I can barely see."
"I am out. Come this way." Mike obeyed, following the sound of Micky's voice. At the sight of the MonkeeMobile, Mike smiled and ran towards the beloved car.
"MIKE!" Micky screamed, this time his voice was heavy with worry and fear.
"Micky? Micky, where are you?" Suddenly, Mike could feel a large, sweaty hand wrap around his face and another hand tightly grip his forearm. The being who controlled the hands forced Mike away from the MonkeeMobile and closer to a small, black car. The closer Mike came to the car, the sooner Mike realized that there were two Mickys standing next to the car. One was standing free, a fedora atop his head and a pinstripe suit complimenting his evil demeanor. The other stood captive, donning the attire Mike remembered Micky wearing before. Two big men had Micky in their grasp, one of the men keeping a hand over Micky's mouth.
"Hello Michael." BabyFace smiled, walking up to the captive Monkee. He grabbed his jaw, pulling his face inches from his. "Think you could outsmart me, did you?" BabyFace released his grip so Mike could reply.
"Yeah." Mike huffed, his eyes darting from BabyFace to Micky, and back to BabyFace. BabyFace smiled, then demanded the two Monkees be thrown into the back of the small car. The thugs did so, shoving Micky in, then Mike. Once the two were in the car, one of the men squeezed in with them and shut the door. BabyFace pleasingly placed himself behind the wheel while another thug got into the passenger seat.
"Go ahead, Lennie." BabyFace said simply, and before they knew it, Mike and Micky were out cold, thanks to one swift move of a gigantic arm.