Alias Baby Face
Baby Face was sick of waiting. Passing for the dead musician wasn't difficult. He pretended to be too nervous to play the drums, remained as chipper as possible "under the circumstances" and faked his way through any conversations that involved something he probably should know from Dolenz's past. Getting by was a breeze, but the inactivity was grating on his nerves. He needed to be making connections and getting back in the game. Once Nesmith and Tork were out of the way, Jones would be easy enough to control. Then he could turn this pad into a nice, cozy headquarters where he could run his operation.
After almost a week of waiting, Baby Face was more than ready to start. He took a moment alone in the bathroom to check his gun again and shoved it into a jacket pocket. He stepped outside and was surprised to see Mike in front of him. "Hey, what's up?" he asked brightly.
"Hey, there's a woman from Ladies' Home Journal on the phone. I told her there were no women here, but I wanted to find out if you think your sister Judy would be interested."
Baby Face shook his head. "Nah, she's not into that kind of thing," he answered. No way he was going to root around for a sister's phone number and give himself away.
Mike's eyes widened a little, as if he were surprised that a girl wouldn't want a lady's magazine. He smiled and said, "Okay. I'll let her know."
"Thanks, man." Mike walked away, and Baby Face trotted upstairs and sauntered into the boys' bizarre communal bedroom, smiling happily. This time, the smile wasn't just a front. It was good to be back in action again. Peter and Davy were sitting on Davy's bed playing Go-Fish. Baby Face suppressed a disgusted frown at two grown men playing a kid's game. He forced himself to smile brighter. "Hi guys!"
They looked up. "Hey, Micky," Davy said brightly. "Want in on the next hand?"
"Oh, no thanks. I'm just feeling a little stir crazy. I kinda want to go out on my own, but I thought it might still be kind of dangerous to just be by myself. Would you come with me, Peter? Just for a while?"
Peter smiled. "Sure, Micky."
"I hope you don't mind. I hate to break up the game."
"We can pick it up later," Davy said. "You guys have a good time."
"Thanks, babe," Baby Face said, feigning relief and gratitude. "I'm losing my mind!" They chuckled, and Peter got up and grabbed his coat. "Let Mike know we'll be back in a couple of hours, will you?"
"Sure," Davy said. He was already re-arranging the cards to play solitaire.
"Ready, Pete?"
"Yup, all set!"
Baby Face led the way out to the car. Mike was still on the phone with the sales-lady, his back to them. Just as well. Baby Face didn't feel like making excuses again. He grabbed the keys, took the driver's seat and waited for Peter to get in. "Okay, buddy. Do you care where we go?"
"Wherever you want," Peter said.
Baby Face smiled. "Great. I know just the place."
The phone rang. Mike looked around, but none of the other guys were anywhere near. He left the bandstand and picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Mike?? Oh, thank goodness you're okay!"
Mike frowned at the phone, utterly confused. It sounded like Micky, but he'd just seen Micky go into the bathroom! "Uh... who is this?"
"It's Micky."
"What?? That's not-"
"Shhhh! Mike, please! Please listen to me." Mike settled down, surprised by how frantic the Micky impersonator sounded. "You have to be careful," he said softly. "If you're alive, that means he must still be there. You... you can't say my name, or let him know you're upset at all. He's dangerous."
"Who's dangerous?" Mike asked, obliging the nervous man by speaking softly.
"Baby Face."
Mike gasped. "But we... we hid you! He-"
"It wasn't me you hid, Mike," the man said softly. "Remember the day I went out by myself?"
"Yeah," Mike said dubiously.
"That was the day he got me. The man in the house with you is Baby Face. You guys have to get out of there! He wants to-"
"Wait a minute, here," Mike interrupted. "How do I know you're not Baby Face, and you're not trying to trick us?"
The man choked back a sob, and Mike's eyes widened. This guy was either a great actor, or they were in deep trouble. "I'm not," the man said in a quavering voice. "Please, Mike, you gotta believe me! I... I can prove it. Ask him a question. Um... ask him about my sister."
"Micky doesn't-"
"SSSHHHHHH!!! I know, that's the idea."
"I get it. Okay, hold on."
"Mike!"
"Yeah?"
"Please be careful. Please."
"I will," Mike said, trying to sound reassuring. He set the phone on the table and went to wait for Micky outside the bathroom door. He made up something about a magazine subscription for a fake sister, and was shocked when Micky didn't even bat an eye. He just answered the question as if the fake sister existed. Mike forced himself to smile, but he felt an iciness growing in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to run, but he forced himself to walk slowly back to the phone and pick it up.
Mike looked back to make sure that Baby Face was not around before speaking to Micky. He had gone upstairs. Mike was worried about him being up there with the others, but he'd been here for almost a week without doing anything. A couple more minutes probably wouldn't make a difference.
"Micky?"
"Yeah?"
"I believe you, babe. Where are you? Are you okay?"
"I'm in the hospital." Mike gasped sharply. "I... I'm okay right now, but... Mike..." His voice quavered, and Mike could hear him struggling not to cry out loud. "Mike he broke... everything. I can't... move. Th-they... the doctor said I might not be able to... to walk for a while."
Micky did start to cry then, and Mike found himself growing more and more furious at Baby Face. He wanted to march upstairs and start throwing punches, but he knew what a foolhardy move that would be, and Micky needed him right now. He glanced around quickly to make sure he was still alone. "Okay, Mick," he said. "It's okay, don't cry. You're gonna be fine, all right?"
"Okay," Micky said through his tears. "Mike, you... you have to get out of there! You guys have to get out of there before-"
"We will. Don't worry, man. You just rest, okay? Try to rest. We'll get out, get the police, and then we'll come see you. Hang in there until then for me, okay Mick?"
"Okay, Mike." Micky still sounded upset, but he was much calmer than before.
"We'll see you soon, okay?"
"Okay. But, you- you have to be careful, Mike, please. He's got a gun."
Mike froze for a second, then looked toward the upstairs bedroom again. That icy feeling in his stomach got stronger. "I'll be careful," Mike assured him. "Get some rest. We'll come see you as soon as we can."
"All right."
Mike got off the phone and sat for a moment, just trying to figure out what to do. Baby Face was armed, which meant going on the attack was out of the question. Maybe he could make an excuse to get Davy and Peter out of the house. He went upstairs, working out a story on the way. He looked in their bedroom, but Davy was alone, playing solitaire. "Hey, you seen Peter?"
Davy looked up from his game. "Yeah. He went driving with Micky."
"WHAT???"
Davy jumped. "Uh... Micky wanted to go out, and he didn't want to go alone, so Peter went with him."
"When did they leave?" Mike asked urgently.
"Just a second ago," David said, looking nervous.
Mike bolted out of the bedroom, raced down the stairs and flung the door open. A sharp cry escaped him when he saw that the car was gone. There was no sign of it anywhere on the streets. "Oh God," he said weakly, feeling his chest tighten.
"Mike?" Mike turned at the sound of Davy's frightened voice. Davy's already worried expression changed to one of alarm when he saw Mike's face. "What's the matter, Mike? What happened?"
Mike swallowed and slowly shut the door, fighting to keep cool when he wanted nothing more than to scream and cry and break things. "Peter's-" His voice cracked, and he stopped and tried again. "Sit down, Davy. I gotta make a call to the police, then I'll explain everything."
Peter enjoyed the ride at first. Micky was driving a little faster than he usually did, but Peter figured it was because he was excited to finally get out of the house. He had been itching to get outside for days, and Peter thought he'd seemed a little sullen lately. However, after they started getting farther away from the places they usually liked to hang out, Peter started to get a little nervous.
"Where are we going, Micky?" he asked. "This seems awful far."
"Don't worry. We'll be there soon," Micky said.
Peter was satisfied for the moment, but after another twenty minutes went by and Micky didn't seem to have any intention of stopping, Peter started to get concerned again. "Mike's gonna have a fit about the gas, Mick," Peter said. "Maybe we should go back now."
"I said don't worry about it!" Micky snapped.
Peter frowned, hurt by Micky's sharp tone. He didn't say anything for a long time. Micky was obviously in a really bad mood. He watched the road, still surprised by how far they were driving. Eventually, they came to an old construction site, with a wide, gravel lot at the back. Micky pulled into the lot, and gasped. Peter was surprised, too. Part of the old, half-finished building was roped off with crime scene tape. Peter was going to ask Micky what they were doing there, but Micky was already backing out of the lot. "Dammit!"
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"SHUT it!" he snapped.
"Micky! " Peter cried, trying to keep from pouting. "Why do you keep shouting at me?"
"Because you're bugging me! Just keep your fucking mouth shut, and I won't have to shout!"
Peter gasped, and tears filled his eyes. Micky had never been so mean to him before. And it took a heck of a lot more than that to make him swear! Why was he... Peter gasped again, suddenly in a panic. "You're not Micky!"
"Congratulations, genius," he said, his voice now sounding deeper than it had for the last several days. "You wanna cookie?"
Peter could feel his body starting to tremble. Baby Face! It had to be. But when could he have had time to take Micky's place? And where was their friend? "W-where's Micky?" he asked, his voice thick with tears.
"Micky's dead! And that's what you're gonna be if you don't shut up!" He glared fiercely at Peter for a moment, before turning his attention back to the road.
Peter couldn't fight his tears anymore. Micky dead? He didn't want to believe it. But Baby Face was such a vicious killer that even the police were afraid of him! They had just sped away from a crime scene that Baby Face seemed upset about, and if Micky was alive, why hadn't he come back to the pad? Peter cried harder the more he thought about just how likely it was that Micky was really dead, and that HE would be next. The more he thought about Micky being murdered, the more upset he became. He began to feel not only sad, but angry as well. "Why?" he cried. "Why would you kill Micky?"
"Calm down, kid," Baby Face said. "You won't have to worry about it for very long."
"WHY!!" he shouted, his anger growing, but his chest still heaving with sobs. "WHY DID YOU KILL MICKY??" Without waiting for an answer, and with a vehemence that surprised even himself, Peter lunged at Baby Face. He grabbed at the man's hair and shook him, heedless of the car swerving, or the surprised shouts from Baby Face. After a moment, Baby Face started to fight back. The car screeched to a halt, and Baby Face struggled against him.
Peter held his own for several moments, still fueled by fury, but eventually, Baby Face managed to push him off. He started punching, and caught Peter in the chest and stomach several times, knocking the wind out of him. While Peter tried to catch his breath, Baby Face reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a large, scary-looking revolver. He cocked the safety off and pointed it at Peter. Peter cringed and raised his hands in self defense, but before he could pull the trigger, a horn blared. "Move it, buster!"
Baby Face turned his fierce glare on the car behind them and pointed the revolver toward them. "Go around, asshole!" he shouted. Peter heard the screeching of tires, and Baby Face glared back down at him. He reached down and grabbed Peter by the hair with one hand, keeping the gun pointed at him with the other. He slammed Peter's head against the dashboard. He did it once more, then tossed Peter back down on the seat. Peter struggled to get away, but he was so dizzy and nauseous that trying to get his hand to touch the doorknob seemed like the most difficult task in the world.
Before Peter could get anywhere, Baby Face grabbed his belt and yanked him down. He undid the belt, easily shoving Peter's hands out of the way when he tried to stop him. When he got the belt off, Baby Face flipped Peter onto his stomach, and yanked Peter's hands behind his back. He tied Peter's wrists together so tight that Peter couldn't even budge them an inch. He went away for a second, and Peter heard a door slam. He tried to move again, but his head hurt, and he could feel himself getting drowsy.
A few minutes later, the passenger door opened, and Peter was dragged forward by his hair. Baby Face hefted Peter onto his shoulder and carried him around the car. Peter was dropped into the back seat, the swift movement making the nausea worse. "Damn traffic," Baby Face muttered, roughly yanking off Peter's shoes. He pulled off Peter's socks, and forced him onto his back. He shoved the socks into Peter's mouth, grabbed one of their jackets and wrapped it around Peter's head, leaving him in darkness. "You lucked out, Tork. You get a few more hours."
The door slammed. Peter managed to roll to his side so that he was no longer laying on his hands, but he couldn't muster the energy to do anything else. He lay there for a few moments, trembling from both fear and exhaustion, before the drowsiness took over and he lost consciousness.