From: ZephyrBlu@aol.com (Rachel Carroll) Date: Sun, 12 Oct 1997 09:50:00 -0400 (EDT) To: FKarchiver@fkfanfic.com Monkees Take a Bite Out of Crime A silly story by Rachel Also a crossover Also a great deal of fun to write, or read Warning: Forever Knight/Monkees crossover lies herein. If you've seen the Monkees, you know what you're in for. If not, take two aspirin and lie down after reading. PS-I know the time frame's wrong. Just pluck the Monkees out of the sixties and stick them in the nineties, like they did with the Brady Bunch. Disclaimer: "They followed me home, can I keep them?" "No you can't, they belong to someone else. Especially the Forever Knight ones, lots of other people want to play with them." "Can I keep the Monkees then? Just one? Can I just keep Micky?" "No you can't." "Damn." In other word, these guys don't belong to me. But the story does. In fact: Story Copyright 1997 Rachel Carroll Dedicated to: My Mom, Dad, and Sister, Nicole, for helping feed my insanity by making home a nuthouse, To the members of FKFIC-L and the Monkees mailing list, where I've always found a second home, often nuttier than my own, And of course, to the Monkees and the Forever Knight bunch. P.S.- I claim to be no great writer. If I was, I'd be writing a meaningful novel rather than this nonsense. But then again, isn't nonsense more fun anyway? 1 ********* "Take the last train to Clarksville, and I'll meet you at the station..." It was just a typical summer day in Toronto, but it was not destined to stay that way. It was about to be blown apart by fanfic. As four boys got off their plane at the airport, the feeling in the air was unmistakable. The boys radiated complete and utter chaos, and the denizens of Toronto realized a moment too late that they were about to be sucked into the swirling vortex that is a Monkees episode. They unloaded their instruments from the luggage area, miraculously unharmed. This is fanfic, after all, and a little Monkee Magic thrown in kept the gear in one piece. For some reason they had no other luggage. This was okay because they have been known to experience spontaneous costume changes anyway. There was no logical reason for them to be visiting Toronto, but who cares? They never needed a logical reason to do anything before. They wandered aimlessly out of the airport, Mike trying to remember where they were supposed to go, Peter looking around in wonder like he'd never seen the bright lights of a city before, Micky imitating the French accents that could be heard here and there, and Davy looking to see if he could find someone shorter that he was. A cab pulled up suddenly, startling all four. They jumped back with a shriek before they realized that, actually, a cab was probably a pretty good idea right now. At least until the writer came up with something to do with them. They piled in, squishing each other horribly in the tiny cab. "Where to?" the driver asked pleasantly.(Only in the rose-colored world of fanfic is the cab driver pleasant. No offense to any cab drivers reading this.) Mike thought about this a moment. "Umm, where to? Peter, where were we supposed to go?" Looking up from where he had been studying the door handle, Peter replied, "Chicago, I think." "Well, your a long ways off from there. This is Toronto, in Canada. A whole different country." "That *would* explain the trouble they gave us about your hat, Mike. Probably thought it was full of creepy-crawlies." Micky twisted his face up and messed around with his hands in a vague imitation of a 'creepy-crawlie'. Davy looked up from where he was squished under everyone. "Ha, ha, very funny, just cha'ming, but what're we gonna do now?" "I dunno, man, I'm not writing this story. Micky, could you talk to the writer for us?" Mike looked hopeful that some sort of storyline could be salvaged from this up-to-this-point going nowhere dialogue. "Not in my cab! I won't have any outside presences being talked to in my cab! It would destroy my carefully built illusion that I actually exist in my own right." The cabby was clearly annoyed at the prospect that this was only fanfic. "Hey that's your hang-up, man, not mine. Micky, go talk to her, will ya?" "Sure. Hang on." Micky turned away from the front of the car and faced the back so that he was looking out the back windshield. Of course, a miniature me was standing there on the ledge, and since I'm the writer, I said hi. "Hi," he said, "can you tell us if this plot's going to go anywhere? Or are we just going to spend the rest of the story in this cab?" "The plot'll go somewhere once the cab starts going somewhere. You gotta decide where to go." "Well, you're the writer. You know where we're going to go, so tell me." "Actually, I had intended to leave that part out and develop the Forever Knight aspect of the storyline. They are half of this story too, you know." "So you don't know where we're supposed to go?" "Nope, but through a mix-up of directions, I know where you're going to end up." "Where?" "Not gonna tell you. It's a secret. Now step aside for a while so I can give Nick & Co. a chance to do something." "Oh, alright. Guess we'll just," he fake sobs, hoping to elicit sympathy, "figure it out on our own...." "Good boy." ********* "Something strange is going on in Toronto, Nat." Natalie looked up from what she was doing and gave Nick an exasperated what-else-is-new look. "Something strange? You mean, besides the fact that there's about a gazillion vampires, that there's no continuity whatsoever, and that I've put up with this relationship with you for six years now and you've never told me you loved me, except on the cutting room floor?" "Yes, besides that." Nat was intrigued. "Okay, then, what could possibly be going on?" , she silently prayed, . "I think we're in the middle of a piece of fanfic." "Damn!" "It gets worse. Nat, do you remember a TV show in the sixties about these four musicians living in a beachhouse driving everyone nuts?" "Yeah, the Monkees." Nat paled. "Oh no, Nick, don't tell me they're..." But it made sense, after all. Everything had suddenly gotten brighter, more colorful. And cheerful music seemed to play for no reason. Nat really didn't mind too much, now that she thought about it. However, the colors and music were starting to make Nick queasy. After all, he was used to dark colors and classical music, depressing stuff like that. Nat thought, "Nick, you know what this means don't you? When two shows are in the same piece of fanfic, it can only be..." She couldn't bring herself to say the word. It was a horrible, awful fate. "A crossover. I know. What affiliation is the writer?" "Rachel? She's a knightie, I think." "Damn. That means I'm *definitely* going to have to deal with them. There is one bright spot though." "What's that?" "If she's a knightie, she probably doesn't care for LaCroix too much. Which means she'll probably have them annoy him, too." He grinned at the prospect. So did Natalie. ***********End 1 2 ********* "Now they've darkened all the windows and the seats are naugahide, I've been waiting for an hour, I can't find a place to hide..." Well, let's just say that, after much confusing argument, the boys finally figured out where to tell the cabby to take them. Unfortunately, they mixed up a right and a left, and a left and a right, and a right and a.. well, that right was right, but the next right was wrong.... you get the picture. Anyway, they finally arrived(as I knew they would) at an abandoned grocery store. Actually, that's just where they were when the cabby decided he couldn't take it anymore. He kicked them out of the cab into the night(When did it get dark? Must've been during that missing cab scene) and said he was going to 'end it all'. They would have gone after him, but then Mike remembered the time he tried to save that 'suicidal' girl, and decided against it. He'd seen enough here-we-go-again tags to know better. Besides, it's only fanfic, so what's the worst that could happen? They watched the cab disappear into the night. "Oh, that's cha'ming," Davy said of the cabby's behavior, "just cha'ming." "Oh man, what're we gonna do *now*?" Mike queried, hoping one of the others might have some idea. "Guess we could always ask for directions in that store." Peter pointed to the aforementioned grocery store. "Come on, Pete, it's abandoned! We'll be lucky if the wrecking ball doesn't swing through there while we're inside!" Micky made a swinging motion with his arm and some sort of swooshy noise, with a loud crash-sound at the end. All in all, a convincing display. Too convincing. The others jumped when the imaginary wrecking ball made contact, but still, there didn't seem to be anything else to do, so they cautiously peeked into the building. There was a noise inside, and people talking. I'm not sure who, just some of those people that spring out of nowhere for fanfic. Well, as Mike once said, Monkees are notoriously curious, so they decided to see what was going down. However, as we all know, Monkees are NOT notoriously brave, so they pretty much stayed in the background and hid behind stuff. The building had one large room(how convenient) and in the center was a skinny little man tied to a chair. A larger, scary fellow was circling him with a hungry eye. The scary fellow stopped circling and finally spoke. "Look around you Jack. You see what's left of my store? My FAMILY BUSINESS! This is your fault, you know. You and your incompetent bagging!" "Look Mr. Johnson, please! It's not my fault! There were other baggers too!" "But they were good baggers, Jack. You, however, were not. And you shall pay for the destruction of my mini-mart." The scary fellow flew in a rage at Jack, who had committed an unspeakable sin- bad bagging. Oh, the humanity! The boys at this point were all hiding in strategic places. Don't ask me how they got there undetected, they just did. They got one look at Johnson's face as he attacked Jack- nasty big pointy teeth, glowing yellow eyes, snarling,- and froze. So of course they saw what happened next- (edited here for content. This is at least halfway a Monkees story, and violence isn't where it's at, so I'll leave you to imagine what happened to poor Jack the bagger. Think angry vampire.) Okay, that's it. They've seen enough, thank you very much, and with a few frightened noises they began a mad scramble for the doors. A few lines of "The Theme" are heard; This is not a true romp, just a partial one. But the point is, they made way more noise than they needed to and hence were spotted by an irate and surprised Mr. Johnson, fangs and all. Now, not only have the boys just witnessed a murder(criminal/illegal activity) but also have just seen proof of the existence of vampires(monsters/haunting). So following the Plot section of the Monkees drinking game... you'd be wasted outta your mind right about now. They finally got around a corner somewhere and took a minute to rest. Why hasn't the angry vamp caught them yet? Because I say so. Gawd I love being in charge. "Hib a dib a mow a cod a bibba," Micky muttered unintelligibly. (Okay, fine. You try to spell incoherent mumbling.) "MIKE, WHAT was THAT?" Peter asked. "I dunno, man, what did you see, Davy?" "I did't see anythin', did you, Peta?" "No nothing. Mike? Did you see nothing too?" "Absolutely!" They all looked at Micky, who by this time had pretty much recovered. "I tell ya, I didn't see a thing! Not a thing." came the rushed and out-of-breath reply to their unspoken question. "But..." Mike looked over his shoulder, "we'd just better find out if that 'nothin' saw us." "Yeah, man," Davy piped in, "He could be followin' us." "Following us?" Micky took on that whiny I'm-trying-to-convince-myself-but-it's-not-working tone. Not that I blame him. "Nah, he's not following us, that's silly, why would he be following us?" The four leaned around the corner at once and(of course) see that the nasty fellow from the grocery store is in hot pursuit. All four speak in unison, "He's following us." ********* Nick hung up the phone and grabbed his keys. Another disturbance, this time at an abandoned mini-mart. "Hey, partner, where you off to?" Nick started. He'd expected Tracy, Rachel always wrote about Tracy. Instead, Schanke was back. "Oh, ah, a disturbance. At a mini-mart." "A mini-mart? Great! After we clear it up I can get something to eat." Nick groaned, good-naturedly of course. "No, it's abandoned. No food there. But we still have to go. Even if there isn't any food." "Alright, fine. But we stop at a pizza place on the way home. Man oh man, am I starving." "No." "Yes." "No." "Yes." "No." "Yes." "It's my car." "So we'll take mine." "Yours isn't fast enough. We'd lose time." "We're losing time now." "So we need to take the Caddy to make up for it." "Oh fine. No pizza." ********* Sean Johnson, ex-proprietor, was startled to see a bunch of boys run out of his building after he had, um, dispatched Jack the bagger. Of course he followed, but was slowed considerably by my insistence that he not catch them right away. he thought, though they had actually been closer to twenty or so. He felt his anger grow as he saw them peeping around the corner at him. He thought of how LaCroix would deal with them. He could almost see the scene play out. LaCroix would pursue them leisurely, trapping them in an alley. He would terrify them first, before he killed them. LaCroix liked to do such things, he said it made the meal that much better. But LaCroix wasn't here(I made sure of that). He would have to deal with the pesky mortals himself. He flew off in pursuit, not aware of what he was getting himself into. **********End 2 3 ********* "And I don't know if I'm ever coming home..." When Nick and Schanke arrived at the mini-mart, the body was still conveniently there. Oh, I don't know, maybe Johnson was too busy tracking down our friendly neighborhood simians to worry about the body. Nat was there too, of course, busy covering up the fact that this guy might've been an extra out of a Dracula flick. One of the uniforms walked up behind her. "What are you doing, doctor?" "Oh, just covering up an obviously bizarre death so that I can tack a reasonable yet unrelated cause on later." "Oh, okay, carry on then." "Lessee," Schanke said. "A body, no weapon, and the evidence that is here is being tampered with by our dear ME. How're we gonna solve this one?" But Nick was more interested in all the footprints in the dust. Lotsa footprints. Like people got chased around, like they had seen too much and ran like mad...which we know is exactly what happened. he thought, He shook his head to clear it. For a second he thought he had heard a few lingering bits of some old sixties tune.... ********* Now it was a full-fledged romp. The boys ran around the block, leading Johnson in circles. They ducked in and out of fences. They hid behind trashcans, jumped out from behind trashcans. They climbed up fire escapes. They got a few fresh sets of clothes, made a few funny faces, and somehow found the time to sing 'Last Train to Clarksville." In other words, Johnson, though a vampire, didn't have a chance of catching them. Another thing was that, by some little bit of Monkee Magic, he couldn't hear their heartbeats. We all know vamps can sense normal human heartbeats, but the Monkees aren't exactly normal. So not only did they overwhelm him with their silliness, he couldn't even tell where they were going to pop up next. However, due to a miscalculation on Davy's part, and because everyone else picks on him('cause he's short), Mr. fangboy did manage to catch him in an alley. By this time, Johnson felt lucky to have just gotten hold of *one* of them. The other three were still running around, and by the time they realized Davy wasn't with them, Nick the hero fangboy had dropped in to lend his hand. ******** Nick was flying all around the mini-mart, and even though there were plenty of people around, no one saw him, because I say so. Suddenly, the cheerful sound of 'Last Train to Clarksville' knocked him out of his perpetual gloomy state and nearly knocked him out of the sky. He looked down and saw Sean Johnson, a hotshot vampire he'd seen at the Raven, chasing four... he wasn't sure what. They weren't vampires but he couldn't hear their heartbeats... so they had to be abnormal, or just very silly. These must be the famed Monkees. They seemed to be taking care of themselves by confusing Sean, and Nick didn't want to get involved if he didn't have to, but then the little one got cornered... At a little prodding from me, Nick swooped down and landed behind the little fellow, facing Sean. "Drop him!" Then, as an afterthought, mainly because I want to involve the police in this as a plot device, "Police!" Sean was reluctant to give up his hard-fought-for prize, but he had no choice, of course. Nick was older than he, someone not to be trifled with. Plus I had told him very expressly that since he was only a fanfic character, he only had this one life, and if he didn't want it cut short he'd better do as I say. He could at least be painfully literal, so he dropped poor Davy on to the hard sidewalk, then flew off before Nick could stop him. "Oww, that 'urt." Davy rubbed his head where he'd hit it against the wall of the alley. "Micky, Peta, Mike!" The trio came running into the alley to rescue there downed comrade. Then they saw Nick. "Hey, man, are you a police officer?" Mike asked, "This weird guy was chasin' us, man, we need some *serious* help!" "Yeah," said Micky, "That was *entirely* too creepy." Nick was helping Davy up when what they said surprised him. He dropped Davy to the ground again, eliciting a sharp protest. But Nick was only concerned with what the other two had said. "What do you mean, a 'weird guy' and 'creepy'?" The guys looked at each other and quickly launched into one of those confusing thingies where they all talk at once, trying to explain something. "He looked like a dog!" "Well, he didn't exactly look *like* a dog..." "He did't have fur or anythin'..." "He had teeth like a dog..." "Big sharp pointy teeth..." "And glowy eyes like a cat.." "Not that we'd really know about dogs and cats..." "Yeah, our landlord won' let us 'ave one..." "Which is a shame because then we could bring it home fortune cookies..." "But he killed that guy..." "Just cause he bagged wrong!" "I mean, bad baggers annoy me, but I wouldn't *kill* one..." (Note: the preceding was said all overlapping, not in a sequence like it's written. If I wrote it overlapping you'd have no clue what any of it means, and what good would that do anyone?) "Wait a minute! One at a time!" He thought about the snippets he had heard. "Okay, he was chasing you, your footprints are all over the store, and you said you saw him kill Jack Kearson... so you witnessed the murder, right?" "Oh, you're real perceptive," Mike announced sarcastically. To the others, "No wonder he's a detective." Big pointy teeth...Glowy eyes..."Come on over here, boys..." He led them further away from the police crowd. "I need to talk to you about something..." ********* Sean glared down at the elder vampire and the four upstarts he was helping. He knew what he would do. An evil smile touched his face, but he swatted it away. Dang evil smiles, they were as bad as mosquitoes. He would get LaCroix. If *he* couldn't deal with these four lunatics, no one could. And they *had* to be dealt with. Because they knew. **********End 3 4 ******** "Words with lies inside, but small enough to hide..." "Now wait a minute," Mike said. He was starting to get upset, and I don't blame him, but he was also starting to get that squeaky-voice he only uses in rare cases when things are *really* unbelievable, which can be annoying. "You mean to tell me that...that that guy," he pointed vaguely in the direction of the mini-mart, "was a vampire?!" "Tha's the most ridiculous 'fing I ever 'eard in me life! Where'd you come up wi' a story like that?!"(three guesses as to who said that) "Maybe he read it in one of those funny newspapers in the supermarket," supplied Peter. "It's not a story," said Nick, settling back into his gloomy mood(time for a Monkees booster shot). "I wish it were. But there *are* real vampires, and Mr. Johnson was one of them." "Oh, come on," Micky said. "Vampires? That's crazy talk." His voice suddenly took on an accent similar to the Carpathian Mountain Region. "Ya, I'm from Transylvania. Ah, ya, sock it to me." Amid quiet laughter from the others, he continued, his voice normal again. "Even I know vampires aren't real. Just make-believe." He would have launched into his 'Land of Make-Believe' speech, but Davy jumped in first. "And why es'actly would you jus' tell us this stuff an' all that?" He gestured about with his hands. (I was wondering about that myself.) "Oh, that's easy," said Micky, " 'cause it's fanfiction. People can act all out of character in fanfiction, and as long as it's funny, no one notices." "But you're bringing attention to it now," pointed out Peter. It was actually a valid point but everyone ignored him, like they usually do. Poor Peter. "I'm telling you flat out because... because you saw it, and it's better you know the truth than if you just made up wild stories and told everyone about it." "Oh, we intend to do that anyway," Micky remarked with a joking smile. Nick didn't get the joke, and glared at Micky. "If you value your lives, you should reconsider that." "Hey!" Davy said, jumping into the foreground, trying to act bigger than he was, "Was tha' a threat?" "Huh?" said Peter, who had been so hurt at being ignored that he hadn't been paying attention. "What?" "You're evil!" exclaimed Mike, upset again. "No, no, no, it wasn't a threat," Nick said, trying to calm them down. Why did he always get stuck with weirdoes? (Long-haired weirdoes? Hee hee) "It was a suggestion. I just don't think Mr. Johnson would appreciate you telling people what you saw." (At this point I think it's necessary to make sure everyone understands that Nick did NOT tell the guys about his own little secret, just about vampires in general. Kinda like Tracy, except there's four of them, and they're guys, and they have dark hair, and they sing, and they're famous...) "Oh!" Davy said in realization, "Then wha' you want us to do?" Just then, Tracy and Reese both ran up the alley to see who Nick was talking to. Nick was surprised to see them, but took it in stride. "Hi, Tracy, what're you doing here? I thought Schanke was in this story." "Oh, well, I guess the writer decided to give me a shot at this too. Fanfic, who can figure it? Who're these guys, witnesses?" She didn't recognize them. Before her time, I guess. Nick turned back to the four boys standing before him, and realized there was no way out of this. Of course, he had not intended to take them in as witnesses. Who'd believe them anyway? But now he had to question them, and put them in police protection... he though, "Yeah. Witnesses," was all he could get out. "Okay, then, let's take them back to the station." She laughed to herself at the scene in the loft later...Nick would get them, Nick always got them. "I assume we're going to put them in protective custody?" Peter snapped out of his depression at this. "Why? We didn't do anything wrong!" "Yeah man, we know our rights, you can't put us in jail for seeing that guy get bit!" Mike exclaimed, and Nick winced at his loose tongue. "Oh, no!" Micky was being over-dramatic, as usual, "Not jail, anything but that!" "We'd betta' get a lawyer." "I know one," said Peter, smiling, "I saw his ad in the classified pages!" Tracy sighed, and Reese finally got a line in this little whirly-gig of mine. "No, not jail, *protective* custody, so this psycho doesn't come after you." "Oh," They all said, relaxing. But Mike had one more question. "Why didn't you just say so?" ********* LaCroix sat quietly, thinking about what the young vampire, Sean Johnson was his name? (of course it is, LaCroix, you know that! Stop messing around and wasting ink!) had told him. The Monkees. Here, in Toronto. The very purveyors of happiness and peace among young mortals, and they were here, making trouble. LaCroix, unlike Sean, had once seen an episode of the Monkees. It had been a mistake, and he would never tell Nicholas about it. he thought. But this meant that he also knew what he was getting into, who he was going up against. And he was scared. **********End 4 5 ********* "What's the use in trying, all you get is pain, when I needed sunshine, I got rain..." "Hey, man, nice car." Davy admired as they got into the Caddy for the ride back to the station. "Colo' could use a bit 'a work though." (Note: The opinions expressed by the characters in this story do not in any way represent the opinions of the writer.) "Aaahhh!" yelled Micky, shielding his eyes from the bright color. "Hey Mike, you got a pair of sunglasses?" "Huh? Oh, yeah, hang on," he checked his pockets until he found a pair and tossed them to Micky. "Here." Micky put the glasses on and sighed in relief, his arms in the air, his expression one of a man who just walked out of a desert into an oasis. "Ahh, much better." "Hey, can I have a pair, too?" asked Peter cautiously. "Why, man, your eyes 'urtin' too?" asked Davy. "Well, no, but I thought...and Micky has them...and, um...I just thought...um...never mind." Nick sighed. "Everyone's a critic," he muttered under his breath. "Come on, get in, we have to get to the station. And we have to work out what you're going to say to them." Mike looked up from where he'd been examining the catch that would put the top down. "Well, I'd just assumed the truth would be a good idea..." he said with that sly raised-eyebrow look. "Yeah, man, why can' we jus' tell them wha' we saw?" "Because they wouldn't believe you, and they'd say you had something to do with it." "Not if you back us up they won't." Micky paused. "Then again, they could just say you're crazy too. I can see the headlines now..." (reporter mode on) "Crazy cop and four crazy kids all sent to the loony-bin. And in other news..." (reporter mode off) "Yeah, I can see where the truth isn't such a hot idea." "Hey, kin we at leas' put the top down?" "Yeah, sure," Nick said, just wanting to get going. This scene was dragging on far too long, he reminded himself to have a talk with the writer about it. "Oh, let me," he concluded in exasperation, as Davy and Peter struggled with the top on his precious Caddy. "Can I have a window seat?" Peter asked. "Pete, they're all window seats!" "Not the one in the middle!" He said defensively, pointing to the middle spot of the backseat. "Fine," Mike said, interrupting Peter and Micky's conversation, "Davy can sit in the middle." "Hey, why do I always ge' th' middle seat?" "Cause, man, you're the smallest." "Oh." But his face showed he wasn't totally convinced. Nick let Mike sit in the front seat because, in his opinion, Mike was the least annoying of the bunch. He turned around in the seat to see the other three still quibbling over where each one was going to sit. "Just get in." said Nick. He hoped, by some providence, he wouldn't get saddled with babysitting these four. But he really hadn't done much to get on providence's good side lately, and he regretted it now more than ever. ********* Sean Johnson spent the next day awake, going through old Monkees tapes, trying to figure out a weakness. All seemed hopeless until he ran across a copy of "Monkees Chow Mein". (I had to include this, folks, its my favorite episode!) Within, he learned of the boys' susceptibility to psychological warfare. He watched with glee as Davy cringed under the bad guy's attack of "You're too short, and you have no ear for music!" Perfect. He could immobilize them that way, and let LaCroix take care of the rest. He wouldn't even be to blame, so Nick couldn't do a thing to him. Groovy. ********* Things did not go well at the police station. I can't give you an exact transcript; even I couldn't keep track of everything that was said, and I'm the writer! Here are some highlights: "We didn't do it! Are you saying we did it?!"(Micky) "No of course not! We just want to know why you were there!" "We were lookin' fa' directions."(Davy) "In an abandoned store?" "Well, you see, we thought it might be an *inhabited* abandoned store."(Mike) "Generally, abandoned means it's *not* inhabited." "Well, we *really* needed directions."(Micky) "Where to?" "Chicago."(Peter) **********End 5 6 ********* "The ego sings of castles and kings and things that go with a life of style..." Nick stood in front of Cohen's desk, hoping against hope that those Monkees wouldn't be placed in his loft. Let Schanke take them. Or Tracy. Or even LaCroix. Yeah, that's the ticket. But he knew that no matter how ridiculous I may have been in writing this so far, I would never write my favorite crazy boys into LaCroix's clutches. Or as the Dragonman would say, 'crutches'. Of course, he had to take them. He always did, even though his loft was completely unfit for human habitation. "But, Captain," he pleaded, "My place is too small. Can't Schanke take them? Or Tracy?" "Sorry, Detective. With all these partners and captains running around and blinking in and out of existence, you're the only constant. It wouldn't be safe to put them in, just say, Tracy's apartment, and suddenly have it become an empty, abandoned soundstage." She had a point. "Just one question, Captain." "What's that?" "For how long?" ********* Once at Nick's loft, the boys set to work exploring. Peter jumped up and down, trying to reach the skylights. Mike snooped around, muttering to himself and to the various objects he found. "Ooh, what's this?" he said, picking up Nick's remote control. Nick snatched it back from him and laid it in its place. "Don't touch that, please." He winced at the image of one of them accidentally opening the shutters during the day... Micky tested out the stairs' railing to see if he could slide down it. Turns out it's not the best sliding railing. "Aaaahh!" he yelled as he fell off halfway down the railing to the living room floor. Davy was in the kitchen. "Hey, man, there's nothin' in th' ice box!" "We should feel right at home, then," cracked Micky from the floor. "Well, actually there *is* some wine in 'ere," Davy drew out a bottle. "I wonda' where the glasses are..." Nick tensed, trying to think of some way to dissuade him, but Mike came to the rescue. "Man, you can't drink that!" "Why not?" Davy asked. "Cause, man, it's a family show, and we hafta be role models, remember?" "Oh yeah. Right." "And besides that, I don't think you could get the cork outta there." A little experimental tugging proved Mike right. "Don't strain anything," said Micky, smiling, still on the floor. "Oh, get up." Nick helped Micky up off of the floor, and called them all over from their respective explorations. Once they were all together, Nick started to go over some ground rules. "First, no going outside without an escort. The purpose of all this *is* to keep you safe. Second, *please* don't ever open those shutters," he pointed up at them, currently open to the stars. "What do you mean? They're already open." Micky stated. "Yeah, how can we open them if they're already open?" asked Peter, sounding rather naive, which is not my fault, or his. Blame the show writers. Nick closed his eyes and ignored the interruption. "When they're shut. Don't open them if they're shut. Which will be all day." "I dunno, man, you look like you could use some sun. You look really bad," said Peter with concern. He looked over at Micky for confirmation. Micky nodded. "Yeah, he's right. You *could* use a tan." "I have a skin condition, alright? I'm allergic to the sun." Nick leaned against the wall, hoping they would leave it at that. "Oh, okay!" they all said in realization, and they were suddenly dressed as doctors, with Micky as the head doctor. "Most allergies," he said, in a voice that was somewhere between uppity doctor and quack psychologist, "Are all in the mind. Perhaps this comes from your childhood. Tell me, how did you feel about your dog?" Nick thought, He thought of the answer Cohen had given to his last question: "Until Rachel says so." and for the first time in centuries, he felt faint. Micky continued. "Oh, he refuses to answer, doctors!" The others nodded and mumbled in agreement. "A hopeless case. I suppose we may as well...give up..." Nick just ignored them. "One of my friends, Natalie," he started, relieved to notice that they were back in their normal crazy clothes, "will be bringing some food over for you later. For now," he scooped up the remote and activated the shutters, "The sun's coming up, it's been a long night. I don't really have room for all of you, Rachel wasn't kind enough to give me a bigger loft for this story, so just crash where you can find space." As he headed up the stairs, he heard Micky do an impression of a crashing airplane, taking his last suggestion literally. Nick thought, What can I say? Not everyone appreciates Micky's antics like I do. ********* Natalie was working alone in her office, finishing up her shift(well, actually, her shift was long over, but you know them driven types.) She heard a swoosh behind her that was slightly out-of-whack. She'd have to talk to the writer about fixing the sound effects. Anyway, her visitor this morning was none other than her nemesis in the battle for Nick's soul, LaCroix. Now, it was rather stupid for LaCroix to be out visiting at 15 minutes till dawn, and when Natalie told him so, of course he got angry. The comment itself didn't *really* bother him, as the opinions of mortals were not things he regarded very highly. He was mainly looking for an excuse to be naughty and maybe get a fresh meal. "Don't you know to whom you speak? Aren't you afraid?" "Not really, no." This caught him off guard. "And why not, praytell?" "Because Rachel likes me. She'd never let you hurt me." "Perhaps she has nothing to say in the matter," LaCroix said, advancing towards the doctor. Then, of course, I had to pull on his invisible leash, jerking him unceremoniously to the floor. He got up and brushed himself off. "No matter. I simply came to warn you, dear doctor, not to get too attached to those *Monkees*." He spat the word as if it tasted nasty. "I have special plans for them." "I suppose you plan to let Johnson confuse them with psychological warfare and then do away with them, eh?" LaCroix was surprised. "How...how did you know?" "Easy. I've been reading the story." She picked up a pile of papers off her desk. The title 'Monkees Take a Bite Out of Crime' was neatly typed across the center of the cover page, along with other assorted nonsense. "LaCroix, why would you do such a thing?" That had him stumped, and his voice showed he was no so sure of himself. "Because... because I'm evil! Because I do things like that! That's why." "If you say so, LaCroix. Pretty pathetic excuse if you ask me." LaCroix flew out the window, fleeing both the rising sun and the fact that she was probably right. Was she? **********End 6 7 ********* "Now the sky is gettin' light, and everything will be alright..." Natalie arrived with the groceries at about 7 o'clock, once she had managed to finish up her paperwork and stop at the store. Of course, in my reality, she had seen the episode "Monkees Manhattan Style", and knew *exactly* what they'd want. "Oh, man," Mike said, as he pulled things out of the bag. "This is great! How'd you know we like this stuff?" Then, with mock seriousness, "Where'd you got that crystal ball hidden?" "Just a lucky guess, I suppose." She grinned, keeping her source secret. "Wow. Then you're a goo' guesser, Miss Lamb'ot." said Davy impressedly. They all looked at the food spread around the table: rye bread, pickles, potato salad, olives, artichokes, liverwurst, bologna.... It all looked strangely familiar. But as each Monkees episode is independent and unconnected to the others, and as they never remember what happened from one ep to the next, they couldn't quite place where they'd seen this particular feast before, though the number "304" kept running through their minds.... They sat down to eat and thoroughly mixed up the whole affair. You know the drill, fighting over food, accidentally biting their own hands(Food should not be eaten with the fingers! The fingers should be eaten separately!), spontaneously breaking into song.... Anyways, to avoid re-quoting lines or dishing out old jokes, we'll skip to another scene. ********* Actually, I couldn't think of another *scene* to put here, so we'll just skip to later that night. Nick and Natalie were in the kitchen, talking about something or other, and Nat, of course, opened her big mouth and mentioned the fact that she had a copy of this story. "What?! Why didn't you tell me?" "Didn't seem important really. It's not as if it tells what's going to happen. It just tells what has already happened. Here, I'll show you." She flips to the last page of her copy and begins to read: "And as the giant duck did wander the village, and many coconuts were tied to the wings of swallows, the rabbit did rule. The clock in the sky is pounding away, it's been a long time since the party and the room is in a mess..." "Wait a minute. When did that happen?" She dropped it back on the table. "It didn't *happen*. It's dialogue." "Well then, who said it?" "I did." "When?" "Just now." He picked it up, turned to the last page and began to read the last line to himself: "He picked it up, turned to the last page and began to read the last line to himself:" "Oh, lovely," he mumbled. "Real cute." ********* Meanwhile, back in the living room... "What's this?" Micky asked, picking up a long wooden stick from a box. It was real pointy at one end too, but I'm sure you all know that. He put it under one arm and staggered around, like he'd just gotten skewered. "Lemme see it." Mike walked over and took the stick from Micky. He seemed puzzled at first, but then realization seemed to hit. "Oh, I know, I know what it is," he said, very pleased with himself. "I know what it is." "What?" "Well, it's a rain stick." "Ohhh..." Davy was still confused. "Wha' es'actly *is* a rain stick?" "Well, it's a stick, see, and it's got lotsa little pebbles in it, and you shake it, and it makes noise like rain." He shook it experimentally. "Well, it's supposed to make noise. Then all the rain looks down and says 'wow, it must be rainin' down there' and they all come down and there's rain and the rain gets in the crops and stuff and everyone's happy. The Indians used to use 'em and stuff." "But that one's not making any noise." said Peter. "Yeah, I know. I just can't figure out why." Mike shook it furiously, trying to elicit some noise. "'ere, lemme 'ave a go." said Davy, taking the stick. Davy turned the stick, ahem, stake, over and around and they all tried to shake it at once and Micky was trying to see if it had an opening where all the pebbles fell out and Davy got pretty much caught in the middle, still holding it. The tangle got worse until suddenly, they fell inwards onto Davy and SNAP!, the stake broke in two. Nick heard the crash in the other room and came to see what had happened. He saw Davy getting up, holding the two pieces of what had once been a treasured artifact. He was starting to cry, which got the rest of them temporarily bawling along with him. "I'm so sorry, I jus'," Sob, "I did't mean ta," Sob, "I jus'..." "It's okay, Davy, he's not upset," comforted Peter. Micky agreed. "Yeah man, it's just a stick." But it wasn't just a stick. Not to Nick. It was an artifact, and he also knew the writers, the *show* writers, had special plans for that staff. He didn't know what they were, but he was *certain* they had been important. (Now, we all know what a great favor Davy's just done for Nick, but Nick doesn't know that yet...) He was furious. He couldn't control himself anymore, this was the last straw. He acted without even thinking. He pushed Davy up against the wall and hissed furiously. Nat was screaming at him to stop, but he didn't listen, of course not. He never listens to her, though he really should. When Davy saw Nick's glowy eyes and fangs, he could only manage to say one thing. A tiny, squeaked, "Oh!" **********End 7 8 ********* "My, my, the clock in the sky is pounding away, there's so much to say..." He was crazy, absolutely nuts, for going off on them like that. But they had driven him there. Nick came to his senses quickly of course, as soon as he realized what a mistake he'd made. He released Davy and quickly hid his anger so that he would look like the friendly neighborhood mortal again. When he turned back around, Nat and the other three were in hysterics. Nat was *extremely* pissed at him. After all, not only had he just given in to his vampiric nature, but he'd almost killed her childhood crush(Yes, believe it or not, Nat was an Oooh Davy.) Micky was mumbling incoherently again, and Mike looked like he was going to take a heart attack. They were both busy trying to convince themselves that what they had seen wasn't true. Peter had passed out cold. By this time, Davy was in a heap on the floor, quietly crying "Help" over and over again. Mike and Micky both calmed down a bit when they saw that Nick didn't look any different than he had looked before. Delusion. That's all it was. "Oh, man, for a minute," Micky said, laughing in relief, "the way you were hissin', man, I thought you were one of those...um...you-know-whats." He seemed loathe to say the word. "Yeah, man, don't *do* that! And look at poor Davy. You scared the wits outta him!" scolded Mike "Yeah, if he had any." "Hey," Davy said from the floor, in response to Micky's last remark. Micky ignored him as he noticed Peter on the ground. "Oh, look at Peter. Peter. Wake up. Peter, PETER!" "Huh, what?" asked Peter, finally waking up. "Where am I?" "Right here." "Where's here?" "Nick's place." "Nick?! Aaaahhh!!!" he backed into a corner, remembering only that Nick had just attacked Davy. "No, man, it's alright," Mike said, "Everything's okay, man, calm down." "No," Nick said from where he was calming Nat down. Or rather, from where he was getting the lecture of his life, er, unlife. "Everything is not okay. I have something to tell you." ********* Tracy walked into the department to find Cohen in the captain's office. she thought, She had planned to talk to Captain Reese about the case, but now it seemed he wasn't to be found. So she'd have to talk to herself. Or.... She could talk to Vachon. ( 'course, I set this up by putting Cohen in the office.) So she got in her car, completely disregarding the fact that she was supposed to be working, and drove to Vachon's church. She found him inside, playing his guitar, as usual. But this was different, it wasn't one of his own compositions. The guitar licks had a distinctly oriental sound to them, and it sounded an awful lot like the opener to "Mary, Mary". Nah, couldn't be. ********* Vachon listened patiently as Tracy spouted off about the case. Funny, he didn't seem to actually be listening. "And it doesn't make any sense. Nothing they said in the interview was helpful, what they did say made no sense, and the whole crime scene was wrong. Something's going on. What do you think?" "Huh? Oh, um, I think you should, um, take a break to think about it." (blink blink) "I'm a little preoccupied, I can't play 'expert on the supernatural' right now."(blink blink) "What? I didn't say it was supernatural..." "I, ah, assumed it must be, or you wouldn't have come to me." He knew something, she could tell. "Vachon, do you know what's going on?" (blink blink). Hesitation. "No." "Fine," she said, and got up to leave. He obviously had his own problems right now. After she left he sat there, not touching his guitar. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he was horrified. Every time he picked up his guitar, some teeny-bopper rock song came flying out of it. And worse yet, he found himself *enjoying* it. He hoped this wouldn't last too long. Suddenly, an eternal life didn't seem so great. ***********End 8 9 ********* "Thoughts all seem to stray, to places far away, I need a change of scenery..." Davy had pretty much come back to the world of here and now by this point. That doesn't mean his communication skills were up to par. "He, he..." he began, trying to get something out. "He's..." "He's what? Davy, he's what?" Mike had pretty much convinced himself it had been a delusion. Surely their host couldn't be... Nah. None of them would've survived that first day. Micky turned to Nick, a lightbulb going on over his head. (Peter was holding the lightbulb, of course.) "You're like Johnson, aren't you? And you didn't even tell us." "No, I'm not like Johnson. Well, I mean, I *am*, but I'm not." Nick had his head hung low, clearly embarrassed about what had happened. "Now, how do you figure that one?" Nick looked up at Mike and debated how to answer him. "I'm... I'm *what* he is. But I'm not *who* he is. Do you understand?" "Oh," Davy said, regaining his ability to string words together in some logical order. "So you're no' a psyca, psaco," he looked to Micky for help. "Psychopathic." Micky whispered. "You're not a psychadelipathic kille'?" he finished. "No! I mean, not anymore." Nick sat there for a minute, having another of those dang flashbacks that are too hard to write and generally feeling guilty about his past. I mean, what else is new, right? "Okay," said Micky, stepping forward, "Just tell us one thing." Nick looked up. "What's that?" "When were you planning on telling us?" "I was hoping I wouldn't have to. I thought maybe you wouldn't find out." But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. He had known all along that they would find out, because they were the Monkees. They found out everything. "Oh yeah, dig this Mike, we wouldn't have noticed when he decided make us into a midnight snack." Micky said sarcastically. "Yeah!" said Peter from the corner. Nick looked over to where Peter was cowering. If it was at all possible he actually pulled *further* into the corner. "Hey, guys, c'mon, le's listen ta wha' he 'as to say." Davy was giving Nick another chance, apparently. He was always the forgiving sort. The others were not so sure. "I don't know, Davy," Peter said, getting up from his corner. "I don't think you can trust him." "You know what they say, never trust anyone over 300." "Yeah, man," Mike said, "Don't forget, he almost had you for dinner." "Nah, not dinner," Micky said, an evil yet teasing gleam in his eye, "more like an appetizer." "But I didn't... I wouldn't have..." Nick trailed off, realizing the futility of trying to explain. He hoped only that they would understand. "Then wha' es'actly were you doin'?" For the moment, Davy ignored Micky's obvious crack about his height. Appetizer indeed. "I don't know. I guess I just lost it. I get angry sometimes, and it gets so hard to control..." "Well," Nat said, "you'd be better able to control it if you'd just stay on the routine. I noticed that you skipped your shake, you know." She turned to the boys. "He has quite a temper, but he is one of the good guys. You have to remember that, okay?" "Oh," Davy said in realization. "You mean he doesn't, ah..." he gestured around with his hands, indicating that he couldn't think of a good way to say it. "No," Nick said. "I don't. Haven't for over a hundred years now." The mood immediately lightened with that statement. Everything was alright, of course, he didn't do that anymore, everything was just peachy! "Oh!" "Oh, I see!" "Why did't you jus' say so?" "That's alright then." "We got nothin' ta worry abou'." They nodded to each other and at some unspoken cue nearly ran into the kitchen for a meeting. Mike looked around for a gavel, the realized it was back at the pad. Oh well. He'd have to pretend. "Here ye, here ye, and everything that goes with it. The vote before the panel today is "do we stay?" Any comments?" Davy stood up partially, which did little to increase his height, and submitted his opinion. "Uh, yes, I mean, I don' want ta rush inta' any descisions 'ere, but I'm not es'actly comfo'table 'ere with, well, you know." "Good point!" Micky said enthusiastically, "That's a really good point, we should listen to Davy more often!" He clearly wanted out. "Yeah," said Peter, "When Davy makes a point, he *really* makes a *point*." "Yeah, man, I like that point, that I *dig*." Mike stood up again. "So has the decision been made?" "Yes, I do believe it has!" Micky stood up and started quietly cheering. The others followed suit, until they started shushing each other. When all was quiet, Micky gestured towards the living room. He crept up to the doorway and tried to peek through, but before he could, the others, who had been following close behind, bumped into him. He jumped, startled, and in turn startled them. Another round of shushes later, Micky finally managed to take a peek into the living room. Nick and Natalie were both standing by the opposite side of the room. Perfect. Micky gestured to the others. "Ready....get set....go!" And with that, they all ran through the room and into the elevator. They pulled the door shut, but now they had a bigger problem. How to make it go down? Davy was getting frantic. "The buttons, all the buttons, wha' one do I push?" "Who cares, man, just push 'em all!" and Micky joined Davy in pressing every button they could find. ********* Nick ran after the boys, trying to cut them off before they got to the elevator. To no avail. If he had used his vampire quickness he could have pulled it off, but we all know how Nick always picks the perfect times to 'forget' about his powers. Nick and Nat stood by the elevator until it finally reached the bottom and started back up. When the door opened, Nick and Nat both got in and rode it to the garage level. Nick was hoping that they hadn't fled off into the day yet, but they had. He could follow them no further. At least they were safe from Johnson during the day. Unless, of course, they stumbled into a trap. A distinct possibility. "Hey Nick, look." Nat said from the elevator she had wandered back to. "Look what Mike left behind." She held up what looked like a thick chunk of a dark green sweater. As he got closer, he realized what it was. He took the GREEN WOOL HAT from Natalie.(capitalization of GREEN WOOL HAT required by chapter 3, section 3.7, page 4, paragraph 5, line 2 of Monkees Act 359,: "All references to NEZ'S HAT must be capitalized and given proper respect thereof." It's the law. Deal with it.) Nick smiled despite himself. "He'll be back." **********End 9 ********* "We go wherever we want to, do what we like to do..." LaCroix made sure all was ready inside the warehouse. He and Johnson would spend the day here, and with nightfall, lure the Monkees in to their doom. He smirked in the artificial darkness. For once and for all he would put an end to their infernal merrymaking. he thought evilly, ********* Having escaped from Nick's loft, the boys wandered around the city for hours, having a grand old time. Around 7 o'clock at night, they were sitting in a diner and Davy was trying to catch the eye of a girl in the next booth whom he had fallen for. Just like every week. They were all trying to figure out how they were going to pay for their food, having completely forgotten that they were supposed to be doing something relevant to the storyline. Mike was the first one to realize this. "Hey, wait a minute guys, aren't we supposed to be *doing* something?" "Wha' ya mean, Mike?" Davy inquired. "Well, I mean, this is a story, right?" Three heads nodded yes. "Well then, shouldn't we be doing something, I dunno, story-ish?" He raised his eyebrow at the others. "Ohhh," said Micky. "I get it. Like a plot. Like we should be doing something important instead of mindlessly wasting daylight." He paused a minute. "Uh-oh." "What," asked Peter. "Something you ate?" "No, man," said Davy, "Wastin' daylight! We' only safe from tha' Johnson fella in the daytime!" "Well," said Mike, standing up, "I guess it's time for that plot to get goin'." They all got up from the table and started to leave, but the owner demanded they pay first. "We don't have time to pay! We have an important and potentially dangerous story to finish!" Micky cried at him. "Oh, well, in that case, it's on the house." Davy blanched. "D-d-dangerous?" ********* Nick sat in his loft, staring at the metal shutters in frustration. He was supposed to protect them, and he couldn't. He'd called the station, and Nat had gone out looking, but Nick doubted she could protect them from what probably awaited. He looked at the clock. 7 o'clock. One more hour. He hoped it was enough. They had been so sure Mike would come back for his HAT. He walked across the room, picked it up. One of the little white buttons was hanging on by a thread. Nick thought. It made sense, Micky had his fuzzy hair. Looking back at the HAT he saw that some of the yarn was sticking out in the wrong places. He got a pair of scissors and sat at his table, carefully trimming the loose fuzzes. It was the least he could do. Suddenly, he threw the bottle he had been drinking from across the room, and watched it shatter into a million pieces. How many lives had he shattered? Some gift. He couldn't even protect people when they needed it most. One more hour. ********* The four walked up to the abandoned warehouse. "We should go in here." said Peter. "And just why is that?" asked Micky doubtfully. "It just seems like the right kind of place to wrap up a story, I guess. Kind of spooky." "Pete's right," said Mike, "All cheesy dramas end up in an abandoned warehouse. Bad guys to hide behind the boxes and stuff." "Realla'?" Davy asked as they opened the door, "I neva' knew tha'..." ********* LaCroix tensed when he heard them talking outside. He hadn't heard them approach. Johnson had said something about magic hiding their heartbeats, but he hadn't believed him, because the man was a fool. The only reason LaCroix was letting him participate was Johnson's thirst for vengeance, something LaCroix understood well. But now it seemed Johnson was right. LaCroix signaled him across the room to get behind something. And then the door opened, spilling the waning sunlight across the floor. LaCroix thought, He felt very much like the spider as he watched the four flies coming into his parlor.... ********* "Wow," said Peter, "It's really dark in here." "It's supposed to be dark, man. This is the scary spooky climax, remember?" Micky reminded him. "Oh, yeah. That's right." They heard a slam behind them as the door was closed, but when they turn to look, no one's there. "So wha' we do now?" Davy asked Mike. "Uh, hold on, lemme check the script." He pulled a folded sheaf of papers from his pocket and flipped through them. "Okay, here we go," they all crowded around, "says here, 'Davy jumps back and shrieks in alarm'." Davy jumped back and shrieked in alarm. "How was tha', man? Good?" "Yeah, it was great," said Micky, "but why'd you do it?" "Cause it says to," said Peter, pointing at the spot in the script, "Right here. 'Davy jumps back and shrieks in alarm'." "No, man," Mike interrupted. "He means what is Davy alarmed *at*?" He looked the script over one more time. "Oh, here it is. I missed this part here. See, it says 'LaCroix enters from stage right', and *then* you shriek. Whoever this LaCroix fellow is, he musta missed his cue." "No, I most certainly did *not*." LaCroix said, stepping out from behind the boxes, for the moment ignoring the Texan's mispronunciation of his name. It wasn't as if it was his real name, anyway. Davy jumped back and shrieked in alarm. "How was I tha' time? Timing betta'?" "Oh yeah," said Micky, "much better." *********End 10 11 ********* "Look out, here comes tomorrow, oh how I wish tomorrow would never come..." "Micky, you have a line now." Micky looked at the script, and turned back. "Oh, no!" he said, overly dramatic, "We are doomed!" "Hey, man, no' bad, a littl' meladrama'ic, but no' bad. Wha' happens next?" "I'll tell you what happens next," said LaCroix, smiling evilly, "You.." "Now wait a doggone minute," said Mike. "We're the ones with the script, we'll say what happens next." He looked it over, a puzzled expression on his face. "This can't be right." "What?" asked Davy. Micky read where Mike was pointing. "Whaaa?!?!?" he asked in confusion. "What?!" asked Davy, growing anxious. Peter leaned over and read it out loud. "It says 'LaCroix grabs Davy and'...man, Davy, you're not gonna like this." Davy finally got a chance to read the paper. All he got out was a short, squeaky "Oh!" ********* Nick grabbed everything he thought he would need, which was basically a first aid kit and a few stakes. Not that he would dare try to kill LaCroix again, but he could take out Johnson easily....if he had to. Still a half-hour till it was safe. He grabbed another bottle from the fridge and drained it. He would need the strength. As an afterthought, he picked the WOOLHAT up off the table and tucked it inside his jacket. And he waited. ********* The police department didn't know what to do. Those boys had just disappeared into the city. So far, they had kept out of sight. They had search teams out, of course, but there wasn't much for any of the various captains to do but wait. And they waited. ********* Sean Johnson sat behind a pile of cartons, nursing his burns from having to close the door. Small sacrifice, really, for a chance to assist in the destruction of those dang Monkees. And his chance would come. LaCroix had promised him. And he waited. ********* "Nah, this isn't right," said Micky. "I'm gonna go talk to the writer again." He ran off the soundstage, through a bunch of doors, and finally got to the room I was in. "Hey, look, this can't be right," he said, showing me the script. "It's gotta be a mistake." "Where?" I asked. "Right here." he pointed to the line. I read it over a few times, not believing my eyes. "You're right, that is a mistake. How'd that get in there?" I stuck the script in my typewriter and fixed it with a few keystrokes. "There you go, good as new." "Thanks, this'll do just fine," he said, running off with my script. I sat there for a minute, sighed. Dang typos. ********* "Ok, guys, fixed it." They all applauded, but LaCroix had something to say. "You still should not have come here. Have you ever heard the phrase curiosity killed the cat? Or in this case, the Monkee?" "Hey, man, he's pretty good, doesn't even need to read it first!" said Peter. LaCroix, as fed up with the script gag as I'm sure all of you are, ripped it from their hands and glared at them. "You will find that when you get in to things in which you are not involved, you inevitably do become involved, often in the worst possible way." Mike stepped forward. "Hey man, that's pretty good. You know, a wise man once said, 'If an apple seed turns into a wing, it flies away a beautiful butterfly, but if a butterfly turns into and apple seed, it just lays there, on the ground.'" "And just what do you mean by this incessant prattle?" "Huh?" "What does that mean!" "Oh," Mike said. "I have no idea." "I thought as much. It's time, you realize." "Wha'? Tea time?" Davy asked hopefully. "No," said LaCroix, snarling. "Time for you to finally be gotten rid of. For once and for all. Johnson! You have your chance now. Do you wish to take it?" "But of course," said Johnson, stepping out from behind another set of crates. "but of course." ******** The sun was down, but Nick had no idea where to begin his search. He thought of all the cheesy dramas he'd ever seen. They had all ended up in abandoned warehouses, of course. But there were a whole bunch of abandoned warehouses in the city. He *lived* in a warehouse, for goodness sake. How could he hope to find them? He had to hope. And he had to try. But time was running out. ********* "I know all of your weaknesses," Johnson bragged, as he walked in front of them. "I know what hurts you the most." He stopped in front of Davy. "You, my friend, are too short!" But he didn't get the desired effect. Davy didn't cringe or even bat an eye. "Wha', you tryin' to use psychologica' warfare? Tha' don' work anymore." Johnson was panicking. "Why not?" "Cause me height doesn't botha' me anymore. I'm used to jokes abou' it by now." "But it worked before, you know, in the Chinese restaurant!" "Chinese restaurant? Tha' was firs' season man, I wasn' used to it then. This is secon' season." LaCroix spoke to Johnson. "So it seems you are a fool as I first thought. Go, Johnson, I will deal with your incompetence later. First, I must deal with *them*." LaCroix smiled evilly as Johnson left and turned to the scared silly Monkees. "Eeep!" they all cried in unison. ***********End 11 12 ********* "Weren't they good, they made me happy, I think I can make it alone..." Nick suddenly had an inspiration. If the boys were in danger, it would be from LaCroix... so all he had to do was use his connection to his master to find them all. Problem was, it still wasn't dark enough to risk flying. So it was going to take him awhile. He sensed a great deal of distance between himself and LaCroix. Dang! Why'd they have to make Toronto so big!? He drove quickly through the traffic, hoping only that he wouldn't be too late. ********* "So, you found Mr. Johnson's 'psychological warfare' to be a bit lacking, eh? What do you think of mine?" LaCroix glowered over them, fangs bared, eyes glowing intensely. All in all, quite a display. "Oh, yeah, tha's very effective, tha' is." Davy said. "That works just fine." Mike seconded. "Maybe we'd better get out of here." A marvelous suggestion by Peter! "Yeah. Bye!" Micky turned abruptly and walked quickly towards the door. "The door is locked." LaCroix informed him pleasantly. Too pleasantly. Micky turned back sheepishly. "Well, that's okay, 'cause I wasn't going to leave anyway. I was just," he looked around, face brightening when he saw the crates, "gonna move these boxes! Yeah, these boxes are awful, just terrible, always in the way, and I was just gonna..." "You were going to come back over here and join your friends." "Yeah, sure, that'll work too." "Good try, man." said Peter when Micky had rejoined them. "Yeah, man, you tried." agreed Mike, hoping to cheer him up. "Yeah but it didn't get us anywhere, did it?" Davy suddenly brightened. "No, bu' I know somethin' that would!" ********* Nick drove on, starting to lose his concentration. He nearly crashed into another car at one point. He couldn't understand why he was so upset by this. Yes, they were his responsibility, but he felt like it was personal. And he didn't even like them. No, that wasn't true. They annoyed him, as they did nearly everyone, but he couldn't not like them. It was the Monkee Magic, he realized. That's what did it. Of course, in realizing this, he had become so distracted that he had to swerve to miss a traffic sign. He hoped he would get to the warehouse soon. ********* The boys hoped so too. LaCroix, tired of playing games, leaped at them. They ducked away easily as a rumbling kettledrum was heard and the beginning piano line to 'Randy Scouse Git' fills the air... Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's romp time! A lot of running around between crates, climbing on top of things, spontaneous costume changes(It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...Monkee Men!) and the like. LaCroix thought he was far too old and powerful to fall victim to a romp. He was wrong. Before the last rumblings signaling the end of the song died down, he was trapped under a metal cage-thing they had dropped on him. Yes, he was very strong, but they had put lots of crates on top and sat on them. In his awkward position, LaCroix couldn't get the leverage to shove the thing off. That's how Nick found the scene when he came in, dragging Johnson, whom he had found lurking outside. He took one look at LaCroix caged at the bottom and the Monkees sitting triumphantly on top, and couldn't help but laugh. "LaCroix?" he asked, bending over to get to eye level. "Will you leave the Monkees alone now?" "Nicholas, my boy, I would sooner face the Enforcers than go through this again." "Good." Nick turned to Johnson. "And as for you, and any others who might get any ideas, these boys are under my protection in the community. Got it?" "Yeah, sure," Johnson said, dejected. "You're the boss." ********* Later that night, after Johnson and LaCroix have left... "Hey man, we misjudged you. We're really sorry." Peter said, as Nick walked over to where they were now standing. "That's alright. You were given no reason to trust me." "Yeah, bu' we shoulda' given ya' a chance a' leas'." said Davy. "Yeah, it was really dumb of us." said Micky, in one of his rare serious moods. "It's okay. Oh yeah, I forgot," he reached into his jacket and pulled out the WOOLHAT, "this is yours." He handed it to Mike. Or he tried to. "Keep it man, to remember all this." "Don't you need it?" "Not really. I'll get another one." Davy piped in, "Anotha' one? Where you gonna ge' anotha' one?" Mike smiled kind of silly. "Wardrobe." "Oh!" Micky turned to Nick. "Look man, thanks. And remember something." "What's that?" "If you find things aren't going your way, you don't have to take it. Just go talk to the writers." He winked. "And we," he continued, "have a plane to catch." And they were gone. **********End 12 Epilogue ********* "Oh what can it mean, to a daydream believer, and a homecoming queen..." A few months later.... "Damn you Nicholas!" LaCroix raised the stake high in the air. "Wait a minute!" Nick suddenly shouted, standing up. "I have a better idea." LaCroix set the end of the stake back on the floor. "Really? After my marvelous speech about the gift of life and your marvelous speech about the importance of faith, you have a better idea?" "Yes," said Nick, a mischievous glint in his eye. "And what is that?" "I'm going to go talk to the writers." And he did. ********* Fin