Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5837275.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Monkees
  Relationship:
      Micky_Dolenz/Davy_Jones, Mike_Nesmith/Peter_Tork
  Character:
      Davy_Jones_(The_Monkees), Micky_Dolenz, Mike_Nesmith, Peter_Tork, OFC
  Additional Tags:
      Drama, Angst, Male_Slash, Drug_Use, Crime_Scenes, Humor, Romance, Anal
      Sex, Violence, Foul_Language, Gay_Bashing_(mild)
  Series:
      Part 6 of The_Adventures_and_Perils_of_Davy_Jones
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-29 Chapters: 11/11 Words: 27460
****** Arresting Developments ******
by htfrjolenz
Summary
     Series follower to 'When The Cat's Away'
     Davy sets out to make some new friends and establish his independence
     - and winds up getting into serious trouble
Notes
     WARNING: VERY hardcore sexual descriptions, foul language, violence
     Disclaimer: I own nothing Monkees related and all of this is a work
     of fiction - it never happened except in my cracked brain. I make no
     aspersions upon anyone's sexual preferences
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
   "I KNOW I'm not your boss or your dad, but I don't like that Dylan guy or
his cronies. I don't want you to go Davy."
   "Listen Tiny Micky ain't tryin to be a drag. He cares about you n frankly I
don't trust this guy very much either. There's just sumthin shady bout him that
sets my neck hairs on end."
   "You too eh Mike?" Davy said exasperated, "I get it with Micky - 'es jealous
'e is - but I nevah figured YOU to get yer knickers in a knot."
   "I'm hardly jealous Dave, I TRUST you!" Micky snapped, "Why he has to hang
out only at night like a frickin vampire makes me twitch. What is he gonna turn
to ash if the sunlight hits him? I'm tellin ya, he's nothing but trouble!"
   "If everything is on the level, why doesn't he want us to come along Davy?
Aren't we good enough to be there too?" Peter prodded.
   "I'm not psychic! Maybe it’s because you three ask so many questions. Maybe
it’s the way you hang back and whisper together suspiciously - maybe its yer
breath - I DUNNO Petah! But just cuz Dylan wants to be friends with me and not
you guys doesn't mean I shouldn't be allowed to hang out with 'im. I'm notta
child ya know, I'm old enough to pick my own friends."
   Peter looked away, hurt and frustration in his caramel eyes.
   "Davy, nobody is trying to take that away from you. Of course you can choose
your own friends," Mike tried to reason, "but it’s been every night this week.
You don't stay home at night, you sleep all day, we're not getting any practice
in and well frankly we miss you little buddy."
   "Maybe I like sleeping all day! Maybe I DON'T wanna practice every waking
moment! Maybe Mike I'm tired of this place and this scene and-"
   "Us?" Micky interrupted.
   Davy stared at him with venom in his golden brown eyes. He grabbed his
jacket and keys and headed for the door. Just before stepping into the cool
night air, he turned to Micky and with a trace of sadness in his voice he said,
"yaa."
   Then he was gone.
   Micky didn't have to turn and face his friends for them to know that tears
stood in his eyes.
   "You okay shotgun?" Mike asked, sympathy in his tone.
   "Not really," he said flatly, "I love Davy so much Mike, but I don't even
know the guy that just walked out that door."
  "I know Mick. He's goin through a weird phase right now, just hang in there.
The real Davy loves you too.. he'll come around."
   "I'm not so sure anymore man." Micky said sadly, "I'm going for a walk."
                                                                              
       *
           (WHY did I say that!)
   Davy walked, head down, hands shoved in his pockets.
           (Wha's wrong with me anyway? They're my friends!)
   He wandered his way the long way around to Dylan's waterfront home, not sure
he really wanted to go. In fact he wasn't going to go - until Micky had
confronted him about it.
           (So why'dja kick up a fuss?)
   "Cuz yer a tempramen'al rotten brat Jones who's gotta have his own way," he
chastised himself.
   He kicked a soda can across the empty stretch of sand, moping his way
farther down the beach. He stopped and sat atop a large breakstone, thinking
about how awful he'd been to Micky.
           (Wouldn't blame him if 'e told me to piss orf)
   The sudden twist in his stomach made up his mind for him; he was going home
to apologize to his mates and beg their forgiveness.
   Hopping to the ground, he turned in the direction of home - and ran face
first into Dylan Roberts.
   "Where you going Dave? Party's the other way."
   "Oh - Hey Dylan. I erm.. forgot something at home."
   The taller, slightly older man eyed him in momentary disbelief.
   "Well, I'm sure whatever it is can wait.. I believe have everything you're
going to need - or want - at my place. You ARE coming right?"
   "Uh.. sure, course I am."
   "Well then, let's be on our way."
   Reluctantly, Davy walked on with his newest friend, forgetting all about
apologies and making it up to Micky.
                                                                              
       *
   Micky walked along the shoreline in the gentle evening breeze. Miserable and
confused, he found himself drawn to the large boulder where Davy often
retreated when his heart was heavy, his mind troubled. Perched atop its smooth
surface he looked out at the dusk-darkened ocean, searching its depths for some
truth or revelation. Nothing however washed ashore on its eternally ebbing
liquid sighs, to comfort or guide his confused and aching heart. Davy's
beautiful, tranquil face remained vividly burned into his vision, his stinging
words ringing still in Micky's ears like a tape recording playing repeatedly.
           (What’s happened to you little one)
        Who was the better question.
   Ever since Davy had met Dylan Roberts things had started to change. The
sweet, funny, caring, carefree little Englishman had become surly, selfish,
withdrawn and hurtful. Nothing any of them said made a difference, in fact, it
seemed to push him to rebel - to assert an independence that wasn't even
lacking to begin with. A light, misting rain began to wash in from the moody
Pacific, January thunderheads clapping in the distance. Micky merely turned up
his collar and remained at his post, seeking refuge in the storm from the one
raging in his heart.
                                                                                      
*
   Davy sat in a corner chair watching the throng of partygoers move about the
dimly lit smoky room. His second beer, half-full and warm in his hand, was
nauseating him and he had stopped drinking it nearly an hour ago. Somewhere
close by he could smell the sweet, pungent aroma of hashish burning, his head
light from the contact high.
           (Just get up and leave you coward)
   His legs however wouldn't follow orders, so he sat in the darkened corner
attempting futilely to blend in with the wallpaper.
The music was loud and strange to him, an indistinguishable babble with a heavy
bass that vibrated him to his bones. It made his head ache, his ears ring and
his heart beat with the uncomfortable rhythm. A few feet away two semi-clad
females drunkenly gyrated against one another to the peculiar rhythm. He
watched fascinated, as encouraged by onlookers they began to undress and make
love in the midst of the crowd.
   A sudden outburst across the room caught his attention as two of the
partygoers began to argue. Dismissing it as a drunken disagreement he returned
his attention to the erotic display that was definitely much more interesting.
Moments later, however the disagreement turned into a full-blown fight, one man
waving a knife through the air. Shouting arose followed by a mislaid punch -
and then somebody screamed.
   The crowd drew back - the music stopped. The sudden white rush of silence
was ear splitting and jangling to the nerves. As the sea of people parted way,
Davy saw the heart-wrenching cause of the anticlimax: A curly-haired man lay
face-down on the carpet in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood.
   Black spots passed across his field of vision as the room tilted violently.
He wavered on his feet, the air in the room having suddenly been sucked out as
if by a huge vacuum. The faint sounds of many footsteps and a cacophony of
panicked voices faded into the distance as the grayness overtook him and he hit
the floor.
***** Chapter 2 *****
   Micky woke stiff-necked and achy, having spent a rough night on the couch
waiting for Davy to come home. Glancing at the clock he noted the time, and
flummoxed, stomped to the bathroom to relieve his bladder.
          (Little shit coulda woke me when he came in)
   Intent on giving his wayward boyfriend a piece of his mind, he took the
stairs two at a time to their second-floor bedroom and burst through the door.
   "Davy we need to-"
   The room was empty, the fully made bed mocking him loudly.
           (Huh)
   Back downstairs, he looked around for signs that Davy had even been there:
No wet jacket, no muddy shoes by the door. He hoped to find a note, an empty
milk glass - a dirty shirt in the hamper - but no trace of his deviant young
lover was anywhere to be found.
   Perplexed and more than a little worried, he eased the door to Mike and
Peter's room open and tiptoed inside. Standing beside the double bed he watched
them sleep, breathing evenly, tangled in each other's arms. Silently he willed
with all his might for them to wake, so he wouldn't be guilty of disturbing
them himself. Peter smiled in his sleep, a child who dreamt of rainbows,
puppies, Disneyland and days at the beach. Mike continued to drool on his
pillow. Agitated, Micky kicked the box spring, jarring the entire bed. Stepping
back a foot he feigned nonchalance and surprise as Mike startled awake.
   "Huh-wha?"
   "Oh, hey Mike."
   "Micky? What in tarnation-"
   "Umm, Davy never made it home last night."
   " ... Are ya sure?"
   Concerned and half-asleep Mike reached for his watch.
       Ten-fifteen.
   "What's going on?" Peter mumbled.
   "Davy isn't home yet."
   Peter sat bolt upright, exposing more than Micky wanted to see of his
roommates.
   "But its daytime! Davy never stays out all night!"
   "Easy Peter," Mike soothed, "let's not jump the gun. After ever'theng he
said last night he may just be feelin a little bad and be anxious about comin
back home."
        Micky nodded hopefully.
   "Less'un you want a show shotgun," Mike winked at the drummer, "you might
wanna step out so's I can get dressed."
   Blushing, Micky quickly stepped out, closing the door behind him.
   After some stout coffee, they made a pass of the beach, talking to some
locals and friends: no one had seen the mini Monkee since earlier the day
before. The decision was made that they would drive past Dylan's swanky,
upscale home in search of their absent pal; perhaps the party had been extended
and he was still reveling with his new friends.
   The scene they came upon when pulling onto West Beach Lane sent chills along
their spines. Police and emergency response vehicles lined the street. A crowd
of gawking people milled about, eager to get a closer look at the commotion.
Parking as close as possible, they walked up to the hub of the activity, gaping
in horror, they clutched one another in fear and trepidation.
   Yellow police tape sealed off the perimeter of Dylan's yard. Detectives and
paramedics traipsed in and out of the two-story stone manor, and the coroners
van stood morbidly in wait in the circular drive. A flash of panic washed over
them as two men in county uniforms wheeled a sheet-draped gurney out the front
door. Micky rushed forward, ignoring Mike's clutching fingers, ducking under
the yellow barrier. As he neared the driveway, a deputy sheriff stopped him in
his tracks.
   "Hold up son, this is a crime scene. You can't be over here.
   "You don't understand," Micky gasped, "my friend is missing - he was
supposed to be here last night, he…"
   Sympathetic but obligated to do his job, the deputy walked him back across
the police line.
   "What's his name?"
   "David Jones. Please, he NEVER stays out this long!"
   "I'll see what I can find out for you but you stay put!"
   Mike and Peter caught up with him and got a brief update. On pins and
needles they waited, the frustration building intensely in their panicked
hearts. Moments later, the officer returned.
   "David Thomas Jones, age nineteen?"
   "Yes, that’s him!" Micky said desperately.
   "He was transported to Saint Johns Hospital for treatment of a head injury.”
   "Quick," Mike said," let’s get over there."
   "I'm afraid you'll be wasting your time."
   "Why is that officer?" Peter spoke up.
   "When they're finished patching him up, he's being shipped over to LA County
Jail."
   The trio gawked in utter shock.
   "Onwhat charges?" Mike asked indignantly.
   "I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that."
                                                                                     
*
   Back at the pad, the mood was melancholy at best. A call to the hospital
garnered no information, and the county jail could not tell them anything until
Davy had been officially processed. Under the circumstances, Mike felt it
necessary to put in a call to Tony in Venice.
   "Ahh Mike! Buon pomeriggio il mio amico! How is everyone?"
   "Not so good I'm afraid."
   He went into as much detail as he could with the information he had, right
down to the dead man and Davy's arrest.
   "Mio Dio! Quello che ha fatto! Mike call Gerry Santini right now and tell
him everything. I'll be on the next available flight home."
   Mike contacted the attorney as Tony instructed, giving the details of Davy's
detention. Business aside for the moment, he turned his attention to his
anguished comrade.
   "You alright Mick?"
   "No. Mike I'm really scared. You don't suppose Davy had anything to do with-
"
   "NOT A SNOWBALL'S CHANCE IN HELL!"
   Micky nodded silently, lowering his head.
   "I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to seem so harsh. I know Tiny has been sorta
out there lately, but there's no way anybody could convince me that there's a
mean or dangerous bone in hisbody. Now I dunno what happened in that house or
how that guy wound up.. but I do know this: Davy had nothing to do with it."
   Micky exhaled a long breath, raking a trembling hand through his dark curls.
   "I know that too Mike. Im just so.. confused, by everything that’s happened
in the last two weeks."
   "We all went through weird changes around his age man; hell, Peter still is.
He's just tryin to find himself n feel out his independence. He's never had
that before. He looks at all of us, a little older and makin our own way.. he
wants to be recognized as a man, free to make decisions and smart enough to get
it right."
   "Yaa but he's not!"
   "Well I didn't get it right ever' time myself.. learned the hard way more n
wunst. He will too."
   Micky offered a wry smile.
   "I hope he has a chance after this."
   "Michael," Peter called from the kitchen, "it’s the attorney on the phone."
                                                                               
      *
  Davy sat in the holding cell terrified and feeling more alone than he ever
had. Kicking himself, he wished desperately that he could go back, and heed his
friends’ advice. His head was aching, bruised from connecting with the thinly
carpeted floor. His reward for his behavior of late was seven stitches and an
uncertain future behind bars.
   "Jones."
   A suited man with thinning hair, clean-shaven, and medium of build called
him from beyond the locked door.
   "Y-yessir," he stammered, coming to his feet.
   "Come with me son."
   With a large set of heavy keys, he opened the cell gate and let him out.
Taking him firmly by the arm, he guided him into a small room with two chairs
and a rusty metal table. Seating him against the wall, he shackled his leg to
an o-ring embedded in the floor and left the room. He returned momentarily,
bringing with him a legal pad and pen and a tan file folder.
   "Something to drink?" He offered the nervous young man.
   "C-could I have some water, p-please?"
   He left again, reappearing immediately with an icy-cold bottled water.
   "Thank you."
   "Tell me David, how it is you came to have Roger Perry's blood all over your
hand and shirt?"
   "I.. I dunno. I don' even know the bloke."
   "Really? You were at the same party."
   "Yes I know but-"
   "And the murder weapon was found lying underneath your left hand."
   "You cahn't possibly think that - that I …”
   "I understand you were involved in an argument on the beach a week or so
back with another young man - a Benjamin Worthington?"
   "Ben, yaa. Not an argument really, we had a disagreement over -"
   "And Ben Worthington is the first cousin of Roger Perry."
   "I didn't know that."
   "Of course you did. In fact Roger Perry confronted you at the party last
night didn't he David."
   "No, I told y-"
   "The two of you argued and it got out of hand."
   "It wasn't me!"
   "What if told you we have witnesses who say otherwise?”
   Davy was stunned silent. He was beginning to sweat and tears were welling in
is panicked young eyes.
   "Look, officer?"
   "Billows, Detective Billows."
   "Detective Billows, I was there lahst night. I saw some of what happened.
But I don't know this Perry Rogers n I didn't pick a fight with anyone, I
swear!"
   "Ok Jones if you wanna do it the hard way I-"
   He was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door.
   Out in the hallway Davy could make out disgruntled voices, but no words.
Minutes stretched out endlessly, his mind a tangled whirl of frightening
scenarios. The door opened once more, and to his great relief it was a friendly
face.
   "Hello kiddo, you okay?"
   "Oh my GOD Gerry - am I glad to see you!’
                                                                                     
*
   Hours later, arrangements were made for Davy's bail and release into the
attorney's custody. With no further interrogation, and the booking process
completed he finally arrived home at seven-fifteen. Humiliation and utter shame
colored him as he faced his roommates, unable to look them in the eye he stared
at his feet as he spoke.
   "You guys - I.. I'm so sorry, fer ev’rythin. Wha' I said, 'ow I acted. If
you never speak to me again, I wouldn't blame you."
   He turned away to go to his room.
   "Davy?" Micky said softly.
       He looked up, strained but hopeful.
   Without a word, Micky stepped forward and took him into his aching arms.
They hugged tightly, swaying, as if lost in the moment.
   "I don't understand, 'ow can you still love me?" Davy whispered, "ahftah I
was such a jerk?”
   "I just do."
   "Are you hungry Tiny?" Mike asked, a gentle forgiving smile on his lips.
   "No, thanks Mike. I'm gonna shower n jus' go to bed."
   "Davy," Peter said sincerely, "I know you didn't do whatever they think you
did. Your heart is too good."
   "Thanks Pete," he smiled, "that means a lot."
   He retreated upstairs, leaving the boys alone with Gerry.
   "Peter we don't even know what he's been charged with yet."
   "I know that Micky. But I know he's innocent, his heart is too pure and
loving to do anything really bad."
   "So what are they charging him with Mr. Santini?" Mike asked.
   "There's a list, and it’s not good. The least of his worries they have him
dead to rights on - underage drinking. His blood alcohol content was point o-
three. If it’s his first offense, he will probably get probation. What concerns
me is although they haven't formally charged him, David is their prime suspect
in the stabbing death of Roger Perry."
   "WHAT??"
   "That's INSANE!'
   "Mr. Santini Davy wouldn't hurt a fly!"
   "I don't have the impression of him that he would, and he insists that he
witnessed someone else commit the act. He cannot however give a reasonable
description, and three people gave sworn statements that David and Roger had
words - and that they saw David stab him. The man's blood was on his hands and
shirt, and he was found by law officers on the scene, passed out on the floor
with the murder weapon under his left hand. "
   "Davy doesn't own a knife, or carry one," Micky said.
   "Even if he did, he's right handed," Mike pointed out.
   "How could he give a good description if he'd been drinking? Davy doesn't
drink much, he gets fuzzy headed easily," Peter chimed in.
   "Good one Peter!" Micky enthused.
   "All very logical points, and believe me I'm not going to let him spend the
rest of his life in prison for something I don't believe he's done."
   "They could do that?" Micky gasped.
   "If he’s charged and convicted of voluntary manslaughter yes. If he goes
down for first-degree murder, he could be facing the death penalty. Please,
don't say anything to him just now - he has no idea. I don't want to frighten
him."
   The three American Monkees stared silently, in terrified disbelief.
        The little British Monkee crept quietly from his perch at the top of
the stairs, and cried alone on his pillow.
                                                                              
       *
   Tony arrived in LA at six thirty the following morning. He caught a cab back
to Malibu and was home by eight o'clock. Depositing his luggage just inside the
door, he went straight over to see Davy. The boys were in the kitchen having
coffee, and offered Tony a stout cup.
   "Davy still asleep?"
   "Yaa," Micky said, "he tossed and turned till two am."
   "I spoke to Gerry yesterday, this thing looks pretty bleak. I'm dying to
know Mike, what in the HELL was he doing over there in the first place?"
   Taken aback by the pointed tone and fiery glare, Mike uncharacteristically
fumbled for his tongue.
   "Well I.. that is he …"
   "Don't blame Mike."
   Nobody had heard the young Englishman tiptoe down the stairs.
   "Davy," Tony greeted flatly.
   The disappointment and anger flashed plainly in Tony's eyes and manner.
Fatigued from his flight and afraid for his ward's future he was far from
himself.
   "Can we talk Tony, in private?"
   "Sure kiddo, that's not a problem. Let's go home."
   "You mean to your place?" Micky said, alarm in his voice.
   "No amici I don't. It's obvious I've made a big mistake letting Davy so far
out of my sight - away from my hand. As of today, he's moving back into my
house."
   "Tony PLEASE -"Davy began to object.
   "The subject is closed il mio cuore. I'm sorry; my mind is made up. Come and
let's talk, you can get your things later."
   Davy silently followed him out of the house, his heart in pieces, tears
dripping to the floor. No one spoke, as only anguished cries would have poured
out of their mouths. They watched in limbo as he closed the door behind him.
  Tony remained silent until he and Davy were seated at the kitchen table. Wet
faced and befuddled, Davy's thoughts were in hyper-drive.
   "I know you're upset with my decision, I am sorry."
   "Yes I am! I cahn't b'lieve yer gonna do this to me!"
   "Kiddo you did this to yourself. You and your reckless friends next door! I
don't know what possessed Mike - any of them for that matter - to allow you to
wind up in a house full of drugs, alcohol and debauchery. I left you in their
responsibility, and they failed miserably. You've REALLY let me down Davy, and
they have too."
   "That's 'ardly fair, you don't know 'ow freakin 'ard they fought to keep me
away from Dylan n that pahrty! I'm not twelve ya know, I'm nineteen. They 'ad
no more right or ability to stop me from making me own choices than YOU should
'ave! S'the bloody fuckin bullshit laws of my stupid native England that even
gives you the power - you who’s ONLY five n a half years older than me - to run
my life! Or should I say ruin it."
   "I really think that's enough."
   "Really? Sorry bout that. Would yer like me t'call someone else n see if
THEY give a FUCKING FARTHING? Cuz I bloody well don't!"
   It happened with such lighting speed and suddenness that it was done before
either of them fully registered what took place.
   Tony's right hand, developing a mind of its own, snaked out hard and fast,
connecting with Davy's left cheek. He paled immediately, the backhand slap
leaving a stark red welt against the whiteness of his fear-flushed skin.
Silenced by the heartbreaking blow, Davy stared mutely at his guardian.
Instantly regretting his rash behavior tears sprang from Tony's eyes as he
crushed the young man against his chest in a sorrowful and heartfelt embrace.
   "Davy! Oh GOD Davy - Please - il mio unico amato, forgive me, I beg of you!"
   "I'm sorry too," he softly cried through his tears, "I-I've never s-spoken
to anyone that way. Tony, please I-"
   "Shhh, don't. We are both very impassioned. I love you my precious one,
please; lets begin again. Go and wash your face."
   When he returned two steaming cups of tea were steeping on the table.
   "A little better?" Tony asked.
   "Yes, a little. Tony, I'm scared to death. I heard Gerry yesterday, talking
to the guys. I don' want to go to prison, or.. worse! I know I messed up, but
Tony I SWEAR to you, I didn't kill that guy!"
   "I know you didn't. I don't need any proof or evidence or witness testimony.
Davy, you're just not that kind of person."
   "I don't understand why someone would say that I did this - that they SAW me
- I was on the other side of the room.”
   "I'm told you had blood on your hands, your clothes. Any idea how that
happened?"
   "Not exactly, the only thing I can figure is when I saw the guy d-dead on
the floor and all the.. the blood - I passed out. When I came to, my hands were
stretched out above me 'ead, in.. in h-his-"
   "Drink your tea. Calm down kiddo."
   Tony waited quietly as Davy gathered himself together.
   "Okay?"
   "Y-yes."
   "Listen, let's set this aside for now. Gerry is coming by tonight to discuss
our options, no point in going over it twice."
   "Tony?"
   "Yes?"
   "Do I really hafta move back in here?"
   Deep in contemplation, a plausible silence stretched between them. After a
moment, Tony finally answered.
   "Davy, I've already said and done things that I can't take back, things that
I'll regret for the rest of my days. For the time being, until I have given it
a great deal of consideration, I'm afraid that my answer is yes. Give me a few
days at least, and I'll give you my final decision."
   Davy lowered his head. His eyes filled with a terrible sadness he spoke so
low that Tony had to strain to hear him.
   "May I still see Micky?"
   "I'll allow Micky to come visit you here. You're not to go next door without
my supervision, no overnighters and no.. conjugal relations. I'm truly sorry
Davy."
***** Chapter 3 *****
   "I still don't get why you wanna screw with that guy Dylan, he didn't do
anything to anybody."
   "Melody it isn't necessary for you to understand everything - or possible
considering your intelligence. Just keep your mouth shut and your tight
littleass in line. Hand me my tray."
   "You're gonna smoke another one? You're burning through a lot of grass
lately."
   "My grass, my money, my fucking business."
   "Jeez Dyl."
   "Get the door."
   "Whatever."
   "Dylan my man. What's the good word?"
   "Rocket! The word is down, as in sit and burn a celebratory one with me."
   "So it’s all good then?"
   "Course it is. Didn't I tell you I could spot a weak-kneed pigeon at a
hundred paces?"
   "What about Perry's shit?"
   "Fuck Rocket."
   Ben looked hesitantly at Melody.
   "Bitch I'm hungry," Dylan spat at his girlfriend, "go up to Mondo Burger and
get me and Ben a couple of number two's."
   "Just sweep me off my feet Dylan," she said dryly, "I'll need some cash."
   He reached for his wallet and produced a twenty.
   "What I don't get to eat?"
   "Get a side salad; your arms are gettin flabby."
   "My knight in shining armor," she said sarcastically, and walked out the
door.
   When she had gone, the two men resumed their discussion.
   "Don't talk smack in front of Mel. She’s developing a conscience over that
little faggot limey kid."
   "You think she'll spill?"
   "She isn't THAT stupid. Still the less she knows the better. As far as
Roger's turf its lock, stock and barrel - just gonna have to hang low for a
bit."
   He struck a match and lit the tip of the joint, inhaling deeply. Passing it
to Ben he smiled.
   "Before long we'll be LA kingpins, rolling in the big money - and that
little queer boy.. he'll be giving knob jobs in San Quentin."
                                                                                     
*
   Micky sat listlessly staring at nothing, feeling as if his heart had been
ripped from his chest. Peter and Mike had made every effort to console the
young Italian, but he was beyond anything they could do or say. It was hard
enough to know that Davy would have to move back out. When his little one
called with news of the new rules applied to their relationship, he sank
quickly into a deep despair.
   Peter sat nearby, playing a melancholy tune on his guitar as he often did
when he was sad. Depressed and antsy, Mike excused himself to go for a walk on
the beach. Slipping out the back bay doors, he hurried next door to speak to
Tony alone.
   "Mike, please come in."
   "Tony, I'd really appreciate it if you'd give me just a little bit of your
time."
   Knowing Mike's general intentions, Tony sighed and invited him into the
large front room.
   "I know what's on your mind my friend," Tony quickly broke the ice.
   "I have to tell you how I feel. Don't get me wrong, I think you're a fine
man and I know that you have Tiny's best interests at heart. But I don't agree
with you separating him from Micky or the home he loves. Ya see all he wanted
was to make some new friends. He wanted the freedom to make his own decisions
and fail or succeed by his own hand. We all know that he didn't do this theng
they're blamin him for. The things he done wrong he regrets.. n that's growin.
I cain't tell ya your bizness - not what I'm here to do. I just wancha to think
real hard fore ya take away ever’theng he's never had."
   "Tell me Mike, the night of the party, was there any - issue - over him
going?"
   "Well yaa, I'm afraid that there was. He had been hangin around with that
Dylan guy for over a week n things just felt off to me, Micky and Peter. I got
on my soapbox and lectured him some; n Micky was givin him a purty hard time
too. He got angry n left and well mebbe - just mebbe mind you - he'd a not even
went if we would just let him use his own head. He's small and a little naive,
n well it makes it hard to remember sometimes that he is a grown man."
   Tony was thoughtful. Mike's words were true and very wise, giving him much
to consider. He seemed lost in the intricacies of the patterned fabric of his
armchair, absently gesturing with his hand as his thoughts broiled over in his
mind.
   "Do you know how Davy met this Dylan person?"
   "Yes. Davy and Micky had spent the afternoon on the beach, hanging out,
holding hands - I think they went for a horseback ride. Well long about sundown
they were having a lil picnic, just some wine n sandwiches Davy threw together,
n some feller come along name of Ben starts messin with Davy, calling him a
queer boy."
   "Really?"
   "Yep and a purty big ol boy at that. Well Davy didn't bite, they just packed
up their picnic n was coming back home, well feller wouldn't have it. Wants to
pick a fight with him. Along comes Dylan Roberts. Tells big boy they should
agree to disagree n if he cain't to mosey on down the road. Ben leaves, Davy is
impressed, Micky gets jealous and it’s all downhill from there."
   "Hm, interesting.. convenient too. Thank you Mike."
   He paused.
   "I want you to know your opinion is very important to me. It means a lot to
me that you care enough to come and face me with your feelings. I'll give it a
lot of thought, truly."
                                                                                  
*
  That evening Tony asked Micky to supper with him and Davy. After their meal,
he allowed the pair to spend some time alone in the front room while he tidied
up the kitchen.
   "I can't believe he's making you move out.'
   "This is killin me Micky, I don' understand any of this."
   Davy rested his head against the strong, supportive shoulder beside him. He
wanted desperately to bury his face in Micky's neck, inhaling his scent,
wrapped in protective and loving arms. Micky planted a tender kiss on his
forehead, his arm about Davy's shoulder.
   Tony came in behind them unexpectedly. Scrambling apart they quickly put
some distance between them on the small sofa.
   "I don't expect you two to act as if you're at the church social. You can
sit closer together; I'm not THAT evil and hardcore."
Relieved, Micky grinned, scooping up his fella and depositing him neatly in his
lap. Ducking his head, Davy blushed hotly.
   "Mick I invited you here for several reasons. I enjoy your company and
wanted to have you over. I wanted the two of you to have some time together,
but I also felt we needed to talk about things, the three of us."
   "We all talk?" Micky ventured bravely, "or we listen and you talk?"
   "Okay, I'm going to own that one. I admit I was rather abrupt and single
minded this morning. I want now to communicate, a give and take - all of us."
   Micky nodded.
   "I don't want to seem disrespectful," Davy spoke quietly, "if your mind is
made up, wha's the point?"
   "Have you ever known another full-blooded Italian Davy?"
   "No.”
   "We have four basic characteristics that are true to every one of us: A
passion for food, a great love of family, we talk with our hands and our mouths
go into motion way before our brains can catch up."
   Micky's vehement nod made Davy laugh in spite of his sullen mood.
   "THAT is what's been missing all day long," Tony grinned. "that million-watt
smile!"
   "Haven't gotta lot to smile over just now, sorry."
   "Well, let’s see how much of that we can remedy."
                                                                                
     *
   Micky walked in the front door of the pad with Davy trailing behind him.
Mike looked up from his sheet music, misery in his dark eyes.
   "Hey Tiny," he said in a weak voice, "you come to gitcher stuff?"
   Davy kicked off his shoes, and stripping out of his shirt lay back on the
couch.
   Mike blinked in puzzlement, turning to Micky for answers.
   "After dinner Tony sat and talked with Davy and me. He said he overreacted
and that sometimes it’s too easy to think of Davy as a kid because of his size
and his innocent mind. He's letting him stay!"
   The slow wide ecstatic smile that spread across the Texan's face spoke of
utter relief.
   "Oh gosh Davy that's great news!" Peter practically sang.
   "I amvery happy to hear THAT," Mike grinned, welcome back Tiny!"
   "Thanks fellas. I still have some strings, but just until this legal mess is
settled. Gerry came ovah… "
   "What'd he have to say?"
   Davy was quiet and distant, drifting off in a menagerie of his own thoughts.
   "Basically it's like this," Micky answered, "He's going down for the UAD,
court is in two days. Worst case scenario he could get six months in juvie, but
Gerry thinks he'll get eleven/twenty-nine probation."
   "And the other?"
   "Unless he's officially charged with the crime there's nothing to worry
about. Davy never touched the knife and he didn’t even know the guy. The truth
will come out and he should be fine."
   "Should be? I don't like them odds shotgun."
   "That makestwo of us," Davy said, despondent.
   "Tiny we're not gonna letchoo go down for sumthin you didn't do."
   "He's right Davy, we'll get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing we
do."
   "Not much sense me gettin gobsmacked," Davy sighed, rising from the sofa,
"cahn't fix anythin' worryin over wha' I cahn't control. I just wanna go to
bed, you comin Micky?"
   "Be right up babe."
   "So," Mike said when Davy had gone, "there anything you ain't saying infront
of him?"
   "Gerry said one other thing. I wasn't even supposed to know, but I overheard
him talking to Tony in private. There is a lot of circumstantial evidence
building against Davy. The DA is waiting on a couple of things to come back
from the crime lab - and he’s ready to go to the grand jury."
   "Shit." Mike said, shaking his head, "I do not understand why everyone
insists on keeping Davy's own future a secret from him. It bugs me man, it just
isn't right."
   "I know Mike, I'm ready to tell him everything myself, I just don't know how
to break his heart."
   "Not necessary," Davy said from the top of the steps.
   "Tiny!"
   "Dave.. I dunno what to say."
   "Start with yer welcome," he said, descending the stairs, "you fellas are
the only ones yet who've noticed that all this is 'appening to ME."
   "Dave I'm sure Tony means well.. he just sees you -"
   "Like a kid," Davy finished, "n I know 'es tryin to protect me n all - but
life in prison and the death penalty are things a fella should know may be in
his future."
   The looming silence was almost painful.
   "Look guys, I know truth is supposed to make us free. I also know things
have nevah worked out for me in my life. Every bit of 'appy I've 'ad I've paid
for in some nahsty way. Nicky, you three - its all been great n wot. This is
gonna be my cost."
   He went upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind him, leaving his friends
feeling helpless, desperate to change his situation.
                                                                               
      *
   When Micky walked into their room, Davy was nowhere in sight. A quiet ear to
the bathroom door told him where he'd gotten off to. He stepped into the small,
steamy room and sat on the toilet's lowered lid.
   "Dave, alright I'm in here?"
   "Course it is."
   Davy pulled back the shower curtain and smiled up at him from his bath.
   "Wash me back?" He held up a soapy sponge.
   Micky knelt beside the tub and gently rubbed his tanned, muscular shoulders
with the sudsy loofah.
   "You think they're gonna figure this all out Micky? I don' wanna go to
prison."
   "I hope so little one. I don't think I'd look good in stripes."
   Puzzled, Davy gave a cock of his head.
   "If they lock you away, I'll have to commit a crime and get locked up with
you."
   "Don' even joke li'e that!” Davy snarled, "S'too serious it is. Your luck
you'd wind up in the gas chamber."
   "I'm sorry, I just meant-"
   "I know whatcha meant luv. Loyal you are …"
   He forced a smile.
   "I gotta be honest with you Davy. You haven't been told.. everything."
   "I figured as much. I caught most of what you and Mike said."
   "So - you know?"
   "About the D.A.? Yes, I also heard everything Gerry told you guys the other
night. I wasn't eavesdropping; I'd changed my mind about something to eat n
well …"
   "Oh."
   "Micky - I don't want to die! I didn't kill that guy; I'm s-so.. so-”
   He broke into a hiccupping sob, his face buried in his pruny wet hands.
   "STOP!" Micky shouted, "You're not gonna go to prison and you're definitely
not gonna be gassed to death. One way or another, the truth is GOING to come
out!"
                                                                               
      *
   The day of the hearing arrived too quickly for everyone's nerves. Davy sat
up front with Tony and Gerry by his side. Micky, Mike and Peter took seats in
the row directly behind them. When his case was called, he stood before the
judge with his attorney.
   "Mr. Jones," Judge Huff stated, "you've been charged with underage drinking,
how do you plead?"
   "On behalf of my client your honor we enter a plea of no contest."
   "Mr. Jones do you make this plea of your own free will, without coercion,
intimidation or promise from a third party?"
   "Y-yes your honor, I do."
   "Very well. This court hereby accepts the plea of no contest. I see you have
no prior record of any kind young man."
   "No sir."
   "Your honor," Gerry spoke up, "David is a fine and upstanding young citizen
of good character who made a poor decision. We ask for your honors wisdom and
the court's mercy."
   "Youth is a time of learning and growth, of trial and error. While we've all
made foolish choices in our early adulthood, it would be a great disservice to
you David if I were to simply let you walk away."
   "Yes your honor," Davy said nervously.
   "However, as it is your first time involved with the system, I'm going to
chalk this up to youthful exuberance and lack of judgment. I sentence you to
six months probation and ten hours community service. I hope you make better
decisions in the future."
   "Thank you Sir, I'll do my best."
   "We thank you your honor."
                                                                                      
*
   "Mel when are you going to wake up and lose that asshole Dylan?"
   "Don't start with me today Camryn my head ispounding."
   "I'm gonna pound it! I hate the way he talks to you. And I don't care what
anybody says, I still think he had something to do with Roger's murder."
   "Oh! That reminds me - well.. never mind."
   "You KNOW I hate when you do that to me Melody!"
   "Dyl will be pissed."
   "Not that I'm going to repeat anything you tell me to his ignorant ass
ANYWAYbut like I give two shits."
   "Alright I'll tell you but you gotta promise me to keep your mouth shut!"
   "Duh! This is me Mel; we've been best friends since like the third grade. I
mean seriously."
   "Okay, right. Well you remember Dylan's new friend Davy, the little English
guy?"
   "The heartbreaker that's got a thing for the drummer? How could I forget,
I'd give my eye teeth to try and convert that one."
   "Well - Dyl set him up …"
***** Chapter 4 *****
   All things considered it was a celebratory day. Once court was over, Tony
gave free reign back to Davy and Micky's relationship status. They spent the
afternoon locked in their room, making up for lost time.
   "Have I told you how cute you are when you're naked?"
   "Erm yaa, more than once Micky.”
   "Oh. Have I told you how cute you are whenI'm naked?"
   "Now tha's a new one," Davy grinned.
   "So whatta you wanna do little one?" Micky waggled his eyebrows impishly.
   "Ah the question is where do I wannastahrt."
   "Well my delicious little love muffin I-"
   " ... 'Ow come it is yer always callin' me pet names ahfterfood?"
   "Because," Micky replied, moving to hover over him on hands and knees, "you
ALWAYS look good enough to eat!"
   He tickled fluttery kisses down Davy's chest, stopping to flick his tongue
over a hardening nipple, making him shiver in excited anticipation. He moved
lower, his hot breath caressing the skin of the smooth, taut stomach, the tiny
hairs standing on end.
   Licking a swirl in his navel Micky raked his fingers roughly along Davy's
slightly arching hips. The little ones fingers found their way to tangle in the
masses of thick hair as Micky's lips trailed onward to his growing inferno.
Watching with intense and hungry eyes, Davy gasped as a firm pink tongue shot
out to lick his hardness. With teasing slowness, Micky slid from tip to stem,
sucking his balls - first one and then the other - before starting anew. As the
sensations drove his ardor to a pique, Davy closed his eyes. With a gentle
nudge of his hand, he wordlessly begged to be taken in. With wetted lips, Micky
sucked tightly on the pulsing head, drawing it slowly into his mouth.
   "Oh FUCK." Davy cried out, his toes curling, fingers yanking at handfuls of
hair.
   Moaning softly in his throat, Micky swallowed the length of him, the humming
vibrations reverberating along his shaft. Davy's hands found a life of their
own. In a fit of desire they forced his lover's head into short, quick strokes,
his cock still lodged deep in his throat. Nearing his breaking point, he fought
his own will, dragging himself from the moist heat that urged him along.
   "Not.. yet," he uttered breathlessly.
   They switched positions, the younger man now lying prone atop his lover’s
body. He kissed Micky's sticky mouth, tasting his own flavor there. Nuzzling
into his neck, Davy sucked in the flesh, drawing hard as he pinched the pink
peaks of the drummer’s nipples. Micky groaned, digging into firm shoulders as
the suckling pleasure grew into erotic pain. Reaching between them, the little
ones hand encircled the cock pressing urgently against his belly. The pleasure
of Davy's stroking touch mingled with the excruciating pain of the ongoing bite
nearly caused him to scream. Then suddenly it was gone, Davy's mouth having
moved southward.
   Not wasting a moment, he moved straight to his lover's dick. Lapping up the
premature juices, he tickled him with soft licks to the sensitive tip. With an
eagerness to match his own raging need, Davy sucked him down in long smooth
strokes. Groaning with pleasure Micky gripped the bars of the headboard, his
hips involuntarily pumping into that wicked hot mouth. With a final suction
hard enough to make his lover wince, Davy pulled back.
   "Ungaa Davy PLEASE-"
   "No you don't," Davy stopped abruptly.
   "But WHY baby?”
   "Fuck me Micky." He whispered seductively.
   The honey-gold eyes boring into his own didn't need to ask Micky twice.
   He grabbed the lube from beside the bed and in a strong yet graceful move
flipped his little one onto his knees. Generously gelling his hand he slicked
himself, lining up with his coveted prize. Micky leaned his body forward,
cupping himself spoon-like against his lover's back. Reaching around with his
still slippery palm, he grasped the throbbing tool awaiting his touch. Stroking
him slowly, he pressed his cock into the tiny chasm that waited to make him
sing.
   "MICK-UNGHH" Davy groaned.
   The sudden surge of rapturous sensations brought Davy to an instant fever
pitch. He attempted to buck forward, but Micky held him fast.
   "No-no no you're not," Micky whispered sharply, "you're mine Davy - take it
little one.”
   "Please babe," Davy pleaded, "please - just 'old me."
   "I've got you - and I won't let go.. ohhhh yaa."
   He pounded into him fiercely, almost cruelly, his hand now jerking insanely
on Davy's cock. His stomach rippling from the spasms Davy shouted as he came in
Micky's frenzied palm.
   "Oh GOD I'm CUMMING oh PLEASE Micky STOP!"
   "NOT till I'm THROUGH - TAKE it!"
   He drove him on mercilessly, torturing out every last drop as he climbed up
his backside driving in deeper. Slamming him harder from hilt to tip he broke
his will - and Davy succumbed - his squeezing spasms tilting Micky over the
edge. He came hard, shooting his steamy load deep inside the tightness that
gripped him like death. With a final brutal impelling force, he teased the last
of his own ecstasy from his trembling body, releasing his grip on his begging
lover's shaft.
   Davy lay in tears, his slender body still convulsing with the last throes of
his excruciating orgasm. His chest heaving, Micky lay behind him, his sweat-
slicked skin glistening in the light of the moon.
   "Bloody hell I've missed you."
   "It's.. I - mm - yep."
                                                                              
       *
   A heavy pounding on the front door blew the early morning quiet apart. A
sleep-groggy Mike drifted out to see who it was. Looking through the peephole,
sheer panic set in as he laid eyes on three uniformed police officers. Now
fully awake he raked a shaky hand through his coal-black hair: The pounding
began again. Dismally, he knew there was nothing else to do but open the door.
   "Can I help you officers?"
   "David Jones?"
   "Uh.. He's still asleep."
   "Wake him up," another officer said, "now."
   "What's going on Michael?" A sleepy voiced Peter asked.
   "Call Tony right away and tell him the police are here for Davy!" He
whispered.
   "Officers sirs," Mike stalled for time, "I'm afraid I'm gonna hafta ask
y'all to wait rightcheer. Ya see I am not legally in charge of David and well
his legal guardian is on the way ya see. Under the British rule his guardian
needs to be present for this here visit."
   "Listen up you long-haired smar-"
   "Easy Joe," The first officer spoke again, "All he's doing is putting off
the inevitable. We can wait."
   Tony came up the walk ten minutes later with Gerry in tow.
   "Gentleman, I am Tony Martinelli, David's guardian. This is Gerry Santini
his attorney; what can we do for you?”
   "You can bring that punk kid out here -"
   "Dammit Joe I've got this!" His partner snapped.
   "Mr. Martinelli can you bring David out to us please."
   "I certainly will, but can you tell me what's going on?"
   "We have a warrant for his arrest."
   "What are the charges?" Gerry stepped up.
   "First degree murder."
                                                                                     
*
   Tony climbed the stairs with a heavy, aching heart. He stood outside the
bedroom door, his hand on the knob, unable to make himself go in. Downstairs he
could hear Mike attempting to console a sobbing Peter to little avail. Taking a
deep breath, he braced himself for the task before him and opened the door.
   "Davy?" He said gently shaking his young friend, "kiddo, wake up."
   "Tony? What’re you doin up’ere?"
   Still undressed, he modestly pulled the covers up to his chest.
   "What's going on?" Micky asked in surprise.
   "Guys, Davy - I'm so sorry."
   Seeing the tears that came suddenly into his eyes, they both sat up wide-
eyed.
   "Wha' is it?" Davy swallowed.
   "Davy, the police are downstairs …"
   "What for?” Micky blurted.
   "They have a warrant to arrest Davy."
   "Arrest me? But why?"
   "Tony what the-"
   "Gerry is here - he’ll go along with you; I’ll be there too. I'm so fucking
sorry Davy."
   "Tony what are they saying I did?"
   For a moment, he couldn't say it aloud. Staring into those wide, frightened
eyes he couldn't bring his lips to move - his tongue to speak. Finally hanging
his head, Tony whispered the words that opened a new nightmarish chapter in
Davy's life.
   "They're charging you with murder."
                                                                                     
*
   Ten minutes later Tony came down with a somber Davy at his side. Micky,
firmly attached to his little ones hand, had clearly been crying. Peter, at
Mike's insistence, had finally calmed himself for Davy's benefit. Gerry waited
in the doorway, providing a barrier between the law and the young man they were
here to claim. Trembling in fear, Davy paused to say goodbye to his friends.
   "Mike. I.. I don't know.. when - if -"
   "I'll see you real soon Tiny, you can count on that."
   He hugged him close, stroking his chocolate locks.
   "I'm sorry David; I'll write to you and visit whenever it's allowed. I love
you."
   "I love you too Pete."
   He stood stock still, trying desperately to gain some control before he
turned to his Micky.
   When they faced each other, everything else melted away.
   "Micky - I …"
   He glanced at the waiting officers.
   "I love you. If this goes.. wrong -  promise me you'll go on with yer life."
   "Its gonna be okay. I don't know how, butit will. I love you too Davy, I'll
be right here when you get home."
   They kissed tenderly, and held each other as if letting go would make them
explode.
   "Enough already," the nasty officer called, "lets go."
   Tony touched Davy on his arm and he turned toward the door. Without looking
back, he stepped outside and faced the party waiting to apprehend him. Micky,
Mike and Peter held tightly to each other, the tears falling freely as the
scene unfolded in front of them.
   "David Thomas Jones?"
   "Y-yessir," he said in a small, trembling voice.
   "You're under arrest: For the murder of Roger Perry."
   Stepping behind him the officer cuffed his hands behind his back as Davy
hung his head and cried.
   "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held
against you in a court of law."
   "Its going to be alright kiddo," Tony called, "Gerry and I will be along
right behind you."
   They walked him to the lead patrol car, shoving him roughly into the back
seat.
   "You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one …"
        Tony walked out and closed the door behind him.
***** Chapter 5 *****
   Detective Billows once again sat across from Davy with hard eyes and harder
questions. This time however Davy was not alone - Tony and Gerry sat beside him
- both men taking notes; this time he would not be leaving with them.
   " ... And you arrived at the house at what time?"
   "I'm not sure exactly, right around nine o'clock I guess."
   "When did you begin consuming alcohol?"
   "Well.. Dylan gave me a beer when I got there, but I.. I don't really drink.
So I didn't open it right away. Maybe forty-five minutes?"
   "How many beers did you drink in total?"
   "One n a half."
   "Any drugs?"
   "My client had a zero tox screen for any drugs, prescribed or recreational,
at the ER on the night of the murder," Gerry interrupted, "You needn't broach
the topic any further."
   Billows nodded curtly.
   Approximately what time would you say the fight you allege took place in
front of you broke out?"
   "I'm not really sure. It was quite a while ahfter I got there.. maybe one-
thirty, two."
   "That's a pretty broad window; you never bothered to look at a clock?"
   "I would 'ave, but there wasn't one."
   "Check your watch?"
   "Detective Billows I told you, I left my watch at 'ome."
   "What did Roger Perry confront you about that night?"
   "Nothing, I never spoke to him. I didn't know him - I didn't even know his
name!"
   "Was it your knife David?"
   "I don' own a knife."
   "Borrowed? Stolen?"
   "Detective 'ow do I get you to understand - I didn't touch the knife - I
didn't stab the guy!"
   "Never saw the knife before?"
   "No sir!"
   "Never had it in your hands?"
   "No!"
   "You're a liar!"
   "Detective-"
   "Counselor your client’s prints came back very clear on the handle of the
murder weapon."
   "I'd like to confer with my client."
   "Sure," the detective rose from his seat, "You may want to convince him to
tell me the truth - If he doesn't fess up, we're asking for the death penalty."
        He left the small room with three mouths hanging open behind him.
                                                                                    
*
   "Hey Peter, why so glum?"
   "Hi Camryn. Just thinking about someone I really miss."
   "Aww, cheer up big guy, you'll see them again soon, I'm sure. Wanna go get
an ice cream cone? My treat."
   "No thank you. I'm not really in the mood for ice cream."
   "Wow Peter, you really are down. Wanna talk about it?"
   "I can't Camryn; Mike says I shouldn't tell anyone about Davy."
   "Davy? Isn't that your little English friend?"
   "Yes. Well he was."
   "Was? Are you not friends anymore?"
   "Well, sort of, but I'm probably never gonna see him again."
   "Peter is he okay? He isn't.. hurt or something, is he?"
   "No, not yet. Hopefully they won't do that and I can see him every Sunday. I
should probably go; Davy's lawyer will be back soon. I don't wanna miss hearing
anything important. Bye Camryn."
   "Bye Peter."
   Camryn fumbled in her bag for her cell.
   "Hello?"
   "Mel its Cam, can you meet me at Mondo Burger at eleven thirty?"
   "Yaa sure, what's up?"
   "We need to talk.. they arrested that Davy guy."
                                                                                     
*
   Micky lay in their bed, holding tightly to Davy's pillow, breathing in
traces of his scent that lingered there. It smelled of sea salt and his own
natural sweet-woodsy musk. He wasn't crying - he had shed every tear his
swollen eyes could muster that morning. A deep empty longing filled him, as
well as fear for Davy's future. He wouldn't eat, couldn't sleep and simply
wanted to be alone. When Tony called him from below insisting he come down for
a family conference, he reluctantly dragged himself downstairs toting Davy's
pillow with him.
   "Okay guys I know nobody is in the mood for this, but I have some
information that may take this in a different direction. We can all do our
little parts to further things along so please, listen up and try to focus.
Micky, you with me?"
   "Yaa," he said non-committally.
   "Alright. As Davy's guardian, I was permitted to sit in along with Gerry,
during the interrogation. I had to keep my mouth shut - which was VERY hard at
times - but Gerry and I both took notes."
   "Is Tiny okay? Are they gonna let him bond out at all?"
   "He is understandably very shaken, and afraid of his surroundings Mike. When
we left him however, he didn’t cry or break down in any way. Bond will be set,
if he gets one, when he sees the judge on Monday."
   "So what's the info.. and how can we help?"
   "Micky! So glad you've found your voice mi amici! We've made several
important determinations about the murder that make it practically impossible
for Davy to have been the perpetrator. With the height of the victim as well as
the location and angle of the stab wound, Davy would about have to stand on a
chair to reach - a cinder block at the very least."
   "Why don't they just go by fingerprints?"
   "Unfortunately Peter, they are. The lab report came back conclusively -
Davy's prints - an impressively clean set - were on the handle of the knife."
   "HOW?” Micky interrupted, "That's not possible!"
   "It is Micky, if someone pressed his unconscious hand around the freshly
wiped weapon. The position of his prints would have him stabbing in an upward
direction for the serrated edge of the blade to go in the way that it did but
the direction of the stab wound went in a downward path. Davy is too short for
that - the murdered man stood six foot five - so we know that he couldn't have
done this even if we thought he was capable."
   "That sounds like Gerry's territory."
   "It is, and among other discrepancies that is something he is working into
his defense. What he wants us to do is scour the beach for anyone who is
willing to come forward or give up any information; anyone who was at that
party who will stand up and say that Davy didn’t do this.”
   "How can we do that with Dylan Roberts nosing around all the time? He's been
telling everyone Davy is the murderer.. most people are afraid to cross him."
   "Keep your ears open; talk to the women. Do NOT put yourselves in harms way!
It's absolutely crucial to Davy's case that someone who knows what REALLY
happened comes forward."
   "What if nobody does?" Micky asked, "Can Gerry still get him out of this?"
   Tony looked at the table, defeat in his eyes.
   "Without someone revealing the truth, the best he can probably do is save
his life."
                                                                               
      *
   "Melody," Camryn called from the corner booth, "Mel, over here."
   The slender, green-eyed brunette made her way through the crowded dining
room of the Mondo Burger cafe to where her friend waited.
   "Damn girl. I was about to come looking for you. Where you been?"
   "I'm sorry Cam, Dylan got pissed that I was going out and we had a big
fight. He took my phone and hid my purse. I had to wait for him to pass out to
get ‘em back."
   "So help me Melody if you go back there to him I'm going to-"
   "I'm not okay. I got all my clothes and shit and I.. it’s just that he
emptied my wallet. I can't even get a room Camryn."
   "You can stay with me and Rico."
   "You sure he won't mind?"
   "Hell with him if he does, it's my apartment! He won't though; besides he's
almost never there."
   "Thanks."
   "You hungry?"
   "Naw - I had Chinese last night, can't eat for a week after it seems. So
what'd you hear about Davy?"
   "I saw Peter on the beach this morning down by the breakers; he looked
really blue, even for him. I asked him what was wrong and he wouldn't say -
insisted he couldn't talk about it."
   "Poor guy, he's so sweet and sensitive."
   "Yaa and as queer as a three dollar bill. Anyway, I wheedled a little and he
let it slip that Davy might be 'hurt' soon but if he was lucky Peter could
still write him and see him on visiting days."
   "I don't get what you mean"
   "God Mel you've been inhaling too many pot fumes - he's in jail for Roger's
murder - probably facing a death sentence."
                                                                              
       *
   Davy went through the humiliating intake process as bravely as possible.
After being booked, photographed and fingerprinted, he was made to empty his
pockets and strip in front of the mocking eyes of the guards. Led to the open
showers, he bathed quickly under the cold, sparse spray, dressing in the blue
jumpsuit and flip-flops of the county lockup.
Back in shackles and carrying his bed linens, two guards escorted him to a
small elevator. On the third floor, they were issued through the first of two
sets of electronic doors. At the substation, he awaited his cell assignment.
   "Inmate name and number?"
   "Jones, David T. - M176360."
   "Module 3500, Cell 12 Bed A. Sign here."
   Quickly scrawling his signature the younger of the two men gave Davy a
forward shove.
   "Let's move pretty boy."
   Stumbling ahead as fast as the shackles would allow, Davy walked down the
corridor in silence. Panicked inside, he knew these would be his last free
moments outside of a small, locked room. They stopped in front of one of the
gray steel doors, an ominous feeling of permanency hanging in the air. The
guard radioed the substation and a faint buzz-click could be heard inside the
locks electronic mechanism. Swinging the door wide, the older man gestured for
Davy to step inside. With wide frightened eyes, he did as instructed, turning
to face the door.
   "Your bed is by the sink Jones, put your shit down and turn around: Now put
your forehead against the wall and both hands behind your head fingers laced
together."
   Once in this position, the younger guard pressed his hand firmly against
Davy's back pinning him to the wall, while the other guard reached down and
removed the shackles from his ankles. Without another word to him, they left
him in the tiny room and closed the door. A moment later, the lock clicked
shut. Davy leaned against the wall behind him and slid to the floor. Hugging
himself, he finally opened the dam, and cried from the pits of his soul.
***** Chapter 6 *****
   "Screw the bitch, who needs her."
   Dylan was drunk and rolling his third joint.
   "Friggin eh dude, women are only good for two things: Grabbin me a brew
andsuckin my-"
   "Dylan," Ben burst through the door, "Dude you're NEV - Chaz! Man what the
hell?"
   "Rocket," Dylan said evenly, "bustin through my front door unannounced is a
good way to get your dumb ass fucking SHOT!"
   "I'm sorry man," he swallowed, staring down the barrel of the 38, "just got
some word was all."
   "What," Dylan smiled, still brandishing the weapon, "exactly would be good
enough news to bring you in here like you own the damn place?"
   "Fuck Dylan can you stop pointing that shit at me?"
   The two men eyed each other briefly, and Dylan lowered the gun.
   "So dish," he returned to his rolling tray.
   "What the hell is he doing here?"
   "Getting fucking high with me."
   "Do you REALLY think he should be hanging around here so soon after-"
   "Do you WANT me to pick up my steel again Ben? It's not your friggin
business. Now say what you came to say or get the hell out, you’re fucking up
my serenity."
   "They arrested the Brit, yesterday. Capital murder; he's at Lost Hills
lockup."
   "It's about time." he smiled, "Now you can leave."
   "Leave? I thought we-"
   "GET THE FUCK OUT BEN!" Dylan screamed.
   Glancing at Chaz, he turned and silently walked out the door.
   "He's too nervous for my taste man," Chaz said, propping his feet on the
coffee table, "he gets a righteous bug up his ass he's gonna sing like a diva."
   "He's your fucking cousin," Dylan smiled, lighting the joint, "get rid of
him too."
                                                                               
      *
   "Okay," Mike clarified, "everybody understands the plan then? Peter?"
   "Michael, why is it always me that you guys think isn't gonna get it?" Peter
pouted.
   "No offense meant Cotton - but your head is - pretty full, shotgun."
   "Oh. Well I know what to do so there must've been room for this one."
   "Good to hear little buddy."
   "So," Micky said, some enthusiasm finally in his voice, "you guys ready for
our big acting debut?"
   "Ok then," Mike nodded, "to the beach."
   Out on the sand they played their finest performance. Mingling with the
crowd on the late winter’s morning, they each targeted a specific group of
people: Mike took the geeky types, the technos, the poets, the hustlers and
intellects. Micky latched on to the slackers, the jokers and clowns - the lives
of the parties. Peter - earthy, melancholy Peter - he took on the rest, the
lovers, the dreamers and the softhearted girls. The game was on, the scene was
set - they would play Dylan's game, dealing their own hands face down. When the
bets were all in, they would pull all four aces from their own sleeves.
                                                                                     
*
   Tony paced the lobby of the busy airport, wondering for the hundredth time
if he had made a mistake. The decision was made after much internal debate, his
heart winning out over the logic his head kept presenting.
          (Real smart: Last time you listened to your heart, you kidnapped a
British runaway)
   Before he was able to extrapolate further, the flights arrival was announced
on the PA system. He went to the gate and watched as the mass of travelers
passed into the terminal. A spark of warm delight lit in his stomach as Nicky
stepped in and spotted his grinning face.
   "Ciao! Il mio amore prezioso how I've missed you!" He drew him into a loving
embrace, momentarily forgetting the reason for his coming home.
   "Ah, je vous ai manqué aussi mon cher Tony!"
   "French?" Tony smiled in surprise.
   "Yes, just a little. One of my professors was born in Nice."
   His brow furrowed.
   "Tell me, how is Davy?"
   "I haven't seen him since yesterday. He’s really scared Nicky."
   "When can we see him, do you know?"
   "There are visiting hours Sunday, we'll all go up then. Do you have
luggage?"
   "Just this, I carried on with me."
   "I raised you well," he grinned, "Come on; let’s see if we can't beat the
morning rush."
                                                                                     
*
  Davy woke before the sun with the other prisoners to the wailing of the
morning bell. The loud beeping siren startled him, as nothing about his new
environment had yet been explained. A loud screeching rang in his ears as the
early shift guard fired up the PA.
   "Cell check in five gentlemen."
   He washed his face, used the commode and sat back down on the side of his
cot. A loud buzzer resonated through the cellblock releasing the catch on all
of the doors. Heavy-heeled footsteps clicked along the floor as four uniformed
officers walked in sync to the end of the hallway. Davy waited listening for
their approach to his tiny room. As they came to stop in front of his cell, the
senior guard called out.
   "Cell twelve assume the position."
   " ... I'm new 'ere, please, I dunno what that means."
   "On your knees, forehead against the wall - fingers laced together behind
your head."
   Davy complied immediately, his heart beating madly. Two men entered the room
and looked around briefly.
   "Why is this bunk not made?" A deep voice gruffly barked.
   "I - I didn't n-know I was supposed to-"
   "He came in last night," the other man said.
   "Can't read yourhandbook?" The harsher man snarled.
   "I never got any book, I-"
       THWACK
   A hard blow hit him below his backside, a nightstick connecting with his
thighs.
   "Get it made - and see the station guard for a handbook - before you're back
from breakfast!"
   He sensed their retreat but held his position until he heard them in the
next cell. As in his days with Robyn, he ignored the blazing pain in his legs
and set about making his minimal bed. He wanted to cry, but forced himself to
remain distanced from his emotions. Any sign of weakness, he knew, would make
him an easy target.
   Another bell sounded announcing breakfast. Inmates milled into the hall,
single file, standing on a thickly painted yellow line. Lingering behind, Davy
waited, taking the last place in line. Armed guards escorted them to the
module's dining area, a large and dingy cafeteria-style setting with mis-
matched dilapidated tables and chairs. Davy stepped up to the tiny window and
received his paltry breakfast: A cold biscuit and something that resembles
scrambled eggs. Scanning the room, he found a lone table and sat by himself in
the corner.
   The food looked awful, but he was famished; cold and tasteless with a tiny
carton of milk, it would have to do. As he picked up his fork, a long shadow
fell across the table. Looking up he was met by a large, looming man with a
terrible scar on his right cheek.
   "I'm wantin that shit."
   Davy opened his mouth to object, reasoning that this was indeed HIS meal,
but logic stepped in. He leaned against the back of his chair, hands in his
lap.
   "Why not," he mumbled.
   His stomach complained noisily as he watched his breakfast walk away.
   "Shouldn't have done that."
   He turned to see a very slim, nervous-looking man a few years his senior,
smirking at him from the next table.
   "As opposed to what?"
   "Take it from me, one good ass-kicking is worth all the meals they now KNOW
they can slide out from under you. You're gonna get hungry, fast. Name's Neal."
   "David. D'you mean this 'appens a lot?"
   "Hope you didn't bring your stomach with you. Tell ya something’ else.
You're just a little too pretty-boy to be in here my friend. Keep your back
against the wall."
   "Yer'aving me on!"
   "Don't drop the soap. What's your address?"
   "Huh?"
   "Where'd they stash you in here?"
   "Module 3500 cell twelve A."
   "Well howdy neighbor. Fourteen B. You on time or waiting bail?"
   "I 'ave to see the judge Monday morning."
   "Ohhh - Monday. You went big time eh, what'd you do?"
   "I showed up at the wrong pahrty."
   "Drug bust?"
   "No.. someone was.. was m-murdered. They're blaming me."
   "Ouch. You gotta mouthpiece?"
   "Do what?"
   "Have you got a lawyer,jeez."
   "Yaa, my guardian put his attorney on it fer me."
   " ... You didn't do it, didja." Neal said matter-of-factly.
   "No, but 'ow did you know that?"
   "Dude you're just not the type. Not even the ‘lose your temper’ accidental
killer type. Plus you're too green."
   "Neal, you should'a been acop."
   Another piercing beeping rang through the building.
   "That's time," Neal said, "you got a work assignment yet?"
   "No, not yet. Say who do I talk to about getting a handbook? I got reamed
this morning fer bein' ignorant."
   "Hang back to get at the end of the line. When you get to the substation ask
Barnes for one."
   "I will, thanks."
   "Lunch is at eleven. I suggest you fight for it."
   Davy sighed inwardly, knowing his new acquaintance was right. As hungry as
he was, he was not looking forward to lunchtime.
                                                                                     
*
   Saturday found the trio of musicians back on beach patrol, this time
accompanied by Tony and Nicky. For tactical purposes, Tony paired up with Mike
and Nicky hung around with Peter. Much of the morning passed uneventfully and
without much success. Tony suggested they break for lunch, and Micky, he and
Mike went in search of the others. When they couldn't be found, Mike
recommended checking the house. Back at the pad they were all surprised to find
Nicky and Peter entertaining two young women. Nicky made brief introductions
then pulled Tony aside for a chat.
   "Listen, you have to get Gerry up here NOW! These girls this close to
spilling their guts," he gestured with his finger and thumb, "they definitely
know something about what happened with Davy the night of the party."
   "How do you know that?"
   "We were down on the beach by the breakers. The blond came over to Peter and
started asking him about Davy. Per the plan he busted out crying, telling her
he was facing the gas chamber."
   Nicky's voice quivered at this last statement.
   "Okay, go on," Tony urged gently.
   "The other girl, the brunette, is Melody Reeves - Dylan Roberts’ girlfriend
- ex girlfriend now. She came over and Camryn - the blond - told her what Peter
had said. They whispered together for a sec and I overheard them - Dylan set
him up."
   "Go and call Gerry on his cell tell him Isaid it's urgent. Tell him
everything you just told me Nicky. I'll make some lunch and stall our lovely
guests."
   Tony prepared a quick pasta salad while Mike whipped up some sandwiches.
Micky and Peter kept the girls busy singing for them with Peter playing his
guitar. Gerry arrived in casual clothes and everyone sat down to lunch, a cold
lemonade and a vintage Merlot washing down the light meal.
   "Tell me ladies," Tony carefully plied, "do either of you have family close
by?"
   "My family lives in Seattle,” Camryn said, drinking her wine, “Mel and I
grew up there together.”
   "Must be hard being so far away."
   "Sometimes it is. Holidays, birthdays - I haven't been home in over a year."
   "Melody is your family in Washington also?"
   "No. I - my parents were killed in a wreck when I was eleven. I don't have
any other family; Cam's parents took me in."
   "I'm terribly sorry."
   Finding an opening, Nicky took his chance.
   "Davy and I lost our parents to a drunk driver twelve years ago December.
It's one of thehardest things to understand and survive. I'm so sorry Melody."
   "Davy is your brother?" Camryn asked in surprise.
   "Yes. We've been separated all these years, both of us thinking the other
had died in the crash. We found each other again just four months back, and now
…” he trailed off, his head lowered with emotion.
Melody stared at the heartsick young man. Her lower lip trembled as she
struggled over the decision in her mind.
   "Family is very important to Nicky," Tony spoke up, his eyes boring into the
women's souls, "to all of us here in this house. Davy is everything to each of
us in one way or another."
   The women exchanged uncomfortable glances, neither able to break the guilty
spell their host was casting upon them.
   "Camryn," Peter said softly, "we're friends. There's something on your
heart, Iknow it.“
   "You guys," Micky's voice cracked, "Davy is my whole world. I love him more
than my own life," he told the girls.
   "We know he didn't kill that guy and somebody knows the truth."
   "They're gone go n gas this tiny, caring, funny lil dynamo to death," Mike
said, "and the only theng he's guilty of is wanting to make some new friends,
to be accepted."
   Nicky, now with free flowing tears raised his head.
   "Please. Melody, Camryn - I know you two know the truth about what happened
that night. Gerry here is Davy’s attorney and a family friend. Talk to him.
Tell him what you know - PLEASE - d-don't let my baby brother die for s-
something he didn’t do, I can't l-lose him a-again!"
       Bursting into sobs, he threw himself into Tony's comforting arms.
   The group sat silently pleading with their hearts and eyes. A drawn quiet
settled over the room, thick enough to cut with a knife. With a heavy, breathy
sigh, Camryn turned to her lifelong friend.
   "It's your call Mel; I'm with you either way."
   Melody smiled wistfully, gazing pitifully on Nicky's sad form. She turned to
Camryn, and shaking her head she spoke resolutely.
   "Well, everybody needs a family, right?"
***** Chapter 7 *****
   Davy was brought before the taskmaster to be evaluated and assigned work.
Upon completion of an intake physical, he would begin his duties in the jail's
laundry facility that afternoon. Stripped to his underwear he stood before the
nurse practitioner and submitted to the probing examination.
   "How did you get the bruises on the back of your thighs?" He asked.
   "Bruises?" Davy played dumb, "Not sure really."
   "Your choice. We don't tolerate brutality in this institution Jones, if
you're being mistreated you need to speak up."
   Not interested in making enemies of the guards, Davy shook his head.
   "Suit yourself. You can get dressed. I'm marking you one A, you'll start
work on Monday."
   "But I was told-"
   "Monday. Those bruises will heal a bit by then."
   "Yes sir. Thank you."
   Back in his cell, he studied the handbook waiting for lunch to roll around;
with little else to do, he was able to read most of the rules and the very few
rights in a brief time. Hungry as he was, the prospect of having to defend his
chow was not appealing in the least - he was a lover, not a fighter - and most
of his fellow inmates were hardened and violent men.
  The lunch bell finally rang and he fell into line behind the others. The
ritual trip to the dining hall, complete with escort, replaying itself as it
had six hours before. He picked up his tray and took his place in the corner.
To his left Neal was eating his lunch. Without looking up, he spoke.
   "Here comes trouble, you have a plan?"
   "Sure do, wish me luck."
   "Break a leg."
   "His or mine?"
   "Whatever wor-"
   "I want your lunch."
   The hulking figure stood to his right, demanding and smelly, and twice his
size.
   "I'm sorry to hear that," Davy said in a squeakier voice than he'd hoped
for.
   "I don't think you heard me boy, gimme dat tray, now."
   Davy stood up and cleared his throat.
   "Listen up muscles: You ate me breakfast, yer not gettin me lunch."
   Most of the inmates were watching the scene unfold. The little newcomer
barely reached to the chest of his towering adversary. Yet digging his heels
in, he glared up mightily and stood his ground.
   "Im'a give you to the count’a five to set yo ass down and give up dat tray.
Then I'm gonna SHOW you who’s da boss round here. ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR -"
   It was now or never. With all of his might, Davy kicked out with lightning
speed, nailing Goliath between his legs. He doubled over clutching his balls,
bringing his face to Davy's level. As swift as he could Davy reared back and
smashed his forehead into the groaning man's mouth. Blood splattered in every
direction as the perfect Manchester Kiss obliterated the bully's lower lip. He
dropped to his knees, tears pouring from his eyes. Davy grabbed hold of his
greasy mop of hair and drew back his fist.
   "Yer done stealing food understand? From me or anyone else!"
   His doubled right fist cracked into the other man's eye, knocking him to the
floor.
Davy turned to take his seat. An alarm was sounding, calling the guards to the
room. Neal stood and placed a hand on his shoulder.
   "Trust me dude, this is for your own good."
   Without warning, he punched Davy square in the mouth knocking him into his
chair.
   "What the-"
   "If ANYONE asks - he hit you first - else you'll wind up in solitary!"
   Davy nodded, his head still reeling, adrenaline filling his veins. He picked
up his sandwich and started to eat.
   "Getting into trouble already Jones?"
   "Just defending meself," he lied.
   "Brooks hit him first," Neal spoke up.
   Having lost a meal themselves, many of the others eagerly agreed.
   The guard eyed Davy, noting his size.
   "You better keep your nose clean boy."
   He turned to the weepy, bleeding man on the floor.
   "As for you Brooks, this is your last hooraw. You’ve been warned, you’re
going toE block, get your ass up."
   Two of the guards escorted the foul, bulky prisoner from the room to a round
of roaring applause.
   "You fucking hit me!" Davy turned to Neal.
   "The guards bought it. Sorry."
   "Thanks man," Davy grinned.
   "Thank me later, you got about five minutes to eat your lunch."
                                                        *
   "I am not liking this," Mike said, pacing the floor.
   "Michael its gonna be fine."
   "Cotton I gotta bad feelin bout you doin this."
   "I can do stuff without messing up you know."
   "That's not what I'm worried about babe. These people had a mankilled and
framed Davy for the murder! I ain't too keen on the idear of you bein mixed up
in all this."
   "It's just Rocket Mike. I've known him almost as long as I've known you."
   "Maybe so shotgun. But I'm not a gun toting, drug dealin', cousin killing,
back stabbing murderer!"
   "You're a good kisser though Michael."
   Mike rolled his eyes in exasperation.
   "Look Mr. Nesmith," Detective Clancey looked up, "Peter wearing this wire is
the only chance we have of getting one of the parties involved to openly admit
to framing Mr. Jones. We'll be monitoring the situation from a hundred yards
away with a full team of armed policeman ready to move in should things take a
wrong turn."
   "Tell me detective, how long does it take for a fast man to run a hundred
yards, break down a door and tackle the bad guy?"
   "I don’t know exactly; roughly sixty seconds I'd say."
   "And how long does it take to pull a gun out of your pocket, take aim and
pull the trigger?"
   " ... Maybe twelve, fifteen seconds."
   "I rest my case.'
   "Michael," Peter said, touching him softly on the arm, "You're our leader.
You are always making important decisions and giving advice. You and Micky both
come to Davy’s rescue and mine all the time. Davy - well everyone thinks he’s
the greatest thing since sliced bread - and he really is. Me though, I’m always
getting in the way or causing a problem. I never do anything helpful or brave -
I really wanna do this for Davy. For all of us."
   Mike smiled a weary smile.
   "Peter, your sunny optimism and perpetual smile holds more bravery than the
rest of us put together. I'm still gonna worry shotgun, but if you hafta do
this.. I won't stand in your way."
   "I love you Michael, thank you."
   "I love you too babe."
   "Ok Peter," Clancey said, "You're all set."
   "Go get'um Big Pete."
   "Thanks Micky."
   "Good luck Peter."
   "Thank you Tony."
   "Peter?"
   "Yaa Nicky?"
   "I understand why Davy looks up to you, truly."
   "James," Tony said to the detective, "take good care of my boy here."
   "No worries my friend, he's in good hands."

   Peter made his way to Rocket's place and knocked on the door.
   "Sup man," his old pal greeted, "c'mon in."
   "Not much man, you know anything?"
   "Got some prime Columbian."
   "Naw, it makes me hiccup. Anything else?"
   "Got some Christmas tree left with the red and green threads."
   "That sounds great. You have a dime?"
   "Always man. You in a hurry or ya got time to match one?"
   "We can burn a couple."
   "You wanna brew?"
   "It's ten o'clock in the morning man! Do you have a coke or something?"
   "Sure Pete."
   Ben returned with a coke and Peter's weed.
   "Still twenty right?" Peter handed over the cash.
   "Inflation hasn't hit me yet my man. Here," he handed him the tray, "twist
up, mine is ready."
   "Didja hear about my roommate?" Peter asked casually, expertly rolling a
joint.
   " ... No, don't think I have."
   "Oh. Can you keep it between us man?"
   "Sure Pete, we're friends, right?"
   "I thought so." Peter smiled.
   "So, what happened?" Ben swallowed nervously.
   "He was arrested, for killing that Roger guy."
   "Really?"
   "Yes. But the cops got a tip; they know he was framed."
   "Framed? They uh.. have any leads?"
   "Sure do man. Got a light?"
   "Yaa, here. So what's their next move?"
   "They're planning to hit up the people who did it to see if one will turn
states evidence for immunity. I hear they're going for the death penalty."
   "Really, that’s uh.. heavy. Listen Peter I just remembered some place I'm
supposed to be. Take this j man on me man, I hafta run."
   "Oh, ok man. I'll see you around Rocket."
                                                                                     
*
   Davy took his bloody, fat lip with a measure of pride. The entire jail was
buzzing about 'David and Goliath', -bragging on the little guy that whooped ass
on Vernon Brooks. The crummy lunch of pb&j was all the more a gourmet meal
knowing it was so hard-won. His sweet victory however was rather short lived:
Called to the psychiatrist’s office for a routine psych eval he was met in the
atrium by Devin Brooks - and his cronies.
   "Lookie what we have here fellas, it’s the mighty munchkin."
   Davy froze in his tracks. He could hold his own; but not when it was three
against one.
   "You fucked with the wrong guy you limey punk, nobody messes with my
family."
   The other two men grabbed Davy's arms, holding him fast while Devin dealt
him a severe beating. He lay on the tiled floor, bleeding and curled in a ball.
   "Don't forget," Devin threatened, "snitches get double."
   He delivered a final and brutal kick to Davy's back, and the three
assailants ran away.
   Too weak and dizzy to stand, Davy groaned, remaining on the cold linoleum.
His vision blurred as his eyelids began to swell from the cruel blows. He made
a vain attempt to get to his knees, but the world tilted - sending him back to
the floor. The metallic taste of his own blood gagged him, and he nearly
wretched as it trickled down his throat. He lifted his head once more in a
futile attempt to find some help. A spray of stars swam before him as a heady,
floating sensation settled on his brain. He dropped his head on his arm,
exhaling a defeated breath. Finally giving up the fight, for Davy the world
went black.
                                                                              
       *
   Peter's safe return to the beach house made for one ecstatic Texan. Though
Rocket made no confessions on the wired recording, the bee was placed in his
bonnet: If he didn't turn himself over, the taped drug deal was enough to bring
him in.
   "Way to go Pete," Micky grinned, giving a gentle punch to his shoulder, "you
really came through for Davy my man!"
   "Ya did good Cotton," Mike smiled proudly, "but I'm so glad your home safe
with me."
   "Nothin to it,” Peter beamed proudly, “I'd do anything to help poor Davy."
   "If this guy sings like we're hoping he will Davy should be released before
you know it. The statements from Camryn and Melody will help seal it."
   "I hope you're right Tony," Nicky sighed, "there's nothing more that I want
right now. I can't imagine how scared he must be."
   "Whoops that’s me," Tony said, grabbing his phone.
   "Hello? Yes.. WHAT?! Dear God. I'm on my way."
   "What's going on?" Micky asked.
   "That was the jail's infirmary."
   "Oh God Tony what happened?"
   "Sit down Nicky."
   Nicky paled taking a seat, knowing it must be bad news.
   "Davy is being transported to St. Johns."
   "Why?"
   "What happened?"
   "Oh my God."
   "All they would tell me is that he's unconscious."
   "I'm coming with you."
   "Mio piccolo amore, they won't let you see him. Only as his guardian am I
able to be there Nicky."
   "Are you saying you won't let me come?"
   Tony smiled at the young man's tenacity.
   "Of course you can come, just making sure you understand."
                                                                                     
*
   Benjamin 'Rocket' Worthington paced the sidewalk outside of Von's market.
His meeting with Dylan was hardly friendly, ending on less than promising
terms. It was obvious that Chaz would be filling his shoes in Dylan's schemes,
the implied threats to Rocket's life tipping the scales in his mind, he picked
up the phone. As Detective Billows SUV pulled to a stop in front of him, the
two men sized each other up.
   "Worthington?"
   "You Billows?"
   "Let's take a ride son."
   They drove to a nearby coffee shop and sat in a corner booth away from the
other patrons. Billows ordered coffee and pie; the younger man a coke and
fries. Producing a pocket sized tape recorder, the detective got right down to
business. He pressed record and sat the device between them.
   "Mr. Worthington I'll be recording our conversation with your permission."
   Ben nodded.
   "Son the recorder doesn't pick up a nod," he smiled.
   "Sorry. That's fine."
   "Benjamin Worthington Interview, Saturday twenty-four January, two o’clock
pm.”
   Billows paused as the waitress returned with their order.
   "You are Benjamin Worthington?"
   "Yes, Ben for short.. Rocket to my friends."
   "You were cousins to the late Roger Perry, recently killed?"
   "Yaa, he's - he was - my Uncle Jack's kid."
   "I received a phone call from you earlier today requesting a meeting in
regards to his murder, correct?"
   "Yes."
   "What is it you wish to tell me?"
   "I.. I wanna make a deal."
   "May be something I can do. Depends on what you've got for me."
   "I got nothin if you can't guarantee me immunity."
   Billows washed down a bite of cherry pie with hellishly strong coffee,
considering his options.
   "You take him out Rocket?"
   "No. I was involved in the planning."
   "You give me everyone that was involved and I'll guarantee you no more than
felony probation."
   "What about protection? The people that axed Roger are not gonna be happy
with me."
   "We already have testimony against.. someone. If your story corroborates it,
the responsible parties will be behind bars, without bond I assure you."
   Rocket sipped his drink, weighing his decision.
   "Ben a very young man sits behind bars accused of a crime that could cost
him his life. Now the evidence points against him, but I believe you know
otherwise. You want a second death on your conscience?"
   "That fucking sucks."
   "Sure. So does everything he and his family are going through."
   They sat in silence; gazes locked in a battle of wit and will.
   "No jail time?"
   "Long enough to be booked and released on OR."
   "Fuck it.I'm in."
   "You're making the right decision. Let's move this down to the station."
                                                                                     
*
   Micky tagged along with Tony and Nicky to the ICU of St John's Hospital.
After meeting with the doctor on call, to everyone’s surprise they were led
together to Davy’s room.
   "Normally we don't allow visitors to inmate rooms," the nurse advised, "but
when the patient is this critical.. well, exceptions are made."
   "Mick amici, please - wait here with Nicky -"
   "I WANT TO SEE HIM!" Nicky objected.
   "And you will!” Tony stated firmly, "I'm going in there ALONE first. When
I've seen how.. serious it is, I'll prepare you both to go inside."
   He gently stroked the youthful cheek with tender, reassuring fingers.
   "Please Nicky, wait here."
   He stepped into the room and closed the door. The sight that met his eyes
struck him like a fist in the gut and he nearly doubled from the shock. Looking
frail and darkened with colorful bruises, the man in the bed was barely
familiar. Davy's face was swollen, his cheeks a misshapen purple mound of
lacerated flesh. Two IV bags dripped clear fluids into his arm; a ventilator
tube disappeared into his mouth through bruised and bluish lips. Naked from the
waist up, a large bandage could be seen wound around his ribcage, another
covering the top of his head. His left arm, in a sling, was secured across his
chest.
   "Oh God kiddo," Tony whispered as he drew near to his diminutive friend,
"Davy please - please come back.”
   Back in the hallway, he spoke to his waiting friends.
   "It's bad. I want you both to know this. He looks like he - it doesn't look
good at all."
   He described gently but truthfully the horror they were about to encounter.
Pale and shaky, they walked through the cursed door to the sad figure lost in a
fog beyond it. Tony held Nicky by the arm, steadying him as he entered the
room. Gasping, Micky rushed ahead of them, calling out his lover's name.
   "Oh no, DAVY!" He cried, clutching his little ones hand.
   "MICKY!" Tony shouted from behind him.
   He turned to see Nicky slumped, having fainted into Tony's arms.
   "Oh hell!"
   Quick on his feet he was beside him at once, helping to deposit the limp
young man in a nearby chair.
   "You stay with Nicky," Micky said, "I'll get a nurse!"
   Micky returned straightaway, with Florence Nightingale in tow. A quick wave
of ammonium chloride under his nose brought Nicky back to the land of the
alert.
   "A cold wet rag on the back of his neck should help," the nurse advised,
"Keep him off his feet for a bit."
   "You okay there kiddo?" Tony asked, "You checked out on me for a minute."
   "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little headache. Would you, help me?"
   "Help you with what?"
   "Get over there by Davy."
   "Youshouldn't be up and walking just yet."
   "Is that a yes or am I on my own with this?"
   "Sobull-headed! You're SURE you're not Italian?" He said, helping Nicky to
his feet.
   "Eighty-nine percent English - eleven percent stubborn."
   "Hmm."
   Tony walked him slowly to Davy's bedside, sliding a nearby stool beneath
him. Micky stood across from them on the other side of the bed.
        (Click-click-click-woosh click-click-click-woosh)
   The ventilator made a continuous chorus, filling his lungs with air. The
sound was taunting, screaming of his weakened state; yet its rhythm soothed, a
merciful surety in an uncertain moment. Just then, Gerry came in, having just
come from the county lockup with news.
   "Nicky I'm terribly sorry," he began, "I pray for a full and speedy
recovery. Has the doctor made a prognosis?" He asked, turning to Tony.
   "It's too soon to tell," Tony replied, "he's in a coma with a moderate
concussion. He can't even breathe on his own at this point."
   A sob hitched in Micky's throat, as he stroked the lifeless hand he held in
his own. Gerry laid a comforting hand on his back.
   "I've spoke to administration, though nobody saw exactly what happened, they
believe he was beaten by the brother of an inmate he had a fight with earlier
today. The first man, Vernon Brooks, had taken his food at breakfast, and Davy
fought him to keep his lunch - getting the best of the bigger man."
   "Oh my God!" Micky breathed.
   "He was headed for a visit with the staff psychiatrist; standard practice
for someone accused of a violent crime, and never made the appointment. A
search located him, like this, on the floor near the medical wing. A records
check placed Devin Brooks - brother to Vernon - and two of his friends on work
detail in the atrium next to where Davy was found.”
   "Are they going to do something about this?"
   "Yes Nicky, an investigation is ongoing and video footage of the area is
being reviewed. Proper measures will be taken and disciplinary action meted
out."
   "They better pray I don't land in jail," Tony said, in an angry manner
foreign to him, "I WILL become karma personified!"
   "Let's just keep you out here where you're not so destructive," Gerry
smiled, "You'll be far more useful and less of a threat on the outside."
   "Excuse me gentlemen," a nurse interrupted, "we've had a sudden shortage of
blood plasma here in the hospital. We're asking anyone healthy enough if they
would go down to the blood bank and donate today."
   "I will, of course," Tony said.
   "I can too," Nicky replied.
   Micky nodded.
   "How do we get there?" Gerry asked.
   "Come to the desk when you're ready, we have printed maps showing the way.
Thank you so much."
   "We'll be there shortly."
***** Chapter 8 *****
   Mike and Peter cuddled together on the sofa, the Texan wrapping his
protective arms possessively around his blond lover.
   "You really did me proud today Cotton," he said, kissing the back of his
neck, "scared the heck out of me too.. I don't like bein scared."
   "I'm sorry Michael; I needed to do this thing today. I feel like a part of
the team now, ya know."
   "Well ya did the right theng by Davy."
   Mike slid a hand inside of his shirt, his fingers stroking the other man's
stomach.
   Peter smiled knowingly.
   "What's say you do right by me?"
   The smoldering heat in Mike's coal-black eyes was telling indeed: His
earlier fears needed to be purged - he would crush them now in the bedroom.
   Urging Peter to his feet, he took his hand and led him to their room.
Sitting on the bed, Mike shed his boots and leaned back on his elbows. Peter
smiled at him, submission in his eyes and waited for the seduction to begin. He
stood patiently, his body responding as Mike's eyes perused him blatantly.
   "Unbutton your shirt, slowly," Mike ordered silkily.
   Repressing a grin he did as instructed, a tiny thrill developing as the air
breached his exposed skin.
   Mike slid a hand down to his crotch, adjusting the growing length inside his
own jeans.
   "Now mine."
   Catlike, Peter curled to all fours and holding Mike's gaze, slithered across
to him enticingly. With nimble hands he opened each snap on the denim shirt.
Shivery brushes of his fingertips brought goose bumps to the Texan's flesh as
he tantalized with his feathery touch. He parted the fabric to either side,
bending his head to suck a pleasure-heightened nipple between his lips. Mike
moaned at the sensation, his lips moving in silent gratification. Peter drew
back, balancing on his knees.
   "Strip Peter."
   "Anything you say Michael."
  Standing, Peter shucked out of his shirt, letting it slip gracefully off of
his shoulders to fall down his back. He caressed his own chest, his hands
sliding sensually down his ribcage to settle on his abdomen. He opened his belt
and undid the button of his Levis. A tooth at a time, he lowered his zipper,
folding back one side of the top of his jeans. He pulled them down below his
hips, blushing as Mike observed he wore no briefs.
   "Stop!" Mike ordered, a smirk in his eyes, "stand here, hands at your
sides."
   Peter obeyed, grimacing inwardly, his exposed erection pointing skyward,
aching to be touched. Mike radiated a wicked smile, sliding his pants to the
floor. His massive cock - fully aroused - caught Peter's attention immediately.
   "What?" He teased, "You like what you see?"
   "You know I do."
   "You want this doncha Pete. You little slut."
          (Oh boy - name calling - this will be hot)
   "Yes Michael. May I?"
   "Take off your pants; get on your knees."
   Excited, Peter complied, eager for the next order. Mike stood and came
around behind him. Dropping to his knees, he snaked an arm around his waist.
   "You want it bad," he whispered, licking his earlobe, "tell me Peter - tell
me whatcha want.”
   "Oh Michael," the older man groaned, "please, let me have you."
   His ardor building Peter ground his sex against the mattress, yearning for
contact.
   "You horny little cuss," Mike growled against his neck, "you wanna hump like
a dog I'm gonna fuck you like one!"
   Without warning he shoved forward, burying his full length in Peter's
waiting heat, his lover biting his lip to keep from crying out. In a rapid
steady rhythm, he pounded the tight flesh with a ruthless abandon. The slapping
of his balls on Peter's ass inspired him and he landed a stinging smack to his
lover's bottom.
   "Please Michael -touch me - please?"
   "I love it when you beg babe!" He crooned softly.
   He eased his hand southward, teasing light traces along his lover's head.
His rocking pace quickening, he nipped along the freckled shoulder kissing over
each vexing bite. Mercifully he grasped Peter' throbbing shaft, tugging in duet
with his own thrusting rhythm.
   "You're SO fuckin’ good," he growled, kissing and licking all the skin he
could reach.
   "TAKE me Michael - take me HARD!"
   Peter's words awoke the beast. His fire stoked to a raging inferno suddenly
out of control, Mike pushed upward, nearly climbing his back. He jerked his
lover's cock with the same fierce speed and angry power with which he slammed
into his ass. Peter quickly reached his climax, spilling his endless load into
Mike's eager hand, his rectum tightening in glorious spasms of wringing
pleasure.
   "Oh- FUCK, YES!" Mike shouted, his orgasm surging as the body around him
clamped down, sucking every drop of rapture from the head of his dick. With a
final lunge he shuddered, his emotional pain finally answered, his physical
need satiated beyond understanding. Their sweat-soaked bodies sucked apart as
they slid jelly-like to the carpeted floor beneath them. Breathless and so in
love, they curled around each other and peacefully slept.
                                                                               
      *
   Detective Billows finished typing Rocket's statement, checking it over for
errors. He brought it, along with the immunity deal, for him to sign.
   "Once you put your John Hancock to these Ben, I'll get you processed and
booked, and bond you out on your own recognizance."
   Ben looked everything over carefully, and signed his name to both papers,
Billows signing them as well.
   "You did the right thing son, that boy doesn’t deserve to be punished for
nothing. Let’s head over to booking."
   "Do me a favor wouldja?"
   "I'll try."
   "Make sure the kid knows I told the truth."
   "I will."
   On the way back from booking Billows stopped in at warrants, turning in the
paperwork to take the next step. Back at his desk, he picked up the phone.
   "Mr. Santini? Edward Billows. There's been a new development in David's
case."
                                                                                     
*
   Gerry caught up with Tony and the others back in Davy's room. Nicky dozed in
the reclining chair, still woozy from giving blood.
   "Ger, you really don't have to stick around," Tony offered, "I'm sure you
have more than enough business we're keeping you from."
    "As a matter of fact I'm here on business. I got a call from Detective
Billows just a little while ago."
   "Don't tell me," Micky said sarcastically, "They’re blaming Davy for the
Lindbergh kidnapping, JFK and the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."
   "Not quite," Gerry chuckled, "Ben Worthington just turned states evidence:
He signed a sworn statement against Dylan Roberts claiming that he framed Davy
for the murder of Roger Perry.”
   Micky was out of his seat and standing beside them before Gerry was fully
finished.
   "Oh my GOD that's GREAT NEWS that means Davy is free and he can get better
now and go home and everything is gonna be GREAT and boy oh boy are they gonna
be sorry they accused the wrong guy man he's-"
   "Micky!" Tony interrupted his excited monologue.
   "… What?"
   "It’s not quite that simple."
   "Oh."
   "Well," Gerry said, "it's probably not going to be as complicated as you
think. There is a third party involved, and it's likely one of the two will
turn on the other in favor of a lesser sentence. Regardless, with Worthington's
affidavit, the statements from the two girls and the witnesses James Clancey
rounded up in David's favor - he should be cleared of all charges within a week
or so."
   "Really?"
   "Did I hear you correctly?" Nicky asked hopefully from the corner of the
room.
   "It looks like the LAPD finally got their act together mi amore; Davy should
be in the clear before you know it!"
   "That'sfucking AWESOME!"
   "WOW Nicky!" Micky gaped.
   Tony gave him a hard look.
   "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, "it’s been a rough day."
   "Yes. Well DON'T make it a habit," Tony admonished, "It doesn't suit you."
   "Yes sir," Nicky grinned.
   "Now if only -"
   Micky was interrupted by a loud beeping from the direction of Davy's bed.
Moments later two nurses rushed into the room, silencing the alarm, rapidly
tending to Davy's ventilator.
   "What's happening, is he alright?" Nicky asked in a panic, "Tony - what's
going on?"
   "I'm not sure," he answered, fear in his voice, "come, out of the way mio
piccolo mio, let them do their jobs."
   Micky huddled with them, the three clinging together and praying hard, Gerry
at Tony's side.
   "On one -” a hurried nurse said to her partner, "three, two, and ONE."
   Davy was gagging, a raspy choking coming from his throat. A clicking of
buttons and
        CLICK -CLICK-CLICK-HISSSSSS
   "Respirations are thready at twenty-eight, BP one-ten over seventy."
   A harsh coughing and sputtery, ragged breathing could be heard over the
women's hunched shoulders.
   "Respiration seventeen, BP holding."
   "I'll get Dr. Bowen."
   "Please, Tony pleaded, "Is Davy alright?"
   "We took him off the respirator sir; his pulmonary function increased
causing respiratory distress."
   "Can you repeat that in English?" Micky asked, confused.
   "He started breathing on is own - and his lungs were fighting with the
respirator."
   "Excuse me gentlemen," the doctor pressed through.
   Several tense moments ticked slowly by as the medical team went about a
thorough examination, speaking quietly amongst themselves.
   "I'd like a new CT of the medulla oblongata, continue CP monitoring and
administer five MGs sussefrin IV drip over the next eight hours. Update me
everytwo."
   "Yes doctor."
   "Doc is - is he okay?"
   "Are you family son?"
   "I'm his older brother sir."
   "I won't know for certain till I get the CAT scan back, but I think the
inter-cranial pressure is reducing on his brain. We've had to do a
ventriculoscomy - the drilling of a hole in the skull to place a drainage tube
- to relieve blood or fluid pressure from inside his head. This added pressure
and subsequent swelling was affecting the lower portion of his brain, which
controls lung function. As the swelling dissipates, normal function should
return."
   "So this is a good sign?" Tony ventured.
   "Theoretically yes. Again, without a CT scan, I won't know WHAT is going on
in there. The good news here is that he's breathing on his own."
   "Thanks doc," Micky said, giving his hand a grateful shake.
   "It's shaping into a better day," Tony said when they were alone.
   "Yes, "Nicky nodded, "I just wish that he'd wake up."
   "I gotta good feeling that he will," Micky said.
                                                                               
      *
   Detective Sergeant Edward Billows was a dedicated officer of the law with
thirteen years on the force. His commitment to superior police work was second
to none, his instincts excellent. He rarely made an error in judgment, but when
it happened, he gave his all to set things to rights. At the moment, that was
the Jones case.
   His misery over the young man's horrible injuries in Lost Hills was genuine,
and he fully intended to rectify the situation. A visit to the hospital was on
his agenda, but Dylan Roberts was his first priority. The drive to Malibu was
calming and gave him an opportunity to rehearse in his head how to carry the
arrest off. Easy way or the hard way, he mentally prepared for either scenario.
   Four unmarked units would be meeting him for the apprehension of Roberts,
the location of Charles 'Chaz' Blakely being still unknown. By all reports
Dylan was a night bird, sleeping off his revelries by the light of the sun. The
early-afternoon raid and arrest would most likely net them the greatest
results. He checked his watch: one forty-eight. It would all go down at two
o'clock. He parked his car on Malibu County Lane and waited. Ten minutes later,
the entire team was assembled and ready to go. They drove around to West Beach
Lane to their destination, quietly filing out of their cars. Five armed
officers went to the back, four to the front. On Billows signal, they stormed
the house, bursting through both entrances. A man sleeping on the couch was
startled awake, jumping to his feet.
   "Police, get down on the floor! On your knees - NOW! Hands behind your
head!"
   With their weapons drawn against him, the man had little choice but to
comply. In a back bedroom, a second man was apprehended: It was Dylan Roberts.
The two were read their Miranda rights and placed in separate vehicles while a
search of the house was conducted. The discovery of a large amount of cocaine
led Billows to call in the narcotics task force. Bales of marijuana, four
handguns, neighborhood maps and two large knives were tagged, and bagged into
evidence. A small duffle bag containing a large amount of cash was seized as
well. Billows signed the scene over to the NARC investigator and made his way
back to Lost Hills with his suspects.
***** Chapter 9 *****
   Mike and Peter joined the others to take up vigil at Davy's bedside. His
condition hadn't worsened but neither had he woke up. Tony bought some supper
for everyone in the hospital cafeteria, to catch everybody up and spend a
little family time.
   "So thanks to Peter, Rocket fessed up and threw his cohorts over the side,"
Tony explained, "Billows called to say they were both in custody."
   "Told you ya done me proud Cotton," Mike beamed.
   "Thanks Mike."
   "Davy started breathing on his own this afternoon," Nicky chimed in, "they
think the brain swelling is finally going down."
   "Brain swelling?"
   "Yaa Mike its crazy," Micky spoke up, "they drilled a hole in his skull to
relieve the pressure!"
   "Speaking of Davy," Tony said, "if we're all finished we should head back
upstairs."
   Back on the third floor, they walked into Davy's room to find him sitting up
in bed.
   "Davy!"
   "He-hey kiddo!"
   "Davy babe, you’re awake!"
   "Daggum Tiny!" Mike breathed, seeing his injuries for the first time.
       Peter began to cry.
   Davy blinked at them through his swollen eyelids, a puzzled look on his
face.
   "C-can I help you guys?"
   They looked at one another, confusion and panic setting in.
   "Davy, it’s me, Nicky."
   "I think you have the wrong.. place."
   "Shit," Tony muttered, running from the room.
   "Dave, it's us - your family - don't you know who we are?" Micky pled.
   Davy shook his head.
   Tony came back with the doctor.
   "Hello, I'm Dr. Bowen, how are you feeling young man?"
   "I've a terrible 'eadache."
   "Yes I'm sure, can you tell me your name?"
   A look of consternation crossed Davy's broken features, as he was clearly
struggling for an answer.
   "How about the date, can you tell me what year it is," the doctor asked,
shining a light in his eyes.
   "I - I dunno!" he replied, fear tingeing his voice.
   "Relax for a moment will you son?"
   Pulling Tony aside, Dr. Bowen spoke in a hushed tone.
   "Mr. Martinelli, it appears that David is suffering from some amnesia from
his head trauma."
   "That's what I was afraid of doc. Do you think it will reverse?"
   "It's entirely possible, but there's really no way to tell at this point.
Try not to pressure him too much to remember, but offer gentle reminders."
   "Damn. Okay doctor, thank you."
   "Alright David," Dr. Bowen returned to his patient, "It seems you're having
some memory issues, a touch of amnesia from your head injuries. I'm fairly
certain it will pass over time, though how much time is difficult to say. Your
family here will help you along until the memories start opening up, you'll be
in good hands. I'll order you something for that headache. Alright?"
   " ... Okay, I guess so."
   The awkward moment seemed to drag on for an eternity after the doctor left
the room. Peter was the first to break the ice.
   "I've really missed you back at the pad Davy."
   "We all have Tiny."
   "Thanks, I guess. We livetogether?"
   "Yaa," Micky said, "you, me, Mike and Pete."
   "Oh."
   "Do you remember anything kiddo?" Tony ventured.
   Davy seemed to concentrate for a moment, striving to pull up any
recollections he could.
   "I kinda remember.. being in a fight."
   "Okay, you were - two actually. You don't recognize any of us?"
   He looked carefully from one to the other of the people surrounding him,
stopping on Nicky.
   "No, I'm sorry. Except, you," he pointed to his brother, "and you," he said
to Micky, "I - well I feel like.. like I really SHOULD know you."
   "Davy, I'm your brother, Nicholas. Well, Nicky."
   Davy nodded, turning a questioning gaze on Micky.
   "I'm.. we're …"
   "Micky is your significant other Davy," Tony spoke up, "the two of you are
dating."
   "Really?" Davy said, "Well at least I 'ave some taste," he smiled.
   "I need to see your armband sweetie," a young nurse had come into the room.
   Examining the plastic strap on his wrist, he stared blankly at the
foreignness that was his own name, offering it up for her scrutiny.
   "Yep, you're the one I'm looking for. Have some Skelaxin for your headache.
"
   She handed him two pills in a tiny paper cup. He swallowed them down with a
drink of water.
   "Thanks miss."
   She smiled and left the room.
   "So. The rest of you?"
   "I'm Peter, Tork. We live in the same beach house together in Malibu; I play
bass and keyboards in our band."
   "We're in a band?"
   Micky, Mike and Peter exchanged panicked, open-mouthed stares.
   "Well yaa shotgun, we're the Monkees. I play twelve string lead guitar n
Micky plays the drums."
   "N wha' about me?"
   "Percussion," Micky said, "Maracas, tambourine and you sing GREAT."
   "So we're good? Are we famous or anything?"
   "Well we're not yet, but we do have a good local fan base."
   Davy turned to Tony.
   "So what're you in all o this?"
   "I'm your legal guardian Davy."
   "Guardian? How… how old am I?"
   "You're nineteen kiddo," Tony chuckled, "it's a little complicated, but if
you're up to it right now Iwill explain it to you."
   "Truthfully, I just wanna go to sleep. I'm exhausted n me 'ead is pounding."
   "How bout we go get a room for the night and we'll come back in the
morning," Tony suggested."
   "Sounds fine by me," Davy said casually.
   "Alright, we'll be back tomorrow then, try to get some rest kiddo."
   "Night Tiny," Mike called.
   "I hope you feel better soon Davy," Peter said.
   The three made a move for the door and paused, as Micky and Nicky were
hanging behind.
   "We'll be out in the hallway when you two are ready," Tony said, "take your
time."
   "Bubba," Nicky said softly, "I'm leaving you my cell phone number, in case
you need anything - or just want to talk. I don't care what time. I love you
little bro."
   "Thank you.. N-Nicky. I'm sorry, I wish I could do.. bettah than this."
  "Still the same old Davy," he laughed, "it's not your fault. Just focus on
getting well, the rest - your memory and all - will happen when it’s ready."
   He hugged him lightly and left the room.
   Micky walked to his bedside and took him by the hand.
   "Davy, I don't wanna make you - uncomfortable. Is it okay if I kiss you good
night?"
   "What did you say your name is again?"
   "… Micky," he answered, a slight sad tremor in his throat.
   "Micky.. and - we're dating?"
   "Yes.. since back in October. It's okay if you can't or don't want to, I'll
under-"
   "Youtalk too much, shut up n kiss me."
   Micky grinned from ear to ear, leaning in to tenderly consume the bruised
and swollen lips.
   "Hmm," Davy smiled, a finger pressed to his lips "seems like I'd remember
THAT. Again?"
   "Anytime."
   They kissed once more, Davy tangling his good hand in Micky's dark hair.
   "Yaa. Yer uh comin' back tomorrow, right?"
   "Cookie you couldn't keep me away!"
   "Groovy. Night Micky."
   "Night babe, I love you."
                                                                       *
   Dylan Roberts was in deep and he knew it. The drug charges against him were
going to stick regardless and he was hoping against hope that Chaz could hold
his own with the crafty detective. Certain that his string of clients and local
friends would support him, he was unruffled by the fact that he was being
accused of conspiracy. All he could do for the moment was sit in his holding
cell and wait.
   Charles Blakely sat sweaty and panicked in the interrogation room. He'd had
a few scrapes with the law as a teen, mostly for skipping school or violating
curfew. Handcuffed and shackled to the floor, his thoughts raced as to Dylan's
loyalty to him: He had after all dropped Rocket, a longtime friend, without a
backward glance - even suggesting that Chaz 'take him out'. Detective Billows
opened the door and took a seat across from him, a Cheshire grin adorning his
face.
   "Get you anything Blakely, before we begin?"
   The words jumped out before he could stop himself.
   "A large pepperoni pizza with double cheese and a two liter of Coke."
          (I'm watching way too much TV)
   "Something till it gets here?"
   "Another coke?"
   "Sit tight," Billows smiled.
   He fetched the soft drink and a coffee for himself, and recorder rolling
began his line of questions.
   "Tell me about Roger Perry."
   "Who?"
   "Your cousin Chaz - the one you killed for Dylan Roberts."
   Barely contained shock stood starkly on the younger man's face.
   "Oh yes, I've already had a lengthy conversation with your co-conspirator.
          (Not telling you which one)
   "Your buddy Dylan is already looking at a LOT of trouble for drugs and
racketeering charges. He isn't planning on going down alone for capital
murder."
   The confident, smirking glint in Billows eyes was well rehearsed and
convincing. A tiny blue vein clearly pulsed in Chaz's temple.
   "You're bluffing me."
  "Am I now. So you're telling me that you were not at the party the night
Perry was stabbed. That you, Roberts and," he opened his file for effect, "Ben
Worthington did not conspire to murder Roger Perry in an effort to gain control
of his drug territory for Dylan Robert's domain?"
   Tiny beads of perspiration had formed on the wide-eyed Chaz's forehead, his
rapid breathing and trembling hands revealing his nervous stupor.
    "That Worthington and Roberts didn't single out a David Jones as an 'easy
pigeon' - to use YOUR own words - that you would later frame for the same
murder? With Rocket's help and Robert's instruction?"
   "I-"
   "Pretty slick.. almost worked Charles."
   "It wasn't my idea!"
   "I figured that much. You should know that we now have several signed
witness statements identifying you as Roger Perry's murderer. With your
accomplice's corroboration, you're facing the gas chamber Charles."
   This last revelation sent him over the edge. His fear outweighing his trust
in his friends, Chaz sang like a caged canary.
   "Dylan staged the entire thing, start to finish. He asked me to.. to do it.
He guaranteed that the Jones kid would take the fall - even supplied all the
'right’ drugs at the party - said everyone would be too screwed up to remember
the details right. He wanted Roger out of the way cuz he was holding him back
on the cocaine market on the southwestern coast. He wanted me to knock off
Rocket too.. said he'd become a risk."
   "Tell me YOUR version of how the murder went down, right up to pinning the
Jones kid for it."
   "I'll tell you every fucking thing - and more - promise me first, promise me
I'm not gonna go to the gas chamber."
   "Charles, you come clean with me and I'll guarantee you, you will live."
   "Promise?" He said again, tears in his eyes.
   "You have my word."
                                                                                   
*
   Gerry was in L.A. on business and located Tony and the guys at their hotel -
he had news.
   "First off, how's our boy?"
   "He's awake," Tony said, "but, he has amnesia. Doesn't remember anybody,
even himself."
   "Aww damn! That poor kid just doesn't catch a break!"
   "No, he really doesn't. Doctor feels that given enough time he may recover
his memories, but it’s really too soon to tell. Any good word?"
   "Very good word. Where's the family, I'd really like for everyone to hear
this."
   "Give me a second, they're all out on the patio."
   "Why don't we just go on out, it’s a beautiful night."
   "Sounds great Gerry."
   Out onto the covered veranda a canopy of stars blanketed the cool evening.
Gerry was greeted with friendly, eager faces.
   "Hello everyone, good to be able to catch up with you all again.
   "Hey Gerry."
   "Gerry, what's got you out here so late?"
   "Howdy Gerry."
   "Well," he said, taking a seat, "I was in the neighborhood and stopped by to
bring you all the latest news."
   "Good news I hope," Nicky said dully, "could definitely use some."
   "Oh it’s great news!”
   "You're killing me -" Micky said anxiously, "spill!"
   "I got a call from LAPD.. Billows wrapped up his investigation this
evening."
   "… AND?"
   "Tomorrow morning he'll be going in front of Judge Huff, as will I. Since
Billows squeezed signed confessions from Dylan Roberts and Chaz Blakely, all
charges against Davy will be officially dismissed tomorrow and his record
expunged."
   "Oh my GOD Gerry - that isAWESOME news'" Nicky exclaimed.
   "That means he can come home!" Micky said excitedly, "well, as soon as he's
able."
   "Yes, he'll be a free man."
   "Bear in mind fellows, he still has no idea who we are - he may be .. edgy,
about coming home with us." Tony reminded.
   "If you'd have seen him kissing me earlier tonight," Micky objected, "he's
not THAT edgy.
   "Perhaps. I just want everyone to be prepared for whatever emotions he may
experience. Okay?"
   "Whatever it takes to git ol Tiny back on his feet," Mike spoke up, "I'm
in."
   "Me too," Peter added, "I love that little guy."
   "Right." Nicky nodded.
   "I understand photos and physical memories can often jog the memory of an
amnesia patient, something you may want to consider."
   "Gerry that's a great idea! We'll get on that right away!"
                                                                         *
   Davy lay in the hospital bed tossing in his sleep. Plagued with fragmented
dreams and abstract, phantom images his slumber was all but restful. A cold,
slick sweat covered his skin as nightmarish images played before his mind's
eye:
                                  A horrific accident on a rainy night's drive;
raging pain in the broken
                                    body of his child-self in the aftermath.
Cruel beatings and days of
                                 aching hunger shut away in darkness. Laughter
in the snow from an
                               unseen playmate - a brown-haired boy and
suddenly, a thunderstorm
                              on a sandy beach - then the barred windows and
doors of a locked jail
                                  cell. The smiling, tender face of his lovely
mother - a looming and
                                                             violent Devin
Brooks.
        He screamed
   A nurse came running into his room to find him sitting bolt upright in his
bed, body rigid, eyes wide with fear.
   "Calm down sweetie," she rubbed his arm, "tell me what's the matter?"
   "N-n-nightmare!" Davy stammered through panting breaths.
   "You're alright now, it’s just a dream. Do you want something to help you
sleep?"
   "No! I don' wanna sleep!"
   "Do you want me to leave the lights on?"
   Davy nodded, his heartbeat finally slowing.
   "Is there someone I can call for you hon?"
   He eyed the slip of paper that Nicky had left him earlier. Emotion won out
over logic and he handed the number to the nurse.
   "Ask him if he can come. Ask if he can bring.. erm.. the guy I'm um..
dating."
   She gave him an odd smile and nodded, leaving him to wade through his
private hell.
   Fifteen minutes later, Nicky and Micky walked through the door.
   "Davy, what’s up babe?"
   "Bubba are you okay?"
   "Man am I glad to see you two!"
   He held out his arm, his lover and brother falling easily into it.
   "The nurse called," Nicky said worriedly, "she said you wanted us up here
right away. What's wrong Davy?"
   "It's sorta silly. I.. I had a nightmare. Some really freaky shit."
   "Not so silly," Micky soothed, "nightmares can be seriously scary.”
   "We'd have come if you just wanted ice cream," Nicky smiled.
   Seized by a sudden sharp pain, Davy grabbed his head.
   "OH!" He cried.
   "Davy what is it?" the two men called, practically in unison.
   "I dunno, but it hurts!" He said, his hand moving to press on his eyes.
   "Micky go-" Nicky began.
   "I'm already on it!" He said, racing into the hall.
   "Hang on Bubba, help is coming."
   Micky returned immediately with Davy's nurse.
   "What’s wrong kiddo?" She asked, taking his pulse.
   "My ‘ead - it feels like someone is stabbing my brain!”
   "Let me have a look at your eyes."
   She examined his pupils, with and without her penlight.
   "What was going on when this happened? Any conversation?"
   "Well yes," Nicky said, "I'd said that we'd be here no matter what."
   "Nothing that would trigger his memory?"
   " ... Um maybe," Nicky's eyes widened, "is that what caused it?"
   "With amnesia certain things will unlock recall - sounds, smells and certain
words - and often it causes a neural response, like a headache."
   "But he's okay though, right?" Micky asked.
   "Absolutely, his vitals are great, his pupils are normal and reactive, his
vision is fine - I'll get him something for the migraine and he'll be good as
new."
   "Whew!" Nicky breathed.
   "I'm sorry I dragged you guys out in the middle of the night."
   "Bubba I'd go anywhere anytime and do anythingfor you."
    Micky nodded beside him.
   "Still.. I just felt so alone. I dunno why, but I feel connected to you
two.. more than the others. Is that bad?"
   "No babe, it kinda makes sense. You've known your brother longer than any of
us, n me.. well," he laughed, "we spend a LOT of um.. quality time together.”
   The nurse reappeared with his medication in hand.
   "Got a little shot for you hon."
   "Oh REALLY?" Davy said wild eyed, "But I HATE needles!"
   "No worries, it goes in your IV line kiddo."
   At her words, Davy reached for his forehead again, squeezing his eyes
tightly shut.
   "More pain?" She asked.
   "Yes, a lot."
   (It was 'kiddo') Nicky mumbled under his breath.
   "What?" Micky asked.
   "Nothing. Come to the vending machines with me?"
   Catching his hint, Micky nodded.
   "We'll be right back Davy, you want anything?"
   "Could I have a Coke?"
   "You got it."
   Out in the hallway Micky was about to burst.
   "What, what is it? You look like you know something."
   "I think that Davy is remembering.. things. Or maybe the door is opening."
   "Whatta ya mean?"
   "Well the first headache came right after I mentioned ice cream - a real
emotional topic for him, as you know. When the nurse called him 'kiddo' TWICE -
well he flinched the first time and got more pain the second."
   "Could be a coincidence Nicky, Tony said not to get our hopes up."
   "Okay maybe. There was something else though. When she came in to give him
the shot, he FREAKED and told her: I don't like needles. Last night he didn't
even know his own name!"
   Micky's eyes and smile grew mutually wide.
   "Wow, I totally missed that! You're very observant Nicky, dang!"
   "Let's just be cool about everything, he has to remember it all on his own."
   "You got it, I'm mister ice."
***** Chapter 10 *****
   When they returned to his room, Davy had fallen asleep, the medicine working
its magic on him. The decision was made that they would stay, as he seemed to
relate to them so well. Nicky called Tony, advising him first that Davy was
fine, and that they would be spending the night. He recapped the discussion
he'd had with Micky, delighting Tony that his pet name of 'kiddo' had produced
a reaction in their youngest one.
   "Are any of you going to court in the morning?"
   "As Davy's guardian, I feel it’s my place. Peter and Mike are heading up
there with you two right after breakfast."
   "Please, Tony - bring us the details."
   "Mio caro amico, you will be the first to know."
                                                                                     
*
   In cell fourteen B, Neal Pierce lay awake considering his new cellmate - he
neither liked nor trusted the man, and his instincts seldom failed him. He
couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but something internal shrieked at him to watch
his back and pay attention. The man's foul breath wasn't the only thing that
was rotten, his cocky arrogance and smug, superior attitude told him that Dylan
Roberts was a troublemaker and a fool.
          (I'm watching you - you sorry ass)
   He had already noted that his unwelcome bunkmate was fairly thick with
another newcomer; he’d made a mental note to keep an eye on their activities.
Eventually, people like Roberts always made a mistake. When it happened, Neal
would be there, taking careful notes.
                                                                               
      *
   Micky watched as Davy slept peacefully across the room. Outwardly, there had
been no signs of any more nightmares, a serene innocence painting Davy's
handsome youthful face. Memories filled his thoughts in the deep quiet of the
early morning, a passing smile or frown crossing his features as different
moments took shape in his churning mind.
   "What are you thinking about?" Nicky's voice came from across the darkened
space.
   "How could youtell?"
   "Your face is an obvious mask of expression - smiling one minute eyebrows
raised - sad or grimacing the next."
   Micky chuckled half to himself.
   "Yaa.. my mom always said it was how she knew I was lying when I got in
trouble as a kid, said my expressive face was a dead giveaway."
   "Moms just KNOW things I think. Our mum was that way; she said she had eyes
in the back of her head and ears in every wall. Penny for your thoughts?"
   "Just wandering I guess. Remembering so many things that we've been through
together. He looks totally peaceful right now. "
   "You really love him don't you Micky?"
   "Yes," he nodded, "more then he'll ever know I'm thinking.”
   "I think he knows - the Davy that’s buried inside - else he wouldn't want us
here. He loves you too."
   Micky smiled.
   "I want you to know, I'll never hurt him."
   "I believe that. I've watched the two of you together; it's a good thing
between you. I'm happy he has you."
   "Really?"
   "Yes. You’re like an anchor for Davy, a constant. Your high-energy zest for
life and the way you love him unconditionally grounds him, and makes him want
to be his best self. You complement each other very well."
   "He makes me so comfortable with who I am, like there's nothing I can't do
with him by my side. He's my best friend."
   "He lights up around you. He smiles that genuine thousand-watt grin I
remember so well from when we were young and life was perfect. You've made it
good for him again."
   "You have too Nicky. Talk about hero worship! To hear it from Davy they
invented big brothers with you, hung the sun and moon in your eyes and then
broke the mold."
   "I'd give up everything I have or want or could be to see him happy. That's
my world asleep in that bed, my little bubba."
   "Then we have everything in common, you and me."
   Davy stirred in his sleep.
   "Tony?"
   "He's dreaming again," Micky whispered, standing up.
   "He called Tony's name!"
   "Tony, where's Mike? Petah's gon' worry if we don' find him."
   "Should we wake him up?"
   "No no - whatever's going on in his head Micky, he's remembering things -
let's just let him go. We'll keep an eye out in case it gets bad, but as long
as he isn't flipping out, let him remember."
   "I love you Micky."
   Micky smiled.
   "I love you little one," he whispered softly.
   "Bubba, I'm home." Davy smiled in his dreams.
   "With you little brother," Nicky gently whispered, "I'm always home too."
                                                                               
      *
   The courtroom was nearly packed to capacity when Tony took his place next to
Gerry. The inmates on the morning's docket were led, shackled, single file into
the front two rows of the left side of the seating area.
   "Which one is he?" Tony inquired quietly.
   "Third from the right, front row,” Gerry whispered, “Chaz, the other one is
right behind him.”
   Tony got his first look at the twisted evil man that had wreaked so much
havoc in Davy's life: The man looked dirty.
   "All rise," The bailiff called as the judge stepped in from his chambers,
"This court is now in session, The Honorable Judge Ward Huff presiding. God
bless the United States, the state of California and this humble court. Please
remain standing for the pledge of allegiance."
   Davy's case was called up third, with Gerry, Tony and Detective Billows
standing in on his behalf.
   "Counselor where is your client?"
   "Your honor, Mr. Jones is currently in the ICU at St. John's, as he was
brutally beaten by three fellow inmates at the Lost Hills jail," Gerry said.
   "I see. Are you prepared to offer a plea on his behalf or do you wish to
reconvene?"
   "Your honor, if I may; I'm Detective Sergeant Edward Billows of the LAPD
homicide unit. I've met with the district attorney in reference to this case
and with your honor's permission we'd like to approach the bench with some new
evidence that has urgent bearing on this matter."
   "You may proceed. Does counsel for the defense wish to be a party?"
   "Yes your honor if it please the court."
   "You may proceed counselor."
   The three men stood before the judge, speaking in hushed tones, presenting
him documents, affidavits and the signed confessions.
   Judge Huff examined the paperwork, asking questions and nodding often. The
discussion continued for several minutes, Tony's anticipation piquing, his
heart pounding.
   "Gentleman," the judge stated, "you may step down."
   Everyone resumed their places in the gallery, awaiting the judge’s decision
anxiously.
   "In the matter of the State of California vs. David Thomas Jones, case
number F1521936. In light of new evidence brought before this court that I deem
to be true and correct in all appearances, I hereby dismiss all charges in the
above named case and order that Mr. Jones record be expunged of any and all
wrongdoing related to this case. It is further ordered that Mr. Jones be
immediately released from his incarceration and returned to the custody of his
legal guardian Mr. Antonio Martinelli. Next case."
                                                                               
      *
   Mike and Peter went into the room to discover a hapless impromptu pajama
party: Davy asleep in the hospital bed with Nicky and Micky dozing, their heads
on either side of him.
   "Aww, how sweet," Peter smiled.
   "Peter you're all heart."
   "I wish I had my camera."
   "I'd be happy with a sharp pencil and a notepad."
   "What is it?" Nicky mumbled, rousing slowly from his slumber.
   "Mornin shotgun."
   "Morning. What time is it?"
   "Just after ten. Y'all been asleep long?"
   "About five hours I guess."
   "Micky. Mick, wake up.”
   "Huh-what?"
   "Rise n shine."
   "Oh hey guys, when did you get here?"
   "Just a few minutes ago. How is Davy?"
   "Same I guess. He's been sleeping for a while."
   As if on cue, Davy fluttered his eyelids and stretched in a long feline
posture. He blinked twice and opened his eyes.
   "Mornin Tiny."
   "G'mornin Mike."
   "Davy?" Nicky exclaimed.
   "Wha'?"
   "Um.. you h-hungry?" He offered, quickly changing tracks.
   "You know me, I'm ALWAYS hungry."
   Mike and Nicky exchanged a glance.
   "How ya feelin today shotgun?" Mike asked slyly.
   “M’really hurtin.. but mostly just tired. Petah, you look rough - are you
alright?"
   "I'm tired too, and a little confused." Peter turned to Mike.
   "Michael, I thought you said he wouldn't know me?"
   "Um yaa, Cotton, come out in the hall for a sec."
   "I'm coming with you," Micky called.
   "We'll be right back Davy," Nicky said, following the others out of the
room.
   "Okay, is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking?" Nicky asked bluntly.
   "That he knew who we were?" Mike grinned knowingly.
   "Do you think it’s a fluke?" Micky asked nervously, "I mean - could he
really be better that fast?"
   "Michael, does he know me or doesn't he?" Peter asked, his brows knit
together.
   "With amnesia Peter it could come and go. A minute ago he knew who we were,
but we could walk back in there and his memory might be a blank again."
   "C’mon, “Nicky suggested, "I don't wanna leave him alone too long."
   Davy gave them a strained look when they came back into his room.
   "Wha's goin' on?"
   "Sorry Davy," Nicky said, "had to sort out a little confusion."
   "S'there somethin' you guys are keepin' from me? Am I worse orf than
Ithink?" He asked, tension in his face.
   "No no - I - that is.. you-" Nicky fumbled.
   "Do you want the absolute truth Tiny?" Mike jumped in.
   "Y-yaa," Davy swallowed, "I-I can take it."
   "Mike approached him slowly, his boot heels clicking ominously on the tiled
floor.
   "Alright. You know ol Peter here n how he gets confused."
   "Yes."
   "Well I needed to explain to him what was goin on with you, and wasn't sure
I should do it in front of you."
   "Wha' exactly IS going on?"
   "I'll tell you ever’theng shotgun, cross my heart. Will you answer me
sumthin first?"
   "I'll try."
   "Tell me your name."
   "Wait - wha'?"
   "Just humor this goofy ol Texan wouldja Tiny?"
   "It's David Jones. I don't see-"
   "How old are you shotgun?"
   "I'm nineteen," Davy blinked.
   "Where were you born?"
   "Manchester England. Mike, wha's going on?"
   Mike smiled his classic grin.
   "Davy you've been unconscious. When you woke up you had a mild case of
amnesia."
   "Yercrackahs.”
   "He's telling you the truth bubba."
   "Ya didn't even know your own name." Mike added.
   "You still kissed me though!" Micky pointed out with a grin.
   "Hey kiddo you're awake!” Tony greeted eagerly as he strolled into the room,
“How are you today?"
   "Not a bloody WORD from anyone!" Davy warned, "Tony, tell me - has
anything.. odd - happened to me in the last couple days?"
   Tony looked nervously at the silent group.
   Then realization hit him.
   "Davy - you KNOW me?!"
   "Then it'strue."
   "I'm not sure exactly what 'it' is kiddo, but yesterday when we left you,
you didn't know anybody - not even yourself."
   "I thought you guys were 'aving me on. I really had amnesia?"
   "And you still kissed me," Micky winked.
   "Is that why I'm in the hospital?"
   "You don't remember the fi-"
   "Micky," Tony pointedly interrupted, "why don't you fetch the doctor, I'm
sure they need to give Davy a once-over."
   Micky's eyes and terse nod spoke what his lips did not: I get it - shut my
big mouth.
   He left the room, head lowered, his hands jammed in his pockets.
   "How's your headache today Bubba?"
   "S'not hurting as much."
   "Well David," Dr. Bowen came in, "making progress are we?"
   "I think so."
   "Let me have a look. Tell me, what's the last thing you recall before waking
up today?"
   "Making lo- ..erm, going to sleep with Micky at 'ome," he grinned.
   "And before that?"
   Davy frowned, raising a hand to his temple.
   "Headache?"
   "Yes, right behind me eyes."
   "No recollection before going to bed?"
   "No, not really."
   "That’s alright. Look around son, do you recognize everyone here?"
   "Sure. That's Petah n Mike, Micky, Nicky and Tony."
   Tony nodded to confirm this.
   "When is your birthday?"
   "December thirtieth."
   "Favorite color?"
   "Black and red."
   "He's right on the money doc," Micky said.
  "Very good. It seems you're recovering, and quickly I might add, from your
memory loss. One of two things is happening now: Either your recall is coming
in stages and gaps, or for whatever reason you're retaining a bit of selective
amnesia."
   "You mean he's choosing what he remembers?" Tony asked.
   "In a sense yes, but he isn't aware of it."
   "Not follerin ya there doc," Mike said.
   "It often occurs in a case of trauma that the victim develops a subconscious
method of self preservation. If an event is too painful or frightening to think
of, the mind simply blocks the memory, protecting the person's mental
stability. So by choice, or selectively, he can't remember."
   "Will I ever get the memories back?"
   "Entirely possible David. Feeling secure is probably key, when your mind
believes it’s safe to know, the missing time may come flooding back."
   "Or.. maybenevah, right?"
   "That's possible too. I think it will, you're healthy and strong and your
mind is sound. You have a wonderful supportive family here, it just takes time
sometimes. Do you need something for that headache?"
   "I think I'm gonna try to ride this one out."
   "If you change your mind, ring for the nurse."
   "I will, thanks doc."
   "So Tony, how did everything go today?"
   "Mike our Davy is a free man! No charges, no record."
   "REALLY?!" Nicky shouted, "That’s incredible news!"
   "Woohoomy baby's cominhome!"
   "What're you talking about? What charges?" Davy asked innocently.
   "Kiddo, before I tell you anything, let me see what the doctor thinks about
dropping a bomb like this on you. Its something you've obviously blocked out.
Okay?"
   "Sure, why not."
   Tony returned with Dr. Bowen at his side.
   "Okay Davy, doc says it's alright to tell you anything you want to know,
provided he's able to be present in a medical capacity. That okay with you?"
   "I guess it'd be alright."
   "Okay. What do you want to know kiddo?"
   "Why am I in the hospital? What charges were you talkin out?"
   "Davy does the name Dylan Roberts or Roger Perry ring a bell?"
   ".. No, and I was hoping fer ahnswers, not more questions."
   "I'm getting there kiddo. You're here bud because you were badly beaten by
three inmates at the Lost Hills branch of the L.A. county jail."
   "Was I in jail or were they out?"
   "You'd been incarcerated - falsely accused of a crime - which you were
officially cleared of today."
   "What crime?"
   "Dylan Roberts and two of his friends framed you for capital murder."
   "Murder?!"
   "Yes. You don't recall the night of the party?"
Davy closed his eyes against the pain and in the struggle to remember. His hand
shook as he raised it to massage his eyes, his breathing heavy in his chest.
   "Dave?"
   "Bubba?"
   Davy looked at them with wide, staring panicky eyes, a slick sweat forming
on his forehead. His pupils were merely pinpoints in the ghostly-white backdrop
of his ashen face. He tried to speak, but only produced an incoherent
stuttering, a jumbled, hurried mass of syllables.
   "Doc what the -"Micky began.
The doctor however was already at his bedside, plunging a needle into Davy’s
arm. He gasped slightly at the shock, and wordlessly slumped back onto his
pillows.
   "What happened to him?" Nicky asked frantically.
   "A little sensory overload. I anticipated something like this," Dr. Bowen
said, "he'll sleep for a while; I gave him haldol to calm the hysteria before
it could start. Why don't you all take a break, he'll be out for at least four
hours."
   "I want to stay with him," Nicky protested.
   "Lo non ti costringo a nulla, ma io insisto che si prendeuna pausa di Nicky,
please."
Tony and Nicky stared each other down in a passionate determined battle of
wills.
   "Fine, Tengo rabbia, lo so che ci tieni. I'm just.. so worried."
   "I know amore, but watching him sleep isn't going to change anything. Come
and eat, relax with the family."
Nicky gave him a softhearted smile. He kissed Davy's cheek and let himself be
led from the room.
                                                                                     
*
   The lunch bell rang in the module bringing the men to file out for chow.
Dylan and Chaz hung back, getting together at the end of the line. Ironically,
Chaz now resided in cell twelve B. Neal took his tray to his usual table. He
waited for the newcomers to take up the only available space: The small corner
table to his right. Assuming nonchalance, he ate his meager meal paying careful
attention to their conversation.
   "You get the card?"
   "Yep, hundred minutes. When you making the call?"
   "Gonna try this afternoon, you'll have to slip it to me after chow."
   "You gonna do em both or just Rocket?"
   "You're fuckin right I am. Rocket is going down for running that mouth of
his. The little English prick is getting iced just because he got off my hook."
   "You sure he'll make both hits on one ticket?"
   "The price is right, Ripper can't say no to five g's. Besides, he loves the
kill."
   "This food frigginsucks."
   "No shit dumbass, its jail food. Wait'll we can buy commissary, it'll be
better then."
   "So David fuckin Jones is gonna get bit in the ass after all."
   "Please, I'm trying to eat this garbage; just hearing his name nauseates me.
Little fucking Limey queer."
   "He got off the murder rap, but he won't get away from you twice eh Dyl?"
   "Not a chance man, by the weekend he'll be pushing up daisies. Slide me the
calling card."
   The bell signaling lunch was over rang out and the inmates moved to empty
their trays and form a line. Neal took his time, lingering to fall to the end
of the group.
   "Pierce!" The duty guard called to Neal.
   "What?"
   "This isn't your momma's place asshole, go back and take care of your tray."
   "Don't talk shit about my mother Dupree."
   "You're lookin for a stick upside that empty head of yours boy, you'd best
shut your pie hole and do what you're told."
   Neal flipped him the finger as he walked back to the table. The line of
inmates moved out, heading back to the block.
   "Nice shtick Pierce," the guard chided, "you get anything?"
   "Jackpot boss, I need to get this tape up to administration, now!"
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
   Nicky and the others spent a leisurely, lengthy late-morning brunch at The
Kettle restaurant. The meal as well as the quiet company was exactly what Nicky
needed. Full stomachs and a rough night tending to Davy had Nicky and Micky
dozing at the table. Like it or not, Tony and Mike decided to cart them back to
the hotel for a forced nap.
   "This isn't fair," Nicky grumbled in the car.
   "Life isn't fair kiddo. Besides, it’s not as if I'm keeping you there all
day - we'll all be back at the hospital this afternoon. I only want you to rest
a while."
   "Well, I suppose I could do with a little nap. Promise me we're going back
up to see Davy?"
   "Nicky! You hurt me! I wouldn't say it if it weren't so."
   "I'm sorry, I know you're right. Forgive me my careless words; it has been
such an emotional time.”
   "Mi amici, of course; you know you're my heart. If you don't look after
yourself, how can you be strong for the little one?"
   "I know. I trust your judgment Tony, you've been my only constant. I'll do
what you ask."
   "Grazie."
                                                                              
       *
   Camryn and Melody boarded the elevator to go to the third floor. Clutching
their purchases from the hospital gift shop, they were eager to visit the young
Englishman whose life Dylan had nearly destroyed. Once on the floor they
stopped at the desk to locate Davy's room.
   "Third one on the right," the nurse advised.
   "Thank you."
   Melody tapped softly on the closed door and they stepped into the room. The
pitiful state of the sleeping man caught the girls off guard, and they paused,
clinging to each other, their breath caught in their throats.
   "Oh my God Cam!"
   "I know Mel,I know!"
   Moving to his bedside, they gazed into the wreckage of his handsome youthful
face.
   "Oh Davy I am so sorry," Melody spoke quietly, "I should've spoken out so
much sooner!"
   Tears stood in her eyes, waiting to spill past the fleshy dam.
   "It’s not your fault Mel," Camryn soothed, "nobody really thought Dyl was
smart enough to pull it off - and nobody that would try to stop it even knew."
   Davy opened his eyes to see the two girls standing beside him.
   "Oh, 'ello," he yawned, "Do I know you?"
   "Not exactly, I'm Melody and this is my friend Camryn.. Dylan Roberts is my
ex-boyfriend."
   Davy blinked at them in innocent confusion.
   "I'm sorry, who?"
   "Dylan.. the guy who set you up.”
   "I s'pose I should explain, I've 'ad something 'appen to me 'ead n it seems
it’s knocked loose a few things. I cahn't remember some stuff."
   "You mean like amnesia?" Camryn asked.
   "Yaa, that's what they’re callin it."
   "Wow, that’s terrible -I hope you'll be okay!. Oh, this is for you."
   She handed him a small blue teddy bear.
   "Oh, well thank you very much, tha's so sweet! The Doctor seems to think it
will all straighten out ovah time.. I 'ope so."
   "I got you this," Melody said, handing him a gift bag.
   "Thanks, how thoughtful!"
   He opened the bag to find a handmade necklace - a sand dollar on a beaded
black nylon cord. Along with it, was a laminated printed card that read 'The
Legend of the Sand Dollar'. He read the poem and smiled up at her.
   "That's really lovely; I've never seen that one before."
   "I hope you like it."
   "Yes, I love them both, thanks for thinking of me."
   "You're welcome. Is there anything we can get for you? A snack or drink? A
magazine?"
   "No, thanks, it's a nice gesture though."
   "I'm so happy they figured out it wasn't you that murdered Roger. Camryn and
I both gave statements to the police on your behalf."
   "I appreciate that."
   "Hey, are you okay? You look a little.. green all of a sudden."
   "It’s fine. I'm having trouble processing some details about the missing
memories. It gives me terrible 'eadaches."
   "Let's go Cam, he needs to rest."
   "Right, we've upset you - sorry about that."
   "S'not yer fault, you'd no idea me 'ead was on backwards. Maybe we can get
together when I'm more meself."
   "That'd be nice."
   "Hope things get better soon," Camryn called as they were leaving.
                                                                                 
    *
   Neal sat across from Captain Holman, his blue shirt unbuttoned to the waist,
a guard from inmate affairs removing the micro-recorder taped to his chest.
   "We appreciate your assistance in this matter Mr. Pierce; if you've done
your job properly I'll see that your efforts are rewarded."
   "Here's the tape Captain."
   "Thank you Jeffries, you can go now."
   When the two men were alone in the closed office, Captain Holman listened to
the recorded conversation.
   "Very good work, I'm impressed. Looks like you weren't pulling my string on
this one Neal. I'm curious though, why?"
   "Why what?"
   "There were other.. opportunities; times when we’ve approached you for help
with information and you flat out refused. Why now?"
   "When I realized they were talking about the Jones kid Captain, I knew had
to do something. That kid was as clean as a whistle, innocent and green.
Reminds me of my little brother Kevin, may he rest in peace."
   "For your peace of mind Neal, I want you to know that this will be held
against them, they'll both be prosecuted for this as conspiracy to commit
murder."
   "Good to hear, I'm no angel Captain or else I wouldn't be here. But I've
never hurt anyone, and I truly hate violence - especially against an innocent
kid."
   The administrator nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his features.
   "How much time you have left with us Pierce?"
   "Eighty-one days."
   "Hmm. Why don't I cut that down a bit for your.. civic undertakings. Say we
make it thirty days. It'll take that long to process the paperwork anyway."
   "Are you SERIOUS?"
   "You've been a model prisoner Neal, you take in the underdogs and show them
the ropes, and you look after the weak ones and easy targets. This thing you've
done here," he gestured to the tape, "speaks highly of your rehabilitated
perspective."
   "Captain Holman - I can't begin to thank you enough! I'm stunned, really."
   "You want to thank me Neal? Don't come back."
   "You got it."
                                                                                     
*
   "Hey Micky," Peter called, "you about ready to go?"
   "Almost man, I'm trying to find my bracelet, I thought I left it on the
dresser but I don't see it anywhere."
   "You mean the one Davy bought for you?"
   "Yaa, have you seen it?"
   "Yes. You left it on the bathroom sink. I was afraid it'd fall in the drain
so I put it in the freezer."
   "Why in the freezer?"
   "Well, I figured that if I forgot where I put it you'd be mad at me and I'd
probably cry. When I cry a lot, my eyes swell up and I have to put ice on them.
So when I went to get the ice I'd find the bracelet and you wouldn't be mad at
me anymore."
   " ... So why didn't you just give me the bracelet?"
   "Because Mick. Everyone always yells at me for being such a dummy. This way
I got to explain my idea so you'd KNOW I was using my head this time."
   "Smart thinking Pete," Micky rolled his eyes.
   "Thanks Micky," Peter grinned.
   Finally managing to get out the door, they piled into Tony's Maserati,
heading for Davy once again. Gerry phoned to tell Tony he had picked up Davy's
possessions from the county jail: He would meet them at the hospital. On
entering room three-eighteen, they were surprised to find Davy sitting on the
side of his bed. Dr. Bowen was removing the bandage from his head.
   "Hey Bubba, looking good!"
   "Nice to see you up a little kiddo."
   "Hey guys, they’re letting me 'ave something to eat, FINALLY."
   "You poor thing," Micky said sincerely, "you must be going crazy!"
   "Ya kidding, I'm stahrving!"
   "The walkin stomachs ladies and germs," Mike teased, "I swear you two could
eat if someone cutcher gizzards out."
   "Right now I'd be willing to try," Davy grinned.
   "Okay," Dr. Bowen warned, "if anyone gets squeamish, now's the time to leave
the room."
   Everyone turned to Peter.
   "Why are you all looking at me, I cantake it."
   "Pete you get nauseous on the subway," Micky pointed out.
   "Yaa," Mike added, "and you get dizzy pushing a grocery cart."
   "You nearly passed out when I skinned my knee at the skate rink," Nicky
grinned.
   "Too much sauce on my pasta and you put your head between your knees," Tony
winked.
   "Sorry Petah, they've gotcha dead to rights on this man," Davy smiled.
   Peter pouted, folding his arms across his chest and stomped from the room.
   "I'll go look after Peter," Mike sighed, following him out the door.
   "Alright David, be very still. I'm going to remove the final layer of the
bandage now."
   Davy closed his eyes and sat perfectly statue-like, almost forgetting to
breathe. A rush of cool air hit his head and he shivered briefly. Out of sheer
morbid curiosity, Tony, Micky and Nicky were edging in for a closer look.
   "You can see it if you wish," Dr. Bowen offered, "provided it’s alright with
David."
   "Fine by me - if someone takes a picture - I cahn't exactly see the back of
me own 'ead."
   "Ooh! I'll do it!" Micky volunteered.
   "Easy Mick," Tony laughed, "I haven’t seen you this excited since we
dissected frogs in grade school.”
   "The hole is right back here behind his ear," the doctor pointed out,
"there's a sterile drainage tube that leads in between his sigmoid sinus and
foramen magnus."
   "Okaay," Micky said as muddled as possible, "pardonay moi gentlemen, ace
photographer in action."
   He whipped out his cell phone and snapped off several pictures from various
angles, the flash illuminating Davy from behind like a halo.
   "Alrighty then," Dr. Bowen interrupted, "let's get this drainage tube out of
you shall we?"
   "Is it gon'ta hurt doc?"
   "You may experience some discomfort, but if there's a lot of pain involved,
please let me know."
   With gloved hands he schmoozed the exposed rubber tubing with a sterile
lubricant. Very gently but with firm pressure, he grasped the tiny hose with a
pair of hemostats and began to tug it free of its moorings. Davy grimaced,
making a fist of his good hand. His eyes squeezed shut, he made a light humming
in the back of his throat.
   "Okay there son?"
   "Y-yaa, it just feels.. weird."
   "Almost finished."
   He pulled it loose and laid its gooey bloodied end on a piece of gauze.
Sealing the tiny hole in his skull with a heavy dab of Vaseline and covering it
with a clean, square bandage he pronounced the job done.
   "Looks real good. We'll get some food in you and if it stays down we'll get
that IV out of your arm."
   "Sounds great."
   "Hey doc?" Micky asked.
   "Yes."
   "How long till his hair grows back in? Or.. will it?"
   "It will be several months before the skin fully heals over the drainage
hole, and while hair will probably never grow on that eighth of an inch area,
the rest should cover it over in about five or six weeks."
   When the doctor had left, a fuming, wide-eyed Englishman grabbed for Micky's
phone.
   "Gimme that thing - d'ya mean to tell me they cut me 'air?!"
   "Of course not," Micky grinned, "they shaved it off."
   "BLOODY FUCKING HELL!!" he cried, looking at the snapshots.
   "Watch your mouth!" Tony admonished.
   "Bust melaytah! This is fu-"
   "Bubba I suggestyou take his advice. Tony curses once in a blue moon - when
SERIOUSLY provoked - but he positively HATES the eff word!"
   Davy caught a glimpse of the rigid expression on Tony's usually casual,
relaxed face and bit back a bit of sass.
   "I'm sorry Tony," he said earnestly.
   "Okay kiddo, I'll let it slide - THIS time. But Davy you're a smart,
handsome classy guy. Language like.. THAT word - makes you sound like a common
guttersnipe. Do what you will in private, but if I hear it again you'll be
belching bubbles, you get me?"
   "Very clearly," he answered, ducking his head sheepishly.
   "I cahn't b'lieve they shaved my fu - flippin head."
   Tony grinned broadly.
   "Don't worry cookie," Micky smiled mischievously, "this way I can see to
comb my hair while you use the mirror."
   "Tony," Davy glared at Micky, "please just ONCE more?"
   "You know I love you baby," Micky teased from a safe distance.
   Mike and Peter rejoined the group with Gerry at their heels.
   "Ahh, the man of the hour!" Tony lauded.
   "Don't give me so much credit, a lot of people played a role in making this
happen."
   At these words, he snapped a newspaper open in front of the gathered
friends.
   "Oh my gosh Davy!" Nicky declared, "You’re on the front page of the LA
Times!"
   "Jones case dismissed as new evidence proves innocence. Judge Huff clears
Malibu man's record, apologizes on behalf of county." Micky read aloud.
   "Lemme see that!" Davy grinned.
   "Uhh Tiny?" Mike voiced his worry, "are you sure you oughtta be a readin
this?"
   "Well yaa Mike, why not?"
   Everyone looked to Tony for a decision.
   "If he wants to see it, let him. He's getting stronger and we're all here
with him."
   Gerry leaned forward, handing him the paper.
   "You're sure?"
   Hand already on the crisp, white sheet, Davy only nodded.
   His head down, he slowly scanned the page, noting his own picture at the top
of the article. Skimming his way down, a related piece went on to identify the
true perpetrators of the crime. Three photos caught his attention and he drew
in his breath sharply. One of the men seemed familiar but he couldn't quite
place him. The other two he recognized immediately: Dylan Roberts and Chaz
Blakely.
   The sudden onslaught of memories knocked him into a dizzying spiral of
mental images. His eyes widened, his heart pounded in his chest, as full
clarity struck him head on and he remembered everything. Suddenly feeling as
though he couldn't breathe he sucked in a harsh choking attempt at a breath. A
raspy, sputtering cough ensued, his eyes watering he pleaded silently for help.
   "Davy! Bubba are you alright?"
   "Somebody get him some water!"
   "Pat him on the back!"
   "Let me in here!" Micky nearly howled.
   Rushing to stand before him, he cupped Davy's face in both of his hands.
   "Listen to me! You're okay; nobody is going to mess with you without going
through ME first! Calm down little one and take a breath. "
   Davy gazed into the light-brown liquid pools that were Micky's calming eyes.
His sweet, sentimental, steadying Micky - holding him firmly but oh so tenderly
- staring into his very soul.
   "I've got you, just look at me Davy and breathe!" he soothed.
   Davy took a hitching breath. He felt as though a cool cascade of water
poured over him, refreshing him in body and spirit. His shoulders visibly
relaxed and his heartbeat slowed to a simple, peaceful drumbeat. Micky leaned
forward, pressing a tender kiss to his mouth, stroking his silky hair. When he
drew back, Davy was smiling and calm.
   "Better now?"
   "Yes, I'm great," he said softly, briefly touching the warm lips in front of
him with his fingertips.
   Micky sat beside him, smiling casually up at his friends. Nicky wore a
bemused smile, seemingly touched by the show of affection. Peter was shedding
happy tears.
   "I'mtruly impressed, mi amici."
   "Mick that was high cotton shotgun."
   "So, do you.. remember?" Tony ventured.
   "Every single moment. The other guy in the paper? Slap a phony mustache on
'im n you'll 'ave yer killer."
   "He's absolutely correct," Gerry chimed in, "Chaz Blakely confessed to the
murder, with Dylan and Ben as conspirators."
   "So Rocket WAS involved," Peter said sadly.
   "He lured Roger Perry to the party the night he was killed. He was also
responsible for connecting Dylan with Davy that day on the beach, it was all a
setup Peter, I'm sorry."
   "Say Tiny, didja know ol Cotton here pretty much started the ball rolling to
clear yer name?
   "No, I'd no idea!"
   "Yessiree, risked life n limb wearin a wire to go see that'are Rocket fella
n get him to talk."
   Peter puffed up at Mike's praise, just as Mike had hoped.
   "Yes," Tony added, catching Mike's tactic, "his brave actions set off a
chain of events that led to the confessions and arrest of everyone involved,
and ultimately your release."
   "WOW Petah, I dunno what to say. Thanks mate, you really saved my life!"
   His scoundrel of a former friend forgotten, Peter beamed at his little pal.
   "Shucks Davy, t'weren't nothin really. I missed you man; nobody else lets me
win at checkers."
   "I love you too Petah," he grinned brightly.
   "What do you say we skip the hospital food and I call out for something GOOD
to eat? Sound like something you can handle kiddo? Don't overload your stomach,
if you think it’s too soon."
   "Chinese alright?" Davy grinned, practically drooling.
   "Any objections? No? Chinese it is," Tony smiled, "I'll get the usual
delivered up here."
  
   Thirty-five minutes later the bountiful meal arrived, Tony and Micky meeting
the delivery driver in the lobby. Davy ate with great relish all of his
favorite Szechuan cuisines.
   "He's definitely getting better," Micky joked, holding his own bulging
belly, "He out-ate ME and he's still going strong!"
   "Makin up for lost time 'ere ya know," Davy smiled.
   "Good to have you looking like yourself again little bro."
   "Fortune cookies everybody!" Peter cried with childlike glee, "Here Davy,
you pick first."
   Visually fishing through the styrofoam carton, he searched out the one he
felt was destined for him.
   "Erm.. this one."
   Peter chose his own and passed the box along. Cracking open the crispy
cookies they eagerly read the silly fortunes predicted inside. With a
despairing look, Davy fell silent.
   "Dave? What's the matter babe?"
   "Oh nothing," he sighed, "I jus' read me fortune s'all."
   The others exchanged perplexed, curious glances.
   "Okay, what does it say?"
   An impish, weary grin on his face, Davy handed the slip of paper to Micky,
who read it aloud:
   "In six weeks time you will embark on a grand and dangerous adventure full
of mystery and intrigue."
       For a moment, nobody spoke.
   "Anyone wanna trade with me?" Davy asked with a chuckle, "I think I've 'ad
my share of adventure for a while."
   "Don't worry Davy," Peter smiled with innocent zeal, "if you don't eat the
cookie it won't come true!"
   " ... too late for that big Pete."
   "Oh boy," Peter frowned, "here we go again."
Chapter End Notes
     Much thanks to:
     K-man
     Willie
     Jean
End Notes
     Much thanks to:
     K-man
     Willie
     Jean
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