The Monkees
The Return of Baby Face Morales
By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: Hooray! We have a Monkees category again! The characters are not mine and the story is! I envision the first season Monkee characters and consider them to be the ideal image of what the show was about, therefore, Micky is intelligent and has straight hair, though this takes place after the second season episodes. (Anyway, he couldn't be mistaken for Baby Face from the episode Alias Micky Dolenz if he had curly hair!) And when it comes to a couple of season 2 episodes where he and the others were more out-of-character than most, such as The Monkey's Paw, I'm not even sure those episodes have happened in my headcanon. Hence, I have changed a bit of dialogue I had concerning that particular episode and left it as an in-joke. Also, the story is written to take place as if The Monkees lived in modern days instead of in the sixties, because I felt like it. I consider it the same as Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books taking place in whatever era they've been written. I do not believe that small mentions of cellular phones and video tapes detract from the story or from the meaning of The Monkees' wonderful show. I try to keep them and the story in character, and that is the most important thing.

Chapter One

It was a generally quiet day at the Monkees' pad. Mike was writing a new song for them to perform at a concert the following night. Davy was getting ready for a date with his latest girl. Micky was practicing on the drums. And Peter had gone for a walk, which abruptly came to a close as he ran through the front door and nearly knocked down Davy in the process.

Davy stumbled back. "Hey Peter, watch where you're going!" he cried.

"Oh, Davy, I'm sorry!" Peter apologized, reaching to help steady the British Monkee.

"That's alright, Peter," Davy said, "but what's going on?"

"Yeah," Micky echoed. "You're not usually so uptight, man."

Mike nodded in agreement.

Peter looked around at his confused friends and bandmates. "I just found out something big!" he declared. "The Evanses are moving!"

Linda and Henry Evans were a young couple who lived just around the corner from the Monkees. They were all friends and often saw each other at neighborhood beach parties and other local events in the community. The news of their impending departure came as a shock to Peter, as he knew it would as well to the others.

Davy blinked in surprise. "You must be joking," he responded. "They've been living here for a couple of years now. I thought Linda said that Henry's company was gonna let him stay on at the local branch for a while."

"That's what I heard too," Micky said with a frown.

Mike shook his head, looking up from his guitar. "Oh well, you know how those kinda companies are," he said in displeasure. "They're always changing their rules about something or another." He leaned back. "When are they leaving?"

"I think it's going to be pretty soon," Peter said slowly. "Linda said that they have to be in Detroit by next week. I talked to her just now." He sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "She was really upset about it. She said that she didn't want them to have to go." And he felt the same. Not having them around would make things feel so empty.

"That does seem pretty sudden," Mike remarked, "even if it's because of the company bureaucrats changing their minds." But then again, they all knew what such people were like. There was most likely no reason to be surprised.

"Oh! Linda did say something else," Peter smiled now, pleased by what he was about to relate. "She told me how grateful she is to have had our friendship while they lived here, and I offered to help her and Henry move. I know they have a lot of stuff, so I thought that they could use all the help they could get." He looked around at the others hopefully. "You'll all help too, won't you, fellas?"

"Sure," Micky replied, hopping down from the bandstand and going into the normal part of the living room to sit by Mr. Schneider. "They've always been good friends to us."

"It's the least we can do for them," Mike agreed.

"How soon do they want us?" Davy asked. Although he was certainly willing to help he hoped that the good deed would not cut in on his date.

"As soon as we can come," Peter answered. "She said maybe this evening, after dinner." With that he turned on the television and settled down to watch.

Almost immediately he leaped up again, his eyes wide with surprise and shock at finding something already occupying the chair. "What's this?" he burst out in disbelief, turning to stare at the confused array of tangled and broken wires and intricate metal parts.

Swiftly Micky came to retrieve the conglomeration. "Sorry, Pete," he apologized. "Since the telephone's been acting up lately, I took it apart to see if I could find the problem." All of the Monkees were aware of the drummer's fascination with attempting to discover what made various inventions tick. They were quite used to it, although every now and then his interest would result in some slight and odd inconvenience.

Now Peter blinked at the phone. "It doesn't look fixed," he remarked.

"It isn't," Mike was quick to interject.

"Not yet," Micky put in with a slight pout.

"Hey fellas, be quiet!" Davy hissed then. "They're talking about some mobster who broke out of jail!" He leaned forward on the back of the chair, studying the television screen with intensity.

Of course, it was highly possible that he was mostly interested in watching the lovely female news anchor. He simply could not seem to help himself; every pretty face made his heart flutter anew. His friends were often exasperated because of that, and they often tried to convince him not to pursue his infatuations, but their persuasions never worked. He had to doubt that he would actually settle down someday and get married, as it would be a nightmare with him crushing on every girl he met. But he was perfectly fine with that.

"A mobster?" The other three Monkees echoed Davy's announcement as they also turned to look. When the newswoman began to speak, their expressions changed to disbelief and horror.

"We have just received this newsflash that Baby Face Morales, notorious for being one of the most cruel and cold-hearted killers in America, has escaped from prison again," came the grave intonation as a picture of the gangster flashed across the screen. "The first time this happened, the police were assisted in his re-capture by Micky Dolenz, a young rock musician who strikingly resembles Morales. Now that this highly dangerous mobster is free once more, people such as Mr. Dolenz had best watch out."

Davy was gawking at the picture as it faded from the screen. "He looks just like you, Micky!" he cried in astonishment. He had been told by the others about the experience with Baby Face, but it was still nothing compared to actually seeing for himself who the man looked like. The resemblance was so strong that it disturbed him.

"Don't I know it," Micky muttered unhappily, giving the television set a dark look. More than once his resemblance to the murderer had caused confusion and calamity, and he was not looking forward to the prospect of it happening again. But of course, knowing the trouble that they got into, it was likely that it would.

"Aren't you worried he'll come after you, Micky?" Peter exclaimed, staring at his friend with wide eyes. "I mean, you did try to make him think that you were his cousin, and then you pretended to be him!"

"Yeah," Mike nodded. "It's okay to admit it if you're scared." He studied Micky, his own eyes narrowed. Knowing him, he was probably terrified at the possibility of Baby Face coming after him but he indeed would not say that it was the case.

"Me, scared?" Micky retorted now. "Pshaw! After all, he's only one of the most cruel and cold-hearted killers in America. Why should I be scared?"

His shaking hands betrayed him. He tightly gripped the disassembled telephone in an attempt to quell the unconscious motion. Baby Face had once nearly choked him to death, and that had only been when Micky had accidentally punched him while pretending to be an idolizing cousin who wanted to learn how to be just like the mobster. He had not realized then that Micky was working for the police in an attempt to capture the entire gang by impersonating Baby Face. What would Baby Face do now that he did realize?

Davy blinked at Micky and shook his head. Micky was not fooling anyone, least of all him. But he sighed, trying to relax and recover from the shock of seeing Baby Face's mug shots.

"Oh well, I'm sure he won't come after you, Mick," he said. "He's probably got other things to do, like . . . get a new gang and commit some kinda jewel robbery. The old gang turned against him, right? There's probably nothing to worry about."

He stood up, heading for the door. "Well, I'll be back later to help with the move," he assured the others as he left for his date.

Mike observed his departure. "He's right," he said firmly. "About Baby Face, I mean."

Micky managed a weak grin. "Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, even though he was not at all sure. "Well . . . I'm gonna go . . . fix the phone." He held it up for emphasis as he headed for the stairs, making his retreat.

Once Micky was in his room, Peter turned worriedly to Mike. "What do you really think, Mike?" he asked. He was certain that his friend and their leader had not been telling his true feelings on the matter.

Mike sighed, leaning back in the chair. "I think he's doomed," he answered. He was not at all convinced that Baby Face would leave Micky alone. It did not seem likely that the vicious gangster would forget the humiliation of being taken down by an impostor. Baby Face was the type to hold grudges, and Micky would be at the top of his hit list.

xxxx

After dinner, and Davy's return from his date, the Monkees headed to the Evanses' home. It was a quaint, white, wood-frame house on the corner. A hedge fenced the yard on all sides, except for where a gate led up the walk in the front. The four young men pushed open said gate and went up to the roofed porch, where boxes were already stacked all around. There was only barely enough room for the Monkees to crowd around the door as Mike rang the doorbell.

"Man, if there's this much stuff outside already, how much more is there inside?" Micky wondered.

Without warning, Peter backed up against him and caused him to crash against one of the towers. Quickly he caught himself by grabbing Peter, which resulted in Peter losing his balance and slamming into Davy, who crashed into Mike. The Texan gave a surprised cry, reaching to steady himself on the storm door just as it was opened by Linda. Immediately all Monkees fell through and ended up on the floor of the entryway while Linda stared in shock. They all looked up at her, sheepish.

"Uh . . . hi," Mike said with a mild wave as everyone began climbing off. The others offered greetings as well, to which Linda responded with warmth.

"It's so good of all of you to come help us," she said as she guided them into the living room. "We have so many things to pack that it's a nightmare." Boxes were already strewn about on the floor and on the furniture, some open and empty, others open and half-filled, and still others closed and full. Various knickknacks, books, and videos could be seen sticking out of the packages, while others were stacked in readiness to be enclosed.

"Yeah, it looks like it," Peter agreed, blinking at the disarray.

"The other rooms are a lot worse than this one," Linda sighed, "especially Henry's sanctuary, where he keeps all of the junk he collects." She idly swept a pile of books into a box as she walked past.

"Well," Peter asked brightly, "where do we start?"

Linda paused at the door leading into the kitchen. "Anywhere you can," she replied. "There's boxes in every room, and everything has to be packed. I just wish we weren't so rushed. . . ." Her eyes flickered with a certain wistfulness before she weakly smiled and leaned against the doorframe. "But oh well. . . . Wishes don't come true, especially in Henry's profession. I guess I should be glad that we're making money at all. Thanks again for your help, guys." Before they could respond, she had disappeared into the next room.

Mike crossed his arms in thoughtfulness as he watched her go. "You know, I wonder what it is that Henry does," he mused. "He's always said that he's a businessman working in the public relations department, but he's never really said any more than that. Neither he or Linda have ever even mentioned where it is he works." He had never found it particularly odd, as he knew that some people did not like to discuss their places of employment and that the Evanses were not happy with Henry's job, but now it did occur to him to wonder exactly what was going on. It seemed strange that this move had come up all of a sudden, almost without any warning.

"I thought it was probably at a local corporation," Davy said with a shrug. "They've always acted like it's something pretty big." He surveyed the room and its disaster zone. "But anyway . . . we'd better get started."

Peter nodded. "There's only a few days to get all this done," he declared, moving a stray box out of his way.

"How hard can it be?" Micky said, dumping a stack of videos into a package the same way he had seen Linda do a moment earlier.

xxxx

They soon found out the hard way. It seemed that every time they turned around, there were more things to pack. Linda's method of merely tossing things into boxes was quite unpractical, as Mike soon pointed out, and they had to spend time making certain that everything was arranged in such a way as to allow for the most to be made of the space.

Then there were other problems. At first they could not figure out how to put together the white boxes that Henry had bought from Office Max. The flaps had to be folded just so, and then drawn up through the bottom of the box, but it took several nonsensical attempts before Mike finally figured it out, and several more tries before the others understood as well.

Later, as Micky reached for some of the things on the hall closet's shelves, other things came tumbling down and nearly buried him and Davy. And when they finally filled a large box of the odds and ends that had spilled, neither of them could lift it. They each struggled and failed, and then tried together, to no avail. The container had not budged an inch.

"I think we filled it too much," Davy moaned, leaning against it in despair. "I nearly threw my back out trying to get it up!"

Micky ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "There's gotta be something we can do," he said. But the knowledge of what that something would be was beyond him.

It was then that Peter came along. He looked with curiosity at his friends and at the box. "Hey guys," he said. "What's wrong?"

"We can't lift the box!" Micky explained, gesturing at it in emphasis.

"It feels like there's a ton of bricks in it!" Davy added.

Peter blinked. "Oh, is that all?" He reached down and picked up the box as if it weighed nothing at all. "It's as light as a feather!" he proclaimed, pleased with himself.

Micky and Davy both gawked at him.

Once everything small in a room was boxed up, there was still the furniture to move out. The Monkees soon discovered that some of it was too heavy to carry, even with two or more of them working on it. And getting things down from upstairs was a nightmare.

"Hey!" Micky exclaimed, perking up from where he was slumped over a couch after an exhausting and failed attempt to move it.

"What is it?" Davy mumbled.

"I've got an idea!" Micky said. "Why not slide the furniture down the stairs? You know, like they're sleds going down a hill!"

The other Monkees stared at him in utter disbelief. "You must be joking," Davy objected.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Something might break."

"Not if we're careful!" Micky said. "Come on, how do you think we're going to get it down? We can't lift it!"

Mike stood up and went to the top of the stairs to inspect the descent. "You might have something there, Micky," he mused. "Let's try it with the couch."

The group crowded around the piece of furniture, pushing it to the edge of the stairs. When it was hanging over the side, they let go. The couch flew down the stairs, skidded across the floor, and crashed into the front door, which slammed shut. The Monkees jumped a mile.

"Well," Mike said after a moment of stunned silence, "I guess it could've been worse."

"Sure!" Micky said, relieved at how it had turned out. "If we make sure not to give the rest of the stuff so much velocity, it'll work!"

Before long, chairs, bookcases, and even loveseats were skiting downstairs while the four boys observed. Linda and Henry remained on the main floor, stunned by the display at first but soon getting used to it.

Henry's sanctuary was entirely another story. He had started to pack some things, but the majority of his memorabilia had been left out because he had not able to bring himself to box it up. When the quartet peered inside, such assorted things as African tribal masks, beaded curtains, jeweled crosses, and laser beams were decorating the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Skull candle holders, vampire pencil toppers, and what looked like a genuine mummy were among the objects on and around the desk—which featured carvings of ogres in the wood. The Monkees stared.

"Gosharooney!" Micky exclaimed at last.

"Obsessed with monsters much?" Mike muttered, not impressed in the least.

"That's disgusting!" Davy cried, eyeing the mummy.

"It's scary," Peter added, his eyes wide.

Mike sighed and stepped into the room, clearing his throat. "Well, we'd better get started," he said, cringing as he did so. "The sooner we start . . . the sooner it'll be over with." He frowned, seeing a stray monkey's paw lying on the floor. With careful precision, he sidestepped it.

Micky glanced down at it as well as he entered. "Hey, a monkey's paw," he remarked.

"Wasn't there a creepy story about one of those?" Peter frowned.

"Yeah, man," Micky said. Idly he picked it up and turned it around in his hands. "It granted wishes, only in ways that no one would want. Like the guy wished for money and he got it."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Peter said. "We could use some money."

Micky dropped the monkey's paw and clapped a hand over Peter's mouth. "But he only got it because his son was killed in a work accident and the company gave the parents some money as compensation!" he exclaimed.

Peter's eyes widened in horror.

Davy rolled his eyes. "Oh come off it, Micky. Stuff like that can't really happen. That wrinkled old thing can't grant any wishes."

"Well, there's no sense taking chances." Slowly Micky removed his hand from Peter's mouth and stepped away. He brushed a piece of straight brown hair away from his eyes as he started sorting through a half-open desk drawer.

Peter wandered over near the closet. As he opened the door, he suddenly discovered a skeleton hanging inside. His eyes widened in horror. "Mike?" he quavered.

Mike raised an eyebrow at him before following his gaze. "Well, what do you know," he mused. "A skeleton in the closet." It should not be a surprise, he supposed, not when there were so many bizarre objects in the room. He did have to wonder, though, if Henry realized the significance of where he had placed the bones. It was somewhat amusing in one way, and yet disturbing in another.

Micky wandered over. "Skeletons don't make good decorations unless it's Halloween," he declared, looking revolted. "But I guess at least it's not some cruel and cold-hearted killer, like Baby Face Morales."

"How do we know what he was like when he was alive?" Peter exclaimed in response.

But Micky was not listening. He had noticed what looked like a small envelope in the carcass's ribcage. Curious, he reached for it to have a better look. After all, he reasoned, people would only store certain things inside a skeleton, and if they were going to do it at all then it needed to be investigated.

Peter let go of Mike's arm as he wandered over. "What's that?" he wanted to know, just as Micky gave a startled cry of his own. Immediately Mike and Davy rushed over as well, just in time to see Micky holding a picture away from him as if it was contaminated.

"What have you got here?" Mike asked, taking the picture from Micky to study it. As he looked at the image, his eyes widened and then narrowed in disbelief. In it, Henry and Linda were standing beside Micky outside a building that bore the name of the company that Davy had believed Henry worked at. All were dressed nicely, with Henry and Micky in business suits and Linda wearing a floral print dress.

"Hey, Micky!" Davy said, scrutinizing the photograph in bewilderment. "Where was this taken? You don't wear suits like this."

Finally recovering, Micky wildly pointed at the offending picture. "That's not me!" he hissed urgently. "That's Baby Face Morales!"